#Andrew and Jamison | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

odinsblog · 11 months

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Andrew was entering his third month of unemployment when he sat down at his computer and opened the inbox of his LinkedIn account. He’d received a response to a query he’d sent off four days after his friend-turned-manager walked him into a conference room swimming with sunlight, smelling of cologne and the faintest hint of perfume left behind by a group of attorneys who’d recently vacated the space after a five-hour meeting.

“I’m sorry, man,” Colin Perkins had said. Andrew’s eyes glided to the glass conference table, landing on the silver tray holding a molehill of bagels. He imagined they must be stale by now, having been left there uncovered in the icy office air.

Someone had planted the pointed end of a white plastic knife in an open container of chive-and-jalapeño cream cheese. It brought to mind the moon landing; all that was missing was a tiny American flag. A laugh trudged up his throat, but he disguised it as a cough.

“I told you,” Colin continued, raking his hands over his manicured Afro, “that the last to hire would be the first to go.”

A month earlier, seventeen women and two men had accused the CEO of the company of sexual misconduct. That news had plummeted the stock. The layoffs followed. Andrew had witnessed dozens of employees being escorted by security from the building like criminals. Now it was his turn.

Andrew nodded, placed a comforting hand on Daniel’s shoulder, and squeezed. The crisp cotton of Daniel’s shirt felt cool beneath his palm. “It’s okay, man, I understand. Don’t sweat it.”

He’d spent that first week revamping his résumé, calling friends and old colleagues, people who might know of a job opportunity at their own place of employment or elsewhere. He’d never had a LinkedIn account, but took the time to set one up. To conserve the little bit of savings he had, Andrew dropped his gym membership and went back to drinking tap water instead of the bottled Evian he loved. He gave up Starbucks coffee and the expensive cabernet sauvignon he purchased by the case.

By week three, he was spending his days on the couch, dressed in boxer shorts and sweat socks. He’d stopped opening the blinds and only went outside to empty the garbage. He whiled away the hours playing video games, and watching Netflix and Pornhub. Oftentimes, he went days without brushing his teeth.

When his mother called to check on him, Andrew lied, claiming he had several interviews lined up. When his father took the phone into another room to ask if he needed money, Andrew assured him that he was fine on the financial front, even though he wasn’t. He’d made up his mind to sell his Shelby Mustang before he took a dime from his parents. That was a big decision because he loved that car more than he’d ever loved any woman.

The day he opened the e-mail, the panic had just started to set in. He could feel it creeping along the back of his neck, like the soft scuttle of caterpillar legs.

From: OBF, INC.

To: Andrew Jamison

Dear Mr. Jamison,

We found your resume to be very interesting and believe that you would be the perfect addition to our dynamic team of Client Liaisons.

PAID TRAINING!

Affordable benefits for you, your spouse, and/or children after 90 days!

Opportunities to advance within!

Hourly, overtime, and tremendous bonus opportunities!

If you love helping others, then you will love working for OBF, INC.

OBF, INC. wants to talk to you now! To set up an interview TEXT OBF51893.

Liaison was just a fancy French word for customer service agent. Well, that was his skill set. Andrew was an expert at assisting people.

He texted the number and received an instant response that directed him to call a telephone number and enter his personal code: 1032.

An automated voice offered him two available interview dates. He was instructed to press 1 for the first date and 2 for the second. The mechanical voice told him that he would receive a call advising him where the interview would take place.

It all seemed very clandestine. Andrew was cynical, but his desperation outweighed his skepticism.

A day later, he received a call from a woman with a Southern drawl . . . Georgia, Alabama, Texas? He couldn’t quite pinpoint where she hailed from, but listening to her speak conjured visions of sweet tea and fireflies. She asked for his full government name and the code he’d received via text message. There was a pause, two clicks, and then the syrupy voice asked if he had a pen available. He did. After she’d rattled off the address, she wished him good luck. There were a few more clicks and then the line went dead.

He walked into the lobby of the forty-story office building and was struck by the contemporary opulence of the space. Marble floors, potted palms that towered eight feet into the air, white leather sofas, and a slick-looking Louboutin-red reception desk.

Andrew presented his license to the security guard and was given a name tag, which he clipped to the lapel of his ash-gray jacket. He was told to go to the eighteenth floor.

While waiting for the elevator, he perused the list of companies listed on a plaque mounted to the wall. OBF, Inc. was nowhere to be found.

He smirked, shrugged his shoulders, and stepped into the elevator. On the eighteenth floor, smack outside of the elevator door, was a sheet of lined legal paper taped haphazardly to the wall. Scrawled on its face in black marker was: This Way to OBF, INC. Below that was an arrow.

He started down the hall. A man the color of cedar and as tall as an NBA player speed-walked past him, mumbling to himself. Andrew thought he looked dazed, as if he’d just received news that a loved one had passed away.

“Good morning,” Andrew murmured.

The man turned eyes as wide as saucers on Andrew. He opened his mouth and muttered something that Andrew wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. The elevator doors slid open just as Andrew leaned in and asked, “Uhm, sorry, brother, but did you say run?”

The man leaped into the elevator, pressed his spine against the back wall, and fixed his eyes on the glass numbers above the closing doors.

Andrew stood blinking at his reflection in the chrome elevator doors. After a moment, he shrugged and continued down the hallway where he came upon a second handwritten sign directing him to turn left at the women’s bathroom. He rounded a corner and found himself staring at eleven men seated in folding chairs. They all looked up from their iPhones and Androids. Andrew nodded and headed toward the pretty blonde seated behind a metal desk.

“Good morning,” she smiled. “Name?”

“Andrew Jamison.”

“Okay, Mr. Jamison, please take a seat. Mrs. Americus will be with you shortly.”

He scrutinized his fellow applicants. They were all black men save for the one white guy with a man-bun who was called in as soon as Andrew sat down. Man-bun wasn’t in there long. In less than five minutes, cheeks flushed and cursing under his breath, he stormed across the reception area and out of sight.

Andrew clenched his jaw and made eye contact with another man across the room from him. He imagined the unease in the man’s eyes mirrored his own uncertainty.

“Andrew Jamison, Mrs. Americus will see you now. Just through that door.”

The door opened to a large office filled with cubicles and desks, manned by women tapping away on typewriters or murmuring into the handsets of—

Andrew slowed his gait.

Are those rotary telephones and, wait, Royal typewriters?

As Andrew gawked, a large man with a mustache as thick has a shoe brush appeared before him. Andrew glanced up and then quickly shifted his gaze away from the brawny man’s left eyelid, which was weighed down with a sty the size of a dime.

