#best sound nominee

[eddie-redmayne-italian-blog]

CABARET has received 9 Tony Awards Nominations!

Cabaret : Best Musical revival Eddie Redmayne : Best leading actor in a musical Gayle Rankin : Best leading actress in a musical Tom Scutt : Best costume design of a musical, and Best scenic design of a musical Steven Skybell ; Best featured actor in a musical Bebe Neuwirth : Best featured actress in a musical Isabella Byrd : Best lighting design of a musical Nick Lidster For Autograph : Best sound design of a musical

Congratulations !!

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

ok wait this is spooky??? woke up this morning with the urge to rewatch high school musical, and i just looked on letterboxd and TWO of my beloved mutuals have rewatched high school musical in the past week? what happened lmao why has this urge been awakened in us

[randomrichards]

THE ZONE OF INTEREST:

Nazi family

Living next door to Auschwitz

Living complicit

[cutielando]

grammy | l.n.

synopsis: in which you win your first Grammy and Lando is there to cheer you on

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the cozy living room. You were curled up on the couch with Lando, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. The air was buzzing with anticipation, as today was the day the Grammy nominations were announced.

You’d been in the industry for a few years, building your career step by step, and this year had been your biggest yet.

Lando’s phone vibrated on the coffee table, drawing your attention.

“Hey, it’s time,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement.

He leaned forward to grab the remote and switched on the TV, setting it to the livestream of the nominations.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the announcer went through various categories. Lando’s hand found yours, squeezing reassuringly.

“No matter what happens, you’re already amazing,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of sincerity.

The camera cut to the next category: Best New Artist. You held your breath, fingers tightening around Lando’s as the nominees were called out one by one. Then, your name was spoken.

The room erupted with sound — your gasp, the announcer’s voice, Lando’s triumphant cheer.

“You did it!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a hug so tight it lifted you off the couch. His happiness for you shone brighter than any trophy.

“I can’t believe it,” you said, laughing and crying at the same time. “It feels like a dream.”

Lando cupped your face in his hands, his eyes boring into yours with pride.

“It’s not a dream. You deserve this. All those late nights, the hours in the studio — this is your moment.”

Before you could respond, the announcer continued, listing the nominees for Song of the Year. Your song title rang through the room, and your jaw dropped. Another one.

Lando let out an even louder whoop, spinning you around before setting you down gently.

“Two nominations! You’re incredible,” he said, his eyes glistening with emotion.

You laughed, overwhelmed, feeling the warmth of his love and support wash over you.

“It wouldn’t feel this special without you here.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And I’ll be here, every step of the way,” he promised, resting his forehead against yours. “Cheering the loudest, just like today.”

♡♡♡♡♡

The weeks leading up to the Grammys were a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and fittings. Lando was with you through it all, standing proudly by your side, whether it was at red carpet fittings or late-night dinners after long days. The night of the show arrived, and the energy was electric. The car ride to the venue was filled with quiet, supportive glances and fingers intertwined for comfort.

As you stepped onto the red carpet, the cameras flashed, and reporters called your name. Lando, dressed in a sharp suit, looked dashing and relaxed, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes that he reserved just for you. He stood just behind as you answered questions, always close enough for you to feel his presence.

When a reporter asked how he felt about being your date, he grinned and said, “I’m just here to support my superstar.”

Inside the theater, the two of you sat among the biggest names in music. Lando squeezed your hand every time your category came up, a silent promise that he was with you no matter what. The lights dimmed, and the announcer’s voice rang out over the room.

“For Best New Artist, the Grammy goes to…”

You held your breath, the seconds stretching into eternity. Then, they called your name. The room erupted into applause, and Lando shot up, clapping and cheering louder than anyone else.

He hugged you tightly, whispering “Go get them, champ” on your ear as he pushed you towards the stage.

Walking up to the stage was surreal. You thanked your team, your family, and finally, you glanced down at Lando. “And thank you to the one who kept me grounded and believed in me when I doubted myself,” you said, the crowd reacting with warm smiles as Lando’s face lit up.

Back in your seat, he kissed your temple and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, I could burst.”

The evening continued, and when Song of the Year came around, you were already on a high. The presenter opened the envelope and read out.

“And the Grammy for Song of the Year goes to…”

Your name was called again, the room roaring to life. Tears pricked your eyes as you stood, glancing at Lando, who looked like he couldn’t decide whether to jump for joy or cry.

“You’re killing it!” he exclaimed as you hugged him tightly, his voice full of awe. “I knew you could.”

The second speech was a blur, filled with gratitude and emotion, but when you returned to your seat, Lando pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You did it, love. Two Grammys. This is just the beginning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The show wrapped up, and the two of you found yourselves on the dance floor at the after-party, surrounded by laughter and music.

Lando spun you around, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I think this night deserves a toast,” he said, raising a glass.

“To dreams coming true,” you said, clinking your glasses together.

“And to the most talented, beautiful, Grammy-winning woman I know,” Lando added, his eyes shimmering with pride.

As the night wound down, you rested your head on his shoulder, exhaustion mingling with pure bliss.

“Thank you for being my biggest fan,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, brushing his lips against your hair. “And next year, we’re coming back for more.”

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[qqueenofhades]

I think the veepstakes are going to continue for another week or so, both to increase the profile of her potential running mates and see how they do with the public, time to vet, and give everyone a little more incentive to be extra enthusiastic about campaigning for her, but ALSO because there's a nonzero chance Trump may drop Vance and they'll need to pivot their strategy, though I think most choices will be sound either way(I like Walz and Beshear the best). What do you think are the odds of Trump dropping Vance versus doubling down because he doesn't want to look weak or indecisive?

She is going to have to pick pretty quickly, because the Ohio GOP attempted some fuckery by putting their ballot deadline before the DNC (and refusing to grant an extension as they always did for Republicans, so you know). I expect she will pick by the middle of next week at the latest, because the virtual nomination has to be made by, iirc, August 6th in order to outwit the attempted Republican ratfuckery. The DNC is then August 19-22, where the whole thing will be made official and everyone will pledge/endorse/etc. That leaves a pretty compressed timeline to road-test Veep picks, see how they work with Harris, how they play with the public, etc. But they've been on top of it so far, so there's that. I saw someone suggest that she let it go on as long as possible in order to have 6-10 white guys hyping her up on TV every day -- which is valid, yes, but she will have to pick soon. There are really no bad options, though I too have ones that I would like in particular. I am really warming to Walz, as I think he has a great communication style and would shore her up in the white Midwest. Though I did get a fundraising email from Mark Kelly on behalf of Kamala Harris yesterday, and lbr if you can pick an astronaut, pick an astronaut.

As for Trump dropping Vance, he's in considerably more of a pickle (everyone together now: AHAHAAHHAH! HAHAHAH! HAAHHAHAHAHAHA!) because the RNC has already happened, Vance is legally and bindingly the VP nominee, and if they change it now, there are a ton of legal and procedural steps that take time and make the GOP look incredibly weak. They will also piss off the Project 2025 people (who were all over the Vance pick because obviously, Vance loves it and they are horrible) -- which, if they were at all sensible, they might do. But they're fascists and that's actually what they want to do, so they won't. Biden was able to step aside and put Harris in so easily because he was not actually the Democratic nominee yet -- he was just the presumptive nominee, delegates are technically free to vote for whoever they want and the nominee is not official until after this convention process has happened, and he wasn't locked in. But if the GOP tries to drop Vance now, it's going to be a lot of legal hassle, they'll look incredibly foolish, and they'll piss off the core fascists they have been rallying every step of the way. Too bad, so sad. No good choice, huh? Seems karmically fitting that they can't abort Vance. Oh no. They must carry his ass to term.

[awardseason]

2023 Oscars — Nominees

Best Picture “All Quiet on the Western Front” “Avatar: The Way of Water” “The Banshees of Inisherin” “Elvis” “Everything Everywhere All at Once” “The Fabelmans” “TÁR” “Top Gun: Maverick” “Triangle of Sadness” “Women Talking”

Best Director Martin McDonagh (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”) Steven Spielberg (“The Fabelmans”) Todd Field (“TÁR”) Ruben Östlund (“Triangle of Sadness”)

Best Actress Cate Blanchett (“TÁR”) Ana de Armas (“Blonde”) Andrea Riseborough (“To Leslie”) Michelle Williams (“The Fabelmans”) Michelle Yeoh (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”)

Best Actor Austin Butler (“Elvis”) Colin Farrell (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Brendan Fraser (“The Whale”) Paul Mescal (“Aftersun”) Bill Nighy (“Living”)

Best Supporting Actress Angela Bassett (“Black Panther: Wakanda Forever”) Hong Chau (“The Whale”) Kerry Condon (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Stephanie Hsu (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”) Jamie Lee Curtis (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”)

Best Supporting Actor Brendan Gleeson (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Brian Tyree Henry (“Causeway”) Judd Hirsch (“The Fabelmans”) Barry Keoghan (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Ke Huy Quan (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”)

Best International Feature Film “All Quiet on the Western Front” (Edward Berger, Germany) “Argentina, 1985” (Santiago Mitre, Argentina) “Close” (Lukas Dhont, Belgium) “EO” (Poland) “The Quiet Girl” (Ireland)

Best Adapted Screenplay Edward Berger, Ian Stokell, and Lesley Paterson (“All Quiet on the Western Front”) Rian Johnson (“Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery”) Kazuo Ishiguro (“Living”) Ehren Kruger, Christopher McQuarrie, and Eric Warren Singer (“Top Gun: Maverick”) Sarah Polley (“Women Talking”)

Best Original Screenplay Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”) Todd Field (“TÁR”) Tony Kushner and Steven Spielberg (“The Fabelmans”) Martin McDonagh (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Ruben Östlund (“Triangle of Sadness”)

