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nobodyeverasked · 5 years ago

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again; han jisung

3316 words - large

Summary: Sometimes you don’t realize how much you had until you lose it.

‘See you soon <3’, was what the text from Jisung - Y/N’s boyfriend - said, delivered almost an hour ago, right after school. Y/N could never get tired of Jisung’s texts that always sent pleasant shivers to run down his spine, ones that would resemble the circles rubbed into his skin under the veil of the starlight or the lips that danced across his neck between navy sheets - seared with desire. The night that passed through him as he walked his way to Jisung’s house day quiet, desolate over him, nothing but the moon - shrouded by swathes of dark clouds - and the faded street lights pointing in an arrowhead down the street.

His breaths, once full with hope for it to mingle with his boyfriend’s, went still though as he reached his front door, muffled sounds bursting through the windows that rest on the second floor. He thought that those sounds only rested between their sweat-soaked chests, and under the glaze on the moonlight. He thought that his room was a safe space, that his thin, white drapes were a gate that only opened for each other.

It could just be the television, Y/N thought as he pushed himself through the threshold of Jisung’s front door. He always kept it locked. It was the paranoia that bubbled in his stomach, what would leave him to ignore something that would always get him out of bed to check every night? Y/N’s heart burned, not with the love as he gazed into Jisung’s eyes. It wasn’t fire, but a poison, one that ached in his chest and billowed through him already as he turned the corner and wound himself around Jisung’s staircase. The noises were getting louder.

“Y/N!” Jisung cried as the pulsing beneath the sheets screeched to a halt, and hums of full-hearted pleasure - between Jisung and somebody who wasn’t Y/N… Who wasn’t the boy he pledged his love and loyalty to - stopped as soon as the door creaked open. “I-I.”

Someone else was in Jisung’s arms, Y/N’s second home. Someone else was stripped to their skin, tapestries of violet passion decorating their bodies that Y/N thought were special, were just between them. Yes, there were times that Y/N didn’t think he deserved a blessing like Jisung in his life, but apparently, blessings could only last for so long until they become a curse.

“Why…?” Y/N could only choke out, a smokescreen of sadness overwhelming his senses, his head was pushed under-water, his ears rang with a dread that plunged into his chest and ripped his heart apart with cold, weathered hands. “Was I not good enough for you…?”

“NO! Wait! Y/N pl-”

“On second thought, don’t answer that, you’ve made your opinion very clear.” All the perpetrator could do - their body cloaked in shame, a sheet that only used to bind around Y/N’s form draped along their shoulders. The flames of Jisung’s admiration now stained their cheeks and clung to their neck, a feeling that used to run sweetly on his tongue but turned bitter like ash. The flame in his heart that always burned for him was stifled under Jisung’s feet, the ones that Y/N would always stand on to meet him eye to eye and plant blooming pecks onto those lips that were always waiting to feel his own.

Was his lovestruck stare stolen by them too? Auburn gemstones of pure, untainted beauty now suspending another person’s reflection. The only time Y/N could ever truly see himself now distorted by someone else's image.

Tears dripped down his cheeks and burned into his skin, following his footsteps as he ran right out of the house and into the breeze that grew colder with every hitched breath that scratched at his throat and burst through his teeth. He kept his sobs muffled between hands -soaked with tears, drenched from the pool of sadness numbing his senses - as he rushed back to his home, one he knew would never leave him.

He couldn’t stop looking at his phone as it blew up with texts that he knew were from Jisung. Texts that he wished meant something now, the texts he hoped were not just a hollow shell of words and feelings encased in a sapphire bubble of meaninglessness. The light of his phone that pierced the tears staining his sheets taunted his anguish, beckoned his anger. The sparks that were festered between Y/N and Jisung’s hands as they walked each other to their classes and pressed each other up on random lockers started to wash away with the tides of grief overtaking his body. The metal of the lockers will never feel as warm as it used to without Jisung’s warm, loving gaze rested upon him.

Was that fake too? Y/N’s constant questions to the ceiling that tried to muffle his cries to the moon kept him awake throughout the night, his consciousness trudging through the starlight leaking through the window.

“Where’s your bitch?” He wishes he could say that to Jisung’s face when he stopped by Y/N’s locker, but those lips still seized his eyes - run dry from tears - still held the secrets they murmured to each other under the watchful presence of the twilight haze, still painted tapestries of adoration on his skin with his cherry chapstick. His hands, now bunched together in a pleading knot of desperation still sculpted Y/N’s body with every time they kissed under the sunset and smoothed across his cheeks as their tongues danced with the waves that brushed against their ankles.

That was the worst thing of all, to Y/N, Jisung was still Jisung. The man who swept him off his feet in the ninth grade. And the blissful toxins of Jisung’s cologne will always be lodged in the back of his mind - even if it did not linger on his skin anymore.