“In there,” the man huffed, aiming a chubby finger at a closed door not more than five feet from where they stood.

The office was as small as a janitor’s closet. And dark.

The lone window on the far left wall faced the shadowy back of a department store. Metal file cabinets lined the walls; some of the drawers were open, revealing manila folders bulging with papers. He could see, even in the muddy darkness of the room, a layer of dust atop the cabinets. Hanging on the walls were at least twenty framed photographs of people, all of whom were black.

The air was rife with the scent of cigarette smoke.

Andrew remembered people smoking at their desks when he went to visit his mother at her office job when he was young. Once, on a flight to Detroit with his grandmother, he stood at the back of the plane waiting to use the bathroom, and found himself engulfed in a cloud of smoke billowing from the cigarettes of three passengers.

He couldn’t recall the exact year cities around the country began banning smoking in bars and restaurants, but he was supremely aware that smokers had to be at least four hundred feet away from the entrance of any building if they wanted to light up.

Yet here was this woman, puffing away like it was 1975. Andrew eyed the near-empty box of Winstons and then the woman. She was robust—a meat-and-potatoes sort of gal, with doughy cheeks and large blue eyes. Her sun-bleached blond hair fanned back from her face—a style made famous by the eighties icon Farrah Fawcett. Her lips were slathered in tangerine-colored lipstick. The same color rung the filters of a dozen long-dead Winston butts heaped in the black ceramic ashtray. Andrew thought, If she’s going for clown instead of glamour, well, bull’s-eye!

Ornate rings twinkled on seven of her ten fingers, the rose-gold chain she wore around her neck dribbled down her chest and disappeared into her cleavage. She looked to be in her midfifties.

“Good morning, Mr. Jamison. Please have a seat.” Her eyes remained glued to the sheet of paper clutched in her hands. Andrew assumed it was his résumé.

He sat down.

“You graduated from Brown University?”

“Y-yes, I did. I graduated summa cum laude in 1990.”

Her desk was cluttered with newspaper clippings; stacks of aging yellowed papers, and dated fashion magazines. Andrew’s eyebrows climbed. Was that Marcia from the seventies sitcom The Brady Bunch on the cover of that Glamour magazine?

Andrew chuckled to himself. This had to be an elaborate joke. Someone was putting him on. His eyes ranged around the office in search of a concealed camera.

“Impressive,” she said finally, looking him directly in the eye. “Do you have a wife?”

“S-sorry?”

“Are you married, Mr. Jamison?”

“No, I’m not.”

She searched his face. “Are you gay?”

Andrew bristled. “Mrs. Americus, I don’t think you’re legally allowed to ask me that question.”

She smirked.

“It’s a yes-or-no question, Mr. Jamison. I know it’s unusual, but believe me, for this position I would need to know.”

His rent was due tomorrow and then again in thirty more days. His savings were dwindling. “No, I’m not gay.”

“Do you have children?”

“One daughter, she’s twenty-two years old.”

“Do you have a good relationship with your daughter? With the mother?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Americus glanced at his résumé. “Perfect.” She reached for the dying cigarette and brought it to her lips. “And according to your application, you’ve never been arrested. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we will be doing a background check.”

“Understood.”

“Do you have any bad habits? Do you use narcotics?”

“No ma’am.”

“Any . . . um . . . undesirable recreational activities?”

“Undesirable?”

“Porn? Well, not just porn. Kiddie porn.”

Andrew’s mouth fell open.

“No judgment, Mr. Jamison. Again, I just need to know.”

“No, I do not watch kiddie porn,” Andrew spat.

“Good!” she exclaimed, drumming her fingers on the desk. “Let me tell you the specifics of the job . . .”

Some of the faces behind the glass frames looked familiar. Again Andrew found himself squinting. Was that Omarosa? He pitched forward in his chair.

Mrs. Americus stopped talking and followed his gaze. “Um, yes,” she spouted. “That is who you think it is. She’s been one of our best recruits.”

Andrew swallowed.

Mrs. Americus stubbed out her cigarette and laced her fingers under her chin. “Some of our liaisons work directly with government agencies. That’s a promotion of sorts. Of course, before you can be assigned to the big house—I mean the White House—you’d first have to prove yourself out in the field.” She giggled. “In the field. You get it? It’s a double entendre.”

Andrew’s mouth went dry.

She twisted around in the chair and pointed to a photograph of a pair of middle-aged women standing shoulder to shoulder, each holding a red MAGA baseball cap. “Those ladies are Diamond and Silk. Do you know them?”

Andrew shot out up from the chair. For a moment, he thought his knees would buckle. “What does OBF stand for?”

Mrs. Americus reached for the pack of cigarettes. “OBF stands for One Black Friend.”

“One Black Friend?”

“Yes. You see, in these troubling times, times where so many people are labeling white people as racist, we need black people to stand up for us—to have our backs, as your people are fond of saying. Sometimes, Mr. Jamison, a God-fearing, good white person may be accused of a crime or some other offense perpetrated against a person of color, and when the accused does not have a person of color in his circle, it looks bad. The public may see him . . . or her, as a racist simply because their circle is . . . white. Lily.

“And that’s wrong. Not having black friends does not make a white person racist by default. Anyway,” she waved her hand, “that’s where OBF comes in. We provide that one black friend. That one black friend introduces doubt, and more often than not, that doubt diminishes a large percentage of the negative impact our clients might face.”

Andrew just stared.

“Oh, Mr. Jamison, don’t look so shocked. This practice has been around for centuries.” She pointed to the far wall near the window. “You see that guy there? He was actually the inspiration for this company.”

Andrew peered at the photograph. “Who is he?”

“Joe Oliver.”

“Joe Oliver?”

“Yeah, Joe Oliver. You don’t remember him? Joe Oliver, George Zimmerman’s one black friend.” Mrs. Americus raised a black ceramic coffee mug to her lips and sipped. The red decal on the side of the mug read: Black Tears.

Andrew’s stomach lurched, perspiration beading across his forehead. “This is some kind of joke, right?”

“Oh, I assure you this is not a joke and I am very serious. As serious as a heart attack. Is that how the saying goes? As serious as a heart attack?”

Andrew started toward the door.

“Wait, Mr. Jamison. Look here.” She pointed at a photograph hanging above the row of filing cabinets. “This is another one of our liaisons. Since he’s been working for us, he’s paid off his student loans and I understand that he’s just recently purchased a Cadillac.”

Andrew followed her index finger to the photo of a grinning black man holding a Blacks for Trump sign above his head like a trophy.

“Shall we talk about salary?”

