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kokonoiis · 2 months ago

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negai no astro characters as song lyrics ♡ ( but its biased to my music taste ) ♡

hibaru yotsurugi ﾉ

" cause if boys will be boys, we do the best that we can cover for our brothers while we suffer from our own hands boys will be boys, that's the way that this thing goes mothers lose their sons and their fathers watch them go fathers watch them go "

── boys will be boys | benny

kongo yotsurugi ﾉ

" you can play this at my funeral tell my sister don't cry and don't be sad i'm in paradise with dad close my eyes and then cross my arms put me in the dirt, let me dream with the stars throw me in a box with the oxygen off you gave me the key then you locked every lock when i can't breathe, i won't ask you to stop when i can't breathe, don't call for a cop "

── r.i.p to my youth | the neighbourhood

shio yotsurugi ﾉ

" the power keeps you feeling high, but how low do you sink into your bed at night anchored down with guilt? do you toss and turn from all the bridges you've burned? or are you proud of all the hatred you've earned? a conscience buried deep beneath a heart stuck in a skeleton of greed and eyes that can’t see that happiness is so far out of reach "

── dark storm | our last night

satsuki yotsurugi ﾉ

" here comes the debt collector seems you owe him again dollars and coins can't cut your cheque this time around here comes the debt collector and you owe him again kind words and lies won't save your head this time around, 'round, 'round "

── debt collector | jhariah

( jasper i hope you can see the vision in this one )

torazo yotsurugi ﾉ

" you gotta feel the courage embrace possession if it was easier to shatter everything that ever mattered but it's not, because it's your obsession be a fighter, backbone, desire complicated and it stings but we both know what it means and it's time to get real and inspired "

── cut the cord | shinedown

kuran yotsurugi ﾉ

" i wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust i wanna be your ford cortina i will never rust if you like your coffee hot let me be your coffee pot you call the shots, babe i just wanna be yours "

── i wanna be yours | arctic monkeys

kou yotsurugi ﾉ

" 'cuz you see only what you want to your tunnel vision haunts you and you can't see what's wrong and you keep sleeping through the p.m. eyes wide open when you're dreaming you're sleepwalking, just keep talkin and maybe you can talk your way out of this deep end no b plan in your system just tell me what you're thinking i'm scared that you might fall but you're not "

── wake up | eden

terasu yotsurugi ﾉ

" i've dug two graves for us, my dear can't pretend that i was perfect, leavin' you in fear oh man, what a world, the things i hear if i could act on my revenge, no, would i ? some kill, some steal, some break your heart and you thought that i would let it go and let you walk well, broken hearts break bones, so break up fast and i don't wanna let it go, so in my grave, i'll rot "

── revenge | xxxtentacion

kiyochika gido ﾉ

" you're cold on the inside there's a dog in your heart and it tells you to tear everything apart you draw blood just to taste it you hold bones just to break them you ruin everything you touch and destroy anyone you love you're all over me "

── dog teeth | nicole doppleganger

botan ﾉ

" it's so hard to let go you can hear me but i'm invisible but if you dig out your eyes, maybe pain will subside the worst that could happen is you never see me again but the worst is yet to come, my friend "

── hickory creek | whitechapel

shunichiro fudo & kanjiro fudo ﾉ

" two birds of a feather say that they're always gonna stay together but one's never going to let go of that wire he says that he will but he's just a liar two birds on a wire one tries to fly away and the other watches him close from that wire he says he wants to as well, but he is a liar "

── two birds | regina spektor

kinpa yobana ﾉ

" scared of my own image scared of my own immaturity scared of my own ceiling scared i'll die of uncertainty fear might be the death of me fear leads to anxiety don't know what's inside of me "

── doubt | twenty one pilots

──kokonoiis 2024

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scrunkly-week · 3 months ago

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the character graveyard — a creator's lament

a wall of snow keeps you hidden, it's true.

my hands tainted. I buried you all myself.

some of you live, just barely, breathing through a straw in your graves. an illusion of existence.

some of you never had the chance. your lives extinguished before you could fully form.

massacre.

your god has not forsaken you, I plead.

though I am god and she is merciless. by circumstance, not design.

I come to acknowledge you. you forgotten ones, the ones I hid, the ones who died by my hand and the ones who fizzled from existence before I could reach them. I gather you here today. to recognise you. mourn you. immortalise you.

