#my crush has been on a sailboat for months

[goddessproblems]

uuuumm boy toy for my birthday plzzzz?!!

[madhatterbri]

Only Us | C.C.

Summary: Hey! I love your writing and was hoping i could get prompts 9 + 10 with christian? That man has a choke hold over me😂.

9.) Taking a vacation somewhere to escape the cold weather.

10.) First Christmas together

@biforrollynch (requested ❤️)

@theswitchbladessweetheart

@1dluver13xx

Author's Note: I live in a place that is known to be over 75 all year so this was easy. 😂😂

"Are you sure Adam didn't mind us coming to Miami for Christmas?" You repeated for the hundredth time. You stood against the glass door frame with two bottles of beer in your hands. The thought of intruding on a forty year friendship made you panic. Adam had always been so nice.

Christian remained silent while staring at the ocean before him. The full moon illuminated the water the two of you had been in previously. His barefeet propped up on the balcony fence enjoying watching the waves roll up on the sand. He took in a deep breath of the fresh ocean air and leaned his head back. His head lulled to look at you.

"For the thousandth time, he doesn't mind at all. Besides if he minded I think it would be too late to let me know now," he teased and reached out for his bottle. You handed it to him and sat next to him on the bench. He wrapped his arm around you while taking a swig. His thumb rubbing against your arm reassuringly.

As usual he was right. Today was Christmas. The airport, while always hell year round, would have been a disaster today. The streets would no doubt not be much better. This was ceetainly a better option. Warm weather was greatly appreciated for all the aches and bumps taken over the year while working with AEW.

The discussion of where to go for Christmas began two months ago. You didn't want to go somewhere cold and he wanted to go wherever you wanted to go. Christmas parties with friends sounded like more of a chore than something that would bring enjoyment.

As a couple, this was your first Christmas together. You wanted it to just be the two of you. No fuss over family and friends. Just the two of you being selfish and cutting yourselves off from the rest of the world. A resort on an island overlooking the ocean was a dream come true.

"Am I boring you?" He asked while taking another sip.

"Not at all. I'm just happy it's the two of us," you answered truthfully.

"Me too," he confessed. You rested your head on his clothed chest and soaked everything in.

Christmas lights were wrapped around the railings of your balcony. Another room played Christmas music. On the horizon a sailboat with Christmas lights passed by the resort. You stayed still listening to his heartbeat. A sound you often fell asleep listening to.

"Hey, do you remember the AEW party after All In?" He asked while playing with your hair lazily. He placed his empty beer bottle on the table next to him. You placed yours on the floor.

You cracked a smile. "When someone spiked the punch and seeing grown men cry like babies while puking in plants? How could I forget?"

"I meant after the party,"

You sat up and looked at him in confusion. To be honest, you didn't remember much of the party. The punch didn't have as much of an effect on you but it was still pretty strong. "After?"

"After," he smirked and kissed your lips. His lips trailed down to your jaw and down your neck. You blushed darkly remembering the previously mentioned event perfectly in your mind.

"I still can't believe we weren't caught by someone," you spoke and placed a hand over your head. "I would have been mortified,"

"I don't think anyone knows about that night except us,"

"I remember it perfectly, you know," you responded playfully and kissed him. "It was one of the best nights of my life. I had a crush on you for so long,"

Christian leaned down and kissed your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and scooted closer to him. Your legs placed around his as you sat on his lap facing him. His hands slid up the back of your legs and cupped your butt. Your lips separated from his slowly.

"Christian?" You asked. Your foreheads touched together.

"I think we should take this somewhere else," he advised. "It will be hard for parents to explain to their kids that adults can be on the naughty list,"

"After parties seem to be your favorite," you teased and stood up from the bench. He grabbed your hand and led you inside towards the bedroom.

"I love having only us for Christmas," you murmured between kisses as you closed the door behind you.

[shealynn88]

A microfic for yesterday’s @drarrymicrofic prompt thalassophile:

Harry hasn’t set foot on land for three months when he gets his first sighting. It’s just a flash of pale, a slither of green, a glitter of silver, and then the same bright shift of wave after rolling wave.

He isn’t looking for anything, really. Just quiet. Just…himself. What he is, outside the constant crush of trying to please everyone.

What he learns is that the stubbornness of needing answers is his own. Innate. Because he scans for that foreign shape constantly. Hoists the sail and follows brief flashes like his life depends on it.

The creature leads him on a merry chase, works him into a froth of instinct, of frustration, until one afternoon he dives over the side and swims down, down, and looks for that huge tail fin and those coils of green that have been taunting him.

And when he finally sees it, he chases. No gillyweed, no spells for fins or breathing. Just his recklessness, honed to a point.

His vision goes dark around the edges and his lungs strain. By the time he realizes he’s in trouble, it’s too late.

~

“You’re even stupider than I remember,” says a posh, insolent voice. He’d know that voice anywhere.

Harry aches all over. “Malfoy?” he croaks. The wood under his fingers is familiar, warm and worn smooth. The rock and creak of his little sailboat, too. “Fuck,” he says, looking around.

He’s lying next to Harry and looking characteristically annoyed. Pale hair hangs in a wet curtain over his shoulders. He is pale skin and gills just inside the divot of his collarbone, and a light sprinkling of scales like freckles across his shoulders and chest.

“It’s really you. They said…they said you died.”

Malfoy sneers. “Of course they did. Flushed me like a goldfish when they were done, didn’t they?” He shakes his head. “I’ll leave you be. Don’t be an idiot, all right? I thought I’d spice up your little expedition—you look awful, by the way—and instead of giving polite chase you nearly drowned yourself. Idiot. Well, now you know who and what I am and we can both move on.”

“Wait!”

Malfoy turns back and flashes him a sharp smile. Literally—his teeth are curved and pointed. “What on earth could you want now?”

“Just…stay. For a bit. Just…just until I catch my breath.”

“Why on earth would you want that?”

Harry has no idea. “Well, we’re not enemies anymore, are we? I haven’t spoken to anyone in months. Have you?”

Malfoy’s mouth turns down in disgust. “No, Potter. I haven’t exactly had the occasion.”

“Well, now you do. Stay.”

Draco looks reluctant and closed off, like he’s waiting for a punchline.

“Please,” Harry adds quietly.

“Fine. Just let me…” Draco shifts and squirms, and Harry sees the long coils of his tail, more like a serpent than a fish, roil and undulate until they finally come to rest under him, allowing him to sit up.

Harry levers himself up as well and looks Draco over, the glitter of scales, the beautiful veil and vein of his tail fin, the long muscular coils of his tail. He’s beautiful.

“Well?” Draco says irritably. “Talk, then.”

And Harry laughs, incredulous and full of joy and feeling no need whatsoever to live up to anything.

The endless sea rocks under them as Harry talks, and the pinched look on Draco’s face smoothes into something cautiously hopeful.

Harry finds pieces of himself there, at sea, in Draco’s curious expression and the roll of the waves and the slow lift of a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying.

“Where do you want to go from here?” he asks Draco as the sun sets.

“Wherever the sea takes us, I suppose,” Draco says with an unconcerned shrug.

Harry smiles and nods, turning his face into the wind.

Us, the waves repeat, lapping against the boat.

Us.

[bibliocratic]

tim and martin

part of an series of archive polycule oneshots

They part ways at St Pancras. Tim gives Martin a chicken-peck kiss on the cheek, consciously more sedate than their usual farewells, when Tim will lean into the dramatic to see Martin flush and bluster his insincere complaints.

He tells him, lightly I’ll catch up with you later yeah? and doesn’t let it become a question but settle in as a promise. He gives a little wave of his mobile as if to demonstrate that if Martin needs him, he’ll come.

Martin nods, smiles distracted. That’s the form his smiles often take, like they’re sailboats pushing through choppy waters. His eyes are already wandering to his watch, although he’s got plenty of time. Then he heads off up Euston Road, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, slouching back into his poor-postured hunch.

Tim goes off the opposite way, meandering anchorless through the flow of people in no particular direction. He’s developed his own patterns for days like today. He stops at a new café that he’s certain wasn’t there two weeks ago, and orders an overpriced mocha that cools too quickly and is overly grainy when he gets to the bottom. Sitting up on a wobbly stool and propping his elbows against a wooden bar that looks out onto the tumult of the street, he reads the book he brought, whiling away about forty minutes with an overwrought crime thriller.

(“It’s the brother.” Martin had said, his eyes still closed against the encroachment of morning as Tim had recounted the latest plot twist to him.

“Nah, it’s the detective. The shady one. I’m sure of it.”

“The detective probably didn’t help, but I reckon she more just turned a blind eye to it. The real killer’s the brother.”

“How much d’you want to bet?”

“Heh. I didn’t realise you were made of money.”

“You mean our untold riches from working in spooky admin?”

Martin’s face relaxes into its smile. It ceaselessly delights Tim to see, and he leans in and over the rise of Martin’s chest, presses a kiss at the fold of his mouth to hear Martin hum dozily.

“I’ll get you a takeaway or something.”

“What luxury. Alright then.”)

He checks his phone for the time, but Martin won’t be finished yet. He dog-ears the page with the increasing certainty that he’s going to owe Martin a takeaway dinner for two with the way the plot’s going, and continues on his amble.

The weather’s given up on scattered showers to break into cautious sunshine. He’s a chronic window shopper, and as he goes, he takes photos on his phone of some more ostentatious jackets with show-off, flashy colours and sends them to Sasha. It’s the annual Institute fundraiser in less than a month, and Tim has big plans for his outfit, which every year manages to be a flagrant fashion statement that is a heady combination of eye-catching and borderline obnoxious. Three years in a row, he’s managed to win a dry quip and a desultory sigh from Elias, but this year’s big achievement would be swaying Martin into coming, something he has avoided every year since before even Tim started working there.

With a rapid-fire chatter of pings, Sasha dismisses three of his flashier choices. After a few seconds of waiting, she points out that the deep blue jacket might be a good shout for Martin. Tim makes a mental note to swing back to the shop later in the week with the man himself.

He buys some household necessities – bin bags, a bottle of hand soap – and stops at a pub that’s not too crushed with tourists. He pops a quid in the fruit machine in the corner and wins a grand total of sod all, as per usual, so he gets a lager top and props up the mostly empty bar, reading the Metro he took from the Tube.  Every so often, he flicks his eyes to his phone.

It’s been about two hours when Tim walks to where he knows Martin will be holed up. The café at the front entrance to the British Library is never empty, but it’s sparingly dotted with patrons, and Martin’s been able to take up one of the round white tables with the wonky legs near the windows.

Tim sees what he expects to, what he’s come to learn from this tradition; Martin, headphones in, the music overloud and heavy with bass. There’s the streaked remains of a hot chocolate in a tall glass, a crumb-flecked plate with half a Bakewell unfinished. He’s staring down at his hands, frowning, picking at the scruffy remains of his nails.

“All ok?” Tim asks. He makes sure to wave in Martin’s line of sight.

Martin looks up as he tugs out his headphones and shoves them into his pocket. Tim watches him push a greeting smile onto his face. Tim has learned Martin has a lot of faces he can form like shield-walls, defensive carapaces of anxious pretence he’s spent his whole life hammering out. But today must have touched on that, for Martin after a moment drops the foundation of his expression into an honest, more hard-won welcome that’s still slightly wrinkled with his thoughts.

His hair’s always a bit of a mess after he comes from talking to Leanne. He tugs at it and rakes his fingers through when he’s trying to muddle the words out. Tim leans in on his way to sitting down and pats down the worst of the cowlicks.

“Yeah,” Martin says. He breathes out and repeats himself. “Yeah. It was… it was useful.”

“That’s good to hear,” Tim says, and hopes his expression manages to tell Martin how proud Tim is of him.

“I left you some,” Martin says, gesturing at the unfinished Bakewell.

“My hero,” Tim beams, and picks up the whole thing and drops it into his mouth, beaming with a crumbly satisfaction when Martin goes ‘there’s a fork, Tim,’ and it breaks up the clouds on his face.

“We head off then? Do we need anything else while we’re out?”

“You get bin bags?”

“Yep.”

“We’re running out of soap for the bathroom, did you…?”

“Done and done.”

“And we’re out of orange juice, did you remember that?”

“I…”

Tim stops, because he’s sure the carton’s still half full. He drank some straight out of the fridge this morning, and both Sasha and Martin had simultaneously lectured him on using a glass.

