ISN'T SHE LOVELY? @avangelines - Tumblr Blog

𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑵 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑬𝑮𝑨𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺. 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑫. 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑼𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑶, 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑵 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑨𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑽𝑰𝑮𝑰𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯. 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑫 𝑨 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑹 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑶 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑩𝑬 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑹 𝑰𝑻.

PINTEREST. CONNECTIONS.

tinseltowns:

one of the most truly illustrious highlights of julia’s career, both personally and professionally, was the moment she found herself cast alongside ava in a passionate adaptation of carol. from their first chemistry read, julia had a profound understanding that she had found someone truly magical in this hell of an industry — she connected deeply with the bright, beautiful young woman, thus cultivating one of their finest onscreen performances. and if there was one thing that she had learned not only throughout filming, but also in the delicate friendship they had cultivated, it was the undeniable truth that it’s remarkably easy to fall in love with ava castro. though it had been a handful of years since their film garnered both praise and a frenzy of online fans observing their every interaction, ava’s remained a warm, reliable presence in julia’s perpetually chaotic life.

“under no obligation?” julia’s already grinning, head canted towards the actress, “ava, darling, you’re acting as if i’m being waterboarded or forced to sit through a nauseating james cameron panel — same thing, i suppose.” she lowers her voice then, almost gleefully — sure, he kick started her career, but she’s certainly had more than a few migraines solely dedicated to him. “i’ve been looking for an excuse to work with you again for years, and this … i mean, isn’t everyone dying to be part of this?” or rather, isn’t everybody dying to play alongside ava at her most glamorous? julia certainly is. “but go on, if you’re so eager to tell me yourself, then please,” she beams, reclining into her seat and arching an eyebrow towards the femme, “how would you have sold me on the project? you know, presuming i’m an idiot who wouldn’t immediately say yes.”

it had been strange and amusing to see the way the outside world had interpreted the fondness between them, counting up affections in backstage photos or behind the scene film, moments inscribed as unique from other relationships, and therefore proof of an intimacy beyond friendship. but the truth of it that there was a difference with julia — a mutual assuredness of respect, a thing real and solid that ava did not hesitate to put her weight onto. that complete lack of doubt or uncertainty when the woman across from her says i’ve been looking for an excuse to work with you again for years.

“my elevator pitch? alright, alright,” she straightens up into the grin this idea elicits, rolling her shoulders in a quick little burst of excitement. “now, i would’ve taken your hand like this,” one folded into both of hers at the midpoint of the table, an imitation of solemnity as ava clears her throat. “you know, like some studio exec whose either far too familiar, or much too desperate,” a giggle threatens the bit. ava lets it stretch her lips again before swallowing. “and i’d say,” pause. gravitas. “julia, i know how strongly we both feel about our capacity to work together. and all selfishness about the fun we have aside, i think i have something where we could do it all over again. i’ve seen the script, spoken with potential directors, and while admittedly i don’t have any of the colour or experience of cherry red, i’m trying to follow your lead in having a hand in shaping this story, which i truly think could be brilliant. especially if you would come on board with me. i can’t think of anyone more talented, or more perfectly suited, to fall in love with all over again —”

the bit falls to the table. ava’s smile is genuine.

“— and if that didn’t work, i’d have a little cartier in my purse.”

#c. julia #BRINGING IT BACK SINCE THE EVENT IS CLOSED HOPE THATS OK BB #i hate this reply . i had no idea how to write the pitch . please excuse it

pvlshd:

he can see that spark in her eyes —- no, no not a spark, a faraway glow that seems to approach, looming larger as it closes in and then blooms; a formless thing taking shape if you only bother to see past the glare. she goes off on a tangent in that melody of hers that he knows too well. he could close his eyes and know which way she’d move: the angle of her shoulders, exactly which point of the next phrase the head will tip. her story is charming, it’s easy to lose focus, she had cravings in the middle of the night, the confusion off a sleep-addled brain almost led her to make a whimsical blunder, he can encapsulate it into a single sentence in moments, but no, what he is watching here, is the way she chooses to tell it. long-winded, but effective in rolling the tape of his imagination, because he knows, what she looks like, in all those little moments — when she is tired, when she is restless, the delicate way she’d take a bite out of those fucking cakes, the material of her robe and what she’d feel like under it, and then wrapped in a pretty bow of a reference ti all the things that had happened in prague. he can’t help but wonder, if this is a hook that’s just occurred to her, or if it is a tether she is grabbing onto, to keep herself — or him, in that balcony, just a little longer, before he starts to say the thing that is already there at the back of his mind: we can’t be out here alone for too long. too open. too exposed.