Best Animated Feature “Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio” (ShadowMachine/Netflix) “Marcel the Shell with Shoes On” (A24) “Turning Red” (Pixar/Disney) “Puss in Boots: The Last Wish” (DreamWorks/Universal) “The Sea Beast” (Netflix)

Best Cinematography James Friend (“All Quiet on the Western Front”) Darius Khondji (“Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths”) Mandy Walker (“Elvis”) Roger Deakins (“Empire of Light”) Florian Hoffmeister (“Tár”)

Best Visual Effects “Avatar: The Way of Water” (20th Century/Disney) “All Quiet on the Western Front” (Netflix) “The Batman” (Warner Bros.) “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” (Disney/Marvel) “Top Gun: Maverick” (Paramount)

Best Editing “Elvis” (Warner Bros.) “Everything Everywhere All at Once” (A24) “Top Gun: Maverick” (Paramount) “TÁR” (Focus Features) “The Banshees of Inisherin” (Searchlight Pictures)

Best Production Design “Avatar: The Way of Water” (20th Century Studios/Disney) “All Quiet on the Western Front” (Netflix) “Babylon” (Paramount) “Elvis” (Warner Bros.) “The Fabelmans” (Universal)

Best Makeup and Hairstyling “Elvis” (Warner Bros.) “The Batman” (Warner Bros.) “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” (Marvel/Disney) “All Quiet on the Western Front” (Netflix) “The Whale” (A24)

Best Costume Design “Elvis” (Warner Bros.) “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” (Marvel/Disney) “Everything Everywhere All at Once” (A24) “Babylon” (Paramount) “Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris” (Focus Features)

Best Sound “Top Gun: Maverick” (Paramount) “Elvis” (Warner Bros.) “Avatar: The Way of Water” (20th Century/Disney) “All Quiet on the Western Front” (Netflix) “The Batman” (Warner Bros.)

Best Original Song “Hold My Hand” — Lady Gaga (“Top Gun: Maverick”) “Lift Me Up”— Rihanna (“Black Panther: Wakanda Forever”) “Naatu Naatu”— Kaala Bhairava, M.M. Keeravani, and Rahul Sipligunj (“RRR”) “Applause”— Diane Warren (“Tell It Like a Woman”) “This Is a Life”— David Byrne, Ryan Lott, and Mitski (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”)

Best Original Score Justin Hurwitz (“Babylon”) John Williams (“The Fabelmans”) Volker Bertelmann (“All Quiet on the Western Front”) Carter Burwell (“The Banshees of Inisherin”) Son Lux (“Everything Everywhere All at Once”)

Best Documentary Feature “All That Breathes” “All the Beauty and the Bloodshed” “Fire of Love” “A House Made of Splinters” “Navalny”

Best Documentary Short Subject “The Elephant Whisperers” “Haulout” “How Do You Measure a Year?” “The Martha Mitchell Effect” “Stranger at the Gate”

Best Live Action Short “An Irish Goodbye” “Ivalu” “Le Pupille” “Night Ride” “The Red Suitcase”

Best Animated Short “The Flying Sailor” “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse” “Ice Merchants” “My Year of Dicks” “An Ostrich Told Me the World Is Fake and I Think I Believe It”

[starcandybby]

“where’s the trophy?

he just comes running over to me.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

heeseung x reader, fluff, wc: 590

summary: in which, Enhypen wins their first daesang and you are the first person Heeseung looks for

now playing: The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

warnings: brief description of nervousness, heeseung is sooo in love, mention of MAMA (yes that’s a warning)

minors please dni- ty !!

Heeseung’s hands shook as he reached to grab Jungwon and Jay’s hands. He felt Ni-Ki’s hand grasp his shoulder from behind, fingers drumming on him nervously. The presenter for MAMA’s Artist of the Year award had just walked on stage, queuing the group’s nervousness. It was their first time being nominated for the award, hence the anticipation. Heeseung knew the other nominees were just as deserving of the award, but god he wanted it so bad. Enhypen just had their best year yet, surely the Kpop industry had recognized that too.

“And Artist of the Year goes to….”

Heeseung held his breath, closed his eyes, and prayed to whatever higher power may be listening.

“Enhypen!”

The presenter had barely finished announcing the group’s name before the 7 boys jumped out of their seats. Shouts of joy could be heard around the venue; applause from other groups and the audience soon joined the celebration as Enhypen was granted a standing ovation.

Heeseung departed from the group hug with his brothers and moved his eyes around the venue.

He knew who he needed to find. He needed to find you.

Admit the adrenaline rush and surge of joy, Heeseung tried to rack his brain for where you’d be sitting. He remembers vaguely what section you’re in and decides he’s too impatient to figure out the rest.

Soon the whole Kpop industry witnessed a side of Heeseung they had never seen before. He’s too happy to care what headlines will make the news tomorrow- he just wants to see you.

Darting away from the group, Heeseung is running, yes running, toward the back of the venue. He’s bounding up stairs and around railings, navigating his way through the maze of the venue.

Finally, he spots you, leaning against the railing on the front row of an audience section. Tears are streaming down your face, no doubt from the pride you feel for your fiancée.

Heeseung doesn’t slow down. Now that he’s seen you, the anticipation builds even more. He races over to you, jumping on the ledge and reaches over to pull you into a hug.

Now you’re both crying and the only thing between you and Heeseung is the section railing. But it doesn’t matter, Heeseung finally has you in his arms.

He jumps down from the ledge for some stability, but doesn’t let you go. He gently, but firmly, grasps your upper arms as you cup his face in your hands. You press your forehead against his; your faces are so close you aren’t sure whose tears are whose anymore.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re a daesang winner.” You whisper, only for the two of you to hear.

“Couldn’t have done it without you honey. I love you.” Heeseung whispers in reply. Your soft voices don’t reflect the loud emotions you’re feeling in the moment.

“I love you-“

“Yah! Lee Heeseung, get on stage. We have an award to accept!”

Your sweet moment is adoringly interrupted when Jay’s voice resounds through the venue’s speakers. Heeseung turns away from your hold to see his six members on stage, award in hand, adoring smiles, and waiting for him. He hears your giggles and turns back to face you.

“Sounds like they need you, baby. We can celebrate later yeah?”

Heeseung smiles and gives you a quick peck before jogging back to the main stage.

The headlines that may arise tomorrow or the hate he may receive online was all worth running over to see you. Anything is worth celebrating with you.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

a/n: hi my first ever fic post :’) i was inspired by all the lovely couples at the Olympics celebrating each other !! (also manifesting Enhypen winning a Daesang)

pls lmk if i may have missed a warning <3

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)) (i hope you like im so nervous posting this KKSJSKS)

[cnnmairoll]

Night of Victory Pairing: Kozume Kenma x Reader Genre: Fluff, 1.8k words a/n: originally, this is an idea of my persona with Kenma, but I wanted to share it ! so hope you enjoy this :) PLS NOTE THEYRE DATING IN HERE!! IM SORRY IF ITS NOT OBVIOUS ENOUGH 💔

The Corporate Champions Gala was in full swing, the air buzzing with excitement and anticipation. The grand ballroom was adorned with sparkling chandeliers, opulent floral arrangements, and an array of finely dressed attendees. The evening was a dazzling display of Japan's business elite, each eager to see who would take home the coveted awards.

You stood near the entrance, soaking in the grandeur. Your company, known for its innovative solutions and rapid growth, had been a formidable contender against Bouncing Ball Corp. Tonight, the spotlight was shared between you and Kozume Kenma, Tokyo's youngest and one of the most enigmatic CEOs.

As you made your way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and polite nods, you spotted him. Kenma stood by a tall window, his gaze fixed on the Tokyo skyline. He looked striking, his hair now a blend of his natural dark color and remnants of blonde, falling slightly over his eyes. His reserved demeanor only added to his mystique.

You approached him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Well, if it isn't Kozume Kenma, the gaming prodigy turned corporate mastermind," you teased lightly, your tone laced with friendly rivalry.

Kenma turned to you, a small smile forming on his lips. "And if it isn't the youngest female CEO in Japan, here to steal the show," he replied, his voice soft yet carrying a hint of amusement.

You chuckled, stepping closer. "I see you've been keeping tabs on me. Afraid I'll beat you tonight?"

Kenma's eyes sparkled with a mix of challenge and admiration. "Maybe. But don't get too cocky. The night is still young."

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Oh, come on. Admit it, Kozume. You know I'm going to win that best CEO award. You might as well start planning how you'll fulfill your end of our bet."

Kenma's smile widened, a rare sight for most but something you had grown fond of. "Don't be so sure, [Y/N]. I might surprise you."

You crossed your arms, enjoying the playful banter. "Surprise me? The only surprise would be if you actually enjoyed the spotlight for once."

Kenma opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of the emcee tapping the microphone interrupted him. The room gradually hushed, and all eyes turned towards the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the emcee's voice boomed through the speakers, "we will soon begin the announcements for tonight's nominations. Please take your seats."

Kenma glanced at you, his playful smirk shifting to a more serious expression. "Looks like it's showtime," he said quietly, his eyes flickering with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

You nodded, feeling a similar swirl of emotions. "Yeah, time to see who takes home the prize."

You both made your way to the reserved seating area, your steps synchronized as you navigated through the crowd. As you sat down, you couldn't help but notice the palpable tension in the room, a testament to the importance of the awards being handed out tonight.

Kenma settled into the seat next to you, his presence a comforting contrast to the competitive atmosphere. "Good luck, [Y/N]," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the murmurs of the crowd.

