#yes i just spent five minutes making this in ms paint instead of writing no rizz eddie wip

[chronicowboy]

if blorbo doesn't look like this i don't want him (feat. the wonderful descriptions of @danielsousa <3)

[vernonfielding]

Life Writes Its Own Stories

Chapter 11. (AO3!)

Jake walked home in a daze. As he unlocked his front door, he couldn’t recall quite how he’d gotten there, as though his brain had shut off for a while, and his feet had just carried him somewhere safe and familiar.

He shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes. He sat hard on the end of his bed and brought his hands to his face, digging his palms into his eyes to keep himself from crying. He could feel the tears in his throat and burning behind his eyes and he knew it was only a matter of time, but he was afraid that once he started he wouldn’t know how to stop.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and Jake yanked it out, didn’t even bother to look before turning it off. It could be Amy, or it could be Rosa or Scully or fucking Pembroke telling him he was fired. He didn’t want to talk to any of them – or anyone at all. He tossed the phone onto his couch, then pulled out his keys and threw them hard across the room. They left a satisfying dent in the wall beneath his Die Hard poster.

“Fuck,” he said, under his breath, then yelled out, “Fuck!” He fell back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

It seemed impossible that he’d been in perhaps the best mood of his life just that morning – less than an hour ago, maybe. He had just bought them breakfast, was thinking about where to stop for coffee on the way back, when he spotted the Bulletin in a newsrack near the bodega entrance. He couldn’t have said what caught his eye first, except that he’d gotten in the habit of glancing at the front page to look for Amy’s name. But the word “vulture” had made him stop in his tracks, right in the doorway. A woman had jostled him and muttered a “fuck you” as she pushed by. He’d barely noticed.

He’d picked up the paper and looked back at the man behind the counter, who knew Jake was a regular. The man had nodded and waved him out, and Jake had left without paying. He’d stopped just outside and read Gina’s column, his heart in his throat the whole way through.

The column had Amy all over it. Everything in there had come from him, had been shared with her over late-night dinners as they pored over documents, or later, while they lay in bed together or cuddled on her sofa or took walks around Fort Greene.

He’d stalked back to her apartment, angrier than he could recently recall. Righteous fury had carried him all the way to her building, but as he’d climbed the stairs to her door it burned down to embers, replaced by something far worse: hurt.

Then seeing her, wide-eyed with worry, still so beautiful to him, he’d deflated. And he’d wanted so badly to believe her when she said she’d done nothing wrong, when she said she would never hurt him like that. Maybe she hadn’t meant to, he reasoned. Maybe she’d said some things she shouldn’t have weeks ago, before they were even dating, and Gina had somehow come up with the rest herself. Or maybe Amy had been drunk and didn’t remember talking. Or maybe she had handed it all to Gina knowingly and regretted it only later, when faced with the consequences. Maybe Jake hadn’t known her at all.

He didn’t really think that, even now. But he didn’t know what to think or who to believe. He just had facts: Gina had written a column that had the potential to destroy his career, and the only person who could have given her that column was Amy. And he’d trusted her. She’d made the short list. She’d maybe even been at the top.

Alone in his apartment, Jake stared at the ceiling until the spidery cracks in the paint began to blur. He didn’t fight the tears when they finally came.

+++

Despite everything, Amy still managed to get to work 10 minutes early. She knew she was looking rough as she flashed the press pass that doubled as her Bulletin ID at Doug behind the security desk. But she was still caught off guard when he said, “Ms. Santiago, are you okay?” Which of course made her immediately tear up again, so after she brushed him off with a quivery “Mondays, am I right?” she spent a good 20 minutes in the ladies’ room getting herself under control.

That was how she actually ended up 10 minutes late, feeling off-balance and shaky and annoyed with herself and angry with everyone else. She took her seat across from Gina, and Gina looked up and did a double-take.

“Damn, girl.”

An image flashed in Amy’s mind, of her launching herself over their two desks and tackling Gina to the floor and strangling her, just a little.

Instead she stood up again and slapped her palms on her desk, hard enough to rattle her keyboard. “What the hell, Gina?”

“Whoa, I was just going to say you looked like you had the best and/or worst night of your life but if you’re going to get all murdery about it-”

“We need to talk.” Amy leaned over their desks and practically growled. “Now.”

She stalked to the break room and didn’t look to make sure Gina was following. (She didn’t honestly think she had intimidated Gina, but she knew Gina would come if only for the drama.)

The day before – and all last night, when she should have been sleeping – Amy’s thoughts had spiraled, twisting and throttling around her brain like a tornado she was powerless to control, much less stop. The confrontation with Jake had played on an endless loop, and sometimes she got to keep talking, keep trying to explain, but it always ended the same – with him walking out. She’d cried off and on all day, until she felt wilted from it, her body and mind spent. A dozen times she’d picked up her phone to call or text him, but she didn’t know what she could, or wanted to, say. She couldn’t apologize, she couldn’t ask forgiveness – she’d done nothing wrong. But what else was there?

In her saner moments, she’d imagined this: talking to Gina. Eventually she’d crafted a speech, in which she firmly but delicately inquired as to how Gina got that column. Technically it was on Amy’s beat after all – she had every right to ask. In a calm, work-appropriate way.

When they got into the breakroom Amy closed the door and yelled, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, but I can tell you what I’m thinking right now, which is that you are cray-cray.”

Gina planted her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. Amy took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then she did it three more times. Gina just watched.

“Fine,” Amy said coolly. “I’m talking about your column yesterday. About the 99th Precinct.”

