#some shit about how much more famous and accomplished than her husband she is. shut the fuck up we already knew that

[butchscientist]

look i get that the shit simone biles' husband said a while back was cringe but it's getting pretty old to see comments about him under every single video of her. personally i don't think it's very feminist to constantly bring up an embarrassing thing a woman's husband said months ago and she is clearly not interested in discussing every time she accomplishes something

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

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There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

[lilyissms]

1) to all the new members, it’s a’ me! a’ may’rio! i’ve been stanned a lot. i’m a #goodmin. 2) to members new and old, i’m gonna pull a mona and make an intro 2.0 bc i feel like,, a lot of things were left super vague in my og intro and also a few things have changed per my decision since then so ?? INTRO PART TWO, LEGGO !!

「 MARGOT ROBBIE, FEMALE, THIRTY, BRITNEY SPEARS. 」┈ did you read that latest viral gossip issue on LILY CAINE?  she is one of my favorite POP artists. they’ve been releasing music for SIXTEEN YEARS now, but viral gossip has only been talking about them for the last HOWEVER LONG IT’S BEEN AROUND PROBABLY. get this, i think i heard SHE’S BEEN UNDER A CONSERVATORSHIP FOR NEARLY A DECADE. they’re known as the PHOENIX of the music industry, since they have a rep for being RESOLUTE but INHIBITED, but who knows. maybe that will change once they become #1. ( MAY, 18, EST, SHE/HER. )

TRIGGERS: arguable emotional abuse, m a n i p u l a t i o n , death, suicide, unspecified mental illness.

1988 - 2002

lily was born in wisner, la with a population of 926 as of the last census. very small town. 

the expy has already jumped out.

she had a super nuclear family. mom and dad, older brother, younger sister. 

no middle child syndrome, i just... wanted to put her in the middle.

it wasn’t a harsh upbringing, per se, but it was a questionable one. they weren’t super well-off – her dad ‘ran’ a restaurant with little to no traction that was shut down in 1994, her mom was a job-skipper who was a waitress one day and a nanny the next. her brother started working at a gas station as soon as he was old enough. tried so hard, didn’t get too far.

did they really try that hard tho? i mean homeboy dad knew his restaurant was shit, homegirl mom knew she needed to actually work to hold down a job. only person who actually worked in the family was her brother tbh.

homeboy dad also had a problem with those alcoholic beverages and homegirl mom didn’t do much to help. 

so not a TERRIBLE, UNBEARABLE, TAKE THEM AWAY FROM THE HOUSE living situation, but a MAYBE GO MAKE SURE THESE KIDS ARE ALIVE situation

and that’s why lily and her younger sister were both used as meal tickets by her parents. they focused on them way more than they did their jobs, but not in that nice and pampering way?? more in the dance mom -esque way. like, they were CONVINCED one of the two was gonna rise to fame™ and all of their problems would be fixed. they put them in classes and competitions and basically used all of the money they should’ve been using for food and bills to see if one of these two kids could make them millionaires. 

sorry brother.

delusional? YES. but did it work? EVENTUALLY.

during one of said competitions, lily was kind of scouted out. she was 15 when she was signed to jive (wow, the expy is just thumpin!) and put out her first single, the anthem we all know, ‘...baby one more time’

2002 - 2010

so homegirl was OBVIOUSLY not used to a city life in la with this HUGE population after growing up... with like 1,000 people in her town (rough rounding of the 2000 census). was she in awe? definitely! was it also super weird and lowkey stressful? totally!

of course, she still visited home – went back to la from la (asdfghjkl) about every two months and spent around two weeks there – but she had stuff to do! people to see!

the label was like “hey ok so we’re gonna train u out of ur normal register and into what we think will make u a hit!!!!!!” and she was like “ok!!!! :D”

released the album ‘...baby one more time’ when she was 15. released ‘oops!... i did it again’ when she was 16. released ‘lily’ when she was 17. released ‘in the zone’ when she was 19.

-banjo noise- THIS IS FOR ALL THEM SOUTHERN BOYS OUT THERE

am i going to steal various accomplishments from her vc? obviously. i’ve already shown that she’s 110% an expy so WHY WOULDN’T I?

collaborated with madonna on ‘me against the music’. did she fuckin star in ‘crossroads’, as written by shona rhimes, when she was 18? obviously. 110% did the snake vma thing when she was 18. 110% did the madonna vma thing when she was 19. got a star on the walk of fame when she was 19. performed live with michael jackson when she was 20. won a grammy for ‘toxic’ when she was 20. ‘blackout’ would later be inducted into the rock ‘n’ roll hall of fame, but we’re not there yet. that’s just one of my favs.

she was totally america’s sweetheart. nice southern girl from a small town. nice manners. fun interviews. cute!!

but that ain’t how hollywood works, is it? catch whiff of a scandal and, yes!, tabloids!

the biggest one before her image completely shattered was when she got married to an old friend in vegas, also at the age of 20. 20 was an interesting age for her. 

god, i’m original.

believe it or not, it wasn’t drunken! they were just caught up in everything, then they were like “oh!! that was probably a bad idea!!” a few days later!! especially when her team was like “bitch what the fuck.”

two weeks later, the marriage was annulled. the tabloids were still super excited, and her team was still like “bitch what the fuck.”, so that being said:

people were shutting her doWN.

“bad ifnFLUneCE!!!” “sECX!!??”!” “eXPOasURE!!!” - every parent.

and that was the catalyst!!

so, as we all know by now, i’m really original? like, lily is 110% original with no outside influences whatsoever?

that being said, during a leg of her tour, she met this one guy who worked as a celebrity personal trainer and was immediately enamored with him. very smooth-talking, super good-looking, seemed intelligent, super good-looking, was pretty normal, super good-looking

so she immediately took to him. after only dating people who were essentially the exact opposite of him – very clean, very ‘generous’, etc. – she wanted a change. he provided the change she thought she needed. 

so lowkey everyone else totally saw through him. he was very much a druggie, very much a.... womanizer, very much just a douchebag in general? he was very much unfit to actually be in a committed relationship, but lily was totally blinded by how normal and, therefore, different he was. 

no matter how long she’d known the person, and no matter how close they were, the second someone was like ‘lily. he sucks.’ she was like ‘we aren’t friends anymore bye.’

what she wanted most out of him was to be domestic, and he was like “ya sure ok.” so only five months after they started dating, they got married. 

some of the people she’d shut out had found a perfect opportunity to make her into their own personal cash cow. her mom sold what was meant to be personal information, just between her and her family. her first boyfriend (back before she was #famous) sold a lot of the stuff she left behind or sent him on ebay (i could probably pretend i was being original here, but i’ve gotta embrace the expy, so here’s reg’s expy!!), etc., etc., etc.

i’m telling y’all, it just wasn’t her year!! i mean, she’s actually 21 by now i think, but it still just wasn’t her year!! her dad decided “you know what i’m gonna do... have a heart attack and die.” of course, they were never super close, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but like... WOW. must’ve ignored one of those ‘send this to 10 other people in the next 30 minutes or bad luck for the next two years!’ chain e-mails.

so she compensated for that by having a child, as one does. the same year, ‘blackout’ was put out (because i, of course, am original) and, although it’d later be very much acclaimed, they completely slept on promoting it. of the albums that’d been put out thus far, it’d been her least purchased, despite being arguably the best quality (listen, i’m not talking opinion, i’m talking FACTS. in the zone, blackout, and glory are the most acclaimed in production and content. FACTS.)?? and definitely being the one she was the most involved in.

essentially the only form of promotion they rly did was dropping an album of outtakes, then taking it down the very next day.

we stan all the songs on it. especially the last two.

but!! it was all g!! they named the kid after her dad!! and it was all good!!

up until it was brought to her attention that her husband (whose name was originally jett, but i feel like that needs to be changed now that there’s a jett in the roleplay?? input would be great. gotta be a name that a kid would think sounds cool, but would sound really strange on a grown man.) had had multiple hookups during their months of dating and their marriage. also lowkey admitted he, too, was using lily as a cashcow.

so the bitch was completely torn. he was the first ‘normal’ person who’d entered her life, and essentially the only person left, but everyone else... had been right?

cue ‘why should i be sad’ being added to the album!

ultimately, she filed for divorce.

after inspection, the initial custody ruling was that it’d be joint. there would be one week with brock (the new name has been decided), one week with lily. but, brock wasn’t the one always in the limelight. after the legalities had been, for the most part, settled, he was pretty much a normal guy again. very rare to see him in tabloids. his name was everywhere when lily was in an article, though! because everything was his fault, of course!

due to numerous articles that were very suspicious, reports of erratic behavior around paparazzi and reporters, etc., etc., plus just the general rules of it all, lily got some more visitation from the services who were really keeping a keen eye on her. 

there came times that coincidences made it look like the ‘house’ (see: mansion) was an unsafe place for a child. too often, the nanny wasn’t around and it was her word against her new manager’s.

although she was, in no way, romantically or sexually involved with her new manager, he was under the assumption that everything would be far easier if the kid wasn’t around. plenty of sabotage, y’know? (can we guess who he’s an expy of?) the fact that she was involved with a tmz reporter (expy of who?) didn’t help, either.

eventually, they were like “aight binch we’ve had enough” and decided it was in everyone’s best interest that the kid go live with brock, full time.

ok, so now she had: her new manager whom she and the nanny were wary of, that tmz reporter who, if she was being realistic, would probably milk her for all she was worth if they broke up, and the nanny... but not even really her, what considering she didn’t need her anymore.

so, one day, she was like, “bye bye, birdie!”

