#excitement-with-administrative-poster | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shortnspidey · 3 months ago

Text

CHAPTER TWO: UNFORGETTABLE ENCOUNTERS

Eddie Munson x OC!Reader || WC: 1.6K

A/N: lyra and Billy have arrived at hawkins!! Anyone else think Jonathan is criminally underrated? I know this chapter was kinda boring and a filler chapter for what's to come. I'm so excited to write the famous Halloween episode! Eddie and Lyra scenes coming soon!

➩ previous chapter || next chapter

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

Lyra knew that Billy was a sucker for attention. However, this was certainly not the way she expected to arrive at her new High School. As if from a scene in a movie, heads turned to his sleek, dark blue Camaro pulling into the parking lot. The music blaring from the car speakers adding to the anticipation. As Billy parks the car, out steps Max, Lyra following close behind. "Have a good day at school, Cherry." Lyra smiled handing Max her skateboard and watching her skate away.

"She better not be late." Billy chastised throwing his cigarette bud on the ground. "You just love to make an entrance don't you." Lyra scoffed playfully reading Billy like an open book. As Lyra leaned over to get her backpack from the backseat, Billy immediately noticed the amount of male attention she was attracting. Not liking it one bit.

Completely oblivious, Lyra swung her backpack over her shoulders ready to get the awkward introductions out of the way. "Where do you think you're going?" Billy questioned glaring at his sister. "To the main office, we have to pick up our class schedules." Lyra looked at him as if he had grown two heads. "Wearing that," He gestured to the Def Leppard cropped top.

"I don't think so." He tsked pulling a black leather jacket from the trunk of his car. "It's your shirt. I stole it from your closet." She deadpanned giving him the meanest glare she could muster. "Just put the damn thing on." He insisted, throwing his leather jacket in her direction. For the sake of not wanting to argue knowing how stubborn and hot-headed he was she did as he asked. "Happy?" She grumbled sarcastically. "Ecstatic." He retorted with an eye roll.

It was getting harder and harder for Lyra to ignore the whispers and blatant stares that they were both receiving upon walking toward the main office. She knew that both males and females found Billy attractive. With his tall, muscular frame, perfectly styled blonde hair, and confident swagger, he exuded an air of mystery and rebellion. Billy's presence has certainly made an impression, and the tension in the air is almost tangible.

On the other hand, Billy was scowling at anyone who dared to look at Lyra for more than five seconds. There was a reason why he had handed her his precious leather jacket. He had no problem knocking out any dirtbag who so much as looked at his sister with lustful intentions or even dared to wolf whistle in her direction. Both siblings made their way to the administration office, where a sign reading "Class Schedules Here" hung crookedly on the door.

Inside, the room was filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint smell of copier ink. The walls were adorned with bulletin boards showcasing upcoming events and motivational posters that seemed to promise endless possibilities. A table near the entrance was stacked with neatly arranged packets of paper, each labeled with a different grade level. Lyra and Billy exchanged a glance before reaching for the pile designated for seniors.

Their fingers brushed against the smooth, cool surface of the schedules as they slid one out from the stack. With schedules in hand, they stepped aside, allowing other eager students to grab their own. They unfolded the papers, revealing a grid of classes, room numbers, and teacher names. "Intro to Psychology." Lyra muttered assessing her first class of the day. "What about you?" Billy shrugged handing his sister his class schedule. "Who cares, I'm ditching."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Just don't get caught." Billy scoffed, nonchalantly checking out the cheerleaders who walked by. "I'll see you later." Walking off to find her locker, she was surprised to see Billy hot on her trail. "You let me know if anyone bothers you." Billy declared leaning against the locker next to his sisters. "Easy, Hellraiser," She taunted spinning the dial on her locker and managing to open it on the first try. "I can handle myself. Have fun ditching." With a mischievous grin, Billy sauntered off, leaving Lyra to face her first class of the day.

Thankfully, Lyra's psychology teacher did not bother to introduce her as the new student in front of the whole class. She exhaled a silent sigh of relief and slipped into the back of the classroom, her teacher's eyes only briefly acknowledging her presence before returning to the lesson at hand. Gratitude washed over her; there would be no standing in front of the class, no spotlight to amplify her discomfort, and no need to articulate the reasons behind her and her brother's abrupt transfer during the final stretch of high school.

She settled into an empty desk, the cool surface a welcome barrier between herself and the sea of unfamiliar faces. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead mingled with the murmur of her classmates, creating a cocoon of anonymity. Lyra's heart rate steadied as she realized she could blend into the background, at least for now. As the teacher dove into the intricacies of the human mind, Lyra allowed herself a moment to observe her peers from the safety of her peripheral vision.

No one spared her more than a cursory glance, and that was just fine with her. Here, in this small corner of the world, Lyra could be just another student, her story tucked quietly away beneath the layers of adolescent complexity that filled the room. Luckily the lecture went by smoothly, after a few notes and intricate doodles scrawled in her notebook the school bell rang, signaling the end of class. She quickly grabbed her book bag, making a mental note to stop by her locker to exchange her books.

"Hey," The voice of one of her classmates, Tina, she recalled interrupts her thoughts. "You're new, right?" Instead of saying something snarky and borderline sarcastic, Lyra chooses to instead nod awkwardly. "I'm throwing a Halloween bash tomorrow, hope you can make it." Lyra flashed her a faux smile taking the orange flyer from her hand. "Oh, and feel free to bring that sexy boyfriend of yours." Lyra couldn't hold back the look of disgust that made its way onto her face.

"Billy's not my boyfriend, he's my brother." Tina's smile only grew. "Good to know." Lyra took that as her cue to leave shoving the flyer into her bag and giving the curly-haired brunette another fake smile. The school halls are buzzing with the energy of students rushing to their next class. Amidst the chatter and locker slams, Lyra navigates her way through the crowd. That's when she spots them—a huddle of muscular athletes, their letterman jackets a stark contrast to the sea of regular high school attire.

They're looming over a brunette boy whose back is pressed against the cold metal of the lockers. His eyes are wide, darting around for an escape that doesn't exist, his hands fumbling with the straps of his backpack. Lyra's steps falter for a second, taking in the scene. The boy is practically shrinking under the weight of the athletes' sneering superiority. One of the jocks, a tall guy with a smirk that's all teeth, is leaning in too close, his hand raised reaching for his camera.

"Hey, Byers, who are you spying on today?" One of them jeers, snatching the camera strap. Lyra watches as he tries to grab his camera back, but the jocks are playing keep away, laughing at his attempts. Without missing a beat, Lyra strides over with a palpable determination. Her presence shifts the air, and the jocks' attention snaps to her, their mockery momentarily forgotten. The boy seems to hold his breath, his eyes meeting Lyra's for a fleeting second. Lyra stands her ground, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Beat it assholes." She challenges them, her tone laced with a confidence that belies her status as the new kid. The athletes, caught off guard by her boldness, falter, their facade of invincibility cracking. The standoff is brief but intense, and as quickly as it begins, it ends. The jocks, with a roll of their eyes and a huff of annoyance, back off. They throw a final, warning glance at the brunette boy before they disperse.

Their egos bruised but not quite ready to admit defeat. Lyra offers a hand to the boy, helping him regain his composure. He's visibly relieved, his gratitude evident as he adjusts his camera strap and mumbles a shy "Thanks." She nods, a silent pact forming between them. "Don't mention it," Sticking her hand out she takes the moment to introduce herself.

"Lyra Hargrove." Shuffling the strap of his camera over his shoulder, he meets her halfway shaking her hand. "Jonathan Byres." With the final shrill of the warning bell Lyra gives him one last smile before walking toward the opposite end of the hallway. "Nice to meet you, stay outta trouble, Jonathan Byers." And with that, both teens disappeared into the sea of high schoolers.

34 notes · View notes

desognthinking · 11 months ago

Text

recruitment drive. 5.3k. (or, the haunted house designers au.)

Suzanne sends the pre-meeting email just one and a half hours before the onboarding call is scheduled to begin. Beatrice knows this because her watch buzzes just as she emerges from the bathroom, wringing her hair dry after her post-run shower.

It’s still the middle of the night back in America. Beatrice thinks Suzanne just doesn’t sleep.

She makes herself a pot of tea and carefully sets her mug down onto its cork coaster at the dining table. Her phone, face-down on the table, vibrates thrice as she boots up the laptop.

She flips it over: three texts from Lilith. That’s two too many.

A curious sense of anticipation, and perhaps the shallowest hints of doubt, settles over the skin of her neck as she loads up her unread mail. It’s uncharacteristic of Suzanne to forward basic administrative material at such late notice. Especially since it concerns mere formalities like the Zoom link for later, and the confirmation of the meeting participants – an email that should take less than two minutes to formulate. After all, everyone already knows the team heading the expansion project.

Beatrice had mentioned this to Camila once, recently, during their weekly lunch call. Week six or six thousand into their strictly enforced remote work sojourn (the only way, Suzanne said, she could ensure that no Extra Responsibilities would be surreptitiously taken on) and she was already pacing the room from boredom and overthinking.

Camila had reminded her that, in her defense, Suzanne had just been out on that scouting trip in Peru without reliable internet. Whatever spare bandwidth she did have was probably best served hurdling over the mountains of administrative obstacles these new pop-up Houses inevitably would create. Not fretting over Zoom links.

Camila, as always, is sensible; probably the most sensible of them all. So Beatrice very seriously, and very conscientiously, takes a deep breath and runs through that one breathing exercise she’d found very helpful from her therapist.

Suzanne is a stickler. She holds her cards carefully close to her chest, arranged back and forth in some pattern nobody but she can see, and Beatrice trusts her fully. And that’s all that should matter – as Suzanne had made glaringly clear, even before she’d sat the three of them down one by one in her office, and then emailed them the remuneration clauses – that she’d wanted Beatrice for the job, had worked to convince her for it.

For an industry chest-deep in the currency of terror, Beatrice had – has never been lured by the screams.

It is tradition for a House’s creative team to prowl the exit on opening night. Maybe grab a drink and share a toast to the accompaniment of desperate footsteps sprinting out, or breathless, choked sobs at the gates.

Beatrice doesn’t like that. Ever since she got personally banned by Mary from coldly going through the whole maze (yet again) with a clipboard on Night One while bona fide, ticket-purchasing customers were busy hollering their heads off, she’s preferred to go home right after the ceremony to a mug of hot chamomile and a dogeared autobiography.

She plans to keep it that way, too. There is nothing more distasteful than cheap gore, or cultish fantasy, or whichever half-baked nightmare slough some over-excited writer could dredge up from the hallucinatory afterburn of a weekend bender.

She carefully takes a sip of her tea, gazing out into brightening but still charred-gray skies. She’d had an interview in Tales of Terror last year, and hadn’t known whether to be flattered or dismayed at the opening paragraph.

‘You wouldn’t guess this is the home of the woman responsible for some of the most blood-curdling, spine-chilling effects, traps and rooms of the last half-decade. Nothing in her fourth-floor unit screams Creative Psycho. Every pale beige curtain in her flat is drawn wide, light flooding in. There are no letterboxd-worthy poster displays from the indie foreign films she watches religiously for research – only a framed print collection of early twentieth century European urban landscape paintings. There are no carpets, it’s almost unsettlingly clean, and there’s not a single ounce of bedragglement. Beatrice tells us, mild mannered and polite almost to a fault, that this is how she likes it.’

(Are you sure you want me?)

“Precisely,” Suzanne had said, careful and stern, “we need precisely that.” She’d been rolling a brass knuckle tightly over the surface of her desk as she spoke. Beatrice thought it produced a gorgeous, rich sound.

“We need reinvention. Reinterpretation. Things should not be left to stagnate, for their own sake,” she’d stared at Beatrice meaningfully. “This applies to people too.”

Beatrice had simply stared back, uncertain.

“Besides,” Suzanne turned away, the edge of her mouth twisting up like she knew something Beatrice didn’t, “As I’m sure you know by now, the workload will be shared.”