“Y/N, I just need to explain-”

“Han Jisung,” Y/N has never used Jisung’s full name like that, not with the sour tones of anger and betrayal he knew he deserved to taste. How could he even try to explain what he did to Y/N, the only person who ever understood him? “You don’t need to explain anything, okay? It’s time for me to move on, you obviously have already…”

With one last glance - the sparks of brilliance in Y/N’s eyes that Jisung used to count every night they spent together as he pulled back from his magnetic lips, faded - Y/N brushed past the man who he gave his entire heart to, poured his emotions through tightly sealed lips that only Jisung could pry apart with his gentle tongue. He tried not to turn back to the touch that grazed slightly between them, knowing that those very hands he tried not to reach for molded someone else’s body and worshipped another’s hips - and altar that wasn’t Y/N’s.

Jisung let his head fall on the locker beside him, regret boiling at the back of his throat. The sadness he tried to bite back under the fluorescent lights of the hallway flowered in his stomach, and the white-tiled floor - marred with Y/N’s retreating footsteps - he felt like it swallowed him whole. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live knowing that he made a mistake that would cost him the man he never knew he took for granted. He found out too late.

He never realized how much he had until he lost it all.

It was that time of year again, where the frigid air clawed through the doors of the stadium that would soon house a flurry of dancing lights and rumble with the chorus of deafening screams. It was time for MAMA, an award show that garnered attendance from some of the most esteemed groups - Stray Kids was only one of them.

The snow covering the ground in a lustrous, ivory veil crunched beneath Jisung’s boots as he followed his other members inside. Everything seemed to be colder since he didn't have the arms of his ex-boyfriend - Y/N - to ignite the fires of admiration in his veins anymore. The air bit their fangs deeper, and the winds scratched harder. A day has not gone by where Y/N didn’t either haunt or bless his dreams - he couldn’t tell anymore - and lament the one decision that stripped the hands that made him feel at peace, the lips that drowned his sorrows in tides of cherry chapstick. The impulse that broke more than his and Y/N’s heart, but fragments of his spirit too, he could never forget the other man’s skin running beneath his fingertips, no matter how hard he scrubbed, or wash the flavour of their skin from his tongue. Little did he know that he would be looking into the oily gaze of his demons once more.

Y/N’s group was invited as well.

Y/N became a member of a group under YG, one that valued his skills and appreciated his presence. His group gained prestige quickly, through the haymakers upon the charts that their debut songs threw and the diverse, charming attitudes and personalities of his fellow group members. The privilege of being under an entertainment company as large as YG brought this group of five boys to MAMA in their debut year, this stage is yet another pit-stop in their blazing trail of glory.

Thoughts of Jisung’s hands still pried at him from under the sheets and leaked through the pillows he shoved off his hotel beds. His desperate gaze leaked off the faded moonlight, scratching through the drapes with a plea for forgiveness. Sometimes he wished he could take him back, shout that everything’s okay over the streets and shores separating them. But something always held him back. Always slapped his hand away from the shining lights of his own mercy.

As Y/N walked backstage - some time before his performance - worry clouded his chest, but something more than the velvet blazer framing his body pushed his lungs in, drained his breath before he could draw one. An ignited flame nipped at the back of his head, and it only burned hotter as a hand rose to rest on his shoulder, ripping the sigh from his tongue. By the air alone he could tell exactly who it was. The softness of that grip that once admired every inch of his body, the symphonies that those very fingers played from his heartstrings. He could remember it all - as if two years that numbed the taste of their skin never passed.

“Y/N.” Jisung tried to say, a shakiness in his voice evident as he tried his best to look at those locks of hair he wished he could tangle his hands in once more, and comb back from the forehead he would plaster with kisses.

Y/N could not respond with more than an acknowledging glance, his heart lodged in his throat. Jisung continued anyway, thankful Y/N dared to look him in the eyes even after all he’s done.

Jisung soaked in the starlight embraced by Y/N’s eyes, ones filled with such emotion and unfamiliarity that almost shook him to his core. Looking at his distorted reflection in the gaze that once hung lovestruck under him let the jaws of guilt sink their fangs into his head once again, all the distraught-ridden questions he asked himself when Y/N walked away on that fateful day resurfacing, washed up on the shores of his mind.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck, you’re gonna do great b-” He paused, trying to scale the awkwardness towering between them. “You’re gonna do great Y/N.”

“Oh… Uh - thanks-”

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s go!” Y/N voice - once bellowing with happiness and affection - now barely cracking the whispers that would dance in Jisung’s ears under the rights of the twilight. Y/N’s group leader bound around the corner, sighing with relief when Y/N came into his view. “We’re heading on in five, the stylists wanna do a checkup.”

With that, Jisung watched as the leader wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders and brought him towards the stylist. An uneasy breath bubbled in his chest and thrashed between his clenched teeth. Wondering if anything could be the same, he dug his nails into his palms, wishing for Y/N’s lips to kiss away the marks they made.

The marks he has made.