“You’re mad about that?” Gina frowned. “I mean, I know it’s a cop thing and that’s your turf, but it was such a throwaway. I thought that gossipy crap was beneath you.”

“It is,” Amy said, “but you had to know this wasn’t going to look good for Jake. Did you even think about him? About his career?”

“Jake who?”

“Peralta.”

Amy’s slip-up hit her the moment Gina’s face lit up.

“Jake Peralta. Oh my god – Jake is your source?”

“Was my source,” Amy said. She bit her lip, unsure what else she could say – what she was allowed to say. Gina was Jake’s friend first, but he wasn’t here now. And Amy realized suddenly that she needed someone to know what had happened – and Gina was responsible, after all.

She took a deep breath. “We were dating. But I think we’re maybe broken up now.”

“Okay, wow. Did not see that coming.” Gina sat on the breakroom couch. She stared up at Amy, her brows turned down in bemusement. “We’re talking about the same Jake Peralta, right? Plaid shirts, basically lives off gummy worms and pizza pockets, has maybe only ever seen one movie in his life?”

“Well, technically it’s a franchise, so, like, five movies-” Amy closed her eyes and stopped herself. Then she nodded morosely, and dropped onto the couch beside Gina.

Gina tucked one leg under herself and turned to face her. “How did you even meet?”

“You just said it yourself,” Amy said, rolling her eyes. “He was my source. He works in the Nine-Nine?”

“Oh right – is it weird that I can never remember he’s a cop?”

“It’s very weird,” Amy said. She slumped into the couch, tipping her head back on the cushions and staring up at the ceiling tiles. “Do you have any idea what you did with that column?”

“Yeah, I’m still not following why this is an issue,” Gina said.

“The Vulture is Jake’s boss.”

“And,” Gina said, gesturing for her to go on.

Amy sighed. “And Jake talks to me about him all the time. And the Vulture’s already suspicious about Jake being my source.”

“So, you’re afraid this Vulture dude is going to think that Jake was my source for the column,” Gina said.

Amy hummed a yes, and then added, “And Jake thinks I was your source.”

“He- what?” Gina sat up and gaped at Amy. “He actually said that?”

“He did,” Amy said, the grief hitting her all over again. She blinked hard against the familiar pinpricks in the corners of her eyes.

“God, he’s such an idiot,” Gina said. “Look, I can’t tell you who my source is, because- okay, actually because I don’t know his name.”

“Gina!” Amy stared at her, appalled. It was one thing to use anonymous sources for a story, but reporters at least had to know who they were talking to, even if they never revealed the name publicly. It was too easy to be lied to and misled otherwise.

“It was just gossip,” Gina said, throwing her hands up. “I ran it by a couple of my own sources and they said it was legit, so I went with it.”

“And now Jake thinks I blew his cover all for some dumb gossip column and we’re basically broken up.” Amy groaned and slid onto her side, curling up in a corner of the couch.

There was a brief silence and then Gina said, “Not that I would do it, because I don’t think I care that much – but do you want me to call Jake and explain it wasn’t you?”

Amy thought over the offer for a moment before shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. He either trusts me or he doesn’t. And I guess he doesn’t.”

She felt Gina patting her ankle. It was hesitant and awkward and Amy was deeply moved, and she felt the tears run fresh down her cheeks. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Amy crying into the disgusting couch while Gina almost certainly played on her phone.

Amy was just about ready to get up, wipe her face, and make another attempt at facing the world when Gina said, “Are you sure Jake’s a cop in the Nine-Nine? I feel like I would remember that.”

Amy rolled onto her back and stared at Gina in wonder. “Jake has the weirdest friends.”

+++

Jake realized he was clutching at the arms of his chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and he let go and rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants legs. On the wall across from him was a framed poster of Officer Pepper O’Pigeon, hanging behind the commissioner’s secretary’s desk. For such a goofy mascot it was oddly threatening – Jake thought it had something to do with the shirt sleeves being cut off to accommodate the bird’s arms, or wings. Like it was too buff to be constrained by a normal police uniform. But the long pink legs were also upsetting.

He tore his gaze away and straightened his tie, again, and avoided looking at the man sitting in the chair next to his. Jake couldn’t ignore the staccato of snips, though, as the Vulture trimmed his nails while they waited. The man was truly the most disgusting person Jake knew.

“A tie’s not gonna save your ass, Peralta,” Pembroke said with a cheerful snicker.

Jake just barely stopped himself from telling Pembroke to go fuck himself.

Jake had honestly been surprised when he’d gotten the call that morning to come to the commissioner’s office for a meeting – he’d expected Pembroke to handle the punishment himself, or at worst take it a step or two up the chain of command. That Jake was being hauled down to One Police Plaza meant that the brass were taking Gina’s column more seriously than he’d expected, and also that he could be in seriously deep trouble. 

Sure, in his lowest moments the day and night before he had imagined losing his job and ending up homeless and alone and living off of dog food and cheese puffs for the rest of his life, but he hadn’t really believed that would happen. Now his gut churned with real fear. They could take away his detective badge. He could lose everything.

The secretary’s phone rang and Jake’s anxiety spiked. The secretary picked up the call, hung up without saying a word, and announced, “The commissioner’s ready for you.”

Pembroke brushed off his pants and stood, gesturing for Jake to go before him. When Jake got up and moved toward the office, Pembroke nudged him aside and jumped in front, smirking over his shoulder. The guy was seriously the worst.