I raise my chalice to each of you.

here's to the faceless ones. the ones I never named. the ones who had nothing but a name. a vibe. a role. a disembodied something. you hadn't enough love or care. I'm sorry.

here's to the fleeting ones. ones who existed in passing. to assist another's narrative. to enhance the world.

lindsay, erin bray, lynn clerke, jarrod holman. alli, nicole, cam, daniel, alisha. javin daxar, ellin daxar, dalen daxar, damon daxar, kara quillan, zaiden. daron ferris, charlie reid. lennard rose, elisabeth rose, elli. deyan thomson. lucia. sophie, caleb. jeremiah, chris, lukas, troy jackson, zach, linda, mr. woods. kere lockhart. aric jeweller. andrea, stefano. reece, john, demetrius rodriquez, seth reeves. aria, aaron, william, matthew, gaeldon, jonah. julia. sigrae, cassirean, king pyrest of emberia, hakan. dayell, carr kepnar. conrad, mr. stevens, steph, lilian maxwell, evie, vida, erica, david, olivia, andrew, dexter badd, marianne, charles wickham, katherine wickham, james wickham, raiden, calvin, darlene. therese matton, henri matton, geneve matton, madeline matton, mathieu matton, talon debois, lloyd hawthorne. morgan hawksley, aaron hawksley, marcus walters, cassidy donaldson. evan callaghan, mildred callaghan. arthur drover, sybilla drover, harriet drover, vera dustinborough, victoria darkwood, bethly violet, eliphalet lushington, emma. erysibe, kirkos. guiletta lanese, donato lanese, ottavio lanese, benedetto lanese, pietro lanese, vincenzo lanese, matteo lanese, annetta fornari, stefano fornari, adriana fornari, carlo fornari, francesco fornari, augusto fornari, adele sozzi, bettina aliotti, ciro, salvatore sallucci. edmond wickerman, rosalind wickerman, elias starling, hubert cornell.

here's to the strange ones. the 'I made you just because' ones.

scalene, nikia goodrich, ami ruff, riesa gentry and co., zachary bliss, janae lombardi, dawn watts, jay spear, lea cantrell, danny light. cardinal, scar. harmony/chaos. leighton, josh. nick joyce, rosalinda joyce, jasper joyce. emilee, ashli, nadine kathy hemingway.

here's to the old ones. the ones I left behind as I myself grew older.

timothy, kimberly, ash, connor. zoe. gabey mal'lie. raina hardin. zariah mika rose. karli hayes, shaun roberts. bella davis. milaa lockhart. mabel. queen heresa. tāne miller. victor.

here's to the ones who never reached anything past the development stage.

iris. olive. phoenix mars, rose earthen, gem airborne, luna moonbeam, leon king, mattias grey, venus greenwood, scarlet rust, sage bluest, amalthea browner, rialta silverton, jupiter violet. princess seraphine of emberia. the assassin, prophet, serenity. valentino, theokles, fabiola fornari, blair aiden hawksley, james robert callaghan, ruby starling.

here's to the ones I invested my time in, who I write one or two prose pieces and umpteen handfuls of rambles for, only to leave you by the wayside to crumble to dust.

vivian edwards, lucille matton, luciana lanese, alaric joseph drover, alexander wickerman, jinx the kea, hamid, sahar.

here's to my future creations, who may inevitably fall under one of these categories.

the wall of snow may keep you hidden. but I promise, you'll never be forgotten.

Submitted by: our lovely friend, Bee

———

☆ this is hauntingly sweet and I utterly love it !! What a good way to pay your respects to all of these characters <3 I raise my chalice alongside you, to toast to their lives

#scrunkly week #★ blizzard roundup! ⊗#poetry #eulogy #submission #original character #oc #ocs

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anataliex · 3 months ago

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So, I decided to post a snippet I wrote not too long ago... Enjoy Nicole's and Finnick's first meeting.

The bustling streets of the Capitol. Oh, how Finnick despised them. Everything about them reminded him of the almost neussating excess this city pushed in your face anywhere you went. The high buildings, flashing lights and loud music coming from every other corner, they all seemed to scream in his face about the wealth that the Capitol could despose. About the money the districts didn't have. It was infuriating, really, how the people here paraded in their silly, costume-like clothes, when most other citizens of Panem couldn't even afford good food. What was worse though, was that he had to fit in here, that he also had to wear their strange clothing. By the president's request, he'll always be bound to this place, no matter how many bloodbaths he'll survive. As long as he is desirable, he'll be chained to the deal he had to make.

Because of that, sitting in this ridiculously long car with his escort, Aurelia, was a must. She insisted on getting him a new stylist, after the last one went into a state of depression, when he declined being only her lover. The people here seem all the same. All of them with the same shallow mentalities and questionable morality. He didn't really care about the change of stylist, he thought the new one will probably be as annoying as the last one. They all were. Finnick couldn't help but wonder in what color variation will they come in this time. Hot pink or maybe bright yellow this time? Either way, if the main one won't be a complete atrocity, he was sure their team will make up for it.