birdie being her.

but birdie didn’t go bye bye, what a relief. the one good thing her new manager ever did – redemption.

but, i’m original, she was placed under a 5150 hold. 

after one other incident, this time not exactly ‘bye bye, birdie-ing’, but close enough, everyone was like “ok wtf bitch.”

i feel like it should be known that the fact that it wasn’t just about a Boy or even her kid was ignored. there were many forms of therapy involved, some controversial. like,, we ain’t playin around,, we ain’t blamin boys,, it ain’t 1940.

in may of 2011, she was placed under a conservatorship.

so, if you’ve stuck with me this far, you’ve probably totally forgotten about her siblings. you know what happened to her dad, you know what happened to her mom, but what about her siblings?

one of them, her sister, almost signed to a label... until she was like “o shit.”

her brother was still a normal guy who wound up being the conservator of both the person and the estate. a good ol’ boy.

they’re dumb. in september of 2010, ‘womanizer’ came out as a single; october, ‘circus’; november, ‘if u seek amy’; december, the full ‘circus’ album. great comeback album, but........ super quick back into the spotlight.

i feel like that makes it seem like i’m going to start describing more events that took place after. nothing super dramatic did. there were a lot of questions, though. there was one (1) documentary in which no question was off limits (huh, wonder what that’s an expy of?), but, after that, B L A C K L I S T.

also, i feel as though i should specify: it’s pretty hard to?? not know when a huge celebrity has been placed under a conservatorship?? like y’all we know amanda bynes was and she wasn’t even a b-lister anymore. so!! that being in the ‘rumor’ section is more because it: 1) covers all the controversial parts without being specific bc we don’t want... anyone perusing the main to be like “wow chill”, 2) would probs have been forgotten by many by now?? so it’d be like a “o ya i forgot she was under a conservatorship!!” type thing.

2011 - PRESENT

after all of the Events, it was both in her best interest and in her worst interest to stay out of the spotlight. best interest so everyone would see she’s normal again!; worst interest because... the media was one of the dominoes in the effect??

so, up until 2013, when the next album was released, things were pretty quiet. during promotion in 2013, there’d been arguably enough time to collect everything and go back out and act n o r m a l .

as i said, i wanted to include the fact that ‘blackout’ was inducted into the rock ‘n’ roll hall of fame for its effect on the mainstream (essentially made dark pop mainstream and acceptable). it’s what it DESERVES.

in 2012, after proving herself to not be Bad, she was granted visitation rights. i haven’t mentioned it much because it... wasn’t in my original intro so it... felt weird... but!! she 110% utilizes those. 

i’m looking to move some things involving this, her ex-husband, etc., etc., etc. forward eventually, but i feel like i need to get some plots in here that’d help that move forward first, ja feel?? because if i just start writing self-paras out of nowhere about this topic then..... i feel like..... that would make no sense.

by the way, i want everyone to know that she never put out the equivalent of ‘britney jean’. we do not fuck with that album. she put out two songs from it, but we’re saying they were released as singles. WE DON’T FUCK WITH THAT ALBUM.

it has its cute bops but the production isn’t the best, anything where she’s with will.i.am never ends up the best, and... it’s not... all her.

i’m looking for this one tweet that says “britney when her team tells her she has to do more than one take for britney jean” then has the video where the woman says “well let’s just try this again, you bunch of bastards!”

everything else has been effectively released, though. still debating ooh la la. tbh it’s a bop but...............

anyway, is still under the conservatorship of her brother. DEFINITELY has a new manager who was... actually her old manager, same with her team – new team that was... actually her old team.

PERSONALITY

has grown a bit more like she Was by now. she’s still def like,, not 110% there anymore,, nor will she ever be?? still much more reserved and uncomfortable in public than she used to be?? 

not super bright. not super dull, either. for the most part, she’s very much about the surface. although she often understands the ‘deeper meaning’ of some things, she ain’t gonna act like it’s some profound thing when, really: “the concept for the music video ‘circus’ is basically about, y’know, a circus.”

she’s nice, she’s nice. most of my replies involve her being nice. girlfriend down to bite if she gotta, though, but will she do it first?? she ain’t about that.

asdfghjkl i still dk how common playback use is for her yet. if i’m gonna make her an expy and full-on admit it, she’s gotta have some involved, but......... idk how much........ it would. depend on the performance for sure.

do you beliiiieeeeveeeee in liiiiiifeeee afterrrr looovvvveeee???? she still dks for sure. some of her connections have to do with that (speaking of, i need to update them), and t hose connectio ns are, for the most part, reserved for characters 28+

tbh exceptions could be made for female/nb characters?? idk why but i could?? see that more than for males??

speaking of, she’s bisexual. she’s not super outspoken like “I’M BI!!!!!” about her sexuality, but like?? it’s there?? it exists. ain’t a secret.

tbh she’s been around for a while so i’m trying to think of other things i’ve noticed about her over time but i?? am drawing a blank. n e way, that’s what i got!!

“however long it’s been around probably” aka “we don’t know how long viral gossip’s been around so if it’s been around for fifteen whole years then that’s how long if it’s been around for seven then that’s how long” etc, etc, etc

listen y’all i joined the first day so we were super unclear ok.

tl;dr: almost a carbon copy.

i’m gonna treat this like a normal intro post so:

like this or hmu if u want 2 plot !! 

i have a wc page here which’ll probs be updated with more ideas later tonight, but i’m up 2 brainstorm or wha te ver.

also, to old members: if we’ve already plotted: like this for moral support pls.

[nckjcns]

( ❛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ  𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 — gregg, joe, & ariana )

@ariianas @kecry

[going to post this as an intro bc chatzy deleted the whole middle section UNTIL joe came in. all u missed was a really sad ari finding him & calling joe. so yeah here enjoy bye.xx]

Gregg: it seemed like the shit was piling up & dealing with it was something gregg had no intention of doing anytime soon. in order to ignore it all ( plus the pesky little memories that were currently occupying his mind ) drugs were his new best friend. there wasn’t any filming that needed to be done today and barbara was god knows where- so the brit was alone in his LA apartment. bored & alone. that was the scary part, though. when you have nothing to do your memories creep up on you like a thief in the knight. you end up thinking more than usual & allowing your brain to just do it’s own thing. like a character off of breaking bad he poured the magical contents into the cooker & loaded his syringe with about 20 units of water. once the two were mixed together he watched the contents turn into something that reminded him of gasoline. the male loaded his needle and took a second to rethink his decisions. it didn’t help, though.“just a bit more..” he whispered to himself before injecting the needle into the nearest available vein. he had to switch arms daily or else his veins would collapse from overuse and make it more than noticeable how he had been torturing his body. there was a small sting when the needle first broke through his newly tanned skin & for a moment-- he felt total bliss. while he was so focused on the feeling he forgot to stop squeezing the syringe and the drug continued to snake its way through his body. he remembered, eventually, but when his body went weak & his eyes began to close; this all seemed like such a terrible idea. it was too late. he had no idea what was happening but it was all happening all too fast. as his body went warm and the room began to spin his only thought was; “junkies die. not me. i’m not a junkie. so this can’t be happening to me.” everything went black & the male laid back on his bed, needle still in his arm.

Joe: seeing gregg's name show up on his phone was the shock of his life. he knew that his /former/ best friend was going through something recently. joe knew what was going out, and despite his better judgement he didn't reach out to him. he figured his WIFE could handle it. the wounds the situation between ariana and gregg caused where healing. scaring over in fact. but seeing that name pop up on his phone made it feel like it was just /yesterday/ they spit those awful words at each other. he let it ring a bit longer before he reluctantly accepted the call, putting it to his ear. "uh......hello ?" the twenty six year old awkwardly answered. he tried to sound tough in case this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. but joe was an anxious fuck, his fingers were ALREADY trembling.

Ariana: ‘ fuck ’ she mouthed to gregg, her entire frame heating up in pure nerves. the last time ariana heard joe’s voice was the day that ended it all, which sent an unsettling pain to the pit of her stomach. “hey, it’s ari,” she started, “don’t hang up.” the decision to spit out the truth was far from easy since this would be the /second time/ she delivered news about her husband, which would have ultimately proved joe right. with that aside, ariana took a moment to deeply inhale and exhale before mustering up enough courage to speak. “to make a very long, fucked up story short ───” she swallowed, not knowing how he was going to react, “gregg had an accident and ... you’re the only person i know that could help. like, right now.” she was practically pleading for his assistance as she stood in place, crossed fingers in the hopes that the other male wouldn’t disappoint.

Joe: hearing ariana's voice was.... well, it was the last thing he expected. joe was absolutely awful with any type of confrontation, and for a woman he used to adore so much... he couldn't help but to harbor an intense dread whenever he thought of her. "uh----------," was the only thing he could get out when she insisted not to hang up. it was tempting, he couldn't lie. but when she said gregg had an accident, all bets were off and he quickly shot off "wait---what, what kind of accident ? is he okay ? are you okay ?"

Ariana: “i, uh, don’t know what you would consider ‘ potentially overdosing, ’” she sighed, speaking in a whispered tone, loud enough for only them two to hear. there was another inch of relief as he stood on the line with her, not blaming him if he just decided to hang up at the mention of her name. this wasn’t about her ( or so she kept convincing herself ), so she prayed that joe could finally look past that once he arrived. “i’m fine, but he’s pretty ... you know, banged up.” that was far from a lie since gregg’s appearance took a complete turn, compared to any other night they spent together.“look, can i expect you here within the hour, or what?”