Jake hadn’t been in the commissioner’s office since Wuntch won the job a couple of years before. It looked basically the same as the previous commissioner’s office had, with framed commendations hanging on the walls and a few photos of Wuntch with random politicians and celebrities lined up on the bookcase adjacent to the desk. He paused on a shot of Wuntch with an irritated-looking Michelle Obama; both of their hair was slightly mussed up in the photo.

“Have a seat,” Wuntch said. She was already behind her desk, hands folded on top of a copy of the Bulletin.

Jake put a hand to his chest to keep his badge in place as he sat, feeling suddenly self-conscious in his cargo pants and plaid shirt and leather jacket. Even with the tie he felt sloppy and unprofessional next to two high-ranking cops in full uniform. He wished for a moment that he’d at least picked out a clean shirt for his funeral, but then, he’d had a lot on his mind when he’d gotten dressed that morning.

“Peralta should be fired,” Pembroke said without preamble. Jake felt his heart clench.

“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Wuntch said. She looked between them, narrowing her eyes. “Captain Pembroke – or should I call you Captain Vulture?”

Pembroke sneered at Jake.

“Captain,” Wuntch went on, “you asked for this meeting. It’s my understanding that you believe Detective Peralta is responsible for this rather enlightening article in the Bulletin?”

She pushed the newspaper across her desk, and Pembroke jabbed a finger at the top of the page. Jake was reminded uncomfortably of his own reaction the day before.

“He was Santiago’s source and now he’s obviously started leaking to Linetti,” Pembroke said. “If that’s not cause for dismissal-”

Wuntch held up a hand. “Do you know he was their source?”

“Yeah, I know,” Pembroke said. “Santiago wrote several stories that obviously came from Peralta.”

“But do you have proof?” Wuntch said.

Pembroke bristled. “He was the only person who could have talked to her.”

“That’s circumstantial, Captain. Do you have proof?”

Pembroke opened his mouth, closed it, and finally scowled at the commissioner.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Wuntch said. She turned to Jake. “Did you leak the material in this column to the Bulletin?”

Jake shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“And did you leak any other stories to Ms. Santiago?”

Jake swallowed, and shook his head again. “I don’t even know her.”

“Very well.”

“You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me,” Pembroke said. “He’s lying.”

“You have no proof that Detective Peralta had anything to do with this,” Wuntch said, tapping the newspaper. “Peralta, thank you for your time. Dismissed.”

Jake sat dazed for a second, then stood and nodded sharply at her. “Thank you, commissioner.”

Pembroke groaned and rose with him, but as they turned to walk out, Wuntch said, “Captain Pembroke, you’ll stay. We need to talk about this Vulture thing…”

If Jake hadn’t been so miserable, he would have been struggling to keep himself from grinning and high-fiving the commissioner’s secretary as he walked out, letting the door swing shut behind him.

As it was, he simply pulled out his cell phone and texted Rosa: “Shaw’s in 30. We’re day drinking. No talking.”

Rosa texted back a thumbs up immediately.

+++

They couldn’t actually drink while they were on duty, so Jake bought them Shirley Temples. They grabbed a table at the back of the bar and he told Rosa what had gone down with the commissioner, and she tapped her glass against his.

“That’s great, man.” She eyed him as he stared into the pink depths of his drink. “Or, it’s not great.”

“Amy and I broke up. I think.”

Rosa blew out a breath, and Jake prepared for the told-you-so. He figured he deserved it. He was even sort of looking forward to it, in a masochistic but weirdly reassuring way. He’d been cycling through so many emotions over the past 24 hours, shifting from anger to grief to fear to guilt, to feelings he couldn’t even identify but made his skin crawl and his stomach hurt.

In the center of them all was Amy, and the question he somehow couldn’t stop asking himself: Did he trust her? Every time he tried to answer it head on, it was like the spin cycle picked up speed, everything a blur until his mind sort of shut down and moved on.

Rosa, though – she knew the answer. She’d warned him.

Rosa was twirling her plastic straw around her drink, creating a small cyclone of her own. “You broke up with her because you think she leaked the Vulture stuff to Gina Linetti.”

Jake nodded, then shrugged. “I guess I left before we broke up, so we’re technically still together? I’m not sure.”

Rosa took a sip of her drink through the straw and scowled. She pushed the glass away, and she looked Jake straight in the eye. Jake braced himself.

“Are you sure she did it? Because it doesn’t really sound like something Amy would do.”

Jake’s stomach dropped to his feet, and he stared at her in disbelief. “You said it was a mistake to trust her. You said she only wanted to sell newspapers and that I’d regret dating her.”

“I did not say that last thing,” Rosa said, pointing a finger at him.

“But the trust part! You said that, like, so many times.”

Rosa leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, but I meant over something important. Like, the mayor is shot and you know who the prime suspect is and you tell Amy after you guys have really great sex, and she’s like, do I betray Jake and write about the guy who tried to kill the mayor? And she decides she has to because she believes people have a right to know or some bullshit. I didn’t mean, like, some dumb gossip column about the fucking Vulture.”

Jake threw his arms up and tried very hard not to yell. “Rosa! You were never that specific!”

“I didn’t think I had to be.” Rosa cocked her head to the side, studying him. “My thoughts on Amy’s trustworthiness had nothing to do with you assuming she betrayed you. That’s not on me, Jake.”

Jake groaned and folded himself over the table, knocking his forehead against the hard surface. He picked his head up and hit it again, with a little more force. The table top was sticky. He felt Rosa awkwardly pat his shoulder a couple of times and then they said nothing for a while.

“I’m just saying, maybe you should call her,” Rosa said.

Jake moaned into the table. “I liked you better when we went for drinks and didn’t talk.”