It made sense then that Suzanne had last year taken them aside to allocate them as leads to three of the flagship site’s Houses that season. Upon their successes she had allocated them, despite protests, those purely consultancy and remote assistance roles for this year’s season.

Two years ago Beatrice and Lilith were section heads in their respective maze portions. Camila, then freshly poached by the firm, was primary set designer of the same House. That year they huddled together night after night and sixteen-hour days to cobble together something out of the most dysfunctional House of that year’s stable of nine.

The lead for said House was a man called Vincent. He was woefully incompetent to the point of unintentional sabotage. He had, of course, slunk away quietly upon the season’s conclusion, but until then the three of them had had to spend wee hours crawling up and clawing at walls and reinforcements and contractors that had been given contradictory instructions.

They built an easy partnership, eventually – disciplined and stone-smooth efficient to the extent that Beatrice reluctantly allowed herself to catch a few agonizing hours of unguilty sleep each night.

And through necessity she had come to know them as well, as only a truly nightmarish haunted house build will have you know a person.

After that wretched time they had been wrenched apart. The OCS had multiple Houses to churn out at full steam and speed every season, and a brutal reputation to maintain. The cruel prize of a job well done involved getting split up, even if for bigger, better things.

But the point is, they’re tried and tested. Beatrice likes that. She isn’t sure she would have agreed to taking on this challenge otherwise, and she knows Suzanne knows that, too.

It is a weight on her shoulders, irregular and uncomfortably shifting across her shoulder blades; a worry that any success she has in executing such an endeavor would be largely circumstantial.

Last summer, long before everything had been set in stone, Shannon sent her a link to an Instagram post. It detailed some theories and speculations over an unnamed upcoming OCS expansion. A strategic leak, perhaps, although Beatrice worked far too distantly from the marketing team to be certain.

They were lying next to each other on the mud-streaked safety mats they put over the wooden boards beside the building site. Her building site. The one with the credits board, hooked up at the exit, that would bear her name first at the top.

It had been the muggiest, most intolerable time of the day when Shannon, overseeing production on this half of the Houses, had come round, somehow hoisting a bulky IKEA carrier over her neck and under her left arm. She pulled out a variety of chips and buns that she’d gone down to the shops to buy, and handed them out far too cheerfully for someone who must have already half-melted in the heat. When Beatrice raised her eyebrows, glancing over behind the barriers where Mary’s motorcycle very conspicuously was parked, Shannon merely winked – poorly – and pretended to be very innocent.

She stayed to help, afterwards, peering over the storyboards pinned up on the board like it wasn’t the thousandth time she’d gone over them. That year she’d also had her own House to take care of, in addition to the small matter of co-running the entire season’s program. So Beatrice tried to weakly bat her away, but she pulled out a banana from some back pocket, peeled it, took a large bite with a moan so obnoxiously loud Beatrice turned red, and shushed her.

At this point construction was going ahead in full force, and Beatrice would frequently navigate every step of the maze and inspect every bolt and hidden door with a pocket-sized Moleskine in her hand and three gel pens in her pocket. Yasmine, her head writer, preferred to make notes directly onto her phone, stopwatch dangling from her wrist and an earbud in her ear as she ran over the preliminary audio cues for each section. Ambling behind them, Shannon found a nail and tried to spin it as long as she could on her fingertip. When the nail rolled off into a groove, irretrievable, she dusted off her hands very innocently on her cargo pants and off the back of her greasy tank top. Then she folded her hands behind her back and looked up very seriously to examine overhead mechanisms that Beatrice ‘might be too short to see clearly’.

With the work lights strung up, the innards of the House did not look particularly scary.

To Beatrice it was a purely cerebral challenge, despite the very physical layer of sweat, powder, and grime that pressed itself under one’s skin. A puzzle to fit and form and reverse-engineer under cool light; door mechanisms and false ceilings and spring-loaded foam sprays, optimized and timed within fractions of a second. Clean, clockwork.

And as if to prevent her from getting hauled fully into the vortex of her mind, Shannon accompanied the little pilgrimage around the set, pressing a water bottle firmly into Beatrice’s hands every half-hour. It made Beatrice feel like a moody little child, but she accepted it grudgingly every time.

At the end of the day Beatrice sent everyone home twenty minutes early, and ordered dinner for her and Shannon to eat out on the boards. Fast food, Shannon insisted, and she would be paying for it, because “do you know what day it is tomorrow?”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“It’s better than your birthday.”

And to Beatrice, that was true, so she kept quiet.

After that, they lay down for a while, two cans of soda cracked open and resting on the square of wood beside them that hadn’t been covered by the mats. Shannon sent her the post, then, and when Beatrice complained limply that she couldn’t read the comments because she didn’t have an account, Shannon rolled her eyes and handed over her own phone.

She made a peculiar dialect of eye contact with Beatrice as she did so; weighty, certainly, and telling.

The post itself featured garish word art splattered over a mangled, heavily-filtered edited image of one of the previous seasons’ Houses – a fan favorite, actually, from the year Beatrice had first joined. Back then she was still working shifts on the engineering team, not even yet being assigned a maze section to look after its technical execution.

There was a rumor, the post said, that the OCS was considering broadening its operations to seasonal pop-ups in different cities. All-new sets, all-new storylines, all-new takes on the haunted house experience. What do you think? The caption asked, Do you want more of the OCS brand of sleek, seriously messed-up and sickeningly chilling?

Below that a disclaimer: Not appropriate for young children! Please remember that this is not your typical carnival house of mirrors.

A staggering amount of likes and comments. Beatrice clicked to expand the latter, saw the word ‘legacy’ in the topmost one, and then quickly swiped to close the app entirely.

Mary and Shannon grinned up at her from the home screen, half-buried in sand somewhere on their Greek island-hopping honeymoon.

Shannon raised her eyebrows as she received her phone back, and Beatrice suddenly understood the meaningful look she’d been given. Are you ready?

She reached out blindly for her soda can and finished the rest of the drink in one long, shuddering gulp.

At lunch the next day, Beatrice’s fifth year OCS anniversary was celebrated with some fanfare in the makeup and fittings trailer, where Beatrice had spent the whole morning hunched over fabric textures she could barely distinguish from each other.

Everyone came down from their sets, even Mary and Shannon. Beatrice thought they must have been exhausted; they had stayed late the previous night, after Beatrice had left, to thread their way softly through the OCS’ gaping campus of half-built sets. Simply looking over their modest kingdom. It had a certain wistful luster; in this summer twilight it was a garden of greenhouses, transparent and skeletal. A complex slowly unfurled over the years. Ghostly-quiet, too, in a way it could never be in the throes of peak season.

Mary waited for Shannon at the gates of the House, silhouette sharp against the work lights, as Beatrice had gotten up to pack for the night. Up by the lockers she glanced over, but looked away when their hands fell gently together. They walked slowly away, murmuring things she couldn’t hear.

When Beatrice bolted the gate to leave, it clacked too loudly, and they’d called over to say goodbye, dark intertwined shadows stretched grotesquely and longingly over sawdust towards her.

Nevertheless they had made it to the celebration the following day, Mary holding aloft a large creamy cake. Unlike the customary employee milestone cakes, dark and billowing and elaborately stylized with elements of houses previously worked on, Beatrice’s was plain white, with light blue frosting.

The celebration moved outside to the large, white refreshments tent, industrial fans blowing hot, coarse air. Beatrice marveled at how everyone seemed to be able to fit under its canvas. The team working on her House had all come, of course, pooling money for a hamper, and so did a surprising number of others across the other sets.

Lilith and Camila arrived together, squeezing through the throngs to the unsteady plastic table at the center. “We were not bringing your gift into this slaughterhouse,” Lilith huffed, “you’ll have to go back to the office to get it.”

“What is it?”

Lilith scoffed. “Why would we ruin the surprise?”

Camila put her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “What we’re really here to say is that we’re proud we’ve been able to work with you during these five years, and we hope we’ll get a chance to do it again.” Beatrice looked at Lilith, who shrugged, stabbing her paper plate.

Mary, still slicing up the cake and handing them out, stopped to meet Beatrice’s eyes. She grinned.

It was many months later, deep into November, that Suzanne had made the formal pitch in her office. By then social media was awash with rumors of possible locations where the OCS could plant their pop-ups. Names, too – there were spreadsheets and Clue-esque checklists on Reddit lining up members of every significant OCS creative team in its past iterations in vertical rows. There even were columns of ‘evidence’ For and Against each individual’s involvement in the as-good-as-guaranteed pop-ups project.

Beatrice couldn’t tear her eyes away as the online crowd reached a consensus, drawing red circles in damning permanent marker ink again and again and again around the names that everything pointed towards. She closed the browser before getting to the point where the discussions dissolved and devolved into bitter catfights over creators’ artistic styles, as they always did.

Suzanne’s office, for as long as Beatrice had worked at OCS, felt like something out of a natural history museum. It was all burnished wood, walls fully doused in dark, rich green, and glass display cases of her collection of Southern European invertebrate fossils. Symmetrical tiles underfoot and over them, a thick carpet that swallowed the clap of footsteps. In Beatrice’s early days here it had been a terrifying place; severe and gloomy even when the heavy curtains were fully peeled open to let light in. The exacting botanical sketches on the walls, too, did not help in the least. Even now she thought it would make for a wonderful basis for a section in a House – a museum, of course, or perhaps a town hall.

Some might think her an unlikely horror creator – easily spooked by many things and a fervent hater of surprises, but Beatrice thought it was a good thing, for a designer, to be able to find something genuinely terrifying in everything.

She took a seat gingerly at Suzanne’s beautiful oak desk, angled so as to always make her seem taller and larger. So that the light would fall in a certain slanted way across her face, carving a cavern of contrasts down the thin scar through her eye.

“Suzanne.”

“Beatrice.” Suzanne inclined her head, expressionless. From a drawer she took out a stapled set of papers, and flicked through the corners thoughtfully. Her leather chair let out a sigh as she leaned back and appraised Beatrice silently for a minute.

“It’s time” she said, “for a new challenge.” She placed the papers down in front and to the left of Beatrice, next to the handmade tin man figurine gifted from her son.

For Beatrice it had never really been about the horror; the thrill of smelling blood in the water, and Suzanne knew that.

“Some details have not been hammered out yet, but you have a role here should you accept it,” she said, at the end, sliding the papers into a manila folder. “You all are ready for it.”

Beatrice bit her lip. It was hard to argue otherwise, if not for her, then for the others, at least.

Camila, who she traveled with halfway across the world on a budget airplane that rattled and croaked just to take hundreds of terrible reference pictures in poor lighting with their bad phone cameras.

One evening, Beatrice had eaten something foul, and she’d found herself slung across Camila’s lap, cringing in the back seat of an overpriced taxi without a working AC. Groaning with each bump of the road and helplessly dipping her head further into the crook of Camila’s arm. Throughout the ride she had gently brushed her fingers through Beatrice’s damp, clumped hair, whispering things Beatrice could no longer remember, and dabbing her clammy, chattering cheeks dry every two minutes with her own sleep shirt.

Beatrice insisted she get back to the hostel to get some rest while she was kept overnight for monitoring and IV rehydration. It had been a rocky trip, and a break would do them some good. Instead Camila had spent the next one and a half days finishing up three days worth of location scouting, and then had it all packaged into a neatly organized folder by the time Beatrice was ready to go again.

There was nothing imaginable, Beatrice thought, that could truly faze her.

And Lilith. The most capable person Beatrice knew to spearhead the overall production and creative direction of something like this.

Not just because Beatrice knew she would genuinely do a marvelous job masterminding and knitting together a house of horrors. Beatrice also considered it important that, if she were to join the team, a satellite unit stationed thousands of miles away from the safety of the Cat’s Cradle headquarters, the team would be led by people she trusted.

Or the equivalent of ‘trusted’. Whatever you call the thing between two people who fly desperately over to each other’s homes with some regularity to scream and claw at particularly unyielding scenes and transitions and then fall exhausted into sleep in each others’ beds.

“Take some time to think about it,” Suzanne had said, afternoon light shining harshly so that the whole room was a prism of contrast. “Let me know what you think.”

So here they are.