"Good luck to you too, Kenma," you replied, offering him a genuine smile. Despite the rivalry, there was a mutual respect and admiration that had grown between you, making this moment even more significant.

The lights dimmed slightly, and the emcee began listing the categories and nominees. Your heart raced as the moment drew closer, the anticipation almost tangible. Kenma sat beside you, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the nervous energy around you.

The emcee's voice echoed through the ballroom, "And now, for the category of Best CEO. The nominees are: Kozume Kenma of Bouncing Ball Corp, [Y/N] [L/N] of [Your Company Name], and…"

As the emcee continued to list the nominees, you glanced at Kenma. His eyes were fixed on the stage, but you noticed his fingers tapping lightly on his knee, a subtle sign of his own anticipation.

You leaned in slightly, whispering, "May the best CEO win."

Kenma turned to you, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. "May the best CEO win," he echoed softly.

"And the winner for the Best CEO of the year is…" the emcee paused for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the room. The silence was almost deafening, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"[Y/N] [L/N] of [Your Company Name]!"

The room erupted in applause, and you felt a surge of adrenaline and disbelief. You turned to Kenma, who was already looking at you with a mix of pride and something else that made your heart skip a beat.

"Congratulations," he said sincerely, his eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

You managed a smile, your mind still processing the announcement. "Thank you, Kenma."

As you stood up and made your way to the stage, the applause grew louder. The spotlight was on you now, and you felt a wave of emotions—pride, joy, and a touch of nervousness. You accepted the award, the weight of it a tangible reminder of your hard work and dedication.

After a brief speech thanking your team, your mentors, and the industry for the recognition, you made your way back to your seat. The applause gradually died down, and the emcee continued with the rest of the ceremony.

Kenma was waiting for you, his expression softening as you approached. "Looks like you won the bet," he said, his tone light and teasing.

The rest of the gala passed in a blur of congratulations and farewells. Before you knew it, you and Kenma were driving through the quiet streets of Tokyo, the city lights casting a warm glow on the car's interior. You couldn't help but keep glancing at the plaque resting on your lap, a proud smile playing on your lips.

Kenma noticed and smirked. "Enjoying your victory a bit too much, aren't you?" he teased, his eyes flicking towards you briefly before returning to the road.

You laughed, unable to hide your glee. "Can you blame me? It feels good to win. And to beat you, no less."

He shook his head, his smile widening. "You're really gloating over that plaque, huh? Don't get too comfortable."

You gave him a curious look. "What do you mean by that?"

Kenma didn't answer right away. Instead, he made an unexpected turn and soon pulled up to a small park, its pathways lit by soft, ambient lights. You looked around, confused. "Why are we stopping here?"

He turned off the engine and looked at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I have a trick up my sleeve," he said cryptically. "Come on, let's take a walk."

Intrigued, you followed him out of the car. The night air was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the gala. Kenma led you down a winding path, the sounds of the city fading into the background as you walked further into the park.

After a few minutes, you arrived at a small pond. The water was calm, reflecting the soft moonlight beautifully. The scene was serene, almost magical, and you couldn't help but pause to take it all in.

Kenma stood beside you, his gaze also fixed on the pond. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said softly, his voice blending with the quiet sounds of the night.

You nodded, a content smile on your face. "It really is. I didn't know you knew about this place."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I like to keep a few secrets."

You turned to look at him, curiosity evident in your eyes. "So, what's this all about? Why did you bring me here?"

Kenma's expression turned serious, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "You know, you might have won the best CEO award tonight, but I still have my own ways of being the winner."

You stared at him, confused. "The awards have already ended, Kenma. What are you talking about?"

He smiled mysteriously. "Just trust me on this. Close your eyes."

Though perplexed, you obliged, closing your eyes and waiting, the anticipation building. You could hear Kenma moving slightly, the faint rustle of his clothes and the soft crunch of the grass beneath his feet.

"Okay, you can open them now," he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

As you opened your eyes, you noticed that Kenma had dropped down onto one knee, looking up at you with a mixture of nervousness and determination in his eyes.

In his hand was a small velvet box, opened to reveal a simple yet beautiful ring. He took a deep breath and looked up at you, his voice slightly trembling as he spoke.

"I may have lost the award tonight, but I still feel like the winner. Because I have something far more valuable right here in front of me."

You felt a rush of emotions, tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn't help but chuckle through the tears, shaking your head slightly. "You're such a jerk, you know that?"

Kenma chuckled softly, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw your teary smile. "Yeah, I know I am. But you love this jerk regardless, don't you?"

You laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes, and nodded. "Yes, I do. I love you, Kenma." His face lit up with joy, a smile spreading across his lips as he reached out to take your hand. "You've been my partner, my rival, and my inspiration. And now, I want you to be my everything. [Y/N], will you marry me?" Your heart soared with happiness as you answered, your voice steady despite the tears in your eyes. "Yes, Kenma. A thousand times yes."

Kenma's expression softened further, and he gently slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch tender and loving. He stood up, pulling you into a warm embrace. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, a comforting rhythm that echoed your own emotions.

"Looks like you were right," you whispered, your voice filled with love. "You really are the winner tonight."

Kenma chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind it. "I love you, you nerd."

You smiled through your tears, teasing back softly, "I love you too, jerk."

He laughed, the sound a symphony of joy and amusement. "You always know how to cut me down to size, don't you? Even when I steal your award and propose to you, I'm still a jerk."

You leaned into his embrace, feeling completely at peace in his arms. "But you're my jerk now," you whispered playfully.

Kenma tugged you closer, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And you're stuck with this jerk now, love. No take-backs."

[grapejuicestyless]

The Grudge

Harry Styles x fem!reader

The second part to You’re The Winner.

ANGST

Summery: based off of the song The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo!!

Some nights I still wake up wet from my own cold sweat and salty tears. I rework the script I’ve perfected until my pen runs dry and the pages are crinkled. I scribble out each word and fix it until the cut is so deep it cuts more than just through the page, but to the reader.

I was never someone who believed in doing things so they were merely good enough. No, I always thought things through until they were at their very best points. Each sentence rephrased to make the viewer understand the concept of the conversation but to catch the deeper meanings and let it make more and more sense with each rewatch.

Now I lay awake, terrified of never being enough. Is my success nothing more than a false ego I have in my head? Do these awards that sit on my shelf hold any value if nobody could recognize them? If earning these doesn’t elevate me do they even count as a prestigious award?

I never had these issues, I displayed everything proudly. Aware of how lucky I was to be able to accept these awards so graciously. Body draped in the finest pearls and hair styles to perfection. I was excited to tell the stories when people would ask. Tell them about what I was working on, encourage them to follow their hearts. My insecurities were always just that, small thoughts littered in my head meant to make me doubt my self worth. Now they felt like more.

More than just metaphorical daggers stabbing into my body and mind. I wake up in distress from more than my own voices but his. I still hear Harry’s voice after all these months. It’s the sound of the insults I throw at myself, at everything I’ve done. It’s his voice I hear every time I think I am not enough. And what he had to say about my passions and how I execute them still lingers like a scar. I hold onto every detail of what he thought of me like my life depends on it and I break myself over and over again by finding deeper meanings in his playground insults.

The trust that he betrayed, confusion that still lingers. He took everything I loved, my confidence and my pride and crushed it in between his fingers. He could run circles around me with all his money and resources. He knows it too, be both knew it. I just never believed he would use it as a way to take stabs at me.

I still stay awake fantasizing about his little fucking sorry. How he was in tears when I finally pulled away. The shocked look on his face. I feel tough in the privacy of my room. Able to beat him up in my head and make him feel guilty but never to his face. I try to understand why he would do this all to me. I make up situations to lessen the blow. The fact it was unsolicited and simply something he chose to do for fun. Still, I can not let it go that easily. Not until every ounce of doubt is scrubbed from my mind and the voices in my head no longer belong to him.

……………………………………..…………………………………………

Sitting at the Oscar’s I find my place beside Greta Gerwig and Emma Stone. I feel out of place. I’m friends with them, I know them and their secrets. They’ve led me through the obstacles and the difficulties that come with trying to get into film making. They have been nothing but kind and reassuring over how great they think I am yet I can not push down the feeling that when the cameras flash to us I will be labeled the place holder to make the crowd look more full. No matter how lavish my gown is, no matter how nice my hair is I will never shine like the women who sit beside me. I will never stand out and make my name be known and it is something I can not come to terms with.

To rub salt in the wound I sit there and compare each category I am placed in to everyone else. I read out the nominees on the pamphlet they hand out like we are watching a youth theatre production of a marvelous broadway play. I barely make the cut for best assistant director. I read the names beside mine and I try not to get myself worked up.

I am not Greta Gerwig, I am no Christopher Nolan. I am Y/n Y/l/n. I am a woman who dreams bigger than she can possibly ever achieve. And I try not to get in over my head, but I always do. I strive to be the best and still I get trampled over.

I read the names over and over, flipping through the pages. I read the names under each category. Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift, Adele…I think about if I should’ve taken up music. I can’t sing very well but I have so much to write about. I have so many feelings and so many things to argue that I simply can not relay through film. Not at my level anyway. Joe releasing it must be to put a pen to paper and just write whatever you feel because the darkest emotions write the best songs.

It’s the sickest joke the way the names continue to go down the line. The eleven letter name in bold italics with an invisible circle around it and arrows pointed to make sure I see it. Harry Styles is up for best original song. Not only that, but I’d heard it too. Stayed up with him while we wrote it. He was so sure it wasn’t good enough and I sat there supporting him.