Jisung sat there during Y/N’s full performance, constantly throwing away and thinking of new ideas on how to talk to Y/N again after so long, how to make amends for all he’s done and repair the damages he made. Some thoughts led him to wonder if he even could rebuild the bridge he burned to the ground himself - if he deserved forgiveness?

With the stopping of the music dragging him out from the tar of his doubts, he straightened out his jacket and bit back his deep breaths. He didn’t know if he was ready to face him again and to look into his eyes once more without feeling the embers of guilt scorch him from the inside out.

As soon as Y/N came around the corner, hands threading through sweat-soaked hair and a proud simper spread along his lips that Jisung wished he could make brighter. He pulled Y/N to the side, the gasp of shock washing over deaf ears.

“Y/N, can we please talk…?” Jisung managed to muster those words out, glad that Y/N’s mind was open enough to acknowledge what he was trying to do. “Pl-”

“What’s there to talk about?” Y/N already knew what he was getting into, but he needed closure, a reason. He hoped Jisung was going to give it to him.

“Please, I just need to explain everything…”

“Fine, my van arrives in ten.”

This was Jisung’s chance to make everything right, to hold his hand tighter, to say ‘I love you’ ten times more - no - a thousand. To never take this man for granted ever again. The lights of hope glimmered at the end of the tunnel.

“I’m… So sorry… It was stupid and impulsive and all of me doesn’t know why I did it. I regretted it as soon as we pulled away, and I realized what I was doing - without a reason why. You’re my baby, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m a fool for letting you go, letting you slip away.”

All Y/N could do was stay silent, mouth parted in awe as Jisung poured everything out to him, the echoes of agony ripping through every single word and the regret scraped off his tongue igniting the air around them.

“All I want- no- need. Is one more chance. Please, Y/N.” Jisung knotted his hands together, nearly falling to his knees. “I want to prove to you that I’m still the Jisung who fell in love with you in ninth grade - the Jisung who made a mistake so stupid it cost me one of the most important people in my life.” Tears tripped over Jisung’s lashes, the ones that would flitter against Y/N’s cheek every morning they spent together - conquering the hours of midnight with the video games they never managed to finish.

The tears carved rivers down Jisung’s cheeks and burned his skin. Y/N could barely hold the urge to kiss them away, just like he used to in his fondest of memories, their deep talks under the neon lights of the sunset never fading from his mind even now. Sunsets that sealed their most cherished secrets with a coral tinted wax.

For Y/N, everything started to resurface, all of the pleasant memories that he tried to banish over the last two years, the reflection of the blessing, his blessing Jisung, that never shed its skin of perfection after all he’s done. All of the special times shared under the sky - cradling words of adoration ever since their first date - couldn’t let him do anything but crack a small smile through his lips. He realized that some things are too good to let go.

Some things deserve second chances.

“J…” Y/N choked on Jisung’s name, the man before him making him want to be taken by those beautiful lips, whose smile would brighten even the darkest of his nights and would whisper sweet nothings into his ear as the sun set below the rooftops of their town. Those that would brand his skin with the flames of euphoria, and would light the sparks of desire faded under his heart.

He wants… So bad… To be enveloped by his embrace, to feel their limbs entangle under his sheets - drenched by the moonlight, the twilight haze dripping over their lips and painting a tapestry of passion along their amalgamating bodies. The arms that would wind around his waist and would never let go, and the legs he would edge himself between as they sat on their bed, skin running soft under fingertips, conversations running amply through the night.

He wants to feel Jisung’s heartbeat through their heaving chests, the symphony that would relax him during stressful times, whenever his deepest doubts would resurface to drag him back into the shadows of grief. Y/N longs for the loving heat that blooms from Jisung’s chest - burning hotter than the summer encasing some of their most cherished secrets - again.

Jisung did nothing but leave his expectant gaze hovering on Y/N’s lips. He wants to hear those words, words of forgiveness, of love that he wishes he could take back and keep in his arms until the day he dies.

“...Okay…” Y/N’s couldn’t think of what to say, everything that Jisung said bursting in his head. His words stuck in time. “One more chance, I realized it’s the least you deserve. If you genuinely recognize what you did, Then I’ll forgive you… I just… I don’t wanna be thrown away - again - please…”

Jisung barely knew what to do with himself, half of his expectations already whipping his body the other way, looking back to only see Y/N’s. But his fantasies came into a reality, his wishes to reclaim the man he loves being granted.

“Thank you so much, Y/N…” Jisung instantly rushed into Y/N and swept him up into an embrace. The arms draped silently around his neck feeling so ancient, awakening flames that should have died in the cold under Jisung’s covers. “I promise. Y/N. I will never, ever even think about leaving you again. I’ll prove to you that everything I said is coming from the bottom of my heart.” Jisung murmured into Y/N’s neck, the scent of his skin driving his mind crazy, and the smile he felt molding against his chest making his own that much bigger. “I’ll be with you and only you from now on, for as long as we’re on this planet. I love you, Y/N.” Jisung’s waited so long to say that, to spill his love into three words that were caught in his throat the day he made the biggest mistake of his life.