“Subj: OCS Halloween Pop-ups - Onboarding”. Beatrice puts down her mug, takes a deep breath, and clicks the email from Suzanne.

Her phone rings.

“What is it?” Beatrice copies the zoom link at the top of the message and pastes it into the top of a new tab. With her other hand she holds her phone to the shell of her ear.

“Have you seen the email?” Lilith is terse and tight, even through the phone. Her voice is faraway; Lilith has her phone on Speaker and on a table or drawer somewhere while she looks at something else. Unusual. Her calls are usually curt, succinct, and fully focused. It makes Beatrice’s ears go hot and buzz with static.

“I’m reading it now,” she says, scrolling and scanning the words.

It’s a short email, in Suzanne’s usual clipped style. No attachments if she can help it. Below the zoom link there is a brief four-point meeting agenda, a reminder to be punctual, and finally a brisk thank you.

In-between these lines Suzanne has appointed lead and three accompanying names of the members of the steering team of the OCS’ first expansion project.

Lilith’s name is listed second. She's not the Creative Director.

Silence.

“You’ve read it.” The statement is biting; almost a sneer. Beatrice smells the bitterness licking under the corners of its thin, cool veneer. Sticky.

Beatrice rereads the four lines. She rereads it again. She opens her mouth, then closes it.

Ava Silva.

“Who is she?” she exhales, finally. Weakly.

There is a scoff on the end of the line. Echoes of slippers marching down parquet, a door slamming, and then, quietly, an uncontrolled squeak of leather. A furious stream of mechanical clicks, as Lilith’s hands race over the keys of her expensive desktop setup. Beatrice can picture her in her room as if mirrored before her: Lilith still in her terribly fancy robe, sprawled ungainly before the expanse of her monitors in her glassy, austere, home office.

Her voice is suddenly much closer over the call, and Beatrice pictures the phone wedged to her ear by her shoulder.

“Ava Silva,” Lilith spits, in a dry, desiccated whisper. “Is a Disney rat.”

Beatrice raises her eyebrows, pulling up the matching LinkedIn profile. The most recent post was uploaded a week ago – it seems to be an incredibly effusive Farewell-slash-Thank You post for, indeed, the Disneyland Anaheim Imagineering team and the Creative Development department. She scans the prose: candid and emoji-laden, bordering on unprofessional.

Beatrice counts seven Disney Princess puns, and one awful Star Wars quote to cap it off. There are eight – yes, eight – images attached to the post, all full-sized so that the page runs on like a travelog blog post.

The last image appears to be a mountain of goodbye swag. These include, Beatrice notes: a Moana beach ball, a matching Buzz Lightyear set of wheelchair spoke guards and cane covers, and a Sven the Reindeer onesie. The rest of them are all pictures of the woman who must be Ava, with her now ex-coworkers. All adorned with Mickey ears and pin-studded lanyards, in front of various rides and experiences she probably had a hand in creating.

No, Beatrice scrolls back up to information messily hidden in the overlong farewell paragraph: Specifically, two of these are rides for which she’s been part of the main creative team. Three more that she’s played some role in creating, whether at the design phase or in later consultancy during implementation.

One picture is a solo snapshot of Ava in a bright yellow baseball cap and remarkably tiny denim shorts, in front of a Disneyland hotdog stand. She’s holding an extra large hotdog, absolutely drenched in ketchup and mustard, high over her head like a trophy. Her smile, Beatrice thinks, is dazzling.

She swipes down on her trackpad too quickly.

The last picture is of Ava and two others standing on a boulder in front of a massive Zootopia indoor roller coaster, while crowds in the background swarm the attraction in a snaking queue. ‘My pride and joy / baby / first full lead’, Ava has captioned it, ‘aka Great Zootopian Escape 🫡 . Just opened !!! I will be back 2 visit :’)) ’

Beatrice sighs.

“What the hell is Suzanne thinking,” Lilith mutters, teeth gritted; tone cold. She’s shaken, and Beatrice knows it.

She herself can barely stop herself from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling. That’s enough, she snaps at herself, and her hand leaves the touchpad with a short jerk. There’s no point.

“Good morning,” Suzanne says flatly, the moment the call holds five participants. “Thank you all for joining the call punctually.” Her face is crisp and too-sharp against the blurred-black virtual background.

Like they wouldn’t have come anyway, even if thoroughly rocked. Three stern, stiff and silent faces look straight ahead. Suzanne probably prefers them this way.

Beatrice looks quickly through the five rectangles on the screen and finds the label that she seeks.

🗿Ava Silva’s iPad 🗿.

“I would like to welcome a new member to the OCS.” Suzanne begins. She nods: “Ava Silva.”

There is a light smattering of the hand wave emoji reaction floating up from the toolbar from 🗿Ava Silva’s iPad 🗿. The device itself seems to be held up very close to her face so that all Beatrice can see is patchy pixelated bits of nose and cheek, shaking about as Ava presumably works to send the emojis.

Beatrice clenches a stress ball in her fist. It had been gifted to her for April Fools’ Day by Mary and Shannon. Something about clenching and unclenching, although Shannon had been laughing too hard to deliver the line in full.

“Ava has been a Creative Development Director at Disneyland and worked on numerous attractions both there and at Universal.” Suzanne pauses. “So, to put it crudely, this is something of a coup. We are very happy to have her with us to lead this creative expansion of the OCS brand.”

Beatrice’s phone, which has been relentlessly buzzing, skates across the table. She turns it over, a stormy headache already gathering steam: dozens of unread messages from Camila and Lilith, and more still on their way. Sighing, she shoots off a quick ‘Later, please.’ and then puts it on a tea towel on the kitchen island, out of reach.

“As you may imagine, it was not easy. She was… highly sought after by various studios and companies. Miss Silva,” Suzanne deadpans, “you are a difficult woman to track down and convince.”

The image of Ava’s face, very close to the camera already, wobbles further. It jostles like she’s jabbing at her screen fiercely. A good while later, after Suzanne had moved on entirely, her delayed message would finally deliver through the Zoom chat:

🗿Ava Silva’s iPad 🗿: thats only bc i don’t read my emails lol! Glad 2 be here too 🥰

“You will all be working very closely together. In case anyone has forgotten…” Suzanne begins summarizing the contents of that fateful paper packet that she’d handed over in her office last November. The words, the clauses, are identical, but Beatrice can’t help but see it all in a different light. It sinks in more completely.

Close collaboration to envision and map out the overall direction and themes for the pop-ups. Planning and writing for each house. Liaising with and consulting Admin back at the Cradle, yes, but otherwise almost entirely shouldering production independently. All of that now with Ava Silva thrown into the works.

For Ava’s sake, Suzanne briefly recaps the typical in-house workflow of the production of a Haunted House. Steering team meetings to establish expectations and aims; brainstorming and ideation and finalization of directions; traditionally an in-person bootcamp-esque intensive where the engine of development truly shifts into gear; followed by an ever-accelerating process of recruitment, research, sourcing, production, and testing. A process that should be second nature suddenly feels daunting.

“Now, this meeting is taking place so late because we have only just secured the venue permits for the pop-ups. I have briefed Ava already, and she will be able to explain this separately.”

Beatrice doesn’t have to turn around to hear her phone begin to rattle furiously behind her again.

“Finally, Ava,” Suzanne says, “let me introduce the rest of the team.”

First there is Camila, who Suzanne praises modestly for her extensive set design and art experience. Beatrice knows she’s always had a soft spot for her – resilient and optimistic and ready to put her teeth into anything.

But in sharp contrast Camila’s face now is neutral and unreadable. The usually bright, tasteful splashes of color in her room are muted against the only two lamps she’s chosen to keep on, shades down and twisted away so her face sits in half-shadow.

Lilith, then, in her icy postmodern tech den. Her arms are folded and her eyes are cast somewhere. Distant and acidic.

Beatrice snaps back to attention when Suzanne mentions her name. She keeps it short and sweet: Beatrice’s original training was in engineering, and so, beyond her job scope, she’s best equipped to provide the team with technical and mechanical expertise.

Ava nods. From what Beatrice can surmise from her patchy rectangle, she is not in a room at all.

No. She is, it seems, on some kind of wicker chair on a sun-dappled porch or veranda, lined by orange and beige walls and pillars veined with vines and hanging pots. A pair of sunglasses, perched on the crown of her head, keeps slipping down, and every few minutes Beatrice sees her lift a finger to nudge it back into place.

Her iPad seems to be on her lap, because it’s shuffling precariously at a strange angle focused on Ava’s chin as she flits about, constantly in blurry motion.

When Ava holds up the iPad, there seems to be an inscrutable wall of something behind her, simultaneously metallic yet moving in dashes of color. For a moment, her video lags and freezes, and Beatrice gets a better look.

They’re birds. Dramatic plumages and muted tones of all kinds of domestic birds. In cages of every shape and size and color, decked from floor to awning, hanging off bars and resting on customized stands. The whole place is full of them. The iPad tilts as Ava adjusts herself and Beatrice finds that there’s more to the side, off-camera, too.

Suzanne does not comment on it. “Ava, any thoughts?”

Ava unmutes herself, grinning.

Beatrice’s earbuds erupt in utter, screaming, avian cacophony, and everybody winces at the exact same time.

Ava – muffled by bird screeching – yelps, mutes herself, and switches off her video.

The call melts into thirty seconds of stunned silence.

“Oops sorry”, types 🗿Ava Silva’s iPad 🗿 in the chat.

Beatrice can see Lilith physically take a deep breath and count one to fifteen out loud. Camila is in disbelief; shocked and a little delighted. Beatrice reflects on the strange, confusing mess of large feelings, and decides that she possibly wants to throw up.

Suzanne bites a lip and frowns.

Deep breath, Beatrice reminds herself. Exhale. Inhale.

Ava’s camera switches back on eventually, and this time, she has, in each ear, one bud of a pair of half-untangled earphones. The wires are frayed and taped over with red duct tape, and the sounds of the surrounding aviary are now blessedly punched out.

This time, too, her iPad appears to be propped up on something. The earphone cord stretches dangerously taut when Ava scrambles to sit back into her chair.

“Sorry,” her voice careens back into the call. “I’m crashing at a friend’s home at the moment. It’s also kind of a bird shop.”

“Anyway,” she takes a deep breath, grinning, “I’m so happy to join the team. I love horror, and haunted houses, so much. And like, the OCS is– wow. It’s such a dream.”

She lifts her arms to either side excitedly to gesticulate, and Beatrice watches Lilith balk at the unabashedly kitschy Universal Monsters tie dye oversized t-shirt. Ava leans in just enough that Beatrice can see the crudely cartoonish red-and-white design on her black flask, swirling about.

Bite me I’m scared scrawled over a crude cartoonish vampire.

“So,” Ava goes on excitedly, “I have a lot of ideas, and I can’t wait to get started.”

#warrior nun #wn haunted house au #although there is very little actual haunted house in this #this extract is all set up #no long game plot they just crawl around scary places and design scream houses 😌#anyway. hi 😳

63 notes · View notes

matttgirlies · 7 months ago

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

20 notes · View notes

dreaming-of-mossballs · 9 months ago

Text

Happy New Year, Captain. - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: The Captain of the Silvermane Guards is away for a military expedition. Although he isn’t here to celebrate the new year with the rest of Belobog, you’re determined to make sure he knows he’s loved. By both you and everyone around him.

▸ Genre(s): fluff

▸ Word Count: 7k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions

A/N: This is part of my florist!reader series, but can be read as a one-shot. Check the masterlist for more! If it’s broken (I swear to fuckijg god—) you can use the tag search function. Type in Mossball_Writing into the search bar.

Love you all and Happy New Year! (SHUT UP I KNOW ITS FEBRUARY I MADE THIS TWO MONTHS AGO)

MASTERLIST

Midday in Belobog was as crisp as ever.

You stood in the open-air plaza of the administrative district, leaning against the wall of the quaint little newspaper shop.