Martin’s smirk peeks out of its warren.

“You would lie? To me?” Tim dramatically holds his hand over his heart, and it wrings a chuckle out of Martin as they stand to leave.

Martin reaches for his hand as they head out. There’s no initial knocking of his knuckles against Tim to gauge how he might go about it, no tentatively brushing fingers to test the waters. He threads their fingers together quickly, like he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t do it immediately, and goes a self-conscious red. It’s a pleasant surprise.  Tim clenches his fingers in a supportive gesture, and gets a delayed response. Martin doesn’t often initiate, and definitely not in public.

“We… um. We talked about you. Me and Leanne,” Martin stumbles over his words after a while.

“Oh? I thought I could feel my ears burning.”

Martin doesn’t continue the thought, but he looks down at where they’re joined, overly aware of the contact.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” he says eventually. “To the party. Anything smart, you know, it doesn’t seem to be really a jeans and t-shirt sort of occasion.”

“You’re going to come?” Tim tries and fails to keep the smile off his face.

“It… it might not be so bad. With you and Sash there.”

“Martin,” Tim says with the utmost seriousness. “No pressure but me and Sash have been mentally trying to plan you an outfit for weeks. Can I…? Can we take a detour? There’s a jacket I really want to show you. If you don’t like it, no harm no foul, but it will look gorgeous on you, I know it.”

Martin looks like he’s automatically going to say no, and Tim gets it. Martin’s back goes up when all the attention is on him, like he’s under a spotlight, and the jacket is a bit more eye-catching than he’d usually go for.

But he seems to breathe through the refusal and sits with the idea before:

“Yeah. Ok. I’ll take a look.”

“You can help me with my jacket as well,” Tim says. “Sasha keeps doubting my fashion choice.”

“She texted me your suggestions earlier,” Martin replies. “I’d doubt it too. Peach? Seriously.”

“Ooh, someone’s catty. Oh! Almost forgot. We’re probably going to have an Indian tonight, cool with you?”

“Um… yeah, sure – why?... Oh! It was the brother?”

“Almost inevitable at this point.”

“Knew it.”

Martin gives a smug little grin, and Tim’s heart does a funny stumble in his chest.

Their hands stay connected all the way to the shop.

[sirengf-moved]

oh boy 1) 2, 5, 7, 10, 15 || 2) 3, 7, 9 || 3) 6, 7, 20 || 4) 4, 9, 27 || part five is embarrassing so none of that shit 💓 || 6) 2, 4, 10 || i gave u so many because i lov u but i'm also fucked up 🍊🌿💐💓

mars i lov u , also don’t worry i’m vain and i love answering questions abt myself so this works perfectly 😌🍯☁️✨🍓🍃 HOLD ONTO UR BUTT THIS IS A LOT :

( part 1 ) 🍨

Have you ever cut your hair yourself?

a: as a kid i think i got something stuff in my hair , gum or ? i’m unsure it’s a foggy memory but i just cut my hair and my mom got soooooo mad bc we had a friend who was a hairdresser and we didn’t tell her or anything and we just cut it , tbh it was pretty liberating but at the same time i don’t remember if i did a good job or not 💀

Do you collect anything?

a: mmm, jars ...... me telling myself i’m gonna gather jars for spellwork and i never actually do it so i just have a shit ton of mason jars , emptied candle jars , small flasks with cork screw lids all sitting around my crystals and incense ect....... rip me.

Are you a fan of bread and butter?

a: yes! i eat fried bread w/ light butter for breakfast most mornings , probably unhealthy but like.......it’s very yummy..... 😔

Have you ever almost died?

a: ive almost drowned at least 3 times, this racist dude thst i almost beat the shit out of nearly ran me over on my way home with his redneck truck ( forgetting i knew where he lived ) , almost asphyxiated myself by swallowing melted chocolate at least 3 /4 times , almost got into a head on collision at a 4 way once, when i jumped from the side of my grandfathers sailboat onto the docks i wasn’t considering how big the leap was and landed fine but almost fell back and would’ve been crushed between the boat and dock , and i thought i was going to die when this homeless man glared me down intensely at the local burger king as i ate my chicken and lowkey cried bc i was also going through an emotional meltdown ( unrelated to said homeless man making vicious murder eyes at me , but that sure didn’t help lol ) i’ve also died a lot in my dreams / almost died in dreamscapes ..... long winded answer but hi mars i’m also fucked up 😌

Favorite animal?

a: GELADA MONKEYS! LOOK THEM UP PLS THEYRE AMAZING I LOVE THEM! BIG FLUFFY BOYS!

( part 2 ) 🥧

Do you believe the butterfly effect is real?

a: hm... i feel like every action mayhaps has some sort of consequence but personally i’ve been seeing that like, how can this be true when you have billionaires who use slave/sweatshops/prison labor but yet are rewarded with vast riches? how can you have all of these people of power constantly doing bad , horrible things and not getting their karma? will they get it ten fold? down the road? is their karma their internal struggles? do they not have any moral qualms? are they MAKING the karma for others? these are questions i constantly ask myself to be quite honest....

Do you believe in witches and/or magic?

a: yes , for the most part. there are some i believe because i can feel it , their energy and majesty in the way they hold themselves and how they view the world, some people just scare me with how they go through life with such certainty on everything, certainty terrifies me to be honest. i do definitely believe in magic! it’s in everything! from someone cooking you something that you regularly cook but it tastes better bc they made it? magic! it’s everywhere! and also practical magic ( spellwork / spirit work / deity & entity work / tarot & oracle ect ) it all interests me and i love talking about it , to people who also believe and practice and KNOW AND RESPECT CULTURE/ HERITAGE / CLOSED PRACTICES! c:

Do you believe in anything mythical/supernatural? (Bigfoot, Mermaids, Vampires, etc.)

a: sorta , i’ve had too many rhythmic taps / scratches on my window in the deep hours of the night to not believe. i’m not sure if i believe in vampires as in modern mainstream standpoint but i’m pretty open to just about anything existing..it’s just this world is so weird and i’d be naive to think that just bc i can’t perceive it with my own eyes, it just simply doesn’t exist... u know?

( part 3 ) 🍡

If a friend called you to help hide a body, would you help or turn them in?

a: i ain’t no snitch. also kinda depends on the friend, bc i wouldn’t turn anyone in regardless ( unless they killed someone innocent / were a budding serial killer omg ) but like do i answer calls? rarely , am i also the one everyone always goes to? yes. either way i’d prolly help you bury the body, answering the phone however? another story. ( who am i kidding i’d be so excited that a friend wants to talk or smth then get roped into this whole drama episode )

Have you ever had a crush on someone that, now as you look back, is completely embarrassing?

a: YES , STORY TIME! okay so i was like 17/18 and i liked this guy and at the time i thought i was being soooooo oblivious about it , but like a few months later a friend was like ‘ did u like so and so? ‘ and i was like ‘ was it that obvious? ‘ and they were all like ‘ painfully ‘ and to this day i still get randomly reminded by my brain how stupid , cringe worthy and weird i acted , like my brain is relentless in reminding me how fucking fat of an L that whole crush thing was........ 🙃

How would you react if you had a secret admirer?

a: depends, ive had ‘secret’ admirers who turned very obsessive in my past, so i’m naturally wary , but idk if someone thinks i’m cool i have no problem with that , but if you put me on this weird pedestal then i have a problem ... 🤲🏽 td;lr : id be as humble as possible bc then i’m reminded i’m perceived.

( part 4 ) 🍰

Favorite actress?

a: lupita n’yongo!!

Favorite type of food?

a: savory / rich/ salty food, i don’t really care for sweet foods ... or fried foods ? i don’t like large portions either tbh, i like to feel full not like dead lol. my favorite types are either seafood or seafood coupled with steak and other assorted meat and sides .

Favorite sport?

a: i liked playing volleyball, i like watching soccer and occasionally college football ( ik ik.... ) but i also love watching women’s professional gymnastics!!

( part 6 ) 🌯

Ever kissed someone who wasn’t single?

a: i don’t think so.... no! it sounds like smth i’d do on accident or smth tbh ... but not smth i’d do purposely!

Have you ever done anything illegal?

a: yes! lots of things! but i’m not gonna list them all here, nothing too serious but lol yes haha

Ever lied straight to someone’s face?

a: daily occurrence tbh, i’m really good at lying , i had to get good at it as a kid in order to avoid shit so 😌 now i can convince gross men that i’m in a relationship with a huge weightlifting bouncer and we have 3 kids and hes on isle 6 and will be back soon when i’m in walmart and some creep attempts to talk to me too much! and they’ll believe me.......

[wellhellotragic]

Bubble Boy

Oh my gosh @resident-of-storybrooke. I know you’ve had a rough go lately, and I wanted to do something to cheer you up. Obviously I was trying to covertly find out your bday so I could gift you a surprise, and then you ended up pointing me right at it without realizing it.

  So, even better might be that I wanted to do the Florida Man prompt for you.

(For anyone who doesn’t know what Florida Man is, basically, Florida is just a crazy nutter-butter state and if you google that term plus your bday you’ll get the most incredibly random headline you’ve ever heard.)

Unfortunately, your bday yielded some REALLY horrible headlines. Sorry but I wasn’t going to have Killian murder a pregnant Snow. There was also one where a man got 58 stitches after a shark attack, but I was really trying for something a little more fluffy. After trudging through google results, I think we found a winner:

A Florida man was rescued after trying to ride a hamster ball to the Bahamas.

P.S. Happy birthday a little early!

Emma Swan, the light of his life, doesn’t even know he exists. Well, that’s not totally accurate. He flirts with her every chance he gets. He may have even faked being sick a time or two to see her again, but in the grand scheme of things, he’s certain that once he leaves her unit, he’s out of sight and out of mind.

And it kills him.

She’s been there a year now, and despite the confidence he normally feels, she has this amazing ability to knock him off his game and he somehow inherently knows that if he were to ask her out, she’d flat out decline. Or she’d just laugh if off like it was a joke. He’s not sure which would be worse, and he has no plans to ever find out.

He’ll happily go to his grave pining after her instead of making a bloody fool of himself. To be honest, it’s kind of his fault. He never should have dated her coworkers. Yes, plural. And yes, to his credit that was before Emma joined that unit, but he’s sure she’s already heard the stories.

He’s not a bad guy. He’s really not. What he is though, is attractive, something he’s known his whole life. Getting women has never been difficult for him, Emma being the exception here, and he’s never worried about it before. And although he’s always been clear from the onset with his dates, that he’s not a relationship kind of guy, the women of his past haven’t always been able to accept that.

They don’t understand that his career is everything to him, and that if he does well here, he can finally prove his worth. Sure he’s always had the looks, but Liam’s always had the brains. Liam was top in his class while Killian struggled to keep up. He just wants to prove himself worthy of being here, that he isn’t here just because Liam pulled some strings, and sometimes that means sacrificing.

Of course, that was pre Emma and while he’s not ready to throw his career away or anything, a part of him feels like maybe he could have both. Not that he’ll ever get to find out. He’s heard through the grapevine that she’s only got a few more months here. Only three more months before she leaves and never looks back. Three months before he’s left to always wonder what if.

Ya, he’s always been a dramatic person.

It’s been a fairly boring week. It’s the off season in Florida. The sun is out but the water’s still too cold to play in. It’s not quite time for tourist and the locals know better than to go out at this time of year. Well most of them do. There were some high school kids last week that they rescued, although the kids weren’t in any real danger. Not from the water anyway. Their dad and his missing prized sailboat probably said otherwise though.

But for the most part, his time is spent checking the equipment over and over, watching tide flows, and checking in with the weather channel. It’s pretty monotonous, but every once in a while a weather related program will come on showing people being idiots. It’s silly but it helps pass the time until his shift is over. He thinks he may actually die of boredom today though. Liam left him a mountain of paperwork before leaving to collect lunch for everyone. Usually Liam sends one of the lower ranking guys, but like Killian, Liam must have been going stir crazy too.

Lunch passes by just as uneventfully. His burger and fries doing little to add to the excitement of his day. But then something peculiar happens. They hear on the radio that someone needs rescuing, but that’s not what catches his attention. The guy on the other side of that frequency must have lost his damn mind. He’s sure that he’s going to get all the way out there and find out that it’s just someone trying to play a joke on them. A costly joke, but most people don’t think about that the way he does.