“I love you too, Sung.” Y/N cupped Jisung’s cheek, plush skin under and between his fingers searing his fingertips with the searing heat of devotion. The lips that pressed a peck to his palm letting a giggle spiral from between his teeth.

Their flourishing smiles weaved together, lips locked between languid tongues and pulsing with the rhythm of the dancing lights of adoration writhing in their hearts.

The long-lost desire to feel Y/N in Jisung’s arms again eclipsed his mind, flooded his touch with the flames of devotion. The only thing that matters to him is the treasure held between his arms, entwined with him in a windstorm of ecstasy and happiness.

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop lgbt #lgbtq+#stray kids #stray kids x male reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids jisung #han jisung #jisung #han jisung x male reader #stray kids jisung x male reader #jisung x reader

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thecultoftill · 6 years ago

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Flake on Mein Teil.

This is long so it’s beneath the cut.

I step onto the wheel of the cauldron so I can hop into it, but quickly realize that there’s barely any space left for me because the gas canister for the flash-pots is already in there. There are lamps built into the base that I have to avoid touching because they get so hot. I once fell onto one of the lamps during a rehearsal and burned the hell out of my hands—my skin stuck to the thin metal grate that protects the lamp itself. It stank of burnt flesh. Why does it smell so good when you grill out? Is it something to do with the salt or the beer? Or the type of flesh? My flesh just stank.

I have to squeeze past my keyboard, too, which is also in the cauldron. I’m a musician after all, and I want to play on the song. Though sometimes I forget. I pick up the keyboard and wriggle into the cauldron. Then I curl up in the bottom of it. The stage manager comes over and fills the cauldron with as much dry-ice fog as he can. I quickly hold my breath. Too late. Then the lid is placed on the cauldron and Till, who has just changed outfits, pulls it out onto the stage. Obviously I can’t see this happen, but I feel the wheels rattling beneath me. I always wonder how he manages it since the whole contraption must weigh at least a ton.

The band is playing full throttle. The song is called “Mein Teil” not full throttle; I just mean the band is playing hard. You could just as easily say they’re playing full on, or full tilt. It just depends on your personal inclinations, I guess. People who are into cars use car metaphors, like they say someone has blown a gasket when somebody’s pissed off. Or they say that something isn’t firing on all cylinders if it isn’t working right. Anyway, Till sometimes lifts up the lid of the cauldron for a second to let a bit of the fog out. There used to be an oxygen tank inside so I could breath despite all the fog. But it was always unexpectedly empty, and since I was counting on having fresh oxygen I wouldn’t take a deep breath beforehand and would nearly suffocate. These days I can stifle my gasps. The only other time I manage that is at the movies, when there’s a particularly tense scene and the whole audience is dead quiet. I have to cough and it makes me breathe in some of the fog. That makes me dizzy, so I turn on the light. At least this way I can tell up from down. The timing is perfect, because Till rips the lid off now and tosses it aside. It clangs loudly against the stage floor and I can feel the reverberations from inside the cauldron. The fog starts to seep out, lit beautifully from below by the lamps around me inside the cauldron. Till starts to sing the first verse, and I pop dramatically out of the cauldron and play my melody on the keyboard, which I’ve quickly hooked onto the rim of the cauldron.

Till’s microphone is shaped like a knife and he keeps coming over to the cauldron and sticking me with it to see if I’m cooked yet. Apparently it’s taking too long for his taste, so during the bridge he goes over and gets a flamethrower to really turn up the heat. It’s probably becoming clear that we do a lot during the bridges of songs, since it’s the only part when we don’t all have to play or sing. In any event, Till aims Flamey—as we affectionately call our flamethrower—at me and blasts away. Since I’m expecting it, I duck out of the way. But it’s still hot. Obviously it was just as hot at the concert before, but somehow I always forget just how hot it actually is. It just can’t be. Maybe my skin has gotten thinner.

I pop back up to show Till that it’s going to take a lot more than that to take me out. More flames come my way. It may be just as hot, but by the second time around the shock is gone. Even so, I’m not laughing quite as much the second time I pop back up. This time—to show Till how tough guy I am—I stay up as long as I can, only ducking down when the flames are right in front of my face. The third blast of flames is bad again, and the only way I can get through the fourth blast is because I know there’ll be a break afterwards. I hop up from the cauldron again and wave tauntingly at Till—he can’t roast me to death that easily. In reality I’m just trying to catch my breath, since it would be deadly to breathe while surrounded by the flames. I’d inhale fire. Even now I can’t really breathe because the flames have consumed all the oxygen in the air. It feels like I’m inhaling concrete. I’ll just have to catch my breath later.