strange little anthologies. the phrase brings a quicker huff of grey from his airways, tapping ash over the railing before scraping his middle finger over his cupid’s bow. it’s a private chuckle he won’t expound on. ava is a bird in a plane, all featherlight and silken to touch, caught in an inescapable dream, she flies… soars… but whether that’s to where she wants ? he can’t tell. that part has never been his job. and the personal time they’ve spent, he’s never delved too deeply into finding out because he doesn’t want to find an answer that he doesn’t like. things get complicated. complicated in their business could be inspiring, too complicated could end everything.

“ you know, it doesn’t take that much to buy a recipe off a chef in prague. ” a filler sentence, it buys him time that he extends with another long drag, a lift of a brow as he taps again, “ been busy. i did miss you from time to time. ” now and then in the vanguard, when he’d crawled out of a hole just to go into another hole, shrouded in a corner, he’d see flashes of what she might look like, dim lighting, bouncing off bare shoulders, carrying what he could make of her next.

( ... )

her attention snags on some brightly coloured moment of the jubilee behind the glass doors, and she watches a company of beautiful people dance as louis speaks. they’re so careless compared to this moment on the balcony, the ones inside moving inside a moment rather than revolving around its perimeters. “yes, i suppose you can always buy something, can’t you?” it had been a small little shop, lovely in its quaintness, leaned to one side as if it needed the compassionate shoulder of its neighbour to stay upright. the kind of place where the recipe was memorized rather than written. but that’s not the point, or the arrow, or the meat of what she’s saying.

“that’s nice,” she says, because ava’s learned to leave the weight of from time to time on the ground rather than inspect it, not addressing the platitude to the idea of being missed or louis being busy. the song, their song, is through. passed right over their heads. another melody pipes through the shuttered doors, faster and lighter without the weight of attachment. airily, “i think it’s over.” it’s the first step to a goodbye. the parting has to be now or, as ava can feel, it won’t happen at all. all the same, there’s a beat of quiet before it happens, sweet and soft, before a hand rests on his elbow — a balancing measure as she leans in to stamp the moment with an imprint, lips on his cheek. “have a good night, louis.”

#c. louis #e. vanity fair #wrapping up because we discussed moving on to the next !

pvlshd:

there’s a twitch in his jaw, visual crossbeats straining against its edge, movement discernible under the skin. his hum underlines her question, brief, but low. the look he tosses her is amused, but pointed. this is how it’s always been, he’s the one toting caution at her like he is its very own posterchild — a position he resents. risks matter. he has to believe he knows better what the right ones are.

“ boring damned people, all over the earth, propagating more boring damned people, what a horror show, ” the quote spills listlessly like a rote continuation of where she leaves off. bukowski’s words have a propensity to sound profound, until you remember that he was a bitter man who couldn’t even cope with his own misogyny, a man who’d reject first for fear of potential rejection. oddly, it parallels their participation in the hollywood system perfectly. hamsters in a wheel, the aspiration towards some higher moral consciousness, recognising the plight of the people they perform for, claiming to empower and yet there’s still a fucking red carpet camera that pans downward for only the women.

his eyes follow the trail of her fingers. delicate. controlled. a little different from what he remembers, but the eyes. the eyes are the same. “ were we that obnoxious ? ”

( ... )

“to everyone else in the room? almost certainly.”

it nearly feels like the hour to tell a story. nearly. another few clicks of a short hand on a white face, and ava might have started on i couldn’t even get through a sentence that didn’t keep your name inside it. could have said, you didn’t stray any farther than the edge of my perfume. if it had been any later in the evening, she might have.

but it’s still early. everyone inside has a long way to go before they pass the threshold of unbearable inebriation, louis is rewarding her quips with a look crossed between amusement and caution, and the lights are raised high enough that he can read the reverie on her face. it’s too early, really, and there’s no need to recite a story when you can see the pictures playing across the screen.

ava doesn’t mind, knowing she plays like a projector in front of louis; the memory is one warm, hard soap-bubble on the inside of her ribs. fond, ephemeral, outlasting.