I stayed awake comforting him while he cried over his million dollar piano. Tears ruining the ivory and the clear shine. How idiotic I was to have been so kind to someone who so easily tore me down like I was nothing more than a pawn to remind him of his greatness. I knew the song was beautiful. His name was golden among the others competing for such an important award. One that would recognize his talent and secure his name in Hollywood. A lump formed in my throat. If I didn’t believe him then, I did now. I wasn’t some prophecy. I didn’t have a title to my name to prove. I was someone who got lucky once. My work was nothing compared to his.

………………………………………………………………………………….

They called the nominees for each category, listing off the winners one by one. We grew closer and closer to the major categories that would have the TMZ headlines buzzing by the morning. When it was my turn to be called, I couldn’t help but feel jitters and anxiety pass through my veins.

I’d heard about everyone else. All of their movies staples in my Friday movie night routines I had continued even without Harry there to occupy a portion of the couch. I laughed, I cried, I thought deeply about each movie. I couldn’t help but feel nervous that I was up against people so much stronger than I was.

My picture on the screen showcased my much more recognizable friends shaking my shoulders. We were unprofessional and excited to see how I could be recognized. They made me feel that even if I didn’t win, it was well worth it because the academy, as rigged as we all secretly knew it was, had chosen me of all people to list along with a handful of others. It was an honor for me to be here, beside my best friends and my hero’s.

The name that rang through the microphone didn’t match mine. It wasn’t even close, yet I felt fine. The hands slipped from my shoulders to clap along with the crowd. My photo minimized to showcase the woman who had rightfully won over me. Still, my shoulders were heavy and my heart sunk. How nice it could’ve been to go home with that. Be able to hold it up to the sky and thank my brothers and sisters for helping me get there.

Greta and Emma tried to make me feel better. Nothing hurt worse than working up an excitement only to have it ripped away from you. It worked, for a minute. How blissfully unaware I was that the categories grew closer and closer to the one that involved the one man I couldn’t bare to think about now. I barely registered the way they prepared the stage to announce his category until the talking turned to whispers and the softest sniffles echoed.

He looked handsome on the big screen. His hair was darker than I remember it being, I assumed he dyed it for tonight. His shoulders were broad in his suit and his face was cleanly shaven. If his eyes could speak they would be a jumble of words that expresses different emotions. He bit his lip and toyed with his rings. I caught him picking the skin by his thumb. I wanted to yell at him to stop, it was a bad habit we tried so hard to break. But he wasn’t mine anymore. I no longer existed as a best friend to him, someone else could place their hand over his and silently relay their own thoughts to him.

The sour feeling in my heart curtailed like milk when his picture took up the entire screen. The way he stood and hugged the people around him. He was surrounded by friends and family alike that supported him in ways I used to. If it were a few years ago, that would’ve been me beside him. His plus one to an event I was already attending simply because he was everything to me.

Watching him accept that award was the final straw. How he walked up to the stage in no rush, fixing his coat on the way and running a hand through his hair. He had a lazy smirk on his face that would make anyone weak in the knees. He looked confident and yet so grateful for everything happening to me. I felt confused by his attitude. How cocky he was in private, he was so good at masking the real Harry when it came to keeping a good public image. It was some kind of pathological lier type of bullshit that made my throat close and heart pound.

In his speech he thanked his mom and his dad. He thanked his sister and his friends. His ex-Bandmates and his producers. A full list of names, he went on and on and yet my name never came up. He thanked people who didn’t even know him on the crinkled piece of paper shaking in his hands. They didn’t know his favorite color, how he preferred his eggs. He didn’t like celery but he loved peas. Mushed, soggy, fresh. He would spoon them onto his plate like a mad man. They didn’t know he slept with his socks on because he felt scared something might try to grab at him at the end of the bed even now. He was childish in a mature way. Fears he carried form childhood that he couldn’t shake, they didn’t know that and yet they got the credit I deserved. I couldn’t do it then.

I could sit there and pretend to be tough, but I wanted to scream. I could sit there and say I was fine to everyone, be my professional self but I couldn’t act like it was okay anymore. To tear me down, to rewrite your past to fit the people who chose you based off fame and not on who you are, to get rid of what we once cherished was too far. I could put aside his harsh words for the sake of the night but his blatant disregard for my feelings after he’d cried over my leaving said enough.

When he left the stage I made my exit, mumbling something short of having to use the bathroom. My dress was short enough to not have to gather it between my fingers. I could walk quickly down the aisle and look at my feet on the way. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, even though they didn’t know me I felt that the look on my face would reveal it all.

The door opened harshly but had stoppers on it to silence any amount of force pushed on it. It made any angry outburst look accidental. The only indication that the door had been opened was the sliver of light the slipped through the opening of the main lobby and the dimly lighted theatre that held the greatest minds of film alike.

My feet hit the expensive carpet hard, heals digging into each design I wondered if my aggression would permanently dent the fabric, ruin the art in it.

It was colder outside of the room that I sat idly in, more free. The only people out here at this time were the few paparazzi permitted and stray employees cleaning up for the night. Flashes took my vision and I could see the headlines now.

How I would be bashed for simply showing my emotions. How they would paint me as a bitter sore loser who couldn’t even keep it together and act fine. I couldn’t blame them really. How would the world even know of how their favorite pop star had taken a hold of my heart and ruined any perception of love I had for him in a few short months.

The air outside was chilling. My skin was bare and in a way, in my artistic side of my mind I could pretend it was the literal way the world was showing how I felt. Tiny stabbing wounds across my arms creating goosebumps running up and down each exposed part of my body.

My car wasn’t there. I was out so early without warning, I became stranded not only mentally but physically. I didn’t care then. If I had to walk the streets of Los Angeles in high heals and an expensive gown. If I got mugged of all my belongings on my way home I didn’t care. I couldn’t be near anyone anymore. I couldn’t hold it together and I certainly wouldn’t fall apart for everyone to see.

Footsteps slapped against the pavement so quickly, I didn’t process the splashing of puddles or the heavy breathing approaching me. With my luck, I would already become a victim to a robbery before even turning the corner.

The hand on my arm came next. It wasn’t rough but it was firm enough to catch my attention. More than that, it was so familiar, so warm.

I felt the roughness of fingertips brushing under my bicep and the contrasting softness of his palm resting on top. His rings were warmed from his skin already, smooth against my body. I knew who the hand belonged to immediately. It was one I had held, toyed with and admired for years. One attached to a body that I adored, looked up to like a hero.

Turning, his eyes met mine. They were a darker green. I couldn’t see if from how far I was before, but he looked more tired, more sad. His eyes were dark not from anger or all the drinks I had hoped he was downing so he would forget about me, but because something was bothering him. Something heavy. He carried a lot of regret and sadness in his eyes that were once so free and careless. He seemed more calculated in his choice of words, more precise than his usual mess of sentences that came straight from his mind to his mouth.

“You didn’t have to chase after me.” I broke the silence, he was still catching his breath. He shook his head, looking down to gather himself. His pants were wet at the bottom from the pavement and his hair was falling in front of his face. I wanted to reach out and brush it back, but it wasn’t my place. I didn’t have a place in his life anymore.

“I wanted to.” He confessed, searching my face. In my head I’d like to think my expression was stone cold. One that was heartless, expressionless. I didn’t care in my head, but in my heart I did. I felt my lip quiver, I felt my eyebrows furrow. I was an open book for Harry to read.

“Why? So you could fix things? Fix us?” I escalated things quickly. I didn’t want to play his mind games. He was brilliant, people didn’t give him enough credit for it. If I allowed him to sit here and apologize while I was already feeling vulnerable, it wouldn’t matter how sincere it was. I would accept it and cave and by the morning I would hate myself for letting my heart take over my brain.

“No, don’t do that. Y/n, you were the one who walked out on me. I tried to get you to stay, and I regret not trying harder and if I could go back I would’ve begged on my knees but that doesn’t change the fact that you still left. I care about you, Y/n. You’re my best friend.” His voice was sharp, desperate. It felt so real, everything he was saying. I trusted him completely. I understood what he was feeling. Some nights I wish I had stayed. I had just put up with it. It was all the talk of my undying love that I held for Harry. A friendship that may have turned into a small crush in my head without me realizing. My undying love, now, I hold it like a grudge. The reason that forgiving and forgetting is so hard.

“Do you think I deserved it all? Harry tell me, please. Is that what you really think of me? As someone who deserved to be built up just so you could watch me fall? Is that what I was for you?” I begged him to understand what I meant. What I endured was verbally abusive, toxic, venomous. It killed me to know that my best friend thought so low of me. So poorly of the girl he swore to protect with all his heart.

“You know I never meant to.” He tried to defend himself, his hand loosened on my skin, falling down to hold my hand. His fingers intertwining in mine felt like tiny flames bursting out across my hand. It was so soft yet so hard, my body started to shake from more than just the cold.

“You are so selfish.” I shook my head, breathing in to look at the same bewildered face that looked back at me all those weeks ago. I remembered all the arguments I had won in my head against him. In the shower, in the car, in the mirror before bed. I remember all the things I didn’t say that I wish I had, all the ways I could’ve made him hurt like I had. It would’ve made me the smaller person.

The fact he looked lost about where I was coming from made it so much more difficult to not spill my guts to him there on the sidewalk. He made it so hard to not want to rip him apart with his oblivion and gaslighting tendencies. I doubt he even though about all the damage that he did.

“I just-I can’t wrap my head around how anybody could do the things you did so easily? You have everything and you still want more! You must be insecure, you must be so unhappy! I know it more than anything, I’ve lived it. Harry, hurt people, hurt people. We both drew blood but man, those cuts were never equal!” I didn’t touch him but to both of us it felt like I had slapped him in the face. Acknowledging his actions and mine that led us here made it so much more real, the end was so much more destined for our story. I tried to be tough, I tried to be mean, but still standing there after pouring out my heart and feelings I couldn’t help but crumble. A single cry tumbled from my lip. I shook my head and looked to the sky. Harry made no movement.