Joe: "....do you know what he's using ?" joe is suddenly doing fifty things at once, flinging up off the bed, tossing his clothes and possessions into a suitcase. for now, none of the hurt feelings and harsh words mattered. he just had to get wherever gregg was at. "what do you mean an hour ? i thought you guys left bali ? you're going to need to be more specific with what's going on here, ariana.... please."

Ariana: with occasional glances over her shoulder, actually spitting out the next words required more work than she thought. “well, i walked in his room and there was a needle in his arm,” she spoke, growing completely numb with the situation, “and he would’ve choked on his vomit if i didn’t get here when i did.” she had no clue if gregg wanted joe to know the finer details, but one look at him and joe would’ve instantly pieced it together. her head tilted itself at an angle to his next sentence, which instantly caught her by surprise. “we did, and when the hell did you fly over there ? ─── you know what ? not important, just hurry.”

Joe: "okay. that's heroin," joe confirmed, instantly feeling sick. people DIED from heroin overdoses every day. "i----uh, is there any weird brown substances around ? if there is, flush it." the actor instructed, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder. "like right before you guys left. but listen---i'll get the first flight i can. in the meantime, don't let him leave the room, ariana. even when he goes to the bathroom, you watch him."

Ariana: the reassurance in his voice about the substance sent goosebumps to her arm, wondering how she allowed it to get this far. so far that gregg looked past her, and focused on a near-death experience instead. all of her bottled up emotions were slowly eating up her core, and could you blame her ? for the moment, the mention of the bathroom strikes her attention, yet she’s too consumed in her own thoughts to acknowledge the boy’s former activities. “yeah, i- i’ll watch him. unblock my number.” with that, she hung up, lowering the phone from her ear. “he’s coming.”

Gregg: it had been a total of about 24 hours since gregg had his little incident. according to ariana they were waiting on joe ( for some reason ) and gregg went from sick, to kind of okay, to even more sick. his body was craving more of something he couldn’t have. ariana wouldn’t even let him out of her sight- he couldn’t shower alone, eat alone, let alone use the bathroom alone. it was exhausting. but what made it worse was that his body was beginning to feel like it was collapsing every hour that passed. gregg was spending his last few hours in bed, not wanting to be bothered at all. his current mood was overly irritated and he couldn’t stop shaking. this was the worst feeling in the world-- craving something he knew he couldn’t have. & his body beating him up for being free of it. “come on.. is this really what we’re gonna do? hold me in this room until what? i have shit to do.”

Ariana: from the moment that ariana stepped foot into gregg’s apartment, she had no idea what the past few hours would’ve entailed. the young starlet completed a huge transition since she first entered, the set of tasks that she had to accomplish took most of her energy hard of her. it was hard enough for her to sleep due to the nightmares, but a deep sleep meant she might’ve missed any plea for help from her husband. ariana was beginning to question joe’s arrival since hours passed without any form of communication, but stalling gregg had been her main concern. “shut up,” she deterred his motives, eliminating any thought of him moving from his own mind, “you did this to yourself, so now you’re going to sit in it. literally. there’s no shot in hell that you’re moving until you’re sober .... completely sober, greggory.” one palm brought itself to her face as she finished speaking, gently rocking herself back and forth. “don’t even think about it.”

Joe: he had friends who did hard drugs. charlie heaton, the most famous one. but joe had spent the entire flight reading up on his heroin withdrawal information, from detox, to what to feed him. he had became a walking, talking addiction counselor in a matter of hours. joe was nervous as fuck but this wasn't about him. gregg's life was at stake, here. reaching gregg's apartment door, he knocked, shifting his weight back and forth as he anxiously awaited an answer.

Ariana: thumbs fiddled with themselves as she sat in silence, continuing to chew on her inner cheek as she surveyed her surroundings. with gregg falling in and out of sleep, there wasn’t much to do other than wonder how she had gotten to this point. not only that, but how she allowed the other male to fall back on drugs opposed to her. she snapped out of her thoughts prior to a couple of knocks, the same knocks that sent her flying across the spacious walls to the door. ariana took a moment to compose herself, moving any strands of hair behind her ears before swinging the door open. “finally,,” she started, a small smile placed itself on her lips, “i honestly thought you were a no-show.” seeing joe was weird, of course, which must’ve been why the smile faded once she remembered why he came. “he’s upstairs, and i’d, uh ... walk on thin ice, honestly. he’s moody, and incredibly sassy.”

Joe: seeing ariana for the first time since everything.... that was intense. if this had been any normal situation, joe would be flubbing up every other word, a flustered mess. instead, he gave her a sad smile of acknowledgement, "come on. you know i couldn't abandon him like this." he took a step inside, setting his duffle bag on the floor, heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, for gregg. "that's because he wants to get high," joe replied with dismay, "i---uh, yeah... be up there." and with that, he trudged up the stairs, heart racing. he paused at the door, giving it a gentle knock to let gregg know someone was about to enter. then joe stepped in, door closing behind him. his heart broke at the sight before him, but he somehow remained stoic, "hey there, old buddy."

Gregg: gregg might as well had been twinkling his toes and saying his alphabet with how ariana could freely go downstairs while he sat up here like a nine year old on punishment. he knew what was coming-- a pity party was about to rain in on him in his bedroom. if it wasn’t joe at the door, it was barbara, and he had yet to figure out what was worse. being sober fucking sucked. all he could think about was his parents and all the dumb things he had gotten himself into in the past few months. joe walking in was like a scene out of a movie- no matter how fucked up he was he couldn’t deny that he missed him. “ah! the man of the hour!” the male raised his arms up and showcased a huge smile, his voice clearly sarcastic. but as soon as his arms went past his head he threw his upper body over the bed and vomited into the newly positioned bedside trashcan. his stomach contracting & causing him severe abdominal pain afterwards. “oh fuck me.” he groaned before tossing his head back.

Joe: gregg looked awful. and seeing that.... it really took a toll on joe. as a man who typically became lost in his emotions, he had no choice but to swallow it all and be the STRONG one for once. if he even had it in him. but he wanted to think that he /did/. before he could say anything in reply to gregg's sarcastic remark, he was already vomiting. joe rushed to his side, setting the glass of water on the nightstand. "well---good news is, looks like you're just puking up stomach acid at this point. bad news ? you're dehydrated. but i'm afraid if you drink that water, you're just gonna throw it up again. not good, right ? joe sat on the edge of the bed, tentatively because he didn't know what gregg would do next, "so where's the heroin ? you got anymore ?"

Gregg: there was no way gregg could even see the severity of the situation right now. he was way too deep in his shitty mood and the constant shivering and vomiting wasn’t making it any better. but the worst part of it all was that he wanted to sleep, but the concoction of everything he was going through wouldn’t allow his eyes to close for more than a second. yet, through all of this, he knew joe was his saving grace. “ok.... so... /doc/ do i drink water or do i sit here and fucking off myself.” at this point he was irritated, if they weren’t going to let him get high then this was going to be a shit show. the male placed his hand on joe’s shoulder and sighed. “no. i don’t. or i wouldn’t be dying right now. but look. ariana. she’s a bit of a.. worrisome kind of girl. but you. i can reason with you. tell her i’m fine, let me.. get more of my happy stuff and we can go on about our lives like this never happened.”

Ariana: all ariana could do was sit on the sidelines while they reunited, fully aware that she was main reason as to why they fell off in the first place. the thought of them rekindling their friendship was something she could look forward to, watching how familiar their mannerisms were for each other. “gregg,” she scolded him, arms crossed themselves across her chest, “behave.” she decided it was best to momentarily tune out of their conversation, she owed them that much. besides, it seemed to ariana like joe knew /exactly/ what would cure gregg, ultimately the goal for inviting him into another secret. regardless of gregg’s unpleasant reaction to his arrival, ariana was sure that she owed joe more than she could promise. only if he managed to fix gregg, of course. eyes peered on the their conversation, kind of content with the way things were playing out so far.

Joe: there were some things that joe felt confident with, but risking gregg's life ? it wasn't something he was willing test the odds with. "listen, i---" his gaze shifts between ariana and gregg, knowing full well she was the only rational one here. "okay. so here's what we're going to do. we're going to get a doctor here. make him sign a nondisclosure," he nodded, feeling like this was the best way to ensure gregg got the care he needed, "and buddy, if you let a doctor check you out, he's going to give you something to help you sleep. wouldn't that be nice ? sleep ?"

Gregg: the males brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head to all the comments that were being made right now. “oh fuck no!” he exclaimed both at ariana telling him to behave and also at joe mentioning a doctor. “you hate me. i’m convinced. is this my karma? look, i watched thirteen reasons why. you can just shove some gatorade down my throat, i’ll curse you out for a bit and we’ll be fine.” rolling his eyes, he couldn’t stand the thought of a doctor. at least not one that was going to be invading his personal space and judging him on his recent decisions. “sleep is cool i guess..” he mumbled, at this point sounding like a teenage boy.

Ariana: “gregg, are you kidding me? this isn’t a fucking television show,” she snapped, genuinely concerned for his well-being. the fact that he would even allude to that in a situation like this told her everything that she needed to know. there was nothing she wished more than to keep gregg’s wishes about a doctor, but if that’s what it took for his recovery then ariana was willing to look past his desires. “exactly, and you’ll waking up feeling like the old gregg again.” she was desperately praying for this to work since it was the only option, any other choice would expose this rendezvous.

Joe: joe scoffed when gregg actually compared what he was going through to a television show. thankfully, ariana spoke for him, quite literally taking the words out of his mouth. "i'm not saying he's going to do anything crazy ! maybe give you an iv, some vitamins, hydrated. jesus, that's going to take a hell of a lot less time than going cold turkey. and--and," he began having to focus his thoughts, "doctors, they can't say shit anyways, right ? that's against the law. no one will even have to know this happened except the three of us."

