#and they play soccer together and then drink capri suns

[mystery-fish-17]

[kenobicore]

"I want to be a professional ballerina," my best friend said. She was five, and her mother a former beauty queen from New York. "I want to be a soccer player," I said. I was five, and already I knew that I was not made from beauty queen pieces. It is not that I wanted to play soccer. I did not, especially. It is what soccer meant. If I had two choices, between soccer and waxen sculptures, rigid lines, soft pastels, and practicing the dance so I would not "thump like elephants down the stairs," I did not want the latter. Soccer meant mud. It meant running. It meant pads I strapped to my shins and fighting with boys and wearing pants. "Soccer," I said, even though what I felt was "I want to wear pants." I did not see the grit in ballet, nor the ferocity. But I feared its femininity, so like the lockbox of everything else around me. I feared the quietude, the script of dainty nonsense, the sitting with my legs together for hours on Sundays while the boys rampaged in the side yard, tasting honey sweet sun in the mud they kicked up. I feared suffocation, and soccer was an hour of freedom, when I could sit on the ground, pick at grass, run or not run, drink the sky through small sips like I'd punched a hole into a Capri Sun pouch. I was not good at soccer, but I was good at being at soccer practice. Once, watching my brother tumble down a hill, I turned to my mother and said, "I wish I was a boy." And she said, "Don't say that." So I didn't. But what I'd really meant was, "I wish I had not been born in a cage."

[alexthedrummerboy]

Darkest Before The Dawn

pairing: willex, past luke/alex

summary: "your parents were never cool again after you told them you were gay.” OR an exploration into alex’s past, his family life, and his relationship with religion

essentially this is all one big angsty headcanon

authors note: basically i’ve been thinking about the gold chain alex wears around his neck and i’ve been way overanalysing what it is and i thought - what if it used to be a cross necklace that his devout parents made him wear?? also i’m so desperate for alex to have more backstory that i’m pulling it out of every nook and cranny at this point

trigger warning: homophobia, bad parenting

ao3

It starts when he’s seven. He’d invited Bobby over to his house after school to play, not knowing that his dad had come home from work early. They’re sitting at the dining table, drawing with Alex’s new 36 pack of crayons when he hears it.

“I just think letting him do all that... art stuff is gonna make him...” he hears his dad say to his mom, “...soft. Girly. We already have one daughter, we don’t need another one.”

Alex doesn’t really understand what his Dad means, but he drops the crayon he’s holding and pokes Bobby on the wrist lightly. “I’m bored,” he says quietly, though his picture remains on the table unfinished. “Can we go do somethin’ else?”

Bobby furrows his eyebrows and looks down at his paper. “But... I didn’t finish colouring my dragon.” 

Alex looks at his Dad in the kitchen. He’s still talking to his mom, both of their heads bowed. He has that look on his face that reminds Alex of the time his mom tried to convince them to go vegetarian for a week. “We can finish colouring later... maybe,” he says. “Let’s go play in my room.”

Bobby takes one last look at his drawing but nods, gently folding the piece of paper in half and tucking it into his backpack. “Okay.”

They walk up to Alex’s room together, hand-in-hand like always. They pass the kitchen on the way and Alex’s dad turns his head, scowling deeper when he looks at their hands. Suddenly Alex feels cold all over. 

“Boys,” he says, deep voice booming. “You’re getting a little old to be holding hands, aren’t you?”

Alex lets go of Bobby’s hand immediately and tucks it into his trouser pocket instead, nodding. Bobby looks like he wants to protest but Alex just nudges him and nods towards his room. 

They walk away and Alex tries to brush the experience off. He doesn’t eat much at dinner that night.

---

His dad makes him quit choir the next year. He’s up in his room practicing for the Christmas festival when he hears three quiet knocks. 

“Come in,” he says, closing his music book. His dad walks in, still in his shirt and tie from work. “Oh. Hi, Dad.”

His dad smiles stiffly. “Alex, what are you doing?” 

Alex looks between his dad and his choir book for a moment. “Practicing for the festival,” he says, a smile growing on his face. “Mrs. Carson gave me a solo for the first--”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” his dad says, pursing his lips. “Wouldn’t you be happier... playing a sport or something? What about baseball? You know when your old man was in school, I was a real killer on the pitch.”