It was pathetic to be so torn after so much time apart. He should’ve held no weight in my heart, but he always would. He was the most important opinion in my life, even when he wasn’t present. When reworking scripts and giving direction, in the back of my head it became a constant question of if Harry thought it was enough. If it was good enough.

“You could’ve at least given me credit, you know I deserved that much.” My hand ripped from his viciously. It burned the way we separated so quickly. His eyes were stuttering over mine, his mouth tried to move, hand digging through his pocket.

I no longer had time for him, not then not ever. He could pick me apart, rip my heart out and stitch it back together, point daggers at my deepest hurts but he would no longer get these reactions out of me.

My escape was the same as the last. Quick and panicked. My feet hit the pavement harder than before and my arms swung with so much force, I was pushing myself forward with each step. Farther and farther, I couldn’t find the courage to look back like before. I couldn’t stand to think about him crying again. My hatred for his actions could never compare to the love I would always hold for Harry. If he didn’t deserve me, that would be okay. But I could not live with myself knowing I made him cry again. Not even after what he did.

………………………………………………………………………………….

“You could’ve at least given me credit, you know I deserved that much.” Her hand ripped from mine so quickly that it almost burnt my skin. It was like a fresh wound opening to feel her leaving not only mentally again, but physically. How her touch would never be in mine again. How she no longer belonged to me, I no longer belonged to her.

Her words set in after a hesitating moment. She meant my speech. God, how could I have been so stupid? To not realize how hurt she must’ve been to be erased so easily from the narrative. Like the nights spent together and the laughter and tears meant nothing. The piano ruined and her shirt soaked by my tears. The shirt that was really mine. I wondered if she still had it after all this time. It always did look better on her than me. I would give her everything if I could.

I dug through my pockets quickly to find it, the crinkled piece of paper with all the names on it. All the words I wanted to say but knew I would stumble over in my own nerves if I were to win. My hands were shaking so bad, I couldn’t grasp it in time. She was gone.

Something about this time told me that she wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t stop. Not even the most guttural cry could make her look back. I had hurt her over and over again. Still, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was until the word held no meaning and sounded odd coming from my lips. Like it was no longer real. She owed me none of her time.

So I stood there by myself, in the light rain that fell over Los Angeles, wet and alone. My paper was wrinkled in my hands, creased and bent messily. I looked down at the handwriting that didn’t really look like mine. How even in my excitement to be nominated, the loss of Y/n was so heavy it was hard to do anything. The pen was too heavy. I couldn’t do anything I once loved without her support. I looked down at all the names. My mother, my sister. They weren’t even first on the list. The first name I had written down, Y/n Y/l/n. My best friend.

I hadn’t read it out because I thought she wouldn’t want me to. I didn’t want to take away from an important night for her. Steal the spotlight from her award I was certain she would win by placing her name onto mine.

I was so sure she would win. She would be happy and we could reconnect. I had watched the movie, I watched all of her movies. She was the best of us. Always a talented writer, always having a new idea to jot down. Her napkins were sketch pads and her notes app was a dictionary of her favorite books and inspirations for shots. I know nobody with a mind like hers, one as creative and brilliant. I’m not sure why I tore her down all those days. Made her feel worthless when she was one of the best things in my life.

Even after all of this, she was and would always be everything to me. I could try and try and try to forget her and erase her from my life but she would always carry a piece of me around with her. I would always have hints of her in my home, in my wardrobe. She was everywhere without even being there.

She was my best friend.

[respectthepetty]

Dee better be a Leo!

I'm so happy the first day of Pride landed on a SaturGay because we were all greeted by a birthday-filled Wandee Goodday!

Even though the birthdays were celebrated so the kids would have one day they didn't have to remember the sadness (this is going to come back to bite us in the ass when Yak and Dee aren't together, I'm sure)

But the reason I love it is because we learned Yak was was born December 6

Making him a Sagittarius. *horse sound effect*

Who tend to be friendly, flirty, funny, optimistic, and down to clown.

And you know what colors align with a Sagittarius? Purple (like Dee!)!

So if we get Wandee's birthday, I'm hoping he is a Leo (the best!) or a Gemini because their guiding color is yellow so it could link with Yak's yellow.

Wandee could also be an Aquarius because his (fake) blue would make sense, pero . . . I don't want it because, once again, I don't think the blue really captures his *essence*.

So even though Yak keeps wearing blue

I think that's just him absorbing Dee's environment without realizing how much he already feels for Dee, who is dramatic and stubborn, like a Leo.

Therefore, I'm still hoping that Yak will realize his feelings when he finally wears Dee's purple, so I'll be patiently waiting here for this Sagittarius to wear his power color.

However, if he does wear purple, it means that Dee has won since Dee is hellbent on making everything a competition; therefore, he must win everything, even trivial things that shouldn't be a competition.

As @doublel27 pointed out, Dee already crossed the line into pink = 💕love💕 territory (aka how a show becomes a Colors Award nominee)

Yet Dee won't even let Yak call himself Dee's boyfriend even though Yak has done it plenty of times for his advantage.

The thing is, Yak is the perfect balance for Dee with their white x black color dynamic, and not just sexually (which would make sense if Dee was a Leo, so please do not let him a Aquarius, dear God!)

Yak remembers important things like the EXACT amount of time they have been fake dating

When Ter couldn't even remember how long they had been friends.

Yak is honest and open with Dee and works as a team with him

While Ter can't even be honest with himself and sees Dee as competition (y'all really hate this man, but he is my poor little meow meow and I am captain of his apology squad)

But this is also Dee's problem - he isn't honest with himself and views everything as a competition, even when Yak has proven that Teamwork Makes the Dream Work.

For Yak, a man who excels at a sport that is based solely on individual talent where a person must knock out the competition to take claim his spot, he clearly knows the importance of working as a team and the value of including others.

This is something he has learned from his brother because even though Yak is the only one in the ring, without Cher and Yei's dedication to each other, the gym, and their child/brother, Yak would not be where he is.

And that's something Dee, who was raised by his free-spirited grandmother, needs to learn, especially as a doctor who works in a hospital with other doctors and nurses. (Those tiny boxing gloves need to be hanging on my rear-view mirror immediately, GMMTV. YOU HEAR ME?! Where is my merch?!)

A true balance (they switched colors) means you have to compromise. You can't always win. Sometimes you have to lose, intentionally.

Because as cute as this argument was over the ridiculousness of names/positions and toothbrushes with Yak's yellow big bunny brush having little yellow boxing gloves (thanks @babyangelsky) and Dee's purple brush with an adorable teeny tiger on it, the argument still gets to the point that Wandee refuses to lose.

He is sleeping with a big dick every night (I just really wanted to include the plushie)

He is cuddling on the couch with his grandmother in the next room.

He is dressing up and cuddling on the floor with the purple and yellow food items on the table.

He is trying to bake and cook when his grandmother never did, emphasis on trying.

And it's all because of Yak. Dee not only wants Yak, but he *needs* Yak because Yak makes him better and allows him to embrace his true self, but I truly believe Dee's need to win will overshadow everything else, which is maybe why he and Ter were such good friends for eight years since they don't remember dates they don't think are important, they need to win regardless of who gets hurts, and they won't realize what they have until it's gone.

But . . . that's just me thinking as a competitive and ambitious tiger Leo, so who knows?

Dee could just be an unpredictable Aquarius.

[oneforthemunny]

omg theres too many words

rockstar eddie, fluff, ceremony (of your choice!)

The camera moved closer and closer into your peripheral, zoning in and rolling as each of the nominees names were called. You'd been here before, a million times, really. Still, your nerves were heightened with every swoop of the camera towards you, every joke any of the announcers would make about you and Eddie, about the bombshell relationship the two of you had just announced.

It was shocking even here, you sitting next to Eddie with the rest of his band, a dazzling engagement ring that you were sure they'd shown a million times to the viewers at home. Proof that this was real.

Corroded Coffin was up for a Grammy. Not their first, but in a higher category that might actually secure them a win. Rock Album of the Year, Rock Song of the Year, and Best Music Video.

When they'd called his name, Eddie had grinned, hand squeezing yours sweetly under the table.

"And the Grammy goes to..." A dramatic opening of the envelope, the camera still glue to your side. Why they were including you in the shot, you weren't sure, but you were sure it was hopeful for a reaction from Eddie.

"...Corroded Coffin!"

Gareth's howl in surprise had your ears ringing, the deafening sound of applause surrounding you. Eddie beamed, hand cradling your jaw, pulling you in for a sloppy smooch right in front of the cameras. Your lipstick smudged around his wide grin as they made their way up the stairs.

You beamed, clapping alongside with the audience, the camera still glued to you. Eddie pointed at you from the stage, cradling the golden trophy with pride. You beamed under his gaze.

Jeff stood, the nominated spokesperson for the awards, the least likely to say something that would get them banned from returning to the award ceremony in the future. He finished, the applause starting again, before Eddie shimmied his way forward.

You paused, you and Gareth sharing a momentary paused, blank stare of anticipation at what he might do. Eddie grinned, leaning down onto the mic.

"I wanna say one thing- don't you dare fuckin' play me off." Eddie pointed threateningly to the orchestra off stage. The room erupted in laughter, some forced, some genuine at the unpredictable rockstar.

"I just wanna say one thing, and I'll make it really quick, but," Eddie turned towards you, pointing in your direction. "This woman right here, I have to thank. I have to thank you for loving me, and lettin' me love you, and for makin' me a better person every single day. I love you so much." He grinned, lopsided and lovingly.

