thirty-four. british-born, american-raised film & stage actress with occasional production credits.
she grows up between london and a sprawling estate in the countryside. her father believes in strong moral values, which meant living in a multi-million dollar manor in a small town populated by off-branches of nobility for greater spans of time than in the multi-million dollar townhouse in a metropolitan city filled with offspring of the affluent. strong moral values meant traditional english values, which in turn meant classism and nationalism intersecting with a hefty pound of prejudice. it meant - more precisely, most specifically - grumbling at modernity and cities with ever-lengthening traffic, supporting the crown and teaching your daughter to sit straight and act pretty. that they move to america when ava is nine alters none of these things.
the marriage that produces ava is not a secondary one, but it is late-stage for the head of household. hector castro is already into his forties when he marries the daughter of a longtime business and golf partner, making him significantly older than the average first-time father when ava is born. so she grows up a generation behind her peers: bearing their same age, but being raised into a woman meant for decades earlier.
she is allowed - and certainly expected - to be smart, talented, and charming. ava was to exert herself in school and spend her extracurricular hours learning that which would further her through private tutors: etiquette, piano, elocution, dance, and other disciplines of that ilk. she knew she was meant to succeed, but in certain specified areas; despite work ethic being instilled, the idea of work itself - or what careers would be accepted - was never directly mentioned. acting, when itâs brought up, is quickly discarded as a thing for girls of lesser means.
despite her ability to part every room she walks into like your profile is a knifeâs edge, sheâs too soft a girl â everything ava brushes up against bruises. sheâs the prettiest girl in school, and the one over, and probably even the one after that, but like kidskin gloves turned inside out, she gives the most vulnerable bits to the world at first glance. you cry for everyone: strangers on the news, friends made in the bathroom at house parties, yourself. every girl is your best friend, every handsome man is your most beloved. itâs exhausting, falling in love so much, but father doesnât care for it and mother says next to nothing at all.
the happiest years of her life are those at the royal academy of dramatic arts, a handful of time stolen as a bargain from her fatherâs home: if youâre going to make a fool out of me on camera, you will do so with proper training. she lives in a flat with two roommates not for the sake of budget, but the ability to come home to others. free of the stifling eye of her father and not yet introduced to the suffocating hand of hollywood, this is perhaps the last time ava was purely herself.
as far as western celebrities go, sheâs undeniably a-list. often described (for pr purposes as much as anything else) as among the last great movie stars. sheâs never worked in television, is largely inaccessible through social media, and because of coming from money has never had to accept anything less than a prestige project. with undeniable box office draw combined with her aesthetic and old hollywood mannerisms, itâs an easily understandable billing.
plenty of contradiction to her: decides to change her life every midnight, but is consistently obsessive about improving herself. reads proust and whitman and joyce repeatedly in the hopes of expanding her mental horizons. sensitive, delicate heart. loves hard, cries easy. thinks sheâs no good.
MISC.
her first notable role was shoshanna in inglourious basterds, but generally speaking her Big Break is considered to have happened in 2012-13. she played selina kyle in 2012's the dark knight rises, which catapulted her to box office audiences across the world, but followed it up with a massively 3-film year in 2013, which solidified her place in film canon.
notable film roles include but arenât limited to: shoshanna in inglourious basterds (2008), naomi lapaglia in the wolf of wall street (2013), daisy buchanan in the great gatsby (2013), deeanna moran in hail, caesar! (2016), mia in la la land (2016), joi in blade runner 2049 (2017), sharon tate in once upon a time in hollywood (2019), marion davies in mank (2020), mrs. de winter in rebecca (2020), molly cahill in nightmare alley (2021), madeleine swann in spectre (2015) and no time to die (2021), and nellie laroy in babylon (2022). her upcoming projects include barbie (her first comedy!!) and lady margot in dune part 2
CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS: marilyn monroe (obviously); kelly canter (country strong); holly golightly (breakfast at tiffanyâs); daisy buchanan (the great gatsby); delysia lafosse (miss pettigrew lives for a day).
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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 â 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 iâve been looking for an excuse to work with you again for years.
