#waitress the musical popped off w that one i fear

[imtooscaredforthis]

Unknown Caller

Ghostface x Reader Smut

Summary: Late at night, you start getting texts from the serial killer and your stalker, Ghostface.

Mentions of: Threats, Death, Stabbing, Sexting, Phone sex, Knife play, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, Recording w/out Consent and Danny being super horny

Word Count: 2.4K

With an exhausted groan, you collapsed back onto your bed, letting the mattress suck you in. It had been yet another long, shitty work day, leaving you mentally drained and wanting to sleep.

The only thing that kept you from sleeping was how gross, sticky, and sweaty you felt from walking around in that shitty waitress uniform. It was a summer day in Florida, after all. Of course you would be burning your ass off. And somehow, the urge to take a shower overpowered your fatigue.

So after an extra moment or two of laying down, you got up, grabbing your phone and a towel, heading into the bathroom and locking the door behind you, just in case any unwelcome visitors came in. You knew exactly who that visitor was.

You tried to shake the thought of the masked murderer, not even daring to think his name. The last thing you needed tonight was having him come around. Maybe he would just give you a break for once and leave you alone. Maybe…

Sighing, you tapped at your phone, playing some music and stripping down. Stepping into the shower, you turned the heat all the way up, letting the hot water pour down onto your skin until it turned red. You washed off all the stress and trouble from the day, finally being able to relax.

Once you got out of the shower, you slipped on a black lacy bra with matching panties, using a robe to cover it up. You had grown used to spending the nights alone, with no one to take home, no friends to speak with.

You lost them all, since they all thought you were being crazy and paranoid about being stalked by Ghostface. Even after one of your dear friends died, (the only one who believed you) they still thought you were crazy. In fact, they thought you killed him. And the cops were no help either, thinking all the threats were just some prankster or copycat.

So now, here you sat on your bed, scrolling through social media, when you got a text.

Unknown: Evening, gorgeous

You stared at the message blankly, feeling your heart drop in your stomach. It was him.

You cast a protective glance over at your bedroom window, which had the curtains drawn and the blinds shut, as an attempt of giving yourself some sort of privacy from the stalker. Was he out there? Waiting outside the window to peek, or behind your door to jump out at you. Even though he’s been doing this for a while, you’d still never get used to it.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you began to type up a message to respond to him. You learned the hard way to answer his texts and calls.

(Y/N): What do you want to torture me with now?

Even though you were still quite afraid of the killer, there were times where you found him a complete nuisance, and got the guts to told him. This was one of those times.

Unknown: C’mon, don’t be like that. I have fun with the games we play. But I want to try something different tonight.

(Y/N): Like what?

Unknown: Like how I can see what you’re wearing and can’t help but wonder if you put all of that on just for me

You felt your face go a bright red, looking around and grabbing the hem over your robe, moving it over, attempting to cover up your body.

Unknown: There’s no use in covering it up now, I’ve already seen everything and it’s gotten me so hard

Looking at the text, you blinked a few times, making sure this was real. Maybe it was just some weird sex dream. You pinched yourself. Nope. This was real. The feared serial killer of Roseville was sexting you.

Unknown: You look so cute like that, all surprised and scared, it makes me want to cut you up and fuck you until you can’t walk.

Unknown: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Your mouth went dry as you tried to think of something to text him back with, your body running hot with arousal. You can’t believe this is turning you on. It really shouldn’t be.

Unknown: There’s no need to be so shy, (y/n). You know we can be honest with each other.

(Y/N): Yes I would

Unknown: Good girl

Unknown: My cock is just throbbing thinking about how nice and tight you would be, how good you would squeeze me, how I’d love to fill you up with my cum. And you’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you, baby?

(Y/N): Fuck yes

You rubbed your thighs together, feeling how drenched you were getting, a silent moan leaving your lips, not even realizing he was paying attention to every little detail.

Unknown: Shit, that was so hot. I’m really turning you on, aren’t I?

Unknown: You want to touch yourself don’t you? Want to get off on the dirty things I’m telling you? Well you can’t. Not unless you beg for it like a good girl.

You would object, but you knew you were too far in to stop yourself. It had been quite a long time since you had done something like this, and a part of you felt desperate. So, you did it. You begged.

(Y/N): Please, Ghostface. Please let me touch myself.

Unknown: Good. Go ahead, but take off that robe. You won’t be needing it.

Moving your arm out, you shrugged the robe off your shoulders, spreading your legs ever so slightly. Might as well give him a show.

You ran your hand down your stomach, moving it down to your hips, and then your thigh, while your other hand stayed high on your chest, running your finger over your clothed nipple. After a moment or two, you dipped your finger under the fabric, running it up and down your drenched slit. You played with your clit, leaning back and moaning softly.

Unknown: Fuck, I just want to run my knife all over the curves of your body

Unknown: Put two fingers in

You did as told, pushing two fingers into your opening, thrusting them in slowly. You didn’t even notice the distant flash of a camera recording you peeking out from behind your window.

You shut your eyes, biting your lip and arching your back, as you began to pick up the pace. The sound of your phone chiming managed to make you open your eyes, and snap out of your little fantasy, looking down at your phone.

Unknown: You look so fucking hot right now, I want to come in there and ruin you

(Y/N): Why don’t you?

Unknown: It’s tempting, but I need to do one thing first.

Unknown Number is calling…

You picked up, slowing your fingers. “Why’d you- why’d you stop?” He questioned between groans, his voice strained. So he was touching himself too.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to-”

“Keep on going. Don’t stop. Add a finger.” He instructed.

An image of Ghostface stroking himself popped into your mind, making you pick up the pace. A string of mewls and whimpers left your mouth as you went even faster, feeling yourself grow close.

“You sound- shit, so nice babe. Makes me want to- even more-”

“Fuck, I’m g-going to- ah” Your body froze up, feeling yourself clench around your fingers.

It seemed like he was close too, considering how much he was panting, low groans and grunts. There was a brief silence on the other line, and you wondered if he hung up on you. But then, he spoke. “I’m coming in.”

He ended the call and you felt your heart leap in excitement, calming down from your high, and preparing for him to come in. You looked from the window to the door, wondering where he’d be entering.

A few minutes went by, and he still hadn’t shown up. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of sick game to humiliate you. If he was just going to leave you all alone.

“Miss me?” A familiar voice whispered into your ear, making you jump.

“Jesus don’t scare me like that.” You muttered, turning to face him.

“Why so grumpy? Is it because I kept you waiting? So impatient, so needy. I love it.” He grasped your chin, tilting your head and making you look up at him. He ran a gloved finger over your lips, tracing your cupid’s bow.

You felt your body grow hot at the contact, your thighs clenching together. He noticed, moving his hand away to finally give you what you so desperately craved. Grabbing your shoulders, he pushed you down on the bed, straddling you.

Slowly, he ran his knife over your skin, tracing it from your throat, down to your collar bones, and to your chest. It seemed he was being merciful tonight, because you could barely feel the blade against your skin, only a light tickle.

Moving his weapon to the middle of your chest, Ghostface sliced open your brassiere, splitting it in half and revealing your breasts. Well, there went your good underwear.

He ran his finger over your nipple, watching it harden under his touch, pinching it softly. The killer studied your expressions closely, taking in every single detail. The way your lips parted slightly, the way your cheeks heated up, and the way your eyebrows knitted together. God, you were so adorable.

Ghostface shifted his attention to your panties, cutting them off on the side, and pulling them down to your ankles slowly. He moved his hand back up to your opening, running his finger up your wet slit, feeling how soaked it was.

“So wet, all for me? I must’ve really left you waiting. Guess I better get to it then, huh?” His voice was smug, low, and full of mischief. You knew he was playing with you.

He rutted against his hips against you, making you whimper slightly. You knew he wouldn’t do anything, until you said it. “Please, fuck me, Ghostface.”

“Danny.”

You felt your eyes widen at his words. “What?”

“Call me Danny.” In all the time that you had known him, you never got a name out of him. But he was telling you it now. Why? Why was he doing this?

You were too busy processing what just happened to notice the sound of his buckle clicking, and his knife dropping onto the floor, while he was now holding his phone instead. The flash of a camera burned into your eyes, making you look up at him and snap out of your thoughts.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, squinting at the light and covering your eyes with one hand trying to hide the glare.

“Makin a little movie.” He grabbed your hands with his free one, moving them from your face and pinning them above your head. “And you’re the star. Aren’t you excited?”

“I- shit-” Before you could even respond to what he was saying, you felt his cock press up against your soaked folds.

He moved his camera down to your breasts, watching your chest heave, before moving it back up to your face. “Now what’s the magic word? C’mon, you know what to say. You’ve been saying it all night.”

“Please, Danny.” You begged, bucking your hips up against his hardened member. “Please what?”

“Please just fuck me.” You rolled your head against the pillow. He was driving you crazy at this point with how much he was teasing you and making you beg.

Finally, he gave you what you had grown desperate for, entering you with a rough thrust. It was painful at first, the killer not showing any mercy, but you forced yourself to grow used to it.