You burned under the praise, fingers pressed to your lips to hide your own smile, watery with emotion. "And of course, thank you for inspiring half these songs." Eddie tossed you a wink that had the crowd roaring in laughter, applauding. "I love you, thank you." He nodded, lifting the Grammy.

Eddie took a pivoting step back, before circling back, leaning over the mic again. "Alright, you can play now." He nodded towards the orchestra, following the others down the stairs off stage.

[teddymoon06]

The Spotlight’s Secret

Title: The Spotlight’s Secret

The flashing lights, the buzz of the crowd, and the energy in the air—it was all part of the job. Being in the spotlight came with its fair share of challenges, but tonight felt different. The annual award show was one of the biggest events of the year, and I was nominated for two categories. But my nerves weren’t about the awards.

They were about him.

Jungkook and I had been dating for almost a year now. In a world where every glance, every movement was scrutinized, we managed to keep our relationship a secret. We had to. The thought of our private lives being picked apart by millions wasn’t something either of us wanted to face just yet.

Sitting in the audience tonight, the cameras panning from one celebrity to the next, I knew Jungkook was somewhere in the same room, a few rows back. I could feel his presence even though we hadn’t made eye contact since stepping onto the red carpet. It was part of our unspoken agreement—keep things low-key, keep it professional.

But, God, it was hard not to look at him.

I was seated with a group of fellow actors, making light conversation and nodding politely as the event unfolded. But the whole time, my mind was wandering. How was Jungkook holding up? Was he as anxious as I was, knowing we were so close yet had to act like strangers?

Then, his group—BTS—was announced as one of the next performers. The stage darkened, and the familiar beat of one of their latest hits filled the arena. My heart raced, knowing that in just a few seconds, he would be on stage, the entire world’s eyes glued to him.

The spotlight hit, and there he was.

Jungkook’s presence on stage was magnetic, as always. His voice, his movements, everything about him was electrifying. I was completely lost in the performance, my eyes never leaving him, even though I knew I should be more discreet. But no one was watching me—not yet, anyway.

The song ended, and BTS took a bow, walking off stage to a roar of applause. I couldn’t help the proud smile that tugged at my lips. He was brilliant, and I was falling for him all over again.

The night continued, awards being handed out one after the other, and soon it was time for my category. My name was called among the nominees, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. I didn’t expect to win, but just being nominated was an honor in itself.

"And the award for Best Actress goes to…" The presenter paused, milking the suspense. I held my breath.

"Y/N!"

The room erupted into applause, and I blinked in disbelief. I had actually won. Slowly standing up, I made my way to the stage, my heart pounding. The cameras followed my every move, and I could feel a thousand eyes on me. But there was only one pair that mattered—Jungkook’s.

As I accepted the trophy and gave my speech, I couldn’t help but steal a glance toward his section. Our eyes met for a split second, and I could see the pride shining in his. It was quick, but in that moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

I finished my speech and made my way back to my seat, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. Everything was going perfectly—until it wasn’t.

The night was almost over when the unexpected happened. I had been moving toward the exit with my group, the event winding down, when I spotted Jungkook slipping backstage. It was risky, but I followed him. We were careful, always careful, but tonight the thrill of winning, the buzz of the evening—it made me want to see him, even if just for a moment.

I caught up with him in one of the empty hallways backstage. The noise of the crowd was muffled now, and for the first time all night, it felt like it was just the two of us.

"Congratulations," he said softly, his smile lighting up his whole face.

"Thanks," I whispered, stepping closer. "You were amazing tonight."

Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I think you stole the show."

We were standing too close now, but neither of us cared. His hand brushed against mine, and before I could stop myself, I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was quick, just enough to feel that spark between us, but it was dangerous. And in that one stolen moment, everything changed.

I heard the faint sound of footsteps, followed by the unmistakable click of a camera. We both froze, pulling apart instantly. Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, glancing down the hall where a photographer stood, camera in hand, eyes wide as he realized what he’d just captured.

"Wait—" I started, but it was too late. The photographer bolted, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.

The secret we’d kept so carefully hidden for almost a year was about to be blown wide open.

We rushed back to our respective groups, pretending nothing had happened, but I could already feel the shift in the air. Social media was about to explode, and there was nothing we could do to stop it. I sat through the rest of the night in a daze, my mind spinning with what the next few hours would bring.

By the time the award show ended, my phone was already buzzing. Notifications flooded in—headlines, articles, tweets. "Jungkook and Y/N spotted together backstage." "Secret romance exposed!" "BTS’s Jungkook caught in a private moment with Y/N!"

I glanced over at Jungkook, who was now surrounded by his group, but his eyes found mine across the room. There was no panic in his gaze, just a quiet acceptance. It was out now, and there was no turning back.

The car ride home was silent, my phone still vibrating with endless notifications. I finally decided to turn it off, leaning back against the seat with a sigh.

A text came through, though, from the only person I wanted to hear from.

Jungkook: "Are you okay?"

I smiled softly, typing back.

Me: "Yeah, I think so. You?"

A moment passed before his response came through.

Jungkook: "I don’t care if the whole world knows. As long as you’re with me."

My heart swelled at his words, the fear and anxiety melting away.

Me: "I’m with you."

And in that moment, I knew everything would be alright. We might be caught in the spotlight now, but as long as we had each other, we could face whatever came next.

End

[weoris]

JUNGWON — CONNECTED MELODIES. ❪ SMAU ❫ 010 | INTERVIEW WITH BAE!

Jungwon felt himself almost hyperventilating — knowing he'd actually be in the same small room as him, and of course surrounded by idols and production crew.

Just the night before, he had been up watching your old interviews and reality show clips, forgetting just how head over heels he was.

Meanwhile, you probably only thought of him as the weird junior who was crying in the practise room before his debut, or the clumsy idiot who had fallen on you twice in the span of two weeks.

But he tries his best to put his embarrassment aside, then he could freak out about this moment later.

Unfortunately, he couldn't ignore the gross glare from Sunghoon or your members.. Wonyoung, on the other hand stifled a laugh when Jungwon walked in with widened, scared eyes for being so late and seeing you in the flesh..

"They are struggling for first and second place on Music Bank," Wonyoung started. "Let's check out two groups who are first place nominees," As she continued, sunghoon quickly put up a cheery smile and hid his annoyance at his late members.

"Welcome!" They exclaimed.

Jungwon cursed himself for being so late, maybe he would've actually been able to stand next to you if he had come a little earlier. But no, he was standing in the front next to Sunghoon on the right, while you were on the total opposite side at the back, next to his other member, Jay.

"Firstly, congratulations to enhypen on becoming the first place nominees." Wonyoung started.

As jungwon started his ‘thank you’ speech, it reminded you of the terrors.. of him finding out. It wasn’t like you wrote those songs about him!

Sure, the first day of him being a trainee, you had bought the poor lost boy dinner and took him to his dorms.

Yes, you had voted for him to debut a thousand times and watched the whole show.

And ok, you had comforted the poor boy the finale night of I-LAND..

and maybe you had been thinking about him a ton lately.. but it didn’t mean anything.. he was so not your type.

Unfortunately, your little mental debate caused a little stifle.. "L4VR, could you give your compliment to enhypen and their new comeback?"

You felt the boy next to you, Jay, nudge you slightly as you pouted your lips in thought, forgetting your line. "Oh-" you started in shock, making the others chuckle and a staff member exclaimed comedically. Jay lowly chuckles next to you..

and you just now realise how attractive you find that sound..

"ENHYPEN has a lot of charisma and powerful performances. It's always great to see them perform." You add after chuckling nervously from the mistake.

"Wow~ I feel warm and fuzzy inside." Sunghoon jokes, unintentionally in a dry manner, making your members laugh, but you hear a certain husky voice — the one clouding your mind — from the front laugh as well.

"Which victory ceremony will we get to see? Stay tuned to find-" Wonyoung starts again, but that certain boy accidentally interrupts her words before she raises her eyebrows, laughing and continuing.. “To find out!” she giggles.

Jungwon covers his eyes and squints, before giving an embarrassed smile. "But first! Let's go and listen to the hot rookies," he says. "'Close to Me' by Black Swan!" Tyne adds on.

Knowing Jay's line was next, you pass your microphone to the boy next to you. "Music.."

"Cue!" Everyone exclaimed, the interview finally being over.

You hear your members sigh in relief, your eyebrows raise in amusement as you pat their backs. Jungwon immediately turned around and his eyes lingered on you. How could you look so cool even after making a mistake like him? He still felt like an embarrassed wreck!

But in difference, you face Jay immediately.

"Thanks for the help.." You blushed. "No problem~” he nudged your arm. Your eye stays on him as you two exchange little words and giggle, walking out of the camera frame together..

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WORD FROM HER. 後悔はない。 reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated and encouraged! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ oh my gosh new drama … sry for the delayed posts TT daily click!

[talaok]

Since all the nominations for Emmys, I need one fic where reader is either video calling or with Pedro when nominations are announced. Somethig fluffy and full of emotions cuz Pedro deserves all of this 😊

a/n: this ask skipped the line just cause I felt that if I posted this next week it wouldn't have made as much sense, so yeah here it is (also, I’m so happy for him and Bella, like omg man)

Today was the day.

Pedro was never usually one to care about this stuff, yes he was grateful, and yes he was happy, but no other time had he felt this electricity in the air, this buzz telling him that something was about to happen... something good of course.

He had set up his tablet on the coffee table in front of the couch, waiting for the announcement to start, but he hadn't even managed to sit- he was too nervous, too excited.

A ringing sounded through the room all of a sudden, and after an initial scare, he smiled, glad you finally could call him.

You were on set. In Vancouver. A thousand miles from him.

"Is it on yet?"

Your eagerness spurt through the screen.