Alex’s tongue feels dry in his mouth the longer his dad speaks. He hates baseball. “Um... I-I like choir, though.” His voice is quiet, barely above a breath. His dad sighs and shakes his head. Alex feels an overwhelming sense of anxiety rise inside his chest. He hates disappointing people.

“I’m just worried about you, son,” he says, sitting down on the edge of Alex’s bed. “Okay, maybe not baseball. How about... soccer?”

Alex shuffles around on his chair. He feels like his heart has stopped beating. “Drums,” he mumbles, looking down at his hands. His dad leans closer. 

“Speak up, Alex.”

Alex looks up, clenching his jaw. “I-I wanna learn how to play the drums,” he says. “L-like that guy from The Rolling Stones.”

His dad goes quiet, scratching his chin like he’s thinking about it, before he smiles and nods. He claps Alex on the shoulder hard enough that it makes him wince. “Drums eh? Sure, we’ll get you a kit and you can set it up in the basement.” As he turns to walk out of Alex’s room, he turns and throws him a cheeky smile. “My boy, the drummer. You know they say girls love drummers.”

Alex isn’t sure why, but that comment makes him feel sick. He stares at his closed door for too long after his dad leaves, his thoughts twisting and turning in his mind.

---

When Alex receives his first cross, he’s 12-years-old. He immediately vows never to take it off. It’s a beautiful piece of jewellery; a small gold cross on a solid gold chain. When his mom slips it around his neck, he feels... protected, somehow. Safe. 

His mom smiles at him tearily as she hooks the clasp around his neck, running her hand down the side of his face. “Congratulations, baby,” she says quietly. “You know, my mother gave me my first cross when I was exactly your age. ”

Alex just smiles and tugs on the chain lightly, feeling the cool metal against his thumb and forefinger. “Thanks, mom,” he says quietly, looking down at where it’s dangling against the soft blue of his button down. 

His sister, Andrea, comes from behind him and knocks his shoulder lightly. Her own cross is silver and smaller than his, contrasting against her light skin perfectly. He doesn’t remember when she got hers. She was four years older than him and got hers when he was just a little kid. “Congrats, Lexi,” she says.

His dad comes out of the kitchen, a bottle of champagne in one hand and two flutes in the other. He’s beaming. “This calls for a celebration!”

His mother looks at his dad and tuts quietly, though she still looks pleased. “Michael, it’s barely 9. We have to leave for church soon.”

His dad simply brushes off her worry. “My son is being confirmed, Linda. We’re celebrating.” He kisses her on the cheek and hands her a champagne flute. “It won’t take long.”

He pours himself and Alex’s mother a small amount of champagne and Alex watches, entranced as they cheers and take a sip. His mother and his father lock eyes before handing their glasses to Alex and Andrea, smiling secret smiles. 

“Just this once,” his dad says. “Just one sip.”

Andrea takes the flute immediately and takes a sip. Alex watches her for a moment before taking his dad’s flute and lifting it up to his mouth.

The bubbles fizz and pop in his mouth. The taste is unpleasant, but... the feeling of his dad’s eyes on him, proud and sparkling with happiness make the experience a million times better.

As they drive to church, Alex keeps his hand firmly clasped around his cross, smiling the entire time.

---

Alex receives his first kiss when he’s 14. It happens in his basement with Luke Patterson. He’d invited him over so they could work on a song together. Luke had discovered him playing drums in the music room one day and had instantly recruited him to join his band, alongside Bobby and Reggie Anderson.

They’d long since abandoned practicing any form of music and were lounging on the couch in Alex’s basement, playing video games on his Sega Genesis. He’s so close to beating Luke at Mortal Kombat. They’ve been playing for 45 minutes and Alex has managed to lose every round so far.

But, with a fatal blow, Alex watches his character drop to his knees as Luke’s character poses victoriously. He groans loudly and leans back against the couch, trying his best not to pout as he hears Luke’s laughter next to him. “No fair!” he exclaims, dropping his controller beside him on the couch. 