"We're here" his escort announced in that high pitched, sing song, overexcited voice of hers and the vehicle came to a stop, tearing him away from his thoughts. He turned his head to look out the other window, expecting to see grand exhibitions of clothes behind a glass, showcasing the latest trends of the season. However, to his surprise, he was only met with a brown set of doors set in a light colored wall, above which hanged a black and white signboard, signifying the building was a studio.

Aurelia came out before him when the chauffeur opened the door for them, her high heels clattering on the concrete beneath them. He often thought about how there's almost no grass in the Capitol, not many trees either, but he never heard any of the citizens complain about that.

"I know it's not what you would normally expect, but I promise she's good. Many victors form her clientele." She chirped in and Finnick could only hope she was right. Changing his stylist for the third time this year while meaningless to him, was additional trouble nonetheless.

"If so many victors come here, she must be terrific" He commented mustering out his trained, suave voice. They stood in front of the entrance to the studio after Aurelia rang the bell. They didn't wait much, but during that time she already fixed her wig four times.

Before she could get on with the fourth time, the lock in the door clicked and the silver, decorated with flower markings door knob twisted, opening one of the sides of the entree.

Behind it stood a normal looking woman, which was surprising in this city. There didn't seem to be any alterations to her, besides her blonde bangs that stood out when compared with the rest of her dark hair. However, other than that, there didn't seem to be anything. Her nose even had a small bump, which was so uncommon here given the normalization of plastic surgeries.

"Hello" She greeted them both with a bright and genuine smile. "Aurelia Jasper and Finnick Odair, I trust?"

"Yes, we scheduled an appointment for exactly..." Aurelia looked at her wrist watch "Nine o' clock"

"That'd be correct. Come in, please" she invited them both in, to which his escort almost flinched, her face showing something akin to disgust. Quickly, trying to recover, she put on a toothy grin and chuckled. It was so obviously fake, the girl standing behind the door would have to be unbelievably stupid not to catch on.

"Ah, no no. I unfortunately have other matters to attend to. Finnick, you go and the chauffeur will drive by later. Too-da-loo" It was very amusing watching her almost skip back to the car. It made him wonder what exactly is wrong with the woman he was left with.

She only clicked her tongue, looking in the direction his escort went off to and then turned her attention back to him. With a gesture of her hand into the building, she invited him in again "Come inside".

"With pleasure" Finnick mused and put on a smirk of his own. When he stepped inside, she took the lead and he followed her further into the building.

It wasn't big, medium sized at most, though there seemed to be enough space for everything. As he looked around, he noticed the many shelves of multicolored fabrics, that varied between different textures. Mannequins were standing along one of the walls, some of them had started projects put on, while the others were completely empty. In one of the corners stood a long hanger, with already finished suits, dresses and other pieces of clothing. The room also had a desk, with sketches sprawled all over it, and a dressing room, where he guessed her clients undressed. One of his stylist had that, but the others didn't bother to seclude a space like that.

When they found themselves in the middle of the room, right next to two burgundy sofas and a table, she came to a stop and turned to him. "Right, so let me introduce myself" she smiled again "My name is Nicole Keegan, it's a pleasure to meet you". Her hand extended to him.

"Finnick Odair, as we already established" He took her hand and brought it to his lips, before placing a light kiss and letting it go. "The pleasure's all mine"

"Take a seat, please" With a gesture to one of the seats, she went to her desk, assembling some of the scrambled papers. It was then he noticed that she didn't even dress like a Capitolite, as she had an off-pink cardigan on, pairing with black pants. Those were clothes you could probably even see in district 3. "Would you like some tea or water?"

"I'm more of a wine person, sweetheart, so if you have some of that, I won't turn it down" He sat loosely on the place she gestured to and continued looking at her, before she turned back to him.

"I don't have any wine here, unfortunately for you" Nicole leaned on her desk and reciprocated his gaze "Anyway, you have probably already noticed, there won't be a team helping me." In fact, he did notice that there was no one in the studio besides them. However he thought that it was just a matter of time and soon a couple of clown looking assistants would jump out from around the corner.

"No team? How come?" In response, he received a shrug from his new stylist, who went to pour herself some water.

"I suppose I never needed one. Though Once, I did work with a team. It was assigned to me at one of my first events. All of that hustle and bustle that followed them..." she shook her head, however a small chuckle left her. "No, I definitely wouldn't be able to put up with that on a daily basis."

"So, not a fan of bigger company?" He asked, slightly amused, even though his expression remained tinted with the hint of mockery, that seemed to always be in it. She thought for a second, looking at the ceiling, while sipping her water.

"Depends on what company we're talking about. Some groups are nice. Few and far between, but some are nice" She placed her glass down and smiled at him again. "Should we get back to business, since you don't want anything to drink? We'll start with measurements, and then I'll show you some ideas I already have in mind for what you could wear." Now that was a surprise, no stylist ever before had given him options of what he could wear. Usually, he was just given the most provocative piece of clothing known to mankind and his stylist expected him to wear it, no buts. Here, it at least seemed like he'll be given the option to have an opinion.

