ryans bar


                         Well, at least somebody’s on my side

rafaelcasal So proud of these three powerful women, who took on the task of pioneering our BARS alumni track with me, in hopes of bringing some new theater works to the main stage. So excited for all they have ahead, and the brilliant work of theirs that I am lucky enough to be a part of bringing to life. Let’s DO THIS. @barsworkshopnyc @publictheaterny @zenibabritt @jayadanaflow @msryannicole
The Ultimate Mistake

REQUESTED – “Could you please write a imagine where y/n and justin are fighting and justin slaps her in the heat of the moment and you can continue from there”

He promised her tonight would be different. No distractions, no interruptions, just her and him, celebrating the conclusion of another successful tour. She knew she was stupid to believe him, to believe that this time would be any different than all the other times he promised “alone time”, and yet here she was, sitting on the same black leather barstool for the last three hours, alone in a crowded nightclub, with her fourth, lime green, ‘Midori Sour’ in between her ring covered fingers. Her eyes hatefully were fixed on the picture perfect couple before her, sensually dancing to a familiar pop song she couldn’t quite put her finger on; he had his large tattooed arms wrapped around her small, petite body, his lips nibbling at the tanned skin along her neck, and all Y/N could think about while she sipped on her strong alcoholic drink, was how hours before, his lips had been doing that to her, in more intimate places.

“He’s an asshole,” The bartender, Ryan- his name tag read, says as he places another full drink in front of the girl who had captured his attention since she walked through the nightclub doors. He had seen her come in with the others, clinging to the arm of a perky lime green haired girl, he recognized as Kylie Jenner, the two dancing and giggling as they weaved their way through the crowd to the VIP section. Justin and Selena had followed closely behind them, Justin’s eyes seeming to never leave the back of Y/N in the deliciously skin tight, black, lace-up, body-con dress that stuck to her like it was meant to be there. “Gomez, man, she’s not even that pretty.” Ryan continues, a stunning grin taking over his lips as he leans against the bar, his eyes meeting Y/N’s slightly glossy bright blue eyes. His comment, although sweet, was untruthful, and neither of them were naïve enough to deny that: Selena Gomez was stunning, as she always had been, and thanks to her recent break up with Abel a.k.a the ‘Weeknd’, her bright red revenge dress was easy to pull attention.

“Oh, so you’re a bartender and a comedian, cute.” Y/N retorts, laughing slightly at his useless comment to make her feel better as she downs the rest of the drink in her hands and starts on the next one he placed before her. She had to admit Ryan was cute, with his perfectly styled bleach blonde hair and his strong jawline she noticed tightened when he was interested in something, but she had a blonde of her own, even if he was being a cotton headed bitch ass, and no one has ever had her heart like he did.

“I thought Jelena was done anyways.” Ryan said, continuing to clean the crystal clear wine glass in his hand, hanging it up on the rack, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N rolls her eyes at the immature ship name, focusing on a strand of her perfectly curled blonde hair that she twists and untwists around her perfectly manicured pointer finger.

“They are.” She replies back almost instantly. “They were.” Y/N corrects, glancing over her shoulder once again to see Justin whispering something in Selena’s pierced ear and watching the girl in his arms laugh as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

Ryan watches as Y/N’s body cringes in response to the intimate gesture of the couple in front of her, no matter how hard she tries, it’s clear that the way the two hold each other bothers who, and he can only imagine the empty promises he had spoken to the girl Ryan would kill to make smile again. When Y/N’s eyes travel back to his, a lifeless smile pulls on her red lips as she takes another sip of her drink, tapping the home button on her iPhone 7 to check the time. He catches a selfie of her and Justin as her home screen before the screen goes black again. “Why don’t you go cut in? Show her why he’s been with you all this time.” Ryan says, although the statement pains him, knowing it would hurt to see her dancing with another guy when he wanted it so badly to be him.