Luke smirks, boxing Alex in the shoulder lightly. “Not my fault I’m better at this game than you are,” he says. He’s leaning towards Alex, his face mere inches away from his shoulder. “I’m just naturally skilled.”

Alex blushes and shuffles away from him, leaning into the arm rest and trying to ignore his heart as it pounds away in his chest. “Naturally ugly, more like,” he mumbles. It’s not the best comeback, but he can’t really focus right now.

Luke laughs anyway, punching Alex’s arm again and turning back to face the TV. Neither of them speak for a moment but Alex can feel the air thicken with a strange tension that he’s never felt before.

His hand automatically comes up to grip his cross, the edges of the metal digging into his palm. He takes a short breath in and out, feeling the cold metal warm up in his hand. 

He feels Luke’s eyes on him and he turns. There’s a small smile on Luke’s face that Alex can’t help but return. “What?” he asks.

Luke shrugs. “Nothin’,” he says softly.

Then, he leans in closer. Alex does not pull away.

Before he even realises what’s happening, they’re kissing. It’s chaste and completely innocent; a light press of lips against lips. Alex can tell that Luke hasn’t bothered to put on chapstick in his entire 14 years of life, but he tastes vaguely of grape bubblegum and iced tea. It’s nice. 

As they kiss, he feels his grip on his cross loosen until his hand falls completely slack, landing on top of Luke’s hand where it’s resting on a cushion.

They’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps against carpeted stairs. Alex jumps out of his seat and lands on the floor in front of the couch. Luke loses his balance and falls after him, landing face first in the couch cushion where Alex had just been sitting.

The basement door opens and Andrea pokes her head through, holding two capri suns and a bowl full of chips. She sees Alex on the floor and furrows her eyebrows. “Why are you on the ground?”

Alex clears his throat and blinks down at his knees, trying to hide his shaking hands. “Um... it-it’s more comfortable down here,” he mumbles. 

Andrea shrugs and walks in, placing the bowl of chips and the drinks on the coffee table. “Mom told me to give these to you.” She looks between the TV and the two of them. “I thought you guys were practicing.”

“We were!” Luke says, standing up and walking over to where his guitar is resting on the other side of the room. “We took a quick video game break, but we’re ready to get back to work. Right, Alex?”

Alex nods, but he can’t stand back up. “Right,” he says breathlessly, giving Andrea a weak smile. “Thanks for the snacks.”

Andrea nods, but she looks suspicious. She walks out of the room and shuts the door behind her. Alex doesn’t exhale until her footsteps have retreated completely. He breathes out shakily and draws his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. 

“Hey,” Luke says, running to Alex’s side. His hand hovers above Alex’s back before resting just behind him on the couch. “You okay?”

It takes a minute, but eventually Alex nods and looks up at Luke. “Yeah,” he replies, though his hands are still balled into tight fists. “I’m good.”

Luke nods, his hand tightening and loosening its grip on the couch cushion a few times. “Was that... weird?” he asks quietly. Alex has never heard him sound this unsure before. 

He shakes his head, a small smile growing on his face. “No,” he says quietly, and he means it too. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

Luke nods again, smiling brightly at Alex. “Okay. Cool.”

“Can we not... tell anyone? About that?” He asks quietly, looking up at Luke, eyes pleading. “I-I don’t know if I’m... if that...”

“Alex, of course,” Luke says earnestly, finally reaching over and resting his hand in Alex’s shoulder. “It’ll be just between us.”

Alex nods, smiling weakly. “Cool. Thanks.”

He feels mildly comforted by Luke’s words, but he can’t help the anxiety that grows in his stomach. He stands up and walks over to his kit, sitting down at his stool and twirling his drumstick in his hand.

When he closes his eyes that night, snuggled up in his bed, all he can think about are warm lips and iced tea.

---

He comes out at 16.

It doesn’t go well.

His mom cries like he’s just told her he died... but what makes him more anxious is his dad’s reaction.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at Alex with that those hard, light eyes. He doesn’t even look angry, he just looks... disappointed.

“Dad?” he says quietly. The word gets caught in his throat.