Gregg: “that didn’t stop-” the male paused, refraining from relating this situation yet again, to a tv show. it took him a moment to really look around and notice his surroundings. ariana wasn’t letting him do what he wanted and putting her foot down for the first time. and out of all people joe was here. he was actually here. someone that gregg loved a lot more than he would admit came to help. so this had to be more serious than what gregg could see. “ok..” he let out a sigh before biting the inside of his lip. “call the damn doctor then.”

Ariana: ariana cocked her head to the side once he started, only to roll her eyes once he stopped himself from speaking. part of her wondered where this desire to be high came from, especially since there were other methods before heroine. cocaine, for instance, seemed to be amongst hollywood’s most elite stars. some fell from the addiction, but thankfully gregg wasn’t a beloved star who was gone before his time. and, to ariana’s surprise, would have joe to thank for gregg’s swayed decisions. “finally,” her arms fell to her sides, “he has some sense. welcome, we’ve missed you.”

Joe: "listen, if it makes you feel any better," he said, looking his best friend in the eye, "i'll be here the whole time. i promise. if you need someone to yell at, talk to, anything. i'm not fucking leaving this room until you're good." with a deep sigh, addressing the fact he truly /wanted/ to be here. he stood up, offering ariana a hesitant smile, flashes of his awkward self appearing as he jabbed his thumb toward the door, "i---um, i'll go make some calls and get someone here."

Gregg: all other factors aside, gregg really appreciated what everyone was doing for him. this wasn’t him, it never was. but he let the things he was going through attack him until he didn’t know what else to go to once alcohol stopped working. but it was finally time to face his fears and he was so blessed to have the two most influential people in his life to help with that. “thank you.” was all he could make out as he nodded at the both of them.

[afraidofdifference]

steph curry is the antidote to toxic conceptions of competitiveness

In a radio appearance earlier this month, Steve Kerr compared Draymond Green’s competitiveness to Michael Jordan’s. In the same interview, Kerr also noted:

I've played with a ton of guys who are really competitive. Tim Duncan for example -- his competitiveness is more like Steph Curry's. You may not see it if you're just watching the game on TV. You may not see the eruptions, the anger.

Here’s Kerr elsewhere:

If you think about Steph, you think of this mild-mannered [guy]...but he's f---ing competitive. He wants to rip your throat out.

That word - competitive - is not one often brought up with regard to Curry. To be sure, worthy proxies are used; Steph “has an edge that’s second-to-none” and of course, he “likes to win too.” But competitive?

We have been conditioned to accept a single understanding of what it means to be competitive. You know the one. It is the competitiveness of Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant. Enough and more has been written about the legendary competitive drive of those two, their need to win above all else. Michael punching teammates in practice, riding Scott Burrell all season long, and so much more. Kobe’s embrace of “competitive rage as an elixir” is equally well chronicled. Both athletes have been valorized for these attributes; even Scott Burrell takes a ‘that’s just what it means to be competitive’ approach, one that could be chalked up to Stockholm Syndrome if it weren’t so prevalent everywhere in our discourse. Or perhaps we all suffer from a case of collective self-delusion, needing to build up the myth of manic competitiveness as a necessary precondition for basketball greatness. At best, a token head nod towards the more complicated aspects of such behavior is all that can be hoped for, “a way to skip past the discomfort and ambiguity of actually grappling with the acclaimed celebrity's monstrousness straight to the part where you congratulate yourself for having done so.” Turns out Kobe was wrong when, in reference to the Colorado sexual assault case, he said that people “didn’t want the gritty shit...and most people still don’t (side bar: That was language Kobe used in 2018 when talking about the sexual assault case, fifteen years after the incident took place. Let that occupy a pew in the back any time homilies about Kobe’s repentance are issued.) People are more than comfortable with the gritty shit. They have to be, lest the hollow cynicism of their fandom be laid bare.

This is not to deny the very real impact of that competitive drive - it is hard to argue against the weight of statistical achievements that people like Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant bring to bear. Moreover, denial is not even the point here; as a wise man once said, “you’re not wrong Walter, you’re just an asshole.” A more substantive reckoning with the competitiveness of Jordan and Bryant would involve acknowledging how their toxic competitiveness is inextricably bound with “the gritty shit”. Jordan’s execrable hall of fame speech was perhaps inevitable, “what fueled his fury as a thirtysomething now fuels his bitterness.” As one team executive in attendance that night in Springfield summed it up, “that’s who Michael is.” Far more serious is the case of Bryant. The sexual assault case has been treated as an unfortunate also-ran in the saga of Bryant, something either incidental or entirely orthogonal to everything else Bryant accomplished. Yet, as Bryant himself acknowledged, the Black Mamba persona was a product of Colorado. Depending on how charitable one wants to be, it was either a coping mechanism, or a deeply cynical ploy to turn scandal into gold. All manners of sin can be hidden in the euphemism “gritty shit”. 

“During the Colorado situation, I said: ‘You know what? I’m just going to be me. I’m just going to be me.’ F--- it. If I don’t like a question from a reporter, I’m going to say it,” he says. “If they ask me a question about this thing, I’m just going to tell them the truth.”

His fist strikes the desk.

“Like me or don’t like me for me.”

This isn’t just competitiveness with a side of toxicity - this is competitiveness as toxicity. And it doesn’t have to be that way. Which brings me back to Steph. You know about the joy of Steph, even the secret rage of Steph, and the selflessness of Steph; “in accepting Durant, Curry may have sacrificed sports immortality for life.”

A quick tangent here, crossing eras, sports, and continents: Keith Miller is an all-time cricket great, a regular Australian hero. In addition to being one of the finest all-rounders of any era, Miller flew night missions over Nazi Germany during World War II. Following the war, Miller was once asked about pressure on the cricket field, prompting his now famous retort that “there's no pressure in Test cricket. Real pressure is when you are flying a Mosquito with a Messerschmitt up your arse!” 

Cutting back to Curry, here’s his friend Chris Strachan: “[Curry] feels God put him on this earth to play, and he never wants to forget that that's what it's all about—play.” 

At the risk of whiplash, let’s cut over to a recent profile of Sabrina Ionescu, the toast of New York basketball right now and torch-bearer for Kobe’s basketball legacy:

Like Bryant, Ionescu had struggled to relate to teammates. Nobody worked as hard. Nobody seemed to take losses in the same soul-crushing way. Oregon Coach Kelly Graves said that during Ionescu’s freshman and sophomore seasons, there were times when she would be sharp with teammates and they would shut down.

“It was brutal,” Ionescu said...“How competitive I am, there was nobody that compared to that,” she said. “There was just kind of this separation between me and the team.”

The story goes on to note that Ionescu, with counsel from Kobe Bryant, made amends with her teammates in order to be the leader they needed. So far so good. Except that I come back to that word “competitive”. I admire Ionescu’s game (and her speech at Kobe Bryant’s memorial moved me to my core); if conciliatory leadership was something that required overcoming a competitive drive viewed as burning hotter, there is something admirable in that. However, it need not be that way. There is another world. I will turn it over to Ayesha Curry in 2016, coming off the Warriors’ Game 7 finals loss to the Cleveland Cavaliers:

“As great an athlete as my husband is, one of his greatest gifts is his ability to keep losses in perspective...Last season could have devastated some people, changed their being, their whole personality. Steph was down for a little bit, and he wanted to reflect on how things could have been different. But by ‘a little bit,’ I mean two days—three at most. Steph wants that championship as much as anybody ever could. But he doesn't need that ring to complete his own sense of who he is and what he's worth. Win or lose, he's the same happy guy.”

Pressure is pressure and all the great ones want to overcome. Let’s cherish the ones who do so while acknowledging that pressure is having a Messerschmitt up your arse.

[eyez-ff-blog]

○○ eyez | forty-nine

Beija sat at the back of the chauffeured SUV as she scrolled through her phone, one leg draped over the other as the flowing material of her black slacks seemed to move with help from the window she opened when she got into the car. She quietly answered emails as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, llicking over her nude-painted lips as she encountered several gossip articles about being seen outside of the apartment alone. Her new hair was stick “shocking” the masses of social media, and everyone was wondering what Mrs. Cole was up to now. Whatever it was had a lot of celebrities involved, since the unusual influx of famous faces seemed to inflate within the past couple of days. Something was up, and everyone wanted to know what it was.

As a matter of fact, this was what she was on the way to do at that very moment—advertise her plans to the world for the very first time.

The last of the ‘Forever Boy Fright Night’ details were cemented into place, and what was once Beija’s dream was about to become a reality in two days. She actually appreciated Jermaine’s suggestion for them to stay in New York after Nicole’s shower a whole lot more now than she had already appreciated it then, because being able to just be near the center of the action was exactly what she needed. As stressful as everything had been, she had been able to handle it all with grace and without much stress. By October 27th, her hard work will have finally paid off, and the world would be exposed to Beija’s first endeavor under her brand. She wanted to extend far beyond the reaches of her husband’s fame, or even her own work within Dreamville. She wanted a legacy that would last a lifetime, and now she finally felt like she was on her way to doing so.

The more she thought about Jermaine, the more she thought to call him. The last big argument they had lingered in her mind even months later, but it surprisingly didn’t leave any foul taste within her mouth. It was to the contrary in reality—that release of energy between them was what she needed. She would never know what she could handle when it came to J unless he placed those things upon her, and she was glad that he finally came clean. It was becoming easier for her to do the same. It hurt to see one of the strongest men she knew tremble in fear and sadness before her, but the humanity she saw in her husband that night made her love him more now than she ever could have before. She’d never forget it or look to devalue it.

