STAGE RIGHT:

IT'S SHOWTIME!

[preluded]

#preluded. private writing blog for shelby rivers, an original character who is a broadway actress. fandomless and adaptable to any storyline/au. [ carrd, pinterest, fiona, anakin. ]

[atreideir-deactivated20240404]

HOW OFTEN IT IS THAT THE ANGRY MAN RAGES DENIAL OF WHAT HIS INNER SELF IS TELLING HIM. #atreideir.

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saw dune 2 and wow

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tiny lil blog update <3

[abetrayer]

bless me, father, for i have sinned. i am a liar, a betrayer. i have conspired against my own blood and i doubt even your God could save me.

n

[preluded]

@likewiley, people will look at you and wince. and then they'll get over it.

that's how the tabloid media works. a story is only a story for a few days. that's not how the entertainment industry works, though. if only the world was that easy. part of you wants to scoff in maeve's face, roll your eyes and turn you back— a childlike action. it's not the first time you've heard that sentiment; it feels as if that's the only thing people can spew at you. this isn't the end of the world. this isn't a problem. none of them are wearing the same pair of shoes as you, though— none of them are in the driver's seat like you. there all peer in through their windows, believing they have all the answers— that they know how to fix everything. they try to convince you the paranoia is made up inside your head, that the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach isn't actually there. who even needs a gun to shoot you when their words do the same amount of damage? instead, you remain timid, hands resting in your lap as your gaze remains fixated there. even in the face of ridicule, even if it's not intentional, you can't raise your voice. [there's that nagging voice in the back of your head, your guardian angel looking out for you. she didn't mean the words out of mockery. but the devil's advocate can't help but raise an eyebrow, mind pondering into those backroom thoughts. what if maeve did have mockery behind her words?] lips pressing themselves together, your head tilts to the side, as if mulling over the words in your head. you're not. but perks of being an actress— even a shitty one? you're good at wearing a mask. “i don't know about that.” leaning forward, your lips wrap themselves around the straw resting inside your cocktail, taking a large sip. as you pull away, your features scrunch as you swallow the concoction. “i feel if that was true, i would be getting some actual jobs, you know? but hey— at least i get to hang out with you. that's pretty cool.”

you like maeve; she's one of the few people in the city with a decent head on her shoulders. one of the few you've grown to tolerate. people are like a revolving door, coming and going; it's the simple reality of show business. but you've found a friend in maeve— a genuine one, you hope. you hope, you hope, you hope. that's the only thing you're good for now: faux hope. “but yeah, maybe you're right. maybe they'll get over it.”

[preluded]

@eulogier + @thengone, 02— diary entry on the best night of their life.

dear diary,

     tonight's the night— eclipsed shadows is going live! i've been literally crossing off days on my calendar since landing the role, and now it's real! it's happening! it feels like everything i've poured my heart and soul into is finally happening. i mean, can you believe it?

     this morning, i was on the phone with mom the second i woke up, telling her all about how excited and nervous i am. she's got this magic touch that always seems to soothe me, but there's still this weird, naggy feeling hanging out in my gut. it's not the usual pre-show butterflies either— it's something heavier. mom keeps saying i'm just being paranoid, but there's this ickiness i can't shake off. she's all about the pep talks, reminding me of the blood, sweat, and tears i've put into this. and she's not wrong— i've literally given this my all, and i refuse to be the one who messes it up for myself.

     showtime's at seven, but knowing me, i'll be out the door by three. gotta leave enough time to nail my makeup and hair, plus factor in the traffic nightmare. everyone's saying it's going to be chaos out there, and even though i'm trying not to spiral, i'm super on edge. (like, seriously freaking out.)

     i know i should be getting ready to leave now, but i just have to get this off my chest— i'm beyond proud of what we've done with this production. the tears, the frustration, all of it... it's going to be worth it in the end. tonight will be a game-changer for me and everyone else's careers. it has to be, right? because if it's not, then what the hell am i even doing with my life?

