#Oscar statuette

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

She's his liege. He's a direct and proximate cause of the decline of at least two civilizations. If she gets to go one whole day without an assassination attempt, it's a good day. If he sees a single snowflake land on a dead tree branch and bursts into tears, that's just Tuesday. She looks into his eyes and sees years spilling onto the blank page before them, full of evenings wrapped in each other's arms while a storm rages outside and yet the only true crash of thunder is his heartbeat against her ear. He looks into hers and chokes on the ashes of the world he doomed her to live without, claws his way through thick, cloying memory and vows to fix his every error so that one day he might finally deserve her. Their paths intertwine like lovers stealing shadowed moments in the midnight. They falter beneath the weight of worlds that would wield them until they shatter. She sharpens her teeth, weaves iron through her veins. He lingers at every frayed edge of her dreams, leashes each nightmare and drives them away. She wears titles that send nations scrambling, but her most cherished is my heart. He does not mind the names borne like a brand against his soul if any one of them lingers even a moment on her lips. The blood beneath their nails may never wash away, and yet...fingertips have never rested so gently just beneath a throat, a collarbone, trailed the path of a fresh scar. They are weapons, they are weary, they are welcome to what's left of the other at the end of the world. She vowed to protect him, once. He carved out a crater in his chest that she might one day call him home. She learns he set his own flames flaring up his back and laughs like lightning lashing against the sand, forever changing it. He briefly contemplates shouldering the embarrassment intentionally this time if only to hear it over and over again until every last inch of him is transparent for her perusal. She is her people's. He is his. They are wretched creatures of the lives that look to them and so they have never been afraid to peer into the starving maw of a wolf in winter and offer their neck. Perhaps it is not love, for love is selfish. Perhaps it is not fate, for fate has felled many fools. Perhaps it is a hard-fought freedom to reject any word at all. For one day, they might at last escape the world they have outgrown. Historians will weep searching for scraps by which to define them. Those that knew them will keep each sacred moment stowed tight, save for stories passed on to loved ones over the crackle of kindling. And at the end of everything, it will only matter that she was his. And at the end of everything, he will cherish more than any victory that he was hers.

[blacktieaffairtimes07]

Academy of Moving Motion Pictures Ballroom Event Honourable Film.

[karaeilishh]

G!p billie getting hard when reader teasingly calls her daddy in her ear when theyre at an event (like the grammys or the oscars) and they end up fucking in the bathroom

omg omg this one my favoriteee

you can be be the boss b. eilish

"i think i look like the boss with the oscar," billie says, tilting her head and lifting the heavy statuette up to show off in front of you. she wants you to tell her again how proud you are of your girl. you giggle and bite your lower lip, a little distracted by her appearance: her hair is slightly disheveled, and her eyeliner is smeared. she looks pretty.

you take a small step towards her, rising up on your toes. her arm immediately wraps around your waist, holding you close to her. "you can be the boss, daddy," you whisper, burning her skin with your hot breath. billie swallows hard, freezing in place. you've hit a weak spot. "don't play with fire, sweetheart."

you have a teasing reply on the tip of your tongue, but you hear a familiar voice behind you. "you girls are the cutest couple this evening," you both smile as ariana looks at you with adoring eyes. she immediately hugs you in turn, making short conversation, almost distracting your mind from what you wanted to say. "i'm so sorry, i'm going to have to excuse myself to the ladies' room."

you smile and give billie a kiss on the cheek. "sorry, daddy," you say quietly. then you head to the bathroom, resting your waist on the marble counter. you weren't really needed here; you were just waiting for her.

and you don't have to wait long.

she practically flies into the room, slamming the door behind her and snapping the lock shut. you don't need any extra witnesses. "daddy?" her tone is mocking, but you only need to look down at her pants to see what's going on.

"i thought you liked this-,", her lips pressing into yours in a hungry kiss, smearing your lipstick across your chin. she finds her way to the zipper of her pants, quickly lowering them to her ankles. you feel her length pressing against your thigh. you want to let go of another dirty comment, but she covers your mouth with her hand. "shut up already."

as soon as your dress is pulled up around your waist, she pushes your panties aside and puts two fingers inside you. "billie!" you grab her shoulders for support and cover your eyes. she easily slides her fingers inside you and pulls them out immediately, making you whimper.

"what a pathetic girl. no more calling me 'daddy'?" she doesn't let you answer, placing two fingers covered in your juices into your mouth. her cock quickly finds its way to your pussy, making you moan and bite her fingers. "oh, no teeth, baby."

she lifts your leg, pulling it to her waist to change the angle and hit all the right spots inside you. you close your eyes and try not to clench your jaws and work only with your tongue.