You moaned out, the feeling of fulfillment overcoming your already sensitive hole. You arched your back, grabbing onto his forearm, digging your nails into his muscle under his robe.

Tears began to stream down your face as you babbled, incoherent words slipping from your lips. It was too good, and you couldn’t think of something, anything, to say to describe it. He was fucking you stupid.

He zoomed in on your tears, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Damn, baby. Is it really that good? Do you love getting fucked by my cock that much?”

You didn’t speak, not even sure if you could. He pinched your nipple, making you yelp. “Y-yes! Its- it’s so g-good.”

Danny moved his free hand to your clit, thrusting even deeper, until he hit just at the right spot. You cried out, clenching around him. Moaning out for him to please never stop, to keep going.

“Oh baby, you think I could stop? Not with the way you’re clenching around and calling out my name, begging for- shit.” He grunted, feeling your walls begin to massage him, you were getting close. And so was he.

He nestled his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, pulling his mask up his face, and biting down, breaking your skin and drawing your blood, his movements growing even harsher. While you dug your nails into his back, reaching your orgasm, Danny not too far behind.

The half-masked killer wiped the blood from his lips, grinning down at you. “There, I marked you as mine. You’re my little slut, got it? Say it.”

You nodded, eyes still shut, your mouth open with only moans and gasps escaping. You forced yourself to speak, voice all hoarse and raw. “I’m your slut, Ghostface- Danny- whatever, I’m all yours.”

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Fuck-” His thrusts grew sloppy, and he rubbed at your clit even harder, making you climax once again with him. He pulled out, releasing on your stomach, and ending the video.

He pressed a rough kiss to your lips, before readjusting his mask, cleaning himself off, and fixing his clothes up. All the while you laid there, nude, panting, and coming down from the intense high you just had. You felt another flash blind your eyes, and the sound of a camera clicking, knowing he just took another picture.

Moving aside your curtains and blinds, Ghostface unlocked your window, pulling it up and stepping through. “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. See you soon.”

#dbd #dead by deadlight #dbd x reader #dbd killer #ghostface dbd #dbd ghostface #ghostface #ghostface x reader #dbd jed olsen #jed olsen #danny johnson dbd #dbd danny #danny johnson #smut tag

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Chaser - Part Two

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader, Gang Leader!Din Djarin x Bartender!Reader

Summary: No one knows his name, and no one knows his face, but the man who leads one of the most powerful gangs in New York from behind an infamous mask is still feared throughout the city. You, on the other hand, are just a waitress at the club he owns, someone who’s only just barely dipped her toe into the treacherous water of New York’s underworld. But that doesn’t stop your boss from taking a liking to you, and if you weren’t so terrified of all that his attentions could mean for you, maybe you would notice that fear isn’t the only emotion your employer stirs up within you.

Your first week as a bartender passed in a blur of shouted orders and masked faces, but by the end of it you’d comfortably settled into a rhythm. You would show up, take your forty-five minute break at 1 am, and then work until 3:30. The music and the smoke had become normal for you, and your feet had stopped aching after your fifth day on the job despite the ungodly heels you still had to wear. All in all, you were content in your new routine; no amount of spilled drinks or sticky countertops could get your spirits down, especially not with the generous tips you’d started racking up.

You were surprised, however, when that first week passed with no other sign of the Boss. His right-hand-woman, Cara, was there most nights, sitting in the circle booth with a near-constant smile on her face. Despite her good humor, though, there was no denying the bulge of her muscles beneath the suits she liked to wear, and her smirks held the promise of a dangerous edge that was far from skin-deep. You were careful around her, making sure to avoid any blunders that could get you on her bad side, but she seemed more than content with the quality of your drinks.

It was only after your two days off at the end of that first week in your new position that you saw the Boss sitting with her once more, and when the time came, you felt more than saw his presence. The people sitting in the scattered dining tables kept glancing over their shoulders towards his table, speaking in hushed whispers with heads bent low towards one another. Quill, too, seemed to act differently; there was a tense line to his shoulders that you hadn’t noticed there before, and you only made it twenty minutes into your shift before your curiosity got the best of you.

“What’s going on?” you finally asked him, setting aside the glass you’d been polishing. “What has everyone so on-edge?”

The older man didn’t so much as glance in your direction as he poured a glass of wine so dark that it resembled blood, but the way his lips pressed tighter together told you that he’d heard.

“…The Hutts are back on their bullshit,” he eventually groused. “The Boss just got back from teaching ‘em a lesson.”

An icy jolt worked its way down your spine; the Hutts were perhaps the only crime syndicate that could rival the Mandalorians, and the history between the two gangs was far from friendly. Even civilians had heard of the territory wars back in the 90’s, before the Boss had risen to his current status. Unlike the Mandalorians, though, the Hutts couldn’t go much longer than a few months before testing their boundaries, usually to their detriment.

“Was anybody hurt?” you asked in a small voice, eyes cutting towards the smoke separating your gaze from the Boss’s table.

“A few; more of them than us,” Quill muttered. “Do yourself a favor and don’t say anything about it; the Boss has everything under control.”

You nodded distractedly, almost missing it when a drunken patron leaned against the bar and demanded another bourbon neat. You couldn’t deny the pang of worry you’d felt for the man who’d taken such an interest in you, as illogical as you knew it to be. The memory of his kindness and of his true, unfiltered voice had stuck with you ever since your meeting with him, and where you had once only felt fear towards the mobster, there was now a dark curiosity that seemed to encase his presence in your mind.

And so, when a waitress leaned over the bar about an hour later to tell you that Cara had ordered one of your long islands, a traitorous sliver of excitement creeped up your spine as you nodded and started mixing her drink. She’d had at least one of the alcoholic concoctions for every shift you worked, always making it a point to praise you for your skills after you’d deliver it to her table.

“Still the best damn long island I’ve ever had,” she’d smirk. “And I’ve had a lot of ‘em in my time.”

Now, after carefully placing a sugared lemon wedge on the lip of the glass, you made your way to her booth, your heartrate picking up when you made out the first flash of shiny plastic through the haze in the air. You felt the Boss’s eyes on you as you stepped up to Cara, and your cheeks heated up as you smiled between them and the other man at their table.

“There she is,” Cara grinned, her canines flashing in the low light.

“Hello, Cara,” you greeted her, setting the drink down in front of her. “How are you all this evening?”

“Better now,” she chuckled.

Your eyes flickered to the Boss as he tilted his head towards you, his gloved hands resting on the table in front of him.

“How have you been enjoying the bar?” he asked, and your fingers twitched as you shifted on your feet.

“I like it a lot, sir,” was your immediate reply. “I can’t thank you enough for the promotion.”

“Cara’s already thanked me plenty,” he chuckled. You could hear his smile in every syllable, and it made your own lips twitch as you lowered your gaze to the ground in front of you.

“I’m glad to hear-“

You were cut off when something slammed into you from behind, and had you not been able to catch yourself on the edge of the table, you would have face-planted onto the raised platform it was situated on. As you stumbled forward, though, you felt your left ankle roll in its high heel, and a pained gasp escaped your lips as you felt something in it pop.

Turning your head, you saw the same drunk man who’d ordered a bourbon neat from you earlier on the ground, having evidently tripped into you as he’d been fumbling his way to his table. He was half-laying, half-sitting in a small puddle of that very same drink, now, and his eyes were fighting to stay open as he slurred mumbled apologies up at you.

“So s’rry, ma’am,” he groaned, trying and failing to stand up. “Wasn’t lookin’ where I w’s goin’…”

The man sitting with the Boss stood up, adjusting his cufflinks before promptly grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet.

“I think you’ve had a bit too much, don’t you?” he grunted, his lips curled downwards into a scowl. “Don’t you think it’d be wise to go home?”

The drunkard nodded, his eyes going glassy as the room span with the motion, and your head turned towards the Boss upon hearing him clear his throat.

“Gideon, make sure he finds his way out without assaulting any other members of my staff, please,” he ordered, and the drunkard visibly paled at the thin layer of ice in his tone.

“S-sir, I’m so sorry-“

“It’s…it’s ok,” you interrupted, not sure whether you were assuring the man who’d unwittingly pushed you or the Boss. “Honest mistake.”

Even still, Gideon kept one hand fisted the poor sap’s shirt as he all but dragged him towards the exit, and it was then that you noticed the swarm of eyes that had fallen upon you as the other patrons watched the scene unfold. Feeling distinctly like a bug under a microscope, you moved to straighten up, only to slump over and grip the table as you tried to put weight on your twisted ankle.

“Shit,“ you hissed from behind clenched teeth, glancing down to see that your foot was already starting to swell.

“Are you hurt?”

Upon hearing the worry in your employer’s tone, you glanced up to see him leaning towards you on his elbows.

“…I think I might have sprained my ankle,” you admitted sheepishly.

“You mean he sprained your ankle,” he corrected, starting to pull himself around to the edge of the booth. Your eyes widened as he approached you, and once again you tried to settle some of your weight onto your bad foot, though you gave up hope of walking away as searing pain shot through it once more.