Y/N laughs in response. He had no idea who Justin was, or who she was, for that matter. The relationship between the two of them was almost impossible for anyone but themselves to understand, and honestly, she liked it that way. “You don’t get it,” she spits without thinking about what she’s saying. “Justin’s not “with” anyone. Just because he’s fucking me doesn’t mean he wants anything more from me.” Ryan flinches at her blunt words, wishing he could take the pain away from this wonderful stranger that just walked into his life. He knew guys like Justin all too well, hell, he had been one himself, and knowing that only made him hate Justin more. The two sat in a comfortable silence, Y/N drowning her sorrows in alcohol, Ryan thinking of ways to not go over and punch Bieber in the face, and as he dropped his dish towel onto the counter before him, signaling for one of his employees to take over his spot, he pulls the glass from Y/N’s hands. “Hey!”

“Dance with me,” Ryan states, pushing a blonde strand of her hair from her eyes. From the corner of his eye, Ryan can see Justin’s attention perking up, his eyes following Ryan’s hand as it falls slowly down Y/N’s bare arm.

“Dance with you? Don’t you have work to do?” Y/N says, although dancing with Ryan seems more appealing then she lets on. Ryan chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair and jumps up on the counter, sliding over to the other side and landing on his feet just a few inches to Y/N’s right.

“I guess that’s the perks of owning the bar.” Ryan shrugs grabbing Y/N’s hand and pulling her to the dance floor. In that moment, laughter escaping from her lips, Y/N is happy for the first time tonight and she willingly allows Ryan to pull her to the dance floor, positioning them in the middle of the sweating and grinding bodies around them. Ryan steps behind Y/N’ pulling her body to his, and it takes her only a second to fall into the beat of ‘One Dance’  by ‘Drake’, her hips swaying perfectly against his. Y/N smiles, enjoying the feeling of being wanted by someone as Ryan’s hands roam her body, but the feeling last for only a moment before her arm is being pinched by a strong muscular hand and she is roughly pulled away from Ryan’s warm inviting body.

Justin, from across the dance floor, grew furious on the spot, pushing Selena’s arms off his body and ignoring her protests as he pushes through the crowded nightclub, his eyes fixed on Y/N and the arms of another man intimately around her. He knew he had been a jerk, ignoring her all night for Selena after he promised tonight would be different, but he had gotten so caught up in his feelings for her, he had forgotten the girl that had fought so hard to fix him for the last six months. “Justin, stop!” Y/N calls, as he drags her through the dance floor, his eyes glued to the back entrance that he knew led to an alleyway as Y/N clawed at his fingers digging into her arm. “Justin!” she cries again as they finally reach the door, rage lining his vision. His heart was racing, his palm sweating, how dare she just fall into the arms of another man when one night doesn’t go her way. “Justin stop, your hurting me.” Y/N says, causing Justin to hault in his steps and turn to face Y/N, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. Carefully he releases her arm watching as Y/N takes a deep breath and pushes past him, exiting through the door and not once looking back to see if he had followed.

“What the fuck was that?” Justin growls once the two of them are outside the nightclub, the loud music faint in the distance as Y/N rests her back against the brick building, rolling her eyes at Justin’s anger. “Are you sleeping with that asshole?” Justin asks, hating but ignoring the jealous side of him that began to rear its head. Y/N’s jaw drops in shock at his words. She knew that Justin was jealous, he always had been, but his words hurt to know that he thought she could just easily sleep with whoever sparked an interest in her.

“Of course not, Justin. How can you even say that? The only asshole I’m sleeping with here is fucking you!” Y/N yells, unable to control the pent up anger she’s felt all night long. “You promised tonight would be different, you promised she wouldn’t be here, you promise and you lied. I should have known I couldn’t trust you, how could I even think I would be a thought in your mind when your head is shoved so far up Selena’s ass that you can’t even think for yourself!” Before he or she knew it, Justin’s hand collided with Y/N’s cheek. He wanted to blame the alcohol, or the fact that he knew deep down Y/N danced with that other guy to make him upset, but he couldn’t deny that it had been his fault. He had made the ultimate mistake and there was no going back.