"you're just perfect for my cock, baby. such a perfect girl..." billie growls, moving her hips faster, feeling her cock throbbing inside you. she presses her body against yours, wanting to feel you completely. skin to skin. you can feel when she's close, her breathing intermittent and heavy, her fingertips rubbing against your thigh, her movements all wilder and sloppier. "you're going to take all my cum, princess, right?"

you nod, feeling tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you approach your own release. billye replaces her fingers with her mouth, continuing to devour you while her cock is buried deep in your pussy and her cum drips down your walls.

daddy.

tags: @chrissv4mp, @hkkuugu, @sweet3nerrr, @krosep, @stonerfromlesbos, @loveyoumatthewbernard, @47lake @ohdoyoustillcry, @bilsdillldough,@n0vabug

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART XI

—this must be the place

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). filthy smut, p in v, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

January 18th, 2024

Los Angeles, CA

January was a whirlwind. Awards season came faster than either of you could’ve anticipated. After years of grueling work, both of you were at the pinnacle of your careers. The Golden Globes were just the beginning, and somehow, you found yourself receiving best actress nods at every award show that followed. Each time your name was announced, you were stunned—as if each award was a surprise gift wrapped in disbelief.

Pedro? He was right there beside you, proud, beaming, like he’d won every accolade himself.

And in a way, he had.

The Emmys came next. Pedro was dressed like a hot English teacher—a title you bestowed on him while posing for photos on the carpet. He blushed at your words, but his imagination clearly ran wild through the entire ceremony. You’d catch his mind drifting, the corners of his mouth twitching with thoughts you could only guess.

But when the time came, he lost his category. You turned to him with an exaggerated sad face, eyes wide, and before he could even fake another mournful look, you took his face between your hands and whispered in his ear, “You might be an Emmy loser, but you’re my Emmy loser, baby.”

He chuckled softly, a mix of amusement and adoration, his hand resting on your thigh, fingers tracing absentmindedly. “Maybe we can celebrate the loss later,” he teased, and you grinned, your shared laughter barely masked by the applause surrounding you.

February 25th, 2024

Los Angeles, CA

Pedro wore Prada that night. A crisp white button-down shirt, half the buttons undone, his chest peeking through like a prince stepping off a ship in some romantic novel. His hair was so much longer, curling softly around his ears, a curl decorating his forehead, and when you both arrived, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“You look dreamy,” you’d whispered, your hand lingering on his arm.

You shared a tequila shot for luck before the ceremony, a ritual that seemed to work for both of you. When Pedro’s name was called, you watched in awe as he walked up to the stage, shock evident on his face. He was adorable, overwhelmed, and completely unprepared, but still effortlessly funny.

"And thank you to my love for being my biggest supporter," he said during his speech, eyes finding you in the crowd. "I love you."

The audience roared with laughter as he joked about having a panic attack. You covered your face with your hands, laughing with him, but your heart swelled with pride. When your category came not long after, you got up there, thanked everyone, and finished with, “And last but not least, thank you to now SAG Award winner Pedro Pascal for also being my biggest supporter."

Later that night, you posted a picture of the two of you holding your statuettes, captioning it, “a couple of winners,” a nod to the moment and your shared triumph.

March had rolled faster than anticipated. The Oscars themselves were here, and there you were, sitting in the middle of Hollywood’s most glamorous circus, your name announced as a Best Actress nominee. The whole thing was surreal—like, pinch-me-I’m-dreaming kind of surreal.

Pedro sat next to you, gripping your hand for dear life. He had been holding it for the last half hour, unable to let go, which made you wonder if he was comforting you or himself. Maybe both.

You gave him a quick glance. He was calm on the outside, but you could tell by the subtle way his thumb kept moving over your knuckles that his nerves were bubbling underneath too. You squeezed his hand back, your silent way of saying, Hey, we got this, right? Though, in truth, you weren’t sure who “we” were anymore. You hadn’t breathed since they started announcing the nominees.

And then it came—the moment. The envelope opened, the pause, the suspense that felt like it dragged on for an eternity, and then... someone else’s name. Not yours.

The applause in the room felt both deafening and distant, like you were watching it all through a fog. You let out the breath you’d been holding since they called your name and tried to steady yourself. You smiled, clapping for the winner because, hey, they deserved it. But inside, you were thinking, Well, damn.

Before you could even process the mix of relief and mild disappointment, Pedro turned to you. His eyes were gentle but mischievous, the exact combination that both made you feel better and also a little nervous. He tilted his head, looking at you like he was about to drop the world’s most important line.

“You might be an Oscar loser,” he said, grinning that cheeky grin of his, “but you’re my Oscar loser.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing, because of course he would say that. But he leaned in and kissed your forehead, so sweet and sincere, that you felt your heart melt just a little. Leave it to him to make losing feel like a win.

You rolled your eyes, more at how much you loved him than anything else. “Nice one, P. I feel so much better now,” you teased, shaking your head.

"You did the same to me; I had to."

"That's just cruel."

You elbowed him, laughing despite everything. Because at the end of the day, you realized something—you hadn’t lost at all. You were sitting there with the person who made you laugh when you needed it most, who held your hand through the stress and teased you when you least expected it. And that, as far as you were concerned, was the best kind of win.