After answering one of her last emails, she yawned as she dialed the usual number, the contact name ‘Old Man’ flashing across her screen before a photo of a sleeping Jermaine showed soon after, letting it be known that he was receiving the call. Eventually, the line connected and she could hear the sounds of Elmo’s laughter in the background. “Hello?” J’s sleepy voice filled Beija’s ears and she still couldn’t stop herself from blushing at the gravelly tone of his voice.

“Hi. I’m almost at the radio station,” She said quietly. “Actually—can you make a quick stop at Starbucks? I really need some caffeine before I deal with this,” She spoke to the driver, and he nodded as he took a detour from the original path.

“Okay...you’re gonna do amazing. Just avoid anything Charlamagne gotta say unless he actually saying some shit. Listen closely to Envy, he might try to sneak some shit in there and have you in a sticky spot. Angela’s cool, she’ll most likely ask all the gossipy questions though,” Jermaine rattled off the information expertly and Beija took a heed to his words.

“Got it,” She answered to ensure she was listening to him.

“Also, don’t be nervous and know that you don’t gotta answer shit you don’t want to. Remember, it’s about Forever Boy,” He said.

“Right. Okay, well I’m about to go to Starbucks then I’m headed up there. You’re gonna listen in, right?” She asked.

“Yeah. Everybody in the group chat’s already listening to the radio too,” J chuckled lowly. “We’re rooting for you, mama.”

“Okay,” Beija smiled a bit before she sunk into the leather of the seat. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too. Kill that interview, B.”

Beija hung up the phone and she took a deep breath before she slid out of the car before heading towards the moderately sized coffee shop. She allowed her six-inch heels to guide her as they clicked against the concrete, and she could hear the clicking of cameras. She merely adjusted her light suit jacket before she headed inside of the establishment. Beija approached the counter and ordered an Iced Cinnamon Almond Milk Macchiato and a Blueberry muffin, and tried not to draw too much attention towards herself. A couple people did recognize her and she kept a placid smile as she took a couple photos, but she was out of the place in less than 10 minutes. She was actually ahead of schedule, so she wasn’t too worried about the time.

After another 10 minute ride to the radio station, Beija was ushered out of the car before the driver made sure she was completely out of the car, shutting the door. “Good luck, Mrs. Cole.”

“Thank you.”

She headed inside the building before she threw away her trash, and from the moment she was recognized she was led to the proper studio booth where the interview would be held. She slipped off her jacket as she entered the room, and Envy was the first one to stand to his feet to greet her. She shook hands with everyone before they took a seat.

“Okay, these are a summary of the questions we’ll be asking as we spoke over on the phone,” Charlemagne passed Beija the list of questions they had negotiated over some days previous—it was the only way she’d do the interview. “This is tentative so we may only cover a couple of these depending on how long the interview runs. Otherwise, we’re just having a regular conversation, having a good time. You ready?” He asked.

“When you are,” Beija nodded quickly before she relaxed in her chair.

She counted down the time in her mind, and eventually the ‘On Air’ sign on the wall lit a bright red.

“Good morning everybody—this is DJ Envy,” Envy began his usual introduction. “Angela Yee, Charlemagne the God, and we are The Breakfast Club. We have a special guest today!”

“Twitter dragged me for calling her this, but I still think she’s ‘Lil’ Beyoncé,” Charlemagne joked, and Beija let out a laugh. “Beija Cole is in the building,” He began to laugh as well.

“Well, you asked for that right there. Nobody told you to call me that,” Beija chuckled softly.

“I mean think about it—you and Cole even got the same initials. J and B. No coincidence,” Charlemagne egged on playfully.

“But for those who may not know who you are, tell them about yourself,” Angela chimed in.

“Well, as it’s been said—my name is Beija Cole,” Beija seemed to be proud to even say that. “I’m the head of the A&R department over at Dreamville Records,” She explained. “I’m also the wife of J. Cole,” She tried not to pay attention to the camera that was in the room, seeing that she knew it would be there.

“You guys have been married for a little bit now—almost a year. Congratulations by the way,” Angela complimented.

“Thank you.”

“But what has it been like? Your road to marriage and everything that entails has been under a microscope, and I know being a rapper’s wife isn’t easy. How have you been handling it all?” Angela’s angle with her questions seemed to be a bit more personal, and Beija picked up on the intention immediately. She didn’t see it as a malicious move, but she still had to be careful in how she tackled the questions.

“Well, it’s really just a normal life for me now—we’re both in the thick of the entertainment business so it’s not that hard. But when I’m at home, he’s not a rapper to me and I’m not an A&R to him. We’re just a couple, and we deal with what we deal with the best way we can,” Beija answered. “Between that and our daughter, I just remember that I am a part of a team and I can’t do it all alone.”

“Cole’s latest album, Sinner Reborn, has been hailed as the number one rap album of 2018 so far—it’s also been painted as one of his most honest and open illustrations of your relationship,” Envy began. “Was that a hard pill for you to swallow, to have everything out there in the open?”

“Initially. It was like pulling back a curtain and everyone then had a glimpse into your life,” Beija fiddled with her hands under the table to keep herself from growing too nervous. “I think anyone in my position would have been absolutely afraid, but after a while I realized that people were already making up rumors and talking about us when we were giving people bits and pieces. Now, nobody can really check us. Anything you wanna say about me or Cole has already been revealed by us at this point,” Beija said.

“When you first started as an A&R, you were initially in college, going to NYU. Now you’re responsible for pretty much all of the label you’re on—Dreamville’s first band, Twisted Elegance is predicted to nab a Pop Grammy nomination. J.I.D. has also been predicted for Rap, and Ari Lennox, one of your first finds, just might get the R&B album nom,” Envy continued. “With such blended styles of music, was this what you anticipated for the label, or is this a surprise to you?”

“It’s a pleasant surprise but it’s all that I ever wanted for my musical family,” Beija smiled as she spoke of the people she had grown to love like her own blood. “When I decided I wanted to be an A&R, this was exactly what I had hoped to accomplish within the industry. Dreamville has never been about just success—we love our music and the passion we place into every song or feature is genuine. To know that we are finally getting the rest of the world to catch on is truly a blessing. It wasn’t what I expected, but it’s happening at the right time for everyone,” She answered.

“So let’s see...Wife, Mother, Career Woman...what’s next? You saving the world?” Charlemagne joked, and the room let out a collective laugh.

“Uh, maybe? I do have an event coming up,” Beija felt like that was his way of transitioning into why she was truly there, so she took the baton and ran with it. “It’s for my new charity, the Forever Boy Project,” She explained.

“So you are why everyone’s in town,” Angela chuckled. “But is it a coincidence that it’s named after one of the songs from Reborn?”

“It was done purposely. Forever Boy was Cole’s dedication to my brother Rashaad, who was killed in 2002 at the hands of a Houston police officer,” Beija clutched her fists under the table to keep her tears from coming. “So the Forever Boy Project is my own dedication to my brother—I want to start a positive dialogue between Police and the public, and I want to put a good pressure upon lawmakers and enforcement to start seeing the black community as partners and not as a threat,” She summarazied.

“I think that’s dope—we need more conversation about what’s happening to these black men and women out there,” Envy answered. “So this is a Halloween party of sorts?” He asked.

“That and an introductory event, but we have a lot more in store that will cater to everyone—we have plans for something huge in March, but Cole and I both will be back for that announcement,” Beija smiled gently.

“Oh wow—see, what did I say? They’re trying to take over the world,” Charlemagne argued, and Beija let out another small laugh.

The interview went on in the same manner, basically giving the public a better glimpse of the enigmatic woman who just happened to steal J. Cole’s heart. By the end of the 45-minute interview, it seemed like there was a bit more of a personality added to Beija’s name, and she was satisfied with the way the interview went. She skipped any questions she didn’t want to answer, and navigated everything in a way that she was able to control and make things end in her favor. Most importantly, people now knew more about the charity.

Exiting the Power 105.1 headquarters, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders before she climbed into the SUV, and she checked her watch before she took out her phone, instantly going into full work mode.

“Where to now, Mrs. Cole?”

“To the venue first, please.”

The SUV pulled from the curb and she began to sort through her emails, from answering and confirming guest lists, to ordering she and Jermaine’s costumes. She kept her face within her phone the entire way before she was pulled in front of the large building. She hopped out of the car once the door was opened for her, and she hurried up the steps as she saw workers coming in and out of the building.

In the center of everything was the event coordinator and her publicist Lucas, who were talking to one another as workers were turning the broad and empty space into a fantasy world of darkness and frightening fun. Tables made for the 250 high profile guests were already within the space, with the tables and chairs dressed in soft black table cloth, and the workers were now building the stage where the DJ booth would be, along with an LED screen and space for people to move upon.

“Luke,” Beija called out, and the man turned around before he nodded respectfully. “Did you hear the interview?” She asked.

“I did; you did a great job! You hit all the points you needed and most importantly, we shed light on the charity. You sure you need me?” He asked playfully, and she laughed softly with a nod.

“Yes I do! Just in case somebody has an issue with something I said,” She turned towards the event coordinator before she gave the woman a soft smile. “So how’s everything here?” She asked.

“Okay so we’ve got all of the main things together—as you can see the tables have been decorated as you designed,” The woman began. “We’ll be putting up the curtains and décor after the stage has been finished. Tomorrow we will bring in the balloons and set the tables, along with rolling out the orange carpet for your guests’ arrival,” She continued.