Till is pissed because I’m still not cooked. He’s not giving up so easily. He hauls another flamethrower onto the stage, and this one is three times as big as the first one. He aims it at me. I drop into the cauldron at exactly the right moment. It’s not just the flamethrower that is three times as big—so are the flames it shoots. The previous one made me sweat, but now I’m bone dry, all the fluid is being steamed out of me. My jacket is hot, too, and I have to be careful not to touch the zipper, which is white hot. It’s like in the sauna—you can’t take any metal items in because they can burn you. When I pop back up this time, I have to force myself to smile. The next blast is even hotter, and I consider just lying in the cauldron until things have cooled off a little. I would do it, too, if the heat lasted even a split second longer. Till seems to be enjoying the whole thing and this time shoots the flames even longer. It feels like my skin is on fire. I only pop up for a second, just so as not to be a poor sport, and then Till fires again. We’ve tried all sorts of things to make this stunt more bearable for me, but whatever blankets or other things we put in the cauldron just make it more difficult for me to move around, which actually increases the chances of me getting seriously injured. I’ve come to the conclusion that the best solution is for me to just grin and bear it. That approach works well in many situations. Just grin and bear it and it’s over fast. Like now. Till is done, and I lie in the bottom of the cauldron looking for my slippers. I must be disoriented, because of course I’m looking for my gloves, not slippers. What made me think of slippers? I mean, I don’t even wear slippers at home. I’ve been opposed to slippers since I was a kid, and I don’t even like to visit people who ask me to take off my shoes before coming in. It’s probably because of my socks. Of course, I don’t like to wear gloves, either. They make me feel as if I’ve lost the feeling in my hands. But now I need them. I can’t see anything because of all the smoke.

During the first rehearsals for the tour I didn’t have gloves, and when I went to climb out of the cauldron after all the bursts from the flamethrowers, the skin on my fingers stuck to the rim of the cauldron, which was so hot it was practically glowing. The pain during the next concert almost drove me mad, since I still had to play with my fingertips. But at some point my fingers healed again. I 9 just tried to play as few notes as possible while they were healing. For a while I had no fingerprint, either, and could have robbed a bank, but I didn’t think of it.

I’ve found the gloves now and pull them on. I have to hurry, otherwise the song will be over before I get out of the tub. In which case Till would have won, so to speak. So I try to put myself in a sporting frame of mind and swing myself out of the cauldron. Then I toss the gloves back into the tub since I’ll need them again tomorrow. Right at that moment, the pyro technicians set off the effects on my belt. I run disoriented across the stage, hoping Till doesn’t catch me. Just as I’m about to take a deep breath, I turn awkwardly and take in the smoke from one of the flash-pots. It’s pure poison, maybe even radioactive, something to do with Strontium or whatever. The song is coming to its finale. I cross the stage while comets are shot down at me. They land right next to me so it looks from the audience as if they are actually hitting me. Sometimes, when I stray too far back, they do hit me, and it hurts really badly and for several days afterwards I have sores that look like giant love-bites. But today everything goes well, and we pull off the song with no hassles. Why was I so nervous? While the outro of the song is playing, the pyro guys take off my belt backstage, and I take a few cautious breaths. Then, as the rear curtain falls, I dash over to the side of the stage where my keyboards are. I deftly weave my way through the cables and spotlights in the dark. I run into Till and he smacks me lightheartedly on the ass.

Flake in his book Heute Hat Die Welt Geburstag.

Translation by Tim Mohr(Found opn publisher’s website)

#Rammstein #Flake #Flake Lorenz #Till #Till Lindemann #Mein Teil

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chromium-siren · 6 years ago

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Nightingale (Part 4)

(A/N: After writer’s block, I can finally continue the story! Yaaaay! Also, a big thank you to @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls for helping me with ways to continue the story!)

TW: bomb threat.

PHASMA

Brendol’s visit brought us some reassurance, but of course, we didn’t know who to trust. What if Brendol was still working for Vader? No, that probably wouldn’t be reasonable, especially since I literally just met him today. Nonetheless, Hux and I waited for that Tuesday Brendol said he would arrive with the equipment.

The days seemed to inch by, almost as if some higher power was intent on tormenting me- a fact made obvious by the nightmares I was beginning to have about Vader. He would loom above me holding a machete, a sadistic grin twisted on his face, or I would watch him set fire to Nightingale packed to the gills with patrons. Just as soon as he was about to push me into the flames, I woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of my alarm and Pudge’s concerned meows.

“It’s okay, Pudgelet, Maman had a nightmare,” I cooed, gently petting him as I looked at my phone lockscreen. It was a picture I took of Hux, one of him in deep thought with his sax across his lap- until I took note of the day. Tuesday. It was here. Brendol was supposed to meet us at the club to set up the cameras at around four, which meant there was just enough time for me to prepare everything (mainly my costume) for Friday’s ball. Immediately, I slid my finger across the lockscreen and texted Hux.

[txt]: today’s the day brendol comes

[txt- Armie]: four o’clock, right?

[txt]: yes. set up and everything, maybe a tech rehearsal

[txt]: is your costume ready?

[txt-Armie]: working on it. making white tie look like a mess is tough.