The lights flickered.

He thought, Maybe I’m still asleep. Maybe this is a nightmare.

“Andrew? I can see you’re having a hard time processing all of this. But really, it’s not as uncommon as you might think. We live in America, this is a capitalist country, and we monetize everything. Everything.”

Andrew couldn’t remember reaching for the doorknob, but suddenly he was stumbling through the reception area.

He fled down the corridor, rounded the first corner and then the next. A slight man the color of honeyed milk stepped from the elevator. He wore a yellow dress shirt with a red bow tie. His dark-blue khakis were flooded just enough to offer a wink of his orange-and-navy argyle socks.

Upon Andrew’s frantic approach, the startled stranger stepped swiftly out of his path. Andrew didn’t make eye contact. He jabbed at the elevator button until the doors slid open.

Weeks later, Andrew was seated in a truck-stop diner with his fork poised over a plate of scrambled eggs and corned beef hash.

The mounted television was tuned to Fox News. The anchor reported that yet another young black man had been gunned down by a vigilante, another Good Samaritan, named Christopher Parks.

Christopher Parks was heading home from his job as a sanitation man when he spotted young Daniel Latham sitting in Starbucks, dozing over his law textbooks. Parks entered the establishment, woke Latham with a tap to his shoulder, and asked if he lived in the area. According to eyewitnesses, Latham replied that he did in fact live in the neighborhood. Parks demanded to see Latham’s ID and was met with laughter. The law student gathered his belongings and stood to leave—rather menacingly, one eyewitness reported.

That was when Christopher Parks pulled his weapon and fired. The stunned Latham, still laughing, crumpled into his chair and pressed his hand over the whole in his heart. It wasn’t until he saw the blood that the smile slipped from his lips and he began to cry.

The cops were called, but not an ambulance. Well, not immediately.

The police shackled Latham to the chair and took Parks to the police station for questioning. The woman behind the counter gave Parks a high five and a tall Caffè Mocha to go.

By the time an ambulance arrived, Daniel Latham was dead, having bled out all over his take-home final exam.

In the days that followed, it was revealed that Daniel Latham had several unpaid parking tickets and was thrice fined for not scooping his dog’s poop. Not only that—he was also a practicing Buddhist who supported a woman’s right to choose.

A search of Latham’s apartment unearthed a well-worn copy of Alex Haley’s The Autobiography of Malcolm X, which was on his nightstand alongside Jay-Z’s Decoded. This discovery was further evidence that Latham was no angel.

Laura Ingraham looked directly into the camera and told her viewers that Christopher Parks was a hero, a polite and well-spoken man who had been raised by his father after his mother died from breast cancer when he was just three years old. Yes, as a youth, Christopher had been suspended from school for fighting, and as a young man he’d beaten a girlfriend with a pipe. Later, when he was in his early thirties, he’d threatened to castrate his boss—a black man old enough to be his grandfather. All of that behavior, Laura Ingraham said, was directly connected to the trauma of losing a mother at such a tender age.

She paused, and in that moment her entire face pulsed with empathy. “That said,” she continued, “Al Sharpton, along with the Black Lives Matter terrorist organization, have labeled Christopher Parks a racist and are calling for his arrest.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Earlier today, I had the pleasure of speaking with Christopher’s longtime best friend, Andrew Jamison . . .”

Andrew lowered his fork, reached for his shades, and slipped them onto his face.

—OBF, Inc., a short story by Bernice L. McFadden

#politics #short stories #one black friend #sellouts #joe oliver #diamond and silk #omarosa #black republicans #blacks for trump #c👀ns #andrew jamison #obf #obf inc #🦝#omarosa manigault

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emiko-fan-2podcasterin · 2 years

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Hier mal wieder was neues 🥳

Allie ist ein totaler Lieblingscharakter von mir, gleichauf mit Jelena.

In den Büchern wird sie mit braunen Augen und braunen Haaren beschrieben und da man beim reiten sehr viel Zeit draußen verbringt dachte ich mir gebe ich ihr auch mal eine etwas gebräuntere Hautfarbe.

Einen Pferdeanhänger an der Kette darf natürlich auch nicht fehlen!

Bei ihrer Jacke musste ich sofort an diese Tischdecken denken die ich mir immer unter so einer Glaskugel bei Wahrsagern vorgestellt habe und Allies Tante liebt solches Zeug ja 😂

#die drei fragezeichen #die drei ???#justus jonas #bob andrews #peter shaw #allie Jamison

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the-bi-library · 4 months

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Happy Black History Month! Here are upcoming bi black books! Make sure to preorder the ones that interest you!

Did I miss any books? If yes, then, feel free to let me know 💖

Books listed:

The Poisons We Drink by Bethany Baptiste

Saint-Seducing Gold (The Forge & Fracture Saga #2) by Brittany N. Williams

Dear Bi Men: A Black Man's Perspective on Power, Consent, Breaking Down Binaries, and Combating Erasure by J.R. Yussuf

We Will Devour The Night (The Essence of the Equinox, #2) by Camilla Andrew

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea

I Am the Dark That Answers When You Call by Jamison Shea

A Little Kissing Between Friends by Chencia C. Higgins

The 7-10 Split by Karmen Lee

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creativepromptsforwriting · 10 months

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Names with Cute Nicknames

Boys' Edition

Sometimes we just fall in love with a cute nickname for our characters. So here is a list of names that you can name your characters, even though you will only call them by their nickname.

Alexander - Al, Alex, Lex, Lexie, Xander, Xandie, Sasha

Alfred - Al, Alfie, Fred, Freddie, Freddy

Andrew - Andie, Andy, Drew

Antonio - Ant, Anto, Toni, Tony

Aurelia/Aurelius - Auri

Arthur - Art, Artie

Benjamin - Ben, Benny, Benni, Benji, Minnie

Felix - Feli, Lix, Lixie

Ferdinand - Ferdi, Fred, Nando

Florian - Flo, Flori

Frederik/Frederic - Fred, Freddie, Freddy, Rik, Ric, Rick, Ricky

Jamison - Jay, Jamie, James, Jim, Jimmy

Joseph - Josie, Joe

Kilian - Kili, Kil

Luciano/Lucian - Luci, Luce, Cian

Lukas - Luke, Luki

Lysander - Lys, Sander

Matthew - Mat, Matty, Mattie

Matthias - Mat, Matty, Mattie, Thias

Matteo - Mat, Matty, Mattie, Teo

Maximilian - Max, Maxi, Maxim, Millie

Michael - Mick, Mike, Mikey, Micky

Nicholas - Nick, Nicky, Nico

Oliver - Olive, Oli, Olly

Paxton - Pax

Phillip - Phil, Philly, Pip

Salvatore - Sal, Sally, Salva, Tore

Samuel - Sam, Sammy

Santiago - Santi, San, Tiago

Sebastian - Seb, Basti, Bastian

Theodore - Ted, Theo, Teddy

Victor - Vic, Tor, Vicky

Vincent - Vin, Vinnie, Vinny, Vince

Wilhelm - Willie, Willy

More names!