“you know, it’s the funniest thing,” she starts, knowing what she’s about to say, but quite unsure as to why she’s decided to say it. “i was thinking of you just last week. i was entirely worn out from a shoot,” i was tired, and exhausted, and all of those words, as i almost always am, and i was taking something to help with it. “but it was all i could do to slip in and out of sleep. i’d nod off, then every twenty minutes or so, i’d wake up again. i had these little snippets of dreams; strange little anthologies, almost. and in the middle of the night i woke up again and suddenly thought, ‘i’m famished’. positively starved. but all i wanted was one of those —” a hand pulls from the railing, thumb and forefinger gesturing into a broken moon shape. “those little honey cakes from that shop in prague. i fell asleep again, woke up again; the same thing. this intense craving. but this time i was up, without really thinking about it, tying my robe, looking for my phone. i was going to call you. i think, for a moment, i really believed we were there still.” laughter breaks up what she’s saying. trying to say. what she’s not sure she’s saying. breathy, sweet. “it wasn’t until i saw your name that i remembered i was here and you were in new york.”

#c. louis #e. vanity fair #pills tw #very vague but !

fcoppola

The Misfits (1961)

What makes you so sad? You’re the saddest girl I ever met.

#❛ here is the girl at the end of all your dreams ⸺ muse .

fawnaura

“She fascinates me because sensuality breathes out of her, pours from her.”

— Anaïs Nin, from Auletris

#❛ here is the girl at the end of all your dreams ⸺ muse .

possession

CHLOE (2009) dir. Atom Egoyan

#❛ here is the girl at the end of all your dreams ⸺ muse .

pvlshd:

the bass is muffled, but it vibrates, pounding somewhere at the back of his neck. he doesn’t sense her in quite the same way, it’s more about how the blurred bodies in the corners of his vision seem to turn towards the same thing and then shuffle at the same moment… like animals before a storm. his amusement huffs briefly and he’ll breathe in deeply, face turned up against the breeze, the freshest thing he’ll get tonight — before he lights up, takes a long drag. “ more party appropriate, ” grey ash expels upward and outward before he turns, corner of his lips pulled up one way, leaning on the railing by his elbow.

words don’t do her justice, so he doesn’t waste his time trying to use them. he’s lived long enough to know that eyes matter, they do the talking for you. his reflect the star-light she’s exuding. free finger swishes somewhere close to his ear. “ looks good. goes with the palette ” if he didn’t know better, if he didn’t find her so uniquely noticeable, he might have said that she is almost unrecognisable from certain angles. he could still say it. she wouldn’t believe him. “ it’s good to see you. ” manhattan is full of contradictions and distractions, he’s perused the haunts, the vanguard, the bookstore in greenwich village, smoked a pipe while reading scripts, and still his mind had wandered. a poem comes to mind this moment — he won’t recite it, he knows what that does. “ enjoying yourself ? ”

“easel or tongue?” palette or palate, is the joke, and it’s an easy witticism for her to find. she’d spent the first few years of their relationship leaning the ear of her heart too far forward, trying to read something meaningful in every one of his responses, so the double meaning gives itself up naturally. eyebrows are raised slightly, chin canting outward. she’s no longer the girl twisting endlessly in order to catch the light, hoping he’ll look a little longer, but she is a woman who still wants to make him smile.

“thank you,” she still adds, “it’s always good to see you, louis.” so different from the flattery happening indoors, it’s not a fan to his ego but a single feather added to the scales as ava strays closer to the railing. the balance stays perfectly even. we read this as true. it’s spoken gently and not a single nominee inside could make it sound more genuine. it’s simply how it is. those birdlike shoulders rise up and fall, a slight little gesture, as she comes to rest next to him.