"Sounds great. Let's get on with it then"

"Alright, the changing room is over there" She gestured to the small room, which purpose he correctly assumed before.

"And here I thought I'd have to give you a show." he mused. "Be right back" the victor then headed towards the door to the changing room. It was nothing special. Clean, with a mirror on the right wall and two hangers on the opposite side. Once he took off his shirt, he took a moment to look at his reflection, in which he saw his chest and shoulders tainted with hickeys, bite marks and bruises. He could only guess his back didn't look better, since when he accidentally touched his shoulder blade while taking off his shirt, it hurt a bit. Finnick couldn't help but think of how he'll definitely look colorful in a day or so. He took one last, look at the marks and got out of the changing room, deciding that his stylist probably won't care anyway, so there's no reason to hide them anyway. When he stepped back into the main room, she was humming something quietly, while looking through the colorful rolls and picking some of them out.

"Done" He signalized to her, not particularly sure if she was aware he was standing there.

"Mhm, good. Let me just grab the measuring tape" Nicole opened one of the many cupboards and took it out, before turning to him. Her eyes widened just slightly, but enough for her client to notice.

"What? Enjoying the view?" Finnick asked with his upkept smug tone of voice.

"You're all bruised" The concern was evident in her eyes, voice and even the light furrow of her brows.

"Ah, these? Don't you worry about them, Miss Keegan. They're just keepsakes from my lovers" He assured in a playful tone of voice.

"Keepsakes?" The stylist asked genuinely surprised. "Those look far too big for that"

"Some of them like to play rough, you know. Adds to the pleasure" That was a lie on his part. He didn't feel pleasure from them at all, but it's not like he was just going to vent to this girl.

"Right..." She was still unconvinced "If you think that way, then that's totally fine. However, if you'd let me, I'd like to treat them. They're in places I'll be touching a lot during the measurement and I'd rather not cause you any pain by accident."

"You want to treat them?" He raised a brow, before plopping on the couch with a sidelooped smile. It disarmed him for a moment, though. Her kindness wasn't common in the Capitol. "Knock yourself out then, Nicole."

Even though she had mixed feelings about that particular response, she was glad that Finnick allowed her to take care of the marks. Nicole made her way to another cupboard, which was stacked with medicine. After skimming through the creams in variously sized containers, she took out one of the smaller ones with a light blue lid and walked over to the sofa, to sit next to him. Unscrewing the lid, she ran her eyes over the bruises, before dabbing her fingers in the white cream. It smelled nice, a bit like chamomile mixed with mint and something else that he couldn't quite place.

"This should ease the soreness of the bruise." His stylist explained to Finnick and then gently applied the ointment to the first patch of bruises. "Sorry, if it stings a bit at first" her touch was almost feather light, moving with a sense of tenderness that he haven't felt from anyone in a very long time. It was the first time ever, that he felt like he was treated humanly by a Capitol citizen. He had to admit, it was a nice change of pace, to finally catch a break from being seen as a toy, a mere object to toss around and ruin. Finnick had to assume that's why she was popular with the Victors.

Soon, she moved to his back, working delicately, but swiftly. The medicine she put was cooling, but it came with a feeling that he could only compare to the one when sparkling water first touches your tongue. After a minute of slight tingling, his bruises didn't hurt anymore when touched, unless pressed on very hardly.

"Finished. So, are you alright?" She asked him, screwing the lid back on.

"Feeling great. Where did you get that stuff? I might have to get some for myself" He rubbed his shoulder, now that it didn't hurt.

"Here, you can take it. If those are your souvenirs, you might need it more than me" She passed him the cream, offering him a gentle and sweet smile.

"Thanks, sweetheart" Finnick responded with a slightly more genuine than the previous ones smile and took it. "Now back to work, yeah?"

______________________

To whoever's reading this, I hope it was as enjoyable to read, as it was to write <3

#the hunger games #hunger games oc #finnick odair #finnick odair x oc #fanfic #oc #hunger games finnick #thg fanfiction

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hockeygossipdaily · 1 month ago

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Pretty sure jasper and Nicole were step up by mutual friends. somewhere on YouTube theres an interview in Swedish with eng. subs where he's giving a house tour mention how they met and how long they been dating

Thank you anon!

#j. bratt #n. laud #hockey tea

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goldeneyedgirl · 1 year ago

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AILess Whumptober Day 5: Held at Gunpoint

silence. (day 5: held at gunpoint).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, post-twilight. canon-verse. trigger warnings: school shooting, mention of suicide.

This prompt was so cursed, I can't even. I just had such a hard time with it, but we persevere. It definitely ended up way longer than I wanted and like... it's done. It's fantastically wonky, but hopefully it works.