His dad breathes in slowly and stands up. He walks out of the living room shaking his head. Alex watches him go until he’s completely out of sight. All he can hear are his mothers sobs. All he can feel is the weight of his guilt pressing down on him.

His cross feels like it’s burning his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. Suddenly it feels like he’s wearing a ten pound weight around his neck. It’s hard to swallow.

He wants to comfort his mom, but he doesn’t even know what he would say. What could he say that wouldn’t make everything worse?

So, he stands up and takes one last look at his mom before walking down the hall. He passes Andrea on the way to the basement. She looks at him and then toward the living room where they can both hear their mother’s sobs. 

“What’s wrong with mom?” she asks, placing a hand on his elbow. The touch burns. 

Alex opens his mouth to speak but the words he wants to say get stuck in his throat. He brushes past her, ignoring her questions and running down the stairs to the basement and shutting the door behind him.

He sits down behind his drums and raises his hand to clasp his necklace, holding it so tightly his hand begins to hurt. He can’t cry. He thinks if he could, then maybe he’d feel better, but... the tears won’t come.

So, he lets go of his cross and picks up his sticks instead, twirling the left one in his hand a few times before hitting his high tom once, hard. It feels good, but the feeling doesn’t last long.

Eventually, he loses himself in the rhythm, hitting each drum harder than the last. He forgets for a moment; forgets about the disaster that had happened just minutes ago upstairs. He pauses for a minute to catch his breath but finds his mind wandering; is his mother still crying? Why hadn’t his dad said anything?

He shakes the thought free before pounding on his drums again. He’s not even beating out a rhythm now; he’s just trying to fill the space with noise to keep his thoughts out.

He’s interrupted when the door opens. It's his dad, holding an empty duffel bag, a somber expression on his face. Alex raises his eyebrows and takes his earplugs out of his ears. “Dad?”

His dad winces when Alex speaks, throwing the empty duffel bag onto the floor. “Pack your things.”

All the blood drains from Alex’s face and he stands up on shaky legs. He’s gripping his drumsticks so tightly, it’s a miracle that the wood doesn’t fuse with his skin. “Wh-where’re we goin’?” he asks, though he has a suspicion. 

“We aren’t going anywhere, son,” his dad says. His eyes are on the carpet. He can’t even look at Alex. “Your mother and I... we can’t have you staying in this house.”

“What?!”

“If you’re going to choose to live with your... affliction,” he spits out the word like it’s poison; and in his dad’s mind, perhaps it is, “then it won’t do to have you living here, corrupting us with your ungodly temptations.”

“Dad--”

His father holds up a hand. “I’ll give you 15 minutes to get your things and leave.” He turns to leave the basement but Alex calls him back.

“Where am I supposed to go?” he asks, voice cracking as he tries to fight the tears that threaten to run down his cheeks. He knows crying will only make him more upset. His father doesn’t turn around.

“You can figure that out on your own.” Then, he walks out. Alex is alone. After a few moments, he walks out from behind his drums and picks up the. empty bag with weak hands and walks up to his room. 

He’s working on autopilot as he shoves clothes and shoes and random items (when will he ever need his model robot?) into the bag until it’s almost full to bursting. He drops the bag on his bed and stares at it. He can’t hear anything; all the sounds around him are dull, muted almost. 

He turns around and catches a glimpse of his reflection in his bedroom mirror. He still looks the same as he had that morning when he’d gotten dressed for school. There are still drawings on the back of his hand in blue and black ink from third period when Bobby and Luke decided to draw on him in lieu of paying attention to what Mr. Peters was saying.

Remarkably, he looks the same... but he couldn’t be more different. 

Alex’s eyes drop to the necklace around his neck. It almost hurts to look at now. He’d done well by his vow; hadn’t ever taken it off, even when Jeremy Matthews teased him about it (and received a firm smack on the head from Reggie).

Shakily, he lifts his hands and unclasps the necklace, holding onto the chain so tight that the links begin to make grooves in his skin. He takes hold of the cross and swallows thickly, looking at his warped reflection in the surface of it. 