Vaska— your co-worker and friend at the Eversummer Florist’s— had her back turned to the blustery winter wind, which was only offset by the mocha-colored coat draped over her head and shoulders. Her teeth chattered like a broken phonograph, and her cheeks had been burned red by the cold. You stared at her, brow knitted worriedly.

“Hey uh… Vaska? Don’t you think it’s time we get going?”

Tilting your head at her and pulling your coat closer to your form, you gave her a sheepish smile. “We’ve been here for forty-five minutes,”

Her head shot up from where it was buried in the book grasped between her hands. The trademark green beret of the flower shop clung onto her head for dear life.

“What??” Vaska protested. “No, no, no. I’m a hair’s length from the good part! Just—,”

She resumed staring at the page again.

“—a few more pages. I swear. I can’t afford this book until next week. By the time I can get it, spoilers will be everywhere!”

You sniffled, wincing at the cold air that nipped at your nose. “If you want, I can always stuff potting soil in your ears. Free of charge, too,”

“Five more minutes,” she said, pursing her lips. “You won’t regret it,”

“Maybe I won’t, but you will,” you retorted. “Your lips are purple!”

Vaska raised a mitten in a visual effort to block your words. “I can survive a cold. What I cannot survive, however, is someone SPOILING the long-awaited sequel to Tale of the Winterlands,” Your friend tossed her head dramatically, causing strands of light brown hair to catch on her eyes and mouth. She spat them out indignantly.

You lowered your head, dragged your palms over your cheeks, and let your jaw go slack with a groan.

“Fine. You win. Just let me get my mail in the meantime, okay?”

Vaska whipped her head towards you with sparkles in her eyes. “(Y/N),” she gasped. “You’re a godsend!”

You promptly turned your heels and headed off in the direction of city hall, chuckling to yourself as you went. You remembered the way you used to bounce with excitement every time a new mining robot was delivered to your division and you got the honor of testing it out.

We all deserve to be a little giddy about our hobbies sometimes. She works as hard as I do, if not more.

You felt the corners of your lips rise into a smile as you strolled briskly next to the flower beds lining the sidewalk. Aside from a thin coating of frost, they looked bright and lively against the backdrop of the yellow brick wall.

Ah. First snow. I wonder if Gepard has had any luck resurrecting those, you pondered, bending over to peer at them. You lifted your head, only to jolt backward at the sight of familiar (and dashing) blue eyes in front of you.

“OHMYAEONS—“ you shrieked before clamping your hands over your mouth.

But a wave of disappointment soon swept over you. Those eyes you longed to see so badly were merely the centerpiece of a poster, advertising recruitment for the Silvermane Guards. Gepard’s eyes stared imposingly at the plaza behind you.

The artist did a really good job capturing his likeness. You sighed. It was almost uncanny how accurate the determination in his face was.

You rested a hand against the worn parchment, trailing it over a caption that read, ‘You are the pride of the Architects. Help defend their city! Join the Silvermane Guards Today!’, and ‘Great dental benefits!’

Of course, you knew that the reality was far less than glamorous.

Your friend, Gepard Landau, the Captain of the Silvermane Guards and a Belobogian noble, had been away on a mission for a month and a half fighting the Fragmentum. You’d had your fair share of run-ins with the monsters birthed from the residue of a stellaron. They dragged their feet and uttered ghastly moans as they wandered about the abandoned sectors of your hometown. You were immediately swept into the undercurrent of anxiety as images of threats he had to face began to bubble up within your brain.

To quell the simmering fear inside you, you slapped your face lightly with your mittened hands.

He’s perfectly fine! He’s the captain, for Qlipoth’s sake. He’s probably been on the field since he was able to walk, you exhaled heavily, your worries escaping into the air in the form of a small cloud of condensation.

Doesn’t change the fact that I miss him, though,

You weren’t allowed to contact Gepard. No one was, for fear of compromising military safety. Since the Fragmentum managed to attach itself to automatons, there was a possibility that they could receive unfiltered transmissions and determine the location of the troops. The thought in itself made your skin prickle.

Shaking yourself to clear the pangs of loss from your chest, you rounded the corner to City Hall, or the Administrative Office, or as others called it.

It had an air of business about it, maybe due to the constant stream of robed officials streaming out from its doors. They all barked orders at each other— filled with unnecessarily complicated words, you might add—, and pushed up their glasses in the same way. It bored you to death. But until you could get a permanent residence on the Surface, you’d have to keep collecting your mail from this labyrinth of grumpy office workers.

But today, you could hardly see the grilled glass doors past a crowd of people. Through the rapid chatter and the collision of bodies, you heard an official’s voice you recognized,

Manya.

You raised yourself on the balls of your feet to get a better look. Her hair, the color of artificially minty ice cream was frizzy and unkempt, and her thickly framed glasses were taped together at the end piece. Her words barely made it past the clamor of the crowd.

“If you want to register for a—“ She grunted in pain sharply. “Ugh! Esteemed citizen, please stop elbowing me. If you want to sign up for a telephone time, please form a single file line to the right of the lamp post. I repeat, the right,”

Any attempt to take a step forward was futile. You immediately got jostled by a heavyset woman from the right, causing you to collide with the metal bearings of someone’s briefcase. Ouch.

Against all odds, Manya’s piercing red eyes landed on you.

“Manya—?” You raised your voice, hoping to reach her above the crowd. “What’s—,”

She pushed through the throngs of people while her robes billowed with fury. Her hand grasped your forearm, harshly enough that you thought it might bruise, and proceeded to drag you into the building, which was heated with Geomarrow lamps and the sweat of panicking managers. It looked like a scene in a thriller opera, where the vengeful protagonist tears an office apart looking for information about his father’s killer.

Manya practically shoved you into the wall of cluster box units. “Get it—,” she hissed, “—and go,”

“Yeesh,” you exclaimed, fiddling with the key to your mailbox (and nearly dropping it in the meantime). “Can I at least ask what the commotion is all about?”

She turned around from where she was stalking off, a vein on her forehead suddenly becoming more pronounced.

“I do have matters to attend to, but I suppose it’s my duty to attend to the concerns of the citizens, no matter how trivial they may be,” she replied through gritted teeth. “For the new year, Qlipoth Fort allows citizens to contact family in the Guards using their telecommunications system,”

You widened your eyes as she continued.

“Although, they haven’t quite flushed out the system yet. The one for organizing time slots. It’s like herding warp trotters,”

“Um,” you paused. “Okay, how would you sign up for a time then?”

She grimaced. “Oh, not you too. Are you actually interested in one or just curious? Because I think I might burst a blood vessel if—,”

“I am interested, I swear!” You cut in. “I know I’m usually just curious, but I wouldn’t waste your time at a time as hectic as this,”

You’d think a City Hall official would actually enjoy answering questions, you muttered inwardly.

Manya sighed heavily. “Fine. Take a ticket from the dispenser outside and wait in line. When you’re called, they have a form you can fill out to make an appointment to speak with your family member,”

And as quick as she came, Manya spun on her heels and went back to managing the crowd at the door. You collected your mail and did as she ordered. The mass of people had since gathered into a more manageable line, although it was anything but single-file. Peering at the ticket, which was printed in very light ink, you were able to discern the number you were given. 122. You squinted your eyes in order to make out the fine print and gasped.

“Expected three hours until service?!?” You choked out.

Well, in that case, I can get back to Vaska, you shrugged. On your way out, you spotted a few complimentary hand warmers stationed at the front desk, along with the latest edition of the* Crystal* Daily at the front counter.

“Actually… you wouldn’t mind if I took some of these, right?” You inquired the bleary-eyed receptionist.

He blinked tiredly in response.

“Sweet. Have a good day,”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Vaska was looking a little worse for wear when you got back. It had been less than ten minutes, but she had chosen a foldable sign as cover and was squatting behind it. Her green eyes flicked upwards as she heard the plodding of your boots towards her.

“How’s the book so far?” You said, glancing around at the passerby before joining her on the ground.

“(Y/N), if I’m being honest with you,” she paused. “I am so happy I could literally die right now,”

Vaska stared at you stone-faced before her expression became giddy. She pressed the book close to her chest, squealing with glee.

“Whoa there, don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” You said, amused.

“Not in the slightest,” she swooned. “Oh Artem, I missed him so much! His fiery passion hasn’t dimmed a bit,” she stated dramatically while fanning herself with her hand (Which she immediately regretted, as it was the middle of winter).

“Oh Vaska, you’re blushing so hard you could melt a glacier,” you teased.

“Two glaciers,” she corrected you matter-of-factly. Her eyes widened as a sudden shadow fell over the two of you. Fizz, the girl who manned the desk at the newspaper shop, was standing with her hands on her hips, blotting out the sun reflecting off the snow-covered buildings.

“While I do appreciate a fellow Tales fan,” she mused. “This is beginning to get a bit concerning. If you guys aren’t going to make a purchase, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Sorry!”

Vaska’s soul seemed to leave her body that very moment.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up. “That’s fine! We’re sorry for overstaying our welcome. I know you have a business to run here,”

“No worries, you two! I’d give it to you, but a girl’s gotta put food on the table,” Fizz shrugged. “I’m pleased you’re interested though,”

Fizz’s cheerful demeanor did little to ease Vaska’s thousand-yard stare.

As soon as you got far enough from the newspaper stand, the onslaught of your co-worker’s crushing despair was unstoppable. She crumpled to the cobblestone-like a wad of packing paper.

You groaned as you bent over to grasp her hood, which you used as a sort of anchor point to drag her across the ground. She made a pitiful sound that resembled a mouse being stepped on.

You sighed. “Come on. Let’s go home,”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

After tending to your wounded slug of a co-worker, you hopped downstairs to beat the frost off your jackets. Your eyes lit up as your phone rang in your apron with the signature ringtone you had assigned to Serval.

“Serval! What can I help a lovely lady such as yourself with today?” You greeted her while picking up the phone.

“Aw, you big sap!” Raucous laughter could be heard on the other side. The corners of your mouth rose into a smile.

“Molly and I just went on lunch break and I figured I’d give you a holler. Are you doing anything this Belobog Eve?”

Before you could say, “Solarflowers,” you had an answer.

“Yes, actually. I went to city hall today, and as it turns out, they’re doing this thing where you can call a loved one using the radios at Qlipoth Fort. All you have to do is sign up!”

“No way! They haven’t done that since things started getting bad in the Snow Plains,” Serval’s voice crackled. “I tried reaching them a few years back with a radio from the workshop, but Pela chewed me out, saying it was a ‘breach of military safety’,”

“Couldn’t imagine why,” you said with a snort.

“Hey, genius. I’m the main arms dealer for the Guards. I know what I’m doing,” she said, a smirk evident in her voice.

“Uh huh, uh huh,” you responded, touching your fingertips to your thumb absentmindedly. “Anyways, I signed up for a slot at ten o’clock, and I was thinking we could all go together to talk to Gepard,”

“Heck yeah! I’d really enjoy that!” Serval exclaimed. “By ‘we’, do you mean Lynx, Pela, and I?”

“You got it,” you said with a chuckle. You peered out at Qlipoth Fort through the windowpanes of the flower shop, the sunlight warming your face. “It’s alright if they can’t make it though. I know you’ve all got your plates full with all that military jargon,”

“Nonsense,” she tutted. “It’d be outrageous if they didn’t let us off for the New Year and… I’ll be honest with you, (Y/N). Sometimes us military folk are so caught up in our own business, we forget to connect with each other. It’s really nice to have you here to remind us we’re human too,”

You stifled a squeal of glee that was welling up in your throat. “Ah—“ you stuttered at the compliment. “I’m not sure how to respond to that. Just glad I can help out, I guess,”

Serval snickered. “Don’t worry your little heart about it. I’ll make sure we all be there. Meet you outside Qlipoth Fort an hour before?”

“Sure. See you soon!” You chirped.

She chuckled. “Rock on, (Y/N)!”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

The Belobog sky was especially mesmerizing that night, you thought.

It had a comforting simplicity you’d grown to appreciate ever since arriving on the surface. Every smattering of white against the royal blue backdrop seemed to hold your gaze as you wondered; just how old was that light reaching your eyes?