“you know how i am at these things,” a set of fingers run absently over the jut of her collarbone, knuckles brushing against cool diamond as she notes that he smells the same. ava had, previously, refused to look at the bottle of his cologne when it was on the nightstand, a pointed game of ignorance in order to pretend it was a not scent bottled and sold, but one unique to louis alone. funnily enough, she never seemed to catch the smell on anybody else. “it’s all gorgeous, really. and i can see all these people separately, but somehow once they’re all together...” her eyes go to the distance as she trails off. the skyline is familiar, and so is the rest of her sentiment. he knows, so there’s no point in repeating it. she’s a thoroughbred filly, made to fit the room but sensitive and high-strung once it’s packed, unable to figure out whether to shine or sit in the dark. similarly, she holds off on asking are you enjoying yourself in return, because he isn’t. she knows that too. “when we were here in twenty eighteen,” she says instead, reverie drawing something fond into her mouth, shaping it into a distant smile. “that was the only year it wasn’t like that.”

#c. louis #e. vanity fair

rpmememaker

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

#THE CLASSIC #tbt.

promptfairy

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ♡ 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

send the corresponding symbol(s) for headcanons surrounding the given topic(s)!

🍍 : how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type? how important is being attractive to them? 🍅 : how does my muse feel about plastic / cosmetic surgeries & procedures? is it something they have done or would do? do they mind if others do it? 🍏 : how stable is my muse’s physical health? do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician? do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication? how often do they get sick? 🍎 : how stable is my muse’s mental health? have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they or should they attend therapy? 🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t? 🍒 : how much does my muse value companionship? do they constantly keep people around them, or do they prefer to be alone often? do they have or desire to have many friends? do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend? 🍇 : how would my muse describe their childhood? how much has it impacted the person they are now, or will become as an adult? around what age did they or will they start to mature, and why? do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood? 🍐 : how intelligent is my muse overall? are they smarter than the average person, or less than? are they primarily self-taught, or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school? are they more street smart or book smart? 🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why? 🍌 : is my muse inclined to help others, or will they only do it when it benefits them, if at all? what makes them this way? has it ever gotten them into trouble, or inconvenienced them? 🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes? 🍓 : how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them? 🥝 : does my muse have any ‘ unusual ’ habits, interests, and / or talents? do they hide it, or are they proud of it? 🍋 : what kind of diet does my muse have? do they eat regularly, or the standard 2-3 meals a day? do they have to be reminded to eat, or are they likely to remind others? do they cook, or have others cook for them? do they eat healthily, or not so much? 🥭 : how important to my muse is their hometown, or where they’re from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero? did they move away, or do they wish to?

#tbt.

freshmoviequotes

Blonde (2022)

#❛ HERE IS THE GIRL AT THE END OF ALL YOUR DREAMS ⸺ muse .#❛ YOU COULD EAT HER WITH A SPOON ⸺ visuals .

hers-deactivated20210629

CAMILLE ROWE

Julie de Libran Couture Spring 2021

#❛ HERE IS THE GIRL AT THE END OF ALL YOUR DREAMS ⸺ muse .

pvlshd

looking at you: @avangelines location: vanity fair oscars party

familiarity doesn’t sear his spine until maybe the third bar. he hadn’t noticed the similarity of the words that have played in his head as many times as it has. he remembers the night it played, the lights reflected off the pool had danced across her skin, glinted off the edge of her smile.

when his chin turns in her direction, his companions chatter turning into a background lull, it’s with the knowledge that his eyes will meet hers — see the curve of her eyeliner compress just slightly, the twist of her mouth.

he’s not stupid, he knows she’s not perfect. despite those doll eyes, pretty mouth, there’s ruin in her pulse, devastation in his when she’s too close. he could count his mistakes, the ones that had turned him into another fuckin’ cliché, but what use is it ? he looks at her and he still sees possibility, can’t help seeing her through a lens, how her story might play out next. ‘excuse me,’ he tells the other half of the conversation he’s having, making as if he needs to make his rounds, stands, tugging on the line of her vision, pulling her into his gravity as he strides to the balcony for a smoke.