He slowly slides the cross off of the chain and places it on his nightstand. The chain, though, he keeps though he doesn’t really know why. He puts the chain back around his neck. It feels bare without the cross on it weighing it down, but... Alex finds he kind of likes it. 

With that, he picks up his duffel bag and walks out of his room. He can hear the quiet sound of scraping cutlery against ceramic and he winces. They’d started dinner without him. 

As he walks towards the front door, he passes the dining table. When she hears his footsteps, Andrea looks up from her untouched plate of food and stands up. Alex shakes his head silently at her, gripping his bag strap tighter.

His parents don’t even look up. He gives Andrea a half-hearted smile and a wave before walking out the front door. He doesn’t bother taking his keys with him; he knows he won’t need to use them again.

The cold, night air smacks him right in the face as soon as he closes the door behind him. Then, without a second glance, he leaves and begins the short trek to Bobby’s house.

---

“So, I was wondering...” 

Willie turns to Alex and smiles at him, squeezing his hand gently. “Yeah?”

They’ve been walking down the pier together in comfortable silence for almost 15 minutes, but the question bubbles up in Alex’s chest before he can control himself.

Alex looks down at their interlaced fingers before gesturing towards the necklace around Willie’s neck. “What’s that key around your neck for?”

At the mention of his necklace, Willie wraps his hand around the key and gives it a light tug with his free hand. If Alex notices how Willie’s slowed their walking pace slightly, he doesn’t say anything. 

“It’s my house key,” he says softly. Alex parts his lips in surprise. “When I was a kid, I... I was pretty irresponsible. I was always losing things in random places. My mom used to tell me I’d lose my arms if they weren’t attached to my shoulders.” The smile on his face makes Alex want to cry. “When my folks gave me my first house key, it felt like I was finally growing up. I was so scared I would lose it, so I bought a chain. I’ve worn it around my neck ever since.”

“Even after...” Alex doesn’t continue his train of thought but Willie understands regardless. He nods.

“When I woke up after the accident, it was actually the first thing I reached for,” Willie says quietly, gripping Alex’s hand like a lifeline. “Force of habit, I guess.” 

“Have you ever tried to visit your place?” Alex asks quietly, steering Willie towards the edge of the pier so they can sit by the water. Willie nods.

“A couple times. After I died, I didn’t visit for months. It hurt too much.” He pauses, looking out over the water as he scoots closer to Alex until their shoulders are pressed together. “I visited them for the first time a year after I’d died. I couldn’t go in. I was too scared, so I just watched from the windows like a total creeper.” There’s a chuckle in Willie’s voice that astounds Alex. He doesn’t know how he can be so cheerful even while talking about something so heartbreaking. “My family moved sometime around ‘89. I haven’t tried to find them since.”

Alex nods, listening to the sound of the crashing waves and seagulls as they fly overhead. He doesn’t feel pressured to comfort Willie at all. He thinks that telling him his story might’ve upset Alex more than it upset him. Instead, he rubs his knuckles with his thumb slowly, his finger savouring the feel of every dip and crevice. 

“What about you?” Willie asks suddenly, turning to Alex. There’s a smile in his eye that Alex never wants to look away from. “Is that gold chain around your neck a remnant from your gangster rap phase, or...?”

Alex laughs brightly, throwing his head back. He can feel Willie laughing too, his shoulders bouncing up and down with every giggle. He stops and breathes out quietly, looking down at his chain and hooking his finger through it. 

“Um... there used to be a cross hanging from it,” he says. “My parents got it for me for my confirmation when I was 12. I basically didn’t take it off for five years.” 

Willie pauses, shuffles closer; almost as if he can tell what’s coming next. He doesn’t say anything, though, and somehow that makes it easier for Alex to keep going.

“When I came out, my parents um... they weren’t very cool about it,” he says, tugging a little harder on the chain. “My dad kicked me out.” Willie’s grip on his hand tightens and Alex lets out a breath. “When I was leaving, I took the cross off. It didn’t seem right to keep it after...” he clears his throat. “I kept the chain. I’m still not really sure why... I’ve been thinking about it ever since I left home. I think it’s just... a reminder of why I left and what I have now.”

Willie smiles, bumping their shoulders together. “What do you have now?”