And he thought he was exited

"nope"

"what? How much longer?"

He glanced at the screen, feeling a tiny goosebump traveling up his back at the countdown.

"two minutes"

"Oh my god!" You squeaked, smiling so wide your cheeks almost hurt "how are you feeling?"

"nervous" he chuckled drily

"Oh c'mon, what about? We both know you're gonna crush it"

"I hope so" he sighed "God I don't know why I care so much" he laughed "The only important thing is that Bella and the show get nominated"

"And you, of course" you chirped in

He tried to fight a smile, but it still pulled at his lips "Well if there's room..."

"There you are" you nodded, your smile fading ever so little after a brief moment "god I wish I could be there"

"Me too" he agreed "but at least w-" a noise in the direction of the coffee table caught his attention

"Oh shit, it's starting"

"shit, go go go go" you mumbled, feeling all too powerless in your position.

He sat down in front of the screen as the announcers appeared on it.

"what are they saying?"

"uh- just their names and stuff"

"ok-"

A moment passed 

"what about now?"

He laughed, ever so thankful for your presence "Still that, sweetheart"

"fine, just- tell me when they start telling the categories"

"ok ok here we go" 

"what is it?"

"talk series"

"Bo-ring" you huffed, making him chuckle "I want the good stuff"

"they're doing reality programs now"

"oh my god! it's like they want to torture us"

...

"Oh shit" 

A pit created itself in Pedro's stomach

"what?"

"lead actor in a drama series"

"oh my god" you screeched, doing a poor job of trying not to freak out "C'mon baby I know believe in you"

"jeff bridges... Brian cox... Kieran Culkin... Bob Odenkirk..."

come on come on come on

His mouth widened as he let out an incredulous breath.

"baby?" you called, already knowing but wanting a confirmation "baby pl-"

"I got nominated"

"I told you!" You basically screamed, jumping out of your chair "I told you, baby! I'm so happy for you! You deserve all of it babe, all. of. it." 

"I can't believe this" he smiled, his eyes glimmering with that spark in his eyes he only got whenever he was truly happy "This is crazy"

"Well believe it baby, you're an Emmy nominee"

"I just-" he interrupted himself as the next category was announced "shit it's best actresses"

You nodded, trying to cool down while really just mindlessly pacing around your trailer 

"Bella Ramsey!" he laughed "Bella Ramsey! They did it! I knew they fucking would"

"oh my god!" you grinned "What a power couple"

"I know right?" he chuckled "I'll have to call them I-" and once again, the announcers interrupted his train of thought.

His gaze moved from you to the tablet again.

"best drama series?"

He only nodded, clearly all the anxiety coming back.

"Andor... Better call Saul... the crown... House of the Dragon..."

he fell silent as his eyes came back to you, and this time... this time they shined with tears of joy.

"yeah?" you asked, feeling your heart beating out of your chest.

"yeah," nodded.

You felt your heart and chest and body fill with pure joy as you let some tears fall from your eyes.

"you did it baby" you sniffled "I knew you would. You deserve it, all of it" you smiled, wishing with all your heart you were there to hug him and kiss him and whisper in his ear

"How are you feeling?"

He laughed "I don't even know, I just- I think I need time to process this" he smiled, his hands slightly shaking "A-Are you ready to go to the Emmys?"

"are you?" You laughed, quite literally quivering from the excitement

"As ready as I'll ever be"

[lady-raziel]

So if the sniper hadn’t missed Trump and Biden dies from Covid, what would happen to the election? Would they postpone it or cancel it all together?

That's the thing...both technically and in practice, not really. Like a US presidential election has NEVER been cancelled or postponed. It's literally never happened--not during the Civil War, not during either of the World Wars, not after 9/11.

To change the existing election process, it is very, very difficult, because many of the stipulations come from the Constitution itself and long-standing election laws. Here's a good article about some of those requirements. Only new legislation passed by Congress could alter the existing dates when the election occurs, when the votes are certified, and when the terms switch over.

And yes, in the case that both major parties' candidates died, Congress could decide to attempt legislation that would change the election-- but it might be one of the most impossible legislative battles of all time considering the extremely divided House and Senate and the magnitude of the undertaking. When such legislation wasn't even considered during an active civil war or otherwise, it would be difficult to argue that the current situation, as unprecedented as it might have been, warranted such changes.

In practice, it would be more likely and more advantageous for both major parties to just choose new nominees as fast as possible and try to use the tragedies to their advantages. Which sounds so callous to say, but that just displays the truth of the political party structure-- these organizations, by nature, exist to gain power. Thus they will do anything that furthers that power and use any advantage that they can. Certain political figures might actually care about the common people, but the parties, both of them-- that is not why they exist.

So if both Trump and Biden were gone, both parties would just circumvent any democratic nominee selection process and pick whichever elite they thought would have the best chance of winning. And it would be ugly-- since in either party, no natural successor exists with the full support of all factions. There would be extensive infighting and dealmaking among elites, and in the chaos it would be a prime opportunity for international forces to strike.

(And I guess if any outside destabilization was extreme enough, the Constitution could be suspended, so the rules about the election happening would be as well...but like when total martial law is in effect how likely is it that there's gonna be a free and fair election anytime soon...)

[thesublemon]

best picture

For the first time in a long time, I watched all of the movies nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. Partly on a whim, partly for a piece I’ve been working on for a while about what is going wrong in contemporary artmarking. I cannot say that the experience made me feel any better or worse about contemporary movies than I already felt, which was pretty bad. But sometimes to write about a hot stove, you gotta put your hand on one. So. The nominees for coldest stove are:

Poor Things. Did not like enough to finish. I always want to like something that is making an effort at originality, strangeness, or style. Unfortunately, the execution of those things in this movie felt somehow dull and thin. Hard to explain how. Maybe the movie’s motif of things mashed together (baby-woman, duck-dog, etc) is representative. People have been mashing things together since griffins, medleys, Avatar the Last Airbender’s animals, Nickelodeon’s Catdog, etc. Thing + thing is elementary-level weird. And while there’s nothing wrong with a simple, or well-worn premise, there is a greater burden on an artist to do something interesting with it, if they go that route. And Poor Things does not. Its themes are obvious and belabored (the difficulty of self-actualization in a world that violently infantilizes you) and do not elevate the premise. There’s a fine line between the archetypal and the hackish, and this movie falls on the wrong side of it. It made me miss Crimes of the Future (2022), a recent Cronenberg that was authentically original and strange, with the execution to match.

Anatomy of a Fall. Solid, but not stunning. The baseline level of what a ‘good’ movie should be. It was written coherently and economically, despite its length. It told a story that drew you along. I wanted to know what happened, which is the least you can ask from storytelling. It had some compelling scenes that required a command of character and drama to write—particularly the big argument scene. The cinematography was not interesting, but it was not annoying either. It did its job. This was not, however, a transcendent movie.

Oppenheimer. Did not like enough to finish. But later forced myself to, just so no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was talking about when I said I disliked it. I felt like I was being pranked. The Marvel idea of what a prestige biopic should be. Like Poor Things, it telegraphed its artsiness and themes and has raked in accolades for its trouble. But obviousness is not the same as goodness and this movie is not good. The imagery is painfully literal. A character mentions something? Cut to a shot of it! No irony or nuance added by such images—just the artistry of a book report. The dialogue pathologically tells instead of shows. It constantly, cutely references things you might have heard of, the kind of desperate audience fellation you see in soulless franchise movies. Which is a particularly jarring choice given the movie’s subject matter. ‘Why didn’t you get Einstein for the Manhattan project’ Strauss asks, as if he’s saying ‘Why didn’t you get Superman for the Avengers?’ If any of this referentiality was an attempt to say something about mythologization, it failed—badly. The movie is stuffed with famous and talented actors, but it might as well not have been, given how fake every word out of their mouths sounded. Every scene felt like it had been written to sound good in a trailer, rather than to tell a damn story. All climax and no cattle.

Barbie. Did not like enough to finish. It had slightly more solidity in its execution than I was afraid it would have, so I will give it that. If people want this to be their entertainment I will let them have it. But if they want this to be their high cinema I will have to kill myself. Barbie being on this list reminds me of the midcentury decades of annual movie musical nominations for Best Picture. Sometimes deservingly. Other times, less so. The Music Man is great, but it’s not better than 8 1/2  or The Great Escape, neither of which were nominated in 1963. Musicals tend to appeal to more popular emotions, which ticket-buyers and award-givers tend to like, and critics tend to dislike. I remember how much Pauline Kael and Joan Didion hated The Sound of Music (which won in 1966), and have to ask myself if in twenty years I’ll think of my reaction to Barbie the same way that I think of those reviews: justified, but perhaps beside the point of other merits. Thing is. Say what you want about musicals, but that genre was alive back then. It was vital. Bursting with creativity. For all Kael’s bile, even she acknowledged that The Sound of Music was “well done for what it is.” [1] Contemporary cinema lacks such vitality, and Barbie is laden with symptoms of the malaise. It repeatedly falls back on references to past aesthetic successes (2001: A Space Odyssey, Singin’ in the Rain, etc) in order to have aesthetic heft. It has a car commercial in the middle. It’s about a toy from 60 years ago and politics from 10 years ago. It tries to wring some energy and meaning from all of that but not enough to cover the stench of death. I’d prefer an old musical any day.

American Fiction. Was okay. It tried to be clever about politics, but ended up being clomping about politics. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t any more interesting than any other ‘intellectual has a mid-life crisis’ story, even with the ‘twist’ of it being from a black American perspective. Even with it being somewhat self-aware of this. But it could have been a worse mid-life crisis story. The cinematography was terrible. It was shot like a sitcom. Much of the dialogue was sitcom-y too. I liked the soundtrack, what I could hear of it. The attempts at style and meta (the characters coming to life, the multiple endings) felt underdeveloped. Mostly because they were only used a couple times. In all, it felt like a first draft of a potentially more interesting movie. 

