#i did switch over the sesame street when i took over though

[monotonous-minutia]

me: *goes into kiddo’s house and sees the TV is playing the Babyfirst channel for the first time in a while*

me: I wonder if I will hear the Shapes School song today.

TV, two minutes later: we are the shapes shapes shapes...

me: called it

[volkswagonblues]

I wish you would write a fic about piandao and jeong jeong, like just anything about them but i'd read the SHIT out of the modern au you told me about where they bicker about politics

SO. This is the WORST time to be writing 1.5k of fiction about a modern (well, 90′s) AU starring two dudes who have never even spoken to each other in canon, but uh, the world is awful and I consider creating rarepair content a form of self-care, so here we go.

The context for this is of course, JJ is second-generation Korean-American from LA, Piandao is a foreign student from Taiwan pursuing a doctorate in the US. The year is 1993 and ideas about race, activism, the term “Asian-American” are all up in the air. We are one year post the ‘92 L.A. race riots and four years away from antiretroviral therapy becoming the new treatment standard for HIV. The AIDS crisis is in full swing, as it has been since the 80′s. Welcome to America.

--

“Jujube”

The week after his appendectomy, Piandao is up and moving around by the end of the third day, a full four days ahead of schedule. His shoulder aches, the scar on his stomach hurts, but still, he is up and moving, even though Jeong Jeong rolls his eyes when he catches him walking up and down the length of his bedroom, working the muscles that are suffering more from being bed-bound than from surgery. 

Jeong Jeong, underneath the surly exterior, is a surprisingly maternal caretaker. Piandao has no appetite for anything flavourful in the first few days, which the nurses said was normal. So for every meal since he’s back from the hospital, Jeong Jeong cooks him a bowl of porridge and does it with a degree of care that Piandao honestly did not know he possessed. Piandao wouldn’t have minded just plain white rice and water, but Jeong Jeong, in his typical Jeong Jeong-fashion, disagreed. He spends a long time in Piandao’s kitchen every morning, making what he claims is the superior (ie, Korean) juk that his mother makes, but is really exactly similar to the zhou Piandao is used to back home, only it’s made by an angry Korean man swearing at the morning cable news, taking only occasional breaks to bemoan the sad state of Asian grocery stores in Midwest college towns.

��I’m feeling well enough to cook,” Piandao says on the morning of his fourth day home. “JJ, relax. You don’t have to do everything around here.”

Jeong Jeong looks up from his work: crushing sesame seeds in a plastic bag with the back of a soup spoon. “Shut the fuck up,” he says easily.

“I can at least wash the dishes—“

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bill Ritter.”

Piandao looks at the television in the corner. A news show was on, some Sunday morning thing he doesn’t remember seeing before. Currently, it was showing them three glossy-looking American hosts sitting on glossy-looking American couches. A man in a beige suit was saying something very earnest about the President and Haiti and also taxes. Piandao guesses that he’s Bill Ritter.

“Fucking Clinton already retracting on his fucking word,” Jeong Jeong mutters, then smashes the spoon down with ferocious force; in their plastic bag, the sesame seeds die and ascend to paste in an instant.

Piandao bites back a smile. He switches the channel: ads now, more glossy Americans driving glossy American cars, big and square. The ad changes: a family of four arriving at a motel, everything even bigger and squarer than the previous one. The mother in a big square jacket; the father smile with big square teeth. The kids chatter in excited tones: We’re so happy to be at Holiday Inn Express! Then Piandao hits the off button, and the American family disappears; the screen puckers up into dark silence again.

He slowly feels his way into the kitchen instead. He rather watch Jeong Jeong cook.

On the stove, the porridge bubbles. Jeong Jeong adds the pounded sesame and gives it a stir, then adds more sugar, then milk. He ladles it into two bowls and brings it over to the kitchen table, which is also the living room table, which is also Piandao’s desk where he grades students’ lab reports and corrects exams. There were a few back issues of various astrophysics journals still stacked there; Jeong Jeong puts them to use as coasters. Volume 10, issue 4 of Space Science Review goes to Piandao’s bowl; the special Winter 1992 edition of Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics to Jeong Jeong. Piandao, trailing behind him, brings the spoons. They sit down, knees almost touching.

“How is it?” asks Jeong Jeong.

Piandao blows on his spoon and takes in a mouthful. “Not bad,” he says. “Although it’ll be better with some – I don’t know the word – but those little red fruits.”

“Jujubes,” says Jeong Jeong, and then: “Fuck off, be grateful for what you’ve got. You know how long it took me to even locate some sesame seeds in a Salt Lake City grocery store?”

Sunday morning slants in from between the slats of the crooked window blinds. In the sharp angle of the light, his features look different: the sun picks out the bronze-ish tint in his dark hair, makes the shell of his ear glow pink and red. In front of him, the steam from the porridge unfurls in delicate, thin grey spirals.

Piandao put his spoon down. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You really didn’t have to. The plane ticket from Los Angeles must have been expensive.”

A shrug. “Couldn’t let you die alone in Utah, of all places.”

“It was just an appendectomy. How much did you pay for the flight? I can…I can pay you back, the university gives me a stipend, I can afford it.”

Jeong Jeong sets his spoon down too, picks up the bowls and takes them over to rinse in the sink.

“When I got the call from the secretary,” he says, not looking up from the dish sponge. “She didn’t say what happened. She just said, please can you be informed that Mr. Liu has been taken to the hospital for a medical emergency, she had just gone down the list of his emergency contact numbers and you happened to be the first one who picked up, and then she hung up. I barely got the name of the hospital out of her before she did. Nothing more. I called back and got a busy line. And then I thought – I started thinking – I didn’t know what I was thinking. I got scared. I just came back from SF that day – I went to see Johnny and Gene at the General, and when I got back in and the phone rang and the woman said you were sick too…I don’t know.”

The bowls, scrubbed to death, are getting beyond clean. Jeong Jeong throws the sponge down, where it lands with a wet smack.

“I know you’re not like me,“ he adds wretchedly. “I mean, I know you’re not a homosexual. And besides: fucking Utah? Of all places? I knew it was probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Piandao says.

Jeong Jeong stabs a finger in his direction. “But don’t you dare pay me back though. Don’t you even try that shit on me. I will actually punch you if you try.”

Piandao says nothing. He pictures the cramped kitchenette of Jeong Jeong’s apartment off Hoover Street, with its ugly green plastic phone duct-taped to the wall, opposite to the grimy stove and the eternal stacks of takeout containers and the Proud Berkley Grad of ’87 fridge magnet that Piandao had bought him as a joke, when Jeong Jeong finally carried through on his threats and really dropped out, for good this time. He pictures Jeong Jeong stumbling back in fron the hospital, exhausted, and then accepting a long-distance call from Utah anyways.

Jeong Jeong had taken the call and flew out the very next morning. He had came in such a hurry that he brought nothing with him other than the clothes he was wearing and a backpack full of California oranges, because he had some idea that vitamin C was vital to every patient’s recovery, no matter the ailment. He had come to Piandao.

Times like this, Piandao wishes his English is better. Even now, after five years in this country, he has no way to express how he feels, right now, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while Jeong Jeong slams dishes and utensils back into their drawers, shoulders hunched over. Something hot and formless is coursing through his chest, but Piandao can’t shape it. He can’t forge the thing into words.

Perhaps there’s no words at all for this in English. Not in Chinese, either, and not in Korean. There are no words for this in any language in the world.

So Piandao reaches out instead. He touches a hand to the curve of Jeong Jeong’s back, and when Jeong Jeong looks over, questioning, he clears his throat and says:

“I liked it. The zhou.”

“You mean juk,” Jeong Jeong corrects him, as contrary as ever.

“Alright, the juk. It was very good.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not shitting me?”

“No. I should call your mother, tell her what a good chef her son is becoming.”

“Fuck off,” Jeong Jeong says, but he smiles anyways.

Piandao smiles back. His hand is still where he put it, resting on Jeong Jeong’s back, and he does not move it away. This, also – this is an unspoken message, but not for forever. Already Piandao can see the shape of it in his future. Something was unfurling between them, as delicate as steam, as marvellous as light.

[trashyswitch]

The Grumpy Ol' Bunny

Springtrap's physical body under the animatronic suit, is the biggest mystery to fill the animatronic's thoughts. It's so much a mystery, that Foxy and Freddy have tried to capture him to open him up and look. But whenever they try and get some answers, Springtrap scares them off with his creepy, grumpy nature.

Soon, Bonnie and Foxy join forces with Chica and Freddy to find out just what he is, and what his insides are truly made of without issues.

This idea sounds pervy, now that I think about it...but, it's not! I swear! It's just curiousity. It's like a couple kids breaking a toy of theirs, to figure out how it works. Only, this toy is alive, and an angry equivalent of Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. XD 

I would like to credit @fivecoins for inspiring me to write this fanfic. HI! 👋

*DISCLAIMER* A few cusses. That’s all though.

Springtrap is a very...strange being. He smells like mold, ashes and soap, and has quite a few holes in him. What his endoskeleton is made of, is also a mystery to the other animatronics. Why does the man have red knots on his ankles? Why is there red rope on his endoskeleton? Why is part of his ear missing? Is he hiding things in his body? What IS Springtrap? What they do know however, is his attitude. He's somewhat rude, has very little of a filter for his thoughts, and often comes across as a grumpy old man. Foxy would even say he's got the attitude of 'an old Janitor'.

But, that hasn't stopped him from trying to learn more about him.

Well actually...the truth is, it has...a lot...

But, not anymore! Foxy and Freddy had set up a trap to lure Springtrap over to them. Chica and Bonnie had joined as well, looking at the plan.

"I'll keep throwing stuff at the surrounding area and making noise to keep him interested." Chica offered.

"Okay. Try not to hit him. He'll only get angry if you hit him." Foxy told Chica.

"Right. We don't want that. Though if he does end up getting hit, we'll have to continue while he's angry." Chica replied.

"Right. Freddy?" Foxy pointed at Freddy.

"I'll grab him when he comes close." he told him.

"And Bonnie?" Foxy asked.

"I'll start investigating! I really wanna know." Bonnie explained.

"I'll help with the investigating too." Foxy added.

"Okay! Let's get this started-"

"What are you doing...?" Someone said behind them, interrupting Freddy. All 4 of the animatronics jumped and yelped in surprise. Foxy fell onto the ground, while Bonnie quickly got rid of the map.

"Hiiiii Springtrap, buddy old pal..." Chica greeted as un-awkwardly as possible, giving him light elbows to the his arm.

Springtrap narrowed his eyes. "Are all chickens idiots, or is it just you?" Springtrap asked.

Chica narrowed his eyes back at him, and decided to do the kidnapping himself. Chica picked up Springtrap and wrapped him into a big hug. "HUGS FOR THE GRUMPY BUNNY!" Chica declared.

Springtrap's eyes widened. "WHAT?!" Springtrap yelled, squirming around. "LET ME GO, YOU DUMBASS DUCK!" Springtrap yelled.

Freddy frowned. "Awww...I wanted to capture him." Freddy whined.

"you can hold him if you want." Chica told him, holding the animatronic out.

"Oh gosh...NO! DON'T YOU DARE! CHICA, PUT! ME! DOWN!" Springtrap yelled, squirming more and more frantically as Freddy walked up to Chica and Springtrap.

"Here you go. One salty Springtrap, coming your way." Freddy teased befre handing him over to Chica. Chica placed his cupcake down and grabbed onto him with his hands.

"Thank you Freddy" He replied. "Is this comfy for you?" Chica asked Springtrap.

Springtrap started squirming right away. "YOU'RE GONNA SQUEEZE MY ENDOSKELETON OUT OF MY BODY! LET GO OF ME RIGHT NOW!" Springtrap ordered.

"Wow! I don't think I ever realized that Springtrap's a toddler!" Chica reacted.

"I am NOT!" Springtrap shouted back.

"Hmm...giving me sass? That's definitely childish behaviour if I've ever saw it." Chica joked.

Freddy, Bonnie and Foxy were giggling and laughing at the funny scene in front of them.

"Now, to answering the burning questions going through all our heads: What are you even MADE of?!" Chica asked.

Upon hearing the question, Springtrap whined and threw himself backwards in annoyance. "Why are you guys OBSESSED WITH WHAT'S INSIDE OF ME?!" Springtrap shouted. (Pocket, the author of this fic, who's looked up tons of pictures on the subject: "SCIENCE!")

"Because it's so different compared to the rest of us! It's...foreign." Bonnie explained.

Springtrap let out a whiny cry. He was not in the mood for this!

"So first off: What does your skull look like?" Foxy asked, before poking the top of the bunny mask with his hook.

"It looks like a skull, alright?" Springtrap huffed.

Bonnie started looking around the suit for a button to remove the mask. But...there was no buttons. Nothing around to let it go. "There's no buttons anywhere." Bonnie commented. "Can I try pulling it off your he-"

"NO! DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT PULLING MY MASK OFF. I may be an animatronic, but I can STILL FEEL SOME THINGS!" Springtrap warned, growing worried and nervous that Bonnie was gonna try pulling the mask off.

"Okay! Okay, I won't!...I'll just look inside your mouth." Bonnie replied, before opening up the spring Bonnie jaw.

Upon looking inside, Springtrap had a purple skull, with a second mouth inside! "Hi." Springtrap spoke with the inner mouth.

Bonnie shrieked in surprise, closing the jaw and jumping back. "UM...Why is there a SECOND MOUTH?!" Bonnie asked. "And WHY IS YOUR ENDOSKELETON HEAD PURPLE?!" Bonnie asked.

"Purple? Seriously?!" Freddy asked, looking inside the animatronic mouth region. Sure enough, there was a bit of purple showing up inside the animatronic. "Whoa...That's not right." Freddy reacted.

Springtrap sighed. "It's a human skull. I was a human before I got trapped in this suit." Springtrap explained.

"OOooooohh..." all 4 animatronics reacted all at once.

"So you're a human animatronic?" Freddy clarified.

Springtrap sighed, but nodded. "Yes." he replied.

Chica lifted Springtrap up a little bit. He started looking at Springtrap's insides through all angles of the holes in the back of the suit. Springtrap awkwardly attempted to protest, not feeling very comfortable by how he was handling it, but also feeling thankful he wasn't getting hurt in any way.

"Lift him up more. I wanna check something out." Bonnie suggested. Chica nodded her head before lifting Springtrap up. Bonnie grabbed his ankle, and started checking out Springtrap's calf and foot. "Huh...your foot is covered with metal, but it looks like there could be a foot in here." Bonnie told them.

Springtrap threw his head back, annoyed by all this. "It's a boot. Of COURSE I had feet in here! But both of my feet shattered when the springlocks broke through them." Springtrap explained.

"Wait...did your body possess the suit after you died?" Chica asked.

Springtrap looked around with his eyes half open, growing bored as he was getting examined. "Uh huh." Springtrap replied.

"Wait a second...How did you know he died?" Bonnie asked, removing his one hand from Springtrap's cyborg foot.

"He got crushed by the machinery inside the suit. Of course that would kill a human!" Chica replied.

"She's right." Springtrap added in an uninterested tone.

"Huh..." Bonnie muttered. "Wait, you said you can feel some things, right?" Bonnie clarified.

Springtrap's eyes were beginning to close. "Yyyyyyup." Springtrap replied.

"Are you able to feel this?" Bonnie asked before poking the top of his foot.

Springtrap's eyes widened for a moment, as he was woken up by a poke to the foot. "Yup. You successfully woke me up." Springtrap replied.

"Okay. Are you able to feel this?" Bonnie asked, before lightly massaging his foot with one hand.

Most of Springtrap's body just melted at the touch. He let out an almost silent sigh as a small smile showed up on his lips. It felt amazing to feel a massage like that. "Mmmm hmmm...Just keep doin' that." Springtrap told him, leaning his head back as relaxation took over his body.

Freddy and Foxy observed the scene with curious eyes. They've never seen Springtrap so relaxed and content like this before! It was so new to them!

Bonnie's own face began to perk up into a curious smile as he continued to massage his foot. He moved his thumb closer to where the ball of Springtrap's foot could've been. He started pushing and wiggling into the spots under the toes, located on the ball of his foot. He started pushing underneath Springtrap's big toe, and worked his way to the middle of the ball grip.

Springtrap's mouth widened and showed off his teeth, and pulled his arms towards his chest a little. "Hehehe...Ohokay...cahahareful Bonnie, it tickles." Springtrap warned him casually, leaning his head against Chica's chest as a pillow.

"Tickles?!" Bonnie exclaimed, retreating his fingers.

"It tickles?" Foxy clarified.

"You're ticklish?!" Foxy exclaimed, unable to believe such a weird fact. Springtrap's eyes widened as he realized his horrifying mistake.

"Uh-Wait! I wouldn't say 'tickles' per say, I prefer the term 'sensitive'." Springtrap explained.

Bonnie rolled his eyes and laughed at the stupid attempt to cover it up. "Sensitive, ticklish, same difference." Bonnie replied before wiggling a single finger on the ball of his foot. Springtrap gulped and attempted to pull his foot away from Bonnie, but to no avail. Bonnie was too strong for him. So, he tried kicking him with the other foot. But the moment the other foot came flying towards the bunny, Bonnie would only temporarily switch feet and tickle the flying foot until it pulled away from him again.

Springtrap was stuck in a tickle trap. But he was determined to win. Springtrap tried to kick as hard as he can, and pull his foot away as quick as possible so he could lessen the tickles. But Bonnie ended up just dropping the bound left foot, and grabbed the kicking foot instead! The ghost tickles on his left foot were still making him giggle, and Bonnie was now tickling his right, dominant foot! He was losing the fight very quickly. Springtrap struggled to breath properly without silent giggles taking over, and his left foot was too weak to do much kicking damage to Bonnie.

"Chica! You're holding his upper body, right?" Foxy asked. Chica lifted him up the slightest bit, to show fox his hand positioning: On the sides of his chest. "Try tickling his armpits!" Foxy suggested. Chica's eyes widened as a small, eager smile grew onto his beak.

Springtrap's eyes widened in horror. "WAIT! NO, PLEHEASE DON'T! WHAT HAHAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?! WHAHAT HAHAPPEHENED TO MASSAGEHES?!" Springtrap yelled, his laughter starting to show up the littlest bit more as his foot was tickled.

Eager to get him laughing a little more, Chica used both of his index fingers to tickle the inside of both of his armpits. This move would end up breaking the cyborg animatronic.

"NOHohohohoho! Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahands ohohohohoff!" Springtrap broke, giggling and squirming as 3 separate spots were tickled.

a huge smile spread onto Freddy's face as he heard Springtrap laugh for the very first time. He covered his excited smile with his bear paws. "Oho my gosh! Springtrap, the animatronic infamous for being a dick, can actually laugh! Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming!" Freddy reacted.

"If you're dreaming, we must be dreaming the same dream!" Chica added.

"Yohohohou guhuhuys ahahare ahanimatrohohonihics! Yohohou cahahahan't drehehehaham!" Springtrap told them through his giggles.

"Since when?! How do you know we can't dream?!" Bonnie asked with a smirk.

"Yohohohou're rohohohobohohots! Rohohobohots dohohon't dreheheam!" Springtrap replied.

"Well listen here, you uncultured cyborg! I'll have you know, that we in fact CAN dream! And we have very strange dreams!" Bonnie told him. "Well...at least I do..." Bonnie admitted.

"I do too!" Freddy admitted.

"I dreamt about a bunch of dinosaurs playing soccer!" Foxy admitted.

"I had a dream that a witch was giving rich people explosive money." Chica told them.

"I had a dream about a flooded kingdom, that needed a huge vacuum to suck the water out." Bonnie explained, stopping his fingers to let Springtrap breath a little.

Springtrap's giggles quickly died down. "Yohohou guhuys hahave the weheheheirdehehest dreheheams..." Springtrap admitted.

"You think? How about you?" Chica asked, stopping his fingers as well.

Springtrap took a moment to start properly breathing, before answering him. "Nohope. Not that weird. The weirdest dream I ever had, was about me running a farm, and all the farm animals kept shouting profanity's at me." Springtrap told him.

Foxy laughed at that. "That's kinda funny, actually. Just a bunch of chickens chasing you down and screaming: 'GIVE ME BACK MY EGGS BITCH!'" Foxy joked.

Springtrap laughed as well. "Yeah, or a horse just donkey kicking you from behind, and saying: "Sorry about that. Just wanted to make sure I can still kick your ass." Springtrap added. Chica laughed at the joke, as well as Freddy.

"But enough talk...Are you ticklish anywhere else besides the feet and the armpits?" Chica asked.

Springtrap's eyes widened at the mention of tickling, and his squirming started right back up again. "NO! No, I'm not. Why would I be ticklish anywhere else?" Springtrap reacted, attempting to fool them.

Chica giggled evilly. "You're not fooling anybody. Now come on-" Chica started tickling under his left armpit with his index finger, "Where else are you ticklish?" Chica asked. Springtrap squealed at the sudden ticklish feeling under his armpit, and continued to yelp and laugh as he squirmed away from the single, yellow finger. "Are you ticklish on the belly?" Chica asked, signalling for Freddy to come over and try tickling his belly. Freddy walked up, took a moment to 'crack' his fingers outwards, before wiggling his fingers teasily at the green-looking animatronic. Springtrap fell into a puddle of nervous giggles just from looking at the fingers, and looked away from them.

"I'm gonna take this as a 'yes'! I think someone has a very ticklish belly." Freddy replied, before looking around Springtrap's belly region.

"F-Freheheheddy, dohohon't! Plehehehease dohon't!" Springtrap begged. Holy crap...He wasn't even being tickled yet and he's already a giggly mess!

"He doesn't really have much of a stomach area..." Freddy explained, before reaching his index finger into the the open area above the hips. "But he DOES have a spinal spot right here-" Freddy poked the lower spine that showed itself in between the open area between the chest and the hips. Springtrap shrieked and fell into high-pitched laughter, that quickly began to die down. Freddy gasped and smiled at Chica. "Well what do ya know?! Jackpot!" Freddy declared.

"NOHO! NOT THERE! OH GOSH! NOT THE SPINE, NOT THE SPINE, GEHET AWAHAHAY FROHOHOM MEHEHEHEHEHE!" Springtrap begged loudly.

Despite the begging getting more frantic, Freddy kept going. He gently placed his finger on the spine, and wiggled his finger on it for only a couple seconds...

"AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHIHIHIT!" Springtrap shouted loudly! Freddy smirked, and wiggled his finger on the spine again. "HAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! GEHEHEHET AHAHAWAHAHAHAY FROHOHOHOM THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE! HAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHEHE!" Springtrap howled as he kicked and squirmed as much as he possibly could.

Freddy removed his finger for good this time, and let the man breath. "Wow! I think that's your worst spot yet!" Chica reacted.

Springtrap was breathing somewhat heavily, trying to take as big of breaths as he could to make up for the oxygen he had lost. But despite the breathing struggles, Springtrap nodded his head.

Foxy really wanted a turn next. So, he walked up to Chica and looked around to see where else he may be ticklish. He knew that certain spots existed, and some were much worse than others. He wanted to make sure he chose a calm, more giggly kind of tickle spot. So, the fox attempted his neck. Foxy wiggled a finger onto the side of Springtrap's neck, just for a test run. Though the wiggling did spawn a couple little giggles and a little hand to push away, it didn't grant him the desired effect. So, Foxy went for another test spot: the ears.

The question that Foxy had, however, was if Springtrap could feel his bunny ears. So, Foxy tried running a finger up and down the front of the ears. "Can you feel this, Springtrap?" Foxy asked.

"Feel what?" Springtrap replied.

"My finger against your ear. I'm guessing you can't feel this?" Foxy clarified.

"Nope. My ears are separate from my head." Springtrap replied.

"Okay." Foxy reacted. Next, Foxy tried the back of the ears. "Can you feel the back of the ears being touched?" Foxy asked.

"No. I have no nerves up there." Springtrap replied.

Foxy nodded in understanding. Funnily enough, the words 'I have no nerves up there' stuck with Foxy for a few minutes. This was just enough time to help Foxy come up with a new theory. Foxy brought his fingers to the bottom of the ears, and scratched right at the base of the ears and the top of the skull.

To Foxy's surprise, Springtrap squealed and shook his head to try and shake the fingers off his ears. Foxy only went for the other ear however, and smiled widely when Springtrap broke into a fit of high-pitched giggles. "Hehehehehehehehehe! Ohohohokahahahahay, mahahahaybehehehe I cahahan feeheeheel sohohohomethihihihing ihihin thehehe ehehehehears..." Springtrap admitted.

"Hmmm...Good to know." Foxy reacted, continuing to scratch at the base of the ears. Springtrap attempted to remove his fingers with his hands, but Chica was way ahead of him: the evil animatronic chicken tickled his armpits everytime he lifted his arms! This caused his arms to crash back down, and his giggles to increase into laughter.

It was quite adorable for Freddy and the others to see Springtrap like this. Who knew such a grumpy animatronic like Springtrap, would end up hiding such an adorable side of himself? Turns out, Springtrap had lived his whole life as a human AND an animatronic, with this kind of side to him!

Chica seemed to be enjoying Springtrap's giggly side as well, as evident in her coos and teases. "Look at this cute little bunny we have in our grasp! So stuck! So trapped! Unable to do anything except for laugh, and squirm in our tight, tickly grasp!" Chica teased like a mother would to a bratty toddler.

Springtrap threw his head back and whined in between his giggles. "Nohohoho teheheheheasihihing! Plehehehease nohohoho teheheheheasihihihihing. Ihihihihi'm gohohohonna dihihihihihihie!" Springtrap begged.

"Oh wow! Not only can you grow flustered from a little teasing, you can also speak bullshit?! That's incredible!" Foxy reacted, pretending to be surprised as he only increased his scratches.

"HahahahaHAHAHAHA! FOHOHOHOXYHYHYHYHYHYHAHAHAHAHA! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO! EEEEEEHEHE!" Springtrap shouted, growing more and more flustered the longer it went on.

"A man who can speak bullshit as fluently as you can, deserves a reward of even MORE tickles!" Foxy added. "Hey Bonnie! You wanna help out?" Foxy asked.

"I'd love to!" Bonnie replied as he lifted up Springtrap's foot again. Bonnie started wiggling his fingers everywhere he could reach on the single foot.

"NAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAT MYHYHYHYHY FEEHEHEHEHEHEHEET! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Springtrap squealed as much as he could.

"But why not? Your feet are such a fun spot to tickle! So many different spots to travel! Here-" Bonnie wiggled his finger on the inner arch. "Here," Freddy moved his wiggly finger to the outside of the foot. "Heeere-" Bonnie dragged his finger to the heel and started drawing circles. "Even here!" Freddy declared, wiggling his finger under his toes.

"BAAAHAHAHAHA! Hehehehehehe! NOOOHOHOHOHOHOHO! EEEEEEHEHEHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT THE TOHOHOHOHOHOES!" Springtrap shouted, reacting differently to the different spots before squirming and squeezing his toes. No matter how much he tried to stop it however, Bonnie's finger was still able to wiggle its way in there, and tickle his toes back open! It was driving Springtrap insane that he couldn't do anything to stop his finger from tickling there.

Springtrap attempted to kick his foot again. But to Springtrap's surprise, Bonnie caught it! "Hey Freddy! There's a spare foot for you to tickle. You wanna take it?" Bonnie offered.

Freddy smiled. "Why I'd love to!" he replied. Freddy picked up the foot, and wiggled a couple fingers on Springtrap's foot.

"OOOOOHOHO NOOOHOHOHOHOHO! HAHAHAHAHAHA! FREHEHEHEDDYHYHYHYHY STAHAHAHAP!" Springtrap begged.

"I barely started!" Freddy replied.

"Here, Freddy. I'll stop this foot for a bit, so you can get a turn." Foxy offered.

"Aww! Thank you Foxy." Freddy thanked before wiggling his fingers on Springtrap's inner arch.

"HehehEHEHEHEHEY! COHOHOME OHOHOHOHON!" Springtrap laughed.

"Come on? Come on what? Come on, that's all you got?" Freddy asked.

"NOHOHOHO! THAHAHAT'S NOHOHOT WHAHAHAHAT IHIHI MEHEHEANT!" Springtrap yelled, hoping and praying he wouldn't make the tickling worse.

"How dare you question my ability to tickle! I'll show you!" Freddy declared. He wiggled all 4 of his fingers all over the foot, where he could reach. Springtrap screamed and fell into a huge pile of cackles. "There! Having regrets yet?" Freddy asked, becoming unusually competitive.

Springtrap only continued to cackle and add squeals and snorts in between! The animatronic was DYING and he couldn't stop his own demise! "IHIHIHI'M SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! SAHAHAHARRYYYYHYHY! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Springtrap shouted. The animatronic couldn't even finish his words at this point! All he could do, was laugh and squirm in Chica's grasp. But to Springtrap's surprise, he didn't feel tired! Like, at all!

While Springtrap tried to process that thought, Chica had noticed his struggle to properly speak. So, she spoke up herself. "Alright Freddy...let's give him a break." Chica advised.

"But I didn't get very long to tickle him!" Freddy reacted.

"You put that upon yourself. The more you tickle him, the less time you get." Chica told him. Freddy frowned, but stopped his fingers to let him breath.

Springtrap managed to calm himself down quite quickly, and soon realized something that explained everything: He's an animatronic now! He didn't need to rely on oxygen to live anymore!

"Springtrap? Are you okay?" Chica asked.

Springtrap snapped himself out of his thoughts. "I'm alright...I'm actually fine!...I guess I don't need to breath, which is nice to be honest." Springtrap explained. "I guess this also means my lungs are useless." Springtrap added.

"What is it like being able to breath?" Foxy asked.

Springtrap looked over at him and leaned his chin against his hand. "It's...an automatic thing my body can do by itself. It's like having 2 balloons in my body that fill with air and let the air out." Springtrap explained.

"So if you don't need to use your 'lungs' anymore..."

"I can keep tickling you without any problems!" Freddy declared before resuming his tickling fingers.

"BAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT MYHYHY FEEHEHEHEHEET! AHAHANYWHEHEHERE BUHUHUT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!" Springtrap shouted at him.

"But why?" Freddy asked, stopping his fingers.

"Be-behehecause ihihi'm nahahat aha fahahan ohohof beheheihing tihihickled ohohon myhy feehehehet." Springtrap told him.

"Well, where DO you like being tickled?" Freddy asked.

Springtrap couldn't help the wide, wobbly grin that filled his face.

"Uuuuuuhhh..." Springtrap muttered, looking away awkwardly. Freddy waited for a few minutes to see if he would answer him. "My..." Springtrap attempted to get it out, but it was hard to.

Freddy smirked as he rubbed his chin. "Am I gonna have to guess?" Freddy asked, wiggling his fingers eagerly. Springtrap giggled and shook his head. "Fihihine! There is a body part that everyone has, except for Chica." Springtrap hinted.

All of the animatronics (apart from Springtrap) looked around at the differences between them and Chica.

"A tail?" Bonnie guessed.

Springtrap shook his head. Upper body." Springtrap hinted.

They went back to trying to find differences. Pretty quickly, something clicked into Foxy's brain! "Ears!" Foxy yelled, pointing at Springtrap's ears with his hook.

Springtrap smiled. "You won. You got it right." Springtrap replied.

Freddy just laughed at Springtrap's stupid little trick. "You could've just said it!" Freddy told him.

"I know, but...I couldn't. Everything in my brain was screaming 'Don't tell them'. So, I made it fun." Springtrap replied.

Freddy smirked and walked up to him. "Oh! Well Springtrap, I hoped you enjoyed your fun. Because now...it's my turn!" Freddy declared before wiggling his fingers on Springtrap's lower ears. Springtrap squeaked like a mouse, and bursted into high-pitched giggles for a while.

Yup. This was worth it. This was worth the extra time spent. Though Springtrap doesn't like to show off his happy side very often, the tickling seemed to have encouraged a more...playful side of Springtrap to arise and take over. Though it was only a start, it was still better than the angry, grumpy old janitor that previously took over his personality. Though Springtrap didn't end up automatically falling into another playful mood, he did get tickled and teased a little more by the fazbear family. When he was being too rude, an animatronic was bound to show up behind him and poke him a few times to get him giggling. Sometimes, Springtrap would test the limits and end up in a full-blown tickle fight! And to make matters worse for Springtrap, the other animatronics were not cyborg like he was! So, they couldn't be tickled back! How unfair!

But the animatronic band's favorite times, were when Springtrap started testing their patience on purpose! All of the playfulness in the Pizzeria seemed to have given Springtrap a little bit of a mischievous streak. When they would tease him, he would learn to tease back. Which to his surprise, actually worked! Especially when they weren't expecting it! Little known fact; animatronics can be flustered when teased enough. And soon, the teasing had turned into full-on competition! When they warned him he'd be tickled, they had to be serious about it and go through with it or else he would call them bluff! Thankfully though, the competitiveness would end up backfiring the moment all 4 of them had pinned him down and tickled him down to a puddle of giggles.

So...Springtrap got used to being the victim of the tickling most of the time. Though it didn't always start off with playfulness and straight up giggling, his brain would quickly catch up and make him feel happy. And that's all he needed to feel okay with the new, playful companions.

[charmed-asylum]

👨‍🍳# FOODIE👨‍🍳

#Foodie, Part 2

Summary: Something happening in Easter Hills. Something that effecting everyone under the surface. Could this just be a phase a trick that no one can shack off? Is this something that will pass with another or can we all be heading for destruction

Declaimer: #Foodie has some curse words, blood, making out, and maybe a dead body or 2??. Also, I do have dyslexia who happens to do her own proof reading so be easy with me!!!

A/N:So who would think after doing a love story I go be switching it up to some sci-fi. Let me know what you think or want to be added to the taglist. Or simple to sit my butt down and stop with the dramatics xoxo Tia

MASTER LIST // Previous Chapter (1) 

Tagged: @weapinggwillowss​ @kittykatlow​ @alagalaska @deansblackbeauty

2 weeks later 

My fingers intertwined with his as he locks and kisses them. He doesn’t know I know but he a snuggle monster the reject monster from Sesame Street. Another secret I love it. We haven’t had much time as I will hope with one another. Even though he was back from the war he still was working as deputy while he was home. I pout like a two-year-old who got denied a brand new toy from a toy store. But we made it work. He moves me close as he whispers praise in my ear in his deep voice that makes me shiver a cool chill.

I only had 15 minutes left of my break with him. God how I miss him. After Janet left me teary-eyed in the abandoned hallway apart of me felt I was in old westerns like I was waiting for her around and draw her guy. That night he came over and hold me as I cried into his strong chest hands wrap as far as I could around his broad shoulders. Each night I founded my self there. Even if I was asleep he sneaks in and holds me. Letting me know he was never gonna leave me. 

He looks down into my eye out time coming to an end with a bit of sorrow regret. Hopping up so I can reach his face I pepper kiss him with each hop. Watching as his smile spread from ear to ear he loves when I did this be my silly tiny self. Knowing he always be my savior. His eyes were dark like midnight sky but were as bright as the sun. Others wouldn’t see this wouldn’t think he was more than a brick wall but he was more. Just like me more than meets the eye. Each day I’m happy god loves me to bring him to me. Bring me someone that made me feel things I never did before. 

“ I gotta go. I was only supposed to drop off another animal to you, baby “ He said in muffled from my lips. 

Lending back hold his hands close , “ Yeah but it was you who  wanted to start kissing me. I’m only here to basket it all this”.

This was been a familiar thing the last two weeks animals found dead somewhere or sick with some type of rabies. Blood from Mr. Fuzzy Bear only adds to the mystery. Blood work consists of an unfamiliar source. I went anymore I know and even the internet god the internet. After weeks of looking non stop trying to find anything to make me more at ease. NOTHING. I wanted to express this to KP but he only tells me to stop worrying.

“ BABY” KP tickle me under my underarms. I twitch and almost trip. “ I was talking and you did that moody thing you do. Is this Janet” he asked. YES NO I DONT KNOW I rub my forehead gently and peek up at him and nod.

I hate lying most importantly very bad at it. Even though he knew it was more he still allowed it to be, this time. 

“ I am taking you out. Show you off. Remind folks who you belong too. Which means I want you to be out this little head of yours. Janet she many things but all with reasoning. Give her time didn’t you say she nods at you other days” KP said. God his voice.

“ Your right probably PMS. Or something. Where we going” I asked looking down. I could hear my name-calling for me and some chaos.

“IAASC I KNOW HE SEXY EYE CANDY BUT GET YOUR ASS IN HERE-OW” Ethan scream out. I giggle and peck his cheek and ran off.

“ I CALL YOU ILY “ I shouted over my shoulder.

He ruffles his thick black hair across his hands as she smirks at me.

“ILY2” He said.

Everything was like walking into the war zone. Ethan was sitting on a chair holding her arm that was gushing blood out and Casey walking back and forth. I swipe up a rabies shot and quickly gave it to her and took her arms into my arms to looks at it. So much blood my arms got painted red. With a finger snap, Casey passes me the 1st aid kit as I dress the wound. Ethan was laughing all while. After thanking Casey ask sending her off for a break treating her like my child even though she was twice my age I gave the tickle me Ethan my attention.

“ You need to go to the hospital. That looks nothing like something seen before where the animal that did it” I asked looking around.

“ Killed it” She said like it was nothing. My eyebrow bent at this as I look her.

“ I need to call KP back he and sheriff can come over and help” I said pulling my phone out my pocket.

“Shit that fucker a bitch. I go okay I go I’m fine I go later. You did everything right by the way. It’s dead. We take it to the trash and that it” She said then look at me finally. I was a mess. To say the least. I bit the corner of my cheek till it bleeds and the iron the mint of him I was chewing on earlier.

Her eyes look glassy and she had a gentle sweat coming down her forehead. Didn’t it bit her not even a half-hour ago? I walk over and grab the bloody towels and help her up to sit down in her office under the AC. Closing the door I look hands it still had traces of her blood on it. I close my eyes and tried to relax. Taking deep breaths I went over to the sink and started to scrum till my hands were bright red from the friction.

“ Is she alright? “ Casey asks poking her head into the exam room. I peak over and back at my hands.

“ Yeah, she huh. Resting. Hey, what even happen that was so like the strange right” I said adding extra words to sound like I wasn’t just obsessing over it.

Casey pulled out a cigarette from her pocket and pluck it in her mouth getting ready to share something.

“ While you were outside smacking lips with Mr fuck for brains and takeout outside” she stops and looks at me.

“ I was upfront talking to Rachel about our lasted book club meeting. And she was talking about this new craze when one of the animals that came in just bounced up to life and start making sounds hissing and shit. Went sideways. The animal was acting all crazy like Bob does when he drank that moonshine and whiskey during October fair of 2003. Anyway, I rushed back and she was swinging at it with a paperweight” she said raking in another inhale of her cigarette. With a few coughs and tap, she looks around before talking some more.

“ You know a lot of shit been happening around here. I have been here all my life sadly and I would know. You know what it is huh?” She said putting her cigarette out with the bottom of her shoe. “ Damn Liberals. Probably put some damn glitter dusk on shit and made folks all crazy “She said as if it was a known fact. Did I not mention she a bit of a blowup doll racist. Try to explain to her just because I look Spanish doesn’t mean I am. Now she always says Ho Lay. Like that means something more than being a bitch. But she Casey and there no one like her.

“ You never know. So where is it now the animal ” I said drying my hands?

“ Out in the front. Sucker ugly mug tosses a blanket over it” Casey said nodding to the front. I nod and look around trying to let everything sit. Before she could walk off I without even thinking grab tight to her arm and pulled her into a hug. My hand ran up and down as I hold her tight.

“ Stay safe. Cas” I said. She chuckled and pat my back before going. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe a part of me knew something was gonna happen. That I was about to head down a steep drop something I will never be able to recover from.

The animal or what was left of it was like Casey said a mess. Scattered with its brains and head mushed. I poke it a few times before taking my pocket knife and stabbing it in the brain just in case. I wasn’t trying to live my life in a horror film. When I took the knife back out there was a strange goo mix with the blood. What the fuck I whisper to myself as I knee down and got closer to look. Just like I thought it was just like Mr. Fuzzy Bear. This was not a dog and this in on ways was a house pet. How strange how can two things so far from one another by going through the same thing. Can it be a generic trait from mammals? Or animals?

Ethan was quiet for the rest of the night. She didn’t move out of her office and when she did she was still sweating and shivering. I knew I promise KP not to worry but I couldn’t.

Me: Promise not to laugh but I have a question

Mi Amore: Haha what up sweetie

Me: Have there been any strange animal behavior or attacks? I know I’m coo-coo 😛😛

Mi Amore: 🤔 idk. Yeah, old man, Nick has been coming about some behavior. But that’s about it. Ur not crazy just crazy beautiful. Y??

Me: Remember when I was called in. Ethan got bite by a stray animal. Just wondering. I miss U  💋 💋 💋 

Mi Amore: Never stop. If you promise to stop worrying I keep an eye on it. And stop by to check out on Ethan tonight or tomorrow. Alright babe

Me: Kk thnx KP 

Mi Amore: ILY let me know when you get home

Me: ILY2  😘

Old man Nick was crazy still believing that aliens were never in Roswell but here. But his word is not so reliable he is married to his chicken Cheryl. I paced around that night in my room thinking trying not to think. He was right I need to stop worrying. I pulled out my pink paper and my fuzzy pens from my desk and sat on my bed and starting to write. Could me not having Janet be making me acting like an old man Nick, god I hope not. So I did what KP did and after my letter to Janet, I decided to not worry about it.

My feet bounce from one to another as I ran across the neighborhood. I felt a bit of sweat coming from under my lavender purple sports bra and forehead. Hair swinging from left to right right to left as I power through. In theory, if I wanted to I could run my whole town form one end to another. Music blast though my Bluetooth Air Pods. As I turn I reach Bloom Ave I made a quick left and push through till I reach a familiar two-story house at the end of the dead street. It sits back in the dirt a bit with a few stubs in the ground that somehow went perfect with the grey clay outer skeleton with huge windows and white curtains and a bright red wooden door. No cars in the driveway weren’t unfamiliar. Janet's mom or body double was always out at the local bar on some table dancing talking about her glory days. Janet hates that and even though she never told a soul she always fears she becomes that. Be stuck in the middle of nowhere no love and memories of when life was fearless Couldn’t ever be like that I told her as sat back on a black and white blanket sipping on my organic lemonade. She smiles and asks why. Because I will be there no quicksand right. She smiles and nods no quicksand.  I wipe my eyes as I came up to the front porch. I knock a few times before I gave up. Hail Mary twisting my neck a bit I look around to the empty street. From the corner of my eye, I could see the shades move. I turn my head around so quickly I got dizzy. I ran towards the window and tap at it. Trying to look in. It was blurry but I can dang sure I saw someone. I called out and bang it a few times. She was not gonna answer. With a exhale I turn and leaned against the window and slide till I was on the ground. I never gave up but this was starting to look like the only thing I could do. Was not doing that stupid drug that big of a deal. More. More I thought about it I got anger mad-sad even. Whipping my eyes with the back of my hand I got up and grab a few rocks. And started hitting the window calling out for her. Pissed I storm in circles across the front door like a madwoman. 

" I don't know what wrong but FUCK IT. YOU KNOW I CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOU DOING THIS IS FUCK UP. BECAUSE OF BLOODY DAMN DRUG. YOU PROMISE ME MOON AND STARS WE ARE NOTHING WITHOUT THE OTHER. SO IM NOT LEAVING IF I HAVE TO WRITE TO YOU AND LEAVE A FREAKIN LETTER OR CALL I AM. I KNOW SOMETHING FUCKIN WRONG. WHAT WE ARE YES IT IS COMPLICATED AND NOT WAY OF THINGS BUT I DO ANYTHING FOR YOU. THIS SHIT CHILDISH. YOU FUCKIN PROMISE J. They all leave me and you promise you won't" I stumble to my knees and hold onto my face with my hands and cried. I can't hate her even when I wanted to I can't. I cry and cry to the point my sweat and tears were blending into one.

Slowly getting up I look at the house once time. I lost. I lost over something so stupid. Crazy as it is if I could go back knowing what I know I still won't take that duck fuckin drug. I would just fight more so Janet wouldn't.

" No quicksand " I whisper before I walk off in defeat.