Liam’s running out the door, yelling for some guys to ready the chopper. Killian rolls his eyes and goes back to his paperwork. That mountain isn’t going to clear itself. About twenty minutes into his first stack though, and he hears another call on the radio, except this time it’s his brother’s voice telling him that they need a boat.

“Come again?” He really wouldn’t put it past Liam to pull his chains.

Well, he would on any other day. Liam has always been practical to a point and would never waste taxpayer dollars, but Killian also knows that they are due for another round of training drills this month. And Liam was unusually bored earlier too.

“I said I need you to get out here with one of the delta rescue boats. Over.”

Killian cringes, knowing that the only boat available right now is a small almost inflatable raft looking thing. Liam is definitely taking the piss out of him.

“Oh, and little brother, you may want to bring one of the medics with you. Over and out.”

Liam’s gone before Killian can even correct that little brother quipt. He might take it out on the guys getting the boat ready. But his frustration isn’t totally because his brother refused to acknowledge him in a more mature way. No, it’s because he knows there are only three medics in today. None of which he wants to be cramped into a tiny boat with.

Inside the clinic building, he sees two of his possible companions right away. Luckily Nina is already busy giving someone a physical and Maggie seems to be avoiding making eye contact with him just as badly as he is with her. That leaves one person. He pokes his head around the corner looking to see if she’s in the room they use as an office, but it’s empty. There aren’t any other patients in the clinic that he can see which means she’s probably in the break room.

Sure enough, he finds her sitting on the couch playing solitaire on her phone. She looks so calm and he hates to disturb her, but the boat will be ready any minute now, and on the off chance that Liam isn’t in on the hoax, he doesn’t want to leave some poor soul stranded.

He clears his throat, causing her to jump.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared.” He can practically see the defiance in her eyes, despite the way she nearly lept out of her skin.

“Of course not. But I do need you.” He blushes the minute the words are out of his mouth. “I mean, I need your help.”

She laughs. It’s small but lights up the world in his eyes.

“Please don’t tell me that you were out with Sanchez last night. There’s no way that thing isn’t infected.”

He tilts his head. They don’t really have time to get into whatever Sanchez got up to right now, but he’s definitely filing that away for later.

“No, I, uh- I was home alone last night.”

He’s not sure why he just told her that. She doesn’t need to know that his night was spent watching netflix while eating oreos in his underwear.

“Say it ain’t so. Killian Jones dateless on a Friday night?”

He can’t see his face right now but he knows that he’s as red as a tomato.

“I’m not- I-” How does this woman fluster him so easily? Usually he has time to think up things to banter with her about before seeing her. “I had to be up early this morning.”

She rolls her eyes are starts tapping away at the cards on her phone again.

“I meant it when I said I needed your help though. There’s a rescue in progress and I was told to bring a medic with me.”

Emma doesn’t miss a beat, jumping up grabbing her jacket and med kit. She’s out the door before he can even process what’s happening. When he catches up to her, she’s heading towards the helo pad and he has to stop her, telling her that they’re taking out a boat instead.

The boat sucks. That’s an awful thing to say and he knows it, but it’s true. Even with the still water the boat bounces all over the place, and on more than once occasion Emma ends up crashing into him. It’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the smell of her perfume, which is exactly why he didn’t want to bring her. Not that the other’s would have been better, but he wouldn’t be as affected by them.

At one point Emma radios in to Liam asking him what she should expect, but Liam tells her it’s better if she just sees it for herself. Killian isn’t sure what to make of it yet. Liam knows that he has a crush on her, and if Liam is using that to somehow embarrass him, his brother may be the one in need of medical attention.

Or maybe he’d be the one. Can you actually die of embarrassment? Is that a thing?

But when they get to the scene, they’re both taken aback. Liam’s chopper has been flying over head the entire time, but since they can’t be of much use, they head back, leaving Killian to deal with what has to be the oddest thing he’s ever seen in his life. And he lives in Florida, so that’s saying something.

There, not fifty feet in front of them, is a giant hamster ball floating across the water. It’s about six foot tall, but there is some sort of structure around it making it even larger. It looks almost like a hamster wheel. Red balls surround it, and he can just barely make out the form of a man crumpled up at the bottom of the ball.

He can tell that Emma is just as worried about the man as he is. It may not be hot out, but the man is in a giant inflatable magnifying glass, and there’s no telling how hot it is in that thing. There’s also no telling how long the guy has been out here. They’re about four miles from shore so it’s not as if he just jumped into the deep end.

He’s not even sure how he’s supposed to approach it. They call out to the man, and while he doesn’t make an attempt to move from his spot, he does wave them his middle finger. Cleary the man isn’t as distressed as he thought.

But the fact remains, they still need to get to the man somehow and check him over, and he also needs to figure out a way to get the homemade monstrosity dragged back in. They circle around and find that the far side of the ball is actually and open area.

On his order, the other the other crewman with them grabs ropes and together the two of them tie up to the wheel, coming in as close as they can. He’s a little weary knowing that the man inside of the bubble doesn’t want his help, but he can’t just leave the guy out there in the middle of the ocean.

Luck is on his side though. As he reaches over to poke his head in, he gets a large whiff of bourbon and realizes that the guy inside is nearly passed out drunk. Killian can only hope the guy is too out of it to fight him. Especially since he’s going to have to go into the bubble alone to grab the guy. While he’s sure Emma is fit as a fiddle, he’s not sure that she could handle lifting a 150 pound man into their rescue boat. Especially since there’s a two foot gap between them and the ball opening.

There’s only one way in. Head first. It’s not graceful by any means, and he falls on his head as soon as his waist is free. The man inside makes no movement but Killian can hear some mumbled curses. Hell, he’s probably making some curse words of his own. There’s an empty bottle of Jim Beam next to the guy, and a small puddle that he’s praying is spilled bourbon and not urine.

Maybe it’s time to rethink his job. Rescuing drunk men from their own wee wasn’t exactly what he signed up for when he joined the coast guard.

The man isn’t heavy, but he is complete dead weight, doing nothing to help Killian when lifting him up. The ball starts to sway under their combined weight moving towards the hole and Killian just hopes the whole thing doesn’t topple over. As soon as he’s got the guy’s arms out of the hole and he see’s Jacobs has a hold on him, he steps back trying to redistribute the weight.

He’s also choosing to pretend that he didn’t just accidentally step in the puddle. He’s going to secretly swap his boots out with Liam’s the first chance he gets.

With the man safely in the back of the boat and Emma attending to him, Killian and Jacobs work out the best way to tie the hamster ball to the boat to drag it back to shore.

The ride back is uneventful, and when they arrive the base, there’s an ambulance waiting for them. He and Jacobs get the guy onto the stretcher and he’s off, no longer their problem. But the bubble is. It takes five grown men to pull the thing up on the docks and lift it onto a flatbed truck. He has no idea where they’ll take it. Maybe to impound lot?

He’s been so busy with the stupid ball that he hasn’t even realized that Emma is gone. Not until he looks around and he doesn’t see her or her med kit. It’s probably better that way. Between making an ass of himself earlier and then stepping in bodily fluids, he hasn’t exactly crushed it with her today.

Instead he does his check offs with the boat making sure it’s clean for the next go. There’s vomit in the back seat, because his day wasn’t already spectacular enough. After the boat is clean, he goes back to his desk working on the stack of papers, ignoring all of the jokes until the next shift comes in.

He’s tired and cranky as he heads out to his truck, ready for a shower and bed. But when he gets to the parking lot, he finds someone leaning against his bumper.

“Thanks to Bubble Boy I missed lunch and now I’m starving. How about you?”

He immediately forgets that all he wants to do is go to bed, telling her that he could eat. They pick out a restaurant before she heads to her own car to meet him there. It’s not really a restaurant as much as a dive bar that serves greasy food, but he’ll take it if it means spending more time with Emma.

They grab a booth and before he knows it, their table is filled with empty beer mugs and cleaned off plates. They talk, for the first time really.

He finds out the the guy now known as Bubble Boy is really named Will Scarlett. Apparently his girlfriend dumped him the week before so he decided to move to the Bahamas, but he couldn’t afford the flight ticket, so he built his own boat . He was going to ‘sail it’ somehow. Never mind the fact that he didn’t have any way of navigating or steering, or that he didn’t have any food or water with him.

He also finds out that she’s only in the coast guard to pay for med school. That’s she’s already applied and been accepted to the University of Miami so while she’s leaving the coast guard soon, she’s not actually leaving town.

Killian explains to her that he followed in Liam’s footsteps. That the water is in their blood, and that today aside, he can’t fathom ever doing anything else. That he always feels like people are looking down at him, like they don’t believe he deserves his position so he works twice as hard to prove himself.

It’s nice. The way they talk but don’t flirt. He feels like he’s really getting to know her. It’s weird, eating a meal with a woman with no expectations of sex later. No romantic interest. Well, he’s interested but she’s not and he’s not going to push whatever luck the universe has granted him.

When they part for the night, he thinks it’s a one time thing. They’d both had a really weird day and no one else would have understood exactly what they saw. But it’s not a one time thing. More often than not she drops by his desk to eat her lunch with him, or he’ll pop by the clinic to see if she wants to grab a drink after work. They don’t always have the same shifts and sometimes he misses her on her days off.

Well, he always misses her on those days.

Maybe it’s good practice though. He’s gotten used to her being around, and as of today, he’s only got two more days left with her. He’s not sure what he’ll do when she’s gone. When he has to go back to eating lunch with Liam or going home straight after work to an empty house. It’s going to be lonely.

Today, he goes to eat lunch with her though. The other medics are throwing her a goodbye party and there’s going to be cake. She promised him of that. And sure enough, there’s two in there. One is chocolate, which he knows for a fact she hates, and the other is vanilla. Her favorite. There are also presents. He has one for her too, but he’s saving it for her actual last day. There are speeches about how much everyone is going to miss her. About how the unit is losing one of the best people they’ve ever had.

He almost cries at the emotion of it all. Almost .

Emma does cry as she gives her own ‘I’ll miss you all’ speech.

He doesn’t see her before she leaves, and he can’t help but admit that it stings.

The next day he doesn’t see her at lunch either. He’s busy on a surprise training assignment from Liam. He actually barely makes it back in before his shift is over and he runs straight for the clinic to catch Emma before she leaves. He’s too late though.

The walk back to his own office is filled with his wallowing. He only stays long enough to grab his gym bag with Emma’s present still tucked inside. Liam invites him over to dinner with the family, but Killian just wants to be alone. There’s a bottle of rum calling his name.

He’s half expecting her to be waiting by his truck like she was that one night three months earlier, but she’s not. It hurts more than he wants to admit. He’ll likely never see her again. Miami is a big city. Too big to just bump into her.

He has two big drinks that night before he goes to bed before nine.

He’s dragging ass today. He’s not exactly hung over, but he feels off. Maybe he’s caught the bug that’s been going around. Around lunch time Killian admits defeat when Liam sends him home sick. His head is throbbing and everything hurts. He barely makes it home in one piece. He’s pretty sure he even ran a stop sign by accidently because his head is so foggy. He doesn’t even finish the tea he made before he falls asleep in the couch.

And when he answers the pounding on his door, he’s sure that he’s hallucinating. There’s no way Emma Swan is actually standing as his door with a container of soup and a bag full of cold medicine. But she is. And she refuses to leave when he tell her that he doesn’t want to get her sick as well.

So she stays and takes care of him. They eat the soup she brought and he takes the medicine she gave him. They sit on opposite ends of the couch and watch a Criminal Minds marathon on tv before he falls asleep. When he wakes up hours later his head is somehow in her lap and she’s running her hands through his hair.

He has to be hallucinating.

She leaves around ten that night, but she’s right back at seven in the morning with a box of pancake mix and orange juice. She stays again all day taking care of him, and by the time she leaves again he’s feeling much better.

She doesn’t come over the next morning, but that’s only because she has her first day of classes. He’s still got a tiny smidge of death lingering over him as Liam puts it, and his brother tells him to take one more day off. He spends it sanitizing every surface of his place and catching up on laundry.

He’s not expecting her to drop by after her classes, but she does. She brings pizza and beer, and they watch a random movie playing on TV. Or they sort of watch it. She talks through the entire thing telling him all about her first day. Not that he minds. He’d rather listen to her, especially when she’s just so damn happy.