âmy elevator pitch? alright, alright,â she straightens up into the grin this idea elicits, rolling her shoulders in a quick little burst of excitement. ânow, i wouldâve taken your hand like this,â one folded into both of hers at the midpoint of the table, an imitation of solemnity as ava clears her throat. âyou know, like some studio exec whose either far too familiar, or much too desperate,â a giggle threatens the bit. ava lets it stretch her lips again before swallowing. âand iâd say,â pause. gravitas. âjulia, 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. iâve seen the script, spoken with potential directors, and while admittedly i donât have any of the colour or experience of cherry red, iâm 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 canât think of anyone more talented, or more perfectly suited, to fall in love with all over again ââ
the bit falls to the table. avaâs smile is genuine.
ââ and if that didnât work, iâd have a little cartier in my purse.â
he can see that spark in her eyes â- 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 sheâd move: the angle of her shoulders, exactly which point of the next phrase the head will tip. her story is charming, itâs 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 â when she is tired, when she is restless, the delicate way sheâd take a bite out of those fucking cakes, the material of her robe and what sheâd feel like under it, and then wrapped in a pretty bow of a reference ti all the things that had happened in prague. he canât help but wonder, if this is a hook thatâs just occurred to her, or if it is a tether she is grabbing onto, to keep herself â 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 canât be out here alone for too long. too open. too exposed. Â
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 cupidâs bow. itâs a private chuckle he wonât 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 thatâs to where she wants ? he canât tell. that part has never been his job. and the personal time theyâve spent, heâs never delved too deeply into finding out because he doesnât want to find an answer that he doesnât like. things get complicated. complicated in their business could be inspiring, too complicated could end everything.
 â you know, it doesnât take that much to buy a recipe off a chef in prague. â a filler sentence, it buys him time that he extends with another long drag, a lift of a brow as he taps again,  â been busy. i did miss you from time to time. â  now and then in the vanguard, when heâd crawled out of a hole just to go into another hole, shrouded in a corner, heâd see flashes of what she might look like, dim lighting, bouncing off bare shoulders, carrying what he could make of her next.Â
( ... )
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. theyâre so careless compared to this moment on the balcony, the ones inside moving inside a moment rather than revolving around its perimeters. âyes, i suppose you can always buy something, canât you?â 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 thatâs not the point, or the arrow, or the meat of what sheâs saying.Â
âthatâs nice,â she says, because avaâs 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, âi think itâs over.â itâs the first step to a goodbye. the parting has to be now or, as ava can feel, it wonât happen at all. all the same, thereâs a beat of quiet before it happens, sweet and soft, before a hand rests on his elbow â a balancing measure as she leans in to stamp the moment with an imprint, lips on his cheek. âhave a good night, louis.â
thereâs 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 itâs always been, heâs the one toting caution at her like he is its very own posterchild â a position he resents. risks matter. he has to believe he knows better what the right ones are.
â boring damned people, all over the earth, propagating more boring damned people, what a horror show, â  the quote spills listlessly like a rote continuation of where she leaves off. bukowskiâs words have a propensity to sound profound, until you remember that he was a bitter man who couldnât even cope with his own misogyny, a man whoâd 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 thereâs 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.  â were we that obnoxious ?  â
( ... )
âto everyone else in the room? almost certainly.â
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 couldnât even get through a sentence that didnât keep your name inside it. could have said, you didnât stray any farther than the edge of my perfume. if it had been any later in the evening, she might have.
but itâs 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. itâs too early, really, and thereâs no need to recite a story when you can see the pictures playing across the screen.