Y/N stumbled back, her left hand clutching her cheek as she looked into Justin’s eyes, tears immediately starting to fall. She had never seen him like this before, eyes black, the emotion on his face one she couldn’t recognize, and as he saw the tears fall down her cheeks, streaking her mascara she had worked so hard to perfect, his heart fell into his stomach. Justin reached out for her, wanting to do nothing but apologize for what he had done. “Baby, I’m so sor-”

“No.” Y/N said, shaking her head as Justin continued to reach for her. “No!” she screamed, so loud she thought she might strain a vocal cord. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” She cried, backing up away from him as quickly as she could. “You will never get to do this to me again, you will never hit me again.” She mumbled, but couldn’t decide if it was to him or herself. Tears began to fall from his own eyes as Y/N turned her back on him and began jogging down the alley way, her hair flying out behind her, and the worst part? He stood and watched her go, not taking a single step to stop her.

- I hope you guys like this imagine!! Please let me know your thoughts, leave me any comments, and request request request, love you all so much!

Nice smells that I associate with each different member of the FAHC
  • Geoff: old books, soft worn leather with hints of tobacco, old wood floors
  • Jack: freshly baked cookies, cold crisp air on a winter day, an attic
  • Ryan: opening a bag/bar of your favourite candy, warm air during the summer, fancy cologne, pennies
  • Michael: freshly cut grass, wood chips, beach air, gasoline
  • Gavin: opening new video game box/DVD, taking new sneakers out of their box, money
  • Jeremy: gymnastics mats, rubber dodge balls, rain smell
  • Lindsay: twine, gunpowder after fireworks, camping in the woods
  • Mica: expensive perfume, bubbly champagne, nail polish and nail polish remover

anonymous asked:

I had an idea, and it kinda made sense to me. What if the cops are also immortal? Or maybe not all of them but Key members, and they and the fakes have been doing this dance for centuries. They chased Geoff through the French Revolution, caught Jack a few times Stealing planes in WW1, so on.

Oooh! I actually thought about bringing in immortal cops (would be probably the only way I’d have RT people in the LSPD because I don’t want to kill them oops) but I tend to always consider it as more of a purgatory type situation, all gaining immortality at the same time in the cursed hellscape that is Los Santos. I love your version, with the long term historic kind of fahc immortality, because there are just so many ways it could go.

I mean

1. You could go for something really ridiculous and full on, something like immortality itself being stolen in the first place, because humans were never meant to live forever were they? Were never meant to have this kind of power, but where something of great importance exists there will always be people willing to steal it. It’s an object of the Gods, maybe, of the Devils, perhaps, something ancient and terrible, something forgotten and far too tempting to stay that way forever. Not when people like the man who would one day be Geoff Ramsey exist to find and steal it, when the original iteration of Jack Pattillo is around to share it with, not when Ryan, still James, kills them both and takes it only for the dead to track him down and take it back. Not when Gavin has always had sticky fingers, always been a thief, or when any version of Michael would follow him into hell and back, not when Jeremy was always going to jump headfirst into action, touch strange glowing objects first and worry about the ramifications later.

But objects like that don’t stay forgotten forever. Objects like that aren’t left unattended. Others have touched it before, of course, immortal beings who were meant to stand guard, who return to their post to find the object missing. Who comb the earth to track the thieves, playing at law enforcement to avoid detection, avoid even more mortals stumbling across secrets they should not know, but while the criminals are found over and over across history the object is never recovered. 

Even when the FAHC settle in one place, choose fight over flight and demand answers to some questions of their own, even when the trackers infiltrate the LSPD and raid every place the Crew owns, even then the object remains hidden. Because immortal beings the pseudo-cops may be but the FAHC are human, at least mostly, in all the ways that count. Human in their creativity, their deviousness, their cruelty. Human in their their unlimited ability to adapt, to learn and conquer, to outwit anything and anyone no matter how old, how timeless. So war is waged right under the nose of society, each side keeping their secrets but neither concerned with collateral damage, a city turned battleground for those who cannot die, the nightmare that is Los Santos.

Then again:

2. It could be far more simple, where immortals just somehow happen at some point, with no connection to one another, except perhaps some sense that there are others, an odd pull to one another. In the way of humanity throughout history the divide between these immortals is simply human nature, the inclination of some to use their advantages selfishly while others look to protect the greater good. 

The Fake’s, of course, are individuals who upon realising their own immortality quickly work out that they are now in a better situation than anyone around them, that they can do just about whatever they want with no real consequences, and go wild with the power. Thieves and mobsters, criminals and cult leaders, notorious names in history and unknown puppeteers - over the years the one-day members of the Fake AH Crew have done it all.  They meet up eventually, hundreds of years apart, perhaps temporarily as rivals but overlapping interests and shared ability quickly sees them joining forces. Sees them becoming the most dangerous group history has ever seen. That history keeps on seeing, in many different forms and under many different names over the years but never any less formidable. 