“And the gift bags and thank you notes?” She asked.

“All have been finished and tucked away in the back. Also, the caterer just called me and said that the menu has been finalized and that he and his team are going out today to get the ingredients and things together,” The coordinator explained, and Beija nodded with a small smile.

“Great, looks like everything is on schedule. Lucas, can you make sure to call Maurice tomorrow about the website? I want to make sure that everything is ready for the launch tomorrow,” She said.

“I’ll call him and keep you posted. Also, I finished getting the Facebook and Twitter accounts together. Remember, you have to do an Instagram Live feed tomorrow before the party so you can talk to the public,” He explained.

“Gotcha. We’re on a roll right now—I feel good about this,” Beija said with a grin.

After spending some more time making sure that everything was going according to plan, Beija took a break to go get some lunch at one of her favorite spots in Manhattan. After lunch and a stop at the costume boutique to pick up she and J’s outfits, she headed back home to rest up. Tomorrow was the big day, and she had to make sure she was at her best.

Waking up the next morning, Beija started her day as any other—she spent some time meditating and exercising, and she spent some time taking care of and spending time with Janiya before she was dropped off at Ib and Nicole’s home. After that, she was left with the task of primping before the event. She visited the salon first and the beautician added some platinum blonde hair to her shortened locks to create a lengthy ponytail. Afterwards, she went to the spa and proceeded to get a manicure, pedicure, wax, massage and facial. She was going all out for the evening and that much was clear.

When she got back to the apartment, Jermaine was already getting work done on his face by the FX make-up artist; the young man carefully navigated her husband’s face as he tried to recreate the look of the famed Chucky doll. “You’re already looking scary as hell,” She said, and she giggled at the low hum of amusement that escaped Jermaine’s mouth.

“He’s been such a good sport—I’m actually almost finished,” The artist quietly commented as he continued to work on his face. “Soon as I’m finished, I’ll get to work on you.”

“Cool, let me go shower first, though. Have you showered and shit, J?” She asked, and she watched as he briefly nodded. “Okay, cool. Once you’re finished and I get out the shower, I’ll help you get in your shirt without messing up your face,” She said before disappearing into the master bedroom.

Beija took a shower with her usual coconut oil soap before she exited the shower, and then applie some cocoa butter before letting her body air dry. Once she applied some deodorant as well, she retreated to the closet where she hid the La Perla bag filled with goodies she splurged on for herself. Slipping on the Autografo tulle thong, she checked herself in the mirror as she pouted, her ample behind doing all but swallowing the material into her flesh. She chuckled lowly before she grabbed the customized strapless bra, putting it on to give her bust some lift and control. Next, she put on the garter belt she ha bought before she slipped on her stockings and fastening the straps of the garter belt. She grabbed her strapless dress and black boot heels, slipping them on before she looked at the nearly completed look. After sliding on her pearl accessories and lacy arm-length gloves, she gently laughed at the recreated look from Rihanna’s Victoria Secret Fashion Show look. It was probably Beija’s favorite ensemble she had ever seen, and she thought it’d be a perfect outfit to mash with the idea of Chucky’s sadistic bride, Tiffany.

She exited the room and she saw that Jermaine had finished with his costume make-up; he looked frightening yet amazing, and the look on his face when he saw her in her costume was exactly what she wanted. “Well, damn. Alright Tiffanna,” He playfully teased before a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Don’t even say nothing,” Beija laughed softly before she shook her head slowly. “You think you can get dressed without fucking up your face?” She asked as he passed her to go into the bedroom.

“I’ll try,” He said, and she rolled her eyes slowly before she sat down in the chair, allowing the make-up artist to start on her face.

Once the artist was able to get the green-colored contacts into Beija’s eyes, he proceeded to give her a look of a crazed murder, nearly covering the bottom half of her face in ‘blood.’ Once he was finished with his work, Beija paid him for his time and she was left alone in the living room before she entered the bedroom, seeing Jermaine finishing putting on the last of his outfit.

“You look deranged. I love it,” She laughed softly before he glanced up, chuckling a bit at her own make-up.

“Me? You look like you just ate a nigga,” He shook his head as Beija walked over to the vanity to apply some perfume to her pulse points, then she slid her shades over her eyes. “Where are the overnight bags?” He asked.

“Sitting on the couch in the living room,” Beija stood up straight before she smoothed out her dress. “You ready to go?”

“Yep, let’s go.”

Beija followed Jermaine out of the room, glancing over to grab his toy machete on the way out of the room. He’d forget his head if it wasn’t on his shoulders.

The luxury car that was rented for their arrival was waiting downstairs for them, and Beija checked her phone to check the time, just as the event coordinator was calling her. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Cole—just called to let you know that the doors just opened and we’re allowing guests in. As you asked, we have the photographers here to take photos. You should be able to make your arrival with Mr. Cole at about 9pm,” The woman said.

“Okay. Thank you so much for all your help,” Beija hurried to the car as Jermaine packed their bags in the back of the car.

“No problem! Have fun tonight, and congratulations,” The woman said before hanging up the line.

Jermaine helped Beija into the car, and the driver pulled away from the curb once they were situated in the back. “Do I need to take a short cut or anything?” The driver asked.

“No, take your time. We have an hour time window,” Beija said as she opened her Instagram app.

“You got it,” The driver rolled up the partition between the front and back seat, and Beija turned on her ‘live’ feature, making sure the camera was on her. She watched the number of viewers grow at a slower rate.

“Hi everyone!” She waved at the camera, and smiled a bit as a slew of comments filled the chat, from compliments on her costume to just greeting her. “So, just wanted to wish you guys a great weekend and a great Halloween coming up, but I also wanted to tell you guys about the website that’s launching tonight for the Forever Boy Project,” She explained. “I have created a non-profit sister organization to the Dreamville Foundation, specifically geared to helping the families of victims of police brutality. As you all know, I lost my brother Rashaad to police violence, and Cole and I have been working hard to start this organization up. Tonight is our Fright Night Ball, but more things will be coming soon that you all can participate in,” She nodded before glancing over in Jermaine’s direction. “Anything you want to add?”

“Uh,” Jermaine glanced into the camera, and Beija could see a surge in both viewers and comments about his appearance. “What’s up, y’all? Just wanted to say hey...also, there’s a 10% discount on all Dreamville merch this weekend in celebration of FBP. All money will go to the organization. Show us some love, and please go check out the website—this is a big day for my babygirl, so please support the movement,” Beija couldn’t help but to smile a bit at the enthusiasm in his voice.

“Thank you guys so much for all the support! We have a big surprise for all the fans so just keep an eye out,” Beija paused and caught a comment, and she laughed softly. “No, it won’t be like Black Friday; I won’t let that happen again,” She giggled.

“Oh! Just gonna dog me out,” Jermaine laughed as well before he peeked into the camera. “We’ll see y’all. Peace out.”

“Bye guys!” Beija shut off the video, and she chuckled as she shook her head. “Okay, now I’m officially nervous,” She said.

“Why? You can recite that speech from front to back...from what I can see on Instagram, everybody’s decked out in their costumes. I’m sure the place looks amazing, and you look fuckin’ stunning,” He slid a hand over her exposed thigh and she couldn’t help but to shiver a bit. “Everything’s going to go fine. If Rashaad were here, he’d be proud to see what you’ve accomplished—he is proud. And so am I,” He said, and Beija let out a small sigh as she placed a hand over his own.

“Don’t butter me up,” Beija chuckled before she laced their fingers, nodding as she squeezed his hand. “That does make me feel a lot better. Thank you,” She nodded gently.

The two stayed in a confident silence until the car pulled up to the curb, and she bit her lip as she watched one of the attendant workers approach the car and open the back door. The loud clicks and flashes of camera filled the atmosphere as Jermaine got out first, and he held his hand out to help Beija out of the car.

Beija walked alongside her husband on the orange colored carpet, making sure to pose for the camera to get all of the proper angles that the photographers wanted. She thought it was pretty amusing; she wondered if this is how it felt to be a celebrity on the forefront of the industry. As fun as this part was, she was sure that the work put in to be able to have fun at events or award shows was strenuous on the mind and body alike. She could only imagine how Jermaine felt when he worked on tour or even in the studio.

Once she got to the end of the orange carpet she was met with a set of press interviewers—Ib had briefed her on the fact that she’d be briefly interviewed by the likes of E! News, People Magazine, and other publications. She made sure to keep her answers short, sweet, and graceful. No matter what, her focus was upon her charity and she made sure to keep it that way.

She and Jermaine finally made it inside as the DJ announced their arrival, and the multitude of celebrity guests stood to their feet as they clapped for the ‘guest of honor.’ Beija waved shyly as she looked around, taking a moment to gaze at the elaborate and elegant look of the hall. The horror-themed decorations gave a sense of fantastical dread that kept with the Halloween theme. She was led towards the side stage, and she was passed a microphone along with Jermaine before he took to the stage to introduce her.

She watched as he took to the stage with not even a drop of fear and all she could do was smile as she watched him. “How y’all doing tonight?” He began as he ran a hand over the top of his head. “Y’all look crazy,” He joked, and the laughter that filled the hall. “As crazy as you do look, the reason we’re all here tonight is nothing short of an amazing effort from a thought provoking event that has happened way too much for our liking. There’s so many stories I could tell about the reason why we’re here, but I honestly couldn’t do it justice. So I’m not going to keep you guys long; let’s give a hand to the puppet master of what surrounds you tonight. She’s the founder of the charity we are introducing and representing tonight. Beija Cole,” He introduced, and Beija took a deep breath as she took to the stage.

