#((was ready to leave after mopping the floors and cleaning the toilets when I suddenly heard two knocks come out of nowhere))

[nether-twins]

((Well this week turned out to get busier than I anticipated. I was ready to get back here and get to eeverything but the universe decided to screw me over instead. Found out a bunch of people got sick after I came back, so I had to do all the cleaning on my own in my part of the building, and that was fun. Had zero energy left to do anything here after I got back home from work.))

[romioneficfest]

Something Growing

Title: Something Growing

Prompt/Day: Day 14 - Ron leaves for a mission

Tumblr name: 

Rating: K

Brief summary: Hermione’s pregnant— and she’s freaking out. She’s always been good at everything, but she’s not sure that’ll hold for being a mother; however, when Ron gets home earlier than expected, she realizes she doesn’t need to be great at everything so long as she’s got him beside her.

Tags: brief mention of contraceptive charms and trying for a baby, but only in those words— nothing more than that

Hermione seldom spent a night alone. Ever since Shell Cottage —where Ron had stayed devotedly by her bedside, stroking her hair and holding her close, and in between sleepy murmurs she’d told him “I never want to sleep alone again” and he’d replied “you won’t"—, there had only been a handful of nights where the other side of the bed was empty.

Tonight was one such night.

And boy, was she happy about it.

Ron had left for a mission the day before, and though Hermione ordinarily hated seeing him go, she was desperately in need of a bit of solitude, because she needed to think— and Hermione thought best when she was alone.

She didn’t think he’d noticed, so busy was he with the preparations for the mission, but the last few days had been odd. She’d been waking up feeling nauseous and had even had to rush to the bathroom a couple mornings just to kneel before the toilet bowl and retch into it; she’d been peeing a lot more often than she usually did; she’d been uncommonly tired, her lower back throbbing with a constant, unwavering ache— and, most disconcertingly of all, there had been no familiar monthly stain tinging her panties red.

And Hermione’s periods, much like her, were always on time.

So, as much as she hated Ron being away, she felt a weight lift off her chest when the door clicked shut behind him, and she was left alone to sift through her thoughts and worries the whole day over. However, something had kept her from confronting them all day: she’d busied herself with menial tasks around the house —vacuuming floors and dusting bookshelves, mopping the kitchen and cleaning out the pantry— to push away the fact that she’d have to wrestle with what was happening to her sooner or later.

But, as soon as she was in bed, the lights off and the covers shrouding her, she knew there was no getting around it anymore.

She was pregnant.

Merlin, she was pregnant.

She and Ron had always talked about wanting children, had daydreamed about light tufts of red hair and innocent chocolate eyes, so why had this jolted her so harshly? They’d been trying, after all, they’d long given up on contraceptive charms— so why did her heart swirl with dismay? She’d never in her life been bad at anything, so why should she be bad at being a mother?

But that’s just it, she suddenly realized. That’s what was worrying her so much, that’s what had kept her awake through the last few nights, even as she lay in the embrace of a happily-snoring Ron. Was she going to be any good at this? She’d never been particularly close to her parents —too many dinner parties where they expected her to sit and talk maturely to the guests—, and after she’d started at Hogwarts, she’d started seeing less and less of them, spending entire summers at the Burrow, and the situation had peaked when she’d had to ship them off to Australia to protect them. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them, not at all— it was more that she didn’t exactly know how they’d done it. She’d been a very naturally disciplined child, but what if the one inside of her wasn’t? What if it turned out as reckless as Fred or George, or as rebellious as Ginny (there’d be Weasley blood in it, after all)? What would she do then? She couldn’t think of anything beyond scolding— and she knew the child would despise her for it, she only had to remember the revolted look on Ron’s face every time she’d dared tried to exercise some discipline as a Prefect.

And then there was the matter that she was absolutely terrible at contending with her own emotions. She could read anyone else’s as clearly as a book, but when it came to her own, there was a barrier of some sort there. That’s why she was so bad with brooms, wasn’t it? She couldn’t handle having to make an emotional bond with an inanimate object, something no textbook would tell her. And that’s why she’d hated Divination so much, wasn’t it? That degree of introspection was also something she couldn’t learn from anywhere. How was she to be trusted with something so deeply emotional as loving, as caring for a child? What if she never got past it? What if the baby came out and she felt nothing?

I’m going to bomb this, she thought to herself, her panic growing with her ultimate conclusion. She was going to be terrible at this, and Ron was going to end up resenting her, and everything they’d built together would come crashing down on them— oh, Merlin, what have we done?

A sudden noise from the kitchen startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. The door to their flat had opened, and someone was traipsing around the kitchen. Hermione stiffened and groped around her nightstand for her wand, prepared to take on whoever the intruder was; however, she soon recognized the familiar rhythm of the footsteps as Ron’s own, and she floated back into the bed, relieved. It didn’t last her long: she sat up again almost immediately, her eyes wide. He was here early! He wasn’t supposed to be back for another day! And she still hadn’t thought of what she would tell him— what they would do—

"Hey there,” came Ron’s whisper as he pushed the bedroom door open softly and let himself in. “Stayed up for me?”

Hermione gulped and nodded, still too stunned to do much else, only just managing to stammer out: “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” came Ron’s gentle laugh, and Hermione felt the mattress dip as he sat on the bed next to her, the room still dark, and began taking off his shoes. “We thought it was going to be super dangerous, but the git chickened out and practically turned himself in. Piece of Cauldron cake.”

“That’s nice,” squeaked Hermione, her mind still racing in alarm.

“Yeah, and I get to come home to you,” said Ron, leaning across the bed to kiss her. She returned the kiss absently, not fully in it because she was unable to get out of her own head. He didn’t seem to notice, and returned to getting ready for sleep, stripping off his shirt and peeling off his trousers.

He chattered absentmindedly about the mission as he rustled through his drawers, shimmied into his pyjamas, and brushed his teeth. Only when he flicked off the bathroom light and returned to the dark bedroom did he seem to realize that his usually-talkative wife had sat in stony silence all throughout. “‘Mione, you okay? Need me to fetch you anything? A cup of tea?”

She could only just make out a faint outline of him in the dark, but her eyes were glued to him. She was suddenly seeing him, as if everything about the man she’d married was becoming revealed: he’d spoken with such tender concern for her, no matter that he’d come back from a mission where he’d risked his life, and he’d taken the time to make sure she was okay. That was so like him —ever since he’d stood up for her to Malfoy when they were both at Hogwarts, when he’d suggested she pass herself off as his cousin and offered to teach him his family tree, every night he’d spent curled around her in Shell Cottage to give her safety—, that was so like her lovely, caring Ron. Because that’s what he was: he was caring, and he was loving, and he was smart, and he was funny. He was her rock. And moreover, it suddenly dawned on her, he was going to be the perfect dad.

The tension finally evaporated from her muscles, because she knew it now: it didn’t matter how much she’d struggle, because he was going to be right there next to her, to help her through it, to step in where she couldn’t and support her when she needed it. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t perfect, because they didn’t need to be perfect parents on their own— they just had to be good at it together. And with Ron by her side, there was nothing to fear.

“I’m alright,” she replied after a lapse of silence, a smile finally finding its way back onto her lips after an entire day of anguish. She instinctively placed a hand to her belly —right under the R of Ron’s knit Christmas sweater she liked to sleep in when he was away, because it smelled like him—, right over where their baby must be right now, where something was growing, and felt it rise and fall with the last breath she’d take before their lives would change forever. “There’s just something I need to tell you.”

[red-radish14]

How To Get Away With Murder

Authors Note:

No real-life acts were committed to persuading me to write this story, it is all fictional and written off the top of my head, no mental or physical attributes were caused to have premeditated planning on this, this felt like a very interesting story to write, there is graphic detail in this story if sensitive please do not read.

If you or someone you know is/are thinking about committing an act of violence upon you or others please call 911 and get help immediately!! They will be able to find the right resources and betterments for you!!

Thanks and reviews are always appreciated!! :)

Word Count: 2.2k

--

Average Life for an average girl:

December 31st, 1979

7:01pm

Hi, I'm Blaire, Blaire Helms, thinking that no one is going to read any of this I have made a resolution to start journaling my life. Even if no one ever saw this, it would be nice to look back and read what I had in mind for the years to come. Let me start out with who I am. I'm a 17-year-old girl from Topeka Kansas, I live with my mother and twin brothers in an apartment downtown. My brothers, Jack and Elliot, are star players on the high school football team. And well, my mother, she is a waiter at the cafe on the main street. We don't have much here at home, and having to scrounge for money to buy a $15 journal had been a struggle for the past few weeks. Me on the other hand, I'm 5'6" with long brown hair and big green eyes. School before winter break was tough, I get bullied a lot, and making friends is a bit of a challenge for me. My brothers don't make it any easier for me either, they sometimes even send random classmates to come to bully me in the smoking pit. Yeah yeah, I know, before you get all Nabby about me smoking I know that it's bad for you, but, I'm 17 how bad could it get. Being a junior in high school isn't all that rough though. I'm an average C student with average teen life. To end on a good note, I finally had enough money saved for the dance on the 13th. Well, it is a welcome back dance for all the kids who passed 1st semester. I just hope no trouble endured like last year, having my head dumped into the punch bowl was not pleasant. Expect more from me in the future. Until then.

-Blaire Helm

7:56pm

--

Smoking Pit Disaster:

January 7th, 1980

5:23pm

Today was hell, when I woke up my brother Elliot had clogged the toilet and flooded the whole bathroom, and just left it there, I was always the last one to leave the house and there was no time to clean it up. I had to get ready at school, about 15 minutes later and once I had left the restroom it was straight to the smoking pit to skip 1st period. There were always a few girls down there and they weren't very talkative, they always just sat and smoked for the whole hour, no breaks in between. As I was smoking you literally won't believe who came down to bother me, Mason Palmer. Mason was the hottest guy in school, he was also the biggest jerk of the school. He was famously popular among anyone in the city and always had a few remarks in his sleeve. after a few minutes of smoking and getting paper balls profusely thrown at me, Mason had jumped down into the pit and proceeded to taunt me. After the taunting, he had kicked my side causing me to drop my cigarette onto my leg. He then left laughing at his buddies. About 30 minutes after the beating I had left to go to 2nd period. Walking through the hallway trying to cover the burn hole in my jeans, I ran into Mason. He had grabbed my backpack and threw it at one of his buddies that had taken off with the bag. He then pushed me down and walked away, leaving me with no supplies, and I had returned to the smoking pit for the remainder of the day. Hopefully, this week would get better before the dance on the 13th. If it doesn't, I'll just have to stay home. But, until next time.

6:17pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Sam's Club Shopping Spree:

January 11th, 1980

9:12pm

Today I had to go shopping for bulk food supplies at Sam's Club. It was the cheapest place where we could go to buy a lot of items for less money. It was only the 2nd time I had to go shopping there and I was bored out of my mind. As I was shopping today I picked up the usual items we needed. Macaroni, ramen, chips and lots more. In the back of my mind somewhere I needed to get some cleaning supplies, I don't know why but I bought some anyway. a 4 pack of bleach bottles, 16-pack sponges, 2 3-gallon mop buckets, 8 pack of paper towels, and some sterile gloves. I felt like I needed to clean the whole house. After I was done shopping I decided to stop by Walgreens to pick up some pain killers for my back, it's been so horrible lately, they'll knock me out in a second if I'm not careful. Once I got home, I left the cleaning supplies in my car until I needed them and brought the other groceries inside. Being usual teenage boys my brothers decided to help none and pretend to be each other for a day, I guess it's a normal thing identical twins decide to do. Oh, and about Mason, he hasn't shown up to school for the past 2 days because he's been too busy suit shopping for the dance. This isn't prom, I guess he's wanting to fuck some chick in the back while everyone else is sipping on watered-down punch. Well, I'll let you guys know how the dance goes, all I'm wearing is a hand-me-down loose tee with some black jeans. Wish me luck.