He looks at Willie and find that he can’t control the smile that’s growing on his face either. Under the setting sun, Willie looks so beautiful; his tanned skin practically glowing and long dark hair moving with the breeze. He leans in and brushes a gentle kiss against the side of his lips. He feels Willie’s hand come up to cup his cheek and he leans into the touch. 

They pull away from each other after a few seconds and Alex smiles again, resting their foreheads together. 

“Freedom.”

[definitelynotaminion]

Alright, send me prompts. Preferably Naruto

And preferably femslash because I’m trying to get Bingo on my sapphic september card but I kind of need a break

PROMPT LIST http://blackkatmagic.tumblr.com/post/176501846800/caydenhathaway-ok-but-you-know-what-trope-i

Accidental sex

“Anything you can do I can do better INCLUDING THAT” sex

“You played a prank on me and now I’m going to play one on you except oops this accidentally got hot” sex

“You made an inaccurate assumption about *insert sexual or sexuality misnomer here* and I’m going to teach you the truth” sex

“You think you’re so smart so I’m going to teach you a lesson” sex

“Do you think I look good/hot/provocative in this? Wait is this turning you on???” sex

“You don’t know what *insert kink here* is and I’m really bad at explaining things and now we’re doing it oops” sex

“I bet I can dance/move/act like that and I don’t even have to be a dancer/stripper/actor/whatever wait are you turned on?” sex

“I lost a bet to you and the circumstances were supposed to be a joke but I took them seriously” sex

“You were joking about something and I took you seriously” sex

“You seem to think that __ won’t feel good and I intend to prove you wrong” sex

“You’re intentionally getting under my skin so I threaten to spank you/playfully spank you and now you look like you just got banged against a wall” sex

“I didn’t know you were a sub and when I called you a good boy/girl you almost cried” sex

“I didn’t know you were a dom and when I called you Sir/Ma'am you almost jumped me” sex

“Playing a prank on our freinds to make them think we’re a couple and now we’re in bed together” sex

“I’m fixing you *insert appliance/furniture/house thing hee* for you and now I’m sweaty and half naked and you’re drooling” sex

“I noticed the way you were watching me eat this popsicle so I purposely started making it an inuendo and now we’re both hot and bothered” sex

“Haha that thing they do in movies/porn/online is so corny like no way that’s actually hot haha oops it is” sex

“Freinds can totally watch porn together and nothing can happen…. no they can’t” sex

“I showed you *insert sexual thing here* as a joke but you’re actually turned on” sex

“You found my sex toys and I teasingly offered to demonstrate them welp here we are” sex

“I started pretending to dirty talk to you an hour ago and it stopped being pretending 58 minutes ago” sex

“All I’m saying is that I’ve been told I’m a good lay, wanna find out?” sex

“You said you don’t like __ but I bet the people you were with just don’t know how to do it, I, however, have experience and bet I could make you like it” sex

“We platonically slept together last night because of circumstances and we both woke up horny” sex

“This started as a tickle fight and it isn’t tickling anymore” sex

“We’re just bros being bros and doing something 100% platonic but somehow we’re turning eachother on because of not-so-burried feelings for eachother and we can’t make it stop” sex

Accidental sex ok?

OR: Other prompts. I’m not picky.

Actually here’s another list from Kat’s blog

Prompt List of Sarcasm

13 September 2018

SOURCE

eternalmikaelson:

“Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.”

“Define normal.”

“Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?”

“Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”

“Don’t look for any redeeming qualities. I don’t have any.”

“It’s amazing how fast the world can go from bad to total shit storm.”

“I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.”

“And you wonder why you’re still single.”

“Remind me to kill you. Please.”

“I’m listening to you. I’m just not paying attention.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Were you dropped on your head?”

“She’s crazy. And just when you think you’ve reached the bottom of her craziness, there’s a crazy underground garage.”

“She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but I bet behind close doors she’s latex and whips.”

“If my day gets any worse, I’m asking hell if they’re having an exchange program.”

“Sorry. I don’t speak skank.”

“If I survive, can I go home?”

“My middle finger salutes you.”

“This is a whole new level of moronic, even for you.”