Day 6 will be politely skipped over for now, and we resume tomorrow with Day 7.

There are many, many things that Alice Cullen has never done. She’s never eaten ice cream, she’s never fallen asleep, she’s never accidentally cut herself. She can’t, but that’s beside the point - on the list of things and experiences she’s had in her life time, they remain absent.

There are million little things she never got to do. It’s not something she thinks about much; she’s seen and done and had so many other beautiful, wonderful, fantastic experiences that what she has missed out on don’t seem to matter that much. How many people get to dance barefoot under the Northern Lights? How many people get to go on long, lazy tours of entire continents without a single responsibility in the world? Not to have to worry about where their next meal is coming from? Or know that they can always study a different degree next go-round?

When she does get to mentally cross off a new experience, it’s usually with joy. The list gets shorter the older she gets, so new things are almost always wonderful.

But this time… well, she’s sorry that this will be an experience that she gets to cross off her list. More for her classmates than herself.

But then, maybe it’s becoming the quintessential American high school experience and this moment was inevitable.

(The silence is chilling.)

Study hall in the library is the one class she doesn’t have with Edward, Bella, or Jasper. She thought about changing it, but they all decided that having one of them not in class could be potentially useful to them - not to mention that it’s fine and healthy for Jasper to have classes without her. Esme’s always lovingly exasperated when the school sends messages home that they’re bordering on unhealthily codependent and maybe someone should look into that. This was a positive step towards looking more normal.

So she had kept study hall after lunch and now she’s sitting next to Nicole Casey who is trying not to cry, second-guessing her choices. Samantha Wells is two seats down and shaking perceptibly and every single one of them are staring very hard at their books.

She’s so very, very glad Bella had Bio with Edward after lunch.

(She can feel the ghost of her heart pounding in her ears as she tries to find a way out. But her gift won’t settle, as the future fluctuates.)

Forks is small enough that it’s hard not to know something about everyone, especially classmates - Beth’s mother has made several inappropriate passes at Emmett, Lee Stephen’s little sister has just gone into remission from leukemia, Jennifer Ford can’t manage to keep a part-time job longer than a month. Just useless nonsense that she habitually picks up for no reason.

Which is why when Kirk stormed into the library, the hair stood up on the back of her neck. He was always one of the quiet ones, slipping through the crowds without notice, coming into study hall with his head down and taking the first seat at the left-hand desk. He listened to angry music the whole time, and ignored everyone else. He was the occasional punchline to a joke, but mostly he was just another face in the junior class. Except…

Kirk’s father had been one of the workers laid off recently, when another lumber company closed up shop. A lot of families had been struggling lately, another closure had made things worse for the town, and there was only so much that could be done - Esme made sure the local food pantry was overflowing (anonymously, of course), the Cullens made regular donations of clothing to the church and the local thrift store, and Carlisle was volunteering for as many shifts in the walk-in clinic that he could get away with.

Work would come, she had seen that. By the end of summer, things would pick up again. But it wasn’t like they could tell people that, or that it made time speed up. They just had to wait.

And worry and stress created anger, and anger could come out in so many ways - like the men that lined up outside the liquor store and the one bar on the end of the town limits. The yelling and frustration towards everyone still surviving and thriving - they’d started driving Emmett’s Jeep to school, much to Rosalie’s displeasure. And the bruises that littered Kirk’s face, the way the kid hid inside his hoodie and glared at anyone that walked past. Jasper had visibly recoiled from the boy when he got too close, the distaste he had visible on his face from whatever emotions Kirk was emitting.

Oh, Jasper. She wishes he was here, so she could hold his hand. But she’s glad he’s not because she can practically feel the tension and fear and rage in this room right now; if he were here, he’d be suffering.

(Rob Sawyer is starting to wheeze, and Mrs Garcia is visibly crying. This is going to get worse before it gets better.)

“…think you’re better than me!” Kirk rants, pacing, the gun shiny and obscene in one hand. There’s a bullet hole in the check-out desk - a warning shot. “How many times, Sawyer? Huh? Since middle school?�� Suddenly the gun is pressed to Rob Sawyer’s temple, and the boy squeezes his eyes shut, his lungs straining for oxygen. He is as white as a ghost, his skin waxy white, and it’s a long way from the boy that offered her a flower on Valentine’s Day last year because ‘Hale needed to know there was competition’ with a wink and a grin.

She’s waiting for the shot, waiting for the sound of the body hitting the ground.

Just as suddenly as he jammed the gun against Rob, Kirk moves on. He’d just walked into the library like a thunderstorm, reached into his backpack and pulled out the gun - a handgun, most likely used by his parents to ‘protect their home’. She hadn’t even seen it coming, because he hadn’t made the choice to take it out, to do this, right up until that exact moment.

