#Most charming Mister World contestants

[celestialholz]

Today in meta: Mister Milquetoast himself.

Hassel, Brassius, if you could stay in your lovely lawnside Artazon house for TEN DAMN MINUTES whilst I talk about someone else, I'd appreciate that. Love you kings, stay gay, I'll be back for you real soon. <3

Instead, it's the Celestial meta debut of this bitch!

You know him, you love him, it's Larry, and I wish to strip him down to his ATOMS he's so interesting, but I'm going to start simple: birds. The dichotomy of birds.

Let's take a peek at his Elite Four squad - I'm not going to analyse the gym one, because it's half a team, but you'll see that it matters anyway in a minute.

This is his lovely team:

Now, you probably know what I've said before about the penultimate slot in a full team, and especially Hassel's - how it's meant to represent the heart and personality of the trainer. And that rings perfectly true for our favourite salaryman, too, if we take a look at Staraptor's Scarlet dex entry:

That's Larry, solitary and resilient against whatever the world throws at him. And of course, Staraptor is Normal/Flying, both of Larry's specialties. Even the Intimidate ability is relevant, as according to his official bio on the Pokemon website, Larry becomes 'unsettlingly still whenever he is lost in thought, much to the worry of people nearby.'

... But what intrigues me is the ace switch between teams. What was Staraptor's slot in the gym is now replaced with Flamigo - a lovely representation for Staraptor in that penultimate slot, certainly, but the birds themselves are a world apart.

If we take a quick glance at Flamigo here...

... We see that he is the entire opposite of Staraptor - he only flourishes in a group. And we see that in Larry, too - as lone wolf as he is, when does he truly come alive, hit his peak of battling strength? When he's surrounded by others - when the crowd gathers for his gym battle towards its conclusion, when Rika and Poppy watch on and support him in the Elite Four.

And so, pasting all this together, if the penultimate slot in the party is the heart of the trainer, what does that make the ace?

Potential; what the trainer could be... for better, or for worse.

If we take the examples I used before in the meta I linked above, of champions:

Cynthia's ace is the ultimate in trainer nightmare fuel, Garchomp. Without the goodness in her heart, without her academic curiosity for the ancient past being channelled into research... well, we know what happens. It's this fucker.

Cynthia has the potential to be this guy, and I think we're all pretty fucking thankful that she isn't...

Wallace's ace is a Milotic. Said to be the 'most beautiful of all Pokemon', and able to calm violence simply by its presence, Wallace without a League structure would be a Contest master, which is something he also excels at: and he's got the perfect pal to do it with. He values physical beauty, exuberance, and charm, it'd be a simple switch.

Steven's ace is a Metagross. Destined as he is to take over the Devon Corporation when his father eventually retires, without his battle prowess and fascination for fossils, in another life he'd run the technology company with quick intellect and good business sense.

Even in the very League Larry is part of, this checks. Poppy's is Tinkaton - a little girl, vastly too powerful for her size, has the potential to be an utter nightmare of a child without having an outlet for her strength; Hassel's Baxcalibur is him without Brassius - partly the emotional distance of Ice, and part the heritage of Dragons. It's no coincidence that Bax's signature move Glaive Rush bounces double damage back to itself the turn after - a deeply appropriate sentiment for the man who feels too much.

... And so, where does that leave us with Larry?

It leaves us with a man wearing a facade - unsurprising, when he gives you the TM for it. It leaves us with a man whose genius and vibrance is swallowed by corporate life, who actually LOVES the thrill of being cheered on. It leaves us with a man wants to overcome his own weakness, a man who wishes to Fight AND to Fly... it leaves us with a man whose ace has Scrappy, which will allow him to strike Ghosts - something his 'normal' team can't do. It leaves us with a showman, and...

... it leaves us kinda sad, really. This man is the only character in the series who has managed to master two separate types, and it's for the worst of reasons, but... we do see those glimmers of brilliance, and we do see a Terastillised Flamigo - a Pokemon known for silly movements and power, much like his masterful trainer with the very silly throw, who is now pure Flying.

Pay attention, Larry dear. Maybe you too can soar. <3

[gotmilk5101520]

Miraculous Ladybug Rewatch Episode 59 Silencer

Within the sound of silence.

“You know I never have any ideas” This is how we all are right?

“I'll use the same plan that's made me the rich man I am today” Donald Trump.

“I'll use the same plan that's made me the rich man I am today”

“If you're short on great ideas, borrow someone else's“ And sadly that’s how the world works.

“They do realize that we can hear them right?”

“Hey uh can i join too?” “Sure thing Adrien!” “Thanks Luka- Wait. Change of plans. My father has already set up my schedule for the next two weeks” “It’s alright Adrien maybe next time” “Thanks Lu-” “Can we save the gayness for later?”

*Rock n Roll singing in French*

“There better be a good explanation“ “And if not then I'm taking mom’s gun” “Juleka, we’re not taking mom’s gun” “Why does your mom have a gun?” “In case Jagged Stone shows up” “Juleka, like i keep telling mom, Jagged Stone has no reason to come here. Why would he come here?”

“Luka, are you thinking what I'm thinking?” “Yes indeed Marinette” “We have someone pretend to be akumatized while we sneak in” “Wait that’s the plan?” “Yes! What were you thinking?” “Public Nudity” “Oh my god”

“I came up with the whole song in 5 minutes”

“In 5 minutes? He couldn't even sing it the way it's supposed to be sung. Maybe Juleka was right we should’ve brought mom’s gun” “No Luka”

“You flat out stole! You didn't design this mask!“ “Wait who are you?” “Luka!” “Oh you’re that guy from the video... He’s even hotter without the mask”

“If you do that, I'll tell them you're the copycats, not me. I've got all the music biz eating out of my hand“ Again sadly that’s how the world of music works.

“Ah. I'm detecting the echo of a very rare emotion”

“The anger of a creator whose work has been stolen. Who just so happens to be my pizza delivery man”

“Who also cannot bear to see the one he loves suffer“ *Cries in Lukanette*

“Fly away, my little akuma, and evilize this pure soul“ Okay so you’re telling me that Luka rarely gets mad? Then how is he getting akumatized in season 4?

“Yes please kiss me” “What?” “What?”