•••

The next few months were filled with so much love and so much laughter. Pedro went with you to every concert you had scheduled, sitting backstage or in the crowd with your friends, watching you command the stage. It became your new routine, traveling to different cities with Pedro beside you for each show.

June arrived, and with it, Pedro’s filming schedule kicked back into full gear. This time, though, it was a little different. Instead of the usual months of long-distance calls and late-night texts across time zones, he was filming in New York. That meant he came home every night to your shared brownstone.

It felt wonderfully domestic.

One evening, you were curled up on the couch, the windows open to let in a soft breeze. You could hear Pedro moving around in the kitchen, humming to himself as he tried to figure out what to make for dinner. He had arrived early today and insisted on taking care of it. The scent of garlic and olive oil was already beginning to fill the room.

You smiled to yourself, getting up to join him. “Need some help, Chef?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him stir something in a pan, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He looked up, a grin spreading across his face when he saw you. “I’m handling it. Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to peek into the pan. “Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time."

“Okay, first of all, I told you that was ‘blackened’ for flavor,” he shot back, pointing the spatula at you. “And second, tonight’s different. I’m on it.”

You laughed, moving closer and slipping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. “Mmm, smells good though. Maybe I’ll give you a pass this time.”

He leaned into your embrace, his free hand coming up to hold yours around his middle. “Only a pass?” he teased, turning his head slightly to catch your eye. “I was aiming for full marks.”

“You’ll have to earn that,” you replied, your voice playful as you squeezed him tighter. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

He twisted around in your arms to face you, a mock-serious expression on his face. “You are looking at a masterful creation of... stir-fry.”

“Fancy.”

“Very. It’s gourmet,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer. “It’s got vegetables and everything.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the ease between you was just so comfortable.

It wasn’t about the food or the dinner itself—it was about the quiet rhythm of life you’d found together, the simple joy of these little moments. The kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone so well and loving every bit of it.

As the food sizzled away on the stove, Pedro pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still resting on your back. “I like this,” he murmured.

“What, my expert critique of your cooking? Because I can keep going."

He laughed softly. “No, I mean…this. Us. Coming home to you every night. It feels right.”

A smile spread across your face as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes soft as he looked at you. “I could get used to this.”

“Well,” you said, grinning as you stood on your toes to kiss him, “good thing you’re stuck with me.”

He kissed you back, his lips warm and familiar, lingering just long enough to make you lose your train of thought. “Best decision I ever made,” he murmured against your lips, pulling you closer.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling the warmth of him seep into you, grounding you in the moment.

“Alright, mister. Let’s eat before your gourmet stir-fry turns into another ‘blackened’ creation.”

“Noted,” he laughed, turning back to the stove with you still wrapped around him.

July 25th, 2024

San Diego, California

The morning had a slowness to it that Pedro liked.

The two of you were still wrapped up in the sheets, limbs intertwined in a comfortable, familiar tangle. The sunlight crept lazily through the curtains. He felt your body stir next to his, your warmth pulling him further out of sleep. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, soft kisses trailing across your skin, while his fingers lazily traced patterns on your back.

"You nervous for today?" you asked, your voice still sleepy but carrying a smile that he could hear.

Pedro groaned slightly, his morning voice raspy. "A little," he admitted, his face half-buried in the pillow.

"You’ll be great. They’re going to eat you up," you said, teasing but reassuring, your lips brushing his neck. "Anything I can do to help?"

He smirked, his eyes still closed as his hand found its way down the small of your back, pulling you closer. "Actually, yeah… I’ve got a couple ideas."

You laughed, straddling him, your hair falling over your face as you leaned down for a slow, lingering kiss. The kind of kiss that promised more, the kind that was a language only the two of you spoke. Pedro’s hands moved with familiarity, tracing the lines of your body as if he were memorizing you all over again.

He discarded yours and his clothes too. Your perfect breasts in his face as soon as you straddled him again, knees on either side of his thighs as you sat down on his cock. His head fell back on the soft pillow as you dug your nails into his broad shoulders.

For a while, it was just your steady breathing as you rode him, smooth and constant. Your moans—a delicious symphony to his ears—filled the room, mingling with his own groans of pleasure. And then both of your movements became more urgent, and he held you down to his chest, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss.

"Fuck," he cursed, his hands gripping your back tightly as he pushed himself deeper inside you.

"Need-need you deeper."

He heard you say, and with a low growl, he complied. "Lay down."

You quickly got on your front, head turned to the side, ass in the air, and he entered you from behind. He filled you, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Yes, yes, yes."

It fueled him to see you and hear you so fucked out and desperate for more.

"Goddamn," he breathed, pulling out before gliding in again, this time a little harder, a little deeper. He repeated the motion several times, each time pushing you into the bed harder and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. It's filthy. His hands dug into your hips. Your moans grew louder—consuming him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

You were close; he could tell by the way you were clenching around him. He cannot take it anymore. It's stupidly, brilliantly too good. Too intoxicating. He leans forward, chest pressed against your back, skin slick with sweat. "Come for me, baby."