“Same.” Rosa rapped him on the back of the head with her knuckles. “Now sit up and drink your Shirley Temple in silence like a woman.”

+++

Pembroke was still gone when they got back to the precinct an hour later. Jake sat at his desk and tugged off his tie, preparing to embrace an afternoon of apathy-slash-despondency, perhaps first by putting his head down and just ignoring the world for a while.

He frowned when three post-it notes stuck to his computer monitor caught his attention. They were all phone messages taken by the admin assistant (because Jake had never set up his office voicemail, because voicemail was annoying and people shouldn’t be encouraged to use it).

The first message was from his CI.

“Fuck,” Jake said under his breath, as he tore off the note. He’d completely forgotten that Leo had arranged for a meet that morning. Jake pulled out his cell phone and yes – there was a text too, from over an hour ago.

The second post-it note was another message from his CI. The third was from Kings County Hospital. Jake plucked off that note and stared at the neatly printed letters for a beat, then picked up his desk phone and called.

He was on hold for a while, which gave him plenty of time to beat himself up for flaking on Leo. He’d never skipped out on a CI, not once since becoming a detective and building up a loose network of informants. What if Leo had been calling for help, and was now in the morgue?

And as he kept waiting, Jake wondered if maybe the call from the hospital wasn’t about his CI at all. What if it was Amy? She could have been hit by a bus or fallen through a rusted manhole cover or been mauled by a pack of aggressive pigeons or rats. Would anyone even think to call him? What if he never saw her again?

“Hello, Detective Peralta?”

“Yes!” Jake’s voice was about three pitches higher than usual. He closed his eyes briefly and coughed. “Yes, speaking.”

“Okay, um- I’m Officer Robbins.” There was a flapping sound, of papers being flipped around. “Right, here we go. We picked up a Leo James about an hour ago.”

Jake breathed out slowly, hating himself a little for the weight that lifted off his shoulders. “Is he okay?”

“He’s going to be. He got beat up pretty bad, and he was overdosing when we found him.”

Jake frowned. Leo was a fringe associate with one of the rougher drug rings in Brooklyn, but he wasn’t really a user himself. Or he hadn’t been. “But you got him in time?”

“Yeah, gave him two hits of Narcan and he came around,” Robbins said. “We followed him over to the hospital, thought we’d see if we could get anything out of him about the beating. But he said he’d only talk to you.”

“Right, okay. Thanks.” Jake sank back in his chair and ran a hand over his face, hit by a new wave of fatigue.

“It’s actually pretty lucky we were able to revive him,” Robbins was going on. “I’ve heard Narcan doesn’t always work well with that new drug, what’s it called-?”

“Jazzy Pants?” Jake sat up straight, on instinct reaching for a notepad and a pen.

“Yeah, dumbass name for a fucked-up drug.”

“Are you sure it was Jazzy Pants?” Jake said.

“That’s what your guy told us when we got him back.”

Jake thanked Robbins again and hung up, frowning to himself. That was two of his CIs overdosing on the new drug in a couple of months. It could be entirely coincidental – overdoses were hardly uncommon among informants – but something felt off, and he’d learned to not ignore certain instincts.

He picked up the phone again to call the Seven-Eight. He didn’t actually have many good contacts over there, so when the admin picked up he asked for the first person who came to mind.

“Peralta,” said Manny Santiago. The cheer in his voice was not exactly unexpected, but it still caught Jake off guard.

“Hey, Manny, look-”

“We missed you at Thanksgiving, man.” Manny rolled right over him. “Dad had a binder on you, you know. He was not impressed with your credit score but your closure rates are fantastic. His words, not mine.”

“I- that’s weird but good?” Jake shook his head, tried to focus on why he had called and not the highs and lows of having pleased and disappointed the father of his maybe-ex-girlfriend. “Manny-”

“Oh man, what was up with that column in Amy’s paper yesterday? I’ve heard stories about Pembroke – or Captain Vul-”

“Manny!” Jake interrupted sharply. “As much as I’d love to rehash the column, and trust me, I would not, I’m actually working a case.”

“Oh sure, sorry,” Manny said. “What can I do for you?”

“I just needed to talk to someone on your Jazzy Pants task force,” Jake said. “One of my CIs OD’d today and I want to know how the investigation’s playing out, maybe there’s something we can do out of the Nine-Nine-”

“Jazzy Pants task force?” Manny said.

“Yeah, Pembroke said you guys are running it.”

“Hold on.” Jake heard muffled voices, the thump of the phone headset being set down, then finally Manny came back on. “Yeah, we don’t have a task force.”

Jake felt a weird chill, and he pressed the phone a little harder to his ear.

“Peralta?”

“I’ve gotta go,” Jake said. “Thanks, Manny.”

He hung up without waiting for a reply. Jake got up and crossed to Rosa’s desk. She was typing, but her fingers stopped when she glanced up and saw his face.

“We need to go talk to someone at Kings County,” he said.

Rosa grabbed her gun and her badge. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 12

[imsvg]

first chord, last bow

Fandom: Hibike! Euphonium Pairing: KumiRei (Kumiko/Reina) Words: 1535 Summary: In which Kumiko and Reina await their graduation ceremony. Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

hi im back hibigay 

The band room feels deserted.

The chairs are shoved to the side, stacked on top of one another to save room. Cases of woodwind instruments that need repairing are tucked away in a corner. The chalkboard is, for once, spotless. Save for the podium in front of the chalkboard, the middle of the classroom is filled with empty space. Looking at it from the side, Kumiko feels strange, to say the least. It feels as if something needs to be there—like an ensemble, for example.

“You’ve been standing there for over five minutes.”