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

#nicknames #writing ideas #writeblr #list of names #writing inspiration #writing prompts

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dearorpheus · 7 months

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This blog rules. I love all the readings and excerpts in your selfhood tag. Do you have any kind of reading list for existential philosophy you could share? I've been really wanting to dive in lately but I'm intimidated about where to start.

hey you rule also.

here's everything i've been surrounding myself with lately—not limited to existential philosophy but i think all migrating through the same waters:

Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus; The Stranger; The Plague Sartre, Nausea; Being and Nothingness E.M. Cioran, A Short History of Decay; The Trouble With Being Born R.D. Laing, The Divided Self Jung, Modern Man In Search of a Soul; Psychology and the Occult Søren Kierkegaard, The Sickness unto Death Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison Nabokov, Invitation to a Beheading Clarice Lispector, The Apple in the Dark Kafka, The Trial Deleuze & Félix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia Andrew Scull, Desperate Remedies: Psychiatry and the Mysteries of Mental Illness; Madhouses, Mad-Doctors, and Madmen: The Social History of Psychiatry in the Victorian Era Kay Redfield Jamison, Fires in the Dark: Healing the Unquiet Mind Esmé Weijun Wang, The Collected Schizophrenias Erich Neumann, The Origins and History of Consciousness Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous Lisa Miller, The Awakened Brain: The Psychology of Spirituality The Tibetan Book of the Dead

#asks

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sapphic-sprite · 2 months

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here are some books coming out this year/that came out this year that I’m excited for:

This Ravenous Fate by Hayley Dennings comes out on August 6th 2024

Compound Fracture by Andrew Joseph White comes out on September 3rd 2024

An Education in Malice by S.T. Gibson came out on February 15th 2024

A Bánh Mì for Two by Trinity Nguyen comes out on August 27th 2024

I Am the Dark That Answers When You Call (2nd book in the series) by Jamison Shea comes out on November 12th 2024

Escaping Mr. Rochester by L.L. McKinney came out on January 16th 2024

Rani Choudhury Must Die by Adiba Jaigirdar comes out on November 12th 2024

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole came out on January 16th 2024

Angels & Man by Rafael Nicolás comes out on March 31st 2024

Celestial Monsters (2nd book in the series) by Aiden Thomas comes out on September 3rd 2024

#I might come back and add to this as the year goes on #lgbt books #lgbtq books #rhi rambles #trans books #sapphic books #wlw books #mlm books #queer books

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melmov · 1 year

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I read this book in three days and I wanted to make fanart because there is a distinct lack of it

#all that’s left in the world #atlitw #erik j brown #post apocalyptic gays #Andrew and Jamison #fanart #digital art #art #my art #this is my best drawing in ages #I have a feeling tumblr will eat the quality but fuck it #Andrew and jamie #jamie and Andrew #haircuts are bad in the apocalypse

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be-your-coffee-pot · 1 year

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they hate each other and there's just one bed - part 1

A/N: So good god agentrry is finally here. Don't worry my loves this is just part 1. I had a a lot more written but word erased like 2k words I think ugh I'm sad. enjoy this anyways

Pairing: Agent!Harry Styles x Agent!Reader (female)

Word count: around 3.6k

TW: none much just swearing lots and lots of swearing, pretend wives and husbands mentions of killing trash acting jealous harry and one bed

______________________________________________________________

Harry wants to kill her. Might just do it today.

“Stop glaring at each other, for god’s sake! This is supposed to be a pretty simple thing. Please don’t end up fucking killing each other before the mission is over.” Nick stated, raising a single eyebrow in a very matter of fact and totally Nick manner.

Nick Jamison was the captain of the Special Forces unit of SWAT, kept securely in the shadows (a bit like S.H.I.E.L.D. if you ask me, just much smaller), of which both Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles were part. They worked seamlessly together except for one bump on the road.

Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles hate each other.

Plain and simple right there.

The reason, you ask? A plethora of reasons. Y/N thinks Harry’s “way too motherfucking cocky” and that he should “get his stupid curly head out of his British ass.” She thinks all his niceness is just for show, and that he’s a total fake.

Harry Styles has the same things to say. According to him, “who the fuck does she think she is? Running around like she’s a goddamn saint.”

Nick’s hot take on the matter: “those two morons didn’t develop past their primary school phase where you push and pull the person you like because you don’t know how to deal with feelings. Plain and simple right there.”

I guess you know understand that even though they’ll work exceptionally together, they won’t willingly do it but they’re great together, so they have to you know.

This brings us here.

There was a slippery drug cartel that needed to be busted, but the unit had been struggling with getting the owner for months, and now finally, there was a way in.

“Dominic Vasquez is an eel. Snaky, slippery, and awfully hard to catch. We’ve been trying to find a suitable opening for a long time and finally have one.” Nick briefs Harry and Y/N, who is sulking in their seats.

“What opening? Please just spit this shit out, Nicky. I don’t really have the patience for your dramatics right now.” An annoyed Y/N remarks for the first time after entering the meeting room. As usual, both had been called in, not informed they would be doing a mission together, and the complaints and whining had begun. All they had done after acknowledging (scowling) each other was roll their eyes while glaring at each other through their director’s words.

A slight noise of agreement comes from the other agent in the room. Nick heaves a heavy sigh as he gestures vaguely at his prize pupils. “Look, you two, it’s paining me to breathe in all this sexual tension. Get a lid on it or go fuck it out. Please don’t drag me in it. Let me fucking finish.”

Their attention has been successfully piqued, all their pissiness vanishing as irritation and slight embarrassment settle on their features.

After an eye rollTM, the director gives all the information to the agents, who’re now listening as promptly as they’re ignoring each other. “His annual gala is next week, and that’s really the only opening. You are supposed to be new members, so you’ll be informed of that soon. You both will go in a day prior, get settled in. The whole thing is held at his mansion in Milan. You must find his office, grab evidence, and get out while being under the pretence of visitors. Simple.”

Harry is the one who speaks up this time, a sceptical eyebrow raises to accompany his words. “Why do I have a feeling there’s more to this?”