10:02pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Till Death Do Us Part:

January 13th, 1980

5:43 am

Guys, I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere right now. Why is this happening, this can't be happening? It started with the stupid fucking dance. I walked into the gym, grabbed my punch, and boom Mason was right there, he had poured his punch all over me and pushed me causing me to slip and fall hitting my head. I had gotten up asking him what he wanted from me. Suddenly he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the side of the bleachers. He had pinned me against the wall and told me I had to do whatever he wanted me to do. I had agreed and asked him if I could run out to my car to get dried, he agreed and after some time I was back into the gym. Mason had gotten a new cup of punch and came over to dance. I had played around and danced along with him. Mason left to go pee after some dancing and asked me to hold his cup. While Mason was gone, I had grabbed some of those painkillers from the car and slipped some into his drink. Mason had returned and started drinking his punch, fast, like he was dying of dehydration. He started falling asleep so, I asked him if he wanted to go to the storage closet to have some fun. He had followed me in there, pinned me down, and I stabbed him. I had must've stabbed him 100 times, blood was everywhere. I panicked, I had shut off the lights and locked the door. It must've been hours but no one looked for us, once the last person left the school I knew what I needed to do with Mason. I had dragged his body out to my car and laid him in the backseat on top of my wet clothes, all of his blood had drained out onto the floor of the gym. I had grabbed the cleaning supplies I bought from Costco earlier and cleaned. it must've taken me an hour. I had grabbed all the trash and stuffed it into the back of my car. The closet was as clean as it was before the murder. And now I'm out here in the middle of fucking Kansas, 125 miles from where I live. Now, what do I fucking do?

7:24 am

- Blaire Helm

--

Pitched Out:

January 14th, 1980

3:36 pm

I had decided I needed to do something with this body or it was going to rot in my car minute by minute. I had stopped at a gas station to pick up 30 lbs of raw meat and some new clothes without being questioned and afterward, I had gone a bit off-roading miles away from the road and found a place to park and deal with it. My mother loved to Garden and so happens the day before she had left most of her gardening stuff in the car, so I got to digging. I had created dirt stairs and dug 12ft down. I had stripped Mason down to his skin and set his clothes aside. I had placed him into the hole. I covered him up with about 6 ft of dirt, and placed the raw rotting meat above, covering it with the remaining dirt, patted it out, and made it look natural. I had found some school papers from my car and tumbleweeds laying around to create a fire.  I stripped down to my skin and proceeded to throw everything I had used to kill Mason into the fire, letting it burn. After the fire was done burning I picked up the ashes and brought them with me back to a small pond a few miles down the road. I had thrown the ashes into the pond, watching them disintegrate, and jumped in the pond myself to wash up all the blood. While I was in the pond I had realized what I've done. While drying off I burst into tears and begged God for forgiveness. Afterward, I had set myself on home, sitting here now at a gas station, only 25 miles away from my house.

4:17 pm

- Blaire Helm

--

The Party:

January 17th, 1980

8:57 pm

A watch party had started for Mason and I had joined along with them in search for him. I knew what I did, and I knew nobody was going to ever find him. I know that because it's a fact. The rotting meat will attract the dogs, the police dig it up and realize it's just some animal remains, and continue searching. There are no fingerprints or clothes to find because they are burnt. The ashes are dissolved into nothingness. And it's in the middle of Kansas in a desert, anyone could've done it. The school gym is cleaned like brand new, it's all planned. After the search party, I had stopped by Mason's house to see how his parents were doing. His mother and father could not stop crying. Soon I was "crying" and told them I needed to leave to get home to do some homework. I had gotten home and lost my mind, I was upset that I did such a thing. I had started laughing when realizing that I had gotten away, a murder undetected, a master plan successfully accomplished. But for how long.

9:10 pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Dumped Down:

April 18th, 1980

1:02 pm

It's been 3 months since I've killed Mason, the parties are over, and everyone is moving on like he was still out there missing. I knew what had happened, I've visited where I had buried him a few times since that night, It upsets me. A lot is going through my head lately. One of these days or years they are going to find him and I will be fucked, I can't live knowing I had killed a man. So sitting here in my bedroom I've come up with a plan, We are going to paint the walls, to have a fresh new start. I will load up the paintbrush and get to painting. The room is going to have small specks of red, it suits me best. But I've got to admit that I lived my life up to its fullest. Lighting up a cigarette and placed the paintbrush in the palm of my hand. I'm gonna set it down and I'll let you know how the room turns out tomorrow. I had left a note on the counter for my mother and my brothers, it's basically telling them to not come in until the paint dries, well I'll write later, Goodbye.

3:46 pm

- Blaire Helm

--

Roses:

Blaire Helm

Sex: F

DOB: 08/23/1963 (17)

Hgt: 5'6"

Eyes: Green

Cause of death: Suicide

DOD: 04/18/1980

We had responded to a report of a teenage suicide yesterday night, a distraught mother had dialed 911 crying about her daughter being dead. When police arrived at the scene it was in fact Blaire Helms in her small apartment bedroom. She was lying on her left side with a gunshot wound to her right side of her face, the shotgun laying behind her back and the walls dusted in blood. No one knows why Blaire had committed suicide, people usually called her sweet and caring. No suicide note was found and police are still investigating the scene of the crime.

Drug reports:

Cotinine: 45mg

Alcohol: 1.4oz

Adderall: 75mg

Tylenol: 1200mg

Subject transferred to autopsy room for opening, nothing found within the patient, the mother will soon arrive to finish the paperwork.

- M.D Green

--

Another Author's Note:

I really hope you guys enjoyed this story, I spent only a few hours on it so it's not professionally done, again pls call 911 if you or someone you think might consider suicide or committing a crime. Thanks again, take care

- L.L

[you-exist-in-words]

I used to love you

and though I never want to go back

isn’t it nice to know

I eye the bag of unopened oranges on the counter suspiciously. How long have those been there? The soft plastic of the orange bag rips painfully under my finger tips and I can already see the green splotches of mould. I hold my breath and throw a couple in the garbage. I place the uninfected fruit in a bowl on the counter. 

Dishes that have been stewing in the sink for days get scrubbed meticulously, and then scrubbed again. I leave the pots and pans to soak and move to the floors. I’m not even sure where to start with the floors. I vacuum because the entire apartment is covered in a powdery layer of dust. There’s a bucket and mop in the closet and cleaner in one of the top cupboards. I have to stand on a chair to reach it. “Aloha scent” the bottle tells me. Not exactly sure what that means but it has to be better than “old garbage smell”. I mop the floors but there’s still bits of dust speckling the ground. I’ll come back to that later. To the bedroom. The bed get’s stripped, pillow cases, comforter cover and sheets go in the washing machine with the dishcloths on hot. The pillows and duvet go out on the porch to air out in the sunshine. There’s so much to do I’m on to something new before I’ve finished the thing I’ve already started. I go into the bathroom and fill the toilet with cleaner. Then I spray the entire thing with lysol. It’s going to be scrubbed. I’m not actually ready to do that yet. Back to the kitchen. 

I dry and organized the dishes and quickly rearrange the contents of the fridge. I want the counter to be clear. The kitchen is drowning in lysol as I spray it, liberally, on the counter, the sink, and the stovetop. The stove is going to need more than lysol. I find some stove cleaner in a cupboard, how convenient. I drizzle over the decadent mass of grease stains and old food stuck to the range top and go back to the bathroom. Lysol is sprayed gloriously across the sink and countertop. Now my favourite part. Windex. I love windex, it should go on everything. I spray the mirrors and the faucets and then take it back tot the kitchen and do the fridge, microwave and dishwasher. Things are looking better. 

But I notice the floor again and remember something still needs to be done about the dust chunks. While organizing the avalanche of plastic bags under the sink I find the Swiffer pads. This is about to get exciting. I put on the Swiffer song because why not. “One way or another, I’m gonna find you, I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha” blondie sings. I run around the apartment singing and dancing while revelling in the way the Swiffer actually does get all the corners. I am a living cleaning commercial. It’s weird how much fun I’m having. I vacuum one more time and am finally satisfied with the state of the floors. 

The washing machine beeps and the bedding goes in the dryer. I walk out of the bathroom and my eye can’t help but be drawn to the huge fishtank on the counter. Now that everything else is tidy it calls for so much attention. I stare at it and breathe in deeply. This is a showdown. The memory of chunks of dead fish being scooped out of the tank creeps into my though like a bus slamming into a brick wall. I can feel my stomach lurch. The salsa jar that was used to scoop up the fish chunks is still sitting in the tank under 3 inches of murky dead fish water. I think I’ll go scrub the toilet. The burning smell of cleaning products clears away the fish thoughts. After round one with the toilet I coat the entire thing in bowl cleaner and lysol once again. The laundry isn’t ready yet so I’m not sure what else to do. I organize the bathroom drawers. I can feel the fishtank watching me. I fold the blanket on the living room chair, bring the pillows and comforter back in from outside. I give the fish tank a side eyed glance. I decide to fix the light in the corner of the living room space. I squeeze by the fish that’s still alive and try not to think about it too much. It sits in the corner of its little square tank looking very dead. I inch up to it, leaning away in case it decides to suddenly leap out of the tank and onto my face. I tap the tank. The water sloshes back and forth and the fish sways in the water without moving, exactly like a fish that is dead would do.

“I swear to god if you’re dead I’m going to be very angry with you,” I tell the fish.

The dryer beeps and I’m relieved to have something else to think about. Saved by the bell. I make the bed, fold all the clean laundry and sort it by colour. I even spend time matching all the socks. Then I scrub the toilet within an inch of its life.

When I’m finally done I have to admit to myself that the only thing left to deal with is the fish tank. I stand by the door and look at the apartment. It’s beautifully clean. Shiny floors, polished counters, everything is straight and organized. I move the cutting board a third of an inch so it’s exactly parallel with the edge of the counter. The fucking fish tank glares at me in all it’s disgusting glory. I go over to look at the real fish. It still looks dead but it’s in a different corner so I guess it’s alive. “I hate you,” I tell it. 

I take a deep breathe. It’s time to face the beast. I take the lid off the empty tank. When I reach my hand into the greyish water and pull out the salsa jar I actually scream. I squeal the entire time it’s in my hand and all the way to the garbage. I can feel my face getting red. This is more stressful than any test. I’d rather write an exam I haven’t studied for, on a subject I’d never heard of, naked, than touch the fish water again. I go back over to the tank, carefully pulling all the tank accessories out of the water and putting them in the sink. I hold my breath the entire time. All that’s left is the tank. I pick it up slowly, both repulsed and terrified. If I drop this, if I get dead fish water on me, I will just jump over the balcony because I don’t want to live for more than 5 seconds like that. I make it to the sink. The tank wobbles a little when I place it on the edge of the sink and my heart leaps into my throat. Carefully, and as fast as I can I tip the tank into the sink, my panic swirls down the drain with the water. I fill the empty tank with hot water and soap and leave it to soak. I can’t believe I just did that. I jump in the air and give myself a high five before realizing exactly how lame that just was. I don’t care. It is smooth sailing. 

The fish tank gets reassembled and goes behind the counter. I don’t want to look at it ever again. I check on the live fish again. He’s moved. I give him the side eye but decide it’s better not to look at him funny in case he gets the wrong idea. I can’t believe I’m done. I take a shower, washing all the mouldy orange, dirty toilet and dead fish grime off of my body. I walk in and out of the bathroom a few times just so I can walk into the clean apartment over and over. I’m very pleased with myself.

The door handle clicks and he walks in the door. The look of astonishment on his face gives me so much happiness. He pulls me into a hug. It’s so clean he exclaims— thank you. But it is I who should thank him, for letting me love him all day, even on my own.