“…C’mon,” he said after a beat, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you off your feet.”

You dazedly felt him maneuver your arm around his shoulders, the dark blue satin of his suit brushing against your entire left side as his woodsy cologne filled your senses. His voice was loud in your ear as he instructed you to lean against him, and you clumsily complied, hobbling on one foot as the two of you slowly began trudging towards a hallway designated for employees only.

“Quill,” he called out as you passed the bar. “Bring a bag of ice to my office.”

You turned just in time to catch the way Quill’s eyes skipped between you and the Boss; puzzlingly, there was a note of suspicion in his gaze, though you couldn’t tell which one of you it was directed towards. It was gone in a flash, though, as his tanned, weathered hands hurried to finish the drink he’d been working on before following his employer’s order.

Once you’d left behind the thumping music of the main dining room, you started recognizing the halls leading to the same office you’d stood in a week previous, and you tried your hardest to focus on anything except the man who was now deeply in your personal space.

“You don’t have to help me,” you muttered lamely, feeling a stab of sheepish guilt from pulling the Boss away from his table.

“Well, something tells me you wouldn’t be able to walk on your own right now,” he grunted. You took in the way he had to hunch his shoulders for you to be able to get your arm around him, and you felt another pang of remorse for the crick that was no doubt starting to form in his neck.

“…Thank you.”

He nodded, his mask brushing against your shoulder as he did, and you fell into another tense silence as you turned the corner to his office. After fishing a ring of keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocking the door, he once more let you use him as a crutch until you were able to sink down onto his sofa. The black leather upholstery was cool against your legs as you settled down into it, and the Boss wordlessly turned to start gathering the throw pillows resting on the armchairs across the room.

“Here,” he said, stacking them on top of one another before gesturing towards your foot. “Elevate that for a while; it’s already starting to swell.”

You did as he instructed, leaning over to unbuckle your shoe and slip it off before settling your foot onto the pillows. Your back was pressed against the armrest behind you, and you let out a quiet huff of relief as your ankle momentarily stopped throbbing.

“I’m guessing it hurts?”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to reply before turning and marching over to his desk, and you watched in the large mirror as he pulled open a drawer and produced a bottle of pills.

“Can you take acetaminophen? Or I have ibuprofen, if you’d prefer.”

“Um… I’ll take the acetaminophen,” you replied. “Thank you.”

He brought over the bottle to you, pouring two capsules into your outstretched palm.

“…I don’t have any water for you to take those with,” he commented, sounding almost apologetic. “Need me to get you some?”

“Oh, no,” you assured him, popping the pills into your mouth and swallowing to prove your point. “But thank you.”

A small laugh crackled through his modulator as he went to place the painkillers back into his desk.

“You don’t need to keep thanking me,” he remarked. “I’m supposed to take care of my employees.”

He began to say something else, but it was then that Quill opened the door of the office with a small bag of ice in one hand and a rolled up length of bandage in the other.

“So, I’m guessing the last bourbon was one too many for him, huh?” he asked you, kneeling down beside your foot and setting the ice down onto it.

You jolted at the sudden cold temperature, your teeth clenching at the spark of pain it sent radiating upwards from your swollen flesh.

“I-I guess so,” you stammered, watching as he started to unravel the bandage.

“Hm.”

Without warning, the older man started poking gently at your ankle, keeping the ice pressed to it as he instructed you to try wiggling your toes. You complied despite the discomfort the movement caused, but you audibly yelped when he tried to guide you to move your foot.

“…Looks like a sprain,” he finally declared, though you would have been able to tell him that several minutes ago. “I’m gonna wrap it for you; make sure you stay off of it for the next few days or so.”

“But I have to-“

Your words dissolved into a pained groan when he started to wrap it, and you saw the Boss’s shoulders flinch at the sound.

“Don’t manhandle her, Quill,” he sighed brusquely, but the bartender didn’t so much as glance in his direction.

“She’ll be alright,” he assured him, looking up at you from behind his bushy eyebrows. “You’re tougher than you look, right?”

Despite the discomfort (and, yes, frustration that he wasn’t being gentler with your wound), you gave him a small smile and nodded.

“’Tis but a flesh wound,” you mumbled under your breath.

A soft laugh sounded from behind you, and you turned to watch your boss in the mirror.

“Monty Python, huh?”

“The one and only,” you confirmed.

When the bandage was secured tightly, Quill once more set the ice over your ankle before hauling himself to his feet with a grunt.

“Take the next few days off, kid,” he commanded you, holding up a hand to stop you before you could protest. “I think there might be some crutches in a supply closet somewhere; wait here ‘til I get back.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you alone with the Boss once more. The heels of his shiny black shoes clicked against the concrete as he stalked over to one of the armchairs, and he lowered himself down into it with a sigh.

“Quill is an acquired taste,” he stated, drumming his fingers across one of the armrests. “But he means well.”

“I know,” you assured him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me since I started.”

The masked man tiled his head to the side, and you could imagine him arching an eyebrow at you from behind the T-shaped plane of black plastic.

“…Well, maybe a little grumpy, but still kind.”

“Grumpy,” he nodded. “An apt description.”

Awkward silence threatened to fill the space between you, and your mind raced as it searched for something to say.

You finally settled on, “Do you like owning this club?”, and he took a second to consider his answer.

“…It’s among the more benign parts of my job, I guess,” he replied after a moment. “But I don’t have much to do with running it. Quill is more of the owner than I am, even if my name is on the deed. Do you like working here?”

It was a loaded question, but the answer to it came easily enough.

“I do,” you answered him. “It took some getting used to, but it’s far from being the worst job I’ve ever had.”

“Is it the first job of yours that involves the mafia?”

Your eyes widened at his blunt line of questioning, and you gulped.

“I don’t know if mixing drinks and waiting tables counts as involvement with the mob,” you said carefully.

“Sure it does,” he insisted. “I’m sure you see at least a dozen arrestable offenses every day you come in to work.”

Your mind flashed to the lines of white powder and bags of pot you’d seen openly sprawled out on the tables of the various booths during your time as a waitress, and most of the people in the building, staff or otherwise, had a gun or some other weapon not-so-hidden somewhere on their person.

“…It doesn’t bother me as much as it did at first,” you said eventually. “And even then, it didn’t ‘bother’ so much as ‘surprise’.”

“Hm. And did you know what you were getting into when you took the job?”

You took in a shaky breath.

“I did. Did you, when you first started?”

In his initial moment of silence, you feared that the question had been too personal, but his shoulders hadn’t tensed in anger, nor had his body language shifted from the relaxed state it was in.

“…I did,” he echoed after a moment. “I started when I was young.”

“…I’m sorry,” you breathed. “That was a…pretty personal thing to ask-“

“It’s fine,” he waved you off, crossing one of his ankles over his knee. “It’s not like I hadn’t asked you personal questions first.”

The door opened again just a few moments after that, and Quill came bustling in with a pair of metal crutches tucked under his arm.

“Finally found the damn things,” he grunted. “Had to clean some blood offa them, but they should work just fine.”

You blinked slowly, trying to search for a sign on his face that he was joking, but there was none to be seen as he leaned them against the couch.

“…Thanks.”

“’Welcome,” he nodded. “You need help gettin’ to your car?”

“I… I don’t have a car,” you said, feeling your heart start to sink in realization. “I always take the subway.”

“Aw, hell,” the old man sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Well, I guess I can-“

“Go back and tend to the bar,” the Boss suddenly interrupted. “I can drive her in mine.”

At that, Quill finally turned to level a look at the masked man that showed the same suspicion you’d seen in his eyes earlier, and for the next few seconds, the men stared each other down, communicating in a silent language only discernable to themselves.

“…It’s Saturday night, Quill,” your employer eventually reasoned. “They need your help, especially when we’re already down one bartender.” He gestured to your bad foot, and you felt a prick of guilt seep into you as you thought about how busy the staff would be without your help.

“…Fine,” the older man huffed before turning and stalking towards the door once again as he grumbled under his breath. “Nobody goddamn listens to me anymore…”

After the door was closed, the Boss’s shoulders slumped a bit from where they’d been tensed during the stand-off, and you didn’t get the chance to ask any questions before he pulled himself to his feet.

“Are you sure it won’t be a problem?” you asked him. “I know you’re probably busy-“

“Like I said, Quill runs this place more than I do. Hell, Cara probably does, too.”

He held out one of his hands, its black leather glove shining, and you hesitated before taking it, letting him help you up onto your good foot. It was a precarious balancing act on your thin heel, and the Boss rushed to hand you the crutches before you could teeter backwards onto the sofa. Bending down, he picked up your discarded heel and buckled its strap around one of your crutches, leaving it to hang there as you tentatively used them to swing yourself forward.

The plastic dug into your underarms with every step, but you started to get the hang of them as your boss slowly started guiding you through the building, down unfamiliar hallways until you found yourself standing in a cold, cavernous parking garage.

“I didn’t even know this was here,” you commented, hearing your voice bounce across the high ceilings of the space.