What he was going to say “Take off that stupid helmet so i can kiss you”

“Don't worry, Marinette. I would never hurt you“ “Are you really giving me the old talk to the hand?”

“You’re the most extraordinary girl, Marinette“ “Hold up hold up! Can you use your normal voice? It’s weird hearing from XY’s” “Oh okay” *Coughs in French* “Better?” “Better”

“You’re the most extraordinary girl, Marinette”

“Clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody“

“You’re the music that’s been playing inside my head since the day we first met“

“I won’t let anything happen to you“  *Cries in Lukanette again*

“Perhaps Luka feels the same way“ “Do you think!?” She sounds so happy.

Here he is the biggest douche of the universe. In all the galaxies there’s no bigger douche than you. You’ve reached the top the pinnacles of douchedom. Good going douche, your dreams have come true.

Boink.

“I wonder how everyone is doing with that contest. I would be playing with them, but my father won’t let me. I just want to play with Luka again... Okay maybe i should’ve phase that differently”

“Hey, that's not very nice!“ What did she say?

Boink 2

“Maybe I could imitate your voice?“ “No we’re doing Mister Bug and Lady Noire”

“Lucky Charm!”

“Lucky Charm!”

“Lucky Charm!”

“Lucky Charm!” Look at him.

“Uh... cat got your tongue?”

“A night at the opera?“ Chat Noir sucks at charade.

“What i wouldn’t give for another croissant” Adrien would agree.

“We could wait for Bob Roth to actually tell the truth. Cause to be honest  I'm rooting for Luka right now. Not cause he’s hot, but he also has a point” “You know what? You’re right”

You guys really need to stop falling for these fake outs.

“And what's with this fake Lucky Charm? I thought it was supposed to be magic or something, but it's actually just some crafty special effects”

“Time to shut up”

Ladybug’s tail kink part 4

“Oh yes press harder” “What?” “What?”

“It feels good to be top”

Got what he deserves.

“What did you think, kid? That I was going to tell everybody the truth?”

“That I stole Kitty Section's song and your girlfriend's costumes, so I could give them to my talentless son?” “Gee now i feel bad for XY. Having such a shitty dad” “Wait you feel mad for me?” “Don’t get the wrong idea”

Exposed live.

“See you soon, my kitty”

“I love when she calls me that” *Screams in Ladynoir*

“Luka?”

“Did you really mean those things you said when you were akumatized?”

“I'm sorry, Marinette, but I don't remember. What did I say?”

“Uh, oh, nothing. It was nothing at all. You were possessed by Hawkmoth's akuma”

“I don't know what I possibly could've said. I just hope it wasn't anything mean. Did i say about how i pooped my pants when i was 7?” “Uh no” “Is it that i almost drowned when i was 11?″ “No it wasn’t” “Wait  did i say how i want to have a foursome with you Adrien and Kagami?” “No. Wait what?” “Nothing”

“Because you're the most extraordinary girl, Marinette”

“As clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody”

“You’re the music that’s been playing inside my head since the first day we met”

*More Cries in Lukanette*

Why can’t i find a guy like Luka?

And really? Oni-Chan? You guys better not be getting the wrong idea.

[awhitehead17]

Hi! I hope you’re well! For the writing prompt thing, do you feel up to writing 35 or 79? Hope you have a good day!

Hi! I got your other message and I am more than happy writing TimKon! I’ve chosen to do 35 (Contest) and I hope you enjoy it as this was a lot of fun to write! :D

It all starts with a comment.

While that was nothing new between the two of them, a comment to trigger them butting heads with one another, this time Tim didn’t mean anything by it. But of course Kon didn’t see it that way, he immediately saw it as a challenge.

The pair of them were out in town in the clubs. An unusual thing for them but it made a change to be acting like actual teenagers for once and not world-saving superheroes.

Tim was the bar with a drink in hand when Kon came up next to him grinning like an idiot. He raised an eyebrow in his friend’s direction, “What’s up with you?”

Kon continues to grin, he holds up a small bit of paper with what looks like a number on it. Tim rolls his eyes, he should have known. “Really Kon, another one?” That happened to be the Super’s third number that night. “Do you even plan on ringing them?”

The meta shrugs and puts the paper away in his pocket, “Maybe? Not sure yet.”

He didn’t mean to, but Tim bristled at the thought of Kon calling random strangers up, especially when he was right there. He was always right there. “Well just don’t go messing with anyone’s feelings.” 

Kon raises an eyebrow at him, “What’s that supposed to mean? Jealous are we Timothy?”

Yes. “Of course not. I could easily get numbers, I just choose not to.”

And there was the comment.

His best friend stands up straighter, eyeing him with interest and a leery smile, “Oh yeah mister cocky? How about a contest? Whoever gets the most numbers in the next two hours win and the loser has to do whatever the winner says?”

Tim debates the idea. While he didn’t want to do the challenge his competitive nature wasn’t willing for him to back down, especially against Kon. He downs the rest of his drink and stands up straight, sticking his hand out to Kon, “Sure, let the best man win.”

Kon grins and shakes his hand. The contest is on.

Two hours later they meet back the bar on the quiet side, they each lay out all the numbers they had collected side by side. After a moment of counting they frown and double check again.

They have the same amount of numbers. It was 10 each.

“What? No! How’s that even possible?”

Tim triple checks the numbers and sighs, he sends a grin over at his best friend who was clearly peeved with the results, “Looks like we’re even Kon. It seems like I’m just as charming as you are.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of them and Tim’s ready to let it go, it had been fun but there was no point to it. He was just getting lost to the beat of the music when Kon speaks up again.

“You know it may not be over.”

“You said two hours Kon, it’s been two hours. We drew.”

“But what if we didn’t?”

Tim rolls his eyes, how typical of Kon wanted to change the rules just because he didn’t win. “What did you have in mind?”

His best friend looks at him intensely, “One more chance to ask for a number, if I get it I win, if I don’t you win.”

Tim’s gut started rolling with the way Kon was looking at him. He swallows thickly and finds himself nodding, “Sure. One more chance.”

Kon smiles and looks around the club as if looking for his final target. Tim’s surprised when he doesn’t move but starts talking instead, “Y’know, there’s someone I’ve been looking at all night. They’re dressed fantastically, looking absolutely drop dead gorgeous and I keep wondering to myself, ‘should I ask them for their number, maybe ask them on a date,’ but I keep on chickening out.”