The Zone of Interest.Wanted to like it more than I did. Unfortunately, you get the point within about five minutes. If you’ve seen the promotional image of the people in the garden, backgrounded by the walls of Auschwitz, then you’ve already seen the movie. Which means that all the rest of the movie ends up feeling like pretentious excess instead of moving elaboration. It seemed very aware of itself as an Important Movie and rested on those laurels, cinematically speaking, in a frustrating way. It reminded me of video art. I felt like I had stepped through a black velvet drape into the side room of a gallery, wondering at what point the video started over. And video art has its place, but it is a different medium. Moreover video art at its best, like a movie at its best, takes only the time it needs to say what it needs to say. 

Past Lives. I’m a human being, and I respond to romance. I appreciate the pathos of sweet yearning and missed chances. And I understand how the romance in this movie is a synecdoche for ambivalent feelings about many kinds of life choices, particularly the choice to be an immigrant and choose one culture over another. The immigrant experience framing literalizes the way any choice can make one foreign to a past version of oneself, or the people one used to know, even if in another sense one is still the same person. So, I appreciate the emotional core of what (I believe) this movie was going for, and do think it succeeded in some respects. And yet…I was very irritated by most of its artistic choices. I found the three principal characters bland and therefore difficult to care about, sketched with only basic traits besides things like Striving and Being In Love. Why care who they’d be in another life if they have no personalities in this one? It’s fine to make characters symbols instead of humans if the symbolic tapestry of a movie is interesting and rich, but the symbolic tapestry of this movie was quite simple and straightforward. Not that that last sentence even matters much, since the movie clearly wanted you to feel for the characters as human beings, not just symbols. Visually, the cinematography was dull and diffuse, with composition that was either boring or as subtle as a hammer to the head.

Maestro. Did not like enough to finish. Something strange and wrong about this movie. It attempts to perform aesthetic mimicry with impressive precision—age makeup, accents, period cinematography—but this does not make the movie a better movie. At most it creates spectacle, at worst it creates uncanny valleys. It puts one on the lookout for irregularities, instead of allowing one to disappear into whatever the movie is doing. Something amateurishly pretentious in the execution. And not in the fun, respectable way, like a good student film. (My go-to example for a movie that has an art-school vibe in a pleasant way is The Reflecting Skin). There’s something desperate about it instead. It has the same disease as Oppenheimer, of attempting to do a biopic in a ‘stylish’ way without working on the basics first. Fat Man and Little Boy is a less overtly stylish rendition of the same subject as Oppenheimer, but far more cinematically successful to me, because it understands those basics. I would prefer to see the Fat Man and Little Boy of Leonard Bernstein’s life unless a filmmaker proves that they can do something with style beyond mimicry and flash.

The Holdovers. Did not like enough to finish. It tries to be vintage, but outside of a few moments, it does not succeed either at capturing what was good about the aesthetic it references, or at using the aesthetic in some other interesting way. The cinematography apes the tropes of movies and TV from the story’s time period, but doesn't have interesting composition in its own right. It lacks the solidity that comes from original seeing. (Contrast with something like Planet Terror, in which joyous pastiche complements the original elements.) The acting is badly directed. Too much actorliness is permitted. Much fakeness in general between the acting, writing, and visual language. If a movie with this same premise was made in the UK in the 60’s or 70's it would probably be good. As-is the movie just serves to make me sad that the ability to make such movies is apparently lost and can only be hollowly gestured at. That said, the woman who won best supporting actress did a good job. She was the only one who seemed to be actually acting.

Killers of the Flower Moon. The only possible winner. It is not my favorite of Scorsese’s movies, but compared to the rest of the lineup it wins simply by virtue of being a movie at all. How to define ‘being a movie’? Lots of things I could say that Killers of the Flower Moon has and does would also be superficially true of other movies in this cohort. Things like: it tells a story, with developed characters who drive that story. Or: it uses its medium (visuals, sound) to support its story and its themes. The difference comes down to richness, specificity, control, and a je ne sais quois that is beyond me to describe at the moment. Compare the way Killers of the Flower Moon uses a bygone cinematic style (the silent movie) to the way that Maestro and The Holdovers do. Killers of the Flower Moon uses a newsreel in its opening briefly and specifically. The sequence sets the scene historically, and gives you the necessary background with the added panache of confident cuts and music. It’s useful to the story and it’s satisfying to watch. Basics. But the movie doesn’t limit itself to that, because it’s a good movie. The sequence also sets up ideas that will be continuously developed over the course of the movie.* And here’s the kicker—the movie doesn’t linger on this sequence. You get the idea, and it moves on to even more ideas. Also compare this kind of ideating to American Fiction’s. When I said that American Fiction’s moments of style felt underdeveloped, I was thinking of movies like Killers of the Flower Moon, which weave and evolve their stylistic ideas throughout the entire runtime.

*(Visually, it places the Osage within a historical medium that the audience probably does not associate with Native Americans, or the Osage in particular. Which has a couple of different effects. First, it acts as a continuation of the gushing oil from the previous scene. It’s an interruption. A false promise. Seeming belonging and power, but framed all the while by a foreign culture. Meanwhile potentially from the perspective of that culture, it’s an intrusion on ‘their’ medium. And of course, this promise quickly decays into tragedy and death. The energy of the sequence isn’t just for its own sake—it sets up a contrast. But on a second, meta level it establishes the movie’s complicated relationship to media and storytelling. Newsreels, photos, myths, histories, police interviews, and a radio play all occur over the course of the movie. And there’s the movie Killers of the Flower Moon itself. Other people’s frames are contrasted with Mollie’s narration. There’s a repeated tension between communication as a method of knowing others and a method of controlling them—or the narrative of them—which plays out in both history and personal relationships.)

Or here’s another example: When Mollie and Ernest meet and he drives her home for the first time, we see their conversation via the car’s rearview mirrors. This is a bit of cinematic language that has its origins in mystery and paranoia. You see it in things like Hitchcock or The X-Files or film noir. By framing the scene with this convention, the movie turns what is superficially a romantic meet-cute (to quote a friend) into something bubbling with uneasiness and dread. This is not nostalgia—this is just using visuals to create effects. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen anything that uses the convention before, although knowing the pedigree might add to your enjoyment. The watchfulness suggested by the mirrors and Ernest’s cut-off face will still add an ominous effect. It works for the same reason it works in those other things. Like the newsreel, it is a specific and concise stylistic choice, and it results in a scene that is doing more than just one thing.

In general, the common thread I noticed as I watched these nominees, was the tendency to have the ‘idea’ of theme or style, and then stop there. It’s not that the movies had nothing in them. There were ideas, there was use of the medium, there was meaning to extract. There were lots of individually good moments. But they tended to feel singular, or repetitive, or tacked on. Meanwhile contemporary viewers are apparently so impressed by the mere existence of theme or style, that being able to identify it in a movie is enough to convince many that the movie is also good at those things. The problem with this tendency—in both artists and audiences—is that theme and style are not actually some extra, remarkable, inherently rarifying property of art. Theme emerges naturally from a story with any kind of coherence or perspective. And style emerges naturally from any kind of artistic attitude. They are as native as script, or narrative, or character. A movie’s theme and style might not be interesting, just like its story or dialogue might not be interesting, but if the movie is at all decent, they should exist. What makes a movie good or bad, then, is how it executes its component parts—including theme and style—in service of the whole. When theme is well-executed it is well-developed. Contemporary movies, unfortunately, seem to have confused ‘well-developed’ with ‘screamingly obvious.’ A theme does not become well-developed by repetition. It becomes well-developed by iterationand integration. Theme is like a melody. Simply repeating a single melody over and over does not result in the song becoming more interesting or entertaining. It becomes tedious. However, if you modify the melody each time you play it, or diverge from the melody and then return to it, that can get exciting. It results in different angles on the same idea, such that the idea becomes more complex over time, instead of simply louder.

Oppenheimer wasprobably the worst offender in this regard. Just repeat your water drops, crescendoing noise, or a line about ‘destroying the world’, and that’s the same as nuance, right? Split scenes into color and black and white and that’s the same as structure, right? That’s the same as actually conveying a difference between objectivity and interiority (or another dichotomy) via the drama or visual composition contained in the scenes, right? When I watched many of these movies, I kept thinking of a behind-the-scenes story from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The story goes that Joss Whedon was directing Sarah Michelle Gellar in some scene, and when the take was over he told her how great she was, and that he could see right where the music would come in. And Gellar replied that if he was thinking about the music, he clearly wasn’t getting enough from her acting alone. This conversation then supposedly informed Whedon’s approach to “The Body,” a depiction of the immediate aftermath of death that is considered one of the best episodes of television ever made, and which has no non-diegetic music whatsoever. Not to imply that music is necessarily a crutch, or to pretend that “The Body” is lacking in other forms of stylization (it is a very style-ish episode). But more to illustrate the way that it is easy to forget to make the most of all aspects of a medium, particularly the most fundamental ones, once one has gotten used to what a final product is supposed to feel like. 

And that’s why most of these movies don’t feel like movies. They create the gestalt of a movie or a ‘cinematic’ moment—often literally through direct vintage imitation—without a sense of the first principles. Or demonstrating a sense of them, anyway. Who needs AI when the supposedly highest level of human filmmakers are already cannibalistically cargo-culting the medium just fine.

[1] “The Sound of Money (The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun).” The Pauline Kael Reader. (This book contains the full text of the original review, rather than the abbreviated review that I linked earlier.)