He sees your eyes go blank as you reach your peak, your body shuddering with pleasure. The sight of you unraveling beneath him pushes him over the edge, and he follows right after you, his hips turning erratic, heat spreading inside him, and his release mixing with yours.

You don't move, and neither does he. He stays buried deep inside you, both of you trying to catch your breath and come back down from the euphoric high you just experienced together. The only sound in the room is heavy breathing and the occasional whisper of a kiss against your skin.

•••

Later, the chaos of Comic-Con surrounded him, but Pedro was good at playing it cool, even if he didn't really feel like it. He’d been in the industry long enough to know how to handle the intensity of the spotlight, but today, something felt a little more electrified. It could’ve been the crowds, but as soon as you arrived and caught sight of him, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Oh my god, what did Marvel give you?” you said, grinning up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “You look ten years younger—I’m scared.”

Pedro chuckled, turning a little and glancing down at himself. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, babe. You know that.”

"Right. Smoke, mirrors, and a little bit of Marvel magic."

You stole a quick kiss. "I'll be right here when you're done, P."

He loved how you could always ease him with just a few words. No matter the situation, no matter how chaotic or overwhelming things got, you had this way of cutting through the noise and grounding him. It was something he never took for granted, especially in moments like this—before the whirlwind, when he needed to remember who he was underneath it all.

"Now, get out there and win them over, handsome."

•••

Summer turned into fall; life became a blend of filming and fleeting moments of domestic bliss.

Pedro’s schedule took him to London for Fantastic Four, and you had your own projects to attend to, which meant falling back into the familiar rhythm of long-distance. It was tough—long nights filled with texts and video calls, stolen moments across time zones—but somehow, the two of you made it work. You'd promised you would.

One night, as you lay together in bed before your next trip, he whispered, “I’d rather have you 3 days a year than anyone else all the time.”

You smiled.

Weeks later, Pedro went back to New York after a short break and found solace in the little routines.

He loved coming home to you.

He found himself doing little things for you. He’d never been much of a "chores guy," but there was something solid about washing dishes while you hummed in the next room, or folding laundry. It made up for the time he spent away, the guilt he sometimes carried for being gone so much. Doing these little things felt like his way of making sure you always knew how much he loved you, even when he wasn’t physically there.

One night, after a particularly long day for you, you flopped into bed. He was finishing brushing his teeth in the bathroom. As he walked into the bedroom, he noticed the exhaustion in your eyes. You were sprawled out on the bed, your blouse slightly rolled up. He pressed a knee against the edge of the bed and hovered over you.

You looked up at him, your voice a soft whisper. “You’re the only calm thing in my life.”

Pedro’s heart swelled at that, his mouth instinctively forming a smile. “And you’re the best kind of chaos in mine,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But beneath the joke was something deeper—a truth he felt in every fiber of his being. You had become his home.

He crawled back down slowly, peppering you with gentle kisses along your neck and sternum. You unbuttoned your blouse as he continued to trail kisses down your body. Each one a promise.

He bit your hip playfully, leaving a faint mark, and when the red faded, he did it again.

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. “Always leaving your signature.”

“All part of the service."

•••

As fall settled, Pedro found himself reflecting on everything that had led him to this moment—this life he had built with you. All his lonely days, all the times he had doubted whether love like this would ever find him, seemed like a distant memory now. Everything he had been through had led him to this.

And there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t grateful.

As he watched you move around the London flat he had rented, his home for the next few months, catching you mid-laugh or lost in your own world, he felt whole. Complete. Every piece of his life had finally fallen into place.

And he knew, without a doubt, that there would never be a time when he had enough of you. You were his everything, and he would always come back.

Always.

a/n: the end!! sad because i'm gonna miss them so much :( but happy to have finished this the right way. thank you everyone who reads, likes, reblogs and leaves a kind message <3

[retropopcult]

Paul Newman glancing at his “Noscar” next to his wife, Joanne Woodward, with her actual Oscar statuette, 1958.

[aespicysstuff]

Blackpink reaction:

Their girlfriend calling them 'Wife'

(I didn't revised this, so ..sorry for any typos)

Jisoo: 

- You guys had headed off to some cozy coffee shop that had like a mini library there, you guys walked inside  feeling the warmth and the comfortable smell of coffee. You told her that you were going to order it so she could just look around.

- “So I would like to have a hot choco and lemon cake, my wife will have a coffee and strawberry cake.”

- Oh boy! She turned so fast to look at you that she was certain that she broke her neck, YOU CALLED HER WHAT? Her heart was hammering in her chest right now.

- Since your arms were linked you literally brought her to your table. She was still looking at you with wide eyes, but the spark was visible there.

- “What?” You asked, touching your face to see if something was on it. Jisoo couldn't help the big beautiful smile that appeared on her face alongside the blush too.

- “So...I'm your wife now?” This time she had a teasing smirk on her face and you were the one blushing, “W-well...eventually...I hope.” You manage to get out through your embarrassment.