“Technically, it’s supposed to be for the warehouse next door,” he informed you, leading you towards a mammoth-like black Cadillac parked close by. “But for some reason, they’ve always been too intimidated to tell me not to park here.”

You snorted, following him around to the passenger side of the vehicle.

“You? Intimidating? I can’t imagine.”

His shoulders shook softly with his laughter, and you leaned against the car as he stowed your crutches in the backseat. After he opened the passenger door for you, you wondered for a moment how you were going to hoist yourself into the tall front seat, but your worries fizzled away when he gestured for you to come closer to him.

“I’m gonna help you up; is that ok?”

He waited until you nodded before setting his hands on your hips and quickly pulling you upwards, and before you knew it you were comfortably nestled against the soft leather interior. You bit your lip as your cheeks, once again, heated up from how close he’d been, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the effortless strength he’d shown as he picked you up without so much as a grunt from the effort.

The driver’s door opened, but the Boss paused before getting in.

“I forgot to ask if you needed to get anything from your locker,” he spoke, and your eyes widened as you realized that you hadn’t even thought about it, either.

“Shit, I forgot, too,” you groaned, dreading having to take another trip back inside to retrieve your purse.

“It’s ok,” he assured you. “Just, uh…give me your combination and I’ll go get whatever you need. If you’re ok with that.”

“Are you sure you don’t-“

“I don’t mind at all. Now, which locker should I be looking for?”

You described which one was yours, giving him your combination before he nodded and fished out the same key ring as before.

“I’ll be right back,” he informed you. “Go ahead and crank the car, if you want. It gets a little chilly in here at night.”

After handing you the keys, he closed the car door and headed back inside, leaving you to trail your eyes up and down the lean length of his body before he disappeared from sight. His broad shoulders tapered down into a trim waist, and there was no denying that he had exquisite taste in suits as the dark blue material of his outfit hugged his figure; not for the first time, you wondered if the face beneath his mask was just as attractive as the rest of him.

“Get ahold of yourself,” you muttered, shaking your head before jamming the key into the ignition. “None of those thoughts now, thank you very much.”

As soon as the engine turned over, you jolted as loud music suddenly started pouring through the speakers. Frantically turning down the volume, you let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head to dispel your startled shock. The familiar tune of Africa by Toto was playing from a CD he’d apparently been listening to the last time he was in the car, and you smiled, both at his choice in music and the fact that he still used CD’s.

The song was almost over by the time he rejoined you, your old, worn purse clutched in one hand as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Oh, I forgot I’d left the radio on; sorry about that,” he apologized, depositing your bag into your lap.

“No, it’s fine,” you assured him. “I happen to love this song.”

He hummed, throwing the car (though, really, it felt more like a tank) into reverse before accelerating out of the parking lot.

“Good taste,” he praised. “But feel free to play something else if you want.”

Letting your curiosity get the best of you, you flicked through the CD, watching as several classics from the 80’s showed up on the screen’s display.

“Never would’ve pegged you as an 80’s fan,” you chuckled.

“Why? Cuz of the music we play in the club?”

You nodded, eventually settling on Jump by Van Halen, making sure to turn the sound down so you could talk to one another without having to shout over it.

“That was Cara’s idea,” he continued. “She’s the one who made the playlist that we-“

He cut himself off, breaking at the first red light you came to before turning to you slowly.

“…I’ve just realized that I have no idea where you live,” he admitted sheepishly, and you laughed as you, too, recognized that he’d begun driving without first asking you for directions.

“It’s ok,” you assured him. “Luckily, you’re already heading in the right direction. I live in Mott Haven, off East 138th.”

A high-pitched sound came from behind his mask, and it took you a second to realize that he’d just whistled.

“That’s a bit of a ways from here,” he commented, but you couldn’t feel guilty in time before he added, “Not that I mind, just… It must be tough to commute on the subway every night from here to there.”

You shrugged, watching the lights of the city whiz by past you after the light turned green.

“You get used to it after a while,” you noted. “And I kind of like walking through the city at night. It’s peaceful, in its own way.”

“And dangerous in others.”

You smirked, fishing through your purse until your fingers closed around your taser, lifting it up so your boss could see.

“That’s why I keep this guy around,” you smiled, watching as he turned his head towards you so he could see what you were brandishing.

“Good idea,” he nodded, approval evident in his voice. An uncertainty seemed to come over him, though, as he turned back to the road, restlessly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Is, uh…he the only guy you keep around?” he finally asked, and it took your brain a short second to load the meaning of his question. Your eyes widened, and you cleared your throat before answering.

“Not for lack of trying, but yeah,” you conceded. “Well, him and my cat.”

The Boss hummed, turning his blinker on with deft fingers as he navigated from one lane to the next.

“A cat, huh? What’s his name?”

You smiled, thinking about the little mongrel waiting for you at home.

“Gato,” you answered, hearing him laugh softly in response.

“Your cat’s name is Cat?”

“Well, ‘cat’ in Spanish,” you grinned. “He was already named that when I got him; the family who used to live down the hall from me had to get rid of him, and their daughter guilt-tripped me into taking him in. I hadn’t even wanted a cat in the first place, but…”

“Here you are.”

“Here I am,” you agreed. “Do you speak Spanish?”

There was wry humor in his voice when he replied.

“Enough to know what ‘gato’ means.”

From there, you navigated him to your neighborhood until, eventually, he pulled up to your large, rent-controlled apartment building.

“Well, this is me,” you sighed, opening your door before slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Thank you again for the ride; I’m sorry for any inconvenience I caused.”

“Stop apologizing,” he chided you gently. Hurriedly, he got out and walked over to your side of the car, pulling your crutches out of the backseat before helping you down onto the sidewalk, his hands once again finding your hips. “I volunteered, remember? Couldn’t just abandon Cara’s favorite bartender.”

You smiled, tilting your head up to look at where you approximated his eyes were behind the mask.

“Still. I really appreciate it, Boss,” you intoned. “Thank you.”

He nodded, turning to look between you and your building.

“You, uh…need any help getting to your apartment?”

You shook your head.

“Nah, that’s ok,” you promised. “I can just ride the elevator up.”

With one last smile, you turned and began hobbling into your building.

“Have a good night, Boss,” you called over your shoulder.

You heard a quiet, “you, too,” just before the front door closed behind you, leaving your employer standing outside, staring through the glass doors to the lobby even after you left his line of sight.

“…Remember what Quill said,” he eventually muttered to himself, turning back to climb into his car. “Remember what happened last time.”

Once he was in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that the leather squeaked against his gloves, he bowed his head, closing his eyes as images of them started floating through his mind.

“Remember what happened last time, Din.”

#star wars #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Hurricane

I.

For years, I was a night owl. When I started my second stint with the company I work for today, I worked a 1:30 PM to 10 PM shift as one of many people answering the phone if you called the number on the back of your debit card. I didn’t much care for the constant what-happened-this-time beep in my ear that meant another call had come through, but some days were better than others. 

I enjoyed helping customers as long as what they asked me to do was within my power, but there were times I didn’t feel like listening to strangers’ life stories or treating their self-inflicted financial wounds. My schedule wasn’t ideal because I had to work one weekend day. Having a day off during the week wasn’t without its advantages, but it also meant trouble might find me at an unexpected time or place.

The first time I saw Kathy, I thought she looked like life had taken a lot out of her from behind the counter of the Circle K, but she was easy to talk to. She was blonde, thin but not sickly, and wore shoes that suggested she was accustomed to being on her feet most of the time. I guessed she was in her mid-forties. She was a nice departure from a lot of the women I saw at work every day. Of course, I couldn’t know exactly what was going on in a given woman’s life just by looking at her any more than she could know what was going on in mine. Still, it was hard to appreciate an individual woman’s beauty when most of them I saw towered over me in their high heels, flaunted legs that kept going until next Tuesday, and looked like they had trained with a Bloodsport-era, badass Jean-Claude van Damme, not the one content with starring in Tostitos commercials breaking chips instead of bones, and taking your place in your circle of friends. Kathy was different. 

Maybe we got along because we were both night owls. Maybe it was because we both found ourselves doing things we never imagined doing when our parents asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Kathy told me she’d previously been a waitress at the Olive Garden. I told her how I was rebuilding my life and had had a literal pregnant pause between jobs once I’d come back from overseas. 

Some nights, we’d talk long after she’d rang up my Combos and/or beef jerky. I’d offer general descriptions of the craziest recent customer interactions I’d experienced: 

While working overtime one Saturday (a day I wasn’t even supposed to be there), I heard the beep of an incoming call in my ear, introduced myself, and offered to help, as was standard procedure. The guy on the other end of the line immediately started pulling his cheek back and forth. I could tell he’d moistened the inside of his cheek with spit (probably while listening to the preceding hold music) as an act of premeditation. His vagina song was broadcast directly into my ears and left no doubt he’d been watching too much porn and studying how to replicate the anatomical musical score with himself. Why he decided to share his concert with me, I’ll never know. Some things are best left unsaid. 