Some of the tapestries hung around the city attempted to emulate this feeling of smallness. They were woven with silk as if to imitate that same heaviness the night sky had.

Whilst you gazed at the stars, notes of soft jazz floated down from the balconies above the city where a group of street musicians were playing. You could feel the tremors of the bass beneath your feet thrumming slightly like a heartbeat, as the night ambiance blanketed you in a figurative sort of warmth.

Aeons, your neck was beginning to hurt.

“Hey— Jarilo-VI to (Y/N)—,” Serval’s voice reverberated loudly in your left ear.

A yelp of surprise sprang from your throat as you jolted away. Serval, Lynx, and Pela were standing directly in front of you, evidently enough they had been for some time.

“We were worried we’d be late because we were tuning up the instruments for a New Years show, but it seems like our worries were unwarranted,” Serval laughed, shrill and high. The lamplight glinted off of her multitude of metal accessories.

“Ack! You guys—,” you blurted. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?!”

“You seemed very intent on keeping your eyes glued to the sky,” Pela pushed her glasses up thoughtfully, trying to hide her labored breath. She looked disheveled, as if she had run here.

Lynx sided closer to you with wide eyes. “Perhaps… you observed an anomaly?”

You chuckled. “No, nothing of the sort. I was just thinking that the star I was looking at was really bright,”

She hummed in response— the ears on her adorable fluffy hat bouncing side to side— and reached for your forearm, raising it to point at the same patch of sky you were looking at before.

“Ah, that star?” Lynx closed one eye to better align her field of view with your own. “That’s Altair. The one underneath the edge of the Tundra Star System,”

“Altair? That’s a pretty unusual name,”

“Yep. I heard it came from somewhere far away, from a small planet called Earth. They believed this particular star was waiting to reunite with another,”

You paused in thought for a moment, the silence causing the other two to tilt their heads.

What a cute little story.

Maybe these kinds of stories were easier to think up when you’d lived under the stars all your life. But even before the Underworld had closed, all you had of the sky were distant, blurry memories. These ideas struck an unfamiliar chord within you.

“Does it ever meet the other star?”

“I’m not certain,” Lynx mused. “The only other star we know of that fits the legend died a long, long time ago unfortunately,”

“Aw,” you pouted. “That’s a shame,”

Pela cleared her throat. “I hate to ruin an intellectual conversation such as this, but it’s in our best interest to get going. The line is already growing at the top of Qlipoth Fort,”

“You can see that??” You squinted. “Crud. I got you guys some gifts but those will have to wait,”

Pela nodded. “Yes, let’s hurry while we—,”

Your face split into a wide grin. “Race ya!”

You dug the soles of your shoes in and ran straight for the stairs to Qlipoth Fort. The others followed suit, a string of indignant shouts and laughter echoing into the night air.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

If being in the mines had been stifling, that was nothing compared to the crowds outside the Fort. Red-faced officials cupped their hands and yelled in an attempt to be heard over the clamor of the mob. You spotted Manya leaning against a wall, any light she once had in her eyes totally gone.

“—a line! Get into three lines! Please for the love of the Preservation—,” someone shouted.

Pela received a particularly hard bump to the shoulder, sending her hurtling directly into your rib cage with a squeak. Through the midst of the chaos, you caught a glimpse of Serval’s arm, adorned with wristbands, flailing a ways away. She pried the people in front of her apart with vigor; a grunt that sounded like a creaking glacier erupted from her mouth to the shock of the strangers closest to her.

“Hold tight you two!” She ordered. “I’m trained to deal with this— you’ve seen Luka, right?”

“And just how is that supposed to be relevant??” You barked back before a stray elbow caught you in the face. You let out a pained grunt and held your nose.

Serval’s face peeked over the crowd as she wove closer to you. “His boxing stance— do that. Arms in front of your face, legs a shoulder-width apart. It’s saved a few of my concert-goers from gettin’ crushed,”

You did as she instructed; the next time someone jostled you and Pela, you felt far less shaken up. Swiveling your head, you realized something was off.

“Hey, has anyone seen Lynx?”

You scanned the crowd for her signature blue hat but to no avail.

“Lynx? Lynx???” Pela called frantically. Out of the blue, you spotted a small figure clad in blue and purple clinging to one of the pillars supporting the overhanging roof of the fort. Lynx looked unbothered, a red rope anchored around the pillar and her feet planted firmly into the side in a classic climber’s stance.

Well, that’s one way to get around it, you shook your head vigorously. The hair on your neck stood up as the speakers belonging to the fort’s PA system crackled to life.

“Attention, Belobog citizens,” a male voice announced. “We’re aware that it has been a few years since the Fort has been able to do this, but please refrain from physically assaulting each other… And to the climber on the right-hand side of the building, that was clever, but this is not the Snow Plains,”

A good-humored chuckle rippled through the crowd. Finally, officials were able to sort attendees into lines depending on what time their call was. You were able to take a long, relaxing breath and bask in the warmth of the heaters surrounding the building, your chest rising and falling as you rested the back of your head against the wall. Serval hummed contentedly beside you as Pela combed through her book.

Blinking your eyes open, your hands darted for your leather messenger bag.

“Oh! About those gifts I got you guys… here!” You tossed the items one by one to your companions. “Glasses straps for Pela… a multi-tool for Serval… and fish pot warmers for Lynx!”

Serval’s eyes sparkled as she fiddled with out the multi-tool, and then proceeded to fill with tears of laughter as you wrapped a scarf around Lynx’s head so that only her eyes were showing, and she waved her quilted fish hands around like some sort of pot warmer ninja. The deadpan expression on her face made the whole ordeal even funnier.

“You know…” you spoke up. “We oughta meet up for holidays more often,”

“Too right!” Serval nodded with a bright smile. You honestly thought you could wait there forever with them, laughing and talking like this.

However, you would find that possibility was closer than it seemed.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

“Hey uh— Pela, do you have a watch?” You asked after some time had passed.

“Yes, why?” She replied.

“I just think it’s been a little longer than an hour,” you said offhandedly, flicking your gaze to the side.

Maybe you were just impatient. From your fast-paced life in the mines, of course. (Not because your heart was swelling with more anticipation than it could handle.)

“Erm…” she peered closely at her gilded watch. “No, you’re right, (Y/N). It’s been an hour and 45 minutes,”

You let out a withering sigh as Lynx piped up.

“Maybe there’s a holdup? There’s a lot of people, after all. If one person goes a minute over, the entire schedule gets pushed back a minute,”

“Yeah… that sounds about right, I guess,” you shrugged. Waiting a little more wouldn’t hurt, you supposed.

That is until another 45 minutes passed with you four waiting in the cold.

“Aeons, I am SO. HUNGRY.” Serval pounded her fist lightly on the wall. “What in the Snow Plains is going on in there??”

“Didn’t you get something to eat before you came here?” Pela quipped.

“Yes, but waiting makes me pretty damn hungry,” she groaned. Her stomach growled in agreement.

Lynx looked up at her sister from where she was sitting by a fire hastily scraped together. She outstretched her arm, a tin of sardines in the palm of her hand.

“Thanks, Lynxy,” Serval said wistfully. Her eyes shot open as the large mahogany door to the fort creaked open. An aide accompanied by two guards stepped out into the turmoil.

“Attention, Citizens of Belobog,” she droned. “I know you may be confused as to why this is taking so long. Well… we’ve received reports that the line connecting our radios to the Silvermane camp has been taken out by the high winds. We’re not sure if it will be able to be repaired tonight, but, you are welcome to stay if you are able,”

And with that announcement, the aide whisked inside, her robes trailing behind her as the crowd began to clamor in anger.

“You have got to be kidding,” Serval hissed. Pela nodded, her eye twitching with irritation. “If— if they had trusted me with the handling of the tech division—,”

You stopped listening as your hands fell to your sides in exasperation. But out of the corner of your eye, through the blurry silhouettes of people fettering away for the night— you caught a small but unmistakable glimpse of sadness on Lynx’s face.

Her face was downturned, her nose, scrunched up. You remember making that face in Natasha’s clinic as you did your best not to break down in front of her.

Placing a hand on Serval’s shoulder as waves of anger rolled off her, you spoke up.

“We’re staying,”

“Stay—? I can’t believe they just blew everyone off like that!” Serval snorted, followed by a sigh. “Why don’t we go to the workshop and break out one of my old radios?”

Pela shook her head frantically, curtains of her indigo hair flying everywhere. “We should definitely not do that. The logistics that that would succeed are very, very, low. Also—,”

“Not everyone is leaving,” you commented. You swiveled your head around. At least fifty of the original 120+ people remained. (Belobogians couldn’t be deterred that easily, you supposed.)

You glanced down at Lynx out of the corner of your eye. “If there’s even the off chance that they can get them working again, I want to try. I’ll even run to the florists to make us some sandwiches!”

Serval paused, seeming to think this was adequate.

“Hmph… You know I can’t pass up a good sandwich,” she put her hands on her hips with a smile. “And, you’re right. Maybe we’ll have a better chance of getting in touch with him if we stay,”

“That’s right,” You smiled. “Now, I’ll go take the trolley real quick. Call me if they fix them!”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

A few of the amenities you brought back included: a large wool blanket, a picnic basket with sandwiches and cookies, and the hand warmers you had grabbed earlier, which were especially for when the queue moved away from the heaters.

Serval was right. Waiting did make you hungry. You licked your lips contentedly after fishing a chilled veggie salad wrap. With your belly full and your body finally warm for the first time that night, you nearly drifted off to sleep until the doors flung open once more.

“Alright, everyone. We’ve gotten permission to fire communications up again. Thank you for being patient,” the same lady from earlier announced. “Please come this way and form a single-file line,”

Your head whipped around in confusion from the sudden turn of events.

“What happened? Just how long was I out?” You inquired Lynx.

“Approximately seven minutes,” she stated. “It’s around 23:50 right now,” The golden-haired girl turned away from you and darted into the building, along with Serval.

Things are finally coming along, you smiled to yourself.

In contrast to the curt PSA earlier, the inside of the Fort was well-rounded with good customer service. It ran like a freshly oiled automaton, with workers directing attendees to different booths, each with a trained operator. The room was filled with chatter echoing off the tiled floor and the sounds of dial tones coming from the radios, which were large blocks of metal with a handheld receiver attached by a wire.

The operator at your booth handed you the radio first, much to your surprise. The other line picked up with a slight buzz of static. Your heart began to race.

“Who would you like to speak to?” The voice on the other end crackled.

“Ah— Gepard Landau, please. Is he available?” You said, with a little less confidence than you’d have liked.

“The Captain? I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have the security clearance for that—,”

Serval vaulted across the table in the booth and grabbed the phone.

“Tory? Tory is that you?? We need to speak to Gepard,”

Pause.

“Like, right this instant. Could you go get him? Thanks. No— if anyone asks tell them I told you to do it. Now go get him!”

She smiled self-satisfactorily, sat down, and tossed the receiver to you while kicking her legs up. You swore you saw a bead of sweat roll down the operator’s face as you fumbled with the device— it was only saved by your pinkie miraculously hooking on the wire.

You tilted your body closer to Lynx and Pela as you listened to the sounds of idle chatter on the other end.

“[—for me?]”

You knew that voice. Your heart leaped as you held the receiver closer to your face.

“[Ahem— Hello?]”

“Why— yes. Um— h-hello!” You blurted out, caught off guard. You craned your head away from the radio with a start towards the jittery-looking operator. “Is there any way to turn this thing up?” You hissed.

“Yes, but please take care not to be too loud,” He rotated a dial at the top of the radio as your group sided closer together.

“[(Y/N)? Is that you?]” You caught a note of surprise in Gepard’s voice, which also had an edge of roughness to it as if he had been shouting orders earlier that day.

“Yep. Not just me though. We got Serval, Pela, and Lynx here too!” You smiled, making eye contact with the others. “Say ‘hi’ everyone!”

A chorus of greetings rang out, the words “big brother” and “Captain Gepard” sneaking into the mix.

“Geppie! So happy to hear from you,” Serval’s blue eyes sparkled as she chimed in. “How’s it holding up out there?”