ava doesnât 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.Â
âyou know, itâs the funniest thing,â she starts, knowing what sheâs about to say, but quite unsure as to why sheâs decided to say it. âi was thinking of you just last week. i was entirely worn out from a shoot,â i was tired, and exhausted, and all of those words, as i almost always am, and i was taking something to help with it. âbut it was all i could do to slip in and out of sleep. iâd nod off, then every twenty minutes or so, iâd 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, âiâm famishedâ. positively starved. but all i wanted was one of those ââ a hand pulls from the railing, thumb and forefinger gesturing into a broken moon shape. âthose 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.â laughter breaks up what sheâs saying. trying to say. what sheâs not sure sheâs saying. breathy, sweet. âit wasnât until i saw your name that i remembered i was here and you were in new york.âÂ
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the bass is muffled, but it vibrates, pounding somewhere at the back of his neck. he doesnât sense her in quite the same way, itâs 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 momentâŚÂ like animals before a storm. his amusement huffs briefly and heâll breathe in deeply, face turned up against the breeze, the freshest thing heâll get tonight â before he lights up, takes a long drag.  â  more party appropriate, â   grey ash expels upward and outward before he turns, corner of his lips pulled up one way, leaning on the railing by his elbow.Â
words donât do her justice, so he doesnât waste his time trying to use them. heâs lived long enough to know that eyes matter, they do the talking for you. his reflect the star-light sheâs exuding. free finger swishes somewhere close to his ear. â looks good. goes with the palette  â  if he didnât know better, if he didnât find her so uniquely noticeable,  he might have said that she is almost unrecognisable from certain angles. he could still say it. she wouldnât believe him. â itâs good to see you. â manhattan is full of contradictions and distractions, heâs 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 â he wonât recite it, he knows what that does. â enjoying yourself ? â
âeasel or tongue?â palette or palate, is the joke, and itâs an easy witticism for her to find. sheâd 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. sheâs no longer the girl twisting endlessly in order to catch the light, hoping heâll look a little longer, but she is a woman who still wants to make him smile.Â
âthank you,â she still adds, âitâs always good to see you, louis.â so different from the flattery happening indoors, itâs 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. itâs spoken gently and not a single nominee inside could make it sound more genuine. itâs simply how it is. those birdlike shoulders rise up and fall, a slight little gesture, as she comes to rest next to him.
âyou know how i am at these things,â 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. âitâs all gorgeous, really. and i can see all these people separately, but somehow once theyâre all together...â 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 thereâs no point in repeating it. sheâs a thoroughbred filly, made to fit the room but sensitive and high-strung once itâs 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 isnât. she knows that too. âwhen we were here in twenty eighteen,â she says instead, reverie drawing something fond into her mouth, shaping it into a distant smile. âthat was the only year it wasnât like that.â
Send âââ for a MORNING text.
Send âââ for a text that WASNâT SENT.
Send âââ for a RUSHED text.
Send âââ for a DRUNK text.
Send ââżâ for a SUGGESTIVE text.
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Send â#â for a RANDOM text.
Send â@â for a SCARED text.
Send â&â for a LOVING text.
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Send âăâ for an EXCITED text.
Send â$â for an ACCIDENTAL text.
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looking at you:Â Â Â Â Â Â @avangelinesâ
location: Â vanity fair oscars party
familiarity doesnât sear his spine until maybe the third bar. he hadnât 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.Â
when his chin turns in her direction, his companions chatter turning into a background lull, itâs with the knowledge that his eyes will meet hers â see the curve of her eyeliner compress just slightly, the twist of her mouth.
heâs not stupid, he knows sheâs not perfect. despite those doll eyes, pretty mouth, thereâs ruin in her pulse, devastation in his when sheâs too close. he could count his mistakes, the ones that had turned him into another fuckinâ clichĂŠ, but what use is it ? he looks at her and he still sees possibility, canât help seeing her through a lens, how her story might play out next. âexcuse me,â  he tells the other half of the conversation heâs 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.Â
the hum is already buzzing in avaâs 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 whatâs 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 isnât for them, as it only takes a moment after avaâs 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 canât 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 doesnât greet him. doesnât 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.
âGive me a twirl, darling.â 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 wouldnât 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. âYou look magical, I am truly captivated. More so than normal.â Tilman winks.
âoh, til, stop it!â she whispers, free hand slapping loose and loving into his chest. a beat, two. the slow creeping of her lips into an upper shape heâs always able to make. ava flits under his arm, laughing. fabric flutters about her ankles and she presses herself into tilmanâs front when itâs done, glancing around the foreground of his arm. âyouâre too much, everyoneâs going to think iâm showing off.â never crow, avangeline. her fathers voice in her head. let how you carry yourself speak for you. oh, well. birds are meant to sing, arenât they? âoh, iâm so glad youâre 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.â
a velvet booth among the hedonism of the vanity fair after party.
if youâve been at the right, insignificant points of history ⸺ a space below itâs elbow, left collarbone, nape of the neck ⸺ youâd know how familiar the sight of them is. two platinum blonde heads (or formerly a matching set, what with avaâs 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. âoh!â 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. âi havenât been that brazen about that since our biarritz summers.â
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