He doesn’t see her the next day though, or even the one after that. He’s back at work and she’s either studying or going to bed early when he gets off. He’s not sure what he expected. She’s busy living her new life and her taking care of him was a one off. She felt bad for him.

Although part of him wonders how she even knew he was sick, or how she knew where he lived since they’d never shared addresses before.

It’s Friday night and he’s beat. Physically and emotionally. The hurricane missed Florida, but it was enough to bring some fairly bad weather to the area, and with it choppy waters.

And a disastrous rescue.

A family of four want out not realizing how bad the weather would be and their boat capsized. They were able to save the mom and kids, but they couldn’t find the dad. He searched. He really did, taking quite a beating in the process, but the dad was just gone.

It’s not easy making that call. Having to explain that to a family member.

He feels broken. Just so broken.

The weather hasn’t let up. It’s pouring rain and he doesn’t even bother to use his umbrella as he walks back to his condo. Instead, he lets the water penetrate his very soul. He’s barely holding it together, and when he gets to his door and finds Emma there holding a bottle of rum, he breaks, hugging her and holding on for dear life.

They go inside and she pours them each a glass. She doesn’t talk, just lets him sit in silence. It’s like she knows him better than he does. They’re on their second glass when he finally tells her what happened. She already knows though. He’s not sure how but he doesn’t care right now.

Not when she’s sitting next to him holding his hand. He falls asleep on her shoulder. He wakes a few hours later and she’s asleep next to him. His clothes are still wet and now hers probably are too. He can’t do anything about that though. What he can do is make her comfortable. So he goes to change into something dry and returns, picking her up and carrying her into his room, tucking her into his bed.

His couch is comfortable enough. He’s slept there plenty of times before, but he can’t sleep. Not when he can still hear that man’s wife screaming at him. Hours pass and he gives up the pretense of sleep. Instead, he makes enough coffee to fuel a small country. He makes too much. It’s enough that the smell of it wakes Emma.

She stumbles through the living room, looking very confused until she sees him. She doesn’t say anything, just walks out of his condo. He probably overstepped putting her in his bed. They’re friends, but there’s a line that he’s now crossed.

He’s sure she’s gone, but she comes back, dressed in pajamas, and he’s never been more confused.

“I actually live three doors down.”

No, now he’s the most confused he’s ever been.

She’s lived there the entire time and he never noticed. She also left him her phone number before she left. Or she thought she did. Turns out that she gave it to Sanchez to give to him and Sanchez left it on the wrong desk. When she called to find out why he hadn’t called her, and she heard he was sick, she ran to the store and then came to check on him. Apparently she’d seen him around and he’s just never seen her.

Sanchez also called her tonight, telling her that Killian might need a shoulder, so she didn’t hesitate to come over.

He doesn’t drink the coffee. Not when Emma grabs the mug from his hands and sets it back on the table, tugging him with her into his bedroom.

Nothing happens. They just sleep. The weight of her pressed into his side his enough to help him relax a little. He dreams about that night, wakes up shouting but Emma helps soothe him.

She saves him that night.

He has the next day off and wakes with the sun. Emma’s still asleep, likely exhausted because of him. He sets out to ready breakfast, swapping out the old coffee pot with a fresh one. The smell of it is enough to wake Emma again. He needs to shop. His food stash is getting low, but he had enough ingredients to make french toast. He’s still cooking it while Emma sets the table.

Like she belongs there.

They eat in relative silence. He’s still feeling raw and something feels off with Emma, but he doesn’t want to push it. He doesn’t want to push her, so he stays quiet.

He’s cleaning the dishes when she finally speaks.

“What am I to you?”

It’s enough to make him stop what he’s doing, turning of the water and setting down the plate he was just scrubbing.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what am I to you?”

He thinks on it. She’s his friend. That much he knows. She’s also the woman that he’s had a crush on for over a year. And if he’s really being honest with himself, she’s the woman he’s in love with. But he can’t tell her that. He can’t lose her.

“I think you’re probably my best friend.”

“And is that all?”

He’s not sure what she’s getting at. He’s not sure if he wants to know. Everything is great right now and he doesn’t want to screw it up by scaring her away.

“I’m not quite sure what your after, Swan.”

She takes a breath and for just a second he thinks he sees her holding back tears.

“Killian. I- You flirt with every girl you meet. You’ve dated everyone in my unit, and half of the other units on base. So what is so fundamentally wrong with me that I’m the only female in all of Florida that you aren’t interested in.”

He’s stunned.

“I’m sorry?”

It’s a question but she must not take it as such because she heading for the door right away. He’s closer though and blocks her from leaving.

“That wasn’t a statement. It was me asking for clarification about what’s happening right now.”

“It doesn't matter. Just forget I said anything.”

He can’t forget though. Not if she means what he hopes she does.

“Emma,” he has to grab her chin and force her to look at him. “When did I ever say I wasn’t interested in you?”

“Actions speak louder than words, Killian.”

Well if that’s what she believes, then he’ll just have to show her.

So he does.

He kisses her like his life bloody depends on it, and it very well might. If she walks out that door thinking he isn’t head over heels for him, then his life is over.

It takes more talking for him to explain why he’s never asked her out. That she’s too good for him and he was scared.

It takes more kisses too. He wants to be sure she really feels it.

And if it takes a night of wining and dining then so be it.

That night they sleep in his bed again, but they don’t actually sleep. Not until the sun rises at least.

[thegizka]

Say Cheese (fic)

The InoShikaCho Formation is a rising band currently on tour following the success of their first album. With some free time before their performance in Konoha, Ino meets her best friend Sakura for lunch to catch up on the wild twists their lives have taken.

Inspired by Ino Week 2019 Day 7: AU.

Note: I do not own any of these characters.

Read it on Ao3.

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Ino finished pinning the intricate braided twist of her hair before smoothing her long fringe.  Donning a floppy, wide-brimmed hat, she did an outfit check in her mirror.  High-waisted lavender capris hugged her hips, and a few inches of well-toned stomach peaked out beneath the scalloped hem of her loose white crop top.  Chunky white sandals, a stack of thin bangles, and large ombre sunglasses completed the look.  It was chic and anonymous without betraying her personal style.  She was ready to go.

She sent a quick text to Asuma to let him know she was heading out before stepping into the midmorning sunshine.  Pulling the motel room door closed, she descended from the second floor walk, noticing as she passed that Shikamaru’s curtains were still drawn despite the morning stretching into lunchtime.  She had invited him and Chouji to join her, but they wanted to spend their day sleeping and playing video games before tonight’s show.

She walked across the gated motel courtyard and let herself out at the front gate.  She could call for a car, but the weather was nice and she was familiar enough with the city to feel comfortable walking.  Her only possible concern was paparazzi and fans swarming her on the sidewalk, but it was still a novel enough experience to be a minimal risk.

There were a lot of people wandering between the shops, taking advantage of the warm late-spring Friday.  There were mothers coraling children on errands, businessmen discussing sales plans en route to lunch meetings, and young couples out on dates.  There were also crowds of college kids escaping their studies to enjoy the beauty of the day.

Ino contemplated swinging by the Konoha University campus, but she found that other young adults were most likely to recognize her, and she wanted to preserve the time to herself.  When she had convinced Shikamaru and Chouji to form a band four and a half years ago, she could only dream of signing a contract, producing an album, and going on a national tour.  But somehow here they were, halfway through a tour playing venues that were nearly ten times bigger than the bars and music clubs where they had started and working on music for their second full-length album.  It was a wild ride, and there were still a lot of elements of the industry she was learning to adapt to.  Life on the road under the ever-increasing public eye was new territory, and she knew it would only get more complicated as their success and popularity grew.

For now, though, she could navigate this city with nearly the same anonymity and lack of care as she had the last time she’d come here.  It felt like a lifetime ago.  She and her best friend Sakura had been touring the university, which was renowned for its medical program.  At the time, Ino had been entertaining the idea of becoming a neurosurgeon since the band was still working on gaining traction in the music scene.  If Shippuden Studios hadn’t offered them a contract a few short months later, she would have joined Sakura in pursuing her medical degree.  It was amazing how quickly the trajectory of her life had changed.

She had quite liked the university and city back then.  Built on the shores of a beautiful, large lake, Konoha was always buzzing with vacationers and students, a hub of activity and modernity.  She liked the balance of relaxing beaches and glowing nightlife.  It could have been a place for her to flourish.  She supposed it might still be, in a way.  Tonight’s concert at Hokage Pier would be their biggest show yet and a potential test of whether they could handle even greater popularity and success.  But she had hours before she had to take the stage, and she was looking forward to catching up with her bestie.

She was meeting Sakura at Cafe Konan, a lovely upscale bistro built above the beach with a patio overlooking the water.  They had eaten there two years ago after their tour, excitedly discussing the state of the art medical equipment and decorated professors they’d get to work with if they went to school here.  Ino arrived early and procured a table in the corner of the patio with a great view.  The beach was already peppered with people spreading out blankets or wading.  A few sailboats drifted further out on the water.  Seagulls darted above the surf looking for food.  If she had time, perhaps she’d join everyone for a stroll on the beach.

Ino spent the rest of the wait enjoying the fresh air and snapping pictures.  Some days she’d take over a hundred, staying up late to sift through them and select the best ones to feature on her Instagram.  She’d always had a good eye for composition and framing, and it had been a natural step to expand her personal account while spearheading the band’s.  As stardom put increasing demands on her time, they’d hired a publicity and marketing manager, Kurenai Yuuhi, to help keep their fans updated and satisfied.

“Still attached to that phone I see,” a pleasant voice called, interrupting her study of filters and lighting.

“Still attached to that big forehead of yours,” Ino retorted, but she was grinning broadly.  Jumping up from her seat, she embraced her best friend tightly.

“It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Sakura exclaimed, returning the embrace.  “How have you been?  You look good.”

“So do you,” she observed, pulling back.  As much as she made fun of her best friend for her large forehead, she really had grown into it.  She stood before her as a mature young woman, sure of herself and free of adolescent insecurities.  A form-fitting red shirt and white shorts flattered her figure and long legs.  Ino was happy to see her so comfortable with herself.

“You’re growing your hair out again,” she observed as they took their seats.  “It looks good.”

“Thanks.  It’s a little easier to tie back now for labs and surgery.”

“And what does Sasuke think of it?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.  Sakura just rolled her eyes.

“We haven’t been together for more than five minutes and you already want to talk about boys?  You haven’t even told me how the tour’s going!  Boys can wait until after we order.”

“Fine, but I expect lots of juicy details.”

They worked through the obligatory topics of conversation as they ordered their food and waited for its arrival.  Sakura groaned about the stress of school and the medical field, and Ino complained about the obligations of being a working musician.  The venting, however, was more ritualistic than sincere, as both were excited about the opportunities before them and content with where they were.

“Will you have time to visit home before your internship with Dr. Tsunade starts this summer?”

“I’ll have about a week, but I might need that time to find an apartment.”

“You’re moving here permanently?” Ino asked, a bit surprised.  Her friend shrugged.

“I still have a few years of school, and if I continue to get jobs and internships with my connections here, it’s not really worth carting my stuff back and forth for just a week here and there.  Plus you’re on tour most of the time now, and Naruto’s always traveling for his international diplomacy degree.  There’s not much to anchor me there anymore.”

“But there’s more here,” Ino probed, reading between the spoken words.  “Like Sasuke?”

“You are relentless!” Sakura grumbled with a smile.

“Only because you’ve been dating the hot pre-law student we met while touring here two years ago for a whole six months, and I just found out about it last week!  I’m entitled to more information as your best friend.”

“I know,” Sakura sighed.  It’s just hard to talk about.”

“What do you mean?  Is he super weird?  He doesn’t mistreat you or anything, right?”

“No!  Not at all!  He’s wonderful, just a bit...complicated.”  She swirled the water in her glass, smiling softly.  Ino could see a blush brushing her cheeks.  She’d never seen her best friend like this.  They had always been bold about their crushes, at least around each other, but this was different.  It was the delicate and deep feeling of mature attraction, maybe even love.  Ino was a bit jealous.  But she was also really happy for her.

“Sooo, how did you guys meet?  And I don’t mean being in the same tour group as prospective students.”

Sakura rolled her eyes, then began her story as they began tucking into their food which had just arrived.