avangelines

the hum is already buzzing in ava’s mouth, a subtle taste, before the mind picks up on the significance of it. nostalgia kicks. she almost laughs in the middle of the conversation, and finds herself apologizing for the smile anyway, sealing her mouth shut with a press of fingers. her eyes drift across the room until she finds what’s already waiting for her: his gaze and the understanding that comes with it. ava nearly shakes her head when louis makes a loop to the nearest glass door, bypassing the chance to walk forward into the middle of the room. a straight line to meet is too simple a thing.

even the single other occupant of the balcony seems to realize this part of the story isn’t for them, as it only takes a moment after ava’s arrival for them to ash out and leave. the clutter of the party dims as the door shuts behind them, leaving only the imprint of familiar melody.

she can’t remember the last time she said the word hello to louis. after a certain point, the idea of hard ends and new beginnings had begun to feel ill-suited to them, leaving them only to a soft, shared middle; it was see you later rather than goodbye. there you are rather than hello. so she doesn’t greet him. doesn’t hi, darling, or how have you been? or offer up any of the incongruous phrases everybody else uses to communicate a stop or start. instead ava stands across from him on the cold marble balcony, hair a little longer than it was the last time.

“it’s a nice cover.”

#c. louis #e. vanity fair

tiilmans

@avangelines

“Give me a twirl, darling.” He coos to Ava as he holds her hand above her head. He had had only been to a handful of these things, but they were always a blast. Seeing his friends dressed up and having fun, that was absolutely blissful. He wouldn’t deny that.

And Ava of course, always stole the show when she came to these. A radiant beauty and belle of the ball. He was thankful to steal her away for a few moments outside. “You look magical, I am truly captivated. More so than normal.” Tilman winks.

avangelines

“oh, til, stop it!” she whispers, free hand slapping loose and loving into his chest. a beat, two. the slow creeping of her lips into an upper shape he’s always able to make. ava flits under his arm, laughing. fabric flutters about her ankles and she presses herself into tilman’s front when it’s done, glancing around the foreground of his arm. “you’re too much, everyone’s going to think i’m showing off.” never crow, avangeline. her fathers voice in her head. let how you carry yourself speak for you. oh, well. birds are meant to sing, aren’t they? “oh, i’m so glad you’re here. i get so dreadfully nervous at these things for no reason at all. all these poeple together in one room and it starts to feel like some kind of elevated reunion for a mirage of a secondary school.”

#c. tilman #e. vanity fair

@undecadent

a velvet booth among the hedonism of the vanity fair after party.

if you’ve been at the right, insignificant points of history ⸺ a space below it’s elbow, left collarbone, nape of the neck ⸺ you’d know how familiar the sight of them is. two platinum blonde heads (or formerly a matching set, what with ava’s finely curled head currently shaded far warmer) bent together among a thrum of music, one slender and tall, the other tender and evocative enough in body to bring up the word overripe. but those were spaces, pulse points, that belonged to vita and ava, women who had once been girls who had once been children making promises. look at them now. indents in their pinky fingers from where they made their oaths. “oh!” ava says suddenly, a set of milky, almond-shaped nails rising up like pearls to hide the sudden laugh peeling out of her mouth. her glance rolls sideways, demonstrating to vita the source of her surprise: a recognizable recording artist with his nose drifting smartly over rows of finely cut white powder. “i haven’t been that brazen about that since our biarritz summers.”

#drugs tw #these are my babies these are my forever gworls #e. vanity fair #c. vita

northwindow

Anne Carson, Norma Jeane Baker of Troy

#❛ HERE IS THE GIRL AT THE END OF ALL YOUR DREAMS ⸺ muse .

bob-belcher

We have a meeting in 10 minutes. I’ll tell you what to do. Repeat after me.

#AVA AND WHO #fr ava in her 30s mouthing the word bitch bc papa castro drilled into her that ladies dont swear #❛ HERE IS THE GIRL AT THE END OF ALL YOUR DREAMS ⸺ muse .

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