- Jisoo's smile only became more brightly, and soon after you guys were in a comfortable conversation while enjoying you guys order.

- Jisoo couldn't deny that the idea of having you calling her WIFE officially was tempting and she couldn't wait for this day to come, she's sure you're the one.

Jennie:

- You're a famous streamer, so it came as a surprise when you guys' relationship was announced online. Well, it actually was an accident.

- You had just opened your stream and were talking with your chat, when she came inside, till this moment everything was fine because you positioned your cam in a way that wouldn't catch her face.

- Your chat knew that you had a girlfriend, but you never “revealed” because she had asked for it, so chat always respected that even though they were curious to know who she is.

- You guys have a great relationship and dynamic, they even call you mama playfully, and after discovering about your girlfriend they call her mom.

- So like a routine of 2 mothers talking with their hundreds of children, she (Jennie) walks inside your studio with a bowl of fruit salad covered in condensed milk and puts it beside your mouse, going to give a head kiss when she froze in her place.

- “Thank you my wife!” You kissed her cheek and gave her your cutest puppy smile.

- “WHAT YOU JUST CALLED ME WOMAN?!?” (I just picture her so shocked and flustered while screaming this.) She screamed while hitting your arm out of embarrassment.

- She stopped, frozen in place while looking at you like a deer caught in the headlights, she hoped your chat wouldn't recognise her voice.

- It's good to say that they did recognise her voice and her lips, that came to view after she screamed at you.

- ‘WAIT! Y/N GIRL IS JENNIE???’

‘LUCKY BITCH!’

‘ARIANA WHAT YOU DOING HERE???’

- It's also good to say that this small moment was eternalized in a clip and everyone was aware of you guys' relationship.

- You pushed Jennie to sit on your lap as there was no need to hide anymore. “Yes guys, this is my beautiful and amazing wife, I hope you guys can respect us and be happy too.” You squeezed her hand trying to comfort her.

- “Hello guys!” Jennie said shyly and hid her face in her hands right after, and that's how you guys end up playing some games and answering some questions about your relationship.

- Jennie smiled while looking at you, she knew that you guys would have to go through some stupid people, because bitch! is Jennie that we are talking about, people hate on her as a hobby, but with you next to her makes her feel more safe.

- And yes! Wedding bells are ringing in her mind already.

Rosé:

- It happened on the Oscar red carpet, you as a new rising actress in Hollywood was nominated for one of the statuette.

- You of course invited your lovely girlfriend as your plus one, and a spoiler! You guys were the talk of the moment, THE RISING ACTRESS AND THE WORLDWIDE KPOP STAR TOGETHER BABY!

- So right now here you guys were posing for the photos, you were Dressed in a simple all black suit with a corset and some jewelry, your hair was free and wild with your gorgeous curls, and Rosé was dressed in a elegant backless black dress, she black gloves on and her hair was slightly curly.

- Soon after you were being called for an interview, Rosé gave a peck and settled herself with some of you guys' staff not far from you, she was able to hear you perfectly fine, so imagine her face getting red like a tomato and her eyes widened after hearing you calling her wife.

- The guy in the interview you had asked who you had bought as your plus one and you said, “My lovely wife, Rosé, she has been by my side since day one. She was the light that I needed on some harsh nights, so I couldn't not bring her as my plus one.”

- Stop it!! You're going to make her cry, Rosé felt like her heart was about to explode with the amount of love that she has for you and this feeling keeps growing day by day.

- You had finished up the interview and headed to where she was, “It's time to get inside baby- NO! It's W I F E! Now come on, an Oscar is waiting for you, my wife.” 

- I don't even need to say that she's gonna marry you…

Lisa:

- You had been scrolling through tiktok for a long time now, you were alone and bored, Lisa was practicing with the girls and you were left alone in your guys apartment, okay, you had your children with you.

- You found an interesting video of a compilation of girls calling their boyfriend's husband and recorded their reaction, so you thought ‘Why not do this with your Lali? Besides, you were missing her so it would be a win-win situation.

- You put your shoe and coat on, made sure that everything was fine, locked the door and got inside your car, driving off  to grab some coffee and snacks for her and the girls.

- Fast forward and you were right in front of their dance room door knocking on it, seeing Jisoo opening it for you.

- “Y/n? What are you doing here?” the older woman asked you, holding the bags with their coffees and snacks. “Oh! I'm here to deliver you guys this.” You pointed to the bag, “and also because I miss my wife, aka, Lalisa.” You said walking inside the room after Jisoo made space for you to enter.

- There you saw a smiling duck, your girlfriend Lisa, she had heard your voice and yes, she heard you calling her wife, and that's why you guys almost hit the ground after she decided to jump on you out of nowhere.

- The girls only laughed and snickered at your guys cute moment and decided to sit a little bit far away from you guys to give y'all some privacy.

- Miss Manoban was giggling and kissing you everywhere, gosh she was smitten by you!

- “Can you call me wife again?” She asked you with those big doe eyes, giving you a hard time to say no.