At work I didn't move much I just sat there listening to Casey about how Ethan couldn't make it something about going to the urgent care next town over. Casey was pleased because it meant she could leave early. Cleaning up the back exam rooms I recognize the towel Ethan used when she got attack day before. FUCK IT. I Peak before I snoop over to the magnifying glass and cup a piece of the towel and took a look. I tried squeezing my eyes but it wasn't close enough DARN I crushed at myself as I ruffle my hair through my hands. Biting the corner of my lip I look over for something anyway. JACKPOT. I rushed over and bent down to go through old equipment until I found the microscope that I remember Ethan told me about when I first started helping out. Sometimes about it not working right but if there one thing I was work with what you got a type of girl. It is I tap the metal table till the light came on. Grabbing the piece of the towel I place it over and fetch my glasses out my chest pocket and kiss my eyes to the lends. At first, it looks right till I saw a few things in the corner that didn't look quite right. The light kept flicking above me with an annoying buzz. Was it stupid yes but who said I was smart. More I tried to focus louder the buzz got. Till the office phone ring making me jump out my damn skin with a loud final act scream. AHHHH.

After a second to realize it was the phone, I quickly answer it. Hello, I said slightly out of breath. I heard heavy breathing. I repeated my self. Still nothing but heavy breathing. This isn't funny I said about to poop a golden egg. Still, it was heavy breathing. I can't hear you breathing I said looking around second-guessing every life decision I ever made. I gonna hang up I said but something stops me. Three words. No QUICKSAND. My eye widens Janet. I scream into the phone for her a bit excited and more so worried. But all I got was a dial tone I tried to call her but she didn't answer.

Each night around the same time the same message those three words. Of course, I tried to make her say anything else but no. My mind races trying to figure it out till each time I came to the same conclusion, she did not want my help or worst she could not ask for it.

I tap my foot as I look at my planner trying to figure out what to wear for my date with KP today. Strawberry favor purple teddy bear he got me on our first date sat on my lap between my thighs. He did tell me much but just it was a casual date no restaurant this time. We need that a few times when he was in school ones out of town. I liked those I could be anyone I wanted to be even though I could only drink the bottled water and had to bring omg own food. If they didn’t have things like organic apples. The third one we did he told me of his dream ones that included me. I like those a lot. Even after the two years when he went off to the army to take down the bad guys. Each letter you write adventures about life we were gonna have. I told him I didn’t care just wanted him there to hold me and love me. Stupid I know but stuck in a small town you can get caught up in those dreams.

After a few minutes of debating I pick up my feet push and turn around and around in my chair holding the hand of teddy. Hoping off after a few turns around I click on my radio and just decide to go with the flow whatever I was feeling. REMEMBER A DAY BY PINK FLOYD starting to play. I bop my head and shake my hips as I look through my denim.

Remember a day before today

A day when you were young.

Free to play alone with time

Evening never comes.

Toss a blue denim skirt with a beach wave cut on the bottom and round bottoms on the front. I lose myself in the beat that was creeping through my soul. Singing off-key look over my shoulders and pull out short sleeves stripe blue and black with a hint of the orange shirt.

Climb your favourite apple tree

Try to catch the sun

Hide from your little brother’s gun

Dream yourself away

I walk backward as I sang with my teddy in my hands the outro plucking out my round black shades to complete the outfit. Licking my lips I look into the mirror with items place in front to imagine how it would look. Something was messing I look behind and saw one of his old button-ups he left one night he stayed. Taking I deep breath in I look up to my ceiling knowing if things go well maybe I go a step forward. Or maybe not.

He came at exactly at 12 o clock. Rolling up in his 2010 Black Ford Raptor with the music blasting. I hope up without thought ran over as soon as it stops. Before I could get in I saw a few blankets on the passenger seat. Peaking up I saw him staring at me with those intoxicating midnight eyes that match his thick cut on side and swoosh in the front black hair. That I love to tug and play with between my dainty fingers. His smile was so wide that it shows off his perfect pearly whites. Reaching closer I smile into a kiss and I felt a lift as he pulls me in and into his lap. To deepen our kiss the taste of his toothpaste and hint of orange juice he must have had before coming over. Recently he taught me the fun of French kissing and art of a tongue. Pulling his bottom lip with my teeth I glance at him his strong muscular hand grip tight to my thigh.

“ Looks like someone wearing my clothes again” He said rubbing little patterns on my thigh with his index finger.

“ Want me to take it off and give it back. Baby” I asked playfully. With one last glance and shook his head no and tilt his head to look at me.

“ You know it drives me crazy seeing you wear my stuff. Let’s not forget the football jersey incident” he reminded me. It was 1st time I allow him to fell my thigh and butt. Thought alone brought a heat running down my body. Something Janet told me was normal. Playing with his hair I look down at what he was wearing. Black jeans with a red t-shirt an leather jacket.

“ So this the big date. Just sitting in your car. I could have told my parents we were staying for lunch then” I said playing with the collar of his jacket.

He ponders the question for a bit before he started to laugh. Picking me up he helps me over to the passenger seat. Left his right hand on my thigh and drove off with his left hand. After a few minutes, I wrap my hand with his and lean back and look at him as he drives. Few times he will peak over even throwing me a silly face which I then gave a few my own. Got to a light I peak out to the street. Crazy for a Saturday the usual busy with folks at the town square or at the farmer market that would be along Main Street it was pretty much close to deserted. Looking back as we drove off I sat back and ponder about it.

“ Did Bucks say anything about not having his produce today?” I asked.

“ Huh yeah sweetie it was postponed. Something happened to some of his vegetables. Think some kids piss on them. There also that beauty pageant in San Pedro. Took a bus over to watch” He said to bring my hand to kiss.

“ Yea yea I forgot. You know with Ethan gone. I feel like I’m working all alone forgetting the days. Where we going “ I asked.

“ Don’t worry we almost there. Would you put that scarf around your eyes it a surprise? Isaac” he said.

I took the red plaid scarf and wrap it around my eyes. The realization was starting to dawn on me besides our movie dates or him staying with me at night. This was our first date since he came back. Worried wasn’t even the word for it my whole body became snuffled with nerves. My mouth was dry and my neck felt warm.

“ Hey hey you okay,” he asked with a serious tone. I nod yes and hold on to his bicep tight.

“ Sorry just excited. Is all” I whisper holding on.

I didn’t know where I was but I felt the ground being a bit rough against my converse. One hand-grip tight to his other feeling my way. I could feel the moisture from the air and leaves. Before u even lifted the scarf I knew we were at our special hideout in Lover Lane.

Close behind me, he squeezed my shoulders gently as he whispered words of sweet nothing. I felt like Alice walking through wonderland. What if I look clearly through the darkness between the glitter and tiny rainbows I could find mad hatter drinking morning tea or the queen of hearts out by her garden w brush covered in red paint. Endless wonders who will I be would I be Alice full of innocence and wonder, the white rabbit who always running with of anxiety, Chester cat who full of the finger brings back cross and a smile with a bit of darkness inching to come back or maybe just a poor bystander. Most say I could pick out those three or add one in but today I didn’t know.

The blindness of the light brought me back from that rabbit hole of thoughts. Blinking a few times to adjust I saw a blur of trees and blue sky. It was beautiful right in the middle among all the flowers and grass was a big red planet blanket with a wicker basket in the center.

“ Surprise My Ama. Like it” KP said with a huge grind with his hands stretch out as far as possible. I didn’t know tears were coming down till KP came over to kiss them away. I hold his hand tight and kiss his hand before kissing each finger and look deep into his deep space eyes.

“ Did I do something why are you crying?” KP said a bit worried. I felt my lips playing peek a boo with teeth. I wish I knew why I was crying. I don’t even know anymore.

Instead of the truth I pull KP by hand and pull him onto the blanket before I let go and lay across. I curl my finger and motion for him to come over to sit by me. He lay his head on my lap. Right by edge of my skirt and he help right with his head facing my lower stomach. Playing with his hair between my fingers I came close and kiss his forehead gently. He holds me close and mumbles something. Maybe today I’m Alice before she found that hole.

The sun felt so good again my smooth rich terra- cotta skin. My hair was slip to the side taking in the sun raises. I could here KP reading from his old worn-out copy of The Last Man in the background still laying on my lap. He always had a fascination with Pre-American Gothic and an unseen classic from popular authors. Could read anything that was calming may you forget the world around you and drunk of his voice capturing his presence. Once he read House of Leaves to me when we were both in head and sound like a lullaby.

What is there in our nature that is forever urging us on towards pain KP read.

I bent down in front of the book to block any of the words and cup his cheeks in my hands and kiss him. Putting the book beside him he returns the kiss and pulls in deeper and turns me over to he was on top. My head rests on my honey scent shampoo hair. I could smell the woody scent of his Guilty Pour Homme Spray by Gucci he always put on. He moves his hand to crest cheek eyes match my woods brown eye with his. I could feel something hard pressuring against my thigh. With a sigh, I look at him and then down. Once again. As if he could read my thoughts he slowly pulls away.

“ Should probably not continue this before we are both in trouble huh baby?” KP said in his deep chocolate voice. I slowly nod and place my hands against his side and rub it against the pants being the only thing stopping me to go further. I need an escape something to stop my thoughts stop me from jumping face-first onto the hole. I felt moving his hips with movement with my palm. Kiss trace down my neck gently I curve into his touch wanting more. God, he knew how to make this girl feel good. His hands while rough with warn and tares always was gentle. Without thought I let out a sigh as we continue till out nowhere I thought I heard some birds. A lot of birds. Opening my eyes corner of my sight I see a family of birds flying in a flock west of me. I bent my head back as I follow the birds until they disappear. My mind drifts off to where they were going what would they do once they are there.

“ Ama I gotta tell you something alright something very important and I need you to listen can you do that” KP asked as he kisses my neck some more. I nod and mouth yes.

“ You know when I left I thought I was strong I thought I was brave. I wanted to protect you so badly from all evil all darkness I went onto war. But honestly, it’s not what I thought baby. The world we live in full of chaos more I tried to fix it stay in line I found my self missing you thinking what if I stay with you” KP said and continue to kiss me between my chest. Feeling brought old feelings I haven’t felt in more a year ago.

“ This world needs order. And I can’t do it all alone. Many nights I was barley holding thinking of ending my life but I got your letters and face times. If it wasn’t for you I will be lost in this huge empty world. I have been thinking and well what if after you graduate we leave pack all your shit and leave. Nothing d holding us back” KP said. I blink and look at him he stops kissing me and look back up at me with huge night sky eyes. I could hear some strange noises from behind me. KP was still speaking and all I could do was stare at him with drunk haze eyes.

“ Would you run off with me?” KP asks turning to go get up to look at me. No words can describe the look in his eyes passion fear worry lust doubt. Galaxy with million and one thoughts hiding in plain sight. Could I leave and blindly follow him into the unknown future. FUCK YEAH, I WOULD that promised I gave him so long ago.

Before I could say anything everything happens in a flash. The gravity pull was distracted in a minor of seconds. I felt him pushed my down covering me with his chest I look and I could feel something wet. Stumbling back on the blanket my breath gets shorter and I start to feel dizzy my fingertips were numb I felt like the more I tried to breathe more I fell deeper into the darkness. Then were the two muscle arms scooping me up from behind?

“ ISAAC ISSAC AMA AMA BABY BABY LOOK AT ME. Come one before you go into shock “ KP shout out. I look away from the body and at him. His thick finger covers my flushed cheeks. I slowly start to nod and look back at the body.

“ Is he.... is he dead we gotta do -“ I stop as I could see man chest rising a bit he was saying something. I let go and slowly follow the mumble I was a foot away before I felt a hand on my shoulder stopping me. I couldn’t freak out not like before a deep breath in I slowly turn back around.

“ Not safe. Take my phone get services and called for help” KP said in his deep savior voice he does when he serious. I glance back at the body. It gosh out blood to point you couldn’t tell where the actual puncture wound was. Where was it that was gonna be on his death certificate. From where I was it looks like his had puss and some strange black markers. He spoke to me but I did not answer him instead I remain quite till I heard the 911 operator.

“ He Hello. Yes huh, this is huh Amaryllis Isaac Smith I’m with my boyfriend Kindred Phillip” I could hear KP be reaping the word deputy. I nod and look at him he was hovering over the body almost studying it. “ Deputy Sargent Phillip. We are huh mm KP where are we” I stop and scream again where are we.

“ Lover Lane South East entranced a quarter-mile away from the lake. TELL ME THE PEEK A BOO SPOT they will know” He shoot out.

I repeated words word by word what he said. I heard the words by I couldn’t answer.

“Yes, there a man baby hurt. PLEASE HURRY” I said. Placing my hand to the phone I look at KP. “ Is he breathing KP “ I shout out. I couldn’t see one of his hands he was knee down to the body his back facing me. I waited but he didn’t answer just slowly got up and brush his hands on his thighs and grab the phone.

“ He dead. We wait to cops come. Maybe an ambulance my girl she a bit shook up. That’s okay Baby ... Baby” KP asked looking down at me. I couldn’t breathe anymore my hands wrap around his broad shoulder for my dear life my right cheek pushed onto his chest till I could hear his heart. Far away by the now dead body, I saw flames surrounding it. Tears gently fell more flames the closer I pulled into him till my vision was blur form fabric of his shirt. With one last breathe I was free-falling down that hole.

[ggswritings]

Cinnamon

She was gorgeous. Her bright grin that had a hint of mischief behind it, her dark brown eyes which were usually highlighted with black liner, her long dyed blonde hair, everything seemed so uniquely...her and you where a goner.

You had seen her first in the shop. You were taking an extra shift at the bakery, the early morning one, which you absolutely hated. But chaeyoung knew you would do anything for her and she somehow convinced you to pick it up.

You were sitting behind the counter, restocking the blueberry scones which had managed to sell out in the 45 mins you’d been open. Heejin smiled at you from the register, silently thanking you for taking the shift. You smiled lightly in response and walked back over to the second check out to help more customers.

Finally at 9:30 things seemed to slow a bit and you could breathe. Heejin thanked you again and went to the back to grab more muffins for the display. You let your head fall into your hands, taking another deep breath and lifting it as the bell to the shop door rang. When you looked up, the most gorgeous girl you’d ever seen met your eyes. You blushed almost instantly and you could see her eyes shine and her nose crinkle slightly. She walked over to the counter, scanning the displays of pastries as she walked by.

“I’ve never been here before, is there anything in particular you’d recommend?” Her voice was extremely unique, it was quite nasally and deep in a way that made you want to listen to her for hours. Somehow you found it in yourself to answer her, internally praising your calmness.

“What do you like? My personal favorite is the cinnamon muffin. Not too sweet not too heavy” you smiled at her, feeling your heart beating in your chest. “I’ll take one of those, and 4 bagels, two blueberry and two plain please” she grinned and lightly brushed your hand which was resting on the counter. “Of course, let me just grab those for you.” Much too quickly she had all her items in a paper bag and had paid for everything. She flashed you one last smile and began to walk out the door, waving at you as she left the shop.

You settled back onto your stool, a stupidly wide smile coming across your face. “What’s got you so happy lily?” Heejin mused, coming back with a tray of muffins. “Oh nothing” you lied, a blush coming over your features at the memory of the mystery girl. “A cute costumer? Awwwe that’s so adorable! What was her name?” Heejin could read you like an open book for better or worse. “I don’t know, I didn’t catch it while she was here but I’ve never seen her before” you sighed.

The next day you came in for your normal shift during lunch, handing out countless bagels with cream cheese, egg and cheese wraps, and handmade baguettes. Before you could rush to the kitchen to pick up a tray of sandwiches, chaeyoung snagged your arm. She was dressed in her casual clothes as she had finished her shift. “What chae im in kind of a hurry” you breathed out. “ a girl came into the shop this morning. She asked if you were here. Blonde hair? Tall? Deep voice? Ring any bells?” She asked. You flushed a deep red. “Yeah she came in the other day while I was covering your shift, I don’t know her name though” you stuttered out. “AWWEE lily has a crush how cute! We can switch shifts if you want, I told her I was just covering for you.” Before you could respond heejin was calling from the front of the store. You rushed away and nodded as you left.

You had talked to heejin and she agreed to let you switch shifts to the morning. You texted chaeyoung, who was more than excited that she could sleep in now instead of getting up at 6:30. You went to bed that night nervous for the day ahead. Would you see the girl again? Was she even interested in you? It was midnight before sleepover took your busy mind.

The next day you had picked out a cute striped top and jean overalls, not that they would be especially visible under the dark brown apron you wore for work. Heejin gave you a questionable glance as you walked in, obviously noting the mor put together outfit than normal. You just shrugged and played it off, slipping on your name tag and apron.

The shift went well, nothing out of the ordinary occurred, rush hour was from 7:30 to 9 as always and you hands hurt from slicing bread and carrying trays back and forth. Some costumers were rude, most were kind, noticing the weary look in your eyes behind your polite smile. By the time the last rush costumer left you were beat. Heejin had replaced nearly the entire display of goodies and she too was taking a much needed stretch.

9:37 the doorbell chimed as a familiar blonde walked through. Heejin knowingly glanced at you and made an excuse of needing the restroom. You made brief eye contact with the stranger and flashed a shy smile. She walked confidently up to you, but the way she played with the ring on her finger showed her nerves. You gathered the courage to speak first rather quickly, hoping to avoid an awkward silence. “Did you like the cinnamon muffin?” You asked lightly, hope glinting in your eyes. You didn’t want to have recommended something she disliked, but any apprehension was quelled at her grin. “Yes it was delicious, sweet but not too heavy just like you said. My friends really enjoyed the bagels as well.” She turned looked up from the display, meeting your eyes “I came yesterday too, your friend was here obviously, not you, umm i really liked the pastries so you might see a lot of me I hope that’s ok” she giggled a bit, clearly rambling. “I like your outfit” she gestured to your overalls. “Thank you very much” you blushed “and I’m glad you enjoyed everything, I have no problem seeing someone as beautiful as you every morning” you flirted without even realizing what you had said before it was too late. You slapped a hand over your mouth and felt blood rush to your ears in embarrassment. Thankfully the girl seemed just as flustered as her cheeks had become a pink color.

“What would you like today?” You quickly changed the subject. “Oh! Ummm” she stalled almost as if she had forgotten she was supposed to buy something. “4 bagels, 2 plain and 1 blueberry, 1 sesame. And uhh surprise me, whatever you like I’ll take” she smiled. You handed her the bag of treats, “I decided on the sugar apple scone, it’s one of the best I’ve had in a long time i hope you like it....” you trailed off, not sure what the pretty girls name was. “Oh!” She exclaimed, sensing your question “hyojin. My name is hyojin.” “That’s a very nice name, i hope you enjoy them hyojin.” You fiddled with the knob on the cash register. She glanced back at you before she left, suddenly rushing back, grabbing a napkin and scribbling something on it. She smiled and walked out quickly, handing the bag to an orange haired girl outside, clearly apologizing for the wait. When you looked at the napkin in your hands it had printed on it in messy handwriting. “Text me :) 564-332-1208” you grinned ear to ear, spinning around in joy despite yourself. You entered in her number and saved it as “Hyojin💘💘”

It was that night that you texted her. The two of you were slightly awkward at first, each text was filled with questions to help you get to know each other. Before long she was speaking in slang and abbreviated short sentences. Your conversations ranged from how annoying slow walkers were to your deepest fears. Things you had never thought to tell anyone seemed to spill out with hyojin. She told you about her job producing for various artists, and she inquired in your studies at university. You told her about your hometown in America, your dreams to travel the world and your love of the ocean.

It was a few weeks before you saw her outside your shop. She had come in everyday no matter how much you two texted, everytime trying a new food, sometimes even giving you suggestions on how to improve certain pastries. You had finally had the courage to ask her on a ‘date’ with the help of heejin. You had baked a batch of orange scones (her favorite) and placed them in a small bag which had a card that read ‘will you go on a date with me? Either way enjoy the scones i know they’re your favorite❤️’ hyojin had broken into a large grin, nodding immediately and hugging you over the counter.

Now the day had come. You were wearing a pair of blue jeans which chaeyoung and dahyun insisted made your legs look amazing, as well as a white T-shirt with roses. You had picked up a bouquet of calla lillies and yellow daffodils. Seulgi has gushed about the meaning of each flower as she arranged them, insisting that you didn’t have to pay as she was glad you finally got a girl.

When you met hyojin in the park across from her apartment building you smiled at her, unsure of what to say first. “Here I got these for you” you managed to squeak out. “The lillies mean beauty and elegance, I didn’t just get them because my name is lily don’t worry and um the daffodils mean success and prosperity in love I hope you like them” you blushed deep red and resisted the urge to cover your face. Hyojin took the bouquet gently, smelling the flowers and thanking you. “They’re gorgeous. I’ll have to put them in water when I get home. It’s so thoughtful that you knew the meanings...most people just get roses and call it good” she chuckled.

The air of nervousness quickly dissipated as the two of you walked through the park. At some point hyojin had slipped her hand in yours, rubbing your skin with her thumb. You resisted a giddy giggle in your throat and gently squeezed her palm. You came across a street vendor selling ice cream, and hyojin had insisted on buying you whatever you wanted (it was partly because you had admitted you had been giving her the special handpicked pastry at a significantly lower price everyday). You picked up a vanilla small cone and slipped your hand back into hyojins. She found a bench and sat with you while you licked the dessert. At one point she stole a bite, but not before managing to get it on her nose (you had snapped a picture by some miracle and made a note to set it as your background). She got her revenge on you by smearing some of the sweet on your lip and cheek with a giggle. You pouted and crossed your arms as she took the last bite of ice cream, but it didn’t last as she pulled you into a hug your head resting on her shoulder.

“ I really like you lily” she whispered. “I like you too. Thank god I was switched to the morning shift and met you.” Hyojin pulled away slightly, grasping your hand. “ will you be my girlfriend?” She asked tentatively. “Of course I will hyojin” you replied.

Much too soon you were dropping hyojin back off at her apartment with the flowers. “Thank you for today” you said, your words muffled by her shoulder which you had been pulled into.

A few dates in the park and many more trips to the bakery later, hyojin announced she was taking you on a ‘classy date’. You had teased her that she was high maintenance or that the park wasn’t good enough for her much to her frustration. “If you weren’t so fucking cute I’d be mad” she grumbled into the pillow of your couch the two of you were on. “You’re right who could stay mad at this face” you smiled and made a hand heart. “Not me” Hyojin grinned and cupped your face lightly. She met your eyes, asking for permission. Her question was answered when you moved forward and brought your lips to hers, a hand falling on her lower back.

“You taste like cinnamon” she smiled and rested her forehead on yours.