[notmorbid]

the girl who cried diamonds.

dialogue prompts from the girl who cried diamonds & other stories by rebecca hirsch garcia.

second best is just first loser.

try not to make anyone else cry.

why did you say it was your fault?

tell me the truth. just tell me i'm unlovable.

people will look at you and wince. and then they'll get over it.

if i'm going to die, i'm going to die with you by my side.

i've done a lot of bad things, but i know god wouldn't let me die alone.

do you know what your name means?

after a while, i just stopped being afraid.

fear is exhausting to maintain.

you don't even know how good you are.

i will never help anyone else again, ever. as long as i live.

have you ever seen anyone die? like, in front of you?

you've really done it this time.

i know how this part is going to end.

my mom used to tell me she'd send me to siberia when i was being bad.

you should go somewhere romantic, or at least somewhere people have heard of.

everyone grieves in a different way.

i miss you, now that you're not here.

children have the strangest ideas of justice.

i would have done anything for you.

i must have been very angry, i think, but i can't remember why.

i would prefer if we pretended this day never happened.

i don't want to know anything anymore.

somewhere, someone is having the worst day of their entire life.

i keep trying to make things right again.

how did you even know about what happened? i didn't tell anyone.

you're a kid. no one would blame you.

my girlfriend is an angel.

if you're not dead, you should probably get ready for work.

i'm too tired for shame.

are you scared of being old and ugly?

i'm seriously considering having an affair.

your heartbeat is too noisy.

heights: some people are afraid they'll jump, some people are afraid they'll fall.

why is everything in latin, anyway?

i know you'll be well. don't worry about me.

[preluded]

@mygraves, i only looked away for a moment.

in shelby's defense, she never asked for this. a cooking lesson was far out of her realm of expertise. multiple hands would be required to share the amount of times she'd nearly burned down her childhood house in montana, and the amount inside her small studio apartment. throughout the moment sydney had disappeared, the pot housing pasta noodles had begun overflowing, water quickly cascading into the stove's burner— leading to a mass panic from the brunette as she quickly moved it to the other burner, spilling an alarming amount of water in the process. a plume of smoke circulates in the air above them, threatening the smoke alarm hovering over their heads. quickly retrieving a rag hanging from the fridge's handle, shelby begins fanning the smoke away from the smoke detector. “i told you that i can't cook! i don't know what you were expecting!”

exasperation clear in her voice, her gaze redirects itself to sydney, lips pressing themselves into a straight line. this wasn't how she anticipated this evening going. for a night of relaxation and pure fun among two friends, it was seemingly becoming the polar opposite. not the vibes she had been searching for. “is there a window open? i don't think one is. can we open one?”

[0008753]

DEAR  DIARY          .    .    .

[  *  ]      writing prompt      )         :           send a number  1 - 20  to take a closer look inside this characters mind and life.        /        below you will find a series of various prompts offering a look inside what would be diary    /    journal entries from different moments throughout their life;       the good,       the bad,      and the ugly        these are meant to invoke character development     &     can also be altered as seen fit to better suit the character in question.         

01.     the first entry they ever made. 02.     entry made on the best night of their life. 03.     entry made on the worst night of their life. 04.     entry made after experiencing a nightmare. 05.     entry made after experiencing heartbreak. 06.     entry made discussing travel they’ve done or hope to do. 07.     entry made featuring an important moment in their life. 08.     entry made featuring their day    /    night at work. 09.     entry made discussing their school day(s). 10.     entry made featuring mention of death. 11.     entry made discussing their fears and anxieties.  12.     entry made discussing their hopes and dreams. 13.     entry made featuring mention of (sender’s) muse.  14.     entry made featuring mention of their parents. 15.     entry made featuring desire. 16.     entry made featuring anger. 17.     entry made featuring joy. 18.     entry made featuring sadness. 18.     entry made featuring pain. 18.     entry made discussing a childhood memory. 19.     entry made talking about a simple    /   normal day. 20.     the last entry they ever made.

[preluded]

@greatfailure, never drink. it just makes things worse.