“I used to see him all the time in the library, and I was pretty sure I recognized him from that tour, but he was always super focused on his work so I never approached him or anything.  But it was like every time I went to the library to study and get work done, he’d be there with that freakishly intense focus.  It turned into a game I’d play with myself--‘where’s the cute guy going to be this time’?”  She chuckled at the memory.

“Is he a nerd then?”  Ino asked.  “I figured only nerds like you would voluntarily spend that much time studying.”

“Ha ha,” Sakura laughed drily.  “And no, he’s not a nerd, he’s pre-law, and he helps at his family’s firm part-time so he’s always busy working on something.”

“Ah, so he’s a rich boy.”

“His family has money, yes, but I wouldn’t say they’re rich.  He had to take out student loans, same as me.”

“Have you met his family yet?”

“Hold on a second Miss Nosey.  Do you want me to finish my story or not?”

“Fine!  I’ll hold all questions until the end,” she smirked, spearing a scallop nestled amongst her linguine noodles.  “Carry on.”

“I didn’t actually talk to him until right before winter break last year.  Tenten, Hinata, and I went to this party that Tenten’s friend Lee was hosting, and Sasuke was there.  I guess he and Tenten’s boyfriend Neji had a few classes together and became friends so we ended up hanging out a bit at the party and chatting a little.”

“And he was immediately smitten and declared his love the next day.”

“Not even close!” Sakura laughed.  “We didn’t even exchange numbers!  And for a while I thought he hated me.”

“What?!”

“I know!”  She continued giggling.  “I totally didn’t know how to read him!  Sasuke exudes this effortless cool, but he’s actually hopeless with social cues half of the time.”

“So why did you think he hated you?”

“Because I’d never get the response I was expecting when I tried to be friendly!  Our interactions would be great when we were hanging out in a group, but if I was talking to him one-on-one, he’d seem distant.  He even stopped going to the library to work, or he’d leave shortly after I’d show up, which made it obvious that I was some sort of problem or annoyance to him.”

“Oh my gosh Sakura!  And you’re dating this jerk?!”  Ino leaned across the table.  “Why didn’t I know about any of this?  That’s awful!”

“It’s fine, Ino.  It really wasn’t that bad.  My feelings were hurt, but I still didn’t know him all that well, and I had plenty of school work to keep me busy.”

She studied her best friend’s face, reading the echoes of embarrassment and pain as she recounted this part of the story.  She knew Sakura.  If she was smitten with a guy, she went all in.  She was too honest with her feelings to hold back.  Ino felt ashamed that she hadn’t known her best friend was struggling.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t know you were going through all of that, and I wasn’t there for you.”

“Ino, it’s okay,” Sakura promised, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.  “I had my friends here, and Naruto visited a lot.  It really wasn’t that bad.  You already had enough on your plate with your album blowing up the charts and Asuma booking so many interviews and performances for the band.  You didn’t need my drama on top of that.”

“But I could’ve handled it!  I’m your best friend.  I always have time for you.”

The promise tasted like a lie even though she willed it to be true.  The band’s success had swallowed so much of her time and energy.  Nearly every moment she was awake was spent working on music or travelling to some venue or curating social media posts.  She hadn’t seen anyone outside of the band and crew in months.  Realizing her new circumstances might make her inaccessible to loved ones in need was a painful reality check.

“I know,” Sakura assured her, trusting in the promise even if it wasn’t practical.  “But this really wasn’t a big deal.  I figured I just needed a bit of distance, and I was going to have all summer for that.  I stayed on campus to help Dr. Shizune with some research, and it was kind of nice having the school and city to myself for a while.  I didn’t have to worry about running into Sasuke at the library or while out shopping, until I did run into him on the beach one day.”

“I hope you didn’t literally run into him.”

Sakura laughed.  “Of course not!  I was looking for a spot to sit and read and suddenly there he was.  Apparently his family doesn’t live too far from here, so he and his brother come her to swim sometimes.  I don’t think I would’ve noticed him, but he recognized me and decided to say hi.”

“Wait, the guy who was ignoring and avoiding you approached you to say hi?” Ino asked, flipping disinterestedly through the dessert menu.

“I know, it totally caught me off guard!  But he was really nice, even though it was a bit awkward.  And his brother Itachi was really nice, too.  So we chatted for a bit, and we texted each other once in a while after that.  When he was visiting town, we’d try and hang out a little, and then we hung out more once the school year started up again, and now we’re officially dating.”

“Hold on, one minute he’s giving you the cold shoulder and now you’re dating?  Seems like a dramatic change,” Ino said doubtfully, handing her credit card to their waiter before her best friend could protest about not splitting the bill.

“He wasn’t giving me the cold shoulder.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

“I told you, it’s complicated,” Sakura sighed.  “Sasuke is very driven.  If he has a goal, he does absolutely everything he can to achieve it.  It’s just how his brain is wired.  So when I came around and was being super friendly and seemed to always show up where he was trying to get work done, he deemed me a distraction and tried to distance himself so he could focus on school and stuff.”

“He decided friends were a distraction?  Seems awfully utilitarian.”

“Not friends.”  Sakura shook her head, a blush forming on her cheeks.  “Just me.”

“Oh my gosh, he was smitten!”  Ino slapped the table in excitement.  “This is some Mr. Darcy-level denial!  Damn Sakura, you go girl!”

“Ino stop!” she protested, cheeks growing bright red.  Despite the embarrassment, she was smiling happily.

“So what changed his mind?”

Sakura shrugged.  “I’m not sure exactly.  I think part of it was just the timing.  We happened to run into each other during the summer when he didn’t have to focus as much on school or work or impressing his father.  Plus I think Itachi liked me, and Sasuke puts a lot of value in his brother’s opinion.”

“And now that school’s back in session?  I assume you’re not a distraction since you’ve been dating this whole time.”

“I guess not.”  She shrugged again, but Ino could see the blush returning.

“Sakura,” she probed as they wove through the other tables to the front door.  “You’re keeping something back.  Come on, you can’t hide anything from me.”

“I asked him about it when he asked me to be his girlfriend officially, and he told me that everything else was the distraction and...now I am his new goal.”

“Oh my gosh!” Ino squealed.  “That’s so cheesy but so romantic!”

“I know!”  Sakura hid her embarrassment behind her hands, ears almost as pink as her hair.  “He has no flirting ability whatsoever.”

“Good thing you don’t mind cheesy one-liners,” Ino laughed, pulling her best friend into a hug on the sidewalk.  “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks.”  She felt the joy radiating off of her, seeping into her own body and dispelling the simmering jealousy with love.

“So, do I get to meet him today?  You’d better be bringing him to the show.”

“No, unfortunately,” Sakura sighed, pulling out of the embrace.  “He has to help his family this weekend.”

“Bummer,” she pouted.  “You have to promise I’ll get to meet him before you two get engaged.”

“Okay,” Sakura laughed.  “Do you have much time before the show?  There’s a great ice cream stand on the beach.  We could grab some dessert.”

“Yeah, I should have time,” she confirmed.  “Just let me update Asuma.  He likes to know where we are in case anything happens.”

“Makes sense.”  Her best friend linked their arms and leaned over her shoulder as she sent the text to her manager.  If it was anyone else, Ino would consider it nosy.  Instead she opened her camera in selfie mode so they could snap a pic together making silly faces.

“Come on,” Sakura chuckled, pulling her along with their linked elbows.  “You listened to me jabber all through lunch.  It’s your turn!  What’s new with you, besides conquering the world as a chart-topping musician and fashion icon?”

She shrugged.  “Not much.”

“Come on,” Sakura sighed,”you’ve been on the road for months and have nothing interesting to report?”

“Not really.  It’s a lot of the same stuff every day--arrive at the next show’s city, maybe do an interview, practice with the band, write music, do the show, and then hit the road.  It doesn’t leave much time for anything interesting.”

“But you get to travel all over the place and meet other musicians and famous people!”

“The famous people part rarely happens.  We’re not at the level of fame to be recognizable.  Like I’m not getting swarmed right now by fans so it’s not a big deal if we land a few late night interviews.  People will forget who we are as soon as we leave the set.  Which is fine, because my life still has a semblance of normalcy.  I can go to the grocery store or have lunch with my best friend without worrying about paparazzi.  I’m just so busy that I rarely get to do such things.”

“It sounds complicated,” Sakura observed, studying her friend’s face.

“It’s just the way things are.”  Ino smiled to reassure her.

“How are Shikamaru and Chouji handling it?”

“They’re pretty much the same.  Lazy, of course, but I think part of that is intentional.  It’s part of their public personas.  I don’t get it, but it seems to work for the fans.  There’s always a crowd of girls screaming hysterically for them at every show.”

Sakura chuckled as they stopped at an ice cream stand, pulling her friend into the line.

“And what about you?  Are there swarms of boys begging to see you every night?”

“There’s always a few, and sometimes some girls, too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Look at you playing to both sides,” Sakura snickered.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m just so hot that everyone wants a piece of me.”

“Whoa there tiger, we’d better get you some ice cream to cool you down.  What do you want?”

This time Sakura snuck her money to the cashier before Ino could.  She protested a little but Sakura was already handing her the ice cream, and she had to stop arguing to eat it before it melted.

They wandered onto the sand, enjoying the sweet treat and beautiful weather.  The sun danced on the lake, fracturing its reflection into diamonds while boats bobbed and seagulls wheeled through the air.  The sound of waves whispering on the sand and happy voices murmured in the air.  It really was a lovely day.

“Y’know, I think Sasuke’s a bad influence,” she mused.  “‘We’d better get you some ice cream to cool you down’?  Terrible.”

Sakura laughed, loud and carefree.

“It was wasn’t it?” she chuckled.  “But really, between Sasuke and Naruto, can you blame me?  They’re both hopeless at flirting.”

“And somehow they’ve both got girlfriends now.  Isn’t life strange.”

“Maybe all girls secretly like cheesy pickup lines,” Sakura mused around a mouthful of ice cream.

“Or maybe we take pity on guys for being brave enough to use one.”

“Do your fans every give you silly pickup lines?”

“Nah.  I can usually tell which ones want to flirt and which ones are simply fans.  I find it’s best to avoid the former.”

“Would you ever consider dating a fan?”

“Nooo,” she groaned.  “I mean, whoever I date would have to like our music, but I think it’s a little creepy for a person to pursue someone just because they really like what he or she does for a living.  The band is just a small part of who I am, y’know?”

“But what if he’s genuinely a nice guy?”

“I can’t,” Ino declared firmly.  “If I open up that possibility, I’d have to consider every fan begging me for a date, and I can’t do that.  I need a boundary between my personal life and my professional one, for myself and whoever I might end up with.”

“It’s going to be hard to find someone with how much success the band’s having,” Sakura murmured gently.  Ino could feel a hint of pity in her words.  She didn’t want to be pitied.

“It’s just a little more complicated,” she said brightly, brushing her fringe back into place with her fingers.  “But I’ll figure it out.”

“You will,” her best friend agreed with the total confidence of someone with complete faith in making her dreams a reality.

“I suppose it’s good we haven’t really made it big yet,” Ino used.  “If I do meet someone, he’s not likely to be obsessed with me already.”

“True,” Sakura agreed.  “And you won’t have to worry about gossip magazines or paparazzi scaring him away.”

“Hopefully not, though those photographers can be pretty sneaky.  Take, for example, the camera that’s been trialing us since our ice cream stop.”

Sakura’s eyes widened a little in surprise.  “What?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, crunching the last bite of ice cream cone.

“Where?”

“Sakura, don’t look for him!  Either you’ll scare him off before I can yell at him, or he’ll take the acknowledgment as permission to set up a mini photo shoot right now.  Just act normal.”

“I totally didn’t notice anyone,” Sakura whispered, trying to resist her curiosity to look around.

“Shikamaru has the best paparazzi radar, but I’m getting pretty good at spotting them,” she replied with just a smidgen of self-pride.

“So if we’re not supposed to look at them, what do we do?  Try and shake them off?”

“If I’m doing something super boring I just ignore them until they go away.  Knowing my coffee order usually isn’t tantalizing enough for their magazines to sell.  But sometimes I do confront them and put the fear of Asuma into them.”

Sakura laughed at the thought of her friend’s laid-back manager being enough of a threat to scare anyone.

“Which will it be this time?”