[sinetheta]

FOREIGN: Profile and interview with multilingual Chinese/Chinese-American rapper Bohan Phoenix 

In the midst of Bohan Phoenix’s latest international tour, we decided to release the full profile and interview that Sine Theta editor-in-chief Jiaqi Kang conducted with the rapper last fall. In this story, he discusses his roots, his rediscovery of China, and, of course, his signature, everlasting philosophy of lovelove. The interview is available in print form in Sine Theta Issue 2: “COLOR 彩.” Bohan Phoenix’s latest single is “Product,” which can be found here.

“This is Bohan Phoenix, Chinese-American rapper extraordinaire, utterly brash near the three-minute mark of the music video for ‘Motivasian,’ a song taken from his latest EP entitled Foreign. It’s a track in which, like much of his discography, his boyish, insolent voice masterfully switches between English and Mandarin as he raps about his experiences. As someone whose identity is composed of two vastly different cultures, he is a foreigner everywhere he goes –– too Chinese for America, and too American for China.”

A pagoda sits atop a pier somewhere in Beijing. Its pillars –– red for prosperity and happiness –– and tiled, tilted roof are reflected in the quiet greyness of the lake below while traditional Chinese music plays softly in the background. Ripples begin to form in the water when two figures appear in the side of the frame, walking briskly along the pier. Behind them loom tall apartment blocks, grimy from pollution.

Cut to within the pagoda: two men sit on the floor, playing Chinese chess and smoking. The hurried figures –– a Chinese man with shiny eyes, accompanied by a loyal, skinny white friend –– arrive, slightly breathless. As their footsteps approach, one of the chess players, a black man with sharp cheekbones and somewhat cheap-looking silk pyjamas, flips a fake braid attached to his vaguely Qing-era imperial yellow cap. A twanging sound effect is heard as the frame freezes on his bulging eyes and gaping mouth. An intertitle introduces him: Black Sesame. “Bohan?” he squawks in faux surprise, looking up at the Chinese man. “I haven’t seen you in thirty-five years. What the fuck are you doing in Beijing?”

“Somebody’s got Chewy, man, they got Chewy!” comes the answer from Bohan. It had barely been twenty-four hours since he’d received the international call, which informed him that his cousin in the capital had been kidnapped and that the ransom was 3.5 billion yuan. He’d immediately flown from New York to Beijing to scour the streets for Black Sesame, hoping that his old friend would help him. “Where the fuck can I get that type of money ‘round here?”

“I don’t know,” says Black Sesame. He rubs his temple in exaggerated deep thought, then consults his chess opponent. “What do you think, Howie?”

Howie Lee raises his head, a strange gaze staring from behind thick glasses. “Neng shuochang ma?” he asks in Mandarin. “Can you rap?”

And suddenly, like a stage curtain falling away, everything solid melts into air. The soft light and peaceful lake setting is gone, abruptly replaced by an unnamed Beijing concert venue. An ominous, piercing chant appears out of nowhere, accompanied by frantic drums and the sudden figure of a man shrouded by darkness. It takes a second for us to realise that this is the same Chinese man as in the previous scene –– he has removed his thick hoodie and is now shirtless and defiant as he barks into a microphone behind a blurred lens, his entire body writhing to the beat. An excited audience sways around him, pale arms and hands glinting for the briefest of moments under nervous, flashing lights. The visuals, which storm by on fast-forward, begin to fuse together into a swirl of neon colors and pixels.

This is Bohan Phoenix, Chinese-American rapper extraordinaire, utterly brash near the three-minute mark of the music video for Motivasian, a song taken from his latest EP entitled “Foreign.” It’s a track in which, like much of his discography, his boyish, insolent voice masterfully switches between English and Mandarin as he raps about his experiences. As someone whose identity is composed of two vastly different cultures, he is a foreigner everywhere he goes –– too Chinese for America, and too American for China.

Bohan Phoenix is a rising figure in the hip-hop circuit. As one of a tiny handful of Asian-American rappers, his ethnicity makes him stand out from the crowd and his music is anything but ordinary. Unlike most other non-black hip-hop artists, he doesn’t merely mimic the conventions of black music culture, but works to bring traditional elements into fusion with rap. Phoenix’s smooth incorporation of Mandarin into his music distinguishes him from many Asian-American rappers who did not grow up speaking their mother tongues, and this double fluency allows him the potential to thrive in his native country. And yet, by embracing this notably unique style, Phoenix runs the risk of alienating a chunk of his Western audience and may not become a big star anytime soon –– though even those who don’t understand what he is saying admit that he has an obvious affinity for rap. Although he doesn’t even have his own Wikipedia page yet, this independent artist is part of the new online generation that doesn’t need to be signed to a label to be well-known. With over 210’000 plays on his Soundcloud and fans from all over the world, the twenty-four-year-old Phoenix is slowly and steadily conquering the globe.

I find Phoenix on the porch of a quiet suburban house to the west of Boston on a fresh summer morning. Wearing a plain white T-shirt, old sweatpants, and a gaudy leopard-print bandana reminiscent of nineties housewives, he invites my two friends and me into his mother’s dark, cluttered home. There’s that familiar greeting the Chinese use: “Have you eaten?” As we pass through the kitchen, he gestures towards the stove, where a pot full of congee sits alongside a tray of multicolored dumplings. His mother made him a special meal the evening before because he’d come from Brooklyn to visit her, he tells us as he sits back down in front of his laptop on the dining table. Mrs. Phoenix, it seems, is enthusiastic in the kitchen: I brush past a pile of glazed pillows made of marzipan, and sit down with my elbow next to a sponge cake in the shape of a ukulele.

Phoenix’s last name is Leng, which is the same as his mother’s, as he has only met his biological father twice. His parents weren’t married, so when his mother became pregnant, she had to return to Hubei province and marry her high school classmate in order to avoid the stigma surrounding single mothers. Phoenix is like many children of the jiuling hou, post-90s, generation that sprung up after Deng Xiaoping’s market reforms in the eighties. New economic opportunities pushed millions of young Chinese to newly prosperous cities, where they made money to send back home to family. Phoenix was raised by his grandparents in Yichang, a provincial city with a population of 4 million on the banks of the Yangtze, while his mother migrated to work in booming Shenzhen in the south. He struggled in school, and his mother realized that she would never be able to to keep up with the strict Chinese education system once he was in high school. She worked in real estate and was better off than most migrant workers, who, even today, bounce listlessly from factory to factory for years, unable to scrape together enough money to find a way out.

And so, at the turn of the millennium, she moved to the United States in search of better opportunities for her son. Phoenix followed in 2003 at the age of 11. When he first arrived, he spoke no English and was unable to communicate with his white stepfather. He recalls crying almost every night for home. His grandmother died not long after, an event that, Phoenix tells me, “took away a reason for me to go back to China.” After a couple of years in the States, he finally adjusted and settled down, becoming close with his stepfather, who treated him as his own flesh and blood. It didn’t hurt that he discovered hip-hop classics like Eminem and Tupac, whose music helped him to learn the language and gave him something in common with the local kids.  ----

Back in the dining room, Phoenix busies himself on his computer as he waits for us to finish eating the dumplings. He strokes his meagre goatee while whistling and occasionally checking Pokémon Go on his phone. He makes easy small talk and, once he finds out that one of my friends will be interning at a Hong Kong music festival this autumn, he immediately begins speaking over the phone to a contact at VICE China about appearing in the line-up. Phoenix is jittery and active, always on the lookout for the opportunity to hone his craft, his ears constantly tuned into the soundscape around him –– on one occasion, deep into our interview, he stops abruptly to listen to the beeping sound of a van as it backs out of its parking space, casually commenting, “That’s a nice sound,” before returning to his original line of thought, his expression equally intrigued and amused.

There’s also a boyish innocence about him; he flits from topic to topic, his thoughts bouncing around and colliding with one another. He chats about House of Cards and going camping, and we have a brief conversation about Chairman Mao’s infamous infected pimple as he drives us in his mom’s Honda to a nearby park. There, the Wednesday sunlight rests modestly on pale green grass, and Phoenix plomps down onto dusty bleachers to admire the stark blue sky. Even when sitting down, he constantly fidgets with his various accessories: he takes his sunglasses off, then puts them on again; he twirls his bracelets around on his wrist –– there’s an innate skittish energy that seems to seep out of his very pores and sink into his music. His lyrics are at times playful and light-hearted, reflecting the laid-back way he enjoys life: “Motivasian” includes the tongue-in-cheek lines I heard they don’t ever pay attention / Spit a few in Mandarin to check if they listenin’.

For much of his career, Phoenix was convinced that he needed to create what he describes as “poetic rap”: contemplative, introspective music with artistic symbolism. It’s with this mindset that he churned out the 2013 mixtape X Years. Its title referred to the ten years he has spent in each of his two home countries: China and the United States. Although it received critical acclaim, only traces of it can now be found as Phoenix has wiped it from the Internet. He tells me that he felt the music didn’t properly convey the concept of his split cultural identity. “I probably had, like, 3 lines of Chinese on that entire thing,” he says. “Afterwards, I was like, ‘This doesn’t make sense.’ So it took it down.” From the few videos that I can find through some minor YouTube sleuthing, it seems that making X Years was tantamount to coloring within the lines. A review on the Hip Hop Speakeasy praises Phoenix’s talents but notes that he “rhymes over classic instrumentals”. He had grown up listening to great hip-hop, but had not yet, at the time, found his own voice. His embarrassment at X Years is evident in the fact that it no longer exists.

Another song that Phoenix is considering removing from the Internet is So(ul) Faded, a 2014 singsong track set to a closed-eyed piano melody created during what Phoenix calls his “J. Cole phase,” after the North Carolina-raised rapper famous for his lyrical hip-hop. In the music video, which is entirely in black-and-white, a dismal-looking Phoenix gets a haircut as he raps pessimistically about the desolate state of society today. The song is dark and heavy, and features news footage from the Boston Marathon bombing that took place in April 2013. “So(ul) Faded makes me so fucking sad,” Phoenix says. “It’s depressing. I don’t like performing it. I don’t like listening to it.” But what Phoenix doesn’t mention are the hints of imitation. It’s been pointed out to me that the haircut Phoenix is getting is a fade, and that he’s sitting in a traditional black barbershop. In the world of hip-hop –– a music scene created and led by African-Americans –– Phoenix and other non-black rappers of color straddle the line between dealing with their own racial marginalization and seeking refuge by unduly engaging with black culture. As a result, this adoption of attributes, including black hairstyles and language (African American Vernacular English, abbreviated as AAVE), presents an obvious problem as black people themselves are condemned for the display of their own culture, but non-black people can freely perform it with little censure.

Asians in hip-hop often feel racially alienated. Jaeki Cho and Salima Koroma, the filmmakers behind Bad Rap, a 2016 documentary about the topic, wrote in an email that not only do Asian-American rappers face the regular racial stereotypes, but, on top of this, there “aren’t many Asian-American artists, executives, and media personalities to start,” according to Cho. “Also, until recently, East Asian culture discouraged participation in art and entertainment, while praising conformity.” And then there’s the toxic dichotomy –– while black men have historically been wrongfully perceived as aggressive and dangerous, cultural distortions emasculate Asian men. As Phoenix himself says, nodding: “Dongfang ruo fu.” The weak man from the East.

“Hip-hop has always been an art that encourages machismo,” Cho tells me. So perhaps to overcome misconceptions about being effeminate, Asians in hip-hop across the world will attempt to compensate by appropriating black culture. They pick the most appealing aspects and try them on like new clothes, with little regard for the brutal history of social and systemic discrimination specific to African-Americans that led to the creation and evolution of black culture in the first place. Keith Ape, the Korean rapper whose It G Ma went viral in 2015, wears braids in his hair and grills in his teeth; Brian Imanuel, an Indonesian comedian who raps under the name ‘Rich Chigga’, has used black slang as well as the N-word. Phoenix acknowledges that copying black culture can lead to quicker success. “Without all that,” he admits, “it takes way longer to blow up.”

There can sometimes be a thin line between cultural appreciation and cultural appropriation. Phoenix doesn’t consciously try to imitate black culture, appearing to disapprove of such an act. He believes that using the N-word is unnecessary. “It doesn’t make sense,” he explains. Non-black rappers, he says, will imitate trends that they think is ‘cool’ without thinking about the meaning behind it.  “People don’t think about why they’re doing things anymore. Keith Ape? He’s super original in his own way. But outside of that, it’s all carbon copy.” When Phoenix finds fame, it’s going to be through his own creative efforts. But he tugs at his wrist, where he sports a bracelet that looks like a metal fork bent into a circular shape, and shrugs. “I’m not gonna knock it, because that’s their hustle… I think time will tell who’s gonna have longevity,” he says. “I wanna have longevity,” he adds.

To Phoenix, the originality and sincerity in his art is paramount: “My mentor tells me that the day you decide to be yourself, your life becomes easier and easier.” His mentor is his gospel choir teacher, Sheldon Reid, also associated with the Kuumba Singers of Harvard College, and who was the first to truly encourage his enthusiasm for rap, during the last two years of high school. He had Phoenix write verses that he would perform solo, with the choir backing him up, in front of the entire school. That gave Phoenix the confidence to perform, and drew him towards music as a profession. Ever since his gospel days, he has been constantly renewing himself for his art –– and it’s no surprise that the moniker he picked for himself is so representative of his mindset: a phoenix dies only to rise from the ashes again, stronger. Though Phoenix may have started out with more traditional hip-hop, his evolution means that he has now grown out of it and has begun to forge his own path. After a slew of small projects, Phoenix seemed to have stumbled upon something big when he founded loveloveN¥C.

To love the concept of love –– lovelove, or 爱爱 in Chinese –– is Bohan Phoenix’s thing. Call it a motto, a message, a perspective, a vision, or whatever you’d like –– it’s the phrase under which he and his friends, who include producer Jachary (who also played Black Sesame in the Motivasian music video) and tattoo artist Ralph a.k.a. M4, operate. It’s the name of their studio in Brooklyn, and it’s inked onto T-shirts, baseball caps, and Phoenix’s left arm. It’s an encouragement to embrace positivity and face the world as a good person. “Being nice is the coolest thing,” Phoenix informs me. “Seriously. I mean, love is the coolest thing –– ever.” It’s the message that he wants to resonate across the world, and he’s still figuring out how to do it through his music.

In early 2015, Phoenix put out loveloveEP, made up of four songs produced by Jachary, his roommate and closest collaborator. Infused with soft percussion and jazz-funk inspirations, the EP began to showcase what would become Phoenix’s distinctive style, which mixes honest autobiographical lyrics with cheerfulness and humor. Obama probably blowin’ trees and just keeps it lowkey, he raps in “So Responsible,” a track about smoking marijuana. The songs are catchy and fun to listen to, and their creation allowed Phoenix to experiment with new production processes such as working with live instruments. But Phoenix isn’t satisfied with it. The EP, which was completed in a week and a half, “could’ve been better,” he admits. It was much too short, and didn’t properly convey the idea of lovelove. Its mismatched title would cause listeners to misunderstand his message.

Phoenix finally found his voice when he began collaborating with Beijing-based producer Howie Lee (who starred as the antagonist in the “Motivasian” video) –– for one, it now contains more Mandarin lyrics. Songs were once lightly peppered with Chinese elements; now, the blend of cultures is an even mix. Phoenix also takes himself far less seriously as he’d previously done on the rambunctious four songs from his Foreign EP, which was released in March of this year.

Lee’s beats incorporate unconventional sounds and Chinese instruments such as the guzheng, and make each of the songs absolutely entrancing: “Loveloveworldwide” is haunted by an ominous humming of unknown origin; “Motivasian” is backed by urgent staccato clicking sounds that make listeners’ heartbeats quicken with anticipation; They Don’t Know is reminiscent of a crazed child’s glockenspiel; and a hypnotising drum persists in the eponymous track Foreign. Such groundwork by a creative producer sends Phoenix’s voice flying through the air to match it with lurching rhythms and impressive versatility. His voice sounds unleashed as it switches from loud and boisterous to robustly fluid. “Foreign was different,” Phoenix explains, “because Howie’s beats were so different. I tried being serious on Foreign and I couldn’t –– it didn’t work. I just decided to have fun.”

On these tracks, Phoenix juggles English and Mandarin impressively. He alternates between verses and even, at times, in the middle of a sentence –– deftly switching to another language to make a line rhyme with the previous one. Interestingly, much of his Mandarin lyrics are reminiscent of his childhood days and refer to his family, with whom he communicated in that language. Some lines evoke scoldings from his mother, like Bu yao chouyan, yiding yao nianshu (“Stop smoking, you must study harder”), while others are his own words: Mama wo huilai le (“Mom, I’m home”). In English, where Phoenix has a wider, more mature vocabulary, he nonetheless makes references to his ancestral culture with allusions to “tai chi” and “Beijing”.

It is startling how malleable Mandarin becomes on Phoenix’s tongue. He reshapes it to fit the heaving flow of his verses. Phoenix references Tang dynasty poet Li Bai in one of his songs, but I’m sure Li would be astounded to hear the way this young tributary has squeezed the neat, tidy, paced syllables of Chinese into a raft and sent them careening violently down a bounding cascade. Inspired by prodigious Taiwanese artist Jay Chou, who helped pioneer the incorporation of rap into mainstream Mandopop, Phoenix also abandons the four tones of Mandarin that enable listeners to distinguish meaning from sound, replacing them with flattened versions. At first, it just sounds like Phoenix hasn’t mastered the language, but this is obviously not the case –– he does it on purpose. Mandarin sounds too choppy otherwise, Phoenix says. “But I have some friends in Chengdu and they speak in the Sichuan dialect and it’s like, that dialect is perfect for rapping.”

He’s referring to the Higher Brothers, a group of rappers who are part of the Chengdu Rap House and with whom he collaborated while on tour in China in the spring of 2016. The Motherland Tour, backed by VICE China, also featured Howie Lee and Zhang Yang from Lee’s do hits group and two other diasporic Chinese musicians: Mike Gao and Nehzuil, who grew up in Los Angeles and New Zealand respectively. This was the third time returning to China in the past year for Phoenix, and with each visit his appreciation for his birth country grew. In March 2015, he’d met his biological father for the second time ever and discovered to his surprise the uncanny similarities in dress, body language, and personality between the two. Later, in October 2015, he brought his American friends along to visit Beijing for the first time and to shoot the “Motivasian” video. This third time, Phoenix was not only accompanied by his loveloveN¥C friends while performing all across the country, but also met a slew of acquaintances during his travels. He was able to see China through the eyes of a tourist. Whereas before, when he returned to China, he would simply visit his family in Chengdu, he now goes sightseeing and partying with an entourage of equally energetic minds and is thus able to discover a totally different –– and perhaps far more entertaining –– side of China.

----

Rediscovering China also allowed Phoenix to rediscover himself. He was able to unearth that unique aspect of his identity through these extended visits, and it has been a factor in his transition from darker, more traditional hip-hop to his current playful style. “I don’t wanna shoot any videos in America now,” he confesses. “It was so much fun [in China]. Everything was dope there.” He compares China to New York, where he now lives, that has for more than a century been the hub of American art and culture. “It’s easier not to be creative when you’re shooting in China,” he says, because of how refreshing it is simply to see a different backdrop in a music video. “New York is so overshot. Everything [there] is overshot.” He now realizes that he can bring China into his creative career and allow his aspect of him to let him stand out as an artist. He also sees the market potential in China –– the hip-hop scene in the country is still in its early stages, and he wants to help shape it. Due to a lack of major music platforms –– Soundcloud, the West’s most popular music-sharing site, is blocked, and there is no real equivalent to alternative media outlets such as Pitchfork –– independent music has a harder time gaining widespread attention. But Phoenix is confident that the scene will develop, and that audiences in China will receive his message of lovelove.

Similar to Oscar Wilde, who famously applied the theories of aestheticism to his daily life, turning himself into an eccentric celebrity of the literary world, Phoenix embodies what he preaches. He’s already living the lovelove lifestyle by stubbornly treating everybody with respect, which is one of the reasons why he refuses to openly criticise other artists. From Phoenix’s point of view, all conflicts, such as the controversy over NYPD officer Peter Liang’s conviction, boil down to misconception; a lack of love. Phoenix tells me about his aunt in Chengdu, China, with whom he and his friends stayed during their tour. Immigration rates are extremely low in the country, and most Chinese have never met a black person in their life. In a documentary about the tour released by Noisey, a VICE channel, it’s revealed that Phoenix’s aunt once texted him saying, “Your mom tells me you’re worshipping black people.” She explains in the film that, to her, black people are at the bottom of society and that their misery fuels their music. After three days spent with Ralph and Jachary, though, Phoenix recalls her exclaiming, “Wow! Black people are so nice!” But Phoenix trails off just as he begins to get heated about race –– it’s obvious that he doesn’t like to think too much about it. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “It’s too complicated.”  

Later, when I push him to speak more about the racism I feel sure he’s experienced, he becomes irritable. He says he’s never faced hostility in the hip-hop scene as an Asian. “There’s one race: the human race,” he insists. Lovelove is supposed to overcome all superficial barriers –– it’s what truly makes sense to him right now. Perhaps Phoenix has finally found what he has been looking for all along within this ideology, and perhaps in a few years he will reinvent himself again. When I email Jachary and ask him if he thinks loveloveN¥C will last, the reply is simply and staunchly: “lovelove forever.”

----

There’s a line from “Loveloveworldwide,” written by Phoenix after his second big trip to China:

我想搬回中国可我没勇气 Wo xiang banhui Zhongguo ke wo mei yongqi I want to move back to China but I don’t have the courage

The phrase hits me deep in the gut. It articulates a feeling that resides within us both, and within many members of the diaspora –– the calling of one’s ancestral roots and all the uncertainty it carries. With China’s rapid economic growth, culture is evolving just as fast, and each visit means that there is something new and fresh happening. “It’s amazing,” Phoenix says. There are so many things that haven’t been tried yet, beckoning the formation of a new avant-garde generation. And yet, at the same time, “it takes so much guts and so much spontaneity to just drop everything. Technically,” Phoenix confesses, “there’s nothing holding me back. But it’s all these things that I conjure up.”