“Ah, hello, Serval. I’m glad to see you’re doing well,”

Gepard wasted no time getting her up to date, just like a military briefing. You stood by, perplexed.

“We’re working hard to clear up the remaining Fragmentum. The weather has been on the unpredictable side, and it’s caused some of the tech to freeze over, but it’s nothing the Guards can’t handle. At the rate we’re going, we might finish early,”

You let out a small cheer.

He continued. “I hope you and Pela aren’t too swamped before the new year,”

“Hardly,” said Pela, who was pushing up her glasses. “Lady Bronya has done a wonderful job of managing the workload in the intelligence division,”

“That’s no small relief. How about you, Lynx? You’re not doing anything risky in the Snow Plains, are you?”

The golden-haired girl’s shoulders dropped petulantly. “Yes, brother. Our team is doing quite adequately, and it will continue that way as long as I am leading it. Don’t worry about me,”

Her cheeks began to puff up. You smiled. No one had ever worried about you like that before. (Although now that you had Vaska, all the worrying was done for you.)

Lynx handed the phone to Pela first, who cycled through her greetings in a somewhat robotic manner. Next came Serval, whom the operator had to tell to quiet down more than four times. It seemed that their banter never ceased even when they hadn’t seen each other for a whole month. Maybe she was taking this time to catch up, you thought to yourself. She nearly shouted goodbye at him by the time Pela had the sense to drag her away from the table.

You reached for the handheld radio next, confused at where to place your fingers because it was nothing like a traditional phone—

“[Ahem. Ahem— is this thing working? Captain, can you hear me?],” A pause. “[It’s Bronya,]”

Pela’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. You held the phone in your outstretched hand awkwardly as you eyes the others to see if they’d tell you what to do.

“[Lady Bronya, it’s a pleasure. I hope all is well in Belobog?]” Gepard inquired.

Bronya held steadfast conviction in her voice that struck you to your core.

“[As well is it could be, Captain, much due to your unyielding diligence in the Snow Plains,]”

You heard him exhale through his nose slightly. “[I’m not sure I deserve a compliment so grand, but I appreciate it nonetheless, Lady Bronya,]”

You stood rooted to the ground as you heard them hurl very formal-sounding compliments back and forth like snowballs. It was like a soap opera.

“[Ah, and don’t let me forget. (Y/N), thank you for your routine delivery of flowers to Qlipoth Fort. It really does boost morale,]” Bronya said.

Your heart swelled with pride. “It’s no matter at all, Lady Bronya,”

Something compelled you to bow to no one in particular. When you raised your head, more than one person had a raised eyebrow at your spectacle. Serval picked up on your sheepishness and leaned in close, her breath tickling your ear.

“I may have clued her in a bit,” she whispered to you. You covered your mouth with a devious smile.

“[Now, I’ll have to let you go now. There are a few last-minute orders I have to take care of. I wish you all a Happy New Year,]”

“You too, Lady Bronya!” Everyone cheered.

What an honor it was for the Supreme Guardian to grace you with her voice— you swooned. Oh dear. Is this how all Surface-dwellers felt?

It must be contagious, you thought as you wiped your forehead nervously.

“A-anyways, Lynx, how about you take the phone now?”

“Me—? Oh,” she seemed startled.

She picked it up gingerly. “Hi, big brother,”

Something about the way her voice sounded made you take a small step away from the table.

“[You sound healthy, Lynx,]” the Captain said with a softness to his voice you weren’t familiar with. “[Is everything all right there? How is father?]”

Lynx seemed to cradle the radio in the crook of her neck like a penguin would its chick.

“Yes, everything is fine, I— uhh— sorry,”

She paused for a moment, seeming to have lost the words she wanted to say. His voice filled the silence she left.

“[I hope you all know I do miss you, and I’m happy you decided to call,]”

Lynx’s eyes were locked on the table and you could see her feelings churning inside of her. You reached towards the radio slowly, turning down the dial that controlled the volume, and motioned to the others to take a few steps away.

Whatever Lynx wanted to say was her business and her business alone. You could wait a bit.

For a few minutes, she whispered into the phone, her eyes still downcast. When she called you all back over, her cheeks were tinted light pink and it was almost as if a large weight had been taken off of her shoulders.

The orange-haired operator interrupted your moment of bliss. “That was a nice gesture… but please don’t touch the radios,” he pleaded with you.

Your cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. Oops.

You grinned sheepishly, turning back to the radio as the others gathered around you once more.

“So… Gepard,”

The sound of clanking metal reached your ear as you looked off to the side. You could almost imagine him leaning in with that trademark intent expression on his face.

“I’m happy we were able to reach you today,” you spoke, a smile creeping into your voice.

“We really, really miss you. It’s because of you that we’re able to gather here today safe and sound,”

How badly you wished you could see him right now.

“We wanted to wish you a happy new year, so—,”

You cut off for a moment to build up anticipation. Everyone’s eyes were trained on you as you dipped your head down with laser focus and mouthed a countdown to them.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Happy New Year—,”

“Gepard!”

“Geppie!”

“Captain!”

“Elder brother!”

The other families at the other booths looked at you quizzically as a wave of silence swept over the high-ceilinged room.

“Um,” you cleared your throat. “Anyways, we’re almost out of time! Keep fighting hard out there, okay?”

“[Thank you. May the new year bring us prosperity,]” he said with steadfast resolve.

You smiled a soft smile, one filled with so much longing that you could no longer put into words.

“It will, I’m sure of it,”

“[Wait, (Y/N), listen closely. They’re firing the cannons,]”

They’re what?

Your next breath never made it past your throat. The faraway boom of three cannons firing reached your ears, followed by the raucous cheers of soldiers.

“[Happy New Year,]”

And with that, the dial on the side of the radio rang, signaling that your time was up.

You glanced at the group around you in the silence that followed. Lynx’s eyelashes were slightly wet.

“Well, I guess we should get going then,” you sighed.

“We didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Seval pouted, crossing her arms. “We’ll have to make up for it later when he comes back,”

Lynx and Pela nodded, gathering their belongings and pushing open the door to the chilly night air of Belobog.

You trailed behind the others as you exited the building, glancing up at the sky one last time. It wasn’t often you were out long enough for the lights of the city to finally dim and give you a splendid view of the nighttime theatre.

The others turned around, hearing you gasp out loud. A streak of light filled your vision, passing right next to the bright star you were looking at earlier. Than another. And another.

“Guys— look, it’s a star shower!” You pointed excitedly at the sky and spun around quickly; which in turn, caused your messenger bag to hit Pela in the face.

“Now that’s a stellar lookin’ sky if I’ve ever seen one,” Serval raised her hand above her eyes and laughed as you apologized profusely to Pela.

Now, you wondered, was Gepard seeing this too? It was the same sky, after all.

Lynx bounded up to you excitedly and with a slight smile, asked,

“Do you have a wish?”

A wish?

“I think…” you rested a hand on your chin thoughtfully.

“My wish? I want all of us to be safe and happy… For many, many years to come,”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Bonus scene:

As you all went your separate ways, you noticed the light at the newspaper stand was still on.

You moseyed your way over there and rapped on the shutters with a fist.

“Hello? Is anyone still there?”

A shuffle and a groan was heard. Fizz, the bookkeeper, rose from behind a pile of boxes rubbing her eyes roughly.

“Oh! Aeons—,” you couldn’t stop yourself from exclaiming. “Are you okay??”

“Urgh…” Fizz stumbled over to the counter and checked her watch. “I must have fallen asleep while reading. I should have closed up four hours ago!” She groaned again. “What can I help you with?”

You stammered for a second. “I’m not sure if this is the appropriate time to ask, but do you have any of the sequel to Tale of the Winterlands?”

“Ah, I’m afraid we don’t. I can check when the next shipment is coming in though,” she replied helpfully. Fizz pushed aside a sheaf of papers. “Oh?”

You peered over the counter inquisitively.

“It looks like we do have one,” she said, matter-of-factly, turning back to you. “You want it?”

“Yes, please!” You bounced on your heels.

“That’ll be 2,500 credits. Would you like a bag?” She bent over to grab a notepad for your receipt.

You nodded. Fizz handed the book to you, taking less than a minute to prepare a card and tissue paper. She obviously had a lot of experience under her belt.

She handed the brown paper bag to you and you took off towards the hills.

“Thanks!” You shouted back at her. “Happy New Year!”

“You too,” Fizz said as she watched you sprint like a soldier coming home.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Quiet as a mouse, you discarded your boots after entering the florist’s and started towards the back, not bothering to turn the lights on. Everyone was likely already asleep— the shop was all closed up for the night and the plants were bathed in comforting blue moonlight.

You climbed the small spiral staircase to the second floor where everyone slept, wincing as the floorboards creaked. You could spy a small sliver of light emanating from the bedroom you and Vaska shared.

Tapping the door lightly with your fingertips, you opened it. Vaska was in the midst of getting up to answer the door; she had a small candle in her hands and her favorite book lay on the hardwood floor. You didn’t even have to look at the cover to recognize the trademark dog-eared pages and dirt stains.

“(Y/N)!” She whispered. “Where on Jarilo-VI were you??”

“I’ll tell you in the morning, as I’ve had quite the eventful night,” you chuckled. “On the other hand, I got you something!”

You hoisted out the brown paper bag decorated with simple printed patterns to her. She took it from you and peeked inside.

A glass jar of popping candy and a book lay at the bottom of the bag. You watched in real time as she forgot how to breathe.

Vaska pulled the book out with one hand. Glanced at you. Glanced at the book again. She made a sound resembling a whistling kettle and flung herself at you with the force of a soldier, wrapping her arms around you.

“Shh—! Vaska, it’s like, one in the morning. If the boss hears you, you’ll be DEAD,”

You shot a warning glance towards the door. Thankfully, no sound was heart at the end of the hallway, where Meg’s quarters were.

She sniffled, her grip as tight as iron. “I’ll die happy then,”

You sighed. You patted the back of her head in the crook of your arm. How lucky you were to have a friend like her.

“Now, let’s get some sleep, shall we?”

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

#gepard x reader #gepard x reader fluff #gepard fic #gepard fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr x reader fluff #hsr fic #hsr fanfic #bfabc #gepard x florist!reader #hsr x florist!reader #fanfic #Text #not genshin #gepard #gepard hsr #gepard honkai #gepard honkai star rail #Mossball_Writing

31 notes · View notes

bizarrequazar · 1 year ago

Text

GJ and ZZH Updates — July 09-15

<<< previous week || all posts || following week >>>

This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

07-09 → #WordofHonor trended on Twitter.

07-10 → The Cyberspace Administration of China announced thirteen new regulations for improving news media transparency and authentication. This includes clear display of platform qualifications and affiliations, clear citation and dating of sources, labelling of if content is disputed, include clarifying updates at the top of articles, and removal of content found to be rumor-mongering.

→ Hogan posted a photo of Gong Jun from Go Fighting! episode 6, highlighting their shoes.

07-11 → Fresh posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

07-12 → A very tiny text announcement appeared between TV programs announcing that Legend of Anle would be premiering that evening. 😅

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted promotional posters of its main cast.

→ Gong Jun posted the same promotional poster of himself in Legend of Anle. Caption: “For the country, the people, and the long-term happiness, I will never change my promise for ten years.” This was reposted by his studio, added caption: “Protecting the common people also protects one person. Prince Han Ye @ Gong Jun Simon is online today, we sincerely invite everyone to enjoy the sight of Dajing together!” It was also reposted by 361°, Deeyeo, and Zhenguoli.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a promotional still of Gong Jun in Legend of Anle. Caption: “The emperor's destiny is to rule the world, and to control the crisis with one hand. ‘The Legend of Anle’ starts broadcasting today, and we go to the Dajing and the prosperous world together with Prince Han Ye @ Gong Jun Simon.” The studio also changed their header and pfp to Han Ye.

→ The first episode of Legend of Anle was released!!! More episodes would be released in quick succession over the remainder of the week, links at the bottom of this post.