Nick sighs again like it’s hurting him to just breathe. “You’re going in as a married couple, Mr Andrew Jackson and Mrs Amelia Jackson.”

Y/N and Harry erupt in groans and protests of “why does this always happen” and “why do you always do this” in reference to the fact that they’d been in a few assignments previously where the both of them had to play a couple.

(Nick won’t say this out loud ever, but he thinks they’d make a damn great couple, so he keeps trying to push them together invisibly. Besides, they have great chemistry, so it really makes everything more believable.)

“Stop whining and get to it, Jesus Christ.”

. . .

. .

“Can you shift your fucking elbow?” Harry grunts in anger at his companion. Without looking up from the magazine in her hands, Y/N raises a single eyebrow at him, making absolutely no move to adjust her position.

Scoffing at the reply he received, or the lack thereof, the man shoves her elbow off the hand rest prompting an eye rollTM and an irritated groan from the agent beside him.

Surprisingly, Y/N doesn’t push him back because she’s too tired to deal with his shit at 6 in the fucking morning. Besides, it’s bloody December, so she just agitatedly pulls in her arms and continues to skim through the pages.

The next 2 hours or so are filled with glaring, under-the-breath grumbling and all sorts of gestures to annoy the other, but they thankfully make it out of the plane and to the hotel in one piece.

Harry shamelessly winks at the receptionist who’d just asked what name the room was under as Y/N rolls her eyesTM. “Jackson. Andrew Jackson sweetheart.” The girl blushes and giggles, quickly retrieving the key card.

“Jesus at least pretend like you have a wife,” Y/N mutters to her man-whore of a partner once they get inside the elevator. Harry’s lips tilt up in response, that infamous smug smirk coming out to play as he taunts her. “Why wifey, not getting enough attention, hmm? Jealousy isn’t that good of a look on you, sweetheart.”

“Please you’re too self-involved. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep it in your pants long enough to not fuck up my mission.” She scowls. Harry has the decency (or gall, whatever you will) to look offended at the comment. “Our mission and oh please miss goody to-shoes you know as well as I do that, I’m clearly the more responsible one out of the both of us. I’m not stupid enough to jeopardise our mission just because I wanted to get my dick wet.”

Y/N retorts just as the elevator doors open. “Aren’t you though, dear?” With his mouth gaping and the doors closing, he realises she just snatched the key card out of his hand.

The brunette hastily moves to catch up with her while she opens the door. Nick had actually booked them a suite and “it has two big beds, I swear!” However, the suite in question was slightly different from what was promised.

One single, king-sized bed stares back at them from the centre of the luxuriously decorated room.

Y/N breaks the silence. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

A deep groan emits from Harry as he rubs his eyes annoyedly.

“Screw you I’m taking the bed.” Before she could even think of saying something, Harry deposits himself on the bed, all gangly limbs as he sighs in satisfaction. She clenches her teeth and marches over to the bed, glaring at him with her arms crossed. He turns and grins up at her infuriatingly, “Can I help you with something, wifey?”

She shifts gears and gives him a saccharine smile. “Yes actually. How about you cuddle me to sleep, dear?” Harry’s brow furrows in mild disgust and he doesn’t even get a word out before Y/N is beside him with her arms wrapped around his lean body, fully flopping on top of him. He flails around like her touch burned him and knocks her over to the other side of the bed where she snickers at him. With a swift kick, Harry’s on the floor and Y/N has spread out starfish on the sheets.

He climbs back up to try to take control of the bed again, but Y/N just won’t let that happen. They wrestle each other and she’s just about to punch Harry when the doorbell rings. Her hand freezes a few inches away from his scowling face, both of them scrambling to fix their rumpled clothing. She stumbles off where she’d planted herself on his abdomen and opens the door while Harry shifts around to make it seem like he was just relaxing on the mattress.

The bellboy is standing in the hallway, holding their bags as he smiles at her maybe a little too amicably. “Hey yeah you can put them in here.” Y/N leads him inside the room. He puts down the suitcases and glances up to find an intimidatingly handsome man lounging on the bed, watching him with narrowed jade eyes.

Without taking his gaze off the boy, Harry calls to Y/N who was turning on the electric kettle at the side of the room. “Baby, can you come here for a second, please?”

“Yes, honey?” Y/N replies as she comes to stand at his side. She should get a fucking Oscar for how great she played along right there. Her ‘husband’s hand comes up to rest on her thigh as he lazily smiles at her. “Tip the boy darling, then can we please take a nap, hmm?”

With her back turned to the steward, she raises her eyebrows at his antics, quickly moving to retrieve her temporary husband’s wallet. “Sure honey.”

Harry’s scowling at the bellboy as he leaves.

“If you need anything mam, I’ve been Aaron. Don’t hesitate to call, I’ll be right here.” Y/N quickly shoos him away rolling her eyesTM at his attempt of shooting his shot. Harry is still scowling. “I’ve been Aaron. Don’t hesitate to call, mam.” He mocks in a high-pitched accented voice.

“Look who’s jealous now, dear. You seriously felt threatened by a bellboy, Styles? That’s how weak your ego is?” The agent scorns the notion, switching the subject smoothly.

“Fuck that. Grab a chair, we’re running over the plan.”

. .

�� .

Y/N is just about ready to stab him with the fork in her hand.

“If you don’t stop smirking and start acting like a goddamn husband, I swear to god I will rip out your carotid,” Harry smirks, of course, he does.

“Gonna use your teeth, sweetheart? Never would have taken you to be that kinky.”

He should be thankful the waiter arrives right that moment or he would have ended up one major artery down.

The waiter looks at Y/N, completely disregarding the man with her as he asks for her order. “Good afternoon mam. What will you be having today?” He very sweetly asks to which she gives him a tight but polite smile. She can just barely hear Harry mumble under his breath, “Definitely none of your bullshit.”

“I think I’ll just go with the mushroom risotto. Thank you.” Harry clears his throat, finally gaining the waiter’s attention. The guy has the nerve to look irritated at Harry’s intervention, which piques the agent further.

“If you’d be willing to pay attention to me, I would like a cheese ravioli, thank you.” Upon receiving death eyes from the man, the waiter quickly nods and runs but not before flashing a smile at Y/N.

An eyebrow is already raised when she fully turns in her partner’s direction. “Seriously, Styles? Again?” He rolls his eyesTM, scoffing at her insinuation and yet again opting to ignore her remark.

“Shut up. Give me your hand.” She grouses at the sheer duality of the statement, lips curling in annoyance.

“What? Why would I ever do that?”