When I asked Kathy what the strangest thing she’d ever sold someone was, she replied without hesitation: “I once had a guy come in here at three o’clock in the morning who bought condoms and bleach.” 

I was left wondering why I’d even asked. 

As much as I enjoyed conversations with Kathy, much briefer exchanges were the norm. The place was usually dead when I’d get there around 10:30 PM, but my arrival always seemed to trigger an avalanche of customers who urgently needed gas, cigarettes, or lottery tickets. I usually took the onslaught of humanity as my cue to exit stage right. 

That’s how it went for us. That was our routine.

The first time I saw Ashley, she was telling Kathy about how much she missed. Kayla. Kathy introduced us and told me she used to work at the Olive Garden with Ashley. I was instantly glad I hadn’t earlier ridiculed the wardrobe of white shirts and solid, brightly-colored ties that waitstaff of the Olive Garden in required to wear, though I’d wanted to badly. Ashley talked about how she’d recently had an argument with her mother, whom she hated, and how her son’s father, then serving in the U.S. Navy aboard a ship somewhere off the coast of Greece, was an asshole. 

I’m not sure if Ashley interpreted the fact that I asked her questions as a sign of genuine interest, or if I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. As luck would have it, this was not one those nights when we were interrupted by strangers seeking swizzle sticks. She went on and on about how she missed Kayla. I just kept nodding, unsure of what else to do. I could have left at any time, but I was overcome with curiosity, as if I’d passed a really bad car accident, one that when you see it, you instantly ask yourself if somebody died. You feel bad for staring, but you can’t look away. 

This carnage involved conversation instead of cars. 

After an eternity of my unanswered prayers to be interrupted by a customer, Ashley suggested I join her for a drink. It was a Friday night and I didn’t have to work the next day, so against my better judgement, I agreed to go with her. She must have had to use the bathroom before we left; once Ashley was out of earshot, Kathy leaned over the counter and told me to be careful because Ashley may have already been drunk, high, or both. When we finally got into her car and pulled away from Circle K, I caught a glimpse of Kathy through the window, motioning to me with her hands as if putting on a seatbelt, reminding to me to do the same. She was trying to keep me safe with (or from) a woman I’d known for all of three hours.

Our first stop was a sports bar called The Crown, merely feet away from Circle K. Ashley ordered a Blue Mojito. I don’t remember drinking anything, but I do remember her taking my tie off without really asking if she could, and putting it around her neck as she continued to drone on about Kayla, her bitch of a mother, and her son. 

Next, we went to a bar called the Keystone Pub and Patio. It had to have been around 2 AM; chairs were already turned upside down on top of tables when we walked in. Ashley must have known the bartender, who poured us shots of something that looked like Fireball. I don’t remember either one of us paying for them. 

We were supposed to go to Waffle House after this, but that’s when shit got really weird. Ashley drove us there, but we sat in the parking lot for what felt like forever. We never made it inside. At one point, she just lost it:

Her: ”I miss KAYYYYYYLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Me: “Um…. I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell she meant a lot to you.

Her: “I wish I could just crawl down into her grave any lie beside HEEEEEERRRR!!!! Oh Gawd!!!”

Me: “Okay.”

Her: “Put your hand on my chest and feel me sing.”

Me: “Ashley, I don’t know if that’s such a good…”

Before I could finish my sentence, she grabbed one of my hands, placed it just above her breasts and held it there. The next song was I Believe You Liar by Australian singer/songwriter Washington. It started with a hauntingly beautiful piano intro, the kind that made me stop (despite the awkward position of my hand) and listen. The first verse is:

All the things you've said And things you've done I remember, in memoriam You said that you did But you did not Oh, you ache for something God knows what

I’d never heard the song before. Even now, I still can’t listen to it without thinking of that moment in Ashley’s car. The piano part still gives me goosebumps, the kind you get when a song truly captures your attention, the kind that form long before you’ve heard a song 500 times thanks to Top-40 radio, TV dramas, and being a resident of planet Earth. I haven’t heard I Believe You Liar anywhere near 500 times. I don’t want to. For some reason, I don’t want to spoil it despite the ridiculousness surrounding when I first heard it. 

Once it became clear that we wouldn’t be going inside Waffle House, I was slightly pissed off. I was hungry, dammit. We'd been drinking, so the conditions were perfect; I’d heard most people only go there when they’re drunk anyway. But I wonder now if listening to Washington’s song wasn’t a better fit than intoxicated waffle consumption for what Ashley was going through. It’s easy for me to describe the absurdity of our encounter, but there may have been more to it. However demonstratively, Ashley was grieving, aching. for her friend who died unexpectedly. I just happened to meet her that night.

Ashley had been in my life for about eight hours when we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. The sky was starting to change color, signaling the beginning of a new day. I thought of a video game I used to play as a kid, Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest. One of the most annoying aspects of which is that you never knew when night was going to transition to day or vice versa. 

If you were in a town when a transition to night happened, all the townspeople vanished, and you were faced with zombies that moved like rejects from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, plus bats you couldn’t even see coming because they blended in almost perfectly with the nighttime screen. When the lights went down in the city, you, Simon Belmont, the next in a long line of heroic vampire slayers, were reduced to jumping around whipping at shit in your 8-bit leotard while a soundtrack played that didn’t exactly inspire fear in, or of the undead. 

Whether you were in town or out and about in the blocky wilderness, your only salvation from the darkness was another seemingly randomly timed pop-up box like this, which meant it was about to be daytime again:

I hated not knowing when day or night would come next. Even as a ten-year-old, the unpredictability made me nervous. You might say it was my first encounter with a pop-up ad, long before the modern incarnation those annoying little fuckers (or the option to skip ads) existed. This might be why I hate most ads to this day. Still, that night with Ashley, I actually prayed for the first time in my life that a Castlevania II pop-up would appear in the sky overhead, vanquish the horrible night, and send her back to wherever she’d come from.

Only that’s not what happened

II.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight,” she asked. 

“Not at all (this night couldn’t possibly get any weirder),” I said.

We went upstairs and went straight to bed. I couldn’t sleep, and my occasional attempts to kiss Ashley didn’t escalate into anything more. I just tossed and turned, unable to sleep thanks to the alcohol and the stranger in my bed. Ashley didn't have any such problems. 

After hours of restlessness, I gave up trying to sleep and decided to go about my normal Saturday routine, beginning with doing laundry. I tiptoed around to avoid waking Ashley, but this didn’t stop me from checking on her every few minutes to make sure she was still breathing. After she'd spoken so agonizingly about missing Kayla, I seriously believed Ashley could kill herself right there in my bed without a second thought.

She finally woke up in the middle of the afternoon. We sat on the couch and talked about books and what we wanted to do with our lives. I agreed to let her borrow my copy of Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and she said she let me borrow her copy of The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. Notes from the Underground was one of those books I was supposed to read in college but never did. I was looking forward to reading it on my own time, when a requirement wasn’t hanging over my head. I’d read one of Mitch Albom’s other books, Tuesdays with Morrie, which heart-wrenching though it was, had been a fast read. I thought I could get through The Five People You Meet in Heaven quickly, and reasonably expect Ashley to finish Notes from the Underground in about the same amount of time. I figured we’d meet up after reading, give each other their book back, and that would be the end of it. 

That’s not what happened either. 

First, we drove to her mom’s house so she could pick up The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Ashley decided she was hungry, so we stopped at Wendy’s on the way back to my place. Eating fast food was a rare experience for me (but the whole night before had also been). Until 2017, I had no idea Wendy’s had a vanilla Frosty on their menu, an item that had already been around for more than a decade by the time I caught on. I’d had other things on my mind.

We went back to my place to exchange books and phone numbers. Ashley finally left at around 6:30 PM, capping a whirlwind twenty hours. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, or why, but it did happen.

I finished The Five People You Meet in Heaven in about a week, and texted Ashley to let her know I was looking forward to giving her back her book. I got a brief response like, “Hey” and something about her work schedule being crazy.  At first I didn’t mind having her book (and not having mine), but as time passed, it started to bother me. Not a lot gets on my nerves, but two things that do are owing people money and having something that doesn’t belong to me. Every time I’d see Ashley’s book on my shelf, I’d think: “Man... I really should get that back to her.” Then a more basic thought would creep into my brain: “I hope she hasn’t made good on her desire to crawl down into the grave with Kayla. Fuck... I hope she’s still alive.”

Over time, my texts and her replies became more and more infrequent. I’d joke with Kathy that I was reaching out to Ashley once every season, just to prove to myself that I was still trying to do the right thing by returning her book. As the months passed, I started to just want my damn book back, and to give her hers so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. 

That’s how it went for me. That was my routine. Until the day she just showed up in my parking lot. 

By September 2013, I’d found a job in fraud prevention. I jumped at the chance to learn something new without subjecting my ears to incoming vagina songs. I was still a night owl, but struggling to work at a pace that met the expectations of my new department. To help me acclimate, management had me do a few days of side-by-side training with a more experienced specialist. This meant I also got to temporarily change my schedule to a more traditional 9 AM to 6 PM.