He glances at Tim, “But sometimes in life you’ve just got to say ‘fuck it’ and go for it.”

As he talks the heat inside Tim keeps on growing, hearing Kon talk so witfully is getting to him in ways he can’t describe. His best friend stands up and Tim thinks he’s finally going to move but instead he turns around to face Tim fully and brings out a piece of paper with a pen, he slides it over to Tim with a hot look in his eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying but you look fantastic tonight and may I have you’re number so I can ask you on a date?”

Tim’s mouth drops open as he gapes at Kon. What? What! He blinks at his best friend who was now smiling almost shyly at him, waiting for Tim to give him an answer. Tim’s brain was still malfunctioning, his mind going over the fact his best friend and crush just asked him on a date.

Luckily it eventually gets with the times and he’s pushed back into reality. Kon’s already got his number so there’s more to it than meets the eye, if he ‘gives’ his number then Kon’s won their competition theoretically.

He looks up at Kon with a small smile, “If I give it to you, what does that mean?”

He’s implying something else and thankfully Kon gets the hint. “That means you have to do what I say. That was the deal.”

“And what would that entail?”

“You’d have to go on a date with me.”

“What happened to asking me to go on a date?”

“Would you say yes if I asked?”

“Ask me and find out.”

“Timothy Drake, will you go on a date with me?”

Instead of answering verbally, Tim stands up and presses close to Kon making their bodies flushed with one another. He wraps his arms around his best friend’s shoulder’s and feels Kon’s hands come to rest at his hips. He pushes up on his tip toes and kisses Kon.

After a moment he breaks their kiss to say, “yes I’ll go on a date with you,” before going in for another.

[365days365movies]

January 5, 2021: The Running Man (1987) (Part 1)

Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Stallone, I hadn’t seen a lot of, Arnie, on the other hand. Oh, I’ve seen plenty of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Conan the Barbarian, The Terminator, Commando, Predator, Total Recall, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Jingle All the Way, Batman and Robin, and Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines fills my list of seen Arnie films. What’s missing?

Kindergarten Cop, Twins, Junior, Last Action Hero, and True Lies certainly come to mind. And yeah, you might’ve noticed that those are all action-comedies. Two of these will be seen during Comedy April; one’s gonna be watched tomorrow. Of course, there are still other movies missing in that list above, but Schwarzenegger has a LOT of movies. And so, today, we’re going for one of his ‘80s action films, based off of a Stephen King story. That’d be a little movie called The Running Man.

A movie set in the far-flung dystopian future of...2019...The Running Man is one of Schwarzenegger’s understated classics, at least as compared to his other dynamos of the era. All I know is, it’s his only major big pure action film of the time that’s slipped under my radar. I don’t have any particular expectations going in, but I’m expecting some typical Schwarzenanigans. 

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

Recap

So, the global economy collapsed in 2017, eventually leading to a global police state and state-controlled television. High censorship reigns, and the most popular show (of all time, apparently) is a gladiator-type series called “The Running Man.” Any dissent is quickly crushed, which (naturally) has led to a small underground resistance movement, like it always does. 

As we start, police helicopter pilot Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger), an authority figure with a conscience (unsurprisingly), using his vehicle (which operates off of the above seen UNIXSYSTEM (I know this)) to monitor and detect potential riots. Richards proceeds to defy orders to fire on innocent citizens who only want food, and gets knocked out by his coworkers.

We cut to 18 months later, where Richards is confined to a work camp, where people die, and nobody’s loved. They’re all wearing detonator collars, and I know the plot of the movie.

Seriously, the plot, the ending, Schwarzenegger’s role, it’s all done. I got it. I’ve seen this story a thousand times. He’s gonna be recruited to join the Running Man game show that the guards are talking about, escape just before they’re gonna kill him (probably), join up with the rebellion, bring new life into them, probably fall in love at some point, and then take down the head of the police state and/or the game show.

I got this. Which is a little disappointing, if I’m right. Automatically got some points against it, but hopefully I’ll still enjoy the ride. 

Anyway, back to the gulag. Schwarzenegger and another prisoner stage a fight, allowing the third prisoner to try hacking the perimeter fence that triggers the collars. After losing a guy so that we can see somebody’s head blow up, the perimeter is shut down, and all of the prisoners escape. 

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, we’re introduced to the Running Man, a DOJ-sponsored game show in which the contestants are “criminals, traitors, and enemies of the state,” who are essentially executed on national television. Dark. I like it. Our escapees meet up with the underground, and they get their collars taken off. Not wanting to get involved in any rebellion (yeah, OK, sure), Richards leaves the city. And he’s definitely never gonna come back for any reason.

We now meet our villain of the piece, Damon Killian, played by the Kissing Bandit himself, Richard Dawson. And I’m not gonna lie, casting Dawson as the country’s greatest game show host is...great, it’s great, it’s one of my favorite casting choices so far this month. Dawson, for those of you who didn’t know, was the first host of Family Feud. He also had a well-known penchant for kissing the female contestants that came on the show. That’s how he earned the moniker, “The Kissing Bandit.” And yeah, it was a little creepy, in retrospect.

Killian immediately comes off as a two-faced slime, and I am more ready for this character than I have ever been. I mean, an evil game show host? SOLD! If they ever remake this movie, I would give good money to see either John O’Hurley or (please, please) Steve Harvey take up this role, since both have been Family Feud hosts. Could you imagine?

We also meet Amber, our inevitable love interest played by Maria Conchita Alonso, who’s watching the news, with Ben’s face on it. We learn that he’s known as the “Butcher of Bakersfield,” being framed as a “maniac” who fired on innocent civilians (when, of course, that’s what he was trying to prevent. I feel like there’s a comment on the media to be made here, but I ain’t gonna make it. Yet.). Amber now lives in his brother’s apartment, as he was taken for reeducation. I’m sure he’s fine.

Killian sees footage of the escape, wants Ben Richards for the show, and immediately calls the President’s agent to make it happen. I love it. Richards, in the meanwhile, coerces a tied up Amber to help him get out of the city. We get to see the treat of a 6′4″ Austrian man wearing a badly-fitting Hawaiian shirt, which just looks ridiculous, and I appreciate it. 