“Shutting up or giving me your hand?” Harry mutters with a boyish grin. The dimples alone make it seem like he was just flirting playfully. “Come on, wifey. Pay your husband some attention.”

It clicks to Y/N suddenly that they’re supposed to play pretend and she’d somewhat lost track of the notion. She huffs quietly and slips a hand into his ringed one, watching as he brings it up to his lips.

A strange shock goes through her as Harry’s jade eyes meet hers and his lips softly brush over her knuckles like he was glad to be allowed this close. He laces their fingers together, giving her a moony smile, she would’ve swooned over him if he wasn’t a douche. She returns it with just as much sentiment.

“I have never wanted to end your existence more.” “Trust me I feel the same.”

. .

. . .

Fortunately, the waiter made it out alive.

Harry is not a violent person generally but after today Harry swears, he has never longed to put a bullet in someone’s head more.

During the one hour or so, Y/N and Harry spent at the restaurant, that damn waiter kept making passes at Y/N while ignoring Harry’s presence at the table. So much so that he made her uncomfortable. Now Harry may hate her guts but that does not mean he’ll sit and watch a moron try to objectify his companion. Moreso make her uncomfortable as she sat with her husband?

So, when he interrupted their sweet moment to present their meals and make a comment about how the madam looked much more ravishing than the food, it’s safe to say Harry may have lost it a teensy bit.

I’m not saying Harry got up under the stance of gonna run to the loo real quick and whispered in the waiter’s ear to dare and make one more remark on my wife, or that he’ll gut you like the fish on that table. I’m not saying that he sat and glared at the terrified man with satisfaction or smirked when Y/N told him to keep it in check. I’m also not saying he replied I’m your husband baby it’s my job.

But then again, I’m also not saying he didn’t.

“Jesus Harry, that poor guy was petrified. Did you really have to?” Y/N gets out in a fit of laughter as they get in the hotel elevator. Harry titters along with her, shaking his head and announcing in an overly posh British accent. “I’m your husband baby, it’s my job!”

She collapses into giggles again but for some reason this time, Harry stands and stares with something akin to fondness at her glee. She wipes under her eyes, raising a questioning brow at his gaze. “What? ‘ve I got something on my face?”

“No, nothing.”

. .

“Fuck you, Styles.”

“You wish, Y/L/N.”

She huffs and stomps and smushes his face into the pillow in her hands in a failed attempt at asphyxiation. He chortles.

“Let me take the bed, Styles, don’t be a dick come on.” Y/N tries one more time, but the man just turns, sighs, and goes spread eagle on the mattress.

After lunch, they discussed their plan some more and went around Dominic Vasquez’s mansion to scout out the area. Nick had given them a blueprint of the property so that they could mark down possible exit routes and things like that. That is what they’d spent the rest of the day doing but now it’s 11 and they really need to sleep.

Upon receiving zero replies from the man spread on the bed, Y/N sighs heavily. She was stubborn as fuck sure but then again, she wasn’t gonna keep fighting and risk having him blow up uselessly.

Turning off the lights, she tiredly crawls onto the stiff couch. Harry’s already snoring, and she can’t even get comfortable.

She tosses and turns as the clock tick’s midnight, but sleep is a fever dream. She chucks her pillow onto the carpet, quickly following after it. The floor might be a better option than the couch.

. .

It’s been 1876 seconds and Harry snores 4 times every minute and it’s been 30. The floor is hurting her back.

Y/N gives up on sleep altogether, getting up and turning on the one lamp placed on the oak table in the room. A warm buttery light surrounds that corner of the room. She looks over her shoulder to see if it disturbed Harry but he was still snoring.

He looked almost adorable like this. Messy curls strewn over his forehead, chest rising with soft subdued breaths. His features were relaxed, free of that furrow he gets in his brows when he’s ticked off.

Her lips quirk up the tiniest bit but she doesn’t indulge in it any further. Y/N gently pulls out the chair with a sigh, plopping down on it and flipping open the case files. Might as well work.

“Y/L/N. Y/L/N wake up! Wake up, Jesus.” Y/N can just make out a deep, accented voice mumbling and a hand shaking her shoulder gently. “Y/L/N come on you idiot.”

She rises slowly, groaning out a sigh. She tips her head back to find Harry standing above her, sleep smeared over his face.

“Why the fuck are you sleeping on the table?” She learns that Harry’s voice becomes much deeper and raspier when he wakes up and she doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

“I-I was sleeping on the couch first but then I tried the floor cause the couch was very stiff but then like the ground was stiffer so I tried to do some work and I think I might’ve fallen asleep? What time is it?”

“Oh yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s around 1:17 something. You can-you can uh come sleep on the bed. It’s large enough for like 3 people and we both need sleep so you can take one side, I guess.”

Y/N raises her eyebrow. “You’re sure? You know what, I’m not even gonna question it. Get outta the way, motherfucker.”

Harry mutters something along the lines of why did I let her sleep in my bed but does nothing as she wriggles under the unmade side of the bed. Y/N’s eyes are already drooping as he gets under the covers on his side.

“Stay on your fucking side, Y/L/N. I mean it please.”

She hums out an unintelligible response.

Harry doesn’t remember when he fell back to sleep but the last thing, he did remember that night was his partner’s arm extending away from her face where it had been previously and landing next to his, their pinkies now wrapped together.

. .

He feels warm. It’s not the fuck I’m burning it’s too much kind of warmth but rather the toasty welcomed kind. The one where you’re curled up under a blanket watching a movie with your cat at your feet, a fire cackling gently by the side, sweet candles burning, and an even sweeter girl in your arms.

Harry’s emerald eyes blink open heavily. There’s a weight in his arms and it’s 4 am. The weight shifts. It also sighs and cuddles closer to Harry. He finds the weight is actually a person. The person is Y/N and it’s pleasant.

Harry falls back to sleep.

. .

. . . .

. .

She feels warm. It’s not the ah it’s burning kind of warmth but rather the welcomed toasty kind. The one where you’re snuggled up under the covers watching a movie with your cat at your feet and there’s a fire cackling gently by the side, sweet candles burning and an even sweeter boy, holding you in his arms.

Y/N’s eyes blink open heavily. There’s a weight on top of her and it’s 8 am. The weight shifts. It also sighs and snuggles tighter around Y/N. She finds the weight is actually a person. The person is Harry and it’s very unpleasant.

Y/N squawks and throws him down.

“What in the Jesus Christ-” Harry gapes from the floor, having been woken up suddenly. He looks up and there she is holding her pillow like a weapon. Is she serious?

“Why the fuck were you cuddling me?”

“Why the fuck would I cuddle you?”