For some reason, after working my temporary shift one day, I decided to walk through the rear parking lot of the complex instead of the front one. Then I saw her. She was in a car I didn’t recognize, but she was with two guys I did, from Circle K. The driver’s side door was open so she'd gotten a bit of a head start towards me before I realized what was happening. She ran into my arms and hugged me like I was someone she truly missed:

“Hiiiiiiiiiii!!!! I am SO sorry!!!!” She was practically squealing. 

You’d have thought it had been only a week instead of nearly a year since I’d wished for the morning sun to vanquish that horrible night. All I could think was, “Finally! Here’s my chance to return her book and be done with this shit once and for all.” I’d aged almost 365 days since the last time I saw her, but Ashley must have thought I was elderly and feeble. She took me by the arm and helped me up the stairs and into my apartment. Once inside, she helped me take off my shoes and put on house slippers though I never asked her to. 

“Ashley, what about your friends? Aren’t they still down there with the car running?” 

“Oh, they’ll be fine. They’re just down there smoking weed...”

’WHAAAAAAAAAA!?!?!?’

I have absolutely no problem with recreational marijuana use, but I also knew that if the cops showed up (seeing law enforcement officers driving up and down my street was not uncommon) and started asking Cheech and Chong questions about why they were there and who they were with, I wasn’t going down with them. Even in their intentionally altered state of consciousness, I was convinced they could still identify me. 

I case you’re wondering, Ashley left before I had a chance to bring up the books. I think I’d pissed her off by talking shit about her to one of my neighbors that night without realizing she was close enough to hear me. I should have whispered like Kathy had the year before when she was sure Ashley was out of earshot.

Still got it.

I never heard from Ashley again. I haven’t reread The Five People You Meet in Heaven, and the piano in I Believe You Liar still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I’m okay with that. Why? Mitch’s book and Washington’s song make up the eye of Hurricane Ashley, a storm I won’t soon forget.

[shiroe-is-my-baby]

You Have The Nerve? - Ch 3

Summary:  Based off of the movie Nerve, an AU/crossover fic that doesn’t exactly follow the storyline but does have a similar plot and a few scenes from it. A hard breakup throws Ashley into an emotional wreck, acting out in ways that she never knew possible. When the opportunity to play a game of dares for money, she can’t help but play along. Throwing her into a spiral of dangerous games, along with meeting a few new faces and possibly falling in love yet again.

W: self-insert, romance, angst, strong language, crossover, au

Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

The music over the stereo lightly played, fading into the background like white noise. I chewed on my bottom lip, leaning back in the seat after I had finished my food. A piece of hair twirled between my fingertips, eyes lingering on my phone that sat on the table. I could lie and say that I wasn’t slightly curious of this strange game. Mainly because it sounded like a nice distraction. The stuff I was hearing about from Sae did bother me a bit. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with anything dangerous.

I heard the smacking of the man beside me, rolling my eyes as I dropped my hair onto my shoulders. “It’s all ridiculous when you think about it. The fact that it sounds like a game for stupid teenagers,” He said, giving us the curtesy of covering his mouth while he spoke.

“You say it like you weren’t just playing a game of truth or dare with your friends two days ago.”

“That was different. I’m pretty sure I was drunk then.”

“Pretty sure?” Marielle asked, laughing softly.

He nodded, although he forgot about the conversation really quick when the waitress flew past with yet another refill.

Marielle and I made eye contact for a moment, mocking the man while he scarfed down the rests of his food. It was strange that I finished before he did, given that he was eating like a vacuum at this moment. No doubt starving from the hours he spent without eating. But I wasn’t really in the mood to eat very much. Which makes sense, considering I don’t usually eat a lot when I’m stressed.

Glancing out the window beside us, I noticed a flash from the corner of my eye. My eyebrows lifted curiously, following the group that walked down the street. There was a water fountain near the center of a nearby park, and it looked like that was their destination. “Hey,” I said, swatted at Saeyoung’s arm, then his chest.

“Ouch, what? I was eating!”

“Look, check this out.”

I pointed out the window towards the kid who had to be at least eighteen. His friend handed him a skateboard, and he placed it onto the ground. It seemed pretty harmless until the kid started doing tricks and grinding on the rails of the water fountain. It’s not unusual for someone to do something like this, but the way that he had so many people following him around was strange. Not to mention that it was like he was putting on some kind of show.

“He’s gotta be some guy that does skating tricks on the internet. That’s nothing unusual,” Sae said.

“Yeah, but it’s it a little coincidental?”

“Eh, maybe.”

“Or you’re just reading into it too much,” Marielle chimed in, placing her chin on her heads.

Shrugging my shoulders, I sat back in my seat and watched the group of kids jog off towards the bus stop. It was all so weird. Maybe I was being paranoid. Wanting to see things that may or may not be there. But now that I was paying attention, there were more people on the streets on their phones, doing strange things in front of a camera. It may be a normal thing in the city, but there was a lot of people doing it. This couldn’t be some coincidence. This whole game thing had to be real.

The three of us finished our meal, leaving a tip for the waitress and walking out into the cold late afternoon air. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until we stepped outside. It wasn’t dark yet, but I was sure it would be fairly soon. “Thank you guys for eating with me. It was just what I needed,” I said with a sigh. Marielle smiled, squeezing my shoulder affectionately.

“It’s no problem, hon. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“Nah, I’m good. You two be safe. I’ll… see you later.”

“Don’t go doing any crazy dares without me,” Sae announced, walking backward as he gave me a quick salute.

I rolled my eyes, nodding and turning around the opposite direction.

What a couple of weird but great friends that I had.

I can always count on them to cheer me up. All day I barely even thought about the asshole. Right now, I could barely even give a damn. Something else was bothering me, though. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about his stupid game? It wasn’t like I would actually have the courage to do crazy dares. Even though I have toughened up and grew a thicker skin over the past few years, there was no way that I would do it. The money did sound good, though. I would need it now that I had an apartment to pay for by myself.

Sighing deeply, I decided to forget about it for now. I had things to do. The apartment was a mess, and I had to get his shit sorted out. That was my plan for the rest of the night. Maybe relax on the cough with a bottle of wine and binge on some weird TLC shows. That sounded like my kind of fun.

 An hour had passed since I’ve been home, and I still couldn’t seem to sit still. The message kept popping up on my computer screen, taunting me yet again. To make matters worse, I was strongly considering the challenge. I was bored and thirsting for something to help me feel liberated. Most women go out and find someone to have rebound sex with, and I was not up for that. It was too much baggage to deal with at the moment, and I wasn’t the one night stand kind of person. Not that I judged anyone who was. It just wasn’t for me.

My liberation was something better than that. Something that I can remember for years and earn some cash from it. The idea seemed harmless enough, but I wasn’t about to make this decision on one emotion. Right?

I breathed a heavy sigh, tapping my foot nervously as I stared at the bright computer screen. It didn’t specify that one had to finish the game to win the cash. Each dare would have a cash prize, and only the ones who make it to the top two compete for a winner. But there was nothing about having to complete anything. As long as the dare is finished the person wins the cash. I can play up until I have a substantial amount of money and stop. No more dares after that.

The plan seemed simple enough.

As I was mewling it over, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I picked it up once again, not even bothering to look at the caller I.D. “What do you want, Sae?” I asked, in the most monotone voice I could muster. I didn’t even bother asking if he could see me. I knew that he could. We already established this earlier.

“You’re not really considering this… are you?” He asked, in a serious tone.

Serious Saeyoung only comes out every once in a while. Sometimes I forget that he is mostly serious, and only uses his humor as a front. Only I really know this fact, given that we’d been friends for so long. It’s hard to forget the night that he practically lost it on me, trying to get me to leave. Even though I wouldn’t. Maybe that’s why he and I never really made it past the friend zone. He’d never allow it. He’s fine with being friends as long as I stay my distance and never get close enough to his heart.

My eyes lingered on the two options, the player button a deep purple. It felt ominous almost. I pursed my lips and sighed, giving a small nod.

“I am…”

“Look, I joked a lot about this with Marielle, but I’m serious now. It’s not something to play. I looked a bit into it when I got home. There are lots of people saying that it’s dangerous.”

“It can’t be that dangerous. Besides, I’m just going to play a few to win some extra cash.”

“Even that can spiral out of control. Ashley, I’m telling you seriously, okay?”

I breathed a sigh, my hand balling into a fist at my side.

I heard his pleas, but they seemed obsolete now. I’ve made up my mind. There was no amount of convincing that could change my mind.

I wasn’t sure what I was trying to prove. Who I was trying to lash out against. None of this seemed to make sense rationally. My head was already spinning, and I felt as if I almost blacked out for a second. This wasn’t just for me to make some point. It wasn’t just about the cash. It was about finally breaking from my pattern and having some god damn fun.

“I’m sorry, Sae.”

I hovered my mouse over the player option, clicking it right as Saeyoung was telling me to stop.