[freetheknee]

(phanfic) just breathe now

Title: just breathe now Words: 4,714 Summary: Suddenly he realizes Phil is next to him, arm around his back, holding him upright and checking his temperature by pressing his palm against his cheek. “Phil?” He whispered, once he found the breath and presence of mind to speak. “Hey, baby. I’m here, just breathe.” (Dan comes down with the stomach flu in the middle of the night. Phil cares for him.)

Read on AO3

-----------------------------

“Sure you don’t want any?” Phil asked, eyeing him uncertainly for what felt like the millionth time that day.

“I’m sure, just not hungry yet,” Dan answered, glancing at him sideways from the couch. “I’ll have some later.”

“Okaaay…” Phil responded, drawing out the word as he returned to the kitchen from the doorway.

Dan felt bad about turning down the orange chicken stir-fry Phil seemed so proud of making, but he just wasn’t hungry and the thought of eating didn’t seem appealing. He’d started feeling slightly off around mid-morning, but had brushed it off and eaten lunch anyway, figuring he may have just been hungry. Eating had only seemed to make the weird feeling a bit worse, if anything.

Phil returned a minute later carrying his plate of food and setting it down on their dining table nearby, sitting down to chat with Dan while he ate.

“I made a plate for you, it’s wrapped up in the fridge for you to heat when you’re ready,” He said, digging into his meal.

Dan nodded, but pushed the thought of eating back out of his head as they both focused on the episode of Riverdale Dan had put on for them to watch.

They watched the episode and enjoyed casual conversation for a while until Dan felt a headache forming behind his eyes, and felt the uncomfortable feeling of malaise making itself more apparent. He sighed and laid his head back, closing his eyes.

“Dan, you sure you’re feeling okay?” Phil asks, sounding concerned as he sets his fork down with a clank against the plate that makes him flinch.

“’M fine,” He muttered. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

Phil gave him a look of skepticism. “You haven’t had much to eat today, Bear, but you’re saying you’re not hungry. You look like you don’t feel your best.”

“No, Phil…” He sighed. “I’m fine, like I said, just need to get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Phil answered, not sounding entirely convinced. “Why not head to bed, then? I can edit the gaming channel video and join you when I’m done.”

Dan stared at him for a moment in hesitation. It was his turn to edit; Phil had edited the one they’d posted a few days ago.

“…You sure?” He asked.

“Of course, you know I don’t mind,” Phil said, smiling sweetly. He stood up with his dishes in hand, preparing to go do the washing up, but stopping first to drop a kiss on the top of his boyfriend’s head. “I’ll come to bed once I’m done.”

Dan nodded and smiled, getting up a few moments after to head toward his bed. Upon arriving he pulled his jeans off and slipped beneath his duvet, not caring enough to change from the t-shirt he’d worn today into more proper pajamas.

He clicked his lights off, save for the amberlamp he was fond of keeping on at night, and curled up under his blankets.

The headache made it difficult to get comfortable, but he was too tired to go hunting for pain medication.

Doesn’t matter, it’ll be fine when I wake up, he thinks to himself before slipping into unconsciousness.

***

Dan awoke suddenly from a swirly, confusing and unsettling nightmare to find himself sitting up, breathing heavily, and disoriented to the point that he was hardly aware of what was going on until it urgently dawned on him that he was going to throw up.

He started trying to move from his bed in an attempt to haul himself towards the bathroom, but dizziness got the better of him and before he could do anything to help his situation, he was hunched over, throwing up miserably onto his duvet. It happened not once, but three times before the retching ceased, leaving him struggling to catch his breath.

It all happened so fast and had been so painful that Dan didn’t even register at what point he’d started crying. It felt like his whole body was on fire with the flames centered in his stomach and throat, and he couldn’t stop the sobs that tore through him with every few ragged breaths he took.

He must not have heard Phil come in the room over his own crying, but suddenly there was a hand on his back, gently rubbing near his right shoulder, and another hand on his forehead that retreated as quickly as it had come.

“Shh, shh…” Phil soothed despite the panic clear in his tone, rubbing Dan’s back in wider circles. “Hey, shh, Dan, it’s okay. Shh…”

Dan tried to speak, but all that came out was a miserable whimper followed by another sob as tears poured down his face. He hurt everywhere. He was confused and nauseous and dizzy and hot and his vomit was all over his bed.

“Hey, let’s get you to your feet, yeah? Just lean your weight on me.”

It took a few moments, but Phil carefully eased Dan out of his soiled bed and into a standing position, where he leant heavily on him.

“Taking you to the toilet, alright? Just walk with me. We’ll go slow. I’ve got you.”

It was a good thing Phil was guiding him and supporting so much of his weight, or else there was absolutely no way he would’ve made it. Soon Phil was lowering him to sit on the floor, and Dan was relieved to see the toilet right in front of him as another surge of sickness took him over almost immediately. Phil sat behind him, gently rubbing his back, feeling the notches of his spine as he rhythmically went up and down with his knuckles.

Dan sat spitting miserably for a few seconds, between soft hitches in his breathing that indicated to Phil he was still crying from the strain of the whole ordeal.

“Hey,” Phil said gently, squeezing his shoulder a little. “Take some deeps breaths with me, okay?”

Dan tearfully followed Phil’s instructions to breathe in and out in time with him as Phil used toilet roll to mop up the tears and wipe his nose, until his breathing was less frantic and his stomach felt more settled.

Phil reached over to flush the toilet, reaching his hand around to push Dan’s fringe back and feel his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” He murmured with a worried sigh. “Do you think you’re done being sick for now?”

Dan thought for a moment before nodding slowly, scooting himself back slightly from the toilet.

“There you go. Now, I’ll be right back, okay? Just going to throw your duvet in for a wash, really really quick.”

Dan nodded slowly, pulling his knees to his chest so he could lie his head down on top of them. His nausea was settled for the time being, but his stomach was plagued with cramps, and his head was pounding in time with his erratic heartbeat. While before he’d felt swelteringly hot, he was now cold and shivery.

Phil was indeed back quickly, and after helping Dan rinse his mouth out, was supporting his weight as they slowly, oh so slowly, made their way back up the stairs.

Phil led Dan to his own dimly lit room, and gently laid him down and pulled the blankets over his shivering form.

Dan whimpered miserably, becoming increasingly aware of how awful he felt.

“I know, love…” Phil murmured sympathetically. “You can go to sleep in just a few minutes, don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

Dan didn’t want Phil to leave, but didn’t have the energy to raise a protest. He nestled further down into the covers and closed his eyes, trying to combat the shivers.

He hadn’t even realized he’d begun dozing off until he was awoken by Phil’s gentle murmur and the shift of the bed as Phil sat down next to him a few minutes later.

“Hey, wake up just a little so I can take your temperature, okay? It’ll be quick.”

Dan opened his eyes slightly and parted his lips so Phil could slide the thermometer in. “Under your tongue,” he reminded. Dan obliged, letting the device slide under his tongue as his seemingly 10-tonne-heavy eyelids fell closed again.

Phil felt nervous at the high 39.6 C reading the small, glowing screen indicated after a few seconds and some annoyingly loud beeps, but assured himself it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Dan was obviously too sick to stomach anything right then, but in a few hours, he’d have him take something for the fever.

“You can sleep in here with me tonight, yeah? Does that sound good?” Phil asked once he had Dan all tucked in, and was gently wiping his forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

Dan’s heart squeezed in his chest from how much he loved Phil, but suddenly felt anxious as he remembered uncontrollably vomiting on his own bed just a little while earlier.

“Wha’ if I get sick? Like earlier?” He asked, his voice slurred with weariness and the tug of a sob caught in his throat at the sudden wave of guilt that Phil had had to clean up his mess, and fear that it’d happen again.

“I put a bin right on the floor next to you, just to your left. Just lean over it if you start to feel bad. Don’t worry.”

Dan can feel the sting of frustrated tears again. “What if I don’t make it? And I make another disgusting mess?”

Phil can hear the strain on his voice that means Dan’s trying not to cry in frustration. He leans down and kisses his burning forehead. “Then I’ll throw this one in the wash too. I don’t care about the duvet, silly, or having to clean up. You couldn’t help it, love. I just care about making sure you get better.”

Dan slowly nodded, the upset feeling in his chest melting away with Phil’s reassurance.

“Wh’time is it?” Dan asked a few minutes later, as Phil continued wiping his face and neck down.

“Only about 1 AM,” Phil answered. “Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me up. You went to sleep pretty early. I was awake changing into pyjamas in the other room and overheard.”

Sometimes, Dan swore Phil could read his mind. This was one of those times.

Dan could feel the pull of sleep as Phil gently combed his hand through his hair in silence, and soon sleep took him over completely.

***

Phil was awoken hours later to the sound of harsh coughs and gags, and found Dan lying next to him on his front, his head dangling over the edge of the bed.

He was usually slow to wake, but not now. He sat up quickly, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of only his lava lamp. He crawled closer to Dan, getting a better look and seeing that he was dry heaving into the bin Phil had left for him.

“Dan?” Phil murmured, laying a hand on his back. “It’s okay, it’ll pass…just breathe now,” He said softly, but couldn’t help but feel like his efforts were useless to help.

After a minute, Dan gave a final cough and whimper, and tried to pull himself back towards the bed. Phil gently helped him lie down more fully, where he curled up onto his side, breathing shakily.

“Phil,” He moaned, shivering.

“I’m right here, baby. Can I get you anything?”

Dan didn’t say anything, just reached out towards him. Phil knowingly took his hand, and carefully squeezed it, smoothing over the warm skin with his thumb.

Phil used his other arm to reach for his nightstand and grab the thermometer; he might as well.

“Temperature, love. Open up.”

Dan opened his mouth and let Phil slide the small device under his tongue. It beeped after a few seconds, and Phil sighed nervously.

Dan made a small, inquisitive noise, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Your fever is pretty high. Do you think you could try paracetamol?”

Dan immediately shakes his head. “No…” He groans, and Phil isn’t really surprised. It’d probably be back up within a minute even if he did try.

“Alright. Do you want to go back to sleep?” He asks, smoothing his hair again.

Dan nods, and Phil smooths his hair soothingly until he’s asleep, and then he isn’t far behind him.

***

When Dan awoke, there was sunlight, Phil’s side of the bed was empty, and oh God, he felt awful.

His whole body was overtaken by painful muscle aches, his headache was so severe he could barely see straight, his throat felt swollen shut, and his stomach felt like it’d been tied in a tight triple knot. He wasn’t sure he could move. He wanted Phil.

After a few minutes of lying in agony, Phil returned with a glass of water. He smiled seeing he was no longer asleep.

“Oh, look who’s awake,” He says, softly but cheerfully. “Good morning, my sick little Bear,” He greeted, setting the water down on the nightstand, and sitting down on the bed next to him. “How are you feeling?”

Dan didn’t have the energy to act like he felt better, or be in any way cheerful in return. He just averted his eyes, blinking heavily.

“Bad,” He says, and his voice is barely a whisper. The cheerfulness seems to dissolve from Phil’s face at the sound of Dan’s pathetic voice, and that only makes Dan feel worse.

“I’m sorry, love,” Phil murmurs. “I need you to sit up and have some water, okay? You’ll feel better once you aren’t so dehydrated.”

Dan slowly tries to push himself up, but the attempt proves useless. He’s so weak he can hardly move, and everything aches so much it’s just too painful to try. Phil comes to his rescue, leaning down and clutching him in an embrace as he pulls his body upright to lean against the pillows and headboard behind him. He brings a glass of water with a straw to his lips, and Dan takes small, cautious sips at Phil’s instruction to avoid overloading his sensitive stomach.