“well, it's a little too late for that, isn't that?” her words tumble into the dim light of the dive bar, blending with the neon glow that bathes her in a spectrum of escapism. her form slouches against the barstool, her head cradling in the curve of her hand, brows furrowing. they sketch a map of her turmoil. the world has carved its narrative into the lines of her face— each one a story of dreams deferred, of a spotlight dimmed too soon. in the neon-soaked refuge of the bar, she'd hoped to find a kindred spirit in jason. (after all, he'd been one of the witnesses of the eclipsed shadows opening show.) he's a man marked by his own battles, his own shadows that dance just beneath the exterior. his words, though few, are heavy with a realism that contrasts shelby's once vibrant aspirations. the debacle of her debut looms over her like a specter, its shadow long and unyielding. the thought alone is a weight she can barely shoulder, a grim reminder of dreams shattered on the unforgiving altar of broadway's expectations. the whispers of tomorrow's headlines already echo in her mind, a chorus of disappointment and mockery.

a scoff escapes her, a brief rebellion against the narrative being penned for her. her fingers, slender and poised, find solace in the cold embrace of the glass before her. the whiskey, a rare companion reserved for nights of forced amnesia, kisses her lips with a promise of oblivion. it's an empty comfort, yet she clings to it, letting the liquid warmth cascade down her throat. a fleeting reprieve from the symphony of her thoughts. with a gesture almost too casual, she signals for another round as she places the empty glass back on the counter. gaze settling back on jason, there's a flicker of something— perhaps a recognition of shared defeat, or the faintest glimmer of opposition. the show, after all, must go on. “when you offered to come with me, i expected to have a drinking buddy. maybe feed me some bullshit about how the show isn't nearly as bad as i think it is. not someone trying to be my dad.”

[preluded]

@thengone, sometimes attention hurts more than it helps.

her dreams are weathered but unwavering, despite the relentless storm that seeks to erode them. shelby's a figure carved from the very essence of resilience, but she can't shake the feeling of defeat. it's lodged itself within the marrow of her bones as an unwelcome tenant. every aspiration she had constructed, piece by painstaking piece, had crumbled, leaving her exposed to the wolves of failure that eagerly devoured her spirit, leaving her to flounder in the aftermath of their feast. the warmth of tears threatens to breach the corners of her eyes as she exhales a deep breath, one that's been imprisoned far too long within the confines of her chest, offering no solace. no release from the weight of her despair. “i don't know what to do anymore.” the words escape her, a whisper torn from the depths of vulnerability— a raw admission in the stillness that surrounds her. (the first rule of the shelby rivers playbook to life? you keep your nerve.) the creed she had always lived by seems to be slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. her hands travel down her face in a gesture of exhaustion as her eyelids close themselves. “nobody, and i mean literally nobody, is giving me the time of day. i've become the industry's punchline.” shelby's voice is tinged with the bitterness of realization, mirroring the sentiment of countless tiktoks that parade her misfortune each morning. a cruel reminder of her plummeting esteem in the eyes of those whose approval she once sought. still seeks. it's a realization so dire that she entertains the thought of oblivion as a sweeter alternative to this purgatory of ridicule.

yet, as silence wraps its cloak around her, offering a brief respite from the symphony of her own despair, a spark ignites within the recesses of her mind. it's faint, hardly a beacon, but it flickers with the promise of possibility— of hope. “wait, pause for two seconds. i just had an idea. what if i were to show them all they're wrong about me? imagine, i perform somewhere, anywhere, and it's good— really good. people record it, it goes viral on tiktok, suddenly the narrative changes, and i'm back on track!” shelby's words, imbued with a newfound determination, pierce the gloomy raincloud that had settled over her.

[preluded]

@axillery, i don't let anyone touch me.

shelby's actions have been anything but conventional lately. lingering in nightclubs until dawn's first light breaches the skyline, ignoring her agent's barrage of calls, and now— engaging in a scheme that borders on the cinematic kind of recklessness served for movie screen anti-heroes. if commitment to her career was even in question, this latest antic would surely dispel any doubts. yet, through the chaos of her choice, a chorus rages within her. on one side, a voice is steeped in reason, blaring alarms, questioning the sanity of her current predicament. with the outcome of the godspell audition hanging in balance, a mere week away, the tension gnaws the strings of her sanity like a relentless gnat. the prospect of waiting for the verdict any longer feels tantamount to a prison sentence of internal combustion. in contrast, there's another voice— a stranger's whisper, unrecognizable counsel within the cacophony of her mind, urging her forward. this voice, foreign and yet compelling, coaxes her to the edge of reason, toeing the line of legality and sanity. the decision, once made, feels irreversible— propelled by both desperation and the money she's already poured into this.