Phoenix is increasingly splitting his time between the two countries and is working on building bridges between two cultures that often seem like they are in total opposition, whether politically or socially. Yet amidst the back and forth, Phoenix still makes time to unwind every now and then. As the official part of our interview wraps up, I snap some photos and Phoenix rolls a joint. We watch the high noon sunlight as it sits poised on the grass in the park –– the same park where, years ago, Phoenix and his schoolmates used to smoke together. He recommends a list of good Asian restaurants in Boston. I mention being underage for tattoos, and he invites me down to New York so that Ralph can ink me, no questions asked. I politely decline. It’s his birthday this weekend, and he’ll be releasing a short song called “Epilogue” to celebrate. With its synthetic instrumentals and the visceral, desperate quality to the backup vocals, it’s simultaneously emotional and coolly rational. It’s a fitting conclusion to the Foreign era of Phoenix’s work, which also includes “3 Days in Chengdu,” a 12-minute song produced by Jachary that begins with an unpretentious eulogy to his passed-away grandmother. After this, it’s a second EP with Howie Lee, and maybe some singles here and there. Another year lies ahead, six months of which will be spent in China. The future is brilliantly uncertain.

A small breeze rustles the trees. Phoenix shows me the cover that he’d originally intended to use for the Foreign EP: it’s a cartoon of him as topless baby Mao, smoking a cigar as he smiles at something in the distance, teeth glinting. VICE China, the platform on which he’d officially premiered the tracks, wouldn’t let him use it. Now, the picture shows him wearing a fuzzy panda hat and a gold chain; crisis averted. Phoenix puts away his phone. He asks me to take a Polaroid photo of him by the Honda, lighting a cigarette. He rests his water bottle on the roof of the car, where it perches momentarily, taciturn, before it’s retrieved again. He adjusts his bandana. “I’m going to go watch Finding Dory,” he says, getting into his car and tossing his cigarette butt without stepping on it. “I’m excited.”  •

Photography and Illustrations by Jiaqi Kang

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[cadetcama]

Most of mine happened not in dorms (I'm a big introvert, so if I was in my dorm, I was hiding). I had a friend who's roommate stole a piece of art that was hanging on the wall of the dining hall. Like a fully framed landscape scene that was like 12x18 and just...walked out. I didn't SEE that one happen, but I saw the aftermath (i.e. the art hanging in their dorm room).

Different friend decided her goal was to steal a full table from the dining hall setting over a year, so a cup, bowl, spoon, plate, etc.

Yet another friend stole a traffic cone which sat proudly in his room for the rest of the year. (was i friends with kleptos or do college kids just like stealing shit?)

Also, this was a school in Massachusetts and I would frequently see people walking around in shorts and a tshirt in NOVEMBER with snow on the ground and would be literally below freezing with windchill. (And I know its not like THAT uncommon but I'm still bothered!)

Also our campus squirrels were unreal. They knew no fear. They'd seen too much. Same with the campus geese. Like geese are mean normally, but damn.

A friend of mine drove one of the campus shuttles and on crazy nights (like Halloween), they had a police officer ride in the bus for security. But were also allowed, when it was just them, to just drive back to the bus garage if they needed anything. But she said before she'd call for backup, the general best plan of attack to stop shenanigans was to switch the lights on the bus from the evening blue lighting to the regular lights and that would jar people back to some level of sense.

My friends and I happened to be on the same eating schedule as this one kid who was always super high and I do not know how to describe how he walked. It was like Snuffleupagus from Sesame Street. And he'd just eat bowl after bowl of Lucky Charms. Sometimes they'd be out and he'd do Cheerios. One time he got a salad (we were shook) and he put the salad in a bowl, took an empty bowl and put it upside down on the salad bowl, to create like a dome, and then shook it to mix up his salad and we were like "that's the smartest thing I've ever seen anyone do ever"

The one story I can think of from my dorm though - my freshman year, we lived at the end of the hall and the girl who had the single room that was next to use (and actually at the end of the hall), we never saw her. Like literally, I saw her twice and my roommate saw her once. The RA only saw her once. First time we saw her was like late October. We weren't sure someone even lived there for most of the first semester. When they did end of semester room checks, apparently hers was the worst on in the building. Just moldy food and food containers everywhere. Our RA was a senior and said she'd never seen a room so bad.

I know there's more but those are off the top of my head! College is wild. Like there's some people, I can't think of specific stories but their energy was just... something else @justowrites

So I've been weird & not reading a lot of hsmtmts fic lately BUT I saw the opposite of love & I've spent all afternoon binge-reading it & I am OBSESSED. I've had to make myself take breaks & force myself to put it down when like my roommates are speaking to me. I just wanted to tell you how amazing it is (i'm on ch19 rn) and how many college flashbacks its giving me. Wasn't an RA but I saw some weird shit! Anyway, I'm going back to reading.. Thanks for writing & i'll be back to gush later!!

You're not the only one! I feel like a lot of people haven't been into this season as much, and I don't blame them haha. But i am literally SO happy that you like opposite of love!!! Lmao, my apologies to your roommates though. The college nostalgia is what made me want to write it, and hearing about yours is so gratifying. I wanna know the weird shit you saw!

[cj-jacobs]

No Kissing

(I took a brief intermission from working on my main fic to do a one-shot; I’ve seen a few people lately craving Bechloe married domestic fluff, and I’ve been feeling the same way, so I couldn’t resist the urge!)

Locking up her studio for the night, Beca pockets the key and heads across the back yard to the house.  She comes in through the kitchen, finding it empty and silent this late in the evening.  Checking the clock, she feels a slight twinge of guilt when she sees it’s past eight.  Usually, despite the temptation of her equipment just a few steps away on the same property, she doesn’t allow herself to go back to work after dinner.  (Or rather, Chloe doesn’t allow her to go back to work after dinner.)  But with so many deadlines looming this week she’s had to make some exceptions.

She crosses the back hallway and peeks into the family room.  Chloe is nowhere in evidence, but their daughter, Violet, is sitting on the plush area rug in the middle of the room, clutching her favorite blanket, staring at the TV and absorbed in what looks like a car insurance commercial featuring a talking monkey.  

Beca steps quietly through the doorway and sneaks up closer, then crouches down a few feet behind her, still unnoticed.  “Boo,” she says, but in a soft voice so as not to actually scare her.

Violet spins around, her face lighting up in surprise and an almost delirious joy.  “Mama!”  In one continuous motion she pulls herself up from the floor and throws herself at Beca, with as much passion as if days have passed since they’ve seen each other, instead of just hours.

Beca is knocked backwards off of her heels and onto her ass by the force of the impact.  “Oh my God,” she laughs.  

Violet hangs onto her through the stumble, her arms wrapped tightly around Beca’s neck.  Beca pulls her close, squeezing her tiny body hard against her as she shuts her eyes, inhaling her scent.  Her loose light red curls smell like baby shampoo and are still slightly damp from her bath, and she’s wearing soft cotton pajamas printed with moons and stars.

“Mmm, thank you,” Beca mumbles with real gratitude into her daughter’s small, warm shoulder.  She takes a deep breath and lets it out, impressed as always by the sheer restorative power of a toddler’s hug.  “I needed that.”

Violet finally detaches herself and pulls back, examining her face.  With Beca sitting on the floor, they’re about the same height.

“Did you finish?” Violet asks her solemnly.

“Finish what?”

“The layering.”

Beca looks at her in amazement.  Vocal layering is exactly what she’s been doing for the past twelve hours, with brief breaks for meals.  But how could her not-quite-yet three year old daughter know that?  It’s true, yesterday she and Cynthia-Rose had been discussing their options for a particular track while Violet scribbled in a coloring book on the floor of the studio, but she’d been singing quietly to herself and seemingly not paying any attention.  

“We did finish.  Were you listening when we were talking about that yesterday?” Beca asks her.

Violet nods.

“Wow.  I keep forgetting you’re, like, a little person now.”  It also makes her realize she’s going to have to start being more careful about the stuff that comes out of her mouth.  She knew this day would come eventually, but she’s not sure she’s ready for it.  “So,” she changes the subject.  “I hear we’re watching a movie tonight.”

“Yep,” Violet confirms with excitement.  “But only when Mommy comes down.  She’s putting on her...” She struggles to remember the exact words, squinting and twisting her mouth in a way that’s so precisely like Chloe that it’s disorienting.  “Comfy clothes,” she adds with a little nod, pleased with herself.

“Ugh, we have to wait for her?”  Beca makes a face.  “I say we just watch it without her.”

At this notion, Violet’s dark blue eyes widen in alarm.  Those eyes, along with her pale complexion, are her only notable physical legacies from Beca--or technically from Beca’s brother, which amounts to nearly the same thing, since they’re so similar in both looks and personality that they were often mistaken for twins as children, even though Chris is a year older.

“I don’t want to,” she pouts.

Beca grins at her.  “I’m just kidding.  You gotta to learn to read the room, kid.  So, what are we gonna watch?”

Fetching her chosen DVD from the nearby coffee table, Violet holds it up proudly.  “This one.”

“Ohhh,” Beca groans.  “Big Bird again, huh?”  Violet’s choice, as usual, is an obnoxious Sesame Street movie from the eighties, in which Big Bird is removed from his home by a social worker played by a lady in a giant finch costume… or something.  Beca’s never quite figured out the nonsense plot, despite the fact that she’s been forced to sit through it hundreds of times.  Or maybe not hundreds, but it feels that way.  Why can’t their child just watch Pixar like every other kid in America?

“It’s Aunt Aubrey’s movie,” Violet points out earnestly, as if reading her thoughts.  “From when she was little.”

“That’s right, Aunt Aubrey gave you that, didn’t she?  That was so generous of her.  She deserves a big thank-you for that,” Beca says wryly.  “Like, maybe some thank-you waterboarding.”

“Yep.  Cuz it was so nice,” Violet agrees, not batting an eye at the waterboarding mention.  From Chloe, she’s inherited a remarkable resistance to other people’s sarcasm.  This is a trait that comes in handy when dealing with Beca.

“So nice,” Beca echoes.  “But are you sure you don’t want to watch something else, just for a change?  Like, literally, anything else?” she pleads.

“Nope,” Violet says firmly.  “Big Bird.”

Beca knows it’s hopeless, but there’s time to kill before Chloe comes down, because somehow even changing into pajamas takes her forever, so she pulls her jacket off and kicks off her shoes, then crawls over and begins to shuffle through the DVDs in the storage bin that pulls out from the coffee table.  “Let’s see what else those freaks have left here over the years.  How about… a Monster Truck Rally?  Pretty sure that was Amy’s.  Want to watch big trucks crush things?” Beca teases her, tickling her at the same time.  “Hmm?”  

“No,” Violet wriggles away, smiling.

“No?  Something more sophisticated?”  Beca tries again.  “Dead Poets Society, maybe.”

“Mm-mm.”

“You are one tough customer.  Moulin Rouge?”

She shakes her head vigorously.

“Casablanca?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Violet says with strained patience.

“Yeah, me neither,” Beca admits.  “Um… Great Performances: Collegiate Acapella Edition?”

“No!”

“Jeez, okay,” Beca holds up her hands in defense.  “Actually, I’m with you on that one. How about… Silence of the Lambs?”

Violet seems intrigued by the mention of lambs.  She thinks about it, studying the DVD she’s still holding, weighing her loyalty to Big Bird.  But, finally, “No,” she decides.

“Thank God,” Beca says.  “Did not have a backup plan for that one.”

Even though she can’t possibly understand this joke, Violet finds it funny anyway.  The two of them are still laughing when Beca suddenly looks up and realizes Chloe is standing in the doorway, watching them with a half-smile.  She has the strangest look on her face, soft and wistful but somehow faraway, like she’s trying to remember something.  Beca gets the distinct impression she’s been standing there for a while.

“Hey, weirdo.  You spying on us?”

“Mommy, look!” Violet holds up the DVD to show her.

Coming out of her semi-trance, Chloe snaps right into mom mode.  “Oh my gosh, are we watching Big Bird?” she gushes, as if this is the most exciting news she’s heard all day.  Beca admires this skill, even if she still hasn’t mastered it herself.  “You want me to put it in?” Chloe asks, coming further into the room and picking up the remote control.

But Violet protests this immediately; she wants to do it herself.  “No, me!”  She stretches her arms up for the remote.  “I’ll do it.”

“You want to do it?  Go for it,”  Chloe gives her the remote and watches as she scampers across the room to the DVD player.  “Let me know if you need help.” 

“I could use some,” Beca says, holding out her hands.  

“Hey, you.”  Chloe smiles and helps pull her up from the floor, giving her a quick hello peck as she does.  “Did you get done?”

“Yeah, for the most part.  She’s still not totally happy with it, but what else is new.”

“She’ll love it when it’s all finished,” Chloe assures her, a hand on Beca’s lower back as they move over to the couch.  “She always does.”

They sit down, Chloe still monitoring the progress with the movie.  So far, Violet seems to know what she’s doing, although she’s progressing slowly, handling the disc with a careful reverence.

“It would be such a shame if anything ever happened to that movie,” Beca remarks casually.

“Don’t you dare,” Chloe warns her, trying not to laugh.

“Hey.”  Beca waits until Chloe looks over at her.  “So, what was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“A minute ago, when you were standing there,” she looks toward the doorway.  “You had this look on your face, like…” she trails off.  “I don’t know, it was weird.  I mean, weirder than usual.”

Chloe smiles.  But she doesn’t answer right away, and she seems to be considering what she wants to say.  “It’ll sound crazy.”

Now Beca’s intrigued.  “When has that ever stopped you?”

But Chloe’s focus is suddenly diverted by the fact that Violet has succeeded in starting the movie.  “Look at you!” she praises her.  “You did it all by yourself!”

Glowing with confidence, Violet adjusts the volume to her preferred too-loud level, then, apparently feeling herself the mistress of ceremonies, she crosses the room and dims the lights to their usual soft movie-watching glow, straining upward to reach the switch, which she just barely manages with the tips of her fingers.

“Nice job,” Beca comments.  “Now can you go make us some popcorn?”

“No!” Violet retorts, returning to the rug and plopping herself down on the floor to watch the movie.

“Thought it was worth a shot,” Beca says.  She turns her attention back to Chloe, lowering her voice so as not to distract their daughter.  “Well?  Still waiting, here.”

Again, Chloe’s quiet for a second.  When she finally speaks, her question isn’t what Beca was expecting at all.  “Do you remember the day we saw this house for the first time?”

Confused, Beca searches her memory.  “Yeah, I guess.  I remember you wouldn’t even tell me why we were in Topanga, until we were here.”

“I didn’t know if you’d come with me, otherwise.  We weren’t even together then.  Or at least… not officially.”

“Yeah.  I do recall that part,” Beca says, looking away, her expression a bit guilty.  Those days are far from her proudest memories.  “God, it felt like the tour lasted forever,” she adds dryly.  “That real estate agent hated me, dude.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, amused.  “She didn’t hate you.  But you weren’t exactly on your best behavior,” she chides her.

“I tried,” Beca insists, not very convincingly.  “What do you expect from me when someone uses the word nook in an un-ironic way?  I only have one setting when it comes to that stuff.”

Chloe shakes her head a little, but her affection for even Beca’s worst qualities is clear to see.  “Anyway.  When she was showing us the first floor, and we were leaving this room?  I remember I stopped and looked back for a second, and… okay, this is the crazy part.  It’s like I could see this.  And I forgot about it, until just now.  When I was coming in, and you guys were sitting on the floor like that?  It just came back to me, all of a sudden.  I remembered standing there, that day, and imagining,” she pauses.  “What it could be like.  If we were a couple.  And this was our house.  It was like, I could see it so clearly.  When I finally came back to reality, I remember you were looking at me like I’d gone off the deep end.”

“I was?” Beca winces a little.  She doesn’t have a clear memory of any of this, but the fact that she was being an ass doesn’t surprise her at all.  “Sorry.”

“No, I don’t blame you.  It must have looked strange.  But it’s like,” Chloe gazes around the room again now, “this is just what I was picturing, in my head.  How it would be.  How this room would look, if we lived here.  And you, and her,” she gestures at their daughter.  “Just, all of us.  All of this.  That’s what I wanted.  It’s all I ever wanted.  Sometimes I still can’t believe-- “ she breaks off, her voice suddenly catching.  Her eyes are sparkling with unshed tears, but as if she knows she’s being silly, she bites her bottom lip and laughs at herself a little, her expression suddenly flashing into a brilliant smile.

As is usually the case for her, Beca’s surprised by her own reaction, at how she unexpectedly feels everything inside her light up.  It’s the combination of the emotion and the smile that gets her every time, how Chloe can veer from one to the other within seconds, even mixing them together in unanticipated ways.  She tries to think of something to say, but then decides against it.  Words are never her strong suit, especially in moments like this.  

Instead, she shifts closer to her on the couch and, cupping Chloe’s face gently in her hands, draws her forward into a soft, lingering kiss.  Surprised by the gesture, Chloe becomes completely still, closing her eyes and melting into it, as if she’s trying to slow down time to make it last longer.  

“Don’t kiss!”  

They’re startled by the exasperated voice coming from just a few feet away.  Pulling apart, they find Violet standing in front of the couch, gazing at them in stern warning, hands on her tiny hips in a miniature approximation of the way Chloe used to look during a frustrating Bellas rehearsal.

Chloe gasps in exaggerated astonishment.  “Why can’t we kiss?”

“Because.  Now you missed it.”

“Oh no, did we miss the beginning?”

Beca says quickly, “That’s okay.”  But Violet has already moved back toward the TV, brandishing the remote control like a weapon.  “No, babe, it’s fine, you don’t have to--” she attempts.  Then she sighs.  “Yeah, she’s gonna start it over.”  She looks at Chloe, mouthing the words, “Damn it.”

Violet walks herself through the remote control buttons out loud.  “Push this one.  Then… this one.”  The fact that she hasn’t fully mastered her th-sounds yet means that it sounds more like “Den dis one.”  Even Beca is powerless to withstand the force of this cuteness.  

“Thank you, sweetie,” Chloe calls to her, after she succeeds in starting the movie again from the very beginning.  “That was so nice of you.”

She comes back toward them, repeating with emphasis, “Don’t.  Kiss.”  As if to offer them something in return for their obedience, she says, “You can kiss at the boring part.”

“At the boring part?” Beca says.  “Do we get to decide when that is, or-- ?”

“No,” Violet says.  “I’ll tell you.”

“Oh.  Okay,” Beca smiles.  “We’ll just wait, then.”

“We’ll be good, we promise,” Chloe tells her.

Violet seems skeptical, but she nevertheless settles herself onto her stomach in the middle of the rug, her favorite spot for watching TV, and turns her attention back to the screen.  They wait a few seconds until she seems to be fully absorbed in the movie.

“She’s so bossy,” Chloe whispers with something like pride.

“Yeah.  Wonder where she gets that from?”  

Chloe raises one hand to her chest in cartoonish innocence.  “I don’t have any idea what you mean.”  Then she transitions to pure ingenue, batting her eyelashes.

Grinning slyly, Beca nudges her leg with her foot.  Chloe nudges her back with her bare toes, suppressing a giggle.  Beca retaliates by sliding her foot slowly up Chloe’s calf, underneath her sweat pants.  Despite the fact that this is basic teen level flirtation, they’re now in full-on eye sex mode.  After another few minutes of this discreet PG-level canoodling, something causes Chloe’s attention to flit back to their daughter, and she freezes as a comically guilty expression crosses her features.  “Oh, no,” she laughs under her breath.  

Beca follows her gaze to see that Violet has pivoted around and is facing them, watching them with suspicion.

Chloe protests, “We didn’t do anything!”

“You were gonna kiss again.”

“You can’t prove that,” Beca argues.

Violet only stares at her, sulking.  She is not here for this bullshit.

Now Beca begs, “Please don’t start the movie again.”

To distract her, Chloe offers, “You want to come over here and sit with us?  So you can keep an eye on us better?”

She considers, then agrees. “Kay.”  Pulling herself up from the floor, she comes to them, and they each grasp one of her hands and hoist her up onto the sofa.  She nestles down in between them.  Pleased with her new position, she crows, “Now you can’t kiss anymore.”

Chloe seems to take this as a challenge.  “You better watch it, missy, or we’re gonna kiss you instead.”

“Uh-uh,” Violet shakes her head, already smiling.  “Not me.”  But it’s too late, and she’s soon convulsed in squealing, writhing laughter as they come at her from both sides, pinning her between them and covering her cheeks and both sides of her head with loud, theatrical smooches, with some tickling thrown in for good measure.  

After she survives this coordinated maternal attack, Violet takes a few seconds to recover, sprawled against the couch cushions and breathing hard.  Her face is pink and her eyes are shining with mirth, the occasional drunk-sounding chuckle still bubbling out of her.

“You didn’t pee yourself, did you?” Beca asks her.

Chloe’s mouth drops open in pretended offense on Violet’s behalf.  “Beca.  She’s a big girl.”

“I’m a big girl!” Violet repeats indignantly to Beca.

“My mistake,” Beca says.

“But…” Violet reflects, always honest.  “I maybe peed a little.”

Chloe smiles, reassuring her, “That’s okay, baby, that one was our fault.”  She straightens and smooths Violet’s pajama top, which has gotten twisted in all her squirming.  “You ready to watch the movie for real now?”

“Yes!” she agrees, turning her attention back to the screen.  But it’s clear as she rubs her eyes hard that a shift has taken place, and she’s heading into the sleepy zone.  Right on cue, she snuggles into Chloe’s side and her thumb goes into her mouth.  Beca may get the excited welcomes, but Chloe is the one she gravitates toward when she’s tired or just needs comforting.  Not hard to see why.

After another few minutes, Violet slides down even further, her head now in Chloe’s lap, her feet draped over Beca’s legs.  Watching her, Beca tries to gauge by her breathing just how close to sleep she is.  The more drowsy she gets, the younger she seems, and in the dim light, with Chloe stroking her hair back from her face and her eyelids getting heavy, she now strongly resembles the infant she was only, what, last week?  That’s what it feels like, anyway.  If they’re lucky, maybe she’ll pass out before the movie is halfway over and they can put something else on.  But another part of Beca, the greedy mom part, wants Violet to stay awake longer, especially after seeing so little of her today.

She glances up at Chloe and notices that she, too, is watching Violet, gazing down at her with a soft, rapt expression of wonder.  Looking at them both, Beca only now feels the full meaning of what Chloe was talking about, before.  As she takes in the vision of the two of them against the full sweep of the background--the room, the house, everything they have together--she thinks about what Chloe must have been seeing when she looked into this empty room years ago.  She thinks about how close she herself came, through her own stubbornness and denial, to rendering those images into an unfulfilled prophecy, a mirage that would have vanished like smoke.  How close she came to losing it all.