It immediately doesn’t work, and she rats him out, leading to his inevitable capture by the cops, and to our hero meeting our villain for the first time. 

Dawson makes Ben an offer he can’t refuse, having kidnapped his prison friends in order to coerce Ben to compete in his show, “The Running Man.” Ben agrees, and is subjected to a medical procedure and sedated. Amber, in the meantime, starts to realize that the government sucks, and might be framing Richards. And then, Climbing For Dollars comes on.

I am more confident than I should that that show either does or will exist. Bet.

Anyway, Ben “The Butcher of Bakersfield” is the main attraction on the show tonight! We get a montage of women dancing on a darkened stage in ‘80s tights, choreographed by original American idol judge, Paula Abdul! Small world, that. 

Damon Killian comes on stage, pouring on the smarmy charm to the audience, on and off screen. Something about how slimy he is just reeks 80s, and I’m living for it. Ben Richards is introduced using a bit of edited footage framing him as the Butcher, which also places Killian as an avenger and hero of the people, which...yeah, continuing to dig it. The audience jeers as the dancers parade around him in theater, eventually revealing...

I can’t decide if he looks terrible or fantastic in this outfit.

It’s revealed then that Killian’s double-crossed Ben (unsurprisingly), and his friends have been brought to compete in the game regardless. It’s also revealed that the “Runners” will be pursued by the “Stalkers.” And if they survive, they could win prizes like a fair trial, or maybe even a pardon if they get far enough! Whoof. This is a rough dystopia, and one with enough tinges of reality, that it’s palpable. BUT ANYWAY! It’s time to start running!

The guys are shot down a sick-looking bullet tube that’s almost certainly given someone an epileptic seizure in the past, and they exit into the mean streets of Los Angeles. Edith from the show audience picks the first Stalker to go out and hunt them down: Subzero.

Actually, this is Professor Subzero, played by Professor Toru Tanaka, a professional wrestler of the day. The group meet him in a hockey rink, where he’s covered in armor, carries a weaponized hockey stick, and uses explosive hockey pucks like a GODDAMN BATMAN VILLAIN.

I love this movie.

Well, the future Mister Freeze kills Professor SubZero, Because there can only be one ice-themed supervillain here. This is also the first time a Stalker has been killed in the show’s history. And wow, Ben is making himself look REAL bad. Both because of killing a Stalker, and by spitting out TWO shitty action movie lines in a row.

Ratings are up, Amber gets caught proving Ben’s innocence, and the next two Stalkers are chosen. One is Buzzsaw, armed with a chainsaw and super-strength.

The other is Dynamo, a GODDAMN OPERA SINGER WITH A METAL MOHAWK WEARING A SUIT THAT GRANTS HIM ELECTROKINESIS.

This film is our greatest achievement as a species. I am crying. I’m gonna need a minute.

Part II coming later today!

[citizenscreen]

On September 8, 1930, in the midst of the Great Depression, the world was introduced to Blondie Boopadoop, a dizzy blonde flapper created by Murat Bernard ‘Chic’ Young. Blondie debuted in newspapers across the country on that day. She was Chic Young’s fourth strip featuring a young woman, but this was the one to catch fire and eventually become iconic in the world of comics and media at large. It is hard to believe that the blonde hero of blissful domesticity turns 90 and that her stories remain tops with audiences the world over.

Blondie’s early days featured the star popular in dating circles. Her courtships made for several storylines. Blondie’s main squeeze, however, was bumbling playboy Dagwood Bumstead, son of millionaire industrialist, J. Bolling Bumstead. Dagwood introduced Blondie to his ill-natured father in the very first strip announcing their plans to marry. The elder Bumstead was aghast that his son would be interested in a woman of Blondie’s lowly social status.

For the next couple of years, the Blondie comics centered on the couple’s struggles to get the Bumsteads to agree to the pairing. Blondie does everything imaginable to no avail. In the meantime, she also entertains several other admirers – although Dagwood was never far away. With readership dwindling, Chic Young and the comic’s distributer, King Features Syndicate, decided Blondie and Dagwood should finally get married and in February 1933 they did much to the chagrin of the Bumsteads who disowned their son and heir. Mr. and Mrs. Bumstead only grudgingly acknowledged the union because Dagwood went on a hunger strike that lasted over 28 days spotlighted by daily coverage and countdowns that helped circulation. Every day people tuned in to see how Dagwood was doing on the hunger strike. After all, one of his favorite pasttimes has always been eating. One of my favorite Blondie scenes is of Dagwood emerging from his bed after the hunger strike to reveal loads of dishes under the covers.

It was after the marriage of the disinherited blissfully happy Dagwood and the carefree vivacious Blondie took place that audiences truly warmed to their humorous domestic escapades. Blondie and Dagwood became a happy family whose troubles reflected those of the readers’ in many ways. The couple started their married life penniless, as were most during the Depression, which lent itself to many enjoyable scenes. First Dagwood’s need to find work made great stories and eventually so did his relationship with his boss Mister Dithers. However, the charms of Blondie the strip relied on the couple’s home life and its place in the pantheon of all things domestic comedy, which was a revolutionary one at that as Chic Young insisted that the young Bumsteads share a double bed, not the twin beds audiences saw on all other domestic stories in media. (loc.gov) In fact, the Bumsteads did not share a bed in their movie incarnations.

As the strip continued its run, Blondie and Dagwood changed as did their family. Blondie, who started as an airhead of sorts, became the Bumstead voice of reason and Dagwood became the flake to whom all things happen. Part of Dagwood’s charm is he remains a child of sorts, an innocent whose zany antics we cannot get enough of and all because he can’t seem to get things quite right. Except his sandwich, which is a masterpiece every single time.

On April 15, 1934, the couple welcomed their first child, Baby Dumpling (later Alexander) who received almost as much media attention as baby Ricardo on “I Love Lucy” two decades later. Except without the power of television.

In 1941, Blondie and Dagwood welcomed a daughter, Cookie, whose name was chosen by hundreds of thousands of submissions in a contest run by Chic Young. Blondie’s popularity soared when the Bumsteads became a family in earnest in their home in Joplin, Missouri, including Daisy (family dog and Dagwood’s best friend) and the pups. At the height of its popularity, Blondie rivaled Peanuts. No doubt, this creation by Chic Young is one of the all-time greats in the pantheon of comic strips. I would say a masterpiece people have enjoyed for its love conquers all stories and wonderful drawings. It has been one of my favorites for years.