My phone vibrated against my face, and I quickly brought it down to see that an app was downloaded onto my phone. Raising an eyebrow, I opened it up to reveal the screen where I was to enter all of my information. Saeyoung sighed heavily on the other line, the sound of keys tapping on his computer. He was no doubt looking into my information, making sure that nothing was harmed. This was a moment that I kind of thanked him for having the security system set up.

“The game is tailored to all of your information. They hack into your bank account to wire your money, and they also look up all of your profiles. The dares are created because of the things that you like, dislike, your fears. Everything. I tried to warn you, but now we’re in this until you decide that you’re done,” He mumbled.

“Like I said. It’s only to make some extra cash.”

“I’m sure that it is. Look, just let me come pick you up. At least let me tag along and make sure nothing goes wrong. We can take my car.”

“Okay, okay. Sure,” I said, typing away on my phone as I entered my username.

I was a tad bit anxious to get this whole thing started. I wondered just what would happen. This wasn’t something that I normally did. Usually, when Sae tells me not to do something I’ll listen. Why was I struggling to act out? Was it the break-up or was this bound to happen? It all seemed out of character for me. This could be the night that I make some stupid decisions. Granted, I probably just made one small one already.

But I couldn’t worry about that right now.

I had a game to play.

#self insert #self ship #self insert writing #my writing #otp: shirey #fic #fanfic #fanficiton #au #nerve au #romance #angst #crossover

[tsundere-sims]

Nicole Xiao

Basics Name: Nicole Xiao L’Ane she was born Xiao Nicole L’Ane but she switched her first name and her second name, her surname is luxembourgeois Ethnicity: Eurasian (father of pure luxembourgish family established in China for years and Chinese mother) (mother is daughter of Bengali father and Chinese mother living in Laos for decades) so (dad -> white & asian mom-> bengali and chinese) Age: 22 Sexuality: Straight, grey-aromantic Employment: Writer Birthday: 7 janvier 1995 Sign: Capricorn Eye Color: Amber Hair Style/Color: straigt black shoulder length hair Height: 5’03 Clothing Style: conservative, colorless (brown sometimes) Favorites Color : pale brown Animal: rodent Movie: Westerns,Japanese horror films & Asian actions film Game: pc games Music: alternative rock, blues, rocknroll, Electro pop, basically all her playlist Drink: milk tea Food: All Chinese street food involving pork Thoughts Your First Thoughts Waking Up: I don't waste time, I wake up and go no time to wander What You Think About the Most: my adoptive parents John and Authrine What You Think About Before Bed: Why Liun and I can move to welcome 3 more people to live with us You Think Your Best Quality Is: My apathy really, I love the fact that I have the ability to dissociate and be immune to what hurts others the most, the people I'm close too feel comfortable telling me anything, bc most of the time it don't phase me and I never judge nobody, I'm like a blank page….” Childhood memories/Relationships/Idols/etc. Nicole fave memory as a child is the birth of her little sister Vili as her and Liun felt lonely since brother was always at school and mom work 3 job and is only home sumdays, they took care of her like their 3rd twin. Mother (Xue Han): She was not close to her mom at all bc she was barely home working 3 jobs first at a local laundry from 12 to 4pm, in a hotel from 6pm to 10pm and as waitress from 10pm to midnight, therefore she slept at their aunt house and left Nicole,Liun and baby Vili alone with their brother who went to school from 9am to 6pm. So they barely had time to bond plus the mom had an exhorbitant love for money when she married she just did bc he impressed her with his family rich reputation in China and the fact he was half white(she was very ashamed of her Bengali heritage in a white beauty supremacy Laos & China) so she urged to marry him and weirdly she had a child shortly after as a “surprise” (huh she was pregnant before meeting him she took the opportunity by marrying what she thought was a rich man to make him believe the baby was HIS and secure the wealth she wanted) after the marriage she realized Qiang was not a direct heir of the “L’Ane” family wealth but just a cousin of the Heir he had an argument with and they cut him out of financial support, they became lower middle class, by that time she was pregnant with twins and didn't announced to Quiang, who signed paper saying that his family had just one Child and no plans of another bc China population was too much and birth had to be limited. They recieved 5,000 for accepting the “agreement” not to have children but then she announced her pregnancy after Quiang decided to hide the kids by not declaring them at birth, just the time to get a lawyer to annul the agreement. Fearing to get arrested bc Quiang didn't find a lawyer that will accept to be paid a lower middle class family revenue she declared the children, Quiang accepted but left the house not taking care of the newborn twins for 5 month, And Xue had to payback the 5,000¥ so she took a job and had her family track Quiang down they found him, homeless and hungry he came back home w no explanation and was a stay at home dad for the twins and Xue worked. To payback the money he secretly got into the Chinese mafia and sold drugs and firearms in secret places. Him & Xue never talked in that period he hated her to have put them in this situation of payback and she hated him to have lied about his wealth. Within 2 month they paid back now everybody's just acted like this never happened and the subject wasn't talked again. Xue stopped the working and rebecame the stay at home mom, Quiang continued to mysteriously bring much money home but Xue didn't question it as they became upper middle class and her lifestyle was fancy. Quiang was depressed bc he wanted out of the mafia but that's impossible unless death, he put Kein in a high private school. But 2 years later the twins were 3 year old, Quiang brutally left the house, they got kicked out their wealthy mansion and back to their lower middle class life, Xue was in the last stage of her pregnancy and Kein was not kim led out of school as it was vacations but for the rentrée Xue had to find a solution she send the twins to her aunt and went work in the capital while pregnant. And continued to work after Vili birth that she left at the aunt house and Keon still went to school. The mother was close the twins as baby but unable to bond as they grew very mature at the age of 3. And even know Xue is like a old connaissance who gave them up for Nicole. Father (Quiang L’Ane): Weirdly she gets along beat with Quiang even if he was an on and off dad she as no difficulty or awkwardness talking to him maybe because Nicole is Schizoid she really not is big on social relations so even if he don't talk to her in weeks she won't hold no grunges against him, talking is very spontaneous with Quiang and Nicole it's that personal daughter-dad bond that only them can get. After he left when she was 3, he came back a month after her sister birth and secretly took them (Nicole,Liun & Kein) with the permission of the aunt who stayed with vili and told nothing to Xue, and they stayed with him and he will introduce them to “cousins” Wen & Lam and he frequently did that half month without Xue ever knowing the only time he came see her was to file for divorce BROTHER/SISTERS: Nicole and Kein where very close he was the perfect big brother at least he tried, stealing stuff for them to eat, reading them stories celebrating their birthday by telling every neighborhood who gave them flowers, coming to take them after school everyday being the funniest and indépendant from anybody. When they got adopted he was way more depressed than Liun (who wanted her momma) and Kevin didnt understand how she felt nothing he got bullied at school bc he couldn't talk English and always fought and got in trouble after school because in China he always hang out with his dad and dads friend ( who he didn't know where mafia and Chinese Gamgsters) so he had a strong character. The bullying didn't last and he was the most feared/respected at school. So at home it had an effect on how he didn't interact with sisters or adoptive parents (who he HATES) anymore from his high school years. When he went to college he got back to his old self as he saw his dreams of big study came true slowly bc he makes himself remember how his dad made everything to have him in school and how proud his momma was so he got right to the only memory of his parents that he had his sisters. Just has everything went good John and Authrine went to Laos with all the children for vacations and they linked up with Xue, Liun,Kein and Ovi were the happiest and Nicole was very apathic with her mom but was polite. So they linked up and spent few days with her she asked about college for Kein then (OF COURSE) for some money as if what she was sent monthly by the rich family was not enough. And she revealed in an argument with Quiang that Kein wasn't his son after Quiang came out of nowhere to say hi to his kids, and Quiang revealed that Wen and Lam were his children. This was what déclenched an identity crisis for Kein he took the first plane back to New York and didn't give any news to anybody but a text to John and Authrine saying he is fine and back in college. They didn't question it. So that he was already lost to he was in high school he was back broken in the identity crisis stage with no answer to who brought him to this world and it's been 2 year he hasn't talk to any of his sisters or adoptive parents or “biological” parents nobody came after him because he sends news every month from a cab somewhere in NYC Your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? : Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?: Where (and when) did they grow up? How did they view it as a child, and did that change as they matured? How do they feel about the place now? : Describe their best and worst memories from childhood : Who was their idol growing up?: What were they like as a child?: How do they feel about their family? How does their family feel about them?: Do they have siblings/cousins?: Sex/Romance What are they attracted to in a partner?: Do they have any particular fetishes or kinks?: Is there anything in particular that they won’t do?: Have they ever hurt someone they loved?: Do they fall in love easily?: Who is their current partner, and what attracted the character to them?: What kind of a relationship is it?: Misc Questions (less personal) Do they have any allergies? : What is their weapon of choice if they had to use one?: What is their preferred method of transportation?:. What kind of weather makes them happy, and what kind makes them sad?: What languages do they speak?: Do they eat a healthy diet? A varied one?: As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?: What do they do when they need comfort?: What are they like when they are drunk?: Where in their body do they keep stress or tension?: Do they have any pet peeves or dislikes, and how do they react to encountering them?: Do they like to travel?: How well do they take criticism? How do they react to others noticing their flaws?: What are they like when they get sick? Do they have a particular system (ears, lungs, etc) that illness gravitates to?: How do they react to being physically injured or undergoing medical treatment?: 1: What’s your OC’s biggest insecurity and how would they react if someone pointed it out to them? 
2: If your OC wants to buy a firearm, what it might be for?
she owns one and it’s for protection (it was a gift from one of her brothers) 3: Does your OC behave differently around different people, if so with whom and how? 
4: Would your OC want to involve themselves in humanitarian work ? If yes, then for what? If not, then why not? 5: How would your OC generally react to someone being verbally abusive towards them for no apparent reason?
 6: Does your OC have a realistic image of their own intelligence?
 7: Does your OC have any irrational phobias? 
8: How is/was your OC’s relationship with their parents? 9: Does your OC feel a pressure to achieve or are they content and calm with doing what 10: Does your OC guard their emotions by being tough? If not how would they?
 11: How would your OC react to hearing they’re adopted? 12: What is one of the most primary things your OC feels that is missing from their life?
 13: What kind of situations does your OC avoid the most?
talking about feelings 14: If your OC gets into a fight with their best friend, would they wait for their friend to make up with them, or would they try to make up with their friend?
 15: Does your OC consider themselves a good person?
 16: Is your OC good at giving others validation of their feelings and making them feel understood?
 17: Does your OC suffer from any mental health issues?
 19: What boosts your OC’s confidence the most?
 20: Does your OC hurt others often unintentionally? If yes, how?
 21: Does your OC hurt others often intentionally? If yes, how?
 22: How does your OC usually show affection? Are they openly romantic or more restricted with their affectionate emotions?
 23: Does your OC tend to hide something about their personality/essence when meeting new people? If yes, what?
 24: How would your OC react if they got humiliated by someone in a group of people? 25: How would your OC process the grief caused by the death of a loved one?
 26: What is the most intense thing your OC has been battling with?
 27: Does your OC practise any kind of escapism? If yes, what kind?
 28: How would your OC react if a bully stole their lunch money in high school?
. 29: How does your OC behave on the face of a conflict?
 30: What makes your OC defensive quickest?