She looked over the crowd of people as they applauded for her, and she smiled a bit as she took off her shades, allowing herself to see a bit more clearly. “Wow, thank you all for that—thank you for that introduction too,” She nodded towards Jermaine before she turned to face the crowd. “But I’m sure you all know a little bit about me...at least what TMZ will tell you,” She joked, her body relaxing when she heard some of the laughter from the crowd. “But tonight, it’s not even about me. Tonight, it’s about one of the greatest people I ever knew: my brother, Rashaad Demarco.”

“He was born on a foggy November morning in 1988 and for 14 years of his life, he blazed this world with his internal flame. For me, he was my guidance and my sense of clarity, but when provoked he could burn everything around him if he wanted to. He had the voice of an angel—all he ever did was sing Michael Jackson around the house. He made me fall in love with music...that’s all we ever did. We’d sneak into our parents’ record collection and listen to the music and just drift off to a land where our childish problems ceased and we could just be one with the beat. He wanted to be a singer, and he said that I’d be his manager or something like that,” Beija smiled softly to herself at the memories, allowing a long sigh to leave her lips.

“In 2002, that flame was violently extinguished. He was confused for a suspect in our neighborhood and was chased down and murdered by the police. It hurts even more because at that time, my father was an officer for the force,” She could feel the tension in the room as she went into true detail of the death of her brother. “It tore our family apart for a long time, and it is the main source of my severe depression,” She heard some gasps in the room, but she stood strong on the stage. “It was the first real thing I ever told my husband...about why I was the way I was, about my night terrors that I’d have concerning that day. I blamed myself for a long time for his death, then I blamed the system. And that’s why he made the song—my brother will sadly never get to see adulthood. He never got to go to college. He didn’t get to see me walk down the aisle, and he will never know his nieces or nephews. He is forever a child...immortalized in innocence.”

Beija took a quivering breath and blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “And this is the reason why I started The Forever Boy Project. I’ve seen so many families share the pain my family had to endure, and I feel that it is a gross injustice. I want to move forward and forge a new bond between us as a community and the powers that be. I want to have conversations steeped in positivity, but I want action too. I want people to be held responsible for the families they tear apart. I need them to understand that there are more than too many ‘Forever Boys’ and ‘Forever Girls’ that have been wrongfully stripped of their right to live.”

“I know that the story I told may be tragic, and it is a heavy burden to carry. But tonight, let this be a celebration of something good to come. In front of you, sitting on your plates is a brochure I put together about all that I have planned for this charity. It’s a game plan you can be a part of if you so choose. I also have information, websites and phone numbers you can call. Alongside that is an envelope for you to donate money as well, if you want to. We have a silent auction going on tonight as well, so there’s many ways that we can participate and help other families that are dealing with such tragic times. I thank you all for coming tonight, and please—have a good time! It’s what my brother would want. Thank you,” Beija smiled through the immense lump in her throat as the crowd clapped for her, and she quickly left the stage before passing the microphone to the attendant. Jermaine was waiting for her at the side of the stage, and she took a deep breath as she embraced him.

“You good?” He asked, and she nodded as he kissed her forehead. “I’m proud of you. I know that was hard,” He said, and she repeated her nod as she ran her fingers down his arms.

“It was. But I did it,” Beija quickly dabbed under her eye with her fingertip before one of her tears could escape. She smiled up at J before she slid her shades back on. “But let’s go ahead and relax. The hard part’s over.”

The first part of the event consisted of a five-course meal: House Salad with Italian Dressing, Loaded Baked Potato Chowder, Charbroiled Oysters, Steak and Potatoes with Asparagus, and Red Velvet Cake for dessert. After dinner, the festivities truly began; the bar and dance floor opened for the guests, and Beija began to work the room, making sure to show her face and converse with the guests as they commended her on her charitable effort. As nervous she was to be around such high-profile names, she handled it to the best of her ability. Eventually the night gave way to the music and everyone was indulging in the endless supply of liquor. Beija and Jermaine took on their usual brown liquor, and as the party raged into the wee hours of the morning, the woman found herself more attached to her husband than usual. It usually didn’t take her much to want her man, but with every ounce of liquor that filled her system she found herself wanting nothing more than to get him alone.

The party ended around two in the morning and the couple were the last to leave. The two came out of the hall laughing and chattering as they piled into the back of the car they came in, the driver quietly driving them to their hotel room.

“I honestly didn’t even think anyone could dance like that. Shit was insane,” Jermaine excitedly recounted some of the people watching he had done throughout the night, and Beija was in a fit of giggles as she curled up next to his warm body.

“Aren’t you...so glad, that I don’t dance like that? You’d be so ashamed,” She laughed a bit as he shook his head.

“You were too busy being indecent to dance,” He mumbled as he rested his head against the back of the seat. “And you talk about me being vulgar,” He chuckled.

“I’m not vulgar. I don’t know what you mean,” Beija couldn’t help but to smile a bit at her own lie. “It’s your fault. I was a good girl before you corrupted me.”

“That’s what you think?” The two glanced at each other before Beija burst into laughter. “Exactly. Bullshit. No good girl pulls the shit you tried to pull with me tonight,” Jermaine’s voice deepened a bit as he reached to conceal them from the eyes and ears of the driver up front.

“Hey, I was just poking fun,” B laughed gently before she gently moved her legs into his lap. The slit of her dress revealed the shape of her legs, and she smirked gently at the deep breath that emitted from his body. Her eyes slowly closed as she felt his hand slowly glide up her leg.

“Grabbing on my shit ain’t fun for me. Not when I can’t take care of you right away,” He mumbled before he shook his head. “You’re an animal when the brown hits you.”

“Oh, whatever,” Beija chuckled as she grew comfortable against his body, the feeling of his fingers rubbing against her leg only enticing her more.

Eventually the two reached the hotel they booked for the evening and once they had checked in, they headed up to their suite. After settling in, the two got out of their costumes and washed off their faces. Beija turned the air on once she exited the bathroom, sighing as the cool air hit against her warm skin. She didn’t realize how much she had warmed up due to the alcohol.

“Where’d you get those from?” Beija looked over her shoulder at Jermaine, who was now sitting in the nearby chair as he scrolled through his phone. She glanced down at the bra and panties she was still in.

“These? I had a little extra spending money and I ordered them off La Perla,” She said, and she chuckled softly at the look of confusion on J’s face.

“It looks expensive,” He mumbled before she walked over to him, slowly moving to straddle his lap. She watched as he ran a hand along the material of her thong and she slightly shivered at his feathery contact.

“I wanted to feel cute tonight. And it’s not like I splurge all the time,” She pouted slightly as she watched his skeptical expression—he was able to make his usual animated expressions, even with the lowering of his eyelids from the liquor consumption. “Don’t you like it, daddy?” Her soft voice seemed to make him flunch, and she tried not to smirk at the way his expression softened.

“Here you go. You always hit me with that when you want something or you wanna get your...” He stopped speaking when she leaned in to kiss him, and she could hear the soft groan escape his lips as her lips moved to his neck. “...When you wanna get your way,” He managed to finish his sentence.

“I don’t want anything but you right now,” She confessed, wrapping her arms around his neck before she gazed into his eyes. She inspected his features and couldn’t contain her blissful smile as she gently tugged at his beard, giving him another kiss. “You’re gonna let all this go to waste?” She gestured towards the lacy pieces that clung to her brown skin, and his eyebrows raised as he cracked a smile.

“So that’s what you bought them for...?” He mumbled, and she giggled as he picked her up, slowly moving her towards the window of the suite. “And that’s why you’ve been actin’ up all night. You should have just asked,” He leaned down and placed a smooth kiss upon her lips, and she glanced back at the city below them through the window.

“Windows open, J? Really?” She whispered, and her thighs tightened around his torso when he smirked.

“It’s damn near three in the morning. And who gives a fuck...let’em see,” He leaned into her neck and gently nuzzled her flesh as she felt his hands proceed to peel her scant undergarments off her body. Every instance of his flesh touching hers sent chills down her spine, and she bit her lip as her hands slid into his hair. In the heat of their inebriation, there was no usual foreplay or teasing; he knew she was ready for him and from the way he felt when he inserted her, he was just as ready.

“Wait,” She said, and he halted his movements as he looked down at her. “Slowly,” She instructed, and he nodded as he held her close, his movements becoming more subdued and intricate. Her lips found his again in a warm embrace, and from that moment on his eyes burned into hers as he once again allowed his body to guide her to another place, somewhere so special that even drunken quickies felt like the most special moment of her life.

[ryanmeft]

My Favorite Performances of 2016

These are the 15 movie roles this year I most felt deserved highlighting. Man, there were some great roles this year, introduction, introduction, introduction, how many words does this have to be? You don't care and I certainly don't. On to the list!(Note: except for the top two, this list is in no particular order).

Glen Powell (Everybody Wants Some!!) The entire cast of Richard Linklater’s spiritual follow-up to "Dazed and Confused" is one riotous bundle of joy (and a cure for the usually cliche portrayal of college kids), but Glen Powell's Finnegan is by far the standout. The scene that makes his character comes at a party for the "artsy fartsy" crowd when, after encouraging a freewheeling spirit of sex, booze, drugs and rock 'n' roll throughout the film, he actually gets for real hurt when his proteges crash his chances with a girl he happens to like. Finnegan is on the cusp of adulthood and leadership heading into one of the most tumultuous decades of American history, but he's not quite there yet...and it's the leftover, subtle vulnerabilities of the kid during his last days of youth that make him so unbelievably endearing. If there's any justice in the world, EWS!! will do for him what Dazed and Confused did for...well, most of the cast.