Aside from daily strips and Sunday editions, the Bumsteads have enjoyed comic book popularity as well with seven versions spanning from 1947 to 1976.

  As you probably know Blondie’s popularity jumped to screens and the airwaves as well. As far as the movies go, the story is that as the strip’s popularity grew, Columbia Pictures’ boss Harry Cohn decided that the characters had potential for a B-picture or two so he signed a deal with Chic Young. The result was a 28-picture, 12-year run between 1938 and 1950. All twenty-eight movies star Penny Singleton as Blondie and Arthur Lake as Dagwood. The first and best is Frank Strayer’s Blondie. Strayer directed more than a dozen of the Blondie pictures.

Some of the signature gags from the strip made it into the movies such as Dagwood running into the mailman every morning as he is late for work causing the mail to fly all over the place. That happened early in all of the movies welcoming devoted fans to the hijinks of their favorite family. Following Dagwood’s signature,” Blondieeeeee.” Dagwood’s legendary sandwich also made its way into every single one of the movies and into Webster’s New World Dictionary.

The first movie in the series sees the Bumsteads about to celebrate their fifth anniversary, but money troubles ensue. They have money troubles often in their history. In fact, the Bumstead budget, as Blondie mentions in one of the movies, is the pulse of the family. Dagwood asks for a raise from Mr. Dithers (Jonathan Hale), owner of the J. C. Dithers Construction Company, with whom Dagwood is always at odds just like in the strip. Blondie, on the other hand, orders new furniture (from an uncredited Charles Lane) since they just finished paying off other furniture. Her logic is impeccable, a logic inherited by an almost-too-cute Baby Dumpling (Larry Simms). Dagwood loses his job after getting into a jam at work, but makes up for it by wooing a wealthy businessman (Gene Lockhart) into investing with the Dithers Company.

Staying true to the comic strip, Blondie (1938) features several of the same characters throughout the series played by the same actors. Aside from Penny Singleton and Arthur Lake, Larry Simms plays Baby Dumpling in all of the movies. He was so popular in the role that he was credited as “Baby Dumpling” in Frank Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) where he plays the Hopper Boy. Marjorie Ann Mutchie (as Marjorie Kent) makes her debut as Cookie Bumstead in Frank Strayer’s It’s a Great Life (1943), the thirteenth movie in the series and one of the few without “Blondie” in the title. More on that later.

Penny Singleton and Arthur Lake as Blondie and Dagwood in the first movie in the Blondie series

Rounding out the regulars that make up the Bumstead family is Daisy, the cocker Spaniel/Poodle/Terrier mix whose real name was Spooks and plays the Bumstead’s trusted pooch with flair. Spooks appeared in a good number of movies in character parts, but is best remembered as Daisy. The prolific Willie Best appears as a porter in the first movie and does what he can with the stereotypical part he is given. Best plays varied roles throughout the series and remains mostly uncredited. Fay Helm appears in several Blondie movies as Mrs. Fuddle, neighbor to the Bumsteads and Blondie’s best friend. Danny Mummert plays her son Alvin, Baby Dumpling’s nemesis.

The Blondie movies are typical B-fare. They are fun, perfect for Saturday mornings, but substance is hard to come by. There are a few hearty laughs like the one in Blondie with the talking scale in the hotel men’s bathroom. It advertises your favorite radio voice will talk to you and when it does, it tells Dagwood he’s a loser.

Probably the best part of the series, however, are the actors that appear throughout. If you are a fan of the great character players you’ll get to see the likes of Donald Meek, John Qualen, Edgar Kennedy, William Frawley, and Mary Wickes to name a few. Many future major Columbia stars also make appearances. I was quite surprised to see Rita Hayworth, for instance, play prominently in Blondie on a Budget (1940). She is an old friend of Dagwood’s who plays right into Blondie’s jealous hands. When Blondie was not trying to finagle the family budget in order to buy something, she spent her time worrying that Dagwood would leave her for another woman.

  Larry Simms, Penny Singleton, Arthur Lake and Rita Hayworth in BLONDIE ON A BUDGET

The Blondie movie series ended with Edward Bernds’ Beware of Blondie (1950) where we see Dagwood in charge of the Dithers Construction Company while the boss is on vacation. You can just imagine how well that goes. Adele Jergens plays Miss Clifton, a con woman who takes advantage of Dagwood’s innocence to get to Dithers’ money. Of course, all turns out fine in the end with one important resolution to the series to close out a continuous loop. The mailman (Dick Wessel) decides to end Dagwood running into him finally by delivering the Bumstead mail on his own time at night. No more dirty uniforms. No more bruises. No more scattered mail. Unfortunately, the day he decides to do his first night delivery is tax day and guess who runs out of the house to mail his taxes at the last minute.

By the time Beware of Blondie was made the stories were stretched thin. The familiar Bumstead elements held the movies together as the family survived all sorts of domestic misadventures. According to AFI, Columbia had lost interest in the series after the first fourteen installments. They released two movies without Blondie’s name in the title and stopped producing the series in 1943. However, audiences wanted more and production resumed for another fourteen movies making this series the longest in terms of pictures to date. When the Blondie pictures ceased altogether in 1950, Columbia intended to replace it with another comic strip series, but that fell way short at the box office forcing the studio to reissue all 28 Blondie pictures.