“Come here.”  Ino led the way to a pile of rocks wedged into the sand.  The bank at this end of the beach started rising, eventually turning into a cliff.  Several college kids were diving off the rock with shrieks of joy.  There were fewer people at this end of the shore, which decreased the likelihood of her cover being blown when she confronted the paparazzi.

“Just relax.  We’re going to lure him in,” she instructed, leaning back on her hands.  She tried focusing on the warmth of the sun and ignoring the adrenaline building in anticipation of the confrontation, but she couldn’t keep a smirk from her lips.  She rarely dealt with paparazzi on her own as usually her bandmates and Asuma were with her, but Kurenai regularly met with all of them to go over how to proceed.  The guy following her today looked young, probably an enthusiastic new journalism graduate who couldn’t land a job at a reputable news company.  She almost felt bad for the chewing out she was preparing for him.

“That’s a cute shirt,” Sakura observed as she finished off her ice cream.

“Thanks.  It was a birthday gift from my mom.”

“She actually bought you a crop top?  Willingly?”

“Apparently she has no issue with them now that I’m an independent adult.  Plus they’re a trademark of my personal style.  I think she’s admitted defeat in her efforts to keep me away from them.”

“Excuse me.”

Ino was surprised by the polite voice.  She hadn’t noticed anyone approach, which was impressive considering she was on alert waiting for the photographer to come nearer.

“You!” she gasped, realizing it was, in fact, the very guy she had been waiting to ambush.  Seeing him up close, he really was young.  Maybe he was just an intern.

“Would you mind if I take your picture?”

“What?”  She couldn’t believe the presumptuousness of this guy!  His polite smile didn’t waver.  Was he really acting like he hadn’t been stalking them, sneakily snapping pictures for the past several minutes?

“Yes I do mind!” she cried, rallying through her surprise to stalk as intimidatingly as she could across the sand to him.  “I know you’ve already been taking pictures of us.  You think I’m unfamiliar with dealing with paparazzi?  I know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Ino-” Sakura began, but she wasn’t going to let her friend’s politeness stop her now that she’d started.  She really wanted to see that guy’s unwavering smile crumble.

“No, I may be familiar with jerks snapping pictures of me everywhere I go, but you definitely didn’t sign up for this!  And we have an exclusive agreement with the Hidden Leaf Times for all media coverage, so unless you produce proof that you’re working with them, which I doubt since this is such a shady way of getting content, you need to hand over all of those pictures you’ve taken and leave.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was unbelievable.  That smile didn’t move.  Did he think this was funny?  Did he enjoy being this rude?

“Oh really?  How about I get my publicity manager on the phone so she can explain in detail all of the legal violations we’re going to smack on you.”

“Hang on-” Sakura tried again, but Ino ignored her.

“And then I’ll call our connection at the Times so they can come after you.  What right do you have to invade a person’s privacy by following them to sneak pictures and then pretend you’re innocent and ask for permission after the fact?”

“Ino!”  Sakura grabbed the phone from her hand.  “He’s not paparazzi!”

“What do you mean?” she snapped.

“He’s just a photography student from the university!  Hinata’s had a few classes with him.”

Ino blinked at her friend for a moment, registering the laughter in her green eyes.

“It’s true,” the boy agreed.  He still had that grin plastered on his face, but his eyebrows had edged up to indicate bemused confusion.  “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ino, this is Sai,” Sakura introduced.  “Sai, this is my friend Ino.  She’s the lead singer and guitarist of The InoShikaCho Formation.  They’re performing tonight at Hokage Pier.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he smiled.  Ino wasn’t quite ready to make friends, though.

“If you’re not paparazzi, then why were you following us taking pictures?”

“I was practicing,” he claimed innocently.  “My teachers are always telling us to take any opportunity we can to improve our skills.”

“Shouldn’t you ask for permission before you take pictures of someone, even if it’s just practice?”

“I’ve heard it can be better to ask for forgiveness after the fact than for initial permission.”

She didn’t understand this guy.  No matter what questions she threw at him, his smile never wavered.  It was annoying.  But the more she looked at it and studied his face, the more she believed him.

“But why follow us?  Surely it’d be better to practice with a variety of subjects.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.”

“Wha...Huh?” Ino stammered.  Sai blinked at her, smiling innocently.  Was he being genuine?  Sakura snickered behind her.

“What the heck!” she cried, feeling flustered.  The prick of heat in her cheeks told her she was blushing.  “You can’t just say that to someone you just met!”

“But I’ve been told that honesty is the best policy.”

She could only blink at him, dumbfounded, blush growing deeper.  How was she supposed to respond to this?  Was he just being smooth, or did he genuinely think she was beautiful?  She couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind that charming smile.

“Say cheese,” he instructed, quickly bringing his camera up to snap a picture of her bewildered face.

“H-hey!” she stammered.  “I never gave you permission!”

“Sorry, but if I always waited for permission, I’d miss too many perfect shots.”

She didn’t know why his words made her feel warm all over, but they did.  Before she could gather her wits and come up with a reply, Sakura handed her back her phone.

“Shikamaru’s calling you.”

“Yeah?” she answered, eyes still glancing at Sai.

“It’s nearly time for rehearsal.  Where are you?”

“At the beach with Sakura.  Sorry, I must’ve lost track of time.”

“Do you need us to send a car to pick you up?”

“No, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

“I have to get going,” she told Sakura, slipping her phone back into her purse.  “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“I’ll be there,” her best friend promised, giving her a big hug.

“And you,” she said, rounding on Sai.  “You can keep those pictures as long as you don’t post them on social media.  And you have to give me a copy of all of them.”

“Works for me.  Can I get your phone number or email then?”

Ino fought against another blush.

“Just give them to Sakura.  She’ll get them to me.  I have to go.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, beautiful,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, turning and hurrying away before she lost her composure in another flustered blush.

-----

A few weeks later, Ino lay sprawled in her bunk on the tour bus scrolling through a folder of pictures.  She had been surprised to see Sai again at the concert that evening.  It turned out he was interning at the Hidden Leaf Times for the summer and was one of the photographers they sent to cover the band’s time in Konoha.  They hadn’t interacted much, but Ino had been hyper-aware of his presence throughout their interview with the paper and the concert.

True to his word, he had passed on all of the pictures he’d taken both at the beach and Hokage Pier to Sakura, who in turn emailed them to Ino.  She had to admit, he had a good eye.  She found herself scrolling through the pictures a lot, not because she loved how she looked in them (though they were all pretty flattering), but because they were just that good.  She thought she had a good sense of composition, framing, and lighting, but Sai seemed to have some deeper knowledge that elevated his work to art.

She’d used a few of the shots for social media posts, careful to credit him.  She’d learned from Sakura that he didn’t have social media, but he did have a small photography website, so she linked to it at the bottom of each image.  Sometimes when she was bored she’d check his website to see if he’d posted any new pictures.  It was her way of keeping tabs on what he was doing without being obvious and bugging Sakura to tell her about him.

It was weird.  She didn’t know him at all, and the fact that he’d followed her along the beach still gave her paparazzi vibes, but she couldn’t get him out of her head.

She opened a new window in her browser and logged in to her email.  She found a draft that she’d started nearly a week ago and read through it.

Dear Sai,

Thank you for the photographs of our performance.  The band was impressed by their quality!  I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve used a few for our social media posts.  We were sure to credit you and link to your website.  We probably should have asked permission first, but since you’re fond of taking opportunities as they come and asking forgiveness later, I figured you’d be okay with this.  If I was mistaken, let us know so we can take down the pictures.

I don’t know if you are aware, but our band is nearly finished recording our second album, and it’s time to start considering the design elements that will go into it.  We don’t yet have a photographer for the booklet and album art.  We were all so impressed with your work at the concert, we’d like to offer you the opportunity.  I know you’ll be returning to school this fall, but once our tour’s over, our time will be more flexible, and I’m sure an agreeable arrangement could be made.  Are you interested?  Let me know.

All the best,

Ino Yamanaka

She reread the text a few more times, even though she nearly had it memorized.  Technically the band hadn’t decided to ask Sai to be their photographer, but the few times she’d mentioned it, everyone else had been open to the possibility.  She was confident she’d be able to get them to agree if Sai said yes.

She debated a few moments on whether to add her phone number, chewing her lip.  That was the biggest reason she hadn’t already sent the email.  She’d denied him her contact information at the beach; why should she give it to him now?  But now they were discussing business arrangements.  It’d be a little rude to withhold it...right?

With the sense that she was doing something risky, she quickly typed her number beneath her name and hit send, trying not to squeal.  She was being so silly!  All she’d done was extend a business invitation to another professional (even though he was technically still in school and may or may not have a photography license), yet she felt giddy like a little girl.

She closed her laptop and rolled out of her bunk, stretching a little.  Maybe she’d go play Mario Kart with her bandmates to distract herself.  Turning towards the common room, her phone pinged to alert her of a new notification.

Her heart jumped when she saw it was a new email.  Sai had already replied!  Why had he done so so quickly?  Was he mad they’d used his pictures?  With some trepidation, she opened the message.

Dear Ino,

I’m glad you liked the photographs.  I do think they’re some of my best so far, though half of the quality comes from the subject being photographed.  You and the band made my work far easier, and the results wouldn’t have been as good without you.

I’d be happy to work with you on the photographs for your next album.  Perhaps we could meet to discuss your ideas.  I know you’ll be in Suna next Thursday.  Shall we meet for lunch?  I’ll call you to work out the details.

Kind regards,

Sai

Ino bit her thumb to keep back the happy squeals that were trying to climb up her throat for some reason.  He’d included his own phone number, which she saved to her contacts.  Then she reread his message, paying special attention to his postscript.

P. S. I hope you come prepared with your beautiful smile.  I’ll bring my camera with me.

It was a strange note to include, but it made her cheeks warm.  Maybe he was flirting with her.  She shook her head, trying to brush off the thought.  No, they were simply going to discuss business, even if it was going to be over lunch and he was specifically calling her to arrange it.  She could tell him to call Kurenai or Asuma instead, but she was capable of arranging a meeting on behalf of the band by herself.  And if she happened to schedule it when only she was available, surely they’d trust her to represent them all.

She brushed her long hair over her shoulder and turned up the volume slightly on her phone before turning again toward the common room, grinning and excited for whatever was coming next.

[lovejustforaday]

2020 Year-end list - #1

SWIMMER - TENNIS

Main Genres: Twee Pop, Soft Rock A decent sampling of: Pop Soul, Psychedelic Pop, Dream Pop, Art Pop

I’ve been a casual fan of Tennis for a while now since their last LP Yours Conditionally dropped in 2017. The band has an established niche, making music that fuses twee pop sensibilities with the retro sounds of so-called ‘dated’ genres like soft rock, surf, and 70s pop soul. Someone who spends less time with their music might shrug them off as just another cute little indie band obsessed with the times long past, and I’ll admit myself that this wasn’t on my AOTY radar when it was first announced. But then they dropped the lead single “Runner” at the end of last year and I had the faintest feeling that this was gonna be a big moment for them, and it turned out that my intuition was right this time.

Swimmer is a gorgeous and delicate musical experience about a love that survives to the end of the world, an ornately decorated wedding cake laced with celestial hallucinogens. While I’m at it, here’s a quick hot take that’s sure to get me murdered by some boomers: this album is better than Rumours by Fleetwood Mac and pretty much all of ABBA’s greatest hits (both artists that I am also fond of). Tennis has been refining their craft and their sound for a decade now, and if past releases in their discography represent footsteps in the band’s evolution, then Swimmer is closer to a parsec of evolution.

The band consists of Alaina Moore and Patrick Riley, a quirky couple who celebrated their 10th wedding anniversary this year, which is essential context because Swimmer is largely a testament to Moore and Riley’s beautiful relationship and a mature reflection on what it means to spend that much time with someone and know them that closely. When I say the two are quirky, I mean that in the best way possible – Moore and Riley seem to be a genuine two of a kind, a pair of unabashed, offbeat love birds who would gladly leave their regular lives behind to spend months living on a sailboat together with only a few possessions (they did this twice, in fact).  I mean, they even dropped this LP on Valentine’s Day. They’re so genuinely nerdy with their love for each other; I want to say that this LP wouldn’t work nearly as well if it was anyone else’s relationship.