She didn’t even know how long he’d been carrying it around. She’d never seen anything. She can’t even see how this is going to end. Everything is in flux.

Kirk’s walking round their seats now, reciting their sins and pressing the gun against their skin. Sara turned him down in middle school, Cole beat him up last year for some reason that isn’t mentioned. A laundry list of crimes that he hisses and yells and sneers back at them, grotesquely empowered to stand his ground now. She keeps her gaze fixed on the table. She can feel the metal of her seat bending where her hand is gripping it, and she has to take a breath and calm herself.

(The very, very worst thing that could happen is that Kirk does shoot one of them. Free-flowing blood… she’s intensely aware that in this moment, that will break her.)

He’s around at her table now, and she’s trying to brace herself for what comes next. She’s never had a gun pointed at her before - except for Emmett’s paintball guns; she’d been more mad that he’d point a paintball gun at her vintage Alaia, honestly. And Jasper has some vintage guns, sentimental collectibles, but even though a bullet wouldn’t do anything more than ruin her outfit, he’d rip off his own arms before he pointed a gun at his wife.

So this is new. Very new.

“Nicole Casey,” Kirk says in that sing-song voice that is unnerving. “The one who started the rumour that I pad my swimsuit because someone this ‘scrawny couldn’t have anything worthwhile going on’? Do you know what you did, Nicole? Do you know?” Everyone knows. It’s a running school joke. She’s heard from her brothers the absolute bullshit that goes on in the locker room; they’ll only intervene if it crosses over from verbal to physical, per Cullen family policy. Jasper might intervene with his gift if it’s appropriate but honestly, Jasper escapes the locker rooms like a road runner most days. Human eyes might not be able to see the scars easily, but he refuses to risk it.

The gun slides through Nicole’s hair and he leans over her shoulder. “Bang.”

And Nicole slumps in her seat, audibly sobbing.

(Everyone else is being evacuated. They can hear them; the hurried footsteps trying not to burst into a run, the tears and the desperation to be swift and as quiet as possible. There’s some yelling, people calling out for their friends and siblings, panic in their voice. It feels very far away right now.)

She feels very distant from everything that’s happening in the room right now. She wonders if Edward can hear her; the library is at the back of the school, they’ve probably evacuated everyone to the front in the hopes they can get the students off campus. She hopes Jasper is staying calm. She’s going to be fine.

The muzzle of the gun is suddenly against the back of her neck bringing her back into the moment, and it’s an odd feeling that brings up an entirely new scenario to worry about - if Kirk, who she’s never spoken with, decides to shoot her. The bullet will ricochet; if the gun is flush against her skin, it’ll backfire and… it’ll be a mess. A big one that will be hard to explain.

“Little Alice Cullen. The Cullens never give anyone the time of day. Too high and mighty to deal with us lowlifes.” The gun slides down the top of her spine. “Driving around in your sister’s car that cost more than a house. You think you’re just so much better than any one else that you had to keep it in the family rather than slum it with anyone from Forks. What’s it like, Alice? Huh? When you f-”

(It’s rather hypocritical for him to bring up their admittedly terrible cover story that she’s fucking her ‘brother’, after condemning Rob and Nicole for ruining his life over rumours and personal stuff.)

She turns her head slightly; his breath hot and damp against her face. The gun moves to jam into the space between her jaw and neck. She wishes she was alone with him right now. She’s been a Cullen for decades, she knows how to stage a suicide with the best of them.

The library doors suddenly bang open, and they all jump; including Kirk. She knows that they’re all expecting Chief Swan or one of the police, and Mrs Garcia’s face is an expression of horror when she realizes who it is.

The only person who expects him is her. The fear and anxiety that have been pouring off her would be like a beacon to him. Edward might be able to read her mind, but Jasper will always hear her when she calls - even when she doesn’t mean to.

But the very easiest way to get out of this without bloodshed is with an empath. Especially an empath who knows how to manage people. In the right head space, Jasper could sell milk to cows.

And honestly, in any bad situation, he just makes it better. Everything is going to be okay if Jasper’s there. That’s how it’s always been for her.

Except… his expression is dark. Calm, but dark. Angry. He’s so angry right now, his fists tensing at his sides. The muzzle of the gun slides back along her neck to press hard against where her neck joins her head and she hopes it doesn’t bend.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kirk snaps, and his other hand grips the shoulder of her sweater. “If you take another goddamn step, I am going to blow her head off.”

(Someone has wet themselves. She doesn’t know who, but the smell is distinct and she’s just so intensely aware that other than the librarian, she’s surrounded by children - sixteen and seventeen years old, facing down a peer, a classmate, a friend who is threatening them with death because he’s tired of life being cruel. She just feels sorry for them, the ones that will close their eyes and not be able to forget this day, forget the barrel of the gun against their skin, and the knowledge that they might never get to say good bye to everyone they love.)