Penny Singleton, Arthur Lake, Larry Simms, and Marjorie Kent in the final picture in the series

America’s love affair with Blondie, Dagwood and the gang was not limited to movies, as we well know. The comic strip continued to strong readership and between 1939 and 1950, Blondie was also heard on radio. Arthur Lake played Dagwood in this version as well with Penny Singleton replaced by Alice White, Patricia Van Cleve and Ann Rutherford at various times. Blondie originally aired on CBS with Camel Cigarettes as its sponsor and later moved to NBC and Super Suds. Lake and Singleton made an appearance as Blondie and Dagwood on The Bob Hope Show following the 1938 release of the first movie, which led to their own show as a summer replacement for The Eddie Cantor Show. They originally aired on Monday evenings at 7:30 and just as the strip helped Depression-era audiences forget their troubles, the radio show helped them through World War II. Enjoy the following episodes of Blondie out of the funnies and into your homes…

From October 1939, “Dagwood Buys a New Suit”

https://ia800201.us.archive.org/13/items/OtrBlondie/Bd1939-10-30018DagwoodBuysANewSuit.mp3

  From April 1940, “The Gypsy Queen”

https://ia800201.us.archive.org/13/items/OtrBlondie/Bd1940-04-22043TheGypsyQueen.mp3

  From March 1944, “Abbott and Costello with Blondie and Dagwood”

https://ia800201.us.archive.org/13/items/OtrBlondie/Bd1944-03-02AbbottCostelloWBlondieDagwood.mp3

  From July 1944, “Plumbin Problems”

https://ia800201.us.archive.org/13/items/OtrBlondie/Bd1944-07-21PlumbingProblems.mp3

  From May 1945, “Socialite Blondie”

https://ia800201.us.archive.org/13/items/OtrBlondie/Bd1945-05-27SocialiteBlondiesocialAspirations.mp3

  From July 1947, “Three Week’s Vacation”

https://ia800201.us.archive.org/13/items/OtrBlondie/Bd1947-07-27ThreeWeeksVacation.mp3

  Unlike radio and the movies, attempts to bring Blondie to television proved unsuccessful. Its power were in the mediums already discussed, but it’s at least worth a mention that those in charge thought enough of the characters and their stories to give them several attempts at TV productions. The first such attempt, Blondie, premiered on January 4, 1957 on NBC and ran for one season. Pamela Britton starred as Blondie with Arthur Lake reprising his famous role once again. Stuffy Singer, Florenz Ames, Ann Barnes, and Harold Peary were also in the cast. In 1968, CBS gave Blondie a turn with The New Blondie, which also ran for one season. Patricia Harty and Will Hutchins star as Blondie and Dagwood in this version with real-life married couple Jim and Henny Backus as Mr. and Mrs. Dithers with Pamelyn Ferdin and Peter Robbins playing the Bumstead kids. As you can tell from the short run of both series, neither managed to capture the charm of the Bumsteads the other versions of their stories did.

Chicago native Chic Young drew Blondie seven days a week from 1930 until his death in 1973 producing more than 15,000 strips. His legacy, continued by his son Dean Young, is one of warmth and humor and home. No matter the decades that have passed, people still visit with the Bumsteads – 90 years after meeting them. We owe them a huge debt of gratitude for the laughter during difficult times.

Chic Young’s BLONDIE turns 90! On September 8, 1930, in the midst of the Great Depression, the world was introduced to Blondie Boopadoop, a dizzy blonde flapper created by Murat Bernard 'Chic' Young.

[countryshitposts]

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

Midnight Memories

Trigger Warnings: Drinking, violence, name-calling

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Previous

-

Name Guide

Koku Nippon- Japan

Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire

Ost- East Germany

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

-

Japan isn’t sure if he can honestly try being honest with himself any longer.

His eyes land on his bodyguard, chatting away as they once again walk side-by-side to the Deutsche Towers; everyday, he had been so hesitant and reluctant to take a single step to the direction of the towers- fearing the Man with the Butterflies and his conscience screaming at him that dating and pretending to love a fifteen year-old was morally wrong.

But when he was joined by America to his walk to torture, her own presence was enough to submerge the fear and doubt inside of him.

“Why does Teikoku want you to marry someone younger than you by a decade?”, America asks as she lightly kicks a pebble out of her direction, her eyes wandering around for any sign of danger lurking.

His mood sours at the mention of the marriage, as he rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, “My brother wants to take away my rights to marry someone I actually like. It’s… kinda obvious that Ost isn’t my type.”

America chuckles, “Then who’s your type?”

Koku doesn’t respond, his eyes turning to the Tower ahead of them, a green butterfly on its sign. He physically recoils at the sight of the butterfly, but he knows that damned drone had already sent its master the message that they are already here. The girl next to him stares at him, wanting him to explain what was so frightening about a butterfly ever since she’d seen him cringe at a butterfly yesterday.

Just then, the doors to the Deutsche Towers open, letting out chilly and cold air that has been trapped inside of that accursed place, being stored of corpses known to rival the course of time. As he and America enter its walls once again, its translucent windows give the whole hallways a somber mood, like it has always been, all the time, forever and ever.

He hears someone’s feet colliding with the wooden steps of the stairs, and he silently grimaces as he looks up to find Weimar on top of the stairs, grin lopsided, his butterflies fluttering around him, his insect-covered suit draping across the stairs like a cape.

Weimar’s smile wasn’t the smile that’d give people a warm time in the sun- it was the opposite; a cold winter settling in after a large famine was brought down upon the great house, his emerald green eyes bearing nothing but days of insanity trying to mask itself as sanity, his light blonde hair trying to match the sunlight but ultimately failing.

“Willkommen zurück”, Weimar says in his signature grin, eyes landing back at America once again, fuelling with hatred and desire to murder her himself.

It confused Koku; did Weimar and America have a distant past that made the man distrust her? If so, why didn’t he tell him about her. Japan turns to look at his bodyguard, who was trying to hold Weimar’s malevolent stare.

Japan elbows America lightly, breaking her staring contest with Weimar, and she meets his eyes, which were now full of irritation, and he gives her a look of warning- never dare cross the Man with Butterflies. If you do, he will unleash your secrets to the public, a torrent of whispers and wings fluttering through the crowd like it was glass and there were holes.

Koku made the mistake of daring to cross Weimar, and he vows never to let it happen again.

“Let us have our lunch, then”, Weimar says in a pleasant tone, his eyes still on America as he takes a few steps down to pat Koku on the shoulder, his hands ice cold to the touch, screaming death and dissonance deep inside of Koku, and he wishes to break free from his grasp as Weimar’s palms lace with a cold poison, enough to kill him in sight.

Weimar lifts his palm from Koku’s shoulder, and he smiles at the older man weakly, as if the touch had drained him of his energy. He nods slightly, one of his hands suddenly brushing America’s hand, warmth dominating the cold as the sudden friction of their touch resurrected him to live for her. He takes a deep breath, glancing back at America with a small smile in his face, as he silently takes her hand; she jolts in surprise, mouth agape as her eyes glint back at him with shock and surprise, but he doesn’t answer any of her hidden questions as he was already leading her to the dining table.