But she didn’t.  By some miracle that she still doesn’t fully understand, she didn’t.  It’s all real, and solid, and tangible.  Like Chloe almost said earlier before she stopped herself, the words as clear to Beca as if she’d spoken them out loud, it actually happened.  This is their real life.

She only realizes how long she’s been staring at her when Chloe glances over and catches her.  Awkwardly, Beca looks away, then gives it up and looks back, flashing her a sheepish smirk.  She can tell by the look on Chloe’s face that she hasn’t managed to hide anything at all.  By this point, Chloe knows how to read her emotions maybe better than she does herself.  

So she gives in to the moment and lets her guard down, something she’s still no expert at but which she’s managing with more frequency as the years go by.  Staring into Chloe’s eyes, she silently mouths the words I love you.

This time it’s Chloe who leans in toward her--carefully, trying not to catch Violet’s notice.  Beca meets her halfway.  Their lips join and mold together with the kind of perfectly choreographed and precise intimacy that can only develop between people who have kissed each other thousands of times before.  And yet somehow, even with their sixth wedding anniversary approaching soon, it still hasn’t gotten old.  Despite what the world has always conditioned them to believe, they’re both starting to suspect that maybe it never will.  Not for them.

Chloe breaks the kiss so gently that the transition is hardly noticed, her forehead pressed against Beca’s.  “I love you too,” she whispers against her lips, not making any sound.  

Nevertheless, despite their best efforts, they detect a subtle shift in Violet’s position, and they look down to find that they’ve been caught, for the third time.

She’s pulled her thumb out of her mouth and is gazing at them with indecision, so tired that she doesn’t know whether it’s worth it to protest.  

Then Chloe winks at her, including her in their secret, rather than leaving her on the outside of it.  This is all it takes, because, like Chloe herself, Violet’s moods can shift from one extreme to the other within seconds.  Like sun breaking through clouds, her eyes crinkle and she flashes them a complicit smile, forgiving them for their lapse.  Then she pops her thumb back into her mouth and rotates her head toward the glow of the TV, her eyelids almost immediately beginning to grow heavy again.

Now, Beca shifts herself closer to Chloe, smoothly transferring more of Violet’s lower body onto her own legs, moving near enough to allow Chloe the option to lean against her, an option she quickly perceives and takes.  As Chloe settles into her Beca presses her lips to her head for just a minute, lingering there, breathing her in.  She takes a deep, slow breath and lets it out, relaxing into the soft warmth of Chloe’s body, turning her eyes back to the TV and the inescapable Big Bird.  Maybe in a minute, she thinks, she’ll get up and make them some popcorn herself.  But not just yet.

For right now, she just wants to sit here, with her wife’s head nestled on her shoulder and their baby dozing off on their laps.

[jumpchain-drop]

Interlude 2.5

“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

CRASH!

I landed in a face-down belly flop. It hurt, but somehow I don’t think I was injured. Still took a minute to get up.

“Where…?”

I must have slept through the deadline… I was back in the warehouse, which seemed a lot bigger… because I was still half my human height. I was still a Sandslash.

“Terra?” I called out to the industrial void. “Terra, where are you?!”

“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

CRASH!

I didn’t even feel a shake as the Torterra landed right behind me, but I did feel the gust of wind.

“Terra, are you OK?!” I asked, rushing to her side.

“I-I’m fine...” she muttered. “J-Just give me a minute...”

“Alright, but if you need anything, that medbay should- oof!”

Something had fallen and bounced off my head. It was the notebook. It landed open to a page with new text. Grumbling and rumbling my head, I read it.

Alternate forms:

A jumper may switch between any form they took on a jump at will.

A companion that possesses alt-forms may also switch them at will. It does not receive an alt-form unless explicitly imported into the world.

Pets with alt-forms can only be changed by a jumper or companion with line of sight.

Your partner has been given a human alt-form.

You jump on in a week.

Alternate forms…? Was it saying I wasn’t stuck as a Sandslash? Hmm, it said “at will,” so…

A poof of white smoke that dissipated a moment later, and I was me again, as human as I was ten years ago in that damn cylinder.

“Whoa, Robert! How’d you do that?” Terra asked. Good, I could still understand Pokémon as a human.

“Apparently now I can switch between being human and Pokémon,” I said. I tested a few more times, poofing between back and forth between them. The smoke was tan when I turned into a Sandslash, but otherwise it was effortless. “The notebook says that you can turn into a human now too. You just have to will it so.”

“Me, a human?” Terra said. “I’ve never considered that before...”

“C’mon, it’s harmless,” I said, ending my flipping on human. “Besides, hugs are a lot easier when we’re both bipedal.”

Maybe that was enough, but there was a huge cloud of white smoke before my eyes, and what came out was… amazing.

She was not a small woman, easily having at least three-quarters of a foot on six-foot me, with earthy brown skin, and short dark brown hair with the tips died green. Her shoulders were wide, and her arms and legs had the toning you’d expected of someone that explored and fought the wild nearly every day for ten years. I assumed her torso was equally defined, as she was wearing a green T-shirt and knee-length tan dress, along with a gray sturdy jacket that I would later see had a tree logo on the back. Her green Aura ribbon, which she almost never took off, hung loosely around her neck.

“Holy shit, you’re beautiful,” I spurted out.

“You think so, Robert?” It was a little surprising exactly the same voice of Mother Earth came out, but I guess it probably shouldn’t have been. She tried out her limbs out a little. “I’m surprisingly comfortable like this. I think I can try out that hug now.” And then she hugged me; her grip was a bit tight, but my human body was pretty tough so it could take it.

I hugged her back. I love this woman so much.

“Master?”

We broke the hug and turned to see running towards us…

“Bolt! Cody! Anita!” I cried out. I crouched a big to hug Bolt as they came up. “I missed you guys!”

“Missed? We saw you just yesterday,” Bolt replied. “Or… I think it was yesterday, I had a bit of a heavy nap...”

“Oh, Bolt, we’ve got a lot to catch you up on.”

To say they were shocked when I turned into a Sandslash and showed that the human woman with me was Terra would be an understatement. Though they were delighted to learn that I could talk to them. It was weird the personalities you could learn when you understood their speech. Bolt was a bit of a goofball, Cody was a worrywort, and Anita was… well, she was still a little aloof even back then, but it was even clearer now when she spent more time perched on the high shelves than coming down and talking to everyone else.

The three Poké Balls we used turned out to be in a new bin labeled “2”. It also had the Treasure Bag, Wonder Map, and the 25 Reviver Seeds we had brought and everything else the Bag contained, along with the stuff we left behind in the warehouse before leaving. On the shelf next to it where seven uniquely-decorated instrument cases, each with a particular elemental motif to them; I checked later and they indeed contained the seven Treasures (which were not the Seven Treasures, funnily enough) we had managed to save. We brought out Shadow, Bitbit, and Maria, and released Manaphy from the stasis pod.

The entire day was spent telling tales and showing the Treasures to the others, as well as getting everyone used to both of my and Terra’s forms. Bolt was a bit disappointed he couldn’t become a human too. At some point, I put the Treasures and their new cases in the secure location I had set up before.

The next six days, though, were quite busy.

First order of business: food. The warehouse’s regenerating supply could barely keep up with just five of us. Now there were nine. Manaphy still got by on Blue Gummis, of which we packed plenty and he had discipline enough not to gorge, though we’d have to start weaning him off those at some point before the supply inevitably ran out. Bitbit also seemed to do just find snacking on electricity. Thankfully for the other six Pokémon, Oran Berries last Pokémon most of the day when they’re not used for emergency healing, especially since these were PMD-brand Oran Berries that could heal ten times as much as in the original Pokémon setting. And of course, Apples were fine belly-stuffers. We disassembled a bit of the spare shelving to make a frame to hold a small garden, watered with the warehouse’s plumbing and lit with the sunlamp and some fiddling with the “selective region” functions of the heat/AC unit. As for the dirt, Earth Power to the rescue! Fun fact: we could still use our Pokémon moves as humans, though the power is far weaker doing so. Anyways, when Terra managed to make the ground of the warehouse erupt, we got soil out of it, and her presence – when she’s a Pokémon at least – seems to make it fertile enough for plants. Granted, most of my gardening knowledge is from Minecraft, but I took some of the berries and sowed them. They seem to be sprouting quickly, and will hopefully produce a crop before the end of the week. The apples are staying in the refrigerator until we have space enough for an apple tree.

...It’s only just now that I remembered that later Pokémon games had the berry-growing mechanic, which I usually ignored because there were better hold items than berries most of the time.

Getting Terra’s human education up to date was going to be uphill and definitely take longer than the week I had. First was learning to read English. Thankfully, the house’s DVD collection included lots of Sesame Street season boxsets and other PBS shows. God, I forgot how much I missed Between the Lions. Zaboomafoo also gave everyone a basic rundown of Earth animals, which were bound to be more likely going forward. Bitbit learned the fastest when he managed to get into my laptop and could just transfer the videos directly into his memory, though it was limited by the time it took to swap the discs out.

We ran a test with the Terran Cymbals. They don’t affect me or Terra while we’re human. It kind of sucks that of the seven Treasures we got, the only ones we got affect Terra, Manaphy, Maria, and Anita – and I can’t even play the lattermost one yet.

There was also some new installment. Attached to the wall next to the pole and plates was a roster board with two columns of eight slots each, with a small light next to each one. On the top was the word “TEAM ROSTER” flanked by two images of the orange almost-asterisk on my warehouse keychain. The left column was full of names, while the right was completely empty. Reading it over, it listed the names of my team members. I think I can guess what would happen if it was full.

Though this week, I established goals for the future:

Get a proper garden set up in here, with a good variety of crops. As a side goal of this, learn how to garden.

Learn how to play the violin. The other instruments too, that couldn’t hurt, but mostly the violin.

Finish Terra’s human education.

Get some way to connect to time that I could bring here so I could Dimensional Scream as I pleased.

Get strong enough to punch the asshole voice’s theoretically-existing face to pieces.

I mean, with the ability to use Pokémon moves as a human – even though you’ll never catch me using my bare hands to Dig – not to mention shifting between a pretty dang fit human and a monster, I basically had superpowers. And if the voice was going to keep giving me powers, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll find a way to use them to kick his ass. Though the fact he keeps picking them for me means he definitely has the house advantage.

But he has to drop his guard eventually.

“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

CRASH!

I landed in a face-down belly flop. It hurt, but somehow I don’t think I was injured. Still took a minute to get up.

“Where…?”

The cylinder again… Was the week already over…?

But wait… something felt different. I shifted to my Sandslash form. Being a burrowing species, we were more sensitive to vibrations as a form of sensory input. There was a sense of momentum here that was likely here all along but I never noticed it before.

“...This chamber is… going up…” I realized. “Like an elevator...”

“Ah, you finally noticed.”

I was on guard immediately. “You…!” I shouted, brandishing my claws.

“Look at you all posturing. It’s adorable, really. You did a decent job entertaining me last time. I mean, whoda thought you would spur the interconnected continents? And the whole bit with the improv garden right now was inspired.”

He didn’t even sound remotely threatened. Of course not. I wasn’t strong enough yet. So I lowered my arms and turned back to a human. “Fine, whatever. Look, I have some questions.”

“I guess you’ve earned them. Ask and I’ll see what I can answer.”

“First off, I assume you put that pole thing in my warehouse.”

“That is correct. A little something off the record. I thought your companions that didn’t have your built-in counter would appreciate a visual representation of the time left.”

“I see… Second, does that roster board imply what I think it does?”

“If you mean you can only have sixteen companions, yes. Pets, however, are unlimited. And before you ask, pets must be non-sentient unless stated otherwise.”

“Ah… Third, if this is an elevator, where is it going?”

“Up.”

“...Care to be more specific?”

“Up, through the layers of the multiverse. Remember that pole? It’s more accurate a model than you might think.”

“...So, you dumping me in other worlds is… throwing me out of a moving elevator car.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have to stop it to make choices.”

“Yeah, great job on those so far,” I snarked.

“Thank you,” it replied earnestly. “It wasn’t easy. You have that Persim Band because of the serious lack of 50-point items to compensate.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” I said, wanting to speak about any topic but this. “So why was the 52-mark on the scale next to it so large? What’s so important about the fifty-second world?”

“The fifty-third is what’s important, actually. You’ll know if you get there. Speaking of, enough questions. It’s time for new choices.”

“Now wait a moment!” I protested. “You said last time that I get to pick the worlds from here on out!”

“That I did,” said the voice. “So here’s your choice. I’m going to present icons for three places this elevator can reach in the next like five minutes. Pick the one you’ll spend the next ten years in.”

“And you’ll build my persona in that world like you did the others, I imagine?”

“Now you’re catching on. Here’s the icons.”

The three panels that circled the elevator walls spun around and lined themselves up in a vertical row in front of me. They glowed a moment and when it faded each one was showing a black and white image.

“...”

“Well?”

“These are Rorschach inkblot tests.”

“Imitations using the style, actually. With the icons as the base.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Duly noted. Now choose. The multiverse is a little twisted and ones we don’t stop at may eventually pass by again, so don’t worry about missing out.”

Grumbling, I looked over my options carefully…

The top one looked vaguely like an angry circle.

The middle one reminded me of two-headed monsters.

The bottom one just made me think of constant numbers.

I pondered my choice for a few minutes before pointing at the middle one. A few more years among monsters couldn’t hurt that much. “There. That one.”

The other panels blanked out and drifted away.

“World selected,” said the voice. “Now making choices.”

I covered my eyes until the reflections on the floor stopped. I noticed the elevator slowed down and stopped once the lights dimmed. I looked up at the light pattern, quickly memorizing it too. Who knows what advantages I’d need against Willy Wonka and his Great Electromagical Lift?

“Your selections have been made. Have a good decade!”

I just sighed as the bottom fell open and I dropped into the void.

[shepgeek]

It was the Summer of ‘96

The UCI at Kinnaird Park, Edinburgh was a 12-screen multiplex which stood outside of the city throughout the 1990s. Edinburgh has a rich history of wonderful old cinemas, with the Filmhouse and Dominion seemingly still thriving, but they were a considerable trek into town and a multiplex was something completely new to the capital. As the 80s ended, shiny new laser-adorned centres appeared on the fringes of the city and it was genuinely exciting when a curious new outdoor retail park appeared promising to change how shopping worked. The mysteries of this enormous cinema complex, flanked as it was by a bowling alley and a Mexican restaurant (what the hell was a “fajita”?) and boasting a preposterous number of screens were impossibly glamorous. When it opened in 1990 the first film I saw there was Nuns of the Run, but later that summer there followed Back to the Future part III, The Rocketeer and Gremlins 2. I was sold on the place and, throughout my teens, it became my cinema of choice and so, when I returned home from university in the summer of 1996, it felt obvious to try for a 10-week summer job there.

 My previous summer had been spent working in a hotel, resenting every second spent in thrall to the management’s penny-pinching, living in dread of being asked to serve soup at weddings and, on one memorable occasion, flooding a storage room: in short I had not been a good fit. Getting the job at the UCI proved alarmingly easy and, on day one, a couple of the older and longer-term workers proposed a welcoming trip to the bar besides Asda for what proved to be an alarming number of tequila slammers in our lunch hour. These guys were a mixed bunch- some of them comfortable in their own skins and mischievously keen to mess with new blood (I am pleased, although not proud, to report I held my booze that afternoon)  but there were others that were clearly resentful of us swanky summer students. Those gents held 5-star badges, having made it up the ladders to the highest level of subordinate but marooned short of management and, for us 1-star newbies with our air of cheerful short-term frivolity, I can, in hindsight, see how annoying and privileged our attitudes must have felt. It led to unrelenting surliness from a few, lifting growls only when delighting in handing out the crappiest jobs possible, but beyond that they rarely held much tangible sway. All employees also got a pass card entitling us to half price at the nearby McDonalds, something which, after watching Super Size Me, must have affected the longer term workers and probably took a year off my own life expectancy. A group of about half a dozen similarly intentioned students banded together to give an air of demented fun to working there that summer and my trips to any multiplexes were forever changed by having to don the black waistcoat, turquoise clip-on bowtie and flashlight.

 Beyond the ticket office at the entrance, there was a large central food court leading to two avenues symmetrically with screens 1-6 to the left and 7-12 to the right. 6 and 7 were the big ones and would be sold out almost every evening, with the entire place packed out on Friday and Saturday nights: if you ever had that final shift you could expect to be locking up at about 2am. In the central hub there was a main food counter in front of you, with an ice cream vendor on the right and the pic’n’mix and computer game area to the left and it soon became clear which was the station to avoid. The pic’n’mix room was tucked into a corner, so if you were manning it you faced hours sat alone in a circular snug filled entirely with sweets to be kept company only by the unrelenting barrage of the arcade games’ yelling at you in a loop of their demo modes: “ITS RACHEL, DAUGHTER OF THE PRESIDENT OF SERCIA!” The hours there were long and draining and, on one occasion, I tried to lift the grim monotony and took the bags of change from the till to see if I could teach myself juggling. I managed about 10 minutes before the camera in the corner of the room tipped off a manager who fired up the walkie talkie to order me to stop dicking about. What was often worse was actually getting a customer, as frequently it would be a kid whose parents had blithely waved them towards the room with permission to “get yerself some sweeties”. I would watch with dread as a child visited scoop after scoop and, despite the numerous signs making the hefty pricing clear, the reaction when I weighed the final submission would often be incredulous anger from the parent. I couldn’t disagree but that didn’t seem to help much either. Still, it meant that, come the end of the day, there were always a few bags left over that irate customers had refused to pay for, which we divided up between us but the quality of cinema pic’n’mix has remained so low for the 2 decades since that I can’t stomach the stuff to this day.

By far the best job was working as an usher, which I managed to sustain for almost the entirety of my time there. Usher’s jobs were vaguely defined and generally had to just keep everything flowing, so if a life size cardboard cutout of Billy Zane dressed as The Phantom needed building, then we’d do so. We were tasked to open each screening, manage any queues, seat the customers if it was busy and then open the doors at the end, tidying up any litter which was left and taking that to the compactor. Beyond that we were to wander round the screens, ostensibly to check that everything was working fine and each day would start with a slip of paper issued to all detailing every start & end time for all showings across the 12 screens throughout that day. This “checking” duty was the best part of the job but it was a luxury than only could be indulged when we were less busy and generally only during the afternoons. The job was simple and trouble was rare, although I did make one big cockup when I allowed in a party of kids with some accompanying adults but didn’t twig that the birthday boy was carrying a helium balloon, which he then let go and it blocked the projection, casting a massive silhouette of Bert from Sesame Street onto the screen. The showing had to be stopped as we messed about with the aircon to try & blow it to one side and the final solution involved a ladder and a pencil on a brush. Aggressive behaviour from the public was similarly rare and the only problem I ever experienced consisted of three guys who pitched up to a bafflingly scheduled late-night showing of Flipper whist completely arseholed and magnificently bellowing the theme song on a loop throughout the show. As there was nobody else in there with them, we left them to it and all we needed to do was gently wake them come the end of the screening.

 Littering was far more of a problem, with the worst cases being when someone dropped a drink on the downward-sloping floor which led to puddles of stickiness that spread everywhere when the audience went to leave. You’d also periodically get a couple of kids overfilled on sweets & fizzy drink barfing it all back up, which was always fun, so the trick was to work out when the tidying of a particularly bad screening was due to finish and then volunteer to open a screening that began immediately beforehand: my mastery of spreadsheets allowed me to dodge plenty of pukers. Even without occasional vomit, the mess was always considerable, and I still don’t understand why people feel that, once the light goes down, that all bets are off in a cinema, with some punters leaving mystifying amounts of carnage upon exiting. Some would try to sneak in messy food from outside and, on one cleaning, I picked up what I assumed to be a sweets wrapper but turned out in actuality to be a condom. What made it worse was that the screening concerned had been about half full. Given how long it took to clear each screen, the end credits to each film became our accompanying litter-picking soundtrack to the summer, and David Arnold’s score to Independence Day remains a personal favourite. Once we had filled our bags of rubbish (the trick being to take your time in doing so), we had to then dump them into the compactor, an ominous machine round the back of the complex which, given its daily diet of coke, nacho cheese, popcorn and ice cream, had an aroma of profound horror which I will never forget, nor will I the images of the mysterious brown goop which oozed around its base. It had its uses though- I remember that the compactor was the only safe place to hide undisturbed to listen to my AM radio as penalty shoot-outs defined Euro 96.

 We also had to keep an eye out for kids trying to sneak into 15 certificate films, something that the ticket office often picked up but that parents would try to subvert by buying tickets for their children and then buggering off. I fondly recall one set of lads who were plainly aged between 8 and 12 who were desperate to get into The Rock. After firing questions at them about their birthdays and watching them desperately struggle with the arithmetic, we suggested they swap their tickets for The Hunchback of Notre Dame and, when the littlest lit up at the suggestion, we declared this the final proof that they were definitely under age. They genuinely were furious with the lad, convinced that they had come tantalisingly close to actually making it in.

 Aside from pic’n’mix, working on the food counter was the least fun shift and I managed to avoid this for almost the entire summer till one of the 5-star badges noticed and dobbed me in. There was nowhere to hide when you were front and centre and what surprised me most was how many customers completely switched their brains off. This is perhaps to be expected: you go to the cinema because you don’t want to have to think, but suddenly you get faced with a myriad of options and offers. By far the most frequent request from a customer was simply for “some juice”, to which I’d have to reply “certainly- would you like Irn Bru? Diet? With or without Ice? Small, medium or bucket? Upgrade to a meal deal?”. More clarification just annoyed everyone- I still believe that nobody ever likes buying food at the cinema.  There were plenty other spectacular brainfarts from the public though- one customer asked how many scoops of ice cream they would get in a treble cone, whilst another, in a moment that still baffles me to this day, queued up to ask “What do you get in a packet of minstrels?” Swallowing the instinct to reply “minstrels”, I hesitatingly offered “Er, small chocolates in a crispy shell?” and the gent, in what I can only imagine was mortification at the ridiculousness of his own question, thanked me and immediately moved away.

 Aside from the gunfire coming from the arcades, the background noise was provided by a loop of trailers firing from tv screens above our heads. You soon became immune to them, but it is interesting to note that the films which were pushed by the studios the most were those who faded fastest: I can vividly recall the music and dialogue for trailers to Phenomenon, Chain Reaction and Escape from LA.