“I do not fucking know! You were the one on top of me!”

“You were the one on my side!”

“Well, someone crossed over!”

“You did!”

“Oh no, you were the one who started it!”

“Shut your bitch ass up, you started it, Styles!”

“Oh, please Y/L/N, you are the last person I would want to snuggle with. I may be a touchy person but I’m not that desperate-”

“Oh, you’re a man-whore so you better jus-”

Someone’s phone rings.

It’s Nick.

There’s silence.

Then there’s scrambling.

Y/N snatches up the phone and answers it.

“Hey yeah hi. Good morning, Nick, how’re you doing this fine morning?” She awkwardly asks her director and Harry just crouches on the floor, his head in his hands.

“Y/N what did you do? It’s not even 9 yet. Why are you answering Styles’ phone? Did you two finally fuck it out or like-”

“Nick! Please. What do you want?”

Harry leans against the bed like he’s in pain (might as well be) because he can very well listen to the conversation going on, on the phone.

Nick heaves a sigh on the other side. “I just wanted to ask you two how it’s going and inform you from where you’d be collecting your clothes for tonight.”

They straighten up and look at each other. Down to business.

“There’s this cute boutique downtown, owned by a sweet lady called Juliana. Now, she is doing me a big favour by entertaining your asses-”

“Oh, now come on that’s not fai-”

“Shut up Y/L/N and let me finish. Have no manners I swear to god.”

Before Y/N can open her mouth to complain some more (she always whines like this but Nick never says anything, not to her) Harry snatches his cell back and clears his throat.

“Now movin on. You’ll go to her no late than noon and take your pick from whatever options she has. Don’t bother her too much.”

“You sweet for her, Nicky?” Harry snickers, sneaking a look at Y/N who’s doing the same.

“Sure like you are for that wife of yours, huh Styles?”

Nick ends Harry and the call.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic recs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x reader angst #harry styles x reader smut #agentrry #agent!harry styles #spy!harry #spy harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n

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softie-rain · 2 months

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ALSO!!!

Jamison and Andrew are so Daylight coded it's hurting my soul

#softie reads #all that's left in the world #CAN SOMEONE READ THIS BOOK PLEASE I NEED TO FREAK OUT

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sunshine-on-marz · 10 months

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“The note book” this

“Titanic” that

YOU CANT HOLD A TORCH TO WHAT ANDREW AND JAMISON HAVE

#all that’s left in the world #all that’s left in the world erik j brown #erik j brown

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bolllywoodhungama · 5 months

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Critics Choice Awards 2024: Christopher Nolan, Oppenheimer, Barbie, Succession, The Bear lead the wins

The Critics Choice Awards 2024 celebrated cinematic and television excellence on Sunday night, January 14, 2024. Chelsea Handler returned as the host for the evening. Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer shone, securing eight wins, including Best Picture and Best Director though Cillian Murphy missed the Best Actor win. Greta Gerwig’s Barbie claimed six awards, winning in categories like Best Comedy and Best Original Screenplay. Emma Stone earned Best Actress for Poor Things. On the TV front, Succession, The Bear, and Beef led the wins.

FILM BEST PICTURE American Fiction Barbie The Color Purple The Holdovers Killers of the Flower Moon Maestro Oppenheimer - WINNER Past Lives Poor Things Saltburn

BEST ACTOR Bradley Cooper, Maestro Leonardo DiCaprio, Killers of the Flower Moon Colman Domingo, Rustin Paul Giamatti, The Holdovers - WINNER Cillian Murphy, Oppenheimer Jeffrey Wright, American Fiction

BEST ACTRESS Lily Gladstone, Killers of the Flower Moon Sandra Hüller, Anatomy of a Fall Greta Lee, Past Lives Carey Mulligan, Maestro Margot Robbie, Barbie Emma Stone, Poor Things - WINNER

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR Sterling K. Brown, American Fiction Robert De Niro, Killers of the Flower Moon Robert Downey Jr., Oppenheimer - WINNER Ryan Gosling, Barbie Charles Melton, May December Mark Ruffalo, Poor Things

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS Emily Blunt, Oppenheimer Danielle Brooks, The Color Purple America Ferrera, Barbie Jodie Foster, Nyad Julianne Moore, May December Da'Vine Joy Randolph, The Holdovers - WINNER

BEST YOUNG ACTOR/ACTRESS Abby Ryder Fortson, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. Ariana Greenblatt, Barbie Calah Lane, Wonka Milo Machado Graner, Anatomy of a Fall Dominic Sessa, The Holdovers - WINNER Madeleine Yuna Voyles, The Creator

BEST ACTING ENSEMBLE Air Barbie The Color Purple The Holdovers Killers of the Flower Moon Oppenheimer - WINNER

BEST DIRECTOR Bradley Cooper, Maestro Greta Gerwig, Barbie Yorgos Lanthimos, Poor Things Christopher Nolan, Oppenheimer - WINNER Alexander Payne, The Holdovers Martin Scorsese, Killers of the Flower Moon

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY Kelly Fremon Craig, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. Andrew Haigh, All of Us Strangers Cord Jefferson, American Fiction - WINNER Tony McNamara, Poor Things Christopher Nolan, Oppenheimer Eric Roth and Martin Scorsese, Killers of the Flower Moon

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY Samy Burch, May December Alex Convery, Air Bradley Cooper & Josh Singer, Maestro Greta Gerwig & Noah Baumbach, Barbie - WINNER David Hemingson, The Holdovers Celine Song, Past Lives

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY Matthew Libatique, Maestro Rodrigo Prieto, Barbie Rodrigo Prieto, Killers of the Flower Moon Robbie Ryan, Poor Things Linus Sandgren, Saltburn Hoyte van Hoytema, Oppenheimer - WINNER

BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN Suzie Davies, Charlotte Dirickx, Saltburn Ruth De Jong, Claire Kaufman, Oppenheimer Jack Fisk, Adam Willis, Killers of the Flower Moon Sarah Greenwood, Katie Spencer, Barbie - WINNER James Price, Shona Heath, Szusza Mihalek, Poor Things Adam Stockhausen, Kris Moran, Asteroid City

BEST EDITING William Goldenberg – Air Nick Houy – Barbie Jennifer Lame – Oppenheimer - WINNER Yorgos Mavropsaridis – Poor Things Thelma Schoonmaker – Killers of the Flower Moon Michelle Tesoro – Maestro

BEST COSTUME DESIGN Jacqueline Durran, Barbie - WINNER Lindy Hemming, Wonka Francine Jamison-Tanchuck, The Color Purple Holly Waddington, Poor Things Jacqueline West, Killers of the Flower Moon Janty Yates, David Crossman, Napoleon