“Let’s see how that settles before we try any medicine,” Phil says, and Dan nods minutely. He just wants to lie back down.

“Is my duvet ruined?” Dan mumbles out of nowhere a minute later, his voice so croaky and soft Phil only barely understands the question.

“No,” Phil replies, smiling fondly at him. “It finished in the dryer a few minutes before you woke up, and it looks good as new. I remade your bed a few minutes ago.”

Dan manages a weak half-smile. “Thank you...”

“Of course, Bear. How’s your stomach? Could you try some medicine? It’s the liquid kind. No pills.”

“I’ll try,” Dan rasps.

Phil measures and pours the medicine out for him before handing the small cup over. Dan grimaces as he swallows it down, and looks dangerously pale for a moment after, but ultimately keeps it down.

“There, good! That should make you feel better. Anything else I can do?”

“…Lay with me?” He suggests, and Phil smiles warmly as he gets into the bed with him, putting his arm around Dan, who immediately moves to curl against him.

It doesn’t take long for Dan to fall back asleep, the effects of the medicine kicking in and easing his symptoms to allow him a more peaceful rest.

***

Dan awakens again late in the afternoon, the pains and discomfort slightly eased from the medicine that lingered in his system. He’s curled up on his side, drowsy and shivering slightly, and slowly realizes Phil is sitting at his side, gently running a hand over his back from behind him.

“You waking up, sweetheart?” Phil whispers, seeing his eyelids slowly flutter open and closed.

Dan gives a small hum in reply.

“Can you sip some water for me?”

Dan feels so sleepy and heavy he’s not entirely sure he can sit himself up, but nods slightly anyways. Phil chuckles to himself at the way Dan makes no move to sit up.

“Come on, Bear,” He encourages. He reaches over and helps his boyfriend move from being curled up on his side to lying on his back, and shoves his arms underneath him to pull him upright.

Dan’s head lolls back against the headboard, exhaustion weighing him down.

Phil brings the cup and straw to his mouth again, and Dan sluggishly takes few small sips before stopping, his eyes closing again.

“Stay awake, love,” He urges, with a gentle nudge. Dan’s eyes slowly open again. “There you go. Drink some more, okay? You hardly drank any just then. You’ll feel better.”

“Hurts my throat,” Dan mumbles, and it’s the truth. As much as he knows he needs fluids, it hurts terribly to swallow. Not to mention, his stomach is turning uncomfortably and he’d really rather just curl up and go back to sleep.

“Would you prefer some tea?” Phil offers.

Dan shakes his head. If not for the turning in his stomach, tea would sound nice. But for the moment, he didn’t think he could handle anything other than water.

“Just drink the rest of this. It’s only, hmm…maybe 200mL or so. You can do it, just take it slow.”

Dan reluctantly takes the straw back into his mouth, and slowly takes tiny sips until his stomach gives a firm squeeze of protest, and he stops.

“Almost done, Dan, just a few more sips and you can go back to sleep,” Phil says, trying to be gently encouraging. Dan moves his arms over his stomach and turns his head away sharply.

“I really can’t, Phil,” He grumbles, hoping he won’t push the issue. Thankfully, he seems to take the hint and sets the cup down, reaching out to stroke his hot cheek with his thumb.

“Tummy?” Phil asks, and Dan nods. “Do you need the bin?”

He’s relieved when he shakes his head after a moment of consideration.

“Okay. It’s in the same place if you need it.”

Dan slides back down into the bed, and is beginning to fall back asleep when a realization hits him. It’s Thursday.

“Time’s it?” He slurs, eyes opening.

“Oh, uh, about 6:30 in the evening. Why do you ask?”

“Your live show…” Dan murmurs. “You have to do your live show.”

Phil smiles sympathetically at him. “I’m not sure if I’m going to do it tonight. I need to keep an eye on you, love.”

“No,” Dan interjects immediately. “I’ll be fine by myself for an hour…you have to do it…” He urges, voice heavy with croakiness.

“Are you sure?” He asks, uncertain as he pulls the blankets back up around his boyfriend.

“Mm,” He hums, nodding. “Prolly just sleep the whole time.”

Phil presses a hand to his forehead, and then moves to smooth his hair.

“Your fever isn’t quite so high right now. Alright. I’ll do the live show. Just yell if you need me and I’ll cut it short, okay?”

Dan nods, lethargy taking over, and he’s asleep within seconds.

…

Dan is jolted awake by nausea, and rushes to grab the bin off the floor and shove it into his lap before miserably being sick again. He moans. He thought he was done with this phase of the illness, but apparently not. His throat is raw with blinding pain, and he feels dizzy.

Suddenly he realizes Phil is next to him, arm around his back, holding him upright and checking his temperature by pressing his palm against his cheek.

“Phil?” He whispered, once he found the breath and presence of mind to speak.

“Hey, baby. I’m here, just breathe.”

They sit in silence for a couple minutes, the only sounds being Dan’s ragged breathing and Phil’s gentle words of reassurance, before he suddenly speaks again.

“Your live show, Phil,” He breathes, a cough following the words. “You’re supposed to be doing your live show!”

“Shh, shh, just relax. I cancelled it today,” He assures, patting his back.

“No,” Dan groans, cursing himself for feeling that tight, upset feeling in his chest again. “You’re supposed to…”

“Dan, shh, listen to me,” Phil murmurs. “You can barely keep water down, and you’ve been burning up with a fever, do you really think I’d leave you alone like this?” Phil asked him. Dan didn’t answer, guilt and nausea still eating away at him. “I considered it when you seemed better earlier, but your fever spiked up not long after you fell back asleep. I made a tweet and said I was busy tonight. No one minds,” he explains.

Dan just lays his head down on Phil’s shoulder, feeling guilty.

“Aw…you poor thing,” He tenderly rubs his back. “You must feel like you got trampled by a herd of wildebeests.”

Dan didn’t answer, but Phil felt a telltale drop of moisture fall onto his shoulder, along with shaky breaths.

Phil pressed a kiss into Dan’s wildly curly hair, and used his thumb to wipe away Dan’s tears. “Oh, love…listen, it’s okay. We’ll get you feeling better soon, don’t worry.”

***

Phil had calmed Dan down enough to get him to nap for a while, and convinced him to try some Gatorade a few hours later when he woke up again. He’d held it down for a few hours now, and seemed it like was going to stay put. Finally. Both were relieved.

“I feel gross,” Dan mumbled, from where he laid with his head on Phil’s lap in the lounge. The Secret World of Arietty credits were rolling on the TV in front of them; though Dan had only been awake for maybe a third of it, total. He was still shivering slightly, but he’d been sweating on and off since the illness began. His shirt and pyjama pants were damp and cold, and his hair felt grimy and tangled from sweat.

“How about a bath?” Phil offered, grabbing the remote and switching the TV off.

Dan nodded. He was too weak and dizzy to stand for the length of time a shower would take. A warm bath and new pyjamas sounded like exactly what he needed.

Phil helped him off the couch and down to their bathroom, getting the bath running while Dan sat on the floor nearby, watching. Once Phil had finished readying the bath, he moved to help Dan out of his clothes.

Phil had seen probably seen him naked at least a thousand times, but it somehow felt embarrassing when he was a pathetic, sick mess sitting on their bathroom floor. Nonetheless, he knew Phil didn’t feel that way, and allowed himself to be undressed and then helped into the bath.

The warm water was a blessed respite from the shivery, damp feeling he’d had all day. Phil wasted no time grabbing a washcloth and beginning to wash him.

“Feel better?” He asked, smiling at him. Dan nodded. The warmth of the water and comfort of the sudsy body wash being massaged into his skin was making him tired all over again, even though he had spent almost the entire day asleep.

Phil could see Dan was growing weary again, and made quick work of bathing him. He grabbed a cup from nearby and prodded him with instructions to tilt his head back when needed so he could wash and rinse his hair.

It was embarrassing, in a way, letting someone else bathe him as a grown man, but he was so drained and sick he figured it was probably best Phil was helping him. He likely couldn’t have managed this on his own, if he’s honest with himself.

Phil rinsed Dan off and wrapped him in a towel once he was done, and led him up the stairs to his room. Dan sat drowsily on the bed watching Phil pull out pyjamas for him, and cooperated as he helped him get dressed.

He started to crawl under the covers of his bed once he was clothed, but felt a pair of warm hands on his shoulders that halted him.

“Bear, I want you to try to eat some soup and have some medicine before you go back to sleep, alright? You kept that Gatorade down earlier. Can you do that for me?”

Dan hesitates. “I’m not really hungry,” He admits.

“I know,” Phil says. “But you haven’t eaten in well over 24 hours now, so you probably really need to eat a little something. Just give it a go, okay?”

Dan nods reluctantly, and accepts his help up off the bed and back down the hall.

Phil gets him settled in the lounge under some blankets, and puts on an episode of The X-Files before heading off into the kitchen to make him something to eat.

Dan pays attention to a few minutes of Mulder and Scully’s investigations before the grip of fatigue seemed to capture him again, and he drifted off slowly to the sounds from the TV and the distant clanks of pots and pans as Phil moved around the kitchen.

***

Phil almost doesn’t want to wake Dan up.

He looks so cute, now that he can see him in a fully lit room, asleep with his mouth slightly ajar, his head back against the couch, and the blankets wrapped around him so securely he looks like a burrito. His cheeks are flushed a blotchy pink with the heat of his fever, and it somehow makes him look even cuter. Phil feels his heart flutter with affection.

He sets the meal down on the table and sits down next to him, watching for just a moment as he slowly breathes in and out before bending forward to gently kiss his forehead and squeeze his shoulder.

It takes a minute for Dan’s eyes to sluggishly open, blinking heavily at Phil. He drowsily moves to push his head under Phil’s chin.

Phil kisses the top of his head and embraces him, rocking him carefully back and forth for a moment before stopping and adjusting his damp curls.

“Made you soup, love. Can you try a little? I’ll feed you,” He offers.

Dan gives a weak laugh. “How could I turn that down?” He asks, his voice coming out as a raspy whisper.

Phil smiles at him, releasing him from the embrace and moving to retrieve the bowl.

He spoons up some of the chicken noodle soup and moves it to Dan’s mouth, who opens his mouth to accepts the offering.

He closes his eyes and hums softly as Phil slides the spoon out of his mouth, carefully chewing and swallowing.

“Good?” Phil asks.

Dan nods. “So good,” He answers, and accepts the next bite of soup he is offered. “Didn’t know you meant you were making me your homemade chicken soup.” Phil nods.

“It’s the kind my mum used to make me whenever I was ill,” Phil says, even though he’s probably told Dan this before. “I swear it has magical healing powers or something. I also swear it’s better for a sensitive tummy than the type in the can.”

Dan nods in appreciation and manages almost all of the small serving before Phil can tell he’s struggling to eat any more. He gives him a cracker to nibble on and has him take a few sips of Gatorade along with another dose of fever reducer before cleaning the dishes up and leading him back to bed.

“Come cuddle with me,” Dan demands softly once he’s settled under Phil’s bedsheets, and Phil has changed into his pajamas.

“If you insist,” Phil teases, and slips into the bed after turning the light off, moving to spoon him and kiss his cheek. He’s relieved to notice the heat coming off of him isn’t nearly as intense as it was earlier.

“Phil?” Dan whispers, after a few minutes of comfortably silent cuddling.

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you. You’re so good to me,” He murmurs.

“I love you too, Bear. Anything to help you feel better.”

“Also, Phil…”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you don’t catch this. It’s miserable,” Dan says, laughing slightly.

“I hope not, too,” Phil replies. “But if I do, guess you’ll just have to look after me.”

“Mm,” Dan murmurs, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “Guess so. That’s alright.”

Phil kisses his neck and pulls him closer.

“Goodnight, bear.”

“G’night, Philly.”