[txt- Armie]: also, fake blood and saxophones don’t mix. I think I ruined a mouthpiece.

[txt]: ditch the blood or put it somewhere else?

[txt-Armie]: probably. see you, love.

[txt]: xoxo

Sighing contently, I made my way downstairs to have breakfast, feeling the satisfaction that we might as well be getting our revenge on Vader soon enough. Or so I hoped...

HUX

Life at the law firm went on as usual- meetings, marking sheet music, Krennic looking like his usual shifty self. Hold up- Krennic being shifty? This was new, even for me. Hesitantly, I stood outside his office door, expecting to hear music- instead, I heard a frantic phone conversation.

“It’s at seven p.m., but we can afford to be fashionably late. Yes, Nightingale. I have all the information, I picked it up a while ago. Do I have to come in- oh, fine, it is a Halloween Ball anyway. I figure I’ll wear the cape. Yes, I’ll see you then. Thank you.” The phone hung up and I heard footsteps. Immediately assuming the worst, I tried to get away as soon as possible. Almost luckily, Krennic made his way out of his office in the opposite direction. But I was still so nervous, that when my phone vibrated, I almost yelped in shock. Looking down, I noticed it was my dad. Thank the Maker.

[txt- Brendol]: Just checked into my hotel, will be at Nightingale at four. Athena reminded the staff ahead of time.

[txt]: Thank you, dad. See you then.

I put my phone away, but not before reminding myself about the meeting at four.

“Adelaide?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ll be leaving a bit early today for, um... an appointment.”

“Noted,” she said, typing away at her laptop. Obviously I couldn’t say what I was doing, otherwise someone would hear and get suspicious. At around three or so, I got out of my chair, shut down my computer, and made a beeline for my car. Within a few minutes or so, I was at Nightingale, facing my father. I noticed Kylo and Poe were there as well, they had explained that they were volunteering as wait staff to help catch Vader in the act.

"Okay, everyone, thank you for coming ahead of time. As some of you know, Nightingale is in trouble- Vader wants to take control of the club in the name of some Emperor," Brendol said. "We'll need to set up cameras throughout the club, because we'll have evidence to send Vader to jail. Sound good?" Everyone nodded and got straight to work setting up the cameras. For a while, I glanced at Finn, the staff supervisor and our maitre d', stealing a kiss with Rey, our tech person.

"Will you two be at the ball?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm letting Thannison have maitre d' duties so Rey and I can go on a proper date," he said before whispering in my ear. "I'm also hoping I'll propose to her, Maker willing."

"Good luck," I said, smiling at him as we both placed and set up cameras, making sure to keep them in inconspicuous places. But little did we know, we were being watched.

PHASMA

After preparation, rehearsals, and all that jazz, the Halloween Ball finally came. Thursday's technical rehearsal went off without a hitch, and it was relieving to know the lights (and cameras) worked properly. As for me, I made sure my ghostly flapper costume looked fabulous- and it did. A white dress I found was tattered and stained with dirt and blood, with a high enough slit showing one of my garters- and the skeletal leg! At the center of my feather headband, instead of a jewel, there was a skull, and a strand of black pearls made for a fabulous lavaliere rather than the classic white pearls. But what I prided myself on was my makeup- I had made my face look pale, and painted my eyes and cheeks to look sunken in, and topped it off with a ruby red pout.

The team was also ready for the evening, made obvious by their elaborate costumes- Rose wore an elaborate steampunk ball gown, Poe was dressed as a goth, Kylo wore hippie togs, Thannison wore an elegant pirate's costume, and Mitaka was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera. Now, I knew Hux and I looked good in our zombie Jazz Age couple costume, but Finn and Rey certainly took the cake. Rey's arms were wrapped in gauze, and a bejeweled white dress shimmered in the faint light. Next to her was Finn, a mighty pharaoh who commanded respect. Right next to Thannison was a skeleton toting a double bass, as well as Frankenstein's monster with a guitar. Along with a wolfman with a trumpet, an evil clown on trombone, and a ghost on drums, Hux introduced them to me as friends from a band back in his college days who would be accompanying us. I was glad to see everyone present, but I worried about Brendol. Why was he running late? Hux then took me aside, still looking handsome in his destroyed white tie and tails.

"My dad will be here in a minute or so, darling, so don't worry," he said, gently placing a kiss on my pale forehead. Like a miracle from God, Brendol's car pulled up to the curb and stopped. He emerged from the car with a bow, wearing an elegant baroque ensemble that would make him the envy of the Sun King or any other monarch.

"Forgive my lateness, but thank you all for arriving on time," he said with a nod. "Now, waitstaff," he said, turning to Rose, Poe, Kylo, and Thannison, "you are equipped with pens that can record conversations, which would come in handy when around anyone that seems suspicious. But remember, this is no easy task since everyone will be in costume."

"Understood," Rose said.