“You’re going to put the gun down.” Jasper’s voice is low. “Alice?”

“I’m okay.” Her voice quivers perfectly, she sounds like a panicked teenager trying to stay calm. Her hands are balled up in her skirt, and she’s playing the part perfectly.

“Get the fuck out, Hale,” Kirk has a slightly hysterical tone to his voice.

“Kirk, put the gun down.” Jasper’s having trouble with picking the correct flavour of calm right now, she can tell - the room is full of terror and rage. Their secret could be exposed. He’s pissed off that it was her class that Kirk chose for his vendetta.

“Make me,” Kirk snaps and Alice kind of wants to laugh. Emmett said that to Jasper once in the seventies over something. She can’t even remember what - a remote control car? Some gadget that they were both fascinated with. She just remembered that it ended with Jasper taking Emmett up on his challenge with the kind of swift and decisive action that guaranteed a humiliating defeat. One of those incidents that became family lore.

(Bella will like that story, she has to remember to tell her.)

Jasper’s eyes narrow in a way that sealed the deaths of thousands of newborns and humans back in the day, and Alice takes a breath to try and center herself. Having Kirk so close to her is uncomfortable - he doesn’t smell even fainting good, and honestly, other than Bella, she’s not usually touched all that much by humans; usually it’s accidental or incidental touching, not a grip. It’s very odd and she’s hyper-aware of him; she almost wishes he’d still been tormenting Nicole when Jasper walked in.

“You’ve made your point,” Jasper shrugged. “You’ve scared the shit out of everyone in this school, not just this room. No one is ever going to tell a joke about you again. Hell, they probably won’t talk about you ever again. And you did it without spilling any blood. You can walk away from this.”

That’s stretching the truth - Kirk’s going to prison after this, maybe after a stay in a psychiatric ward. A student can’t bring a firearm to school and go back home that night. That’s not how this ends. But it doesn’t have to get worse than that. There’s still light in the tunnel.

“Maybe I don’t fucking want to,” Kirk says back nastily. “Maybe I’m going to blow your sister-wife’s brains out.”

“That won’t end well for you.” Jasper moves closer. Everyone is transfixed. “Alice has never done anything to you, Kirk. Just put down the gun.”

(She can feel his finger shaking on the trigger. As much as fresh blood flowing is the very worst idea right now, having the bullet hit her flesh and explode the gun would end this quickly. She wonders if they can control themselves long enough to get out if someone starts bleeding.)

It hits her first; she’s always been especially vulnerable to his gift - maybe because she knows it so intimately, knows that it’s him, that she lets it happen. But she’s suddenly so calm and peaceful that she visibly relaxes. Everything is going to be okay.

Kirk’s breathing changes, and then the gun is falling away from her body and he is stepping backwards.

“The gun, Kirk.” Jasper’s voice isn’t kind, but it is firm, and she watches Kirk hold it out and maybe she holds her breath that he doesn’t change his mind at the last moment and fire it at Jasper.

Jasper’s hands close over it and she lets out a breath, closing her eyes for a moment, as Kirk drops to the ground and he begins to cry. There’s no pity in her for him right now; just relief for the others. Gratitude that her husband always has her back and is, at heart, a hero. She watches as he disassembles the gun with the intention of unloading it.

The bullets fall like rain onto the carpeted floor, and Jasper tosses the gun behind the check-out desk, and that’s when everyone comes back to life, scrambling faster than they can get their bodies to move. There’s yelling and tears and they all run, Kirk still sobbing on the floor.

She expects Jasper to take her hand, to pull her along with him into the hallway, to quietly get their stories straight so that she doesn’t have to go to hospital or talk to the police. Except he doesn’t.

He pulls her into the kind of hug that feels desperate and relieved. He’s wrapped around her like she might actually have gotten hurt, like he was actually worried for her, terrified of the outcome.

“We need to go,” she says, and he grunts his assent, but he doesn’t immediately move away. And when he finally does, he keeps one arm around her as they move through the school - no debrief, no instructions. Just the two of them hurrying outside to join the chaos.

(There’s a local news station there, and she’s relieved that they waited to leave the building, because no one really notices them slipping out to join the crowds; the police pushing past both of them to get inside and find Kirk.)

“We should have taken the gun,” she says as Jasper leads her away, towards where she can see their siblings sitting on the Jeep, waiting; Edward’s holding his phone to his ear, probably speaking with Esme or Carlisle. “We shouldn’t have left it with him.”

“I don’t care.” Jasper’s words are ice cold - and clairvoyant because seconds later, they all hear a gunshot ring out and when she gasps and turns to look around, he just wraps his arms around her protectively and keeps her moving towards their family.