Kumiko looks over her shoulder to see Reina standing in the threshold of the doorway.

“I can’t help but appreciate the view,” Kumiko says with a smile on her face.

Reina rolls her eyes, but returns the smile. She walks towards Kumiko, running a hand through her neck-length hair.

“It’s one hell of a view, isn’t it?”

Kumiko exhales a breath of amusement through her nose. “It sure is.”

“How come the underclassmen didn’t put the desks together?”

“The band meets up here to practice a bit before the graduation ceremony, remember?” Kumiko breaks into a cheeky smile. “Or have you forgotten, you senior citizen?”

“Oh, please,” Reina says with a laugh, “I wasn’t the one who forgot when band practice was.”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many, Ms. Vice President.”

Kumiko rolls her eyes and reaches out for Reina’s hand. She twines their fingers together, and in silence, the both of them stand there.

“What do you see?” Reina asks, her voice so soft Kumiko almost misses the question.

“…I see dead people.”

Kumiko breaks out into a fit of chuckles when Reina pushes her shoulder.

“I-I don’t really get what you’re trying to say, Reina,” Kumiko says, fighting to gain her composure.

“Like, do you see a memory of someone or something or of some event when you look at this empty space.”

“Well…what do you see?”

“I see the countless hours of work we’ve put to prep for our competitions. Each passing year, we grew, both in size and skill, and every year, we’ve always made it to Nationals until we reached Gold. And because of that….”

Kumiko feels Reina tighten her hold. She looks and sees Reina staring at her with misty eyes, the brilliant purple glimmering in the setting sun.

“…I can leave here happily,” she mumbles, her grin holding the warmth of a thousand stars.

Kumiko leans in and places the softest of kisses on Reina’s cheek. “Of course you would see something like that, Ms. President,” she says with a smile.

She chuckles again when Reina pushes on her shoulder with a croak of a laugh, but a part of Kumiko wonders when the nostalgia of high school will truly hit her.

-X-

“Wait.”

Reina grabs onto Kumiko’s wrist, and she stops in her tracks.

“What—what is it?”

“I want to go on the roof,” Reina says as she gestures to the stairwell next to them.

The corner of Kumiko’s lips curl downward. She takes a quick glance around them: aside from them, no living being is present. It was well past the final bell, and she is sure everyone had already left.

“You sure…?” she asks.

Reina’s eyes hold a silent conviction as she nods her head yes.

Kumiko adjusts her bag on her shoulder as Reina leads her by the hand. They climb the stairs, their footsteps bouncing off of the walls. Reina opens the door, ignoring its groans of protest, and Kumiko follows suit.

A cool breeze welcomes them, running its fingers through their hair as it passes by. It leaves behind the scent of something delicious, yet unidentifiable. Kumiko’s stomach growls, and it reminds her of how late it’s getting—the both of them should be heading home soon.

“Is there something you wanted to do here?” she asks.

Reina says nothing. Instead, she lets go of Kumiko’s hand and walks forward, towards the railing. Kumiko waits before finally joining her.

The sun has sunk below the skyline, yet its rays paint the sky a vibrant pink. Wisps of clouds are painted purple, with highlights of smokey white as jets fly overhead. Lights are flickering on, and the traffic begins to rush past as people make their way home. The Uji River twinkles, as if the fabled River of Stars is flowing in this familiar city of theirs.

It’s in this moment Kumiko thinks this sight is more beautiful than the view on Mount Daikichi.

“I wanted to come up here one last time,” Reina says quietly.

“…Yeah?” is all Kumiko can muster out.

“Mhm. Since this’ll be the last time we see this as students here.”

The weight of the realization falls heavily on Kumiko’s chest. She sucks in a breath, suddenly finding it hard to breathe past the knot in her throat. She tries to say something, but the words die in her chest. Instead, she reaches out and grabs Reina’s hand. It’s surprisingly warm, and as they intertwine their fingers together, Kumiko can feel Reina’s heat melting away the chill biting her hand.

“We made it,” Kumiko breathes out. “We actually made it. We did…all of it. We made to Nationals, we won gold this year, we made Kitauji a school renowned for its music program, and now we’re graduating tomorrow….”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Yeah….” Kumiko laughs breathlessly. “God I remember how bad the band sounded when I first heard them in my first-year.”

“We’ve certainly came a long way since then.”

Kumiko tries to answer, but the tail of the breath gets caught in her throat—the rest escapes her mouth in a quiet, inaudible sigh. She opts not to break the silence this time, and takes in the scenery below.

This time, Kumiko feels no need to rush back home.

-X-

Before Kumiko knew it, the graduation ceremony came and went in a blur.

Now she is standing outside, weaving her way through the masses. The chatter of excited families, graduates, and a sobbing Hazuki fill the air as Kumiko slips away from the crowd.

I’ll deal with all that later, she thinks as she walks across the empty courtyard.

Kumiko feels the bite of winter hiding under the cool, spring air. It sinks its teeth into her skin, goosebumps rising, and it reminds Kumiko of the end of her first-year. She's walking to the exact spot where she ran into Asuka, on top of the staircase leading to the band room. Kumiko half expects to see a tall girl wearing an overcoat walking out of the building right now, clutching her bag as if she was leaving just another school day and not her graduation ceremony. Kumiko imagines Asuka's face, her expression, and her small smile of realization that, in this school that caused her so much unnecessary trouble, she will be leaving behind her father’s notebook with someone precious.

 Kumiko blinks when she feels something warm run down her cheek. She quickly wipes the tear away with the back of her hand, wondering what got into her. When did she stop walking? How long has she been standing here?