- “Hi wife!” You with a smile on your face as she was squealing like a teenager, can't blame her, she's just so enamored by that just the thought of this happening one day gives her so many butterflies.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

A Surprise Blockbuster in Brazil Stokes Oscar Hopes, and a Reckoning

Decades after her mother missed out on an Oscar, Brazil’s Fernanda Torres may have a chance to win a golden statuette with a role in a film that has set off deep soul-searching.

Fernanda Torres still remembers the day her mother, Brazil’s grande dame of film, came within reach of cinema’s most coveted prize: an Oscar.

“It had great symbolism for Brazil,” Ms. Torres, an acclaimed actress herself, said in an interview. “I mean, Brazil produced something like her, you know?” she added. “It was very beautiful.”

A quarter-century ago, Fernanda Montenegro, now 95, made history when she became the first Brazilian actress to be nominated for an Academy Award. She lost to Gwyneth Paltrow, and Brazil never got over what it considered a snub.

Now, Ms. Torres, 59, is attracting chatter in Hollywood that could put her in line to win the elusive golden statuette for a role that has ignited cinematic fever — and a national reckoning — in Latin America’s largest country.

Millions of viewers are packing theaters to watch “I’m Still Here,” a quiet drama starring Ms. Torres about a family torn apart by a military junta that ruled Brazil, by fear and force, for over two decades.

This past week, the movie was nominated for a Golden Globe for best foreign language film, and Ms. Torres was nominated in the lead actress category, bolstering Oscar hopes.

Though the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which oversees the Oscars, will not reveal its nominations until January, “I’m Still Here” is Brazil’s official entry in the international feature film category.

At home, the movie has struck a nerve in a nation that suffered through the brutal dictatorship from 1964 to 1985.

Continue reading.

[citizenscreen]

Presenter Claire Trevor is thrilled for Humphrey Bogart and his Best Actor win for THE AFRICAN QUEEN at the 1952 #Oscars

Trevor had taken home the statuette for Best Supporting Actress for her unforgettable portrayal of Gaye Dawn in KEY LARGO three years earlier.

[veegodoi87]

Long live Fernanda Torres and Brazilian cinema 🏆

The campaign for Fernanda Torres' nomination for the 2025 Oscar for her role in "I'm Still Here" continues to stir up the world of cinema. But 25 years ago, it was her mother, Fernanda Montenegro, who experienced all the excitement of the award season, in an episode remembered by many Brazilians - and even foreigners - as one of the greatest injustices of the awards.

Fernanda Montenegro was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actress in 1999 for her role as Dora in "Central Station", directed by Walter Salles. The Brazilian was competing against four Hollywood giants: Cate Blanchett for "Elizabeth", Meryl Streep for "True Love", Emily Watson for "Hilary and Jackie", and the winner Gwyneth Paltrow for "Shakespeare in Love".

"Central do Brasil" was also nominated in the category of Best Foreign Language Film, but ended up losing to the Italian "Life Is Beautiful", by Roberto Benigni.

The feeling of injustice is not only felt by Brazilians. In 2020, American Glenn Close, nominated for an eight-time Oscar, spoke in an interview about what she considered to be "injustices" by the Academy.

At the time, Montenegro thanked her for the compliment, but emphasized that she would give the award to Cate Blanchett. "It's her [Glenn Close's] assessment. I would have given the award to Blanchett. She had played two extraordinary Queen Elizabeths that year," said Fernanda, on Conversa com Bial, in 2020.

More than 20 years later, the much-discussed statuette has become a topic of discussion again, this time for a reason far removed from the cinema. During an interview with Vogue, Gwyneth revealed that the Oscar trophy she won for her performance in "Shakespeare in Love" had been used as a doorstop.The actress received a series of criticisms for having displayed the award in that way, until one of her representatives explained to "Variety" magazine that it was a "joke". Paltrow's team also cited an old interview with "The New York Times", in which the actress mentioned that she keeps the award in her home in New York, in the United States.

As a Brazilian, I feel that Fernanda Torres finally did justice for her mother and showed that Brazilian products also deserve recognition.

It was an epic and historic moment.

[rrxxnnllz39]

"A Surprise Blockbuster in Brazil Stokes Oscar Hopes, and a Reckoning

Decades after her mother missed out on an Oscar, Brazil’s Fernanda Torres may have a chance to win a golden statuette with a role in a film that has set off deep soul-searching."

[signorinaclaudiacardinale]

Claudia Cardinale at the Oscars:

On 04/06/1965 Steve McQueen participated in the 37th Academy Awards 1965 as co-presenter with Claudia Cardinale for the Oscars for best sound.

They presented the famous statuette to George R. Groves for the Warner Bros Studios film My Fair Lady.

Rock Hudson, Claudia Cardinale and Steve McQueen with wife Neile Adams at the 37th Annual Academy Awards (Oscars), April 1965.

Claudia meet for first time Rock Hudson:

Claudia wore Nina Ricci dress:

[potatotalksculture]

Potato Tweet: Barbie has already been robbed during the nominations. Now it’s been robbed even more.