“I don’t think I could ever stab someone. I mean, let’s be honest. I can barely get the straw in the Capri Sun.”

“I don’t have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel.”

“Insanity run in my family. It practically gallops.”

“Oh darling. Go buy a brain.”

“Somebody’s cranky.” “Somebody needs to shut up.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

“All due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.”

“I am one of the few people in the world who can murder you and leave no forensic evidence behind.”

“Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.”

“What did I tell you about calling her/him the devil?” “That it’s offensive to the devil?”

“I heard that!” “You were supposed to!”

“I need therapy after this.”

“You didn’t get in trouble for lying. You got in trouble for lying badly.”

“I’m not weird. I am limited edition.”

“I turned out liking you a lot more that I originally planned.”

“I think you’re weird.” “I think you’re boring.”

“If history repeats itself, I am so getting a dinosaur.”

“You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been thinking…” “A dangerous pastime.”

“I’d explain it to you, but you’re brain would explode.”

“Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.”

“I’m gonna hit you so hard, it’ll make you ancestors dizzy.”

“Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass!”

“Sarcasm is the body’s natural reaction to stupidity.”

“You’re good. A monster pain in the ass… but you’re good.”

“Well, excuse me, psychic wonder!”

“The female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

“Don’t look in her eyes, she might steal your soul.”

“She’s hot, but she’s evil.”

“Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably.”

“I already know that I’m going to hell. At this point it’s really go big or go home.”

“Go on, knock his teeth down his throat.”

“You’re going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters, animal abusers and people who talk at the theater.”

“What’s the point in screaming? No one’s listening anyway.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a damsel doing damage.”

“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.”

“Never take life seriously. No one ever comes out alive anyway.”

“This place hold a lot of memories for me. Some bad, some… No. No, no, all bad.”

“A little gasoline… blowtorch… no problem.”

“Good, bad, I’m the one with the gun.”

“I know you can’t kill anybody, ‘cause I can’t kill anybody.”

“You’re insane, but you might also be brilliant.”

“What you call insanity, I call inspiration.”

“Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.”

“Why should we date?” “Because we are attracted to each other.” “I am attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie.”

“Why does everyone assume the worst of me.” “It saves time.”

“I like you. You’re different.”

“You successfully cured him/her of anything interesting about his/her personality.”

“Neither one us is drunk enough for this conversation.”

“You’re questioning my methods.” “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.”

“Wow, somebody needs a Happy Meal.”

“I didn’t do it!” “Then why are you laughing?” “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.”

“Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

“I care so little, I almost passed out.”

“Well behaved woman rarely make history.”

“You’re so weird.” “You have no idea.”

“The universe may not always play fair, but at least it’s got a hell of a sense of humor.”

“You haven’t even seen my bad side yet.”

“Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

“How’s life treating you?” “Like I ran over it’s dog.”

“Rule number one: don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you, that’s not going to change.”

“Oh God, we’re not gonna have to hug or anything, are we.”

“I’m so glad you could come.” “Cut the crap. Give me a drink.”

“You make no sense to me.” “Welcome to my life.”

“Have fun being deal.” “I will.”

“Damn, you’re strong for a little thing.”

“It’s called thinking. Go with it.”

“I made a new friend today.” “Real or imaginary?” “Imaginary.”

“Where have you been all my life?” “Hiding from you.”

“I’m getting real bored and impatient. I don’t do bored and impatient.”

“The girl is strange no question.”

“Do us a favor… I know it’s difficult for you… but please, stay here, and try no to do anything… stupid.”

“I know most people don’t like me; I don’t care, I don’t like most people.”

“You are a very strange person.” “Well, thanks for noticing.”

“I can tell that you think what you’re saying is funny, but… no.”

“I didn’t steal it. I permanently borrowed it.”

“I’m not shy. I’m just examining my prey.”

“If you pull out my earphones, I will pull out your lungs.”

“I don’t dislike you, I nothing you.”

“Are you crying? No, I’m impersonating a fountain.”

“Ah, he’s playing hard-to-get. That’s cute.”

“You’re kinda anti-social, you know that?”

“I feel like a freakin’ soccer mom.”