"Rey, you and Finn are our spies. Both of you have hidden microphones and cameras in your costumes, so as you mill around, you'll be taking pictures discreetly by touching the red gem on your collars." Both of them nodded. Brendol explained the rest of the plan to the staff as I made double adjustments to the cameras hidden within the plants. "Very well then, are we all prepared?" Brendol asked. Everyone nodded in agreement as we all got ready for the ball to begin. "Wonderful. I'll be helping tend bar ut needed. Best of luck, everyone," he said, as we all walked into Nightingale. All the staff (including Pudge, our resident mouse catcher) was equipped with cameras to see if anything suspicious was going on. Once the ball ends, we would probably be sifting through footage to see if anything of interest popped up.

I sat at my vanity, warming up my voice and putting on the last of my ghostly makeup when I heard a slight jingle and the sound of Hux's shoes tapping on the floor. The door then creaked gently open, and Hux appeared before me, his white tie and tails destroyed and covered in dirt and fake blood. His face was painted pale green and adorned with nasty looking scars, and a biohazard symbol was “etched” into his forehead. Hanging from his neck strap was an alto sax that looked like it had seen better days, the shine gone from Hux playing it so often. Despite that, I smiled sweetly at him. “You look dapper.”

"It's almost time," he told me, offering me his arm as Pudge nudged my leg, his black bowtie collar jingling merrily. I walked out onto the dark stage, the audience silent as corpses (ha, ha), waiting for what I had in store for them. I nodded at one of the backstage technicians, and he began to play a custom CD we had made for the beginning of the concert. With help from Hux's co-worker Kylo, we made a perfect voiceover welcoming out guests to the ball. Now an ominous voice boomed throughout the club, startling many of the patrons (I swore I even heard a few screams!).

Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Gory Twenties. Blood flows like bootleg liquor, the jazz is hotter than Hell, and the dead walk the Earth once more. There is no escape from this possessed speakeasy- no one has survived to make it out and tell the tale! Keep your wits about you, otherwise you may be cursed to remain in this prison forever among restless flappers and murderous mafiosos! Like we said, there's no way out!

Psychotic laughter, followed by ghostly sounds played over the loudspeakers, along with clanking chains and cries of desperation. All was silent as a fog rolled across the stage. Then my disembodied voice rang out.

Those fingers in my hair/That sly come hither stare/That strips my conscience bare/Ooh, it's witchcraft...

The lights go up, and we are revealed with wild applause to the audience, creatures of the night welcoming our victims to an Art Deco bloodbath. I sang on, scanning the audience for some sign of Vader, but there was no gas mask in sight. During the bridge, I did my usual routine- flirt with Hux and anyone else in the audience, vocalize a little, and do a sultry dance in place. It was during this that Rose gave us a confirmed sighting.

"He's here. Do you see the mobster guy in the white cape?" she asked. I silently replied, making sure to step away from the microphone. "That's where Vader is sitting. I'll notify Brendol and the others ASAP. Tell Hux." I slid close to Hux, whispering in his ear about the bad news while Mitaka played a solo.

"Mafiosos, over at table twenty," I said, and then that was when I noticed his face turn pale as a sheet.

"Krennic."

"What?"

"The man in the white cape is Krennic. I know him, and I hate that bastard," he said angrily. "I have the great misfortune of him being my co-worker."

"Should Kylo investigate him?"

"I would think so, but he'll have to use a fine-toothed comb to go through it all." Mitaka cleared his throat at us, and that signaled me to start singing again, all the while shooting death glares at Krennic.

HUX

I was angry. Angry at myself for telling Krennic, angry at Krennic for having the gall to show up, and angry in general because I had an untrustworthy co-worker I had confided in who would probably betray me! Nonetheless, the police were called, and would be on their way to, eventually, remedy the situation. But for the time being, nobody did anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, and the performance went off without a hitch- the crowd loved it!

Despite our situation, we were having a good time and the patrons enjoyed themselves. The fun kept going when one of the other musicians handed Phasma his trombone. Knowing the direction this was taking, she smiled and laughed- as did I.

“I only have experience with piano, ukulele, harp, and some percussion so I’d like to apologize for this trombone concerto,” she said with a joking smile. “Armie, will you accompany me and make this a duet?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Yes indeed, my love,” I announced, readying my alto sax with great ceremony. Both of us nodded at the drummer, who picked up a woodblock. The drummer began tapping out a light beat on the woodblock, keeping time. Phasma flashed a dainty smile, and raised the trombone to her lips. What followed was something that sounded like a Wookiee getting in a fight with a porg- I was the porg. From my spot, I could see that despite her lack of trombone experience, Phasma was having fun and getting into it. Inspired by her, I got into it as well, punctuating her notes with trills, awkward squawks, and glissandos, even adding an altissimo scream. I played the part of the stereotypical cool jazz musician, lifting my saxophone up, swinging it forwards and back, and swaying it from side to side with every crappy note we played. Phasma and I played our final sour notes, and the woodblock assumed the role of the metronome one last time. The audience applauded (either because it was funny or out of relief-maybe both) as I bowed and she curtsied, an angelic smile dancing on her face. She handed the trombone back to the original owner, a faint ring of lipstick on the mouthpiece.