I assume it’s common knowledge by now that Oscars are not about art, at least not in the first place. So when I look at the politics of the awarded, I worry. Oppenheimer is good, no questions asked. What I worry about is the politics of not giving an Oscar to Killers of the Flower Moon at all. Through that the Academy kind of admits that it doesn’t care about Native Americans and their story. They care about Mariupol, but doesn't one dare talk about Gaza. They care about gazing at women much less than about taking a quick, light-hearted look at their psyche. That’s sad and irritating.

What increases my discontent is the amount of statuettes Poor Things has left the ceremony with. And I’m not gonna moralize about the sexuality of a child, I’m not a Victorian lady… I’m rather wondering about all the similarities between Yorgos Lanthimos’ film and Greta Gerwing’s film. Both staring a well known woman, who’s also a co-producer of the respective piece. The protagonist of each film is what seems to be a grown ass lady, who differs from the common understanding of “normal” and “suited for a society” in one way or other. Both Barbie and Poor Things are visually stunning.

The categories in which both films were nominated are:

best picture

supporting actor (where it was kind of obvious it’s gonna be Robert Downey Jr., but I was holding onto the glimmer of hope it’s gonna be Ryan Gosling, so that the Academy can say “Hey, we awarded this pink movie something! Sure, it’s for the male supporting role in a very feminine movie, but we awarded it something!)

adapted screenplay

costume design

production design

The only two categories in which Barbie was nominated and Poor Things wasn’t, are:

actress in a supporting role

original song (with “What Was I Made For?” and “I’m Just Ken”)

Which scores it the total of 8 nominations in 7 categories.

Meanwhile Poor Things scored 11 nominations all together. It was nominated, except for the already mentioned, for:

actress in a leading role

cinematography

directing

editing

makeup and hairstyling

original score

For some perspectve: Oppenheimer got nominated in 13 categories.

What I'm trying to say here, is that it was understandable for me that Barbie got robbed cuz it's too entertaining, too pink, too commercial for the Academy. It wasn't the greatest production of the year. But it was an event! And just because of that it's already earned a very special place in the cultural history of the western world. I'd be interested to know how much of the commercial success of Oppenheimer was carried by Barbie and the other way around. The double-feature-premiere was a worldwide event of a scale of its own. Meanwhile Poor Things showed up rather late to the party. It's not a multiplex film. It's a Mubi film. It's artsy. It's different. It's also a story about women's sexuality written and directed by a dude, based on a novel by a dude. And the Academy likes it more than a story by women for women about what it's like to be a women, which also allows it to prove how much they care about Art. AKA how pretentious they are. That's my beef.

[frenchcurious]

Les sculptures à l'entrée du Hollywood Bowl conçues par le sculpteur George Stanley vers 1940, réalisateur de la statuette originale des Oscars (basée sur un dessin du directeur artistique de la MGM, Cedric Gibbons.) photo martinturnball co. - source Sally Jo via Art Deco.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

"Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing...This crowd was checking their watches."

"If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled...Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan. Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say."

"And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night."

MAUREEN CALLAHAN: Meghan's word-salad Manhattan gala appearance

She so badly wants to be the Queen of Hearts.

But, as she arrived on Tuesday night, making her grand entrance in Midtown Manhattan, sauntering past that rental-car backdrop, it was more like the Queen of Hertz.

Of course, as the world is now all too aware, Meghan Markle capped off winning a meaningless award with what we’re told was a ‘near catastrophic’, ‘two-hour’ car chase through the streets of Manhattan.

Yes, according to a spokesperson, Meghan, along with hapless Harry and mom Doria, were the subjects of a wild, impassioned hunt by the paparazzi.

Some sympathetic commentators have already made the gruesome comparisons to Princess Diana’s tragic final fate.

But to echo the statements made by New York City’s own mayor Eric Adams and the police department: Perhaps it didn’t quite happen the way it was painted.

Recollections may vary.

Naturally, their mouthpiece Omid Scobie is whining that no one from the Palace has yet reached out.

Wonder why?

One also wonders what Gloria Steinem, the 89-year-old feminist icon who chose to honor Meghan as a ‘Woman of Vision’ at Tuesday night’s Ms. Foundation Gala, must be thinking now.

After all, the car ‘chase’ debacle soon stole all the thunder from her event, which I was lucky enough to witness first-hand.

Now, it was hardly the red carpet one might expect. Hardly the pomp and circumstance of, say, a coronation.

Yet Meghan forged ahead as she always does, as if this were her crowning moment, sheathed in gold as if to symbolize a crown.

Or an Oscar statuette.

Same difference, really, if your only goal is fame. That’s our Meghan, none too subtle as ever, literally going for the gold as Harry and Doria took their positions three steps behind.

Harry may be a prince of the blood, but never forget — Meghan is The Star. Her Norma Desmond-ing is among the great spectacles of our modern age.

And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night.

Upon entering the Zeigfeld Ballroom, guests were asked whether they were ‘VIP’ — seems even feminist movements have their echelons — and turfed to the lobby.