Regardless, the music of Swimmer still speaks for itself. Everything is a huge improvement of their last LP, with better production, incredibly infectious hooks, more ambitious songwriting, and a surprising amount of lyrical depth. Still largely maintaining the band’s guitar-driven, twee 70s pop fusion formula, this time they add little traces of sparkly psychedelia that are just enough to leave you feeling love struck. Riley’s guitar work is a big highlight, gliding around melodies and leaving little musical bits of fancy frosted sugar coating everywhere without ever coming off as flashy. The album has a retro sound, but it also has a distinctly modern quality with its honest reflection on darker subject matter and characteristically millennial elements of irony and subversion.

“I’ll Haunt You” begins the album with a gentle, wistful ballad examining the unlikely topic of mortality, as Moore reflects on her own signs of aging before proclaiming “I will haunt you when I’m gone” to her lover Riley. The saccharine twee pop veneer of Moore’s golden voice is so thick that it’s easy to miss the lyrical depth of many of these songs, betrayed only by the conviction of her words.  The mood picks up fast with “Need Your Love”, a lively soft rock composition with prog influences, featuring a major tempo shift between its verses and chorus that is ridiculously gratifying to hear each time it switches.

“Runner” is absurdly catchy, both a brilliant pop song and a shimmering sea of little stars that goes higher and higher as Alaina Moore reflects on her very religious upbringing and how it has influenced her perception of human desire. Apparently this track took Moore and Riley a full year of almost non-stop songwriting and editing to get the end result they wanted, and the care and work that was put into it really shows. Title track “Swimmer” is the only song where the darker undertones are fully reflected in the instrumental composition, with a gloomy psychedelic rock dirge about Moore’s fear of swimming and the time she and her husband went to release his late father’s cremated ashes into the sea. In this context, the water itself represents death.

The album reaches an epic climax with its finest song and penultimate track “Late Night”, a warm twee pop serenade that begins soothing the listener with its twinkling refrain, all while Moore philosophically ponders the topics of love, religion, sex, womanhood, and identity. The track eventually bursts into a whirlwind of ecstasy as she triumphantly declares “I am the master of my ship / My ship, the master of the sea” and “I think I'm finally feeling free”, conquering her fear of the water and likewise her fear of death, while asserting her freedom to live as she chooses. This was my other favourite song of the year besides Jessie Ware’s “Spotlight” – “Late Night” fills my heart with joy whenever I hear it and it makes me want to spin in endless circles of euphoria.

Finally, the album closes with “Matrimony II”, a soulful baroque pop song that celebrates the idea of love as a gravitational orbit between two celestial bodies as they pull closer and closer until they are mutually destroyed, beautifully mirroring the opening track’s reflection on the relationship between love and death. This song in particular was written by Moore in dedication to Riley to commemorate the anniversary of their wedding, and I think it’s the perfect choice for a closing track because it really ends the album with such an elegant thought.

In short, Swimmer by Tennis is a collection of indie pop songs that’s not that far from perfect. It’s so funny, this was only the second album from this year that I listened to and it ended up crushing everything else in its path.

It’s almost a miracle that during such a dreary year we were given an album that is so celebratory, so life-affirming, and so unafraid of what the future may hold. Truthfully, Alaina Moore and Patrick Riley have given me more than just faith in the future of the music industry; they have given me faith in the future of humanity with their good vibes and their determination to live as their own true authentic selves. So here’s to Tennis and 2020, here’s to the radical past, and here’s to a better future.

Edit: Bumping this down to a 9. Still the most exciting thing I heard in 2020, but in hindsight I think it flows a bit awkwardly at times (particularly the intro “I’ll Haunt You” which feels like it was cut short) and I don’t think this is quite up there with my other 10s. 2020 was kind of a slow year in music for me (crappy year in general obviously) so I wanted a clear decisive AOTY masterpiece. Looks like I didn’t get one this time, but I’ll be checking out some of the stuff I missed.

I still stand by this being better than most of the 70s soft rock it pays homage to, and indeed better than any other act right now that has been putting out similar 70s “kitsch” revivalism.

9/10

highlights: “Late Night”, “Runner”, "Matrimony II”, “Need Your Love”,  “Swimmer”, “How To Forgive”

[juiceb0x]

Trans Day of Remembrance.

I was in kindergarten. The girls and boys were playing in two separate groups. I strutted up to the boys, only to be told I couldn’t play with them because I was a girl. I sat down and started to play anyways. They were aghast. Before I knew it, they’d all left. At least I had all the toys to myself.

My hair was suffocatingly long. I wanted to cut it--I was always too hot, it was always in the way, people pulled on it for fun. My dad assured me that little girls were supposed to have long hair, and that I looked like a princess. It looked like a rat’s nest.

I first heard the words ‘lesbian’ and ‘gay’ in my friend’s backyard. Two girls were making fun of one another, using them like joking insults, the way they would say ‘stupid’. I didn’t know what they meant, so shyly, I asked. They told me it was when girls liked girls or boys liked boys. They said it was weird. I only knew to echo them. For years I didn’t even know what the LGBT+ community was, I just knew it was strange and alien--it was supposed to be.

    I heard stories from classmates about friends, acquaintances, girls who wanted to be boys or boys who wanted to be girls. We were all in unison; it was bizarre. Who would ever want that? It was just plain unnatural.

I didn’t know why I felt so nauseous when I started to develop curves. I would be pretty and mature. I’d break boys’ hearts. I’d grow up and have a handsome husband. So why did I hate looking in the mirror and seeing that my chest was no longer flat?

    I’d always been a quiet, sensible kid, especially in public, but I’d never felt more like throwing a tantrum then when I bought my first bra. It was at a Walmart, in Florida. There were two of them, that my mom picked out for me. Pink and white triangles that crushed my chest and wouldn’t stay in place, the straps cutting into my skin. I thought I wouldn’t mind them, if they kept my chest comfortably flat. But they didn’t.

    One of my neighbours dressed as a boy for Halloween. She won a prize in her class for her costume. I was incredibly jealous I didn’t think of that. I dismissed it as being envious of the attention she got, even though I really just wanted to dress as a boy.

    In seventh grade, people laughed and asked me, teasing, if I was a lesbian or something, because of the way I dressed, the way I acted. I laughed with them, too unsure to answer.

    In eighth grade, I thought I should’ve liked my clothes. I had nice enough clothes, didn’t I? They were expensive. So why did I hate the lacy bra that jutted off my torso, the tags scratching like cats’ claws; why did I feel so relieved when I got to go home and wear baggy pyjamas instead?

    I came out to my mom for the first time. It was terrifying, sitting her down and explaining things. She told me she knew I wasn’t straight ever since I was six. I didn’t get to tell my dad--he called from work a couple of days after I came out to my mom, solemnly telling me that he knew I’d discussed ‘something very personal’ with my mother. He didn’t know how to go about discussing it. I was in shock. I’d intended to tell him, but I didn’t realize how frightening being outed could be.

    I realized I wasn’t a girl somewhere along the line. I hated it. I hardly knew what being trans was, let alone how to cope with feeling that way. I finally got the courage to admit it to myself just after my depression was revealed to everyone, at the end of the school year. I thought I was nonbinary.

    I found solace in Rick Riordan’s books, and his character Alex Fierro, a genderfluid demigod. I’d been following Rick’s books for years, and seeing representation from him was mind-blowing. I thought I might be genderfluid, after that--I started presenting that way, but something still wasn’t right. I felt masculine most days, then wilted as I looked through my clothes. I resolved to presenting myself as feminine too many days. I knew I couldn’t pass, so why try?

    A boy texted me and asked me out on Valentine’s day. We’d been friends for months, and I had no feelings for him, but I panicked for another reason--he was straight. A straight boy was asking me to be his girlfriend. I never wanted to be anyone’s girlfriend. I turned him down as gently as I could. He found out, a few days later, that I was trans. We avoided each other for about a week after that.

    I wanted to cut my hair for months. I cut it to shoulder length, but I still hated it. I brought it up to my dad over and over, only to get shut down. I saved pictures of short haircuts on my phone. I finally announced I was going to get it cut short whilst on the way to getting it trimmed and dyed. My dad nearly got us in a car accident. He couldn’t fight when I discussed it with the stylist. I nearly cried when I saw myself in the mirror after it’d been done. I pranced out, prouder of myself than I’d ever been before.

    I found words to put to my feelings again, through one of my favourite Youtubers, MilesChronicles, formerly AmandasChronicles. I watched the video in which he came out, and the one where he elaborated on it. He felt connected to both being a boy and being nonbinary. I was ecstatic.

    I snapped at friends more than once because they kept referring to me as ‘she’. They introduced me to people as a girl. When I tried to bring it up, they played the victim. No matter how hard I seemed to try, people saw me as a girl. I was open, loud, and frankly obnoxious about it. I nearly flipped a desk when someone was mocking me, calling me ‘miss’. I snarled at him, telling him for the thousandth time that I was trans. He told me I was still a girl. I told him I hoped I never saw him again. He moved a few months later. I didn’t realize how just awful his ‘friendship’ made me feel until he was gone and I could breathe again.

    A debate sparked around me at lunch after I accused someone of being transphobic. “You can’t just call people transphobic,” said one girl. Another friend was playing Social Justice Warrior again. I just felt sick. I begged Casper to leave with me, to hide in the washroom with me. I thought I might cry. I couldn’t cry. I told Casper I didn’t feel safe. I took off into the hall, Casper assuring me the situation would be handled. I paced, gasping for breath. When I finally went back to the group, a friend gave me a hug. I got a few irritated or sympathetic looks before class started again. Honestly, going back to quietly working was a relief.

    I came out to my mom for the second time on the 14th of June, 2017, the day of pride month dedicated to trans boys. I had just taken my first exam for the year, English, and walked from the school to a fast food place with a friend. I told her what day it was when she came to pick me up, and tried to explain how I felt. She told me surgery was expensive. She didn’t get the message, so when I got home, I came out a third time, texting her and explaining everything. She was talking to me a few days later, going on and on about how happy she was when she found out she was having a girl. How all she ever wanted was a girl. I left the room not long after that.

    A friend texted me ‘OH NO LGBT RIGHTS WENT TOO FAR’ when he found out about a Canadian law recently passed essentially preventing harassment of trans people. I argued with him for far too long, trembling and on the verge of tears by the time I ended it. He tried to keep up the conversation, saying it was a good discussion and we should continue it sometime. It was only after I told him I’d hated it that he realized I was even upset. He said he ‘forgot it was personal to me’. I didn’t talk to him for over two weeks.

    I bought my first masculine clothes at the mall with a former friend of mine. Two button-downs with short sleeves, one navy with sailboats and anchors patterned across it and the other a plain blue-grey colour. The lady at the cashier laughed and joked with us, telling me to keep being me. She didn’t even mention that I was buying male clothes. I walked out of the store with a huge grin on my face.

    I went to my local pride parade over the summer, with the trans flag painted on my face. My mom called me by my birth name for the entire time she was there--thankfully, she left early on. I knew I didn’t pass as male, but people were kind to me anyways. One man told me I looked fabulous and complimented my bow tie. I talked to a nonbinary kid for hours, and stayed with them when my friends left me. They’re still one of the sweetest people in my life, and I couldn’t have been happier that I met them and was in a fully-accepting environment, even just for a few hours.

    I was writing my Christmas list. I addressed it to Santa, at my little sister’s request. It was incredibly frustrating, not being able to ask for what I really wanted--a binder, men’s clothing, cologne, to get my name changed. I left it for another day.

    A ‘friend’ of mine has been increasingly transphobic these past few weeks. It started as jokes, but at this point, he’s obsessed with my identity and tearing into me for it. That, combined with other factors, had me question my identity, want to go back in the closet, and push me to the point of breaking down. To think--it was the same friend who had asked me on a date so sweetly, who I had felt so guilty about turning down. I finally snapped. I told him I was tired of his obsession with my identity. I told him I didn’t give a damn about what he thought. I told him to back off and to shut up. I told him I was tired of him thinking this was okay. He apologized over the weekend, and even if it was a self-pitying apology, it was a start. I went into school today with the intention of talking things out. I cracked a few jokes and tried to get his attention. He made it clear he wasn’t going to talk to me.

    Today, he used the word ‘tranny’. He was sarcastic and degrading about me being a man. He had no idea it was trans day of remembrance.