“And for my next performance, I will attempt to play Armie’s sax,” she said jokingly, as I dramatically clutched the alto to my chest.

“Oh no you won’t!” I joked, and she laughed in response.

“Just kidding! I can't play it anyway," she replied, kissing my cheek gently. “Now we’re going to be a bit more serious for this number,” she said, lowering her voice an octave or so, perching on a bar stool. In her ruined white flapper dress, crystals and sequins glittering, she looked like a dove, but also like an angel. None of the other musicians played as I closed my eyes and played a slow, yearning (and in tune) melody. Like she tended to do during these sensual numbers, she closed her eyes and did a breathy hum before beginning the lyrics. The others joined in as I played a sensual phrase just as soon as she lifted her eyes and sang.

“The moon was all aglow, and heaven was in your eyes/The night that you told me/Those little white lies…” Just then, she stopped short and let out an audible gasp of fear. Standing in the foyer of the bar, looming like monsters in a bad dream, the mafiosos stood, smirking. In a stark black pinstriped suit, Vader stepped forward, dark glasses making him look even more sinister than he was.

"Lovely ball you've put together, Miss Phasma," he intoned.

"You don't belong here, the police are on their way," Phasma hissed.

"Not anymore," Vader argued. "We've brought you a gift." Krennic stepped forward, holding one of the cameras, and proceeded to pour his expensive glass of champagne on it, dropping it to the floor. It sparked like crazy, and burst into flames as Brendol ran forward with a fire extinguisher.

"You won't get away, Vader!" Brendol hissed, as they laughed viciously.

"I believe we have, and for that, your deadline got shorter and shorter. You have until the first of December to scrape up that ransom money. We'll be watching," Vader said, but not without leaving a suspicious box on his table. Immediately, I whipped out my cell phone.

"I need the police."

PHASMA

With that, Vader left the club, along with his goons. I looked nervously at the box, which began to tick ominously, fearful for what might happen. Police sirens wailed, and a squad car as well as the bomb squad showed up just in time.

My mind immediately went to Vader and Krennic. how somehow, he must have known- or someone had tipped him off. Who could I trust? After all, Vader wasn’t just a threat to Nightingale, but to the town as well. And frankly, not knowing what his plans were scared me. Desperately, I looked at the anxious crowd, my eyes meeting Brendol’s. I thought I was being paranoid when I assumed that Vader might have placed something like a bomb in the club, but the box confirmed my fears. In the best interest of the patrons (and because one of the police officers advised me to do so), I decided they would have to evacuate for their own safety.

“Ladies and gentlemen, due to safety reasons, we’ll have to end the celebration earlier than we expected.” I awaited the boos and demand for refunds, but no one said a word. Sure, there were a few groans of disappointment, but those were halted by firm words.

“Last call for drinks!” Thannison said, getting into his role of a Caribbean pirate, and a steady stream of people made their way to the bar, hoping to get in a last drink order before the fun would have to end. Immediately, I had an idea. I whispered something to Mitaka, and he played a longing piano line. The bassist and drummer picked up the tune, and Hux played a wistful tenor moan. Bowing my head and closing my eyes, I took a breath and sang into the microphone.

“I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places…” The party atmosphere slowly dissipated, thanks in part to Vader’s surprise appearance, and all that remained was a somber mood. It seemed more like a funeral than a Halloween celebration. I heard the sound of someone sniffling and holding back tears, and noticed that my own eyes were starting to mist and tear up. My voice quivered as I continued to sing the melody, making the song sound even more melancholy than it was. At the end of the verse, I composed myself as Hux and Mitaka took a solo. Pudge knew I was sad, and ended his mouse catcher duties to rub up against me and comfort me. The rest of the musicians fell silent as they were evacuated, leaving me singing as I made my way out of the club, makeup ruined by my tears- but I didn't care. Just as I sang the last note, the police came running out, the suspicious package being revealed to be a smoke bomb which was recently defused.

Patrons milled about outside, confused and desperate for answers. One of the police men handed me a megaphone, and I began to confess everything to the patrons.

"Ladies and gentlemen... Nightingale is in danger. Vader is demanding five hundred thousand dollars by the start of December, and if we don't make it," my voice began to quaver, "Nightingale will be no more." More murmurs resounded through the crowd, and I handed the megaphone to Brendol.

"But... we'll find some sort of way to catch Vader in the act and get the club back. Mark my words, it will be done!" he said, to the cheers of the patrons. Someone took up the chant of "Save Nightingale!" and the crowd roared the chant in unison. It was a powerful scene, one that empowered me- and sent the wheels turning in my head for a plan. If we were going to get Vader out of the way and Nightingale back, then we might as well have to do an old-fashioned heist. Because Vader should have known better than to cross paths with me.

#nightingale #my writing

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