My $1,500 entry-level ticket got me a hard seat with a front-row view of coat check.

After ten minutes, circumstances having changed inexplicably, the riff-raff were allowed up to the second floor.

Here were two open bars serving top-shelf liquor and the shock of post-pandemic dress code slovenliness. One unkempt guest was wearing sparkly Birkenstock sandals and a black stretchy minidress under a pink puffer jacket.

These were the VIPs?

The only recognizable person I saw was Peloton instructor Ally Love, and that’s saying something. Where were the stars? Where were the notables of the movement? The Malalas? The Fondas? The Beyoncés?

Perhaps no one was meant to outshine Meghan. Only one feminist icon was going to enter via rental car office!

Down in the ballroom, the plated salads on our banquet tables were ready waiting for us – dry, unsightly, stringy greens that resembled nothing so much as regurgitated hairballs. Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan.

Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say.

If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled.

It says something when a table of size-6 women tear into their heavily glazed steak and buttery mashed potatoes with abandon.

Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing.

Verbiage and word salad that were content-free, except when speaking on her favorite subject: herself.

Here, in real time, we observed Meghan’s inability to read a room. She thanked the ‘other honorees’ without naming them.

‘Congratulations,’ she said, ‘and frankly, well deserved.’

It was all so smug and supercilious, this glorified podcaster telling these boots-on-the-ground activists — no matter what one thinks of their politics — that they had, in fact, earned their place on the same stage as the great Meghan Markle. That ‘frankly’ was so typical. It was meant to redound to Meghan’s benefit, as the lone wolf daring to speak the unspeakable.

There was the cringe-inducing humblebrag, calling her new friend Gloria ‘Glo’.

It brought to mind the forced intimacy of meeting Kate Middleton barefoot and insisting that the pair share lip gloss.

It's 'Glo' to Meghan, but Meghan is 'Duchess' to us.

‘We all bear witness,’ Meghan continued of her fellow honorees, ‘to you standing in elegance and the power of your strength.’

Huh?

This crowd was not convinced. This crowd was checking their watches. There were trains to catch, children to kiss goodnight. Alas, we were stuck with the vapidity of La Markle.

Her speech didn’t even deliver fresh content! She repeated the story, as told on her podcast, of poor little Meghan coming home from school to her TV dinner, cat collars and copies of Ms. Magazine strewn about courtesy of her mother — even though it’s well-documented that her father primarily raised her.

‘Having these pages in our home,’ she went on, ‘. . . signaled to me that there was so much more than the dolled-up covers and those images that you would see on the grocery store covers. It signaled to me that substance mattered.’

Says the former D-list actress and former briefcase game-show girl who used her looks to get ahead. Who has posed for those very same magazine covers.This warmed-over speech, less heated than our steaks, was Meghan’s greatest hits:

‘Change is just one action away.’

‘You can be the visionary of your own life.’

‘Daily acts of service, in kindness, in advocacy, in grace and in fairness.’

‘The imprints that were forged in my mind — I can now connect the dots in a much better way to understand how I became a young feminist and evolved into a grown activist.’

A feminist who, let us not forget, has publicly demonized her famous sister-in-law — ‘Waity Katie’ to Oprah and an audience of millions.

Kate made me cry! WAAAGH!

In truth, Meghan's a self-identified 'grown activist' who has done nothing. The pontification, her sing-song-y cadence as she luxuriated in her own praise, was as insufferable as it was revealing.

‘Ms.’ she said, ‘was formative in [my] cocooning. It piqued my curiosity, and it became the chrysalis for the woman that I would become and that I am today.’

Right: The woman who vilified the institution headed-up by Queen Elizabeth II in her final years. The woman who heavily alleged institutional racism until her husband finally backed away from that terrible smear.

A woman with no substance and no accomplishments as a feminist. A woman who is still trying to one-up the royals, even from a car-park adjacent ballroom with no red carpet. Meghan is the personification of Ms. as an organization that has lost its way.

Indeed, most of the night was spent advocating not for women but for trans rights and Critical Race Theory.

‘Abortion is racist,’ we were told.

Beware the ‘the white supremacist patriarchal system.’

Yes, even the Ms. Foundation – established for biological women out of a deep, and enduring, necessity – has been subsumed by men who identify as women.

How fitting then that the night was overshadowed by a grasping phony whose empty platitudes on stage failed to make headlines, whose spokesperson told a wild story of a high-stakes car chase.

Pity Meghan, but recognize her strength. Admire her, but never laugh at her. And never, ever question her veracity.

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

[graceandfamily]

Ernie Borgnine, who hit the Hollywood jackpot with an Academy Award Oscar in his first starring role, thanks the Academy members from the stage of Pantages Theater in Hollywood on March 21, 1956 after being handed his golden statuette by Grace Kelly (left).

[judy1926]

Bob Hope jokingly tried to wrestle an Oscar statuette away from Marlon Brando, backstage at the March 1955 Academy Awards