In the quieter moments between the puking, seating, endless litter picking and outbreaks of sheer silliness (“Nacho, Nacho Man” was often sung ), came the moments of sheer pleasure: sneaking into the films. Under the auspices of “just checking everything is OK” I would creep in for 15 or so minutes and see films in patchwork, sometimes going a week before I had caught every scene and made sense of what was going on. There were rare evening staff screenings for the big blockbusters whilst the projectionist checked that everything was working, but the joy came from discovering films I’d never heard of that often nobody else seemed keen to watch, such as Mr Holland’s Opus, The Truth about Cats & Dogs, Stealing Beauty & Happy Gilmore. Also that summer’s huge tentpole releases saw some really great films to sneak snippets of, with the original Mission: Impossible the early hit that was later outdone by the behemoth of Independence Day, which packed in audiences and left thousands leaving the cinema with wide, knowing grins. The Rock, Hunchback of Notre Dame and From Dusk Till Dawn were each excellent, and I still have a soft spot for Ben Stiller’s darkly comic The Cable Guy. Twister was flimsy but spectacular, The Nutty Professor not my cup of tea (but hugely popular) , whilst Eraser was always a laugh to sneak a moment from.

Once I’d consumed a film, I later realised that the greatest joy came from not watching it over again but watching the audience from the back of the screening and I memorised the timing of key scenes for each film so that, when I got the schedule for the day, I could sneak in to see how a new audience reacted: there is nothing quite like the sight of hundreds of people all simultaneously rocketed a foot into the air by a good jump scare. My absolute favourite was the Langley break-in scene in Mission: Impossible, at the precise moment that Tom Cruise’s rope gives way to leave him dangling millimetres from a floor which he absolutely must not touch: the gasping sound made by the audience was that of vibrant, vivid excitement and different every time.  My love of cinema was essentially absolute by this stage, but these moments cemented it.

The UCI was torn down but rebuilt as an Odeon in 2008 in what is now called Fort Kinnaird, but it remains the student job I remember most fondly, even compared to the following summer which I spent in a video shop. My favourite moment came towards the end of the summer, when the Edinburgh International Film Festival was up and running in the city’s more venerable cinematic venues. There had been rumours of celebrities being spotted at the UCI before (I was gutted to miss out on Sylvester McCoy nipping in to see The Rock) but we got sudden notice of a very special event that we were to host in a matter of days. Sean Connery was both a patron of the EIFF and a legend of the city and his newest blockbuster, Dragonheart, was the opening film for the festival. Connery, however, had noted that the movie was a family film and that it was a bit daft having all the bigwigs come along just to marvel at a then-novelty CGI dragon, so he suggested a “family premiere” the following morning, where Edinburgh families could come and see the film for free and we were designated to be the venue. That morning there was a buzz about the place and people had swapped shifts to be there: I was one of the few who had been lucky but, to my horror, the grumpiest of the 5- star badges had been put in temporary charge of the ushers for the day as the managers were distracted by the multitude of other considerations and the sudden exposure of their cinema, and there was no way he was going to let the summer students anywhere near this. I was given the duty to supervise the essentially empty screens on the opposite side from where the hubbub was building. I was gutted but snookered and will never forget the moment when the main boss, who was visibly frazzled, spied us and, confused to find us underemployed, threw us Film Festival T-shirts and told us to get to screen 7, now. Once we had the shirts on our backs the 5 star badge never got a look in as Connery swept past us in a blaze of charisma, dealing effortlessly with the family who had been sat in the front row and attempted to monopolise the Q&A.

“Are you James Bond?” asked a kid’s voice.

“Well, I wash onesh Jamesh Bond but now thatsh played by another actor.”

The same hand shoots straight back up: “But you sound like James Bond.”

Connery milked the laughter, said “So doesh the Dragon”, made a quip about independence and nipped out of the Fire Exit.

[doodlenomics]

Remember British author Roald Dahl’s 1964 children’s novel ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’? Of course you do. And surely the most memorable character, Willy Wonka; the innovative chocolate visionary and his scrumdiddlyumptious creations come to mind. For a moment, would you now imagine what Willy Wonka would whip up in an Indian rasoi? Welcome to the kitchen of Chef Vineet Bhatia. 

Blueberry and black cardamom kulfi

Blue cheese naan

Cumin-infused chocolate

Goat’s cheese and coriander khichdi

These curious compositions of ingredients with volatile textures and consistencies are distinctive of Vineet’s kitchen (and these recipes are included in his book ‘Rasoi: New Indian Kitchen’ for you to try at home). Earlier this year, during a short trip to Mumbai, I had visited Ziya at The Oberoi (food sketch below) where even the walls taste of pecan nuts and chocolate. Just kidding. Actually, it was almonds.

Bursts of color pop on brilliant white plates and after a while, your brain tells you to stop trying to guess flavors. Yes, you will be wrong most of the time. How am I to identify a pecan nut kheer, a black sesame panna cotta or even a coconut-caramel drizzle on top? Take a look at Chef Bhatia’s Instagram page to really appreciate the originality of his creations- turmeric caviar, khandvi with a twist (literally) and mini explosions of color and texture on plates!

Here’s a book excerpt from ‘Rasoi: New Indian Kitchen’ where you learn of Vineet Bhatia’s journey from a little boy who wanted to be a pilot to the young man who revolutionized Indian cuisine:

I did not set out to be a chef. My first love was planes, and as a child I wanted to be a pilot and fly high above the clouds. My alarm clock was the sound of the Gulf Air DC10 flying over our flat in Bombay at 6 o’ clock every morning. My brother and I would cycle through the Juhu Aerodrome on our way to school and I would look with awe at the Cessnas and Bell helicopters stationed in their hangars, so close to me yet so distant. How I longed to fly in one of them! On the journey home from school, the guards would allow us inside to get some ice-cold water from the drinking fountains. I would stand in those huge hangars as a little boy of eight, dreaming of flying. When I was 17, however, my application to join the Indian Air Force was rejected. Now I advise British Airways on their menus and fly almost every month, and moreover was fortunate enough to marry a pilot’s daughter, so fate has its funny little ways.

After the air force turned me down, I was so disillusioned and frustrated that I had no idea what to do next. I was sure of one thing, though- much to the dismay of my lawyer mother and accountant father, I wasn’t cut out to follow in their footsteps. After I had eliminated all the’respectable’ career choices, the only avenue left to me was catering and hospitality. For the first time since I failed to enroll as a pilot, I found myself intrigued. It fascinated me that something like eating out, which we take almost entirely for granted, had so much thought and labour behind it. Eventually I was accepted at an undistinguished catering college in Ahmedabad, Gujarat. The last to join the course, I was the shortest and smallest, but I had what most of them didn’t: ambition and a determination to prove myself. When my father dropped me off at the hostel, he told me, ‘You go through this rough patch and you will shine.’ I promised him I would, and after doing well in my exams I was transferred to the prestigious catering college in Dadar, Bombay. This is where my career really began, and after two years’ hard work I was selected for the prestigious Oberoi School, where trainees were expected to learn both French and Indian cuisine.

It was like living a dream. At the end of each grueling day’s training, I would spend hours in the Indian kitchen watching the khan sahibs, or master chefs, preparing delicacies. Occasionally I was allowed to help, chopping vegetables here and there, handing out utensils or spices. Gradually, as I gained their trust, I was even allowed to prepare these dishes myself. I had finally found my calling. The cream of the class was usually absorbed into the French kitchen but, much to the horror of my teachers, I elected to stay in the Indian one.

In 1990 I was appointed to the Indian kitchen at the Oberoi Mumbai. I learned a huge amount there but, while my French counterparts were being applauded for developing an innovative and exciting cuisine, there was no opportunity in the traditionally rigid Indian kitchen for me to do the same. Frustrated, I realised it was time to move on. Faced with a choice of Dubai, Bangkok, Tokyo and London, I opted for the latter, assuming that with all its connections with the Raj, a good standard of Indian food would be guaranteed. How wrong I was!

My first job was as head chef at the Star of India on the Old Brompton Road. To my horror, I quickly discovered that Indian food in the UK was aggressively macho, illogically hot and spicy, and usually washed down with a pint. Fortunately, the restaurant’s owners were supportive of my desire to offer authentic Indian cuisine. When some members of staff rebelled and a fair few of the regulars took their custom elsewhere, however, I was forced to question whether I was doing the right thing. My answer came from Fay Maschler, who reviewed the restaurant in 1993, writing, ‘Bhatia has lifted the cooking into a new league, providing convincing proof that Indian food is capable of evolving.’ It was exactly what I needed to hear, and over the next five years the Star of India won a clutch of awards.

In 1999, I opened my own restaurant, ‘Vineet Bhatia’, in Hammersmith, in partnership with a traditional curry house owner. Money was tight, so my wife, Rashima, a trained pharmacist with no experience of catering, pitched in to help me. We painted the restaurant ourselves, turning up at 7 o’ clock every morning with our baby son, Varaul, and after a very quiet opening were desperately concerned for our survival. Salvation came once again in the form of a positive review from Fay Maschler, followed by one from AA Gill, who wrote, ‘It is shaming to point out, but if Bhatia cooked in the French or Italian vernacular, or came from New York, he would be hailed as a superchef.’ This statement affected me immensely. It felt like a powerful vindication of my decision to focus on refining Indian cuisine. The impact of these reviews on the restaurant was instantaneous. The phone started to ring constantly, and there was now a waiting list for tables.

Despite the restaurant’s success, we never found the financial stability we hoped for. I quickly formed another business partnership and opened a new restaurant, Zaika, in April 1999. My goal was simple: to cook to the very best of my ability and to settle my family (our second son, Ronit, was on the way). It was good to get behind the stove and not worry about anything except creating dishes that exceeded expectations. It was here that I devised the ‘Indian gourmand experience’, an entirely new approach to Indian cooking that offered five courses spanning the length and breadth of the subcontinent. In January 2001 I was awarded a Michelin star, the first Indian chef-patron to receive this honour in the Guide’s hundred-year history. Obviously we were thrilled. We had neither planned for nor expected a star, but it could not have been more welcome. At the same time, it is almost frightening how powerful the Guide is. All of a sudden the spotlight is switched on and directed at you. The pressure is intense. Journalists suddenly became interested in us, and there was a proliferation of articles about the restaurant.

Almost five years after we opened, Zaika was forced to relocate to larger premises on Kensington High Street, which meant we had to start all over again in terms of Michelin stars- the star is awarded to a restaurant at a particular site and does not move to other premises even if the restaurant does. Moreover, I was not receiving the money I was due from the partnership, despite all my commitment and hard work. Rashima and I decided that the only solution was to do it alone. In 2004 we took out a large bank loan with our house as collateral and opened our most cherished jewel, Rasoi.

  It was the culmination of an immense amount of hard work. Rasoi is set in a small Chelsea townhouse, with just 13 tables in the two reception rooms on the ground floor, two private rooms upstairs and a small kitchen to match. Rashima did the whole place up herself, and we hoped to create a feeling of coming to dine at our home. Guests have to ring a doorbell to get in, which serves to heighten that impression.

We had a lot at stake, with many people confident that we would soon be back on the job market. Housed in a residential street with no passing trade, a closed-door policy, a no-smoking rule (in the days before the outright ban on smoking) and no music for ambience, the restaurant appeared to check all the boxes for downright failure. While setting up, we experienced every emotion from elation to satisfaction, despair, anger and also quiet anticipation. We knew we were doing the right things and we had to make a success of it.

We have cherished every moment at Rasoi and feel very fortunate that we are able to live our dream, with the support of the most amazing people working for us. While I run the kitchen, Rashima runs the service- something I can never do and will never understand! The food I cook here is straight from my heart. The purists might not always approve but at least we are comfortable in our surroundings, following our instincts and generally being driven by our passion.

Rasoi received much critical acclaim and in January 2006 it was awarded its own Michelin star. How could we forget that day? We had finally arrived!

I think it is appropriate for me to end this narrative by saying that a genuine compliment from a satisfied guest is more than enough to make one forget all the difficulties involved in running a restaurant. Such compliments warm our hearts, giving both Rashima and myself renewed energy to pursue our passion. There are evenings when the restaurant is full of friends, loyal guests and happy diners, and on those nights there is a buzz, an excitement, that no other experience can match. It is visible amongst diners and staff alike, and it makes me a very, very happy man.

Vineet Bhatia

London, August 2009

Chef Vineet Bhatia and his uber- talented wife Rashima (Image: http://www.greavesindia.com)

  Rasoi: New Indian Kitchen is available in stores and is a 272 page treasure of unique recipes (and a lot of very useful information too) divided in ten categories (spices, invisible work, chutneys, dips, relishes and raitas, pre-starters, soups and salads, starters, main courses, accompaniments, pre-desserts,  desserts and petits fours). The recipes are written with much clarity and are easy-to-follow. Definitely get your hands on this one!

If you loved what you read, please like and share this. Also, you can get yourself a copy of Rasoi: New Indian Kitchen by clicking on the image below:

How a man who wanted to become a pilot, revolutionized Indian Cooking. Meet this Chef Inventor Remember British author Roald Dahl's 1964 children's novel 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'? Of course you do.

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

All Things Begin to Appear: Chapter 9

What happens when Scully starts having visions while her and Mulder are hunting a serial killer?

season 5 case file | 30k words | tw: some depictions of violence

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Read on Ao3

“Nothing is what it appears to be, when it's only with your eyes you see.” - N’Zuri Za Austin

“Truth or dare,” Mulder asked, popping another sunflower seed into his mouth.

“Mulder, I already told you, we’re not playing truth or dare,” Scully responded indignantly. She was getting annoyed because Mulder wanted to play stupid games like I Spy or 20 Questions and she wanted to sit in peace and quiet. “How are we even supposed to do the dare part when we’re sitting in a car?”

“So your issue is that we’re not honoring the integrity of Truth or Dare?” Mulder questioned, smiling, happy to have caught her in a verbal snare.

“No, my issue is that you’re not taking this stakeout seriously,” she snapped. It was cold out and the more they talked, the foggier the windows became and the less that she could see of what was going on outside.

“I’m not taking it seriously because nothing is happening! This is a waste of time,” Mulder complained.

They were in hour five of the stakeout of 48 Constitution Drive, the last known residence of their suspected serial killer, Louis John Stanton. Mulder and Scully were on the second twelve hour shift and there had been no sign of Stanton for the past seventeen hours. She didn’t particularly enjoy stakeouts but at least she was doing something semi-productive. She was actually surprised when Agent Callahan told the pair that he was setting up a stakeout rotation because he had been so adamant about staying away from the suspect until they had enough evidence. He and another officer had taken the first shift and there wasn’t a peep from the house during that entire twelve hours. Now Mulder and Scully were experiencing the same thing, which always made Mulder antsy and prone to annoying his partner for entertainment.

They were parked about halfway down the street, far enough away as to not arouse suspicion but close enough to still see any activity in the house. This was the closest she’d been to the residence since she passed out a few days before but Scully felt fine now. She supposed that being inside the car helped, plus she was definitely a little farther away this time around.  Though Scully almost welcomed some sort of feeling or sign to tell her she was on the right path. These visions are really something, she thought, never seeming to come at a time when she could have actually used them.

Mulder stretched, which was hard to do in this small car. “This is boring. I’m going to go check the house out again.”

“What! No, you’ll blow our cover!” Scully exclaimed, gripping his arm as he tried to leave. They were given strict instructions to watch, but not engage with the suspect if he were to appear.

Mulder scoffed as he shook her off. “Please! He’s probably not coming back but maybe he left the back door unlocked and we can check out inside.”

He opened the door, the cold air filling the car. Scully felt goosebumps on her skin and she was sure it was from more than just the freezing temperature.

After her last vision, she felt a little jumpy and more than a little protective of Mulder. And now he was just going to waltz up to the killer’s house like he was delivering the mail. Scully had no choice but to follow him.

Mulder bypassed the front of the house, instead going to the alley in order to access the back door. Scully was right behind him, her gun drawn, low to the ground. The area clearly wasn’t maintained well, with potholes in the road and trash blowing with the wind.

The house had a small back porch, with a door leading into the house. Mulder knocked twice and then waited for only a few second before jiggling the handle.

He turned back to look at Scully. “Open sesame,” he joked and pushed the door open.

Scully could only grimace. He really wasn’t supposed to be entering the house without a warrant but she knew how easy it was for cops to claim “probable cause” after the fact, especially if they end up finding something damning inside.

The house was dark, as it was now after midnight. Mulder reached for the light switch but Scully grabbed him arm. “No lights,” she whispered.

He nodded, clearly agreeing with her suggestion. Instead he pulled out a flashlight and Scully did the same, holstering her weapon now that they were inside.

As soon as their small lights illuminated the house better, the buzzing that plagued Scully before returned in full-force. It was like a vibration in her skull and was rather uncomfortable. She rubbed her forehead, trying to relieve the sensation. She took a deep breath.

“Mulder,” she whispered. “How are we going to find any compelling evidence in the dark?”

He didn’t answer. She swung her flashlight around the room and realized that he was no longer there.

The buzzing increased; she was having trouble thinking, let alone investigating a murder suspect’s home in the pitch black.

“Mulder,” she called, a little louder than the last time.

She heard a crash. Mulder! She wasn’t sure where she was going but she ran towards the sound.

Mulder was standing in front of a lamp that he had knocked over, with a sheepish look on his face. Normally Scully would chastise him but she was feeling worse and worse the longer she was in the house. The buzzing amplified to a jackhammer inside her head and she bent over at the waist, trying to relieve the pain. She dropped her flashlight, the glow bouncing off the walls as it rolled away.

“Scully?” Mulder asked, sounding concerned.

Nausea overcame her suddenly, her stomach roiling. She started coughing and Mulder stepped closer but she pushed him away and used what little energy she had left to run out of the house. Once she stepped off the porch, the buzzing subsided to dull pressure but no one informed her stomach. She threw up her dinner in an empty metal trash can that was nearby. Scully was instantly reminded of a case when she first joined the X-Files, one where she was drugged by one of the Kindred. Once she left the Kindred’s homestead she found herself puking her stomach contents while clinging to a fence. Now she upgraded to a trash can, at least, she thought to herself. The constant in both of those experiences was Mulder, who appeared outside to catch her gagging in the back alley.

“Scully!” he yelled and rushed to her side. “Are you alright? What the hell happened?” He handed her a napkin that he pulled from his pocket and she wiped her mouth. He brushed away the hair that was stuck to her damp forehead. “Did you have another vision?” he asked.

“No. I don’t know what’s going on, Mulder,” she stated weakly and started to cry. She just felt so awful and confused and frustrated. She had for the entire case and it was finally catching up to her.

“Oh, Scully. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Mulder soothed, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. Her fingers curled around the back of his jacket, anchoring herself to him.

He led her back to the car, in what was appearing to be the safe zone. While Scully tried to wash her mouth out with bottled water, he called Agent Callahan to ask him to send two more officers in their place that could finish their shift. It seemed that Callahan expected all kinds of weird behavior from his colleagues because he didn’t really question the request, but Scully could hear him grumbling over the phone. Mulder promised Callahan that they would wait for back-up to arrive, so as not to compromise the stakeout, so Scully sat in the passenger seat, her head against the window. The cold glass actually felt nice and she fell asleep watching her breath fog up the window.

The next morning, Scully and Mulder returned to Constitution Street, though Scully waited in the car, a few hundred yards away. Mulder had told Agent Callahan about the unlocked door and how they were in Stanton’s house. Mulder’s “evidence” of probable cause (even though it was a lie) was enough for Agent Callahan to send over a squad of officers and forensics specialists.

Scully sat in the passenger seat with the door open, while Mulder leaned against the roof the car. She had no interest in ever stepping foot in that house again and she felt confident that Callahan had sent over the best, unlike the crime scene investigators who went through Jane White’s house. She was surprised that Mulder wasn't in the house too, providing his signature color commentary to the people actually working while he stood around. Normally he didn't think twice about running off and leaving her behind, but this time he didn't. It was actually really nice to have him close by, she thought.

Agent Callahan walked up to them, pulling off a pair of latex gloves that he deposited in a trash can on the sidewalk.

"So, screaming huh?" he asked with a smirk once he approached them. That's what Mulder told Callahan as to why they were in the house, since they weren't supposed to enter without probable cause.

Mulder put on his best "aw shucks" look. "I’m sorry; it must have been the neighbor's TV, officer."

Callahan shook his head. "You're lucky this case is what it is - or anything in the house would be inadmissible."

"Do you think they'll find anything?" Scully asked.

"They already found some bullet casings and are going to check to see if they match the gun used in the murders. Other than that, there doesn’t seem to be much. It looks like he may have been starting to lose his mind, though. They found some notebooks filled with ramblings. Nothing makes much sense but maybe there will be a confession written down," Callahan explained.

Scully thought of the tumor that once was pushing into her brain and shuddered. She knew exactly what the killer was going through. It also made her sympathize with him, which she didn't like. 

"I think we need a new approach," Mulder stated. He pushed himself off the car to stand a little taller.

"Go on," Callahan encouraged.

"Well, right now we're just waiting for him to show. And it's pretty clear he's not going to get anywhere near his house again. We need some way to draw him out."

"How do you propose we do that?" asked Callahan, skeptical. 

"Host another press conference and put me on. He won't be able to resist this face," Mulder joked. Callahan and Scully just stared at him, both of them not finding the joke funny.

"I know what to say to push his buttons. He'll know we're close so he'll want to eliminate the chance of us catching him. We'll put me up as bait and then let him nab me," he insisted.

Callahan did not look impressed. "It could work but I don't feel comfortable using law enforcement as bait, especially with someone as dangerous as Stanton. Plus he's been targeting women. If we go that route - and I'm not saying we are - theoretically we should put Agent Scully up there."

"No!" Mulder said quickly.  "No - it's has to be me. Right, Scully?" he looked pointedly at her. She glared back. She knew he was referencing her vision where Stanton abducts Mulder, but she didn’t appreciate him bringing that up now in front of Agent Callahan.

She also didn't like the idea of being bait for a serial killer, but putting Mulder at any more risk, especially after the vision, wasn’t a good idea either. "He has a point, Mulder," she observed.

It was his turn to glare at her. She didn’t really care, though.

Scully continued, "You can tell me what to say during the press conference. I can be convincing and make it sound like I came up with the profile. And then I'll go off on my own afterwards. We can have someone tail me, so that if he gets near me I'll have back-up."

"No, absolutely not," he repeated. Agent Callahan was quiet during their exchange, even though the decision was ultimately up to him.

Scully smiled sweetly. "Mulder, this was your idea!"