-----------------------------

my inbox is always open for fluff prompts!!!!! thank you for reading/sharing ♡

[chaosqueery]

BIME, BIMH: Chapter 2

Title: Be In My Eyes, Be In My Heart

Rating: M

Characters/Ships: Barry/Iris, Iris & Joe & Wally, Barry & Joe, Iris/Eddie, Barry & Cisco & Caitlin, Barry/Linda, Francine, Nora, Henry

Warnings:Issues involving mental health,implied physical abuse (in future chapters)

Description: All their life they have been connected, even if they didn’t always know it. At first it was just feelings- emotions. Then it became so much more. One day something incredible happens. They can hear, see, feel, smell, taste, all the things the other does. It’s up to them to decide how their bond came to be and what they should do about it.

Even though they’ve never met, even though they live states away from each other, this is the story of how Barry and Iris fall in love.

Based on the movie In Your Eyes

Alternative Links: (FF.net/AO3) 

Previous Chapters: (1)

A/N: Finally! Sorry it’s taken so long to get this chapter out. I have been really distracted lately. But I have been determined to not let this story go. One thing that kept me going was having such an amazing friend and beta withaflashoflove on AO3.

So i just want to explain a couple things before you read. This takes place 14 years from where the last chapter left off, making Barry and Iris 25 years old. Iris lives in Austin, Texas and Barry is in Central City (which in my headcanon is in Oregon). That’s it! Thanks, enjoy!

Chapter 2: “You’ve Been On My Mind, Girl (Since the Flood)”

~*~*~Barry~*~*~

It was just before noon on on a Friday morning, the only day he managed to get off work this week, when Barry found himself elbows deep in dishwater, scrubbing hurriedly at a stubborn spot on a plate that just refused to come off. He surprised himself every week with the pile of dishes that stacked up in the sink when he was the only one eating off of them. That and the fact that most of his meals consisted of hot pockets and microwave popcorn. He supposed there was a better way to go about this. To actually clean the dishes he uses right after he was finished with them. But when he spends all day at his job cleaning up after other people- mopping floors, taking out the trash, scrubbing down toilets- picking up after himself was the absolute last thing he wanted to do when he finally made it home.

But Officer Singh had called early that morning, warning him that he would be stopping by to have a talk with him, and Barry felt that if he was going to prove he could be an upstanding citizen of Central City, he had to at least show him that he could take care of himself.

Barry should really consider himself lucky. It wasn’t often that he was notified of a visit with his PO beforehand. It was the kind of thing that made him anxious whenever he left the apartment, worried that he would miss him during an unexpected visit and wind up landing himself into even more trouble. He had missed him twice over the last few months he’s been on parole, but at least he got off easier than some. Barry had heard stories from inmates who had gone through it before. Some parole officers would look for any excuse they could to land you into serious trouble, sometimes to the point where they were thrown back into prison. Officer Singh might have been a bit of a hard ass, but he was at the very least least fair. If Barry wasn’t there when he showed up he would call, annoyed as hell, and tell Barry to get his ass home, or they would just reschedule if he was tied up.

So yeah, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it still made Barry nervous every minute he was gone.

He wasn’t finished with the dishes when he heard a knock at his door. Barry cursed to himself as he pulled the rubber gloves off of his hands and threw them down next to the sink. He fumbled with the tie of the apron strings behind his back, getting frustrated when he realized how knotted up it was. “Hold on!” Barry called to Officer Singh on the other side of the door, and when he couldn’t undo the knot quick enough, he told himself ‘screw it’, pulled the loop that was around his neck over his head, and shimmied the rest of it down his body. Of course, with his lack of grace, he managed to trip while trying to step out of it, losing a shoe in the process.

When he finally managed to open the door he was greeted by the sight of Officer Singh standing on the other side of the threshold, arms crossed and an unamused look on his face. But really, that was nothing new. He looked him up and down and obviously noticed he was only wearing one shoe. “Do I even want to know?”

“Uhhh, see, I lost track of time and I was in the middle of doing the dish-” Barry started to explain, but Singh raised a hand to halt him.

“Please, not another one of your blundering excuses. I meant the question rhetorically.” He put his hand down and stepped inside the apartment. “You know the drill, Allen. I’ll make my sweep of the place then you and I can have our brief chat.”

Barry brought his arm up and rubbed the back of his neck as he let out a long breath of air. “Yeah sure, go ahead. I’ll just wait here.” He moved to the couch and slumped down, allowing the other man to do his job.

He truly hated every moment of this, sitting around while Officer Singh went through each item he owned, just looking for any sign that Barry had gone back to his miscreant ways. He wouldn’t find anything, that he knew. He had a feeling that Singh knew it too. Still, he had to try to accept the fact that nothing in his life would be private as long as he was still being punished for the crimes he committed.

Barry wouldn’t say that he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t think he would ever see a day where he wasn’t painfully ashamed of the things he had done in the past. It might have been nothing he’d ever even wanted to do, but he still did it - more than once- and he had yet to figure out a way to attone for his mistakes. So, he let him look. He let him ask the same questions over and over again. And he would continue to answer them the same way every time.

He watched as Singh made his way through the small living space. Like always, he started in the bedroom, then moved to the bathroom, the closet in the hallway, the kitchen, until he finally made it back to the living room. He’d look through boxes and cupboards, dig through drawers, flip through books, never finding anything suspicious. When he was satisfied, he sat down in the chair across from Barry, pulled out a notepad and pen from the pocket inside of his coat, and began his usual series of questions.

“Have you been associated with any known criminals?”

“No, I haven’t.” Barry answered simply.

Singh made a quick mark on the paper before moving on to the next question. “Have you crossed over the state line at any time?”

“Honestly, I haven’t even been outside the city.”

“How’s your job?” He shifted his eyes from his pad of paper to look up at him. “Caused any trouble there?”

“Other than showing up late for a shift or two, I haven’t heard any complaints.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “And why, Mr. Allen, haven’t you been able to make it to work on time?”

Barry fought the urge to groan at the question. Instead, he just shrugged. “I don’t have a car and transportation in this city could be better.”

“You should be able to learn to allow time for that.”

Really it was more than just a transportation issue. Every morning when he got ready for work, it always seemed like everything that could go wrong, would go wrong. He’d sleep through his alarm. He’d lose the key to his apartment. He’d accidently get the time of his shift wrong. But if he did learn anything after dealing with Officer Singh over the last three months is that piling on the excuses only made things worse.

So Barry just nodded and said “I’ll do better.”

“I’ll put it in my notes that your new PO makes sure you do.” He said casually, even though him being reassigned was news to Barry.

“Wait, new PO?” he widened his eyes and leaned forward. “Since when?”

“Since I’ve made the decision to move out of state about a week ago. So yes, it looks like this will be our last visit, and you’ll be meeting your new parole officer within the next week.”

“Do you know who?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. Sure, Officer Singh could be firm, and at times a little frustrating, but he most definitely wasn’t the worst case scenario.

“They haven’t given me the details yet, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

Easy for him to say.

“Yeah, that isn’t really all that comforting.”

“I’m not here to comfort you, Allen. I’m here to make sure that you continue to abide by your parole. So is whoever they assign you. Keep doing that and you won’t land yourself back in prison.” Having said that, he placed the notepad back in his pocket and stood up. “Alright, we’re done for today.”

Barry got up and walked him out. When Officer Singh went to open the door, he paused and turned back to look at him. “Look. I know you’re not a bad guy. You’re on the right track. Just don’t suddenly go and do something stupid to screw it up.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Barry gave him a small, tight lipped smile. “Hope everything goes alright with your move.”

Singh nodded and said, “Take care of yourself, Allen.” and then turned back around to leave.

~*~*~Iris~*~*~  

Tonight was going to be a long night, Iris thought to herself as she stared into the mirror, deciding whether or not she was satisfied with her make-up for the evening. It had already been an incredibly tiring and stressful day at work, and yet she still had to go out to a party she really wasn’t all that excited to attend. But she promised Eddie weeks ago that she’d go, and she knew how important tonight was to him.

It didn’t help however, when he came into the bathroom multiple times to check if she was ready.

“Iris, come on. We need to leave in the next few minutes if we’re going to be there on time.” Eddie urged when he poked his head through the door for the third time.

“You know, I would have been done by now if you hadn’t hogged the bathroom for an hour and made me pick out your suit afterwards. You only left me 20 minutes to get ready.” Iris reasoned and he hung his head down, knowing she was right.

“I’m sorry. I’m just really nervous about this party.”

“I get it, I do. But you shouldn’t worry about it so much, babe. I really don’t think that the captain will base whether or not you get the promotion on one dinner party.” Iris pulled him closer and placed her hands on his shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. “It all will come down to how capable you are for the job, and you are. I promise you, you are.”

If Iris was completely honest, she was surprised that he seemed so frazzled over the whole thing. Her husband never had a problem with schmoozing the higher-ups, always coming off as charming, if not a little sure of himself. His boss loved him, he got on well with his fellow cops, and while he might have been a bit boastful, he always took his job seriously.

It wasn’t like he was never high-strung over anything. While he might have been able to keep it cool around the general public, she had come home on several occasions to find him pacing, working out a problem in his head. He’d see her, and all of a sudden all of his worries would come spilling out, and she would be there to talk him through it. She was the only one he trusted to see him like that.

He takes a moment to consider her words, then a small smile pulls at his lips. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting kind of ridiculous. It’s just that I am getting so close to everything I’ve been working towards for years. Part of me is waiting for something to get completely screwed up and I lose it.” He paused and took a few moments to look into her eyes before letting a smile draw on his lips. “Thank you for agreeing to come with me tonight. It would be so much harder if I had to do this without you.”

She moved her hands from his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist, leaning back so she could continue to look at his face. “Well, you’ve come to almost all of my work functions. Not to mention the fact that you moved across the country to be with me when I decided I wanted to stay in Austin. I’m not going to make you do this alone.”

He moved down to give her a short soft kiss, and when they pulled away she said, “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.”

~*~*~Barry~*~*~

Later the same evening, Barry found himself at the bar a block away from his apartment, spending more time staring at the gold liquid slosh around in his glass than actually drinking it. He wasn’t much of a drinker, mainly knowing just how big an idiot he could be once he’s had too much, and it wasn’t like there was anyone around that cared enough to keep an eye on him.

Yes, Barry didn’t really have any friends, but that was nothing new. Ever since he was placed into the foster care system when he was 11 years old, the ability to connect to people was something he struggled with no matter where he went. Sure, he had people he associated himself with. People he wanted to believe would have his back when things took a turn for the worse, but really all they wanted from him was his quick hands and nothing else. They never really cared about him or his well being, that much was evident the moment he found himself in prison.

His mind often drifted to girl who stuck by him through it all. The girl who still had a strong presence in his life, feeling each other's pain and joy and every other emotion they found themselves going through. But the older he got the more he worried that she was something his subconscious conjured up to fill the silence and loneliness plaguing his life. First, she was the friend that brought a little light to the darkness that surrounded him as he tried to sleep. Then she became the only good in his life as the happy home he grew up in was destroyed in one night.

There were the days that logic prevailed and he’d convinced himself that she was just an “imaginary friend” as his parents often described it. Other days, however, he let the feeling in his gut, the feeling that she was out there somewhere, come to the surface and take him over. To be honest, those were the days where he felt he was at his best. They were the days that made him want to get past all the bad things he’d done and find his place in the world again. That supernatural feeling that his heart was still connected to someone he didn’t know, still played a significant part in why he got up in the morning. So even if it made no sense, even if her existence was impossible, he was never really able to let the idea of her go.

Tonight was one of those nights when he really needed her. More change was coming and he was terrified. His meeting with Singh earlier did nothing but remind him of the control he lacked in his own life, and there was no telling what this reassignment would bring. It took him back to the days when he would be moved from home to home, never knowing who would be taking care of him, never knowing what kind of pain he was expected to endure next.