Tilda Swinton (A Bigger Splash) The (in my opinion, overblown) controversy over Swinton's Doctor Strange role sadly overshadowed her performance in this Fellini-esque story of beautiful people behaving in decidedly un-beautiful ways. Playing a major, David Bowie-esque popstar who has gone near-mute from the stress of living in public, Swinton has few lines but somehow manages to steal the show from a simmering Matthias Schoenaerts and a manic Ralph Fiennes. Being mostly robbed of the ability to speak, Swinton has to convey a massive range of emotions largely with body language---a task she accomplishes with all the skill you'd expect from one of the world's greatest actresses.

Natalie Portman (Jackie) Frail and tough, honest and veiled, open and censoring---Portman's portrayal of the most famous First Lady in American history is riddled with contradictions that, in her hands, become a coherent character. She can sink to the depths of unbearable anguish at a moment's notice, and five minutes later it is as if nothing very bad had happened. Yet, there's always something boiling under the surface...perhaps an understanding that history will forever place "JFK's wife" next to her name, whatever else she may do with her life. At times, Portman seems to barely hold it all in, yet when we leave the theater she is still a mystery. Maybe that's how it should be.

Joel Edgerton (Loving) Rarely does more go unsaid or understood than passes behind the face of Joel Egderton as Richard Loving, one half of the married couple whose simple wish to live in their home state of Virginia dealt a death blow to laws banning interracial marriage in the United States. Edgerton says little, and when he does it is in as few words as possible...every one of which speaks his entire mind. Key to the performance, though, are scenes of him simply sharing intimate moments with wife Mildred. At a time when the stereotype of the traditonal American husband and father of yesteryear is often held up for all the wrong reasons, Edgerton's performance is crucial.

Emma Stone (La La Land) Until near the end, the music is the driving force of La La Land. Then someone asks the character of Mia to "tell a story", and Emma Stone delivers one of the best scenes of her career. The strength of the "Audition" number redefines what has come before for the character, and solidifies her as both someone we can really root for, and the personification of dreamers, however hopeless they might be. The final look she gives Ryan Reynolds in the film speaks more than a page of dialogue ever could.

Viola Davis (Fences) Before the era of feminism, there was an unspoken agreement between married couples in the U.S.: a wife was to put up with her husband's shit, even when he was full to bursting with it. It was hard to pick one of the two main performances in "Fences" to single out, but ultimately Davis's simmering cauldron is the heart of the story, enabling her to both survive and love life with her deeply, deeply flawed husband. Unlike Denzel Washington, who gets to vomit forth an endless stream of anger throughout the film, Davis is tasked with saving her one great outburst for when it is most needed and has the most impact, creating a scene the trailers should not have featured; it should have been allowed to burst on audiences like water from a broken dam, rolling over everything in its path. Five minutes later, she's calm again, but she's also a different woman...or maybe just another woman who was hiding behind the first all along.

Sunny Pawar (Lion) The trailers all emphasize the adult Saroo's search for his home, but the bulk of the movie is taken up with a young Saroo getting lost in the first place, and Dev Patel is overshadowed by 8-year-old Sunny Pawar...not an easy feat. Like Quvenzhane Wallis and Jacob Tremblay, Pawar takes a role that could easily have been phoned in (since we have natural sympathy for kids) and makes little Saroo into an enormously relatable character, a lost boy whose stomping ground is no Neverland. It isn't any wonder the filmmakers keep coming back to him in flashbacks after his character is grown. He's the heart of the film.

Hailee Steinfeld (Edge of Seventeen) I swear, my generation moons over the era of John Hughes High School comedies so much they seem to forget that being awkward, out-of-place and unable to wait for the day after graduation day isn't unique to them. Every year we get a handful of largely unheralded comedies about that very topic, and Hailee Steinfeld's performance as a morbid, confused and, yes, aggressive (bad female! bad!) teen who openly discusses her sex life, alcohol habits and dark, dark, dark humor elevates "Edge of Seventeen" to the top of the pack. With acerbic wit, pinpoint aim, and unflinching pessimism, Nadine Franklin manages to skewer not just every aspect of High School life but many of life in general. The only target she routinely misses? Herself.

Kate Beckinsale (Love & Friendship) It is exceedingly rare that a woman in the movies can be aggressive and acidic at the same time. Kate Beckinsale's Lady Susan is such a character. It is impossible for all but the most ardent feminists to actually like her, and you'd never want to be drawn into her poisonous circle of rumor, manipulation, innuendo and life-destroying gossip, but you have to admire her for taking charge of her own life at a time when women were tasked with hosting guests, looking pretty and shutting up. These days, she'd almost certainly be described as a sociopath, wrecking lives for her whim and amusement, yet you can't look away. She's the year's best villain...or is she?

Ben Foster (Hell or High Water) Chris Pine's well-meaning father is our anchor to this story of two desperate brothers in hard times, but Ben Foster is the anarchic, destructive force that keeps our eyes glued to the screen. Whereas Pine's dad doesn't think of himself as criminal and Jeff Bridges's sheriff has spent far too much time watching old westerns, Foster knows exactly what he is: a violent criminal whose psycopathy he might be able to turn to his brother's aid in one last blaze of glory. There's never really a question of him surviving the story; he's not a man, he's a storm, and he's here to rage harder than he ever has before blowing himself out.

Naomie Harris (Moonlight) Talk about embodying multiple people in one role. Harris plays mother to a young, gay black man at three different stages of his life, but she's not the kind of perfect mom the movies prefer. She's a drug addict at a time when the War on Drugs refused to treat such people with any sort of humanity, and she's got a temper to match the times; when she screams hurtful words at her own son, the decision to remove the audio from the scene makes her come off as near-demonic. Simplicity, though, isn't really what Moonlight deals in, and there are layers and regrets to her revealed as the film goes on. Her final scene asks a rather important question: should any time be too late to be forgiven?

Anya Taylor-Joy (The Witch) For the most part, horror will forever be considered beneath the notice of those who hand out accolades, which means even if you turn in one of the most startling performances of the year, it doesn't really count if it's in this genre. That's a shame, because unless you count a tiny, uncredited role from 2014, Taylor-Joy makes the most impressive film debut of any actress this year. Called upon to do things involving animal blood and demonic possession that a more image-concerned person might spurn, she handles the role of a teenage girl whose family is being assailed by the forces of hell by taking it all absolutely seriously, which is essential; any hint that she thinks anything she's doing is silly, and the film falls apart. There's reason to question whether anything supernatural is really happening in the New England wilderness of the late 1600's, but no reason to doubt the strength of Taylor-Joy's performance.

Ryan Reynolds (Deadpool) Not everything has to be so serious, something Deadpool would probably remind you of right before delivering a kick straight to your kibbles and bits. As the star, producer and driving force behind the hilariously raunchy R-rated superhero flick, Reynolds is the most eminently watchable and entertaining a comic hero has been outside the suit since Robert Downey Jr. swaggered into the Iron Man armor. Mel Brooks once famously described his films as rising below vulgarity, and whether Reynolds is taking time out to break the fourth wall or making incredibly lewd comments at his blind, elderly, female roommate, he's bringing the spirit of "Blazing Saddles" to a genre that sometimes really needs to get over itself. In a year where "Batman vs. Superman" took itself more seriously than a second heart attack, Reynolds's Merc with a Mouth is the filthy, over-the-top cure the doctor ordered.

And my top two performances, starting with my choice for Best Actress:

Isabelle Huppert (Elle)

In arguably the most challenging role this year, which comes in certainly the most challenging film, Huppert plays a woman who, after being raped, plays a cat-and-mouse game with the rapist. Whether she is trying to catch him or get caught again is another question. The role was turned down by multiple more well-known actresses, before being taken by Huppert, who deserves to be more well-known outside her native France. Key to her performance is that her character is not altogether very likable, and if she were not a victim of a heinous crime, you'd have a real difficult time feeling empathy for her. That takes far more guts, I think, than playing out brutal scenes of assault, since we tend to demand our heroines be pure as the driven snow.

Casey Affleck (Manchester by the Sea)

He's been turning in the best work he possibly can in every role he's had, big or small, for two decades, always overshadowed in fame by his older brother, but this year is Casey's. Angry, violent, adrift and bereft, Lee Chandler is a man with no purpose in a world that demands every man have one, not that he grasps himself on that level: he's simply a man who has been struck over and over until nothing but armor remains. Forced to deal with the issue of custody for his nephew after his brother dies, he portrays a truth no man wants to face: not all of us are cut out for responsibility. Despite this, Affleck walks a fine line, making Lee simultaneously a jerk and someone you'd really like to see come out on top. Unfortunately, as Lee well knows, the world just isn't that simple.

Honorable mentions: I limited my list to 15, and even after expanding from ten it was still difficult. There are lots of great roles that didn't make the cut, and here are the ten that really gave the winners a run for their money, in one big list. If you don't see your favorite, remember: it doesn't necessarily mean they weren't good, just that I can't possibly list them all.

Kristen Stewart (Cafe Society) The Cast of Don't Think Twice Royalty Hightower (The Fits) Meryl Streep (Florence Foster Jenkins) Lou de Laage (The Innocents) Ruth Negga (Loving) Lucas Hedges (Manchester by the Sea) Jessica Chastain (Miss Sloane) Pretty much everybody in Moonlight (Moonlight) Katie Holmes (Touched With Fire)