BEST HAIR AND MAKEUP Barbie - WINNER The Color Purple Maestro Oppenheimer Poor Things Priscilla

BEST VISUAL EFFECTS The Creator Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One Oppenheimer - WINNER Poor Things Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

BEST COMEDY American Fiction Barbie - WINNER Bottoms The Holdovers No Hard Feelings Poor Things

BEST ANIMATED FILM The Boy and the Heron Elemental Nimona Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse - WINNER Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem Wish

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM Anatomy of a Fall - WINNER Godzilla Minus One Perfect Days Society of the Snow The Taste of Things The Zone of Interest

BEST SONG “Dance the Night," Barbie “I’m Just Ken," Barbie - WINNER “Peaches," The Super Mario Bros. Movie “Road to Freedom," Rustin "This Wish," Wish "What Was I Made For," Barbie

BEST SCORE Jerskin Fendrix, Poor Things Michael Giacchino, Society of the Snow Ludwig Göransson, Oppenheimer - WINNER Daniel Pemberton, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse Robbie Robertson, Killers of the Flower Moon Mark Ronson, Andrew Wyatt, Barbie

TELEVISION BEST DRAMA SERIES The Crown The Diplomat The Last of Us Loki The Morning Show Stark Trek: Strange New Worlds Succession - WINNER Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty

BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SERIES Kieran Culkin – Succession - WINNER Tom Hiddleston – Loki Timothy Olyphant – Justified: City Primeval Pedro Pascal – The Last of Us Ramón Rodríguez – Will Trent Jeremy Strong – Succession

BEST ACTRESS IN A DRAMA SERIES Jennifer Aniston – The Morning Show Aunjanue Ellis – Justified: City Primeval Bella Ramsey – The Last of Us Keri Russell – The Diplomat Sarah Snook – Succession - WINNER Reese Witherspoon – The Morning Show

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A DRAMA SERIES Khalid Abdalla – The Crown Billy Crudup – The Morning Show - WINNER Ron Cephas Jones – Truth Be Told Matthew MacFadyen – Succession Ke Huy Quan – Loki Rufus Sewell – The Diplomat

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA SERIES Nicole Beharie – The Morning Show Elizabeth Debicki – The Crown - WINNER Sophia Di Martino – Loki Celia Rose Gooding – Star Trek: Strange New Worlds Karen Pittman – The Morning Show Christina Ricci – Yellowjackets

BEST COMEDY SERIES Abbott Elementary Barry The Bear - WINNER The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel Poker Face Reservation Dogs Shrinking What We Do in the Shadows

BEST ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES Bill Hader – Barry Steve Martin – Only Murders in the Building Kayvan Novak – What We Do in the Shadows Drew Tarver – The Other Two Jeremy Allen White – The Bear - WINNER D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai – Reservation Dogs

BEST ACTRESS IN A COMEDY SERIES Rachel Brosnahan – The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel Quinta Brunson – Abbott Elementary Ayo Edebiri – The Bear - WINNER Bridget Everett – Somebody Somewhere Devery Jacobs – Reservation Dogs Natasha Lyonne – Poker Face

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES Phil Dunster – Ted Lasso Harrison Ford – Shrinking Harvey Guillén – What We Do in the Shadows James Marsden – Jury Duty Ebon Moss-Bachrach – The Bear - WINNER Henry Winkler – Barry

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A COMEDY SERIES Paulina Alexis – Reservation Dogs Alex Borstein – The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel Janelle James – Abbott Elementary Sheryl Lee Ralph – Abbott Elementary Meryl Streep – Only Murders in the Building - WINNER Jessica Williams – Shrinking

BEST LIMITED SERIES Beef - WINNER Daisy Jones & the Six Fargo Fellow Travelers Lessons in Chemistry Love & Death A Murder at the End of the World A Small Light

BEST MOVIE MADE FOR TELEVISION The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial Finestkind Mr. Monk’s Last Case: A Monk Movie No One Will Save You Quiz Lady - WINNER Reality

BEST ACTOR IN A LIMITED SERIES OR MOVIE MADE FOR TELEVISION Matt Bomer – Fellow Travelers Tom Holland – The Crowded Room David Oyelowo – Lawmen: Bass Reeves Tony Shalhoub – Mr. Monk’s Last Case: A Monk Movie Kiefer Sutherland – The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial Steven Yeun – Beef - WINNER

BEST ACTRESS IN A LIMITED SERIES OR MOVIE MADE FOR TELEVISION Kaitlyn Dever – No One Will Save You Carla Gugino – The Fall of the House of Usher Brie Larson – Lessons in Chemistry Bel Powley – A Small Light Sydney Sweeney – Reality Juno Temple – Fargo Ali Wong – Beef - WINNER

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A LIMITED SERIES OR MOVIE MADE FOR TELEVISION Jonathan Bailey – Fellow Travelers - WINNER Taylor Kitsch – Painkiller Jesse Plemons – Love & Death Lewis Pullman – Lessons in Chemistry Liev Schreiber – A Small Light Justin Theroux – White House Plumbers

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A LIMITED SERIES OR MOVIE MADE FOR TELEVISION Maria Bello – Beef - WINNER Billie Boullet – A Small Light Willa Fitzgerald – The Fall of the House of Usher Aja Naomi King – Lessons in Chemistry Mary McDonnell – The Fall of the House of Usher Camila Morrone – Daisy Jones & the Six

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE SERIES Bargain The Glory The Good Mothers The Interpreter of Silence Lupin - WINNER Mask Girl Moving

BEST ANIMATED SERIES Bluey Bob’s Burgers Harley Quinn Scott Pilgrim Takes Off - WINNER Star Trek: Lower Decks Young Love

BEST TALK SHOW The Graham Norton Show Jimmy Kimmel Live! The Kelly Clarkson Show Last Week Tonight with John Oliver - WINNER Late Night with Seth Meyers The Late Show with Stephen Colbert

BEST COMEDY SPECIAL Mike Birbiglia: The Old Man and the Pool Alex Borstein: Corsets & Clown Suits John Early: Now More Than Ever John Mulaney: Baby J - Winner Trevor Noah: Where Was I Wanda Sykes – I’m an Entertainer

#Barbie #Barbie (English)#Christopher Nolan #Critics Choice Awards #Critics Choice Awards 2024 #Hollywood #International #Oppenheimer #Oppenheimer (English)#OTT #OTT Platform #Succession #Television #The Bear #TV #bollywood hungama

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