(She sees Charlie, looking tired and angry; he makes eye contact with her and nods but doesn’t come over. She knows at some point, Charlie is going to come looking for her and Jasper - once he’s interviewed all the other students and Mrs Garcia, and finds out that they were right in the middle of this mess.)

She’s not really sure about getting home - she knows that she was bundled into the backseat with Jasper next to her; that Edward and Bella are following in Bella’s truck. She knows that Jasper has his arms around her the entire time, and that she’s never felt a tiredness like this before. Rose and Emmett keep looking at her in the backseat with these solemn expressions, like she’s going to keel over at any moment. And yeah, she did fuck up - she never should have missed that a student was carrying a gun around school, especially with Bella around. But she doesn’t want to think about that right now, and she doesn’t want anyone else to point that out either. She just leans against Jasper and lets everything wash over her, the conversation over her head indecipherable to her ears.

It all passes in a blur until she’s climbing out of the Jeep to find Esme there looking stricken, barely waiting for Alice to have both her feet on the ground before she’s pulled into a hug.

“Oh sweet girl,” Esme says, and she’s confused why everyone is behaving like she could have gotten hurt. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, but Esme hugs her again - a proper mom hug, the ones she reserves for really, really bad days (slips, Maria’s unscheduled visits, the death of a human family member) and it doesn’t feel like she’s really done anything to deserve it.

“I’ll call Carlisle and let him know you’re all home safe,” Esme says, pressing a kiss to Alice’s forehead.

Edward and Bella aren’t back yet, so she doesn’t protest when Jasper gently guides her upstairs to their room, and folds her into their bed, his arms tight around her. And it’s her favourite place in the world right now; the familiar scent of the bedding, the way they both curl together in their usual positions with her head on his shoulder. It makes her feel like the world has tipped the right way up again. Like maybe her mind was still in that library, and it’s only just caught up with her body.

“How are you feeling?” Jasper asks, as if he can’t feel exactly what she is. She smiles and curls closer to him.

“I’m fine. I think you’ve all forgotten that if Kirk had tried anything, he would have hurt himself,” she replies. “I was more worried he’d damage the gun. How would we have explained that?”

Jasper’s giving her a look. “What? Are you okay? I haven’t seen you that mad in a long, long time. It couldn’t be because you missed American History.” Jasper hates that class; he’s lived through the real life events and the class so many times that the course work drives him nuts.

“I found my wife held at gunpoint today; it’s been mildly stressful,” he says lazily, but she can see the strain in his eyes.

“Jas…” she says softly. “We’re bulletproof. There’s nothing he could have done to us.”

“He might not have been able to hurt you, but he had the intention to,” Jasper explains, his fingers stroking her cheek. “He wanted to hurt you, Alice, and that is… entirely unacceptable to me. I walked in there to get you - and you alone - out of that room because of his rage and his hatred towards everyone in that room. If it had just been us, I would have… well, if he hadn’t cleaned up after himself, I would have done it for him. For even looking at you while holding that gun.”

She shivers in his arms, knowing that he means what he says. It could have been a few weeks from now, with Kirk home on bail, or it could have been ten years from now, on parole and starting over. Jasper would have found him and killed him. She knows her husband, and he holds a grudge - especially when it comes to her safety and happiness.

“There is a special terror in the sight of a fire arm for a human,” Jasper continues more gently. “They end a life so absolutely… I remember the first time I had to shoot one of our animals, when I was a child. It was such a terrible moment, it’s been over a hundred years and I’ve never forgotten it. The same with the first man I killed in war. A gun is a heavy responsibility, a way of playing god, when you’re mortal. It’s looking into the eyes of death.”

“…and I can’t really grasp that,” she says finally. “Because I’ve got no memory of them as a human.”

“There was never any doubt that you would leave that room whole, I know. But there will never, ever be a time when I won’t defend you from someone that intends you harm, whether that’s some high school kid or some kind of monster. You are always going to be my priority, the thing that I protect over everything else.” Jasper pressed his lips against her cheek and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair.

She loves him, all of him - his single-minded focus, especially towards her; his determination, his practicality, and even his over-protectiveness.

And she knows that at some point, they’re going to have deal with the fact that Kirk killed himself because of their carelessness, speaking with police on record, with the entire school knowing that they were in the eye of the storm. All those little things that could expose them, that make them memorable. She’ll let herself feel sad for Rob and Nicole and everyone else who was there who can’t sleep without feeling the barrel of the gun against their skin.

But right now, she’s going to stay here safe in her husband’s arms and be grateful for the fact that no matter what, he’s always going to come running when she calls.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober prompt 5: held at gunpoint #alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #twilight fan fiction #my fic: whumptober2023 #trigger warning: school shooting #i tried #it got complex #something a little different

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