 She's waiting for you, a quiet voice reminds her.

 Kumiko feels her legs move towards her destination. She slips under the overhang and enters the building, the deafening thud of the metal door echoing through the empty halls. She makes her way towards the band room, and as she does, she can see the ghosts of memories lurking: Asuka’s raucous laughter during sectionals, Hazuki’s blares, Shuuichi’s looks of disapproval, Nozomi’s and Mizore’s quiet duets, Reina’s solos drifting in through open windows.

 Kumiko slides open band room door, and sees Reina standing where she was yesterday. She turns around, her black hair, though shorter, still flowing as gracefully as it did the first day Kumiko ran into her.

 And then suddenly, she feels a knot forming in the middle of her throat. Tears blur her vision, and Kumiko finds she’s having a hard time breathing all of a sudden. Nostalgia is pulling on her heartstrings so hard she thinks they’re going to snap at any minute.

 “Reina,” she croaks out, “w-we did it.”

 Reina smiles and comes closer. She cups Kumiko’s cheek with a warm hand and brushes away a tear with her thumb.

 “We did,” she says quietly.

 “I-it k-kind of hurts to l-leave,” Kumiko blubbers out, ending her sentence with a clumsy chuckle.

 “It does,” Reina agrees quietly.

 “Because we’ve made so many memories here, y-you know?”

 “I know.”

 “I-I’ll miss everyone.”

 “I will, too.”

 Reina comes even closer, pressing their foreheads together. The scent of lavender and her warmth is overwhelming Kumiko, but she latches onto it, relishing this closeness as if her life depends on it.

 “But we move on,” Reina continues, “and we’ll start the beginning of our new movement—together.”

 Kumiko sniffles and chuckles to herself. “Of course you had to make a music reference.”

 “I had to.”

 “But we’ll move onto this next part together”—Kumiko looks expectantly into Reina’s brilliant purple eyes—”right?”

 Reina gives her a heart-warming grin.

 “Of course.”

looking back on it, i feel as if this ending was kind of lacking - sorry about that. it's been real hard for me to write lately, but i'm slowly getting back into the groove of it all. im glad i got to write this story, though - i needed something to vent out this pent-up nostalgia in my chest that's been resting ever since i graduated. kumiko suddenly crying happened to me after my graduation ceremony - walking into my band room where i've spent most of my time in my four years of high school was almost overwhelming. i'd feel like kumiko would have a similar reaction.

anyways, hope you enjoyed. thanks for reading. love you.

[theladyofdeath]

Friday Night Lights {ACOTAR}

Chapter 2

Summary: Inspired by the series Friday Night Lights. In a town that is obsessed with football, a group of teenagers are glorified for what they bring to the field. But what the people of Velaris don’t realize is that there is a lot more to life than football, and it’s not always pretty.

Revolves around Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand.

*Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

*Note: A chapter will be posted every Wednesday.

Click here for previous chapters.

Author’s Note: Hey, guys. I have surgery planned for Wednesday, so I’m going to post this wonderful (debatable) chapter today. Also, I’ve had a few of you ask about being tagged, and I’m sorry to say that I will no longer be doing tags in my fics. With Castaway, they hardly ever worked and I had a few readers get mad because of it. Instead, I have (and will be) tagging every chapter with “TACMC FNL” for your convenience! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And, as always, i would love to know what you think. :)

Shout out to @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty for helping me with details! <3

Cassian hoped Rhys picked up Alana without a problem.

He had called Velaris Elementary and told them Rhysand Lunasa would be picking her up, although the Lunasas were already on her emergency release form.

And yet, his leg was shaking uncontrollably as he sat in his homeroom classroom to serve his first detention.

In typical Helion fashion, he was late. Even those who ran detention didn’t want to be in detention.

On top of that, their first game was Friday night and Velaris High School’s starting fullback was missing most of practice.

Coach B said he would have to put in extra hours during his afternoon free period to make up for lost time.

Mondays.

He didn’t regret it, though. In fact, every time he thought back to punching Eris in the face, his soul became a little lighter. The dick got what he deserved. Cassian had hoped the news traveled to Mor, he hadn’t seen her since homeroom. She wouldn’t be mad. He wasn’t even sure why she stayed with Eris, after all the shitty things he had done to her. But she was capable of making her own decisions, so Cassian stayed out of it.

Well, mostly. At least on her end.

A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips as the door swung open, and to Cassian’s surprise, it wasn’t Mr. Spellcleaver who walked in.

She was tall, at least she carried herself that way. She wore a heather grey pencil skirt with a white button down and a crimson red scarf, her long golden-brown waves hanging limply down her sides.

But her eyes were what caught Cassian’s attention.

They were like the calm before the storm, lingering over the ocean. Grey-blue, and staring negatively into Cassian’s.

Surely, she couldn’t be in detention. She looked to stuck-up. Too snooty. Too good for that shit.

“Name?” she asked, as she walked to Helion’s desk and sat down.

Cassian looked around the classroom, although they were the only two in there. “Uh, Cassian Nazari? Who the hell are you?”

She looked up from her apparent list, eyes narrowed. “Ms. Archeron. I’ll be overseeing detention, and that sort of language will not be tolerated.”

Cassian blinked. “Archeron? Are you Elain’s sister?”

The girl’s pencil froze from whatever she was writing on her sheet. “Yes.”

“Are you new, too? I didn’t see you today. Are you -“

“I’m not a student here.”

“Ah,” Cassian sighed, leaning back in his chair, as realization hit him. “You’re one of the new aids from the University.”