upon realizing the weight of her actions, physically recoiling from the hacker's shoulder as his words slice through her nerve-wracked facade, shelby's gaze drops. a momentary glance, once stealthily aimed at the glowing promise of the computer screen, now finds solace in the less confrontational ground. her lips purse, a silent acknowledgment of the awkwardness of the entire situation. “sorry— i'm just a little nervous.” she admits, her voice threading the line between confession and understatement. nervous? it was the understatement of the year. the concept of potentially hacking into the shubert theatre's servers, the dread of potential repercussions, the gnawing fear of what she might (or might not) discover about her audition. the worst-case scenario haunts her: her name isn't even a footnote in their decision-making process.

retreating backward, she anchors her hands on her hips, a physical attempt to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation. (and her rapidly spiraling thoughts.) “it won't happen again,” she states, more to herself than to brute.

[taiturner]

Kristine Frøseth in Birds of Paradise (2021)

[preluded]

prior to shelby moving to new york city, she did a lot of research. the only two places she had ever lived before were montana and michigan, so to prepare herself, she read a lot of tips & trick guides on moving to the city + what to exactly expect once she arrived. one of the major pointers she read on every single guide was, do not drive in the city if you're not prepared. this is when she went to youtube and watched new york city driving, and nearly had a panic attack in her parents' kitchen. given her lack of experience driving in a city + with aggressive drivers, shelby opted to leave her vehicle back in montana with her family, choosing to travel via taxis, ubers, and the subways while in new york city.

however, before the move, shelby's car was a 2014 volkswagen beetle in the color yellow. her dad was best friends with the local car dealership owner, brandon marcus, and received an amazing deal on the car. it was a present for her sixteenth birthday. once she received her license, she drove that little car everywhere. the only downside was how small it was, but in a town like ekalaka and shelby's schedule, the lack of space wasn't a huge concern. she wasn't driving her girlfriends around to parties in it, instead, she was driving to the local community theatre for her plays.

when shelby does return her home [which is very rare, especially later on in her life] she does sometimes drive it. it's that one reminder of where she came from. is it therapeutic driving around in her little beetle? sure. but does it also send a chill down her spine, thinking she could've forever been trapped in this little tiny town, little tiny car, little tiny life? absolutely.

[preluded]

plotting call! 🩷

[preluded]

@suhspiria, sometimes attention hurts more than it helps.

a spotlight hangs above both of their heads, prying eyes watching for whatever the tabloids print next. people can't stop reading or watching. it's human nature to watch things unfold— car wrecks, train accidents, plane crashes. they like to stare with their mouths agape, pondering if they could have done anything to stop it. anything to intervene to stop the tragedy from happening. celebrities are no different. everyone would love to fix a celebrity— while shelby's dream was to star on broadway, others have the dream of fixing a celebrity. it's why the tabloids print what they do— to fuel the fantasy rotting away inside the world's brain. (at least, that's what she tells herself. and it's the truth because she said it.) most would feel comforted knowing there's someone else in the same shoes as them. who's in the same situation. as much as the words resonate deep within shelby, she can't bring herself to nod in agreement. the first rule to the shelby rivers handbook to life? you keep your nerve. instead, she leans forward before wrapping her red-painted lips around the straw of her soda. a long sip is taken. her mind mulls over her choice of response as the carbonation hits the back of her throat. it's not nearly as refreshing as shelby hoped it would be. “my agent likes to say there's no such thing as bad publicity.” she replies hesitantly, returning to her original posture in the chair. then again, it wasn't her agent whose face was bearing the reputation of broadway failure. (and everyone knows how much that sentiment means in the modern climate.)

“how do you deal with it all? do you ever get overwhelmed by what they say?” and the curtain is peeled back ever so slightly, a revelation being unveiled inside the shelby rivers handbook to life. she can only keep her nerve for so long without cracking.