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted a promotional poster of Dilireba and Gong Jun’s characters. Caption: “Flowers rise with the wind, the eyes are full of affection; the love is long, the beauties accompany each other.”

→ Fresh posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Zhenguoli posted a still from Legend of Anle doubling as a photo ad for them. They posted several more like this over the following days, I’m not including them all sorry.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a douyin of shots of Han Ye. Caption: “A young master like whirling snow, his highness the magnificent @ Gong Jun Simon is indeed a talented person~”

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted a character relationships chart. Caption: “Ten years of confusion, cause and effect linger; emotions are intricate, everything has a definite number. A picture shows you the relationship between the characters of Dajing, wait for more exciting content to be unlocked~”

→ Gong Jun’s studio made a new Weibo account (Gong Jun Outdoor Office) that seems to be for posting small personal promotional material for Legend of Anle. They posted a short behind the scenes clip. Caption: “Officially camping, let's start with some small materials~”

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted promotional stills of its main cast. Caption: “Bright and shining teeth are moving in the heart, a gentleman is full of loyalty and magnanimity, when the time comes, we will meet each other happily.”

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a video of behind the scenes footage from a Legend of Anle photoshoot. Caption: “His eyebrows are picturesque, shining brightly. Thinking day and night, Ye is here!”

→ #GongJun and #LegendofAnle trended on Twitter and would continue to do so periodically for the rest of the week, #Legend of Anle# #Legend of Anle airing#, #Legend of Anle premiere feedback#, #Gong Jun acting#, and #The Legend of Anle and the Landscape Reflecting the World Poster# got on Weibo hotsearch.

07-13 → People’s Daily posted an article announcing new measures against abuse of generative AI being implemented by seven government agencies effective 08-15 (a rather interesting choice in date). This includes regulations against infringement of portrait rights, spreading of misinformation, and manipulation of data security.

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted promotional posters of the show’s couples. Caption: “One word with one heart, one glance to determine the deep love, pray for the same journey, and hope to stay together.” They also posted another poster of the main cast shortly after. Caption: “The flames of war are flying, fate is entangled, love is longing, blood is burning forever, guarding the frontier and creating a prosperous world.”

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted two doodles of a glass, posted eleven minutes apart. [1] [2] Captions: “What happened to our prince's painting? The cup is a cup of juice! #Han Ye painting vs Gong Jun painting#” and “Advanced version, it's not an exaggeration to say that it’s lifelike, right? #Han Ye painting vs Gong Jun painting#” Gong Jun commented “Absurd!” on the latter post, to which the account replied “Your Highness calm down orz”

→ Dengta Data released statistics showing that Legend of Anle was the most streamed show that day.

→ The Instagram posted ten photos of “Zhang Zhehan” and traditional architecture. (Someone’s jealous.) On a related note, whalers lost their shit trying to make excuses because the scam had repeatedly said that none of Gong Jun’s upcoming dramas would ever air. 🤡

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted a comedy trailer for the show.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a promotional poster for Legend of Anle.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a video of behind the scenes footage from Legend of Anle. [subbed video] Caption: “Let’s advance the schedule first, and His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon’s daily life is also extraordinary. See you at 18:00!”

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted a photo of Han Ye. Caption: “The crown prince is watching u 👀”

→ Gong Jun posted a gif of shots of Han Ye. Caption: “Your face viewing balance is insufficient, please move to #Legend of Anle# to watch.” His studio reposted this with the added caption: “The small studio’s turn~ Tonight on Youku, let’s unlock more face-watching credits with Prince Han Ye @ Gong Jun Simon!”

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted two photos of Han Ye. Caption: “Pay a little attention to not get lost, the office has more goodies”

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted three promotional stills featuring Gong Jun.

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted two close up photos of Gong Jun. Caption: “Thank you for your invitation, this is the office area with original curtains”

07-14 → Gong Jun’s studio posted a promotional still of Han Ye. Caption: “The spirit and elegance are admired by the world, and the richness and talent are brought out to the fullest. ‘The Legend of Anle’ has reached 8,000 popularity on Youku! His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon thanks you for your support!”

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted a video of behind the scenes footage of him in Han Ye’s costume from the L’Officiel photoshoot released 05-19. BGM is Lan Ting Xu by Jay Chou.

→ Bluebird tweeted about recent activity on Xiao Yu’s Weibo account, which had posted a selfie of “Xiao Yu” the previous day and immediately blocked someone who asked if Lexus was the one running the account. Anatomical comparisons and things present in photos suggest that recent photos posted by the account are from Lexus and Hewitt, and the latter is believed to be the one primarily managing the account. It has been known since last year that the scam gang had gotten access to it via the registration phone number, but they hadn’t yet done much with it.

→ The Instagram posted another cringey dancing video. Apparently this is their new story arc.

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted another behind the scenes clip.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted six gifs of Han Ye. Caption: “On the last working day of this week, His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon will check in at court!”

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a douyin of Legend of Anle behind the scenes shots. “Gong Jun is is calm and relaxed, not slow or sick. His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon is really handsome!”

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted two promotional images of Han Ye. Caption: “What is a prince? Yes, It is both civil and military, and it responds to everyone! He is the ultimate careful gentleman and Gentle King! Han Ye @ Gong Jun Simon. It's a bit difficult to choose the material for this calling, so you have to have both~”

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a picture comic about Legend of Anle’s first story arc. Caption: “Strategized and insightful, the case of imperial examination fraud finally came to light and was successfully solved! His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon’s detective notes are here to restore the context of the case and see how His Highness can make good decisions!”

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a video with original voice clips of Han Ye. Caption: “Continue continue! Unlock more of His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon’s behind the scenes~” The same was also posted to their Douyin.

→ Gong Jun posted a video of himself watching Legend of Anle. Caption: “Your Highness is tired from kneeling, let me wipe your sweat off.” This was reposted by his studio with the added caption, “Even if Crown Prince @ Gong Jun Simon knelt all night, he still has the demeanor of a top Gentle King!”

07-15 → Gong Jun’s Outdoor Office posted two photos of Gong Jun watching Legend of Anle. Caption: “Sir Ye is wiping off Sir Ye’s sweat.” (Referring to Ye Qian, Gong Jun’s character in the drama he’s currently filming, and Han Ye, his Anle character.)

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted a music video for the show’s opening theme.

→ The Legend of Anle Weibo posted another behind the scenes clip.

→ Another airport Zhang Sanjian. 🙄

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted the airing schedule for Legend of Anle. Caption: “The prince's great cause is divided into stages! Here is the calendar of upcoming episodes, remember to lock it on time, Han Ye @ Gong Jun Simon will see you every day”

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a video of drunk Han Ye. [subbed video] Caption: “Just pour a cup, turn it over as soon as you drink it, and the prince will get drunk and lose his mind? I support Han Ye’s freedom to go up a tree after drinking, but I suggest that His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon sit at the children's table next time~” This was also posted to their Douyin.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted an image celebrating Legend of Anle reaching a new popularity milestone. Caption: “His Highness the Prince of Wisdom and Bravery @ Gong Jun Simon can defend against enemies and destroy pirates, and can solve fraud cases intelligently. ‘The Legend of An Le’ has reached 9,000 popularity on Youku! Thank you for your support!” Another image was also posted by the Legend of Anle Weibo for the same thing.

→ Gong Jun’s Outdoor Office posted a clip of Gong Jun resting in his trailer during Anle filming. Caption: “The years are quiet, His Highness is in a stable mood, very good.”

→The Legend of Anle Weibo posted another behind the scenes video.

→ Gong Jun posted two gifs of Han Ye. Caption: “‘Ye’ got drunk tonight, it’s time to practice drinking.” This was reposted by the Legend of Anle Weibo.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted a behind the scenes video. Caption: “As strong as a swimming dragon, with full force! His Royal Highness @ Gong Jun Simon's acting highlights have been loaded, watch Han Ye easily defeat the enemy one by one~”

→ The Instagram posted three photo of “Zhang Zhehan” singing.

Additional Reading: → Legend of Anle links: [YouTube (free eps only)] [YOUKU app (free and VIP)] The current schedule is 1 free episode per day and 1-2 VIP episodes. → I definitely missed some of the Anle stuff but there is just. so much. I’m intentionally refraining from including promotional posts that are just clips from the show, but if there are other things I missed feel free to DM me about them.

<<< previous week || all posts || following week >>>

#How many times can I write #Legend of Anle #in a single post #Zhang Zhehan #Gong Jun #Word of Honor #woh cast #lld timeline

20 notes · View notes

lordnot · 1 year ago

Text

Watching the White Liberal reaction to Biden as it compares to Trump and Obama before him is pretty illuminating when you think about it.

With Obama, the thing that got them excited was never "Change We Can Believe In". Otherwise they would have been upset or at the very least disappointed when his administration largely continued the Clinton and Bush-era policies before them. No, Obama's value to them was that he showed the world just how utterly Enlightened we all were now. He was Black, he was young, he was well-spoken. You could put him on a poster with Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks and beam with pride. Progress. The Dream Fulfilled. Whatever systemic problem people pointed out about America, they could say, "Yes, but look: we have a Black President. We are heading in the right direction. Things can only get better from here."

In contrast, Trump refused to allow them any illusions about who he was and what his Presidency said about our country. And that, above all else, was what they hated him for. They couldn't pretend that the Kids in Cages was accidental after he called Mexican immigrants rapists. They couldn't pretend our Imperialist efforts around the world were about being charitable and protective while he was calling places "Shithole Countries" and demanding that other countries pay more into NATO. He had no interest in pretending his political appointments were about anything other than repaying his donors and friends, filling his cabinets with blatantly incompetent sleazebags.

Biden being another old White guy doesn't have the same appeal as Obama, but they'll settle for the "Most Progressive President Since FDR" moniker. They can again pretend that he genuinely wants the Kids out of their Cages, but Republicans and Red Tape are getting in the way. That his heart genuinely bleeds for the people of Ukraine and the hostages in Gaza. Never mind whether anyone who lied us into Iraq faced consequences or is still in power. And just look how progressive he has been! He tried very, very hard to reduce student debt! Stood on a picket line for the Railroad Auto Workers! Said some nice things about de-criminalizing marijuana! Does any of it lead to real, tangible changes? Maybe not, but it props up the "heading in the right direction" narrative. And that's what's important to them.

#Biden Administration #American liberals #American politics

10 notes · View notes

carleyplays · 5 months ago

Text

The grand opening of Lothario Vet Clinic was a momentous occasion for Bonnie and Ricky. They had spent weeks preparing the clinic, ensuring every detail was perfect. The clinic was named after Bonnie's last name, a tribute to her dedication and passion for animals.

On the first day, Bonnie and Ricky arrived early, hearts pounding with excitement and anticipation. The clinic was bright and welcoming, with cheerful decor and state-of-the-art equipment. The waiting room was adorned with colorful posters of pets and comfy seating for their furry patients and their owners.

As the day began, they welcomed their first patients with warm smiles. A steady stream of pet owners brought in their beloved companions for check-ups, vaccinations, and treatments. Bonnie, now equipped with growing veterinary skills, handled the cases with care and expertise, while Ricky assisted and managed the administrative side of things.

As the sun set and the last patient of the day left, Bonnie and Ricky sat in the quiet clinic, reflecting on their first successful day. They were tired but exhilarated, knowing they had made a positive impact on their community and the lives of the animals they cared for.

Bonnie looked around the clinic, a sense of pride swelling within her. "We did it, Ricky. We really did it."

Ricky smiled, his eyes shining with pride. "This is just the beginning, Bonnie. We're going to do great things together."

With that, they locked up the clinic, ready to face the adventures and challenges that lay ahead, knowing they had each other's support and the shared dream of Lothario Vet Clinic to guide them.

#sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 cc #the sims community #sims 4 gameplay #simblr #the sims #sims 4 custom content #sims #sims 4 #sims in bloom #sibg2 #the sims 4 #sims 4 legacy #ts4 simblr #my sims

5 notes · View notes

shoshanews · 11 days ago

Text

Apply SK Cinemas is Hiring Festive Team Members 2024 SK Cinemas is Hiring Festive Team Members 2024 Ster-Kinekor Theatres Pty Ltd is hiring Festive Casual Staff for its Bedford Nouveau Cinema in Johannesburg, Gauteng. This contract opportunity is perfect for individuals passionate about delivering outstanding customer service in the dynamic entertainment industry. Ster-Kinekor Theatres is synonymous with premium cinema experiences across South Africa. This entry-level opportunity offers exposure to a vibrant work environment, skill development, and the chance to be part of memorable movie moments for guests during the festive season. - Date Published: Posted 14 November 2024 - Location: Bedfordview, Gauteng Key Responsibilities As a Multi-Skilled Employee, your duties will include but are not limited to: - Box Office and Catering Sales - Operate as a Cashier handling ticket and catering sales or collections. - Upsell products and promotions to enhance the guest experience. - Cinema Assistance - Assist as a Waiter, Poppers, or other requested roles. - Maintain updated knowledge of Ster-Kinekor products and promotions. - Food Preparation and Quality Control - Prepare popcorn, slushes, and other F&B offerings to set quality standards. - Ensure products are sealed, packaged, and stored correctly. - Presentation and Cleanliness - Adhere to visual and presentation standards, including updated synopsis files, neat posters, and visible disclaimers. - Maintain cleanliness in the kitchen and surrounding areas, adhering to health and safety protocols. - Health and Safety Compliance - Submit required H&S reports on time. - Wear correct uniform and follow preparation standards for personal and team safety. Minimum Requirements - Qualifications: - Matric Certificate. - Experience: - 0-1 years in a similar role. - Familiarity with MS Office Suite (Basic); VISTA experience is advantageous. - Skills: - Excellent verbal and written communication. - Strong organizational, administrative, and interpersonal skills. Perks of the Role - Develop hands-on customer service and communication skills. - Work in a fun, fast-paced environment during the exciting festive season. - Gain valuable experience in the entertainment industry. Ster-Kinekor is committed to providing top-tier entertainment while fostering a positive, respectful, and professional workplace. Employees are ambassadors of the brand, ensuring that every guest experience reflects the company’s dedication to excellence. SEE ALSO: Discovery Learnerships 2024 How to Apply? Click Here to Apply Read the full article

0 notes

baronfulmen · 5 months ago

Text

Oh my god I'm so tired. Jesus. Why are all these dumbasses all over Tumblr?

I should start with why the person above is a fucking idiot but instead I'm going to mock them for the laughably incompetent way they're trying to make their thing sound better.

You're really going to break down the one person's stuff into seven separate items and then put "change all of society and fix everything forever" as a one-step plan? Seriously? I don't know if you're stupid or just think everyone else here is but either way fuck all the way off.

ANYWAY.

Guys listen, if you want to organize and work on changing the world PLEASE FUCKING DO. That's great. But don't listen to people so uninformed that they think who is on the supreme court doesn't matter and don't know that several seats are likely to be open.

And that's just one (very important) thing! A Biden administration would also be better for a hundred other reasons - note that there is no candidate that is going to wave a magic wand and make everything a glorious socialist utopia, we are voting for the lesser of two evils but it's a BIG gap and therefore extremely important.

Voting isn't sexy, not only because it's not exciting but because Biden is a shitty candidate when compared to what we would like to have. But that's not the choice. It's not Biden or The Glorious Revolution. It's Biden or someone that is as bad or worse in all the things we don't like about Biden AND is worse in every other way too.

And listen, if you think Trump's administration is going to be friendlier than Biden's when it comes to activism you're delusional. If you want activism of other kinds to have ANY chance you'd better start by making sure Trump's people don't get any more power than they have now.

Voting is activism. Other activism is also activism. You can and should do both. Previous poster's single-step "just fix everything" isn't a plan at all and hopefully you're smart enough to see that.

Supreme court came down with two earth-shattering decisions this morning:

Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo allows courts to make decisions that used to be the job of federal agencies.

If the FDA says hormone treatments are safe, the court can now say "mmm, nah" and ban those treatments.

The court can ban mifepristone or miscarriage care contrary to medical experts.

The court can lower requirements by the EPA that regulates climate change.

The court can overrule trade rules by the FTC.

The court could require less safety regulation on airplanes.

And much much more!!

This is very very bad, and the way to solve this problem is by voting for Joe Biden so that he can replace Thomas and Alito when they die. If you care about marginalized communities, PLEASE vote.

City of Grant Pass v. Johnson says that criminalizing/fining people for sleeping outside (aka being homeless) isn't cruel and unusual punishment. It will punish people of color and disabled people disproportionately.

On my knees begging you to vote for Joe Biden. You cannot sit this one out. Activism is not tweeting or blogging. You are not helping by not exercising your right to vote, a right that can and will be taken from you if Joe Biden is not reelected.

Edit: they also dismissed some charges against January 6 defendants but quite frankly that is not as important, even though that's what everyone is freaking out about.

7K notes · View notes

musicindustry123 · 1 month ago

Text

Exploring Career Paths: Entry-Level Jobs in the Music Industry for Creatives and Analysts

The music industry is a diverse ecosystem that thrives on both creativity and analysis, making it an exciting field for individuals with various skill sets. While some people are drawn to artistic roles, others excel in data-driven or organizational tasks. Thankfully, there are numerous entry-level music industry jobs designed to welcome both types of professionals. From roles in artist relations and social media management to positions in data analysis and music rights administration, these jobs offer a wide range of opportunities for newcomers to break into the industry.

In this article, we’ll explore two distinct pathways within entry-level music industry jobs: creative roles and analytical roles. Whether you’re a visionary looking to shape an artist’s brand or a numbers person interested in maximizing revenue streams, you’ll find valuable insights on the skills, requirements, and career paths for each type of entry-level role. Ready to discover which area suits you best? Let’s dive into the world of entry-level music industry jobs tailored for creatives and analysts alike.

Main Body:

1. Creative Entry-Level Jobs in the Music Industry

For those with a strong passion for the artistic and promotional side of music, creative roles offer a chance to work directly with artists, brands, and audiences. These roles often focus on building an artist's image, engaging with fans, or developing content that resonates with audiences. Here are some of the top creative entry-level music industry jobs:

Social Media Coordinator: Social media coordinators manage artists' or brands’ social media platforms by posting content, engaging with followers, and tracking engagement metrics. This role is perfect for those with a knack for storytelling and creativity, as well as an understanding of social trends and digital engagement strategies.

A&R (Artist & Repertoire) Scout: Working as an A&R scout is one of the most exciting roles in the creative realm, as it involves discovering and nurturing new musical talent. A&R scouts often attend live shows, listen to demos, and provide feedback to artists and producers. It’s a great job for someone who has a keen ear for new trends and can spot emerging talent.

Marketing Assistant: As a marketing assistant, you’ll support promotional campaigns for artists, albums, and tours. This role involves working closely with marketing teams to develop content, handle social media, and coordinate with media outlets. It’s an ideal entry-level job for those interested in the intersection of music and advertising.

Graphic Design Assistant: Visual elements play a big role in music branding, from album artwork to promotional materials. Graphic design assistants help create and execute visual branding for music releases, concert posters, and social media campaigns. This role is best for those with design skills who are passionate about crafting visual narratives that enhance an artist's identity.

2. Analytical Entry-Level Jobs in the Music Industry

For those who are more detail-oriented, analytical roles in the music industry offer an excellent way to work behind the scenes and make impactful decisions based on data. Here are some popular analytical entry-level music industry jobs:

Data Analyst or Data Assistant: Data analysis is becoming increasingly important in the music industry as companies rely on streaming data, social media metrics, and sales figures to make informed decisions. As a data assistant, you’ll collect and interpret data related to listener behavior, engagement rates, and sales figures to help guide marketing and promotional strategies.

Music Licensing Assistant: Music licensing assistants work with the legal and financial aspects of music rights, ensuring that royalties are accurately tracked and that songs are licensed correctly for use in films, TV shows, ads, and more. This role requires a sharp eye for detail and an understanding of intellectual property laws, making it ideal for individuals interested in music law or publishing.

Royalty Analyst: A royalty analyst’s job is to track revenue generated by music sales, streaming, and licensing to ensure that artists and rights holders receive accurate payments. This position requires strong organizational and analytical skills, as well as familiarity with data management tools and spreadsheets.

Project Coordinator: While slightly more creative, project coordinators focus on the logistics of managing an artist's career or a company’s operations. From organizing events to managing schedules, project coordinators work across departments to make sure that everything runs smoothly. This role requires excellent organizational and multitasking skills.

3. Skills Required for Creative and Analytical Roles

Depending on whether you’re applying for a creative or analytical position, the required skills can vary greatly. Here’s a breakdown of the key skills for each type of role:

Creative Skills:

Storytelling and Creativity: Most creative roles rely on the ability to craft compelling narratives, whether through social media posts, marketing campaigns, or graphic design.

Digital Savvy: In roles like social media coordination, understanding algorithms, engagement tactics, and content creation tools like Canva or Adobe is essential.

Interpersonal Skills: Working in artist relations or A&R often involves collaborating with artists, managers, and other stakeholders, so being able to communicate effectively is critical.

Analytical Skills:

Data Interpretation and Analysis: Analytical roles require the ability to interpret and use data to inform decisions, so proficiency in Excel, data management tools, or SQL is advantageous.

Attention to Detail: Positions like music licensing and royalty analysis require meticulous attention to detail to ensure accuracy in tracking royalties and rights.

Organizational Skills: Many analytical roles, such as project coordinators, require strong organizational skills to manage various responsibilities and keep projects on track.

4. Gaining Relevant Experience for Entry-Level Music Industry Jobs

The competition for entry-level music industry jobs can be fierce, so building relevant experience is key to standing out. Here are some ways to gain experience, whether you’re aiming for a creative or analytical role:

Freelance and Volunteer Work: For creative roles, offering freelance social media management, graphic design, or content creation services for local bands or music events can provide hands-on experience. For analytical roles, you could volunteer to manage data for events or track music statistics for independent artists.

Internships: Interning at a record label, marketing agency, or music rights organization offers invaluable experience. Internships allow you to get hands-on training while working with industry professionals and can often lead to full-time roles after graduation.

Online Courses and Certifications: For analytical roles, certifications in data analysis or project management can be helpful. Creative professionals might consider courses in digital marketing, social media strategy, or Adobe Creative Suite to gain relevant skills.

Networking Events and Industry Conferences: Building a network is essential in the music industry. Attend local concerts, join online music communities, and connect with professionals through platforms like LinkedIn. Networking can help you stay informed on job openings and meet potential mentors.

5. Building a Standout Resume and Portfolio

Once you’ve built some relevant experience, it’s essential to package it effectively on a resume and in a portfolio:

For Creative Roles: Highlight your creative work in a visually engaging portfolio. Include samples of social media campaigns, graphic designs, or promotional materials you’ve created. If possible, add metrics (like follower growth or engagement rates) to show the impact of your work.

For Analytical Roles: Emphasize your data-driven accomplishments on your resume. Describe your experience with data analysis tools, project coordination, or royalty tracking. Even if your experience is outside of music, focus on transferable skills.

Personalize for the Role: Tailor each application to the specific role and company. Show that you understand the company’s goals and demonstrate how your skills align with their needs.

Conclusion:

Whether you’re a creative powerhouse or an analytical thinker, there are entry-level music industry jobs that align with your unique skill set. Creative roles like social media coordinator, A&R scout, and marketing assistant provide hands-on opportunities to engage with artists and audiences, while analytical positions in data analysis, music licensing, and royalty management focus on the business side of the industry. Each of these roles is crucial to the industry’s success, and with the right experience and dedication, they can serve as a launchpad for a long and fulfilling career.

Remember, entry-level music industry jobs are more than just stepping stones—they are formative experiences that shape your career path and open doors to future opportunities. If you’re ready to take your first step into the music world, focus on building relevant skills, gaining experience through internships or freelance work, and networking with industry professionals. With the right approach, your journey in the music industry can be as exciting and rewarding as the field itself.

#music #music industry

0 notes