It was feelings like this that made him wonder if he would ever find some kind of peace.

Barry drew a line through the condensation on his glass, feeling the stark contrast in temperature between the cold drink and incredibly warm room. He was about ready to raise the glass up and press it against his forehead when the sound of a woman’s voice stopped him.

“You know, this is the fifth time this month you’ve come into this bar and do nothing but stare at your drink for a solid hour.” Barry looked up to see the bartender smirk at him from the other side of the counter. “Then, after looking at your watch, you down your beer in record speed, throw some cash on the counter, and run off without a word.”

“I didn’t realize I have become so predictable.” He attempts to laugh it off. “Or that anyone was keeping track.”

She swept her long dark hair back over her shoulders and leaned forward against the counter, her arms crossed each other on the wooden surface. “Noticing these things is what makes the job more interesting. Bartending wouldn’t be nearly as fun without it’s regulars.”

Barry lifted an eyebrow. “I’m considered a regular now?”

“I repeat. Fifth time this month and the same quirky routine every time you walk in here.” She resituated back into an upright position, arms still crossed in front of her. She was cute, Barry noticed. That was sure to turn him into awkward bumbling dope if he wasn’t careful.

Barry scratched at the nape of his neck as he thought of a way to respond. “I guess I’m just looking for a little normalcy in my life.”

“Well, since you have officially reached ‘regular’ status, how about being on a first name basis? I’m Linda.” She offered her hand and he reached out to give it a little shake.

“Barry.”

“Nice to meet you Barry.” She gave him a wink before moving on to another customer.

~*~*~Iris~*~*~

They had reached the part of the evening that Iris truly dreaded. She currently found herself amongst the other spouses and significant others, who’ve congregated around the dessert table, as their partners gathered in front of Captain Mendez, each one trying to gain his attention and approval. Iris wasn’t exactly fond of being pulled into small talk with people she barely knew. She didn’t mind getting to know people on a very basic level. It was just one question that was always bound to come up that, after past experience, she didn’t enjoy answering.

“What is it that you do, Iris?” A man, Evan she thinks, asked.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her job. She was rather proud of it, actually. While the magazine might not be something that she was planning on sticking with for the rest of her life, it continued to peak her interest in things she didn’t realize were important to her. It was fulfilling. It was inspiring. It made her think.

But as good as she felt about her job, she didn’t feel good with how people reacted when she revealed what magazine she wrote for. It was the slight pursing of their lips, the crinkles that appeared on their foreheads when they scrunched their eyebrows, the ‘hmmmm’ sound they made as they thought of the most polite way to respond. It would be different if it were the time or place where she was free to defend her work with fervor and fire resided in her. It was like a button in her heart that -if pushed- would send her on a one way path to a full blown argument.

But Iris wanted things to go well tonight. She wanted to make a good impression for Eddie’s sake because he had only ever did the same for her during her work functions. So she took a breath and prepared herself for whatever would come next.

“I write for a magazine called Believing the Impossible.” Iris replied and turned her eyes down toward the glass of wine she had in her hand, giving herself a second to look at something else other than the expression on their faces before finally taking a sip.

“Isn’t that the magazine filled with stories about about tinfoil hat wearing hicks claiming they were abducted by aliens?” the women to her left questioned with airiness to her words that almost transformed into laughter.

Already Iris found herself gritting her teeth, trying to remember why she was making an effort to be civil as she was affronted by such uninhibited judgement. “Actually” Iris countered “Believing the Impossible explores many subjects pertaining to strange phenomena around the world. While stories focusing on aliens have definitely made it into the magazine on many occasions, it’s so much more than that. It’s very forward-thinking in a way where there are still many unexplained things on earth that people have trouble wrapping their minds around, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t possible and we won’t understand them eventually. Just look at all that we have today that would be considered magic 100 years ago.”

She looked around at the half a dozen pairs of eyes focused on her as they considered her argument. She received a nod here and there but no one seemed to match her level of interest in the subject.

“So I’m guessing you must have a strong background in science to write for a magazine like that.” Andrew, a man she recognized as the husband of a work friend of Eddie’s, concluded.

“Not really, no.” Iris took another sip of wine, worried that she would lose a bit of credibility within a single answer. “I’ve taken a class or two in college. But I am pretty great at research and we have a lot of scientists who are willing to consult with us so we can have an accurate grasp on whatever subject we’re writing about.”

“I’m curious, why would you take a job at a science magazine if you aren’t passionate about science?” Alice, the same woman to her left who seemed to find her profession so amusing, asked. She wasn’t laughing this time, but Iris could still detect a condescending inflection to her voice. Iris tried hard not to scowl at her.

“I feel like I do better when I am met with a challenge.” Iris stated, but that was only a part of the truth. There was still a whole other side to her chasing the impossible, but it wasn’t something she felt like she could talk freely about, especially around people who stared her down with overcritical eyes. Maybe they didn’t all mean to come across that way, but she couldn’t help but notice skeptical spirit of their expressions.

The truth lied in the feeling she got whenever she would hear a new remarkable story. Iris felt a tug on her heart when asked to open her mind and accept something that to most people are unable to believe in. She felt that if she could do that, maybe she would be able to accept that part within herself that felt different. That felt special. Supernatural, even.

To this day, Iris couldn’t explain what happened to her as kid. From the moment she saw a pool of water replaced with a bright blue sky, she knew that something had changed in her. Ever since that day, or maybe even long before that if she really thought about it, she had felt a presence. It wasn’t like this person, or spirit, or whatever the hell it was, occupied the space beside her. It felt like it took up a place in her mind, always present in anything she ever did. But Iris spent over a decade keeping it to herself, never telling anyone -not even Eddie- because she knew what they would think. They would think that she was going through the same thing her mother did.

Iris would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought the same thing. Sure, it felt real, but how could she trust it after everything she witnessed growing up? She remembered hearing her mother on the other side of her bedroom door, speaking to someone even when she was alone, and Iris couldn’t help but notice the fear in her voice. Her mother was scared because she believed the voices taunting her were real. It made her feel like maybe she should be afraid too.

So she tried to push the presence out. Even though it might have felt comforting at times, like she wasn’t alone during the hardest parts of life, Iris was also aware of the fact that it could also be a serious cause for concern. If she let it in, if she let the presence grow stronger, who knew what form it could potentially take. Who knew how much of her life would be taken up by something she couldn’t even be sure was real. And it couldn’t be, could it?

Then the magazine came into her life. Once Iris graduated she sent her resume out to every publication that was looking to hire. She didn’t even realize how much she needed to write for Believing the Impossible until the day she met with the editor and listened to what they were all about. Through her reporting she got to talk with all different kinds of people who’ve witnessed or experienced things that couldn’t be easily explained.Things that most people would call them crazy for believing in. There were stories about aliens, ghosts, past lives, soulmates, hypnosis, telekinesis, telepathy, and alternate universes. The list went on.  Everyone dealt with it in their own way. Some were consumed by finding the truth. Some were just happy that they were a part of something special. Some were so terrified they could barely leave their house. But no matter how these experiences changed their lives, they were all united in something bigger that the world had yet to understand.

So while Iris might never know for certain if what she was experiencing was real or something she’d created within her own mind, at least now she was allowing herself to explore a side of it that could potentially lead her to the truth.

Something broke Iris away from her thoughts.

Out of nowhere, she began to feel very warm, almost as if she had just stepped into a sauna. Sure enough, her skin started to bead with sweat and she looked down at her glass to see that she hadn’t even drank that much. Then the room got louder, and when she didn’t see any new guests wandering into the party late, she decided to excuse herself from the group and head for the bathroom.

Once she was alone, she was alarmed by the fact that the chattering voices around her hadn’t stopped. Iris went to the sink, ran her hands under some cold water before bringing the back up to rub her neck in an attempt to cool herself off. Why did this have to be happening it now? She quickly tried to come up with excuses. She was just tired. She was getting a fever. Maybe she drank more than she realized. Iris was not willing to accept that tonight out of all nights, and after 14 years, her senses were being overtaken by things that weren’t there.

Was all this because she allowed herself to think about what had happened to her when she was young? It wasn’t like she had never thought about it before. But that never brought on anything more than a few unfamiliar emotions here and there.

Iris steadily took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, trying to focus on what was around her. It took a minute or two, but eventually the added noise quieted down and everything seemed to go back to normal. She let out one last breathe of relief before deciding to return to the party.

But things weren’t as back to normal as she thought. When she was only a few feet away from where Eddie was talking with the captain, Iris let out a yelp when something that felt like a long wooden stick struck her hard in the back, and she fell forward on to the ground.

“Iris!” She heard Eddie yell out amongst the gasps of others guests as he rushed to her side. “Baby, what happened? Are you okay?” He helped her back up, cautiously checking her over.

“I’m fine. I felt like I was hit by-” She looked in the direction she was walking from and her eyes widened when she saw there was nothing there. “-something.”

~*~*~Barry~*~*~

“Shit, Barry!” He heard Linda exclaim as she knelt down beside his lying form. “You alright?”

Barry groaned in pain as he moved to sit up. “I’m fine. Just remind me never to sit in that man’s seat ever again.”

Moments ago, Barry was close to finishing his drink when an older bearded man with a pool cue came up behind him, hammered as all hell, and started yelling for his spot at the counter. Not wanting any trouble, Barry moved from the stool muttering an apology, but either he wasn’t fast enough for the man’s liking or he’d just wanted to teach him a lesson because before he knew it the man swung his pool cue across Barry’s back, sending him straight to the floor.

“Yeah, Tom’s a raging asshole, especially after he’s had a few. Don’t worry though. I think this incident will finally get him barred. Do you need help getting up?”

“No.” He groaned again as he started to hoist himself back up. “But thanks. I think I should probably head home and ice my back if I’m gonna be able to stand up tomorrow.” Barry pulled out his wallet and started fishing for some cash to give to her, but Linda put a hand up to halt him.

“Don’t worry about it. Your beer is on the house.”

“That really isn’t necessary.” Barry contested, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“You took one for the team. I’ve been waiting for that jerk to be kicked out of this place for like a year.” She stepped away before he could insist and returned to her spot on the other side of the counter. “If you feel weird about it, just tip me super well the next time you’re here.”

“Will do.” Barry chortled and gave her a little wave. “Thanks, I’ll see you around.”  

~*~*~Iris~*~*~

They left the party soon after the incident.

Iris closed her eyes as she leaned her body against the passenger side door of Eddie’s car, trying to keep herself from stressing over what had happened. But Eddie wasn’t as willing to let the subject go.

“What was that?”

“I told you, I don’t know. Can we just talk about it tomorrow?”

“I don’t think we should. You collapsed, Iris. I think you need to go to the doctor.” He tried to reason with her and Iris snapped her eyes back open. There was no way she was taking this to a doctor.

“I don’t need to go to a doctor.” She said firmly. “It was probably some weird muscle spasm or something. I’m fine now.”

Iris watched as Eddie drove. He looked like he was debating something in his head, opening and closing his mouth like he was about to ask a question but kept deciding against it. Curious, Iris asked him to say whatever it was. He took another moment before finally coming out with it. “You weren’t just trying to get out of the party, right?” Eddie took his eyes off the road for a second to see the intense scowl that Iris was shooting his way.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Iris raised her voice in disbelief.

His face fell, immediately ashamed for the suggestion. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“You shouldn’t have even thought it! You know how supportive I have been of you through all of this. You know how much I wanted for things to go well for you tonight!” Iris reminded him, not holding back on her anger.  She spent all night standing around a group of people who were obviously looking down on her, all the while biting her tongue and plastering on a smile. She couldn’t believe it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know. You’ve been amazing. I just wish I knew what happened. I guess I would rather have it be that than there being something wrong with you.”