He crossed his arms and she could tell that he didn’t like his plan backfiring so spectacularly.

"If we plan it correctly, it could work. It makes more sense to use Agent Scully, though. No offense to your handsome countenance, Agent Mulder, but we have no evidence that you will be able to draw him out. Agent Scully on the other hand..." he trailed off.

“Well, she’s a woman so she already fits the profile. It just makes more sense,” he continued.

Mulder looked pissed but Scully could tell he was going to lose this debate. 

Callahan kept talking, "Anyway, I don't know if I will even be able to get it approved. I'll bring it up to the police chief. In the meantime, you two figure out where we might be able to draw him out. There has to be someplace that is familiar to Stanton, a place that he might be lurking around in."

And with that, the decision was made.

Mulder and Scully decided to do some exploration of Cleveland in order to determine where Stanton was most likely to show up. They drove to the crime scenes and around the more unsavory parts of the city. Scully was tired from last night and had trouble keeping her eyes open. They were out late last night and then the nausea never really went away so Scully had trouble sleeping once they returned to the hotel.

She thought back to the vision she had with Mulder. At first, she tried to forget about it, because it scared her, but now she needed it. If she could find where that vision occurred (or where it was going to occur - future tense) then they had a location to start from. How she would explain that to Agent Callahan she had no idea, but she would worry about that later. 

Her eyes still shut; she immersed herself in the memory. It was a lot clearer than normal memories and she assumed that it was due to the fact that it was a vision. Just like before, Scully was seeing through the killer's eyes, which was extremely unnerving. However, she had no control over the vision, so she couldn't look around to find a landmark. She could only view what Stanton saw, which was the dark and dirty alleyway, the cracks in the pavement. Come on, she thought. There has to be something here. When Stanton moved to grab Mulder (which made Scully's stomach turn) she made sure to focus on his peripheral vision. She could see part of a sign on a door, most likely leading to some sort of business: 

DELIV 

The rest was cut off. There was a phone number on it too or at least part of one:

-0335.

The memory ended and Scully opened her eyes. She hadn't realized but the car was stopped and Mulder had pulled over to park on the side of the road. He was peering anxiously into her face and she noticed that his hand was gripping her shoulder rather tightly.

"Scully!" he said again, shaking her a bit, though her eyes were now open and she was obviously awake. She looked at him, feeling confused.

"You wouldn't wake up," he said, a little quieter now. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "I know where we can find him. We have to call Agent Callahan."

Read Chapter Ten

[shogunchelios]

Channel Listings

Channel Listings (Click Here to read this with the videos embedded the way it should be.  Warning, it’s in three parts due to the amount of videos I embed. It’s worth it though, trust me.)

Write what you know. That’s the mantra. That’s the advice writers use to get started. When I’ve got the writer’s block going, I repeat the mantra until I can remember what I know. That’s what brought you the sin rankings. From there, I explored Sloth a lot more, by luxuriating in it for a week.

The great irony of sins is that they’re fun as hell. You avoid them so you can go to heaven, right? Then you get to heaven, and what? You’re not allowed to have the maximum amount of fun possible? What kind of eternal paradise is this? All the most enjoyable things we experience, none of that is allowed to be experienced so you can get into this utopia, where...none of that is ever allowed to be experienced?? That’s the long way of me saying, my idea of heaven involves a lot of sin.

The one I’ve thought the most about is, of course, sloth. It was my number one ranked sin for a reason. So if I’ve gone up to heaven, and I’ve got my cloud mancave going, I’m obviously going to have a giant TV. Yes, it’ll have everything on demand, but I’ll be honest. As great as on demand TV is, I still yearn for the days of yesteryear, where you turn on the TV and something is already playing. Then, you press a button to see something else playing, and so on, and so forth. Channel surfing, can you believe that phrase and activity is basically gone now? It’s been replaced by the endless Netflix scroll. You know it’s not as fun.

This is why I’ve come up with my perfect TV channel broadcast schedule. I was trying to program my own channel, with no restrictions since this is supposed to be heaven. The method I use in choosing the shows at their specific time slots is based on a few factors, like nostalgia (childhood all the way through adulthood), but I also think about the standard weekday and what kinds of shows would be on at that time. It can’t be too unrealistic or my cloud mancave would descend into the uncanny valley awfully fast.

Now, without further ado, here is:

The Perfect Cable Channel

4:00 - 5:00 - Mr. Wizard’s World/Planet Earth

You awake in a stupor. You’re not sure where you are or who you are for a bit. Sometimes you’re in bed, sometimes you’re not, but it’s about 4am, and you still have time for a little snooze. Or, maybe you’re a parent and your kid just woke you up and you’re sitting there, trying to get the little fucker to fall back asleep. Who better to help, than the soft sounds of Mr. Wizard’s World.

He was teaching science before Bill Nye had pubes. Mr. Wizard is the OG of making science fun. As fun as it could be back in the late 80’s before adults decided to try to be friends with youngsters. Back then, all adults were united in being curmudgeon around children, perhaps even hitting them if need be, even if they weren’t your own.

Here’s a fun video in case you don’t remember Mr. Wizard: https://www.youtube.com/embed/jM6m9dAIEB8

I added Planet Earth as an alternative, since not everyone had the same great childhood with Nickelodeon playing non-stop on the TV, or up at 4:00am watching it.

5:00-6:00 - Fraggle Rock / Sesame Street / Eureka’s Castle

Still trying to fall asleep. Or perhaps you just woke up now, trying to be a better person by waking up early. Or maybe that damn kid hasn’t fallen asleep yet. Whatever the reason, you’re up at 5:00am and no one wants to be up at 5:00am. The only ones raring to go at 5am are soccer moms and crossfitters. Neither of them are watching TV. You are though. Because you don’t want to be up at 5am. So you turn on the TV to help ease you into the day.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/cxKC3lLhc_w

Real people are way too much to deal with this early. Muppets though? Or puppets? Is muppet only for Muppet brand puppetry? You google that, I’m going to keep going. Bright colors to help your eyes start to adjust, sweet voices to prime your ears for the day, these shows have it all. And if you got a crying kid, well, now you have a babysitter so you can go to the fridge to grab a snack or take a nap on the couch behind the kid as they learn to count.

6:00-7:00 - Morning Show / Weather / News

Now we’re getting to reasonable adult hours. Here’s where most adults getting up, and most kids are falling asleep during summertime hours. What better programming for both types than current events and weather? Kids don’t care, they fall asleep after being up all night watching TV, and adults need something to chit chat about when they get to work. When there’s no friendly morning banter, only your hard, bitter face of resentment over having to work, you get a bad rap. You have to learn to hide that face, like the rest of them. Pretend to be a host of one of these shows. You’ll end up getting promoted.

7:00-8:00 - Saved by the Bell

You go in later in the day. You’re not a part of management yet, and you’ve still got a bright future. Or maybe you woke up and forgot it was your day off. Either way, it’s early, you’re either getting dressed or about to grab a bowl of cereal. Your day brightens up when after a commercial you hear this wonderful theme song:

https://www.youtube.com/embed/fSeTiYspNGk

Zack Morris is the Dobie Gillis of the color TV generation. I think Zac Efron probably took the mantle afterwards, except I think he just did TV movies. Whatever, point being, the ideal model of what kind of teenager to be was best shown on Saved by the Bell. Zack was the number one ideal, obviously, because he was the coolest and perhaps the richest, since he had a cell phone. Perhaps the richest, because last-place Screech (RIP) had a robot, which Rocky Balboa could only afford after Rocky III.

Slater was the ideal for anyone with some athletic ability. He was hispanic on the show, but not enough for him to be a hispanic role model. I’d have to wait for Desperado to come out to get one of those. Kelly was the ideal for hot chicks, Jessie the ideal for smart chicks that like meth, and Lisa the ideal for fashion folks.

I related the best to Mr. Belding. Tries his best, but passed over because of a cooler brother.

8:00-9:00 - Wings

Wings doesn’t get nearly enough love from folks. Same for The Drew Carey Show, but one fight at a time. Wings. At this time of day, the more adult oriented shows start to play, but not too adult. They knew kids like me would tune in on sick days or during the summer time when kids never sleep. I remember watching this at my friend Rene’s house while he had breakfast. I’d leave my house at the crack of dawn to go play outside, but before that, we needed some breakfast and Wings was always playing.

Again, though, not enough folks have even heard of Wings. This Family Guy joke is fairly accurate:

https://www.youtube.com/embed/9Jqv7TlTtno

9:00-10:00 - Price is Right / Wheel of Fortune / Supermarket Sweep

By this time, if you’re still watching TV, then you’re not going to work or school. That means you’ll need to get your brain some stimulation in a different way. Competing along with the folks on the TV, your brain gets the same kind of workout it would’ve gotten at work. The whole time you watch, you also get to feel superior, because for sure you would’ve gotten that last question right. If only you could be a contestant one day.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/fnTbO26u9bQ

When I was a kid, I called one of those numbers they advertised in commercials so you can play at home. I liked dialing numbers I saw to see if anyone would answer. I would freak out my fellow 7-year olds by dialing all these numbers and suddenly there was a voice, asking them if they were ready to switch brands of deodorant. They’d freak, hang up, and we’d laugh and laugh. The time I called that game show, I hung up, and the fuckers called back! I hung up again and hid under the bed. A few weeks later, my dad had to yell at me because they charged him five bucks, even though I hung up. I definitely learned my lesson.

Only call these numbers from payphones.

10:00-11:00 - Morning Cartoon

Believe it or not, but I have notes for the stuff I write. I try to plan things out, like a real writer would, except about dumb things like this. I mention that because I have ‘Morning Cartoon’ written in this spot here, but knowing that it’d be surprising that I even have notes, not surprising is that I’m not sure what I meant by my note. There’s a few things that spring to mind right away.

First, this is where the morning block of cartoons would end if it were Saturday. From 10:00 to 11:00 is when the worst cartoons were on anyway. That was the signal that things were ending and that it was almost time to go play outside. Stuff like Beakman’s World, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, NBA Inside Stuff. Sure, they’re all fine programs (Beakman is my second favorite science show. That’s right, Bill Nye doesn’t even rank with me, how do you like me now), but they’re not cartoons. So, if this were a Saturday, here’s about the time where you’d be wrapping up your cartoon session. Maybe doing that one quick chore, so you can go outside and play, ‘but mom, look, I even made my bed!’

Otherwise, if this were a weekday, I guess here would be a good spot for a Saturday morning style cartoon. Spiderman, X-Men, maybe, since they had the best theme songs. Getting this one-two combo back to back, this will gear you up for the midday slump in daytime TV.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/DZGN9fZvQhc

https://www.youtube.com/embed/sAkL2-vh2Sk

11:00-12:00 12:00-1:00 1:00-2:00 - Classic Cartoons/Sitcoms/Movies

This part of the day is the slowest time for TV. If you’re into daytime talk shows or soap operas, then nevermind, you’re having the time of your life. If you’ve been up for a while and watching TV, here’s about the time where you start looking for something else to do. Or you start thinking of lunch. Or maybe you just woke up now, hungover as hell. Either way, comfort is the way to go here.

Uncle Buck is the best example of a movie to be played around this time. Imagine you’re hungover, and you wipe the crunch out of your eyes as the TV turns on. “I’m Buck Melanoma. I’m Mole-y Russel’s Wart.” Headache or not, you’re going to be smiling.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/xEt5dEOcW0I

The alternative here could be a Looney Tunes marathon, or if you’re not an oldster like me, then maybe some Nicktoons. Sitcoms like Taxi or Who’s the Boss go great here, or, again if you’re not ancient, then you can go with Friends or King of Queens here. Whatever passes the time as you try to recover from that hangover.

2:00-3:00 - Catch-Up Time / Start the binge

You have an extra lunchtime at work today, so you go home and eat. You have the extra time so why not, turn on the TV and enjoy your lunch. If you’re with your spouse, then right now is a good time to watch the rest of that show you were watching the night before. As usual, one of you fell asleep and didn’t see the ending, so here you both watch it, and then you can discuss it afterwards.

If it’s a weekend and you’ve already got your daily errand out of the way, then now would be an ideal time to start on a new binge or to continue the extra long binge you’ve been on.

3:00-4:00 - Game Show

You got out of work early so you get to enjoy a bit of Family Feud or even an early Jeopardy! Maybe it was a slow day, or you’re about to start a three day weekend, but here’s where you can crack open your first beer. You don’t need those qualifiers of course, but they’re good to have when someone wants to call you an alcoholic.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/HeGVeBWECu8

4:00-6:00 - Catch-Up Time / Start the binge

What’s that? I’m repeating myself? Look buddy, I don’t know where you get off telling me how to do my bits, but I’ve had enough of ya. Beat it, and don’t let me catch you around here again. Ok, now that I got rid of that wiseguy, yes, this is a repeat, but that’s because now is when you actually got out of work. Still a good time to catch up on that show from last night, right before you start on dinner.

Not many folks watch TV as soon as they get home from work. Everyone has their own unwinding routine. That’s why I had to repeat this part. If you really want a specific show here, then consider a cartoon that’s aimed at older teens, like Daria, or Gravity Falls/Steven Universe which I haven’t seen, but I hear they’re good. If you’ve had your fill of cartoons, then newer sitcoms like How I Met Your Mother or Seinfeld or The Office.

6:00-7:00 - Sports Pre-Show / New Drama

Depending on the time of year, this is usually when we’re watching the pregame to something or other. If it’s the weekend, maybe it’s the undercard of a fight. During the week, probably football or any other sport you might enjoy is coming up and right now are the highlights and the talking heads.

If it’s spouse TV time, then this is probably when you start your favorite broadcast drama, like Chicago Fire, or Law and Order or This is Us. Perhaps watch the last episode because you forgot what happened because one of y’all fell asleep. All the best stuff starts at 7, so think of this as your appetizer hour.

7:00-8:00 8:00-9:00 - Wrestling / Football / Current Prestige Show / Movie

Date night, Date night. If you got yourself a lady/fella, right now is when you’re watching something that they like. You’re trying to make a move so you want to put them in the right mood. Now’s the time to take care of spousal duties and get through that romantic comedy they’ve been wanting to see.

If you all have been together for a while, then this is when you watch your current favorite prestige TV show. Anything on HBO can qualify here, like Big Little Lies, Mare of Easttown, Game of Thrones. If wifey is out, or if you’re a modern hip couple that does separate activities, this is also when you’re watching football or wrestling.

You demand very little, but watching football and wrestling live are parts of those demands. It doesn’t matter how good the game or show may be, if you’re watching it after it airs, it just doesn’t hit the same level. As much as I try to avoid spoilers, I just can’t help but check my notifications or twitter, and sure enough, there’s the score or the big reveal in wrestling. Once you know who wins the match, no matter how great the match is, the tension is gone. Same with football. The tension is why you’re there. You’re watching this stuff live to get a rush. At this time of night, you’re deciding what kind of night you’re going to have. You need something to match up.

Date night? Romantic movie, some wine, then here comes the smooches, then the snoozes. Single life? Bro movie to get you amped up to go out, like Wolf of Wall Street. Regular domestic night? This is the part of the day where you get your rush. Prestige TV with some murders or lots of t&a like Game of Thrones. It’s all about the rush in this timeslot.

9:00-10:00 - Personal Favorite / Guilty Pleasure show

Around this time, the wife is going to get up to start her bedtime routine, which can take anywhere from half an hour to about an hour and a half. Makeup removal, picking out clothes for the next day, a crapload of creams. Who knows what else they’re up to in that bathroom. So now’s your chance to watch that show that she hates. You know the one, maybe it’s too dirty, or too violent, or too abstract. This could be something like a Cinemax show like Banshee or Strike Back.

If you’re alone, then this is the show you watch because you heard from your friend that it’s good. You want to try something new so now you check it out. It could be something like Letterkenny, or Lupin, or Dave. If you’re with the spouse and they’re not going to bed, maybe you all are living large and are forgoing the sensible bedtime, then respect, my friend, that’s the way to live. Here is where the two of you are watching reality shows like 90 Day Fiance, Married at First Sight, or Real Houswives of Wherever. Yeah, you say you don’t like them, but you can’t help to get invested in these folks.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/iRtbJXNM-aw

10:00-11:00 - Night Show

Folks have jobs and need to wake up early to get ready, so by now, you should be in bed. You’re just watching so you don’t feel so lonely in the dark. That’s why it’s important to have a good friend with you and nowadays, you have so many choices. Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, Stephen Colbert, Conan, The Daily Show. They’ll tell you the news, crack a few jokes, give you a funny skit or two. Here’s where you can steal some material to share with the office tomorrow.

Before smart phones and memes, everything would need to be acted out. Part of the fun was the bad impressions and terrible re-telling of jokes from the night before. That’s all gone. Now it’s just ‘did you see that funny bit last night on Conan? Here, watch the video.’ The person watches, laughs politely, hands the phone back, and ask you if you remember the whole Conan vs Jay Leno stuff. You say yes, agree that it was so crazy, then you both go back to your cubicles to wait for the sweet release of death.

11:00-12:00 - Late Show

Still up, huh? I hope you don’t have to work tomorrow, or you’ll be dragging ass when you wake up tomorrow. Oh, you do work tomorrow? Just one more show before bed? Ok, fine. That article you googled says to turn off everything when you’re trying to sleep, but apparently you wake up when you turn off the TV, so you might as well keep it on. You’ll watch with one eye closed so the other eye can get the hint.

To be frank, I lost track of who’s on the Late Show circuit ever since Conan left way back when. Who is it? Seth Meyers? James Corden? But you’re up and you have to watch something. You can’t watch one of your shows and get a jump ahead of your spouse. You can’t watch your guilty pleasure because what if you fall asleep and miss all the important stuff. You have to watch something self-contained but not too challenging so your mind can drift off.

I just hope you’re already drowsy by the time the second guest is coming on.

12:00-1:00 1:00-2:00 - Drunk or High Movie / Commercials

Oh, you’re not drowsy? Just can’t sleep? Been drinking too much caffeine there? Or maybe you just got home from a few after-work cocktails. It’s midnight, you’re up, not too sleepy. Some folks go for illicit substances for the quick fix. Maybe a beer or two, a couple of pills, a joint. Yeah, all the articles you read about sleep say that even though those substances can knock you out, the sleep isn’t genuine so you don’t get full benefit. There might be something to that. I often wake up in the middle of the night after a night of drinking or smoking. I think it’s when my liver is done processing all the junk.

Or you just got home from doing all that and you’re looking for something to watch while you eat a couple pounds of fast food. TV shows aren’t great here because there might be references to things you don’t remember because you’re blasted out of your mind. Movies are the key here. There’s always a great movie playing around this time. Rated R comedies, like Super Troopers, Wedding Crashers, Superbad, Beer Fest, great party movies to watch while intoxicated. If sober, they’re familiar and safe because it’s on Comedy Central and it’s censored.

Be careful the movie you pick here. One time, I couldn’t sleep and stumbled upon a movie about some Mexican American fellas. Oh, someone’s named Miclo, must be that movie everyone references. So I start watching this movie, Blood In, Blood Out, though it was labeled Bound By Honor in the TV Guide. Shit, that movie is 4 freaking hours long! So, find the movie playing on basic cable.

Besides, it’s what’s between the movies that you’re starting to focus on more. Those damn commercials, somehow it’s always when they’re playing that the wife wakes up. She sees sexy college girls that are waiting for my call and turns to me, as if I can control the commercials on the TV, but she doesn’t give a damn. Turn the TV off and go to bed. Ok, jeez, not like I was even paying attention to the commercials.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/kfVA8iSGgDc

2:00-3:00 - History Channel

You tried to sleep, but it’s still not working. You want to put something on that’s safe, so if anyone wakes up, there’s no chance of anything even remotely inappropriate. Even if there’s no one else there, you don’t want to start getting worked up this late at night. Then you’re off on a bender, trying to find some perfect scene to watch while you go to town and then the belt comes out and now you’re dealing with all these new logistics and at this time of night, it’s just too much stimulation.

Nice safe History Channel. Sure, there’s some stuff about aliens on there, but everything is presented in the same way, with lots of big words and names of places and dates. Everything that put you to sleep in school, but now while you lay in your nice comfortable bed. Hopefully soon the sandman comes for you.

3:00-3:30 - Google Deep Dive

The sphinx was constructed around 10,000 BC? No way. I have to get to the bottom of this. Gobleki Tepe? Better check out this YouTube video of when civilization began.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/czgOWmtGVGs

3:30-3:45 - Infomercial

You’re back in bed, it’s so late and you know tomorrow is going to suck. Oh shit, you mean today. You’re not going to get enough rest and you’re going to be so tired at work. Nothing is working. Except turning the TV off, can’t do that and just lay in the dark. That’s when the monsters come.

You would think informercials are great for putting you to sleep, but I always got excited watching them. If I was some sorta rich kid with a credit card, we would’ve had so much crap at home. Ron Popeil was my homeboy and he always had some awesome invention. I think the first one I saw was one I wouldn’t have needed at the time.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/2GeF7A05zQ8

The first one I saw that I pictured myself having was the food dehydrator. I had no idea how it worked though, because I had no idea what that word meant. I would see the contraption, but I couldn’t figure the mechanism. He would lay some meat out on one of the trays, then say he waits a week, then it was jerky. And I’m like ‘HOW?’

https://www.youtube.com/embed/rN1XvTJNrXU

Oh, and don’t get me started on the pasta maker. GREEN pasta?? What?? Yo, don’t even..don’t..Chocolate...CHOCOLATE pasta?? Oh Ron, come on, how can an eight year old kid order one of these?

https://www.youtube.com/embed/j8WMXyXBGpM?start=93

Ron Popeil, the Edison of our time. All these awesome inventions and guess what? It’s never going to cost as much as you think. What? A thousand dollar value? You’ll never pay a thousand dollars. All you’ll ever pay is? FOUR EASY PAYMENTS.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/B0NS44D7MYo

https://www.youtube.com/embed/JHInK-FRD9I

3:45-3:59 - Damn those commercials

Damn it, go grab the belt. Going to have to rub one out to release the sweet sleep chemicals in the brain. Uh oh, be careful, the belt is stuck, you’re going to pass out. It’s getting d..ark...you .. breathe...can’t...almost...there…..breathe..cant..d.

…. .gasp .. .. .. ….a .. .

. ……. gasp. . . .. ……… … . ...r . ….. K… .. ….

*the belt slips off the doorknob. Your body crumples to the floor. Gaaaasp.

You awake in a stupor.