“My advice is much more subtle. Stop being an ass.”

“I’m just gonna pack up and go straight to hell now.”

“My ex? Yeah, I’d still hit that. Except this time it would be with a car or baseball bat.”

“She’s complicated like the DaVinci code, you know but harder to crack.”

“And just like everything else we do around here, it’s about to get weirder.”

“Such big evil in such a little thing.”

“Why do I still like you, knowing you’re a total asshole?”

“What does not kill you will likely try again.”

“Oh honey, I would but… I don’t want to.”

“And hello to you too… little homewrecker.”

“I’m gonna make you wish you were dead.”

“I don’t need anger management. I need people to stop pissing me off.”

“What doesn’t kill me might make me kill you.”

“In another life, I think I was in a mental institution.”

“I’m not crazy. I’m just interesting.”

“Don’t make me pop your ten grand sand bags honey.”

“This is fun.” “Seriously, we’re trying to hide a body.”

[fieldn0tes-blog]

Last night Philippe and I went to visit an apartment in Montreuil, the suburb that gives us neighborhood envy and where we like to pretend to be residents. We ended up at this beer shop that is also a funk record store that has a DJ on Tuesday nights until 8:30 pm. It was mostly old-timey American-style funk tunes but where they’re sung by French people and the lyrics are in French, too. It sounds disorienting but it was surprisingly pleasant within last night’s particular context. I think that’s because it was a hipster-style beer and record shop and not some supermarket or train station cafe.

We had a couple beers and pretended to look at records to try to fit in and also tried taking videos of the atmosphere without anyone noticing, which ended up being like super noticeable as usual. One guy walked past us to serve himself a gluten free beer that had a bunch of gluten free grains in it. So Philippe said to him, “it’s like a beer AND a meal all in one can.”

It was a really tiny shop but the music was really loud. But because of the size and the fact that it was a record store it really wasn’t appropriate to dance. There was this middle aged, smiley, professionally dressed woman who was calmly dancing along right next to the DJ, though. She was dancing without actually moving her feet so in reality she wasn’t taking up much space at all. I found it odd that the other patrons didn’t seem to notice. “Is this a normal part of French society?” I wondered to myself. Also, dancing lady hadn’t even purchased a beer and wasn’t a visible regular customer or anything so she was truly only there to dance.

Then we were a little buzzed and really had to pee but decided to go find some food at 9:45. Nothing was open, though, and the pee situation was getting urgent and it was freezing so we just settled for this fancy Turkish restaurant that was still serving. The food was merely decent to me but Philippe said, “my dish was really, really good and original.” We went back and forth deciding how much to leave for a tip, since there aren’t any clear rules about this in France. He left a few euros and handed it to the man because he enjoys seeing how servers react to our generosity.

On the metro ride home a teenage girl appeared with two capri suns. Philippe, unaware that capri suns were a suburban American sensation in the 90s, started to explain to me how awful and toxic these fake-fruity drinks are and how they’re causing youth obesity in French Guyana. Little did he know, capri suns were a regular part of being a recreational soccer-playing American kid back in my day. (It’s still very confusing that she had those, though, because I’ve never seen them in any French supermarkets. I started wondering if there’s an underground capri sun black market or something.)

I didn’t overindulge or anything last night but I had enough alcohol to feel comfortable staying in pajamas the following day. It was enough beer and wine to take the edge off and also the pressure I usually put on myself to have a productive day of job searching, chores, and personal hygiene.

So I’ve basically only accomplished one thing so far today, which was making lunch. It was frustrating because I was planning to throw together some bullshit salad that required lime juice but the lime was not quite ripe. So I ended up stabbing my thumbs into the lime to try to squeeze out the small amount of juice and getting all aggressive with it. I’ve been really disappointed by produce lately. Philippe told me that I wasn’t the best at picking out fruit, so this is definitely an area for self-improvement. Anyways, the lime thing probably wouldn’t have frustrated me that much if I hadn’t had a separate and upsetting food-related fumble this morning when I was trying to steam beets. Boiling water started shooting out of the makeshift lid and Philippe noticed and scolded me for having created a situation that could lead to water damage to the electrical stove system or something.