After hearing that and seeing the obvious worry on his face, Iris relented. There was just too much going on in her head to continue fighting about this and she could tell that he was being sincere. “Look, if you really want me to see a doctor, I can take a half day at work tomorrow and get checked out.”

He calmed at that and Iris went back to resting her head against the window, this time keeping her eyes opened and watched as they sped past the streetlights on the side of the road. She’d go to the doctor just to ease Eddie’s mind and just hope they could offer her a simple excuse that she could give to him. Iris would just keep from revealing the details of what really happened, hoping she could find the answers herself.

[thepapermixtape]

Sending You My Location

By: Libby Hsieh

This collection is a representation of how spaces accrue meaning — good or bad — as you have experiences in them. Each address is colored by a particular emotion, event, or memory.

GOLDEN DRAGON

960 N. Broadway, Los Angeles CA 90012

Delivered in advance, you are formally invited to attend a display of disintegration. Before you start your car, destroy 21 years of embezzlement. To speak lightly of devision, this family brunch will be a euphemism for taking your clothes off midday in a church cathedral on a Sunday morning. The tense present— a Chinese New Year envelope without the gold across the baos, shumai, hargow and gyoza, spinning like a cracked record that only speaks in divine syllogisms. Side-eyed estrangement, struck with boiled vermilion, without a hello or a goodbye hug. X-crossed fingers cemented in their permanence. What ever happened to the wholiness of a family? The sanctification of blood and DNA? My brown eyes are my citizenship. At what point do colored contacts make me eligible for deportation? At what point do we call each other alien? Forget each other’s numbers? Keep eating?

MY FIRST APARTMENT

Apt. 543—Westwood, CA

Nausea. Boat-Swell Seasick. Stuckness. Stuckness. Do I sleep or do I pull my hair back and bend over the toilet? Clogged like so: The hair in your shower drain. The orange peels, the bent scratched forks, the hardened coconut oil in your kitchen sink. Should I call a plumber? Our landlord won’t answer his damn phone. What if his pants are too loose? What if he tracks dirt on the tile? I just mopped. The eeriness never really goes away when you close the door at night. That need to leave even though you can’t quite put your finger on what is wrong. Like arms, enveloping you. You turn around and you are alone. Just blow into the hard drive. Just scratch out the lint. Fuck—you forgot to put the windows down again. How did we get here again? The shower turns left for hot and right for cold. Or maybe, its the other way around. I can’t remember. The shower pressure is always too low. Is this lemon too brown? Can you mask the deep dark bitter, the sour, with enough sugar? Not quite clorox clean, not quite ready for compost. Do we just cut that part out? My knife isn’t sharp enough.

UNNAMED WAREHOUSE

800 Agatha, Los Angeles, CA 90021

After 90 mg, pink lights emit heat with a sporadic effulgence only fireflies can compete with. My shirt has become a sequined straightjacket only fit for the floor to wear. We stand side to side holding our pupils like a handful of marbles. Every social jet-lag like seamless method acting, Every sweaty hug a confetti bomb, an orgasm. Pinky swear this 30 minutes will last forever. I want to touch everybody, but mostly you, like I would touch a velvet curtain. I would maybe even rub my face on the pig-tailed black pupiled boy who is dressed like he was manufactured in a Mattel warehouse. You can live to be 100 years old if you give up all the things that make you want to live that long. If I threw a bouquet of carnations into the air, how would I know it would give you a black eye? The flowers expose themselves as lithium in your hands, and you suddenly realize heaven and hell are under the same disco ball. Blame it on the boogie, blame it on the $20 cover charge, blame it on swallowing and saying yes. I wake up with thirst for mineral water, thirst for touch, with dinner plans with an insurance salesman two years from now. Your comedown was only two days. I want another 90 mg. I want another you.

THE PARANOYDS @ THE ECHO

1822 Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90026

I’ve lost my touch. I hate to break it to you, I’m armed to teeth. I hate to break it to you, I’m driving from the back seat. I hate to break it to you, I’m a dead ringer for the doorman. Web MD told me I already died. We throw our flat beer, our lives down the drain. I had to step outside because I didn’t fit the bill, because there were too many bands on the bill. Love is not poetic. Neither are psychiatrists. Who knew the grimace of a crowded room was as invasive as a potato gun? Every corner of the room was my safe space, my sleeping pill. I say help me not knowing whether help looked like a life raft or a shot gun.

KAISER PERMANENTE EMERGENCY WARD

5601 De Soto Ave, Woodland Hills, CA 91367

This room always gives me hallucinations of the medicine cabinet and Catholic school guilt. Unseasoned and uncooked, spirituality was the fatalistic ideas of dry rose wine. I really want to write about the monk I saw at the Kaiser emergency ward. But I don’t think I can.

ON SOME BENCH NEAR THE BEACH BATHROOMS IN SANTA MONICA

near Bixler Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90291

I’ve crossed my threshold of human interaction for the day. Art imitates life, life imitates TV. Did you take the TV remote? I can’t give you a loan because I’m not sure if you can deliver. Does Lemonade deliver? Have you seen Love on Netflix? Love is no longer poetic. Don’t worry, Stain remover will take that out. Try those new essential oils. Oil has become more poetic than the romanticization of death because oil has become a synonym for death a synonym for suffering according to the Oxford Dictionary. Corporations need to dress us like gremlins and give us their candy filled with Rophynol. Money a synonym for suffering. lie to me about your fetish for green lie to me about your flatulence.

KING TACO TAQUERIA

2400 East Cesar E Chavez Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90033

no parking anytime vehicles over six million big ones galleries are enemies of the people a proxy for corporate interest art washing “Fuck white art” shot out of a potato gun gentri-flyers for vegan smokehouses and bacon infused coffee fury clad with placards and bandanas I hate battery-less clocks, east-side warehouses, self-indulgent mirrors and that creepy left-leaning wheel on a shopping cart and people who write about gentrification without realizing they are still contributing to the problem.

[viralhottopics]

25 Men And Women Confess To The Darkest, Most Absurd Secrets Theyve Never Told Anyone Before

1.Identity Swapping Twins

“My grandfather had an identical twin brother. shall refer to grandfather as A and twin as B. Brother A got drafted into WWII, brother B didn’t so he pretended to be A to take A’s better job. Brother A returns from war and brother B’s still pretending to be him, even got promoted a few times. Brother A says, thats cool I’ll be brother C from now on (changed his name). This has gone on for over 50 years, never legally changed it or anything, just gave his identity to his bro and created a new one.”

2. Wasted…Too Wasted

“I once paid for a blowjob from a woman that was probably older than my grandmother. I was so wasted but I remembered everything. I quit drinking for a while after that.”

3. RIP Dennis

“Friend’s toilet doesn’t flush, I poop in trash can. Huge poop. Biggest poop I’ve ever taken. Friend’s family find massive poop in trash can and think that one of them threw out some dog poop, but due to the sheer size they figure that something is wrong with one of their dogs. A few weeks after taking their dogs to the vet, they find out their Yorkie has stomach cancer. Dog dies shortly after, incredibly large poop was seen as a result of the dogs cancer when in reality I pooped in their trash can. They still tell stories of the Yorkie’s poop that was about 3/4 it’s size.

RIP Dennis. You will be missed.”

4. No One Knows The Truth

“I was getting into a car once and somehow managed to slam my eye into the corner of the door.. got a giant black eye from it. Told everyone I got into a fight. No one but me knows the truth.”

5. Doing The Right Thing For Selfish Reasons

“When I was 15, I had my first girlfriend. She was the little sister of one of my very protective best friends, so right off the bat things were a bit sticky. She was a little off and after quite some time of prying she told me in confidence that when she was younger, her uncle abused her. She didn’t want to tell anyone because she figured it would destroy the family. Jump forward six months, and we break up over unrelated matters. The brother(my best friend) called me to a park to talk about it. I was pretty nervous that our friendship would end and the conversation when I got there was leaning towards that. Petty, but we were 15.

In a kind of last ditch effort, I told him about her uncle and what she told me. The conversation was then completely off me and the break up and onto her uncle. We sat there for a long time and I held him as he cried. The fallout from it was massive; the uncle was outed, his wife divorced him, he lost his job, etc. There was major rifts and divides across the entire family that lasted for a very long time. Their family has basically never been the same because of it.

I know what I did was right, because people like her uncle can’t be trusted and the truth should always come out. But in complete honesty, at the time I told my best friend about the uncle I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I was simply trying to distract my friend and take the guilt off me. I’ve never told anyone that and it kind of feels good to let it out. I wasn’t any social justice warrior or even a hero for outing a bad guy, I was just a kid who was nervous.”

6. I Was A Teenage Prostitute

“I made a lot of money working as a prostitute from the age of 19-22.

I stopped because the lifestyle I was living was killing me, I was doing a lot of heroin, I was surrounding myself with really dangerous people who did some really shitty things to me, and I really wanted to kill myself.

I somehow found myself lucky enough to get out and into a new city, and I got help in getting clean. I now work a regular job at a nice coffee shop, I have friends I very much love and are a positive influence on my life.

I’ve told my closest friends, but it obviously isn’t something you go around advertising.”

7. I Don’t Remember It But I’m Pretty Sure He Does

“NSFW response just FYI since I see this thread isn’t tagged. Using a throwaway because i want to get it off my chest, but, you know.

When I was 11 my older brother raped me a number of times(for the record i am male). It was kinda weird in that I literally had no idea what I was doing and don’t even have traumatic memories. It’s just kinda something that I know happened. I didn’t even connect the dots until I was 14, and I didn’t feel that bad about it then.

Honestly, the event probably impacts me more than I give it credit for and I think if I really wanted to just correlate things i would relate a decline in self-valuation to this event. I’m pretty sure my older brother remembers it, he is only 14 months older than me, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. I am pretty sure he didn’t really know what he was doing (I was homeschooled from 6th grade onward so sex ed didn’t exist), and am absolutely certain he regrets it.”

8. Saving Money

“To save up money to move out, I sell nudes.

Some guys want really specific things (leather suits, feet in a certain angle) so it’s easier to ask what they want than trying to find it online. Usually $5-$15 for a few pics and depending on what they want me to do.”

9. A Guilty Pleasure

“I think ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ is one of the greatest songs in history, and when alone in my car, and no other cars are nearby, I try to hit all the notes.”

10. Testicular Torsion Is A Real Thing

“I only have one testicle. The other one was removed when I was in middle school due to Testicular Torsion (where the testicles twist upon themselves) cutting off the blood supply to that area.

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t get to the ER until several hours later, after 1) going to the normal doctor to see what was wrong, and having to wait a long time in line, 2) the doctor saying I needed to get to the ER ASAP, but when I did the doctors there had apparently mixed up my case with someone else’s (not as urgent) case, so I was waiting in the ER for longer than I should have. And then 3) when I finally got to see a doctor, they had to call a second doctor before I could undergo surgery due to my insurance needing a second opinion. With all of those delays they were only able to save one testicle, while the other one had to be removed.

With that being said, if you have a son who is at the late elementary/early middle school age and they suddenly feel an intense pain in their private area for no apparent reason, please get them to the Emergency Room ASAP.”

11. Laughing Along

“I enjoy getting fucked in the ass with a strapon. I’m a pretty normal guy otherwise, but it’s a bit funny to hear people occasionally crack jokes about the subject and I have to laugh along.”

12. The Samaritan’s Dilemma

“I once talked a dude I had never met out of suicide via a phone call.

Two years later the same dude develops a habit of harassing girls to the point they themselves start feeling suicidal. First time I hear of this I tell him to stop, second time I cut all communication with him.

Third time I outright told him I wished I never saved him, and then snuck to his house and left a bottle of bleach at his doorstep.