The aids from Velaris University came every year, although they typically looked older than the girl sitting in front of him. He quirked an eyebrow, which only seemed to annoy her more.

When she didn’t answer, Cassian grinned. “Well, since you’re not a teacher, and apparently we’re going to be spending some time together, don’t you think we should be on a first name basis?”

She put down her pencil and folded her hands on top of the desk. “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? Detention?”

“Are you going to council me, Ms. Archeron?”

The tone in which he spoke her name had her scowling. “No. We can stay quiet, if you wish.”

“Oh, no, I would love to talk to you. How did Elain like her first day?”

She didn’t answer.

“You coming to the game on Friday night?” he tried, again.

“I don’t waste my time at football games.”

“You should,” Cassian said. “If you’re going to be a part of Velaris High –“

“We shouldn’t be speaking,” she interrupted. “This is meant to be punishment, a time for you to do homework.”

Cassian grinned, catching sight of her nametag. Nesta.

“Well, Nesta,” he began, and she scowled at the sound of her name from his lips. “It’s the first day of school. I don’t have homework. And I shouldn’t be punished. My so-called crime is perfectly justified.”

“If you’re trying to get under my skin, it’s not working. Now be quiet.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Cassian asked, not bothering to take a hint. Taking hints when people were annoyed with him was not his style. “You look younger than me. Are you one of those freakishly smart kids that graduated high school at, like, fourteen?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, Nesta’s cheeks began to burn as she turned her attention back to her clipboard.

Cassian chuckled as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He used to get embarrassed of his phone, because it was all he could afford. It wasn’t the latest iPhone, or whatever other smartphone every else had. His model was made ten years ago and only cost twenty dollars a month to keep activated.

Alana okay? He sent to Rhys.

He replied less than a minute later. Yup. She’s sitting by Coach B on the bleachers while we get ready. She had a good day. : ) She’s excited to tell you about it.

Cassian let out a breath. Good. She had a good day. That was a good sign.

He glanced at the clock.

Five minutes.

He had only been in detention for five minutes.

  “What’s your name?”

Elain blinked down at the little girl beside her. She hadn’t even realized she was there.

Her tanned skin was kissed by the sun, as if she had spent all Summer playing outdoors, and her long, curly brown hair was just as lovely as her hazel eyes.

“Elain,” she laughed, quietly. “What’s yours?”

“Alana,” she grinned, her two front teeth missing. “I’m five. My brother plays football. Does yours?”

“No,” Elain sighed. “No, I have no brothers. I do have sisters, though. One of them wants to be a teacher, and the other likes to paint.”

“Do you like to paint?” she asked, curiously. “I do.”

“Do you? I’m sure you’re a beautiful painter.”

The young girl smiled again as a tall, blonde girl approached them.

Elain recognized her immediately from a few of her classes.

“Mor!” Alana beamed, jumping to her feet and running into the arms of the blonde.

Mor smiled and brushed back her hair. “Hey, pretty girl. How was school?”

“Great! Are you gonna do cheerleading?”

“Yes,” Mor said, finding Elain. “I see you already met our new cheerleader. Elain?”

“Yep,” she said, rising to her feet and brushing down her gym shorts – a nervous habit. “I, um, have never done this before. Our last school was too small to form a squad, but I’ve always wanted to try it. I’m sorry if I’m awful, but I’ll do my best not to be. Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m babbling –“

Mor just laughed, keeping Alana close to her side. “It’s okay. I’m captain, and what I say goes. And I say that you are more than welcome on the squad, and if you’re struggling, I’ll be more than happy to help you in any way I can. There’s no need to be nervous.”

Elain froze. It’s not that she expected Mor to be mean, but…..well, no that was it. And she felt awful for judging.

“Where’s Cass, Mor?” Alana asked, breaking the silence. “He said he was going to get me from school, but he didn’t.”

Mor crouched down to Alana’s height, and brushed a curly black lock behind her ear. “He’ll be here soon. He was naughty today.”

Alana rolled her eyes. “Again?”

Mor chuckled. “Yeah, what can you do? Boys.”

Alana giggled then held out her hand to Elain, which she amusingly shook. “It was nice to meet you, Elain. You will make a fine cheerleader.”

Then, she walked onto the football field and sat down on the bench, by a man that Elain assumed was the coach.

“She sure has a way with words for someone so young,” Elain said.

Mor smiled, wistfully. “Yeah, she does. That girl is special.” Then, as if she noticed Elain’s curious glance, Mor cleared her throat. “Well, come with me. Let me introduce you to the girls. I think you’re going to have fun.”

As they were walking to the sidelines, a tall boy with red hair came up behind them and smacked Mor on the ass. Mor didn’t even look back, she simply rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. That’s Eris. He’s a dick, but I don’t feel like making a scene right now. Not in front of Alana.”

Elain glanced nervously at the boy, with his broad shoulders and throbbing veins. “Does he…..do that kind of stuff to everyone?”

Mor quirked a brow before realizing what she was actually asking. “Oh, no, don’t worry about him. He won’t touch you. He’s my…..my boyfriend.”

Elain caught herself from asking why she stuttered, but she simply nodded her head and continued with the rest of their walk in silence.

“Good afternoon, ladies!” Mor called out once they reached the group that was gathering, placing her hands on her hips. “This is Elain, she is the newest member of our squad. It’s her first time cheering, so I expect you all to be helpful and encouraging.”

To Elain’s surprise, she was greeted with clapping and cheers. They all gave her a smile, except for the one on the end. Noticing where she was looking, Mor chuckled. “That’s Amren. Don’t let her fool you, she’s cheery inside.”