His smile falters a little as he finds Weimar’s children already seated at the table, talking to themselves about a ‘dreamy and charming man’ while Austria stare at them with looks of pity and concern, as if this ‘man’ Ost was talking about has nothing to do with the family at all.

Japan takes a seat at the table as well, a slight distance away from the chattering twins, and an even bigger distance from the Man with Butterflies, who was staring at him with the most unsettling smiles he could muster- perhaps on purpose.

America shifts uncomfortably, still standing, her hands behind her back as she bites her lip, looking around awkwardly for chairs to sit on.

“Um, Mister Weimar”, Japan calls out for the man himself, who was having a heated yet soft conversation with Austria, out of earshot. Weimar’s eyes shoot in Japan’s direction, who was more or less obligated to forget what he was going to request to this man but chooses not to. “Can you bring another chair for my friend?”

Weimar pauses, his conversation with Austria long forgotten, then a smile curls upon his lips, as if Japan’s request was one of the most ludicrous things he has ever heard in his entire life. His eyes turn to America again, who was biting her lip and avoiding eye contact with him, her eyes on a green-winged butterfly. As a reflex, he pulls on her hand, so that America could look anywhere else other than that damned chocho that will see her every secret set aflame and spread into the winds.

Weimar sees Japan’s firm expression, and his smile falters a bit, staring at his plate of rare, pale-skinned meat.

“Ah”, he clicks his tongue, “you’re serious.”

“America needs to eat too”, Japan insists, trying hard not to sound rude or subtle.

“Fine”, Weimar says, no malice nor hatred in his voice as he tells Austria to get a chair. “For the whore”, he adds, under his breath, but despite Japan’s long distance from him, he hears the statement and he scowls.

“Kanojo ni denwa shinaide”, he mutters underneath his breath, and America pivots to look at him, evidently hearing what he said, but he gives her a grin in return as Austria returns with a chair for America herself, who takes a seat next to Japan.

“I want to ask you, America”, Weimar begins, his eyes trailing on the woman next to Japan, a sly smile on his face, “whether you’ve caught my father’s murderer yet.”

Koku raises a brow, as he turns back to look at his bodyguard, her body frozen in place, her eyes on the stew Austria had served the both of them. Why would America, his bodyguard, go around and look for Weimar’s father’s murderer? After all, America hadn’t appeared in all his life until now, simply just walking into his life like it was nothing. On closer look on America’s stew, he sees a finger coated with soup in her bowl, and he reels backwards, knocking into a glass pitcher, which would have fallen if he did not catch it in time.

Beads of sweat start to form around his forehead, his entire world going blurry for a second, as if he was hallucinating the finger on the stew, as if reality was distorting on him, to make fun of him and himself. His grey eyes slowly make its way to his own bowl, and then he sees it;

An eyeball, looking petrified and soft underneath the stew.

The remnants of Koku’s breakfast start to trail up from inside of him, from his intestines, then to his stomach, then up his throat, threatening to vomit all over the entire table.

“Koku?”, his grey eyes meet with America’s green ones, worry and concern laced over her features, “are you alright?”

He swallows the half-digested matter down back to his stomach, as he nods, smiling a little as he stares at the stew once again, haunted by the imagery he had just witnessed with his own eyes. In the corner of his eye, he catches Weimar smirking at him, knowing what he fully saw, as he digs into his meat. Koku, with shaking hands, lifts his hand to try and handle his spoon, but he drops it on the stew, hating the way the eyeball stares back at him.

He catches Austria looking too, giving Koku a grim glance.

America reaches for her spoon, but he didn’t want her to eat fresh human meat, and he abruptly stands from his place, beads of sweat latching on to his face. Japan locks eyes with Weimar, only giving him a small smile of intent; if he says anything of what he had put in the stew, he’d be the one unknowingly fed to his own peers.

He turns back at his bodyguard, his shaking body also resonating in the shaky smile he gives to America. “I’m sorry, Mister Weimar, but me and my bodyguard aren’t hungry… thank you for your hospitality but we’ll be going now.”

His emerald eyes swirl with madness, and he laughs- no, cackles. “Alright then; you’d regret not trying out our stew.”

-

Once the Deutsche Towers were out of their sight (and so were the butterflies), America swivels to look at Japan, her face laced with curiosity.

“What happened back there?”, she asks, her voice almost motherly for someone like her. “You seem so panicked after you took one good look at my bowl.” Her face morphs into a thoughtful look, and her eyes are now wide with realisation; “did… he put something in the stew?”

Koku nods meekly, his eyes once again on the road, his legs weakly letting him trudge forward into the unknown (or: Minguk’s house), the skies mocking his entire mood, making him release more and more beads of sweat, as they drop to his shoe like raindrops or tears. “I thought I was hallucinating, and even now I was still denying it.”

“Koku”, America stops him from his track, eyes full of worry, “what did you see?”

He slowly shakes his head, wanting to forget he’d ever seen those human parts in his stew, in America’s stew, but like a hard drive being inserted to a database, he cannot remove it so easily from his mind, so he transfers it to the one person he trusts in the entire world.

“I still think I’m hallucinating, but…”, he takes a deep breath, looking back at her. “I saw a finger, in your stew, and an eyeball in mine.”

America blinks, her eyes giving way to horror, as she finally realises what she was going to eat. Her legs buckle from underneath her, almost stumbling onto the concrete sidewalk, before Koku catches her with his arms, stabilising her. Her horrified eyes meet Koku’s, both of them finally realising what they were going to chew upon and put in their stomach. America tugs at her blonde curls, nodding silently as she excuses herself from Koku’s presence, phone in hand as she dials someone.

While he was waiting for her to come back, his mind goes back to what Weimar asked America; why did he ask her if she had tracked down his father’s murderer? Well, a bodyguard would have had experienced military training at some point; and despite him not witnessing all of her skills, he knows she is a prominent and prevalent woman who has experience with combat. And she did say she has brothers, so maybe they work in the police force too…?

America returns a few minutes later, blood coming back to her face, her eyes full of spirit again, just like she had been always and forever, perhaps for eternity, even. She gives him a look of importance, and they make their way to Minguk’s home once again.