The dude is still alive. And I still say that saving him was a mistake.”

13. Couldn’t Hold It

“Pissed on the floor at work because I couldn’t make it to the restroom. I was closing and wanted to get out of there ASAP… misjudged how long I could hold it. Didn’t want to piss pants. Was mopping at the time. Convenient.

I am also female, so it was definitely a commitment (i.e. exposing buttocks).”

14. Dumb Kids Who nearly Died

“When we were seniors, Cody & I were just getting drunk and being dumb kids. He drove us to a friends apartment where I don’t even remember leaving, and went back to my house. I remember trying to convince him to stay the night, but he drove home. This was at 1am. I woke up to him screaming at me at 4am about how he crashed his truck. I live at home.

My Dad walked out because he was getting ready for work, and took Cody home. Cody had wrapped his truck around a pole, and managed to not only walk away but he fucking ran to my house. I saw the truck, I would have been killed had I been in it. Cody’s Dad took the damage for the truck, and my Dad never said anything about it. Cody stopped drinking after that. He’s still my best friend, but being dumb kids almost killed us.”

15. Visited An Escort At Nineteen

“I got an escort once when I was 19.

She was a psych student at the same university and graduated from high school a couple years before me. We had a strangely normal conversation lol, like you would with a barista.

Anyway she wrapped my tool, started jerking me off and I said something like, ‘Oh man I wanna be inside you let’s get this ball rolling!’

And she was like, ‘Sorry honey, I’m not full service.’

So I was like, ‘What’s that mean?’

She explained that it means I’m basically just gonna get a handjob.

She was tugging for like 15 minutes and getting a little annoyed like, ‘Are you close to finishing?’

I had to be like, ‘No offense, but I’m not a virgin or anything like that. I’m at a point in my life where it’s hard to get off to a hand job through a condom.’ She was like, ‘Well you’re gonna have to’ and went back at it. I finally busted like 20 minutes later, my dick was completely red and swollen from the whole thing lol

As I was getting dressed I was like, ‘Hey I’m not mad or anything. I totally understand it’s part of the hustle, but I’m not thrilled at forking out 120 bucks for a handjob. Could you school me on how to get more for my buck if I get an escort in the future?’

She happily explained to me all the lingo, what to ask for upfront what not to say on the phone etc etc.

I thanked her and as I left she was like, ‘What’s your deal dude? You’re not like a typical client, you look good in your little baseball cap and your stylish jeans. You aren’t a virgin, I don’t often get young guys like you.’ I told her I was just out of a bad breakup and had some xmas money from my grandma to burn.

She ended up just complimenting me and encouraging me to just get out and try to date instead of spending grandma’s money on pussy.

The confidence boost was better than the blowjob. Total sweetie, I saw her on campus once but out of politeness/discretion didn’t acknowledge her.

Was a very surreal experience.”

16. Hooks Up With Boss On A Business Trip

“This is a long story. I went on a business trip with a group from work. The day we left I found out that my husband was sleeping with my brother’s wife. Of course the alcohol flowed and the owner of the company began hitting on me. My roommate went to the room early and I stayed out with a bunch of coworkers and the owner at a bar. He began texting me saying that he would walk to his room, I would walk to mine and then he would come over to mine later so no one would know. He gets there and things get heated, we are going full force when my coworker roommate starts screaming at me to shut the fuck up. She gets upset and runs out, gets in her car and goes all the way back home. It was dark and she didn’t see who the man was. We get back to work and she tells everyone that I was fucking a random and she felt unsafe. So my boss(not the owner) decides that he’s going to suspend me for putting myself and my roommate in danger. I’m not telling anyone that it was actually the owner so I was suspended without pay for a week. The owner paid me my weeks wages plus some secretly. He’s 20 years older than me and married:( I left that job because of it.”

17. Burying Doctor Manhattan

“My best friend, lets call him Doctor Manhattan, hung himself two years ago. He was an ex-African refugee from the war in Rwanda, with a very promising career in physics. He actually had an offer to work at the LHC, and he looked very much forward to it that is, until he committed suicide, of course.

It took all of us by surprise. He has always been a very dark individual, and not only by the color of his skin : he definitely had the most fucked up sense of humor Ive ever seen. Were talking about disguising himself as a plantation slave for Halloween, or pretending to be named Kunta Kinte when a stranger asked his name.

Anyway.

Since he died in the middle of Winter, and that I live in a country where it is impossible to bury the dead in the frozen ground, we had to wait until Summer to actually bury him.

That very day, unfortunately, I had to work extra for some bullshit reason. Immediately after my shift, I ran to the cemetery as fast as I could. It was not really far from there, but still ; I did not want to miss that.

Halfway there, I suddenly heard bells ringing, and singing. I knew too well what that meant.

I missed it. It was too late.

As I came upon the cemetery upon the hill, nobody was left there.

Well, almost nobody.

Manhattan only had two white friends in the city ; me, and Green Lantern. And Green Lantern was next to the coffin, crying.

I went up to him, and asked him what was wrong.

GreenLantern : Manhattan’s dead, you fucking retard.

Me: Yeah, but hes been that way for months. Whats wrong?

He looked at me, with tears in his eyes. After a long moment of silence, he finally uttered the right words.

GreenLantern : I cant get over it, .

Me: Well, so cant I, and I missed the fucking ceremony.

GreenLantern : Fuck, .

The heaviest silence fell upon the cemetary, with our dead superhero buddy next to us. Almost as if he wasn’t the most silent one out there. When I had an idea.

Me: Lets fucking bury him.*

Green Lantern stopped crying.

What the fuck are you talking about? he said in amidst of a chuckle.

Me: Lets bury Manhattan. He would have loved it. Come on man.

GreenLantern : Oh, thats so fucked up.

Me: Yeah, but he was.

GreenLantern : Youre right.

So thats how me and my buddy ended up shoveling dirt with our barehands upon the coffin of our dead friend, grieving in about 15 minutes.”

18. Craigslist and His Best Friend’s Dad

“I posted an ad on craigslist looking to give some oral services to ‘Dl/Married Men’ after talking to one of the guys who answered my ad, he seemed sane so I gave him the address to my apartment. Turns out when I opened the door, it was my best friend’s dad. We both acknowledged this event. I still went to town on him. My best friend is the oldest of 3 boys and the family is “Happily Married” fuck. I am scum.”

19. “Female Badass”

“I have the image that I’m a ‘female badass’ when I show everyone how proud I am that I’m single and that I don’t ever want to get married and have kids. Deep down, I would love to have a wedding and start a family. I just know that no one will be able to deal with me. I was in a physically and verbally abusive relationship, and I wake up screaming from my nightmares in the middle of the night. I don’t trust anyone, and I know that others would rather find someone else. But I’m going to keep letting others think that I’m happy being single.”

20. This Guy Will Steal Your Girl

“My brother was trying to get with this girl. But for some reason her and I hit it off one night when he wasn’t around. We just got along really well, it was very natural. I never intended on stealing her from him because I was seeing another girl. Eventually my brother started dating her but she abruptly broke up with him about two months later because I knew she couldn’t stand being around me all the time when I was the one she liked.”

21. Lied About The Abortion

“A three month fling and I had a pregnancy scare after he ended things with me, citing that he ‘wasn’t ready for a relationship’. He had spent a week trying to convince me to have an abortion, even before I found out there was no baby to abort. A few weeks later, I found out he was in a relationship with someone else, whose Facebook profile picture looked like it was taken on his couch and posted at a time when he and I were still together. Being the unstable and jilted person I was years ago, I convinced him I had lied about not being pregnant and actually had an abortion. He and the girl broke up a few days later.”

22. Burying the Hatchet

“So I was 17, horny as can be. I like butt stuff…like a lot. I wasn’t 18 so I couldn’t buy a dildo (when I turned 18 I used my bday money to buy one…another slightly sad thought). I was jonesing for something in my butt. I had tried a sharpie, a few fingers, there were sadly no cucumbers or anything similar nearby either. Then, a thought comes to me as I scan my room. My eyes meet my Great-grandfathers hand carved axe. The handle is shaped rather penis like, the end is like a dick-head, and almost a foot long! It has a carving on it of my Great grandfathers initials. I’m thinking…owch. It’s remarkably smooth, I wouldn’t get a splinter even if I tried, but the intials look rough on the ass. I shuffle for the free condoms I got handed to me at a recent festival I went to. This should make it a little smoother, right? I lube it up with Vaseline after covering it with a condom, and take it to pound town on myself. It was pretty nice, 10/10. Now I have it sitting in my room, 4 years later. It’s mine now since my grandfather passed and every time I see it I think of the night my 100 year old family heirloom pounded my ass as I busted the greatest nut my pure gay teen heart had known thus far.”

23. Trophy Wife

“I went to a rock concert with my uncle and his son. My uncle convinced me that the only way I would get in is if I pretended to be his wife, I had to wear a wedding ring.

My uncle was in his mid 40’s and I was 16. I didn’t understand why I had to be his wife but I went along with it cause I really wanted to see this band.

My uncle didn’t really pull any moves but he saw a couple of his old college friends and actually introduced me as his wife. He was still married to his actual wife. The weirdest part was my cousin, his son, was two months older than me.

Now that I’m older I kinda realized that my uncle played me because he wanted to have some young, hot trophy wife to show off to his friends. Kinda embarrassed I never realized that until two years later. Borderline incest, however he isn’t my blood-relative. His actual wife is my blood-relative.”

24. Holding It

“Ok. I can’t believe I’m actually about to type this because it’s so insanely embarrassing. In high school I did competitive speech competitions. When I was a junior, I finally made it to state for monologue. I only found out that I had made it to state the Monday before the competition because I was first alternate which meant if one of the competitions couldn’t make the competition then I would get to go to state. Since I found out so late notice, it was only my theater teacher and I at the competition and she had to go judge other rounds. The competition was at University of Oklahoma. So I was this little high school girl all alone on this gigantic college campus. I was terrified.

The way the competition went was that you had to perform three rounds over the course of two days and they would take your scores from all three rounds. It was the last round of the first day and I had to pee so bad. We were sitting there waiting for the third judge to come in so we could start. The judge was about thirty minutes late. I was sitting there having to pee and terrified that if I got up to go, the judge would come in and they would start without me. Right as I was about to muster the courage to get up and go use the restroom, the third judge walks in and they start the round. I performed second but there were still four performing after me (each performance was about 6 minutes long). Finally the last person gets up to perform and I’m freaking out in my head cause I can’t wait to get up and pee. The guy that was performing was insanely hilarious. I don’t remember what he said, but at one point he made me laugh so hard that I literally pees my pants. Not just a little pee, I let it all out. I remember looking around the room to see if anyone noticed. They didn’t. Somehow when the round was over, I managed to get up and throw my jacket around my waist and rush out before anyone noticed what I did.

I was so embarrassed. I always wondered if anyone ever noticed when they went to clean the room. The next year when we went to state, my teacher said there was a new rule that before any of the competitors left the room, the judges had to check it was clean because someone the year before peed all over the floor. When my teacher told us that, my whole class cracked up laughing at how ridiculous you would have to be to pee all over the floor. They had no clue it was me.”

25. The Fake Boyfriend Becomes Real

“I pretended to have a long distance boyfriend for 3 years when I was 13, until 16. Everyone else had boyfriends, and I got asked out only by weirdoes. I picked a good name and a good school for him, created lots of memories. I lived in a high school dorm during two years of this fake relationship, and every night I pretended to talk with him on the phone. I was pretty good at lying too. I even cheated on this fake boyfriend with a really great guy, and told the real one I felt guilty and broke up with him. I was fucked up, and I hated myself, but continued it anyway.”

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from 25 Men And Women Confess To The Darkest, Most Absurd Secrets Theyve Never Told Anyone Before