Elain quickly looked away from the small, black-haired female before their eyes could connect. “She doesn’t seem like the….”

“Cheerleader type?” Mor laughed, finishing her question. “No, she doesn’t. But her form is great, and she’s our flyer. She’s into gymnastics, but since Velaris doesn’t offer gymnastics, she joined the squad in hopes to stay in the same line of work. As close as she could get, anyway. Don’t judge too fast, though. She’ll surprise you.”

Elain, panicked, began to tell Mor that she wasn’t trying to judge, but got cut off.

“Mor?”

The two girls spun around, and Elain stopped.

So did the boy who was walking toward them, dressed in football pads and carrying his helmet by the facemask.

Mor’s grin turned wicked as she glanced between Azriel and Elain, as the two stared at one another in timid silence.

Azriel showed no emotion – none except for the crimson patches on his tanned cheeks.

He was in all of Elain’s classes but one, which was yearbook, which she excitedly decided to take thanks to Lucien’s recommendation.

Azriel always sat on the opposite end of the room as she did, but she caught him watching her a few times throughout the day.

And couldn’t stop the tingly sensation that sat in the pit of her stomach when she did.

“Sorry,” Azriel cleared his throat, at last, and looked to Mor as he raked a scarred hand through his dark hair.  Elain couldn’t help but stare at the scars, at the way they completely ruined and mutilated his flesh. And yet, she didn’t stare because it was horrifying. She just simply couldn’t look away. “Um, Rhys wants to take us all out for pizza after practice. Wanna come?”

She looked to Azriel, then Elain saw her look further down the field – at Eris. “Yeah, sure, that would be great.”

Azriel looked to Elain, and cleared his throat, again. “Uh, would you like to come?”

“Oh,” Elain stopped, and she knew she was blushing. “No, that’s okay. I – my sisters will be expecting me. We just moved, and we’re still settling in. I don’t want to – no, that’s – I don’t want to impose.”

Azriel’s lips flattened as he pursed them, and nodded. He didn’t say anything else as he tugged on his helmet and jogged to the middle of the field.

Mor turned to Elain and raised her brows. “He was flirting with you.”

“He was?” Elain asked, incredulously. “He kinda looked like he wanted to set me on fire.”

“Trust me, I’ve known Az a long time,” Mor grinned. “He was flirting with you.”

And with that, she turned to the group, and practice began.

Elain tried to focus on what she had to learn, but she couldn’t get his face out of her mind.

And the shadows that seemed to linger over his shoulders.

 Feyre sat high up on the bleachers, doodling in her notebook as practices were in full bloom on the field below.

She hated football. Football players were always stuck up and conceited, and she thought it was better to just stay away.

But Elain wanted to cheer, and Feyre supported whatever she did, so it looked like Feyre would be spending quite a bit of time by that damned field.

Nesta plopped down next to Feyre and sighed, forcing her to stop her pencil from moving and look at her sister. “Bad day?”

“No,” Nesta sighed. “No, it was okay. Mr. Collins is making me watch over detentions, though, and it’s just…..strange. I’m supposed to be in charge, but I’m only a year older than the seniors. It feels.....I don’t know. I feel like a child. Like a fake.”

Nesta had graduated early, thanks to her mass knowledge in pretty much every subject. She was halfway through University at nineteen, and Feyre had always admired her for such things.

“Someone already got detention?” Feyre chuckled. “It’s the first day of school.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, one of the football players. Cassian Nazari. And his mouth is filthy. And I swear he was trying to flirt with me, which is extremely inappropriate.”

“You’re only a year older,” Feyre reminded her.

“But I work here,” Nesta rolled her eyes.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at Nesta’s fit. “Well, I’m sure he can’t stay in detention forever. Then you can move on.”

Nesta didn’t answer, she simply looked out onto the field where a boy was just now coming out of the locker room. “There he is. The little prick.”

Feyre smirked, but there was nothing little about him. He was huge. Fit. Beautiful, if Feyre had to admit. Even though the fact of his attraction was completely obvious.

She saw him run to number 16, which she recognized as Rhysand, the douche from gym, and slap him on the back before taking his place on the field.

“Wait – why are you scowling?” Nesta asked, genuinely curious.

“Speaking of pricks,” Feyre muttered before shaking her head. “I had a hell of a day.”

“Bad?” Nesta asked, her shoulders becoming tense.

Nesta had a tendency to come off like she didn’t care, although she had come a long way since their mother died. But it was little things like that, like the tensing up of her upper body, that made Feyre remember just how much their elder sister cared.

Nesta did take her and Elain out of their father’s home. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have moved them ninety miles away – to Velaris.

“Not bad,” Feyre sighed. “Just…..I don’t know. New, I guess.”

Nesta nodded, as if she understood but wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sure it will get better though,” Feyre continued. “Looks like Elain is enjoying herself, at least.”

Elain was in the middle of a line of cheerleaders, her blue and black pom-poms up in a high V.

“She deserves it,” Nesta said, eyeing Elain on the field below. “She’s too kind to have lived the life we have so far.”

Feyre agreed. If anyone of them deserved a better life, it was Elain.

Elain had been the one to try and take the spot of “mother” after theirs had passed away, even though she was only a year older than Feyre, and a year younger than Nesta. It was in her blood, the love and care that only people like Elain could show.

Yet, she suffered the same as the rest of them. But she looked happy, with her arms in the air, chanting whatever foolishness she was chanting. And she was smiling.

And that was enough for Feyre, at least for now.

If Elain could find happiness in this starlit hell, perhaps she could, too.