    It’s funny, I only found out about it a few hours ago myself, but being trans has been on my mind. It’s been confusing, and hard, and has made me a target--and it’ll continue to be that way. I can’t even use a public washroom without getting dirty or confused looks. But I’m not going to be afraid anymore. I’m tired of ‘friends’ treating me like a joke, like a burden. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I don’t have everything figured out, but I know, from here on out I’m doing what makes me happy. My identity is nobody’s business but my own. I stand with my trans family and all our supporters, and today, I hope that everyone knows we won’t be silenced. We’ve still got a long, long way to go, and hard battles to fight. We’ll still hear slurs, we’ll still hear about trans tragedies, we’ll still have to put up with all the little things that come with being trans. But we are worth the fight.

Today we remember, we mourn those we’ve lost, and we fight with everything we’ve got for those to come.

[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: The Sandcastle Empire by Kayla Olson!

  Before the war, Eden's life was easy. Then the revolution happened, and everything changed. Now a powerful group called the Wolfpack controls the earth and its resources. And even though Eden has lost everything to them, she refuses to die by their hands. She knows the coordinates to the only neutral ground left in the world, a place called Sanctuary Island. Eden finally reaches the island and meets others resistant to the Wolves. But the solace is short-lived when one of Eden's new friends goes missing. Braving the jungle in search of their lost ally, they quickly discover Sanctuary is filled with lethal traps and an enemy they never expected.  

LEARN MORE

  ONE

I WON’T MISS these mornings.

I won’t miss the sand, the sea, the salt air. The splintered wood of the old, worn boardwalk, burrowing beneath my skin. I won’t miss the sun, bright and blinding, a spotlight on me as I watch and wait. I won’t miss the silence.

No, I won’t miss these mornings at all.

Day after day, I slip down to the boardwalk when it’s still dark. I’ve worked hard to make it look like I’m simply a girl who loves sunrises, a girl who’d never shove back. One of those is true, at least. The Wolves who guard this beach hardly blink at me anymore, a rare show of indifference bought by my consistency, my patience. Two years of consistency and patience, every single morning since they plucked us from lives we loved and shoved us into gulags. I sit where the guards can see me—where I can see them—where I can see everything. I watch the water, I watch the waves. I watch more than water, more than waves. I look for cracks.

There’ve been no cracks. The guards’ routine has forever been solid, impenetrable, the only reason I haven’t yet made a break for it. I will, though. I am a bird, determined to fly despite clipped wings and splintered feet. This cage of an island won’t hold me forever.

One day, when the war ends, I will eat ice cream again. I will run barefoot on the beach without fear of stepping on a mine. I will go into a bookstore, or a coffee shop, or any of the hundreds of places currently occupied by Wolves, and I will sit there for hours just because I can. I will do all of these things, and more. If I survive.

I am always ready for a way out, always looking to leave. I carry my past wherever it fits: tucked in at my back, hanging from my neck, buried deep in my pocket. A tattered yellow book. A heavy ring on its heavy chain. A vial of blood and teeth. My empty hands are my advantage—with nothing but my own skin to dig my nails into, with no one left to cling to, I’m free to take back this war-stained world. If everything goes as planned, that is.

It may not be obvious to anyone else, but things are changing. I see subtle signs of it everywhere, for better and worse all at once. Where there used to be only two guards at this beachfront station, now there are four. Where the guards once stepped casually around certain patches of sand—they’ve been loud and clear in warning us of the land mines buried there— they now step carefully, single file, if they even leave their station at all. Until last week, their post was equipped with a blood-red speedboat. Now they’ve traded sleek for simple, a no-frills green sailboat in its place meant to disadvantage anyone who tries to use it to escape. As if any of us could make it that far without being blown to pieces.

This quiet shifting of routine assures me the rumors are true.

Someone escaped last week, people say. Someone else plans to try. Today, tomorrow, next week, next month, I’ve heard it all. The rumors aren’t about me—I’d never be allowed to sit here now, watching as always, if they were. This worked out exactly the way I hoped, that my being close to the beach triggers the assumption that I am up to nothing, nothing at all out of the ordinary. To change my routine would be suspicious.

Now I wait only for the guards to turn their backs on me, as they sometimes do, when they go for coffee refills inside their bare-bones old beach tower. They are far too comfortable with me looking comfortable. Too confident I’ll stay put. They keep their eyes trained on the seawall, on those who’ve taken a sudden interest in the sunrise.

The boardwalk has been lonely for the better part of two years, but not now. Not yesterday, either, or the day before. Whether the others are plotting an escape or just hoping to glimpse one, who knows? This is undoubtedly the best spot for either, I figured that out my first week. From every other side of this island, the water leads straight back to mainland Texas. Better open ocean than that.

These fresh faces that peek out over the seawall and divert attention away from me—it’s good, and it’s not. Anyone could make a run for it at any time. The Wolves will redouble their security measures when that happens, no doubt, rain bullets and bombs over the entire camp. I can’t be around when that happens. I need to make a run for the boat today, this morning, now, or I might never get the chance.

I have to be first.

Dawn breaks, a hundred thousand shades of it, so brilliant the sky can hardly contain it.

Two guards go inside their post, and the third turns—this is it this is it this is it—but then the air shifts. It starts with a seagull, warning on its wings as it flies straight for the ocean, like it wants to get far, far away. The two remaining guards meet eyes. I hear the rumble of footsteps, not from the beach but from beyond the seawall at my back, toward barracks and breakfast and the silk lab I’ve left behind.

A distant explosion shakes the entire island. Two more follow on its heels, five more after that. Gunfire, like a storm—so many blasted bullets I lose count—screaming, chaos. It’s louder with every second. Louder and closer.

I freeze, every muscle in my body stiff. I’m too late, a split second too late—someone must have attempted escape from the wrong side of the island.

Looks like I’m not the only one who wanted to be first.

All four officers are out of the post now, running their tight zigzag pattern through the sand, toward the noise, careful not to blow themselves to pieces. They don’t look my way as they pass.

I should have gone for it in the dead of night, shouldn’t have waited for perfect timing—there is no perfect. These bullets and bombs are the consequences, I’m sure of it, security measures on steroids. I’ve missed my chance.

Or maybe not.

The green sailboat bobs idly at the end of their dock. No one has stayed behind to guard it.

I shift, about to make a break for it—but then that miserable seagull settles itself on the sand in the wrong place and sets off a mine. The earsplitting explosion is close enough to scare me still. Smoke and feathers obscure the guards’ sandy footsteps, obliterating my only clue as to where the safe path is. Before last week, when they planted hundreds of fresh mines, I could have run it in my sleep. Not now.

People come spilling over the seawall, five and ten and fifteen, more with every second. If they’re desperate enough to run this way, straight toward the sand and the mines, I don’t want to know what they’re running from. I scramble to the edge of the boardwalk. There’s an opening below it, where wind has blown the sand away from the posts and planks. I will wait this out and try again, or I will die. It’s a tight squeeze, just enough room for me but hardly enough room to breathe. My breaths are shallow anyway, shallow and quick. Sand sticks to the slick sweat on my neck and cheek, coating the entire right side of me. The grit is everywhere: inside my nose, between my teeth, behind my eyelids. But I breathe, never having felt so alive as I do in this moment, so close to death.

The noise is inescapable now, the sound of the desperate as they run from death to destruction. Footsteps pound the boardwalk, shaking it. If it gives out, I will be splintered and crushed beneath it.

Sand scatters under the first pair of brave feet, not terribly far away from me. Two more pairs follow, and ten more after that. Then twenty.

The mines spray sand and skin high into the air. All over the beach, explosions burst like fireworks. Yet the feet keep coming, winding through pillars of smoke until—pop!—they are forced to stop.

It isn’t pretty. It is a sickening, revolting mess.

Something heavy slams into the boardwalk, directly above me. The boards creak, sagging so low they press into my shoulder blades. Quickly, the pressure recedes—but then there are fingers, long and tan and delicate, curling over the plank’s edge two inches from my face. A noise almost slips out of me; I bite it back.

Shots ring out, cracking wood, deafening and close. I don’t feel anything—but would a bullet burn like fire, or would it be a blast of numb shock? The fingers grip tighter, knuckles white even in these shadows, and then they are gone. I shift, as much as I can in this tight space, and see three perfect circles of sunlight streaming through the wood just past my head.

Another shot rings out, and then, just like that, darkness overtakes the light—there is a thud above me, even heavier than the first, and a limp arm hanging over the boardwalk’s edge. A limp arm clothed in crisp, tan fabric that would blend into the sand if not for the blood.

An officer. An officer is down, and they will find him, and if I stay where I am I will be covered in his blood as it drips through the cracks.

I could run now. I could follow the footsteps of the dead, step only in places where the sand has been tested. I could make it to the sailboat, if I am smart. If I am smart and quick. I could finally, finally sail to Sanctuary.

I inch out of my hiding place, careful to stay low. An enemy of an officer is a friend of mine, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe—I still need to be as careful as possible, and quiet. A blast of saltwater breeze hits me, cool against damp sweat.

“Wait.”

I freeze, though I’ve obviously already been seen.

“The guards are making rounds,” the voice says. Soft, urgent. “They’re not close, but they’ll see me if you run.”

I turn my head, just slightly, enough to look at her. She’s petite, Asian—I don’t recognize her. Her long, tan fingers ravage the fallen officer’s pockets. Could this girl really have killed him, David against Goliath?

“Here,” she says, tossing me a lanyard heavy with keys. Clever, an attempt to share the blame if someone sees, because why else would she hand over this freedom? Not that I’m complaining—I don’t plan to be around long enough for blame. She stuffs his ID tags into her pockets and tucks his pistol into the back of her shorts. “I’m coming with you.”

The pistol makes me nervous, but at least it isn’t aimed at me. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

She tilts her head to the beach, to the sickening display of blood and bone before us. “I know you’re not staying here,” she says. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Is it clear yet?” Still crouched on the low side of the boardwalk, all I can see is the girl, and the officer at her feet. Even this much blood turns my stomach, but I keep it together. I have to.

“Clear enough that we’ll have a head start. People are avoiding this beach now. . . .” Her eyes drift to the mess of death in the sand. The tide doesn’t reach far enough to lick any of the blood away, and neither of us can look for more than a few seconds. “It’s only a matter of time until they’re all killed. The guards won’t be distracted for long.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay. We can do this.”

“We have to do this. What else is there?”

She’s right. And it isn’t like I have anyone to go back for, not anymore. I take a deep breath. “Follow—”

“Crap, they’re on the seawall—they see us. They see us! Go!”

I spring to standing and take off. The smoke has cleared, not completely, but enough. I don’t look behind me to see if she’s there. I don’t look at what remains of all the people I might have eaten breakfast with later this morning. I only look ahead, at the ravaged sand, darting left and right like the officers did when they first noticed the air shifting.

Bullets burrow into the sand, into bodies already dead, into a wake of people who trail behind us. So many bullets from only—I risk a glance—two guards. I dodge their shots, keep running until the sand is smooth ahead of me, untested. I stop short, not sure exactly how to proceed, and the girl from the boardwalk barrels into me. It’s everything I can do to keep from losing my balance, from taking one wrong step that could end everything.

But of those who’ve fallen in with us, only two stop. The others push past us, sights set on the sailboat. Between their footsteps and the spray of bullets that follows them, the sand is broken—and they are dead—in a matter of seconds.

I suck in a breath, choke on sand and smoke, but force myself to keep going. The boardwalk girl follows, along with the two girls who stopped with us. I recognize both their faces from the seawall, peeking over, today and yesterday and the day before.

I lead the way, fast as I can. The guards’ boat isn’t far now. If we press on we might actually make it. More shots ring out, but this time they’re fired by the boardwalk girl, directed at the officer who usually guards the boat—bullet and blood, he collapses before he can make it back to the dock—then at the other guards who chase us, their pistols dead. This girl is an impressive shot, unsettlingly so. She keeps pulling the trigger long after she runs out of bullets.

No one shoots at us anymore.

No one follows us at all.

But I keep running. I can’t stop. We’re past the minefield now, into guards’ quarters—where the guards would be if they weren’t dead or hunting—and down the endless dock where their boat is tied up.

I climb up and over the boat’s side, collapse just long enough to catch my breath. I’m vaguely aware of the three other girls as they join me, one of them a blonde who works to untie the knotted rope, our only anchor to the dock. The sky starts to sway as the tide pulls us out to sea. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think. Everything hurts.

It is worth it.

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