#nicole

[newyorktheater]

  Therapists were busy reassuring theatergoers after seeing Dame Judi Dench in the trailer for the movie CATS. (See below.)

Meanwhile, three shows opened Off-Broadway last week about real-life world traumas – “the way she spoke,” about the murdered and missing women of Juarez, Mexico; “The Rolling Stone,” about anti-gay hysteria in Uganda, and ‘Mojada,’ which adapts “Medea” to tell the story of an undocumented immigrant family from Mexico.   This prompted a question, which was close to a dilemma, for me: When (if ever) is a play’s subject so urgent and important that its quality as a work of theater feels irrelevant?

The Week in New York Theater Reviews and Previews

Mojada

“Mojada” is sometimes clever in the ways in which it transposes the specifics of Euripides’ story and characters; sometimes the contemporary parallels feel forced.   But the main strength of “Mojada” is in presenting the details of the experience of the 21stcentury Latinx exile in scrupulous and credible detail — often harrowing, sometimes amusing.  By telling this story as an adaptation of an Ancient Greek tragedy, the everyday and oft-ignored traumas of the undocumented are invested with the aura of significance that they deserve.

Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow

Halley Feiffer’s loud, broad, hip, hyperactive, foul-mouthed, unconventionally cast, aggressively playful and generally off-beat adaptation of Chekhov’s “Three Sisters”… the bells and whistles of the production make it a challenge to engage in the hopes and fears of the characters.

The Bacchae

What would Euripides say about the liberties being taken with his tragedies in New York? Medea,one of his last and most-produced plays, has been turned into the harrowing tale of an undocumented immigrant to Corona, Queens at the Public Theater. The Bacchae, one of his first tragedies, never performed during his lifetime, has become an entertaining pop, rock and hip-hop spectacular in an outdoor amphitheater in Harlem.

The Classic Theatre of Harlem has mounted The Bacchae free to the public at the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park, in a version by Bryan Doerries. It would be hard to argue that it brings home the full force or horror that is the usual province of Ancient Greek tragedy. But what is a better tribute to the play’s principal character Dionysus, the god of ecstasy, wine…and theater, than a theatrical production with such intoxicating singing, dancing and design.

The Rolling Stone

“These people recruit, rape and spread disease,” Mama says about homosexuals, not realizing she’s talking to one, in Chris Urch’s play, which takes place in Uganda in 2010.  That was the year that a group of college students led by Giles Muhame launched a newspaper in Kampala called The Rolling Stone that ran photographs of gay Ugandans, with their names and addresses, under the headline “Hang Them.”  One of those named, David Kato, was murdered…. The plays uses these true events of homophobic hysteria only as a backdrop to a fictionalized story that focuses on an 18-year-old gay Ugandan named Dembe. And that counts as a missed opportunity….

The way she spoke

“There is no better place to kill a girl than in Juárez,” says Kate del Castillo in the way she spoke, currently running at Audible’s Minetta Lane Theatre. The well-known Mexican actress is making her English-speaking stage debut in Isaac Gomez’s solo drama about the epidemic of violence against women in the Mexican city. Under Jo Bonney’s direction, she plays some 15 characters, including the mothers of las desaparecidas, missing young women presumed murdered in Ciudad Juárez; a man accused of killing eight of them and even the Virgin Mary.

“This is the biggest challenge in my career for sure,” says del Castillo…. “It is physically, mentally and emotionally demanding to live these people every day.”

The Week in New York Theater News

Beautiful: the Carole King Musical. will close October 27, 2019 after 60 previews and 2,428 performances.

And it’s too late, baby now, it’s too late Though we really did try to make it Somethin’ inside has died, and I can’t hide And I just can’t fake it, oh, no, no

Waitress will close on Broadway Jan 5, 2020 after 33 previews and 1544 performances. This is a shame. The score is sweet in all the right ways. Why not keep going via Chicago-like stunt casting w/ a twist: Every major star who was ever a waitress. Bad Idea?

Five years after All the Way brought President Lyndon Baines Johnson to Broadway, he is back with Robert Schenkkan’s 2014 follow-up play “The Great Society,” starring Brian Cox as LBJ, Grantham Coleman as MLK Jr, and Richard Thomas as Hubert Humphrey. It begins Sept 6, 2019 for a 12-week run at Vivian Beaumont

At 77,  Paul McCartney is writing his first musical — a stage adaptation of Frank Capra’s 1946 movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” with book writer and co-lyricist Lee Hall (Tony winner for Billy Elliot, screenwriter of Rocketman)

The Beatles on Broadway….from John Lennon at age 28…to Paul McCartney at 78?

  Oscar Isaac and Greta Gerwig will star in Chekhov’s Three Sisters directed by Sam Gold at New York Theater Workshop in Spring, 2020.

  Christian Borle

Jonathan Groff, Tammy Blanchard and Christian Borle will star in an Off-Broadway revival of Little Shop of Horrors, opening October 17, at The Westside Theater.

2019 #KennedyCenterHonors will go to @sesamestreet, actress @sally_field, singer Linda Ronstadt, R&B band @EarthWindFire and conductor @mtilsonthomas pic.twitter.com/E1L6RbBDU7

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) July 18, 2019

Nick Robinson, the cuddly star of the coming-out-of-age movie “Love, Simon,”, will succeed Will Pullen in portrayingJem Finch, Atticus’s kid, in To Kill A Mockingbird,starting Nov 5th. Oddly, he made his stage debut at age 12 as….Jem Finch (in a different production)

CATS the movie trailer

7.8 million views in three days; 83, 000 thumbs up; 203, 000 thumbs down.

seeing reports that cats are filing a class action suit against tom hooper

— hunter harris (@hunteryharris) July 18, 2019

why do the cats in the new Cats movie look like bad Medieval cat paintings lmao pic.twitter.com/mIHbJbrIhi

— rae paoletta (in 🇨🇱) (@PAYOLETTER) July 18, 2019

” Is this what late-stage capitalism looks like? I just don’t get it.” reaction to “Cats” by Michael R. Jackson, usher of The Lion King for four years (which he hated) and playwright of “A Strange Loop.” Jackson on the new Lion King movie: “I don’t understand these live-action remakes just on an artistic level. That’s just me. I’m a little curmudgeonly that way.”

Rest in Peace

Hugh Southern, 87, a creator of the TKTS booth

CATS Attacks. Trauma on Stage. Beautiful, Waitress Closing. LBJ back on Broadway. #Stageworthy News of the Week Therapists were busy reassuring theatergoers after seeing Dame Judi Dench in the trailer for the movie CATS.

#Beautiful closing #CATS trailer video #Kennedy Center Honors Sesame Street #Little Shop of Horrors Off-Broadway #Nick Robinson to join To Kill A Mockingbird #Sally Fields #Waitress closing