The eventual immortal members of the LSPD, who’ve been everything from soldiers to international intelligence to vigilantes themselves were never any less dangerous. There have always been famous detectives, always been soldiers who survived the unsurvivable, law enforcement who’ve gone above and beyond, and like the Fake’s these individuals are eventually drawn together under their shared quest for justice. Imbued as they are with a sense of virtuous purpose, assured their role on earth is to police the corrupted immortals and prevent them from raining hell upon normal people, these officers have long been just as merciless as the criminals they hunt. They’ve dogged the Fake’s wherever they’ve gone for centuries, first individually and now as a group, set up for the long haul in Los Santos, doing their very best to curtail the criminal behaviour and prevent the death of those who will not come back to life. It’s a battle they are all locked into now, a duty for the police, a defiance for the FAHC, bloody and vicious and all kinds of unforgiving, on and on into eternity.

Or alternatively:

3. For the less serious sort of version of the FAHC - immortal criminals vs immortal justice seekers, still at odds of course, always pitted against one another as the Fake’s fight for selfish gain and power and the cops fight to keep them contained, but maybe it’s all become a bit mundane. Maybe eternity has given them all a bit of perspective, thrown them together for far too long to stay entirely objective, to keep themselves separate. They are all the only immortals any of them know, after all, the only ones stuck in this loop, so maybe they’re on opposite sides but they’d have to talk to one another now and again. Eventually learn more than names, learn like and personalities, not friends, no, but certainly a kind of camaraderie, a familiarity that could almost be fondness in the right light, inevitable after countless lifetimes in each other’s presence. Inevitable when there’s no end in sight, no grand finale, no true winner or loser in this never ending pantomime of life and death. 

Sure, no one likes dying, no one enjoys the pain or the inescapable flicker of fear, no one wants to explain away their lack of injury or, when the death is too public, create a whole new identity, but you can only take murder personally for so many centuries. Can only hold onto anger for so long before it becomes a little trivial. A little childish. No matter how much Hollywood loves to romanticise supernatural grudges the reality is far less passionate - do anything on loop for 500 years and the fire is sure to dwindle, the emotions mute, shit gets fucking boring.

The never ending battle wages on, the conflict between two sides that will never see eye-to-eye, and the ever-changing nature of society and technology keeps the fights themselves from growing too stale, but when you run side-by-side with someone for this long there are only so many righteous monologues you can make before you start feeling a little silly. Sometimes you’re going to see Geoff and Jack at a cafe getting breakfast, or Lindsay and Jeremy at the store debating hair dye brands, and you just have to keep walking. Sometimes you’ll sit down next to Michael and Gavin getting drunk at the bar, will see Trevor and Matt filling a shopping trolley with energy drinks and candy bars, spot Ryan wandering around without that ridiculous mask he’s picked up this time around, and just move on.

Because you’re enemies, yes, and tomorrow you’ll be back at war, but today you’ve got a date or tickets to that one movie or haven’t had a coffee yet. Today you’re tired or hungry or just need to talk to someone who isn’t Frank because honestly fuck Frank anyway he’s been hung up on that one ruined shirt for seventy goddamn years, Christ almighty. So you look away, or they look away, or you exchange awkward nods that are perhaps less uncomfortable than they should be, silent acceptance that you’ll pick this fight up another day. Because hey, there will always be another day.

Designated Drivers

Originally posted by lmmortalnova

Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader

Word Count: 683

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol

AU: None

Request: Ryan Haywood x reader where both are designated drivers and end up talking about potential blackmail material and kissing and fluff and dont’ know

Lights flooded the dance floor, creating intricate shadows onto the mass bodies dancing. Different groups danced together without a care in the world. Alcohol influencing their movements as they flowed to the beat of the current song. Sweat dripped down from the heads of those in the middle of the fun, soaking their clothes and hair. A cooling breeze circulated behind you signalling someone has sat down on the stool next to you.

Keep reading