“Honestly, if you don’t like teaching Minguk then don’t teach at all!”, America exclaims, as they near the Korean family’s house, a place where his own patience and sanity was tested by Minguk and his uncle.

Japan rolls his eyes; Minguk can be horribly annoying sometimes, but this whole teaching session is a break from Teikoku, a break from the dark force looming closer towards him, a smog of evil and treachery, wanting to tear all the good left in him, wanting to morph and transform him to be as scummy and evil as him, or even worse. There was an ache in his chest once again, as he remembers his mother’s cold and lonely eyes, wishing this was not the fate she had suffered under her own brethren- but of course, she died a sudden death. He did not want to be like his brother; did not want to be a puppet for something else, for Teikoku’s own selfish reasons.

He knocks on the door, ignoring America’s question, and he hears an onslaught of Korean inside of the household. They must be preparing for his visit, then, if they’re thinking of preparing for him like it’s the end of the world and that they can stop it. He hears someone’s footsteps towards the door, and the door opens, revealing Imsi, who was staring at Japan unimpressed.

“Come in”, he says, his eyes deliberately on America, who was meeting his eyes as well, “Minguk is getting ready for the lesson; America, iyagihabsida.”

As Koku settles down with Minguk at the table, he sees America following Imsi into Shanghai’s room; they must have been talking about something important behind his back since yesterday, if America is this desperate to leave his side for something Imsi needs for her to do. For Japan, he has to teach this ungrateful boy math that he pretends not to know the answer and procedures to.

The silence was unbearable; thicker than both blood and water, a silent night inside of the graveyard, trying hard to keep their silence eerie and disturbing too many people working inside, but Koku stays strong as he watches Minguk pretending not to know, pausing item after item, number after number as he taps the tip of his pen on his paper, creating black dots of all shapes and sizes of variety, the tapping of his pen annoying and bugging Koku, who was busily writing a few recommendations of books for Imsi and his friend.

An idea lights up inside of Koku, a smile creeping on his face before he turns to Minguk, who was still waiting for him to take cover for his patience is never long. He sees the twinkle of knowing in Minguk’s eyes, knowing that he knows what to do with all these problems printed on paper but not knowing how to solve problems made in the flesh, so Japan fakes a sigh as he looks disappointedly on Minguk’s paper, which was empty.

“This is the last time I’m going to teach you”, Koku says, “alright?”

Minguk stares at him for a little while, before giving him the number of items for Koku to teach him carefully and slowly, as if he was still a child being taught the alphabet. He opens his mouth as he starts to teach Minguk, but his procedures were carefully not giving the right answer, as he sees Minguk’s eyes flaring a little as more wrong numbers are settled out, and once Koku encircles the answer Minguk stops him.

“Is there something wrong, Kankoku?”, Koku asks in fake curiosity, as Minguk uncaps his pen, looking at his answer with skeptic eyes.

“Your answer is wrong”, he states, tone clipped, “for a math tutor who’s supposed to know his shit.”

Koku blinks, raising a brow, “My answer is wrong? You were the one who asked me to teach you - again - on how to solve this equation. Now tell me, oh wise watashi no gakusei, what I did wrong?”

Minguk studies the - supposedly - wrong solution and answer again, as Koku hides a small grin once the boy starts to talk about the errors of his solution. He had been right, of course; he had done the entire math solution wrong, to bait Minguk out of his entire farce, to make him answer on his own, to see if he had been right and that he was not pathetic enough to have cheated in all of his tests to promise him the highest grades. As Minguk encircles the right answer - triumphantly and proudly, might he add - Koku couldn’t keep the small grin hidden in his face anymore.

Minguk grins at his work, “Takes a student in name to correct the errors his tutor had done”, he turns to look at his tutor, who couldn’t help but chuckle softly, still looking at the papers. He raises a brow. “And why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry”, Koku says between chuckles, “it seems that you don’t need to be taught the equations of quadratic formulas now.”

Minguk’s eyes widen in realisation, finally registering that he had blown his cover of being a dense and unteachable student. “Oh. Wait, then why are you laughing?”

“I’ve always known you were good at this subject- well, good at every subject in your school”, Koku grins a little, “so I was kind of puzzled why you seemed unteachable, and that there’s a growing suspicion in me that you were cheating in your classes. I guess I was wrong, since you’re really smart.”

He stares at his tutor, mouth agape, either from Koku’s words of flattery or that he is still in shock his cover was blown; then again, he must be relieved since now Koku won’t have to question his intelligence once or twice.

“Uh, thanks”, Minguk says, awkwardly fidgeting on his chair, “I’m sorry for torturing you, naneun chucheughanda.”

Koku nods, “It’s fine. I do hope we can get along now?”

Minguk scowls at him, eyes burning with a fiery hatred, making the smile on Japan’s face falter. “You think that I can be friends with someone whose family destroyed mine? No. Jeoldaejog-eulohaji.”

His tutor blinks a little, then frowns. “Alright, I respect your choice.”

Inside Japan’s brain, he was fuming; why did he waste his time and energy with a person who doesn’t seem to understand that he was trying to befriend him, not letting go of the past, this past haunting and deep, deeper than the ravines filled with thorns and bones of those who had died falling or climbing back to the mortal world, this past as painful as the thorns in each rose stem, unforgettable despite every attempt. Minguk is clearly bitter about what Koku’s family did to his (but he cannot put a finger on why), and Koku could understand that- why would he be friends with the man who killed his mother, over and under?

Just then, the door opens, and out comes Imsi and America, both of them looking determined and firm, as if they had hope the entire world was still running around and their veins.

Japan remembered feeling hope, along time ago.

It shriveled up to dust and flew to the winds.

-

Dinner was a quiet matter in the Nippon house; they can only talk if they had something important in their minds, as everyone listens to their statement while handling their spoons and forks and digging into the food that the cooks have provided for them, the only noises heard is the porcelain plates being played upon. The crickets outside play quiet music, reminding the family they are not alone, as they quietly dine and make conversations with each other.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?”, Japan whispers to America worriedly, who shrugs as she watches Teikoku eat steak.

“I’m fine, Koku”, she reassures, “why don’t you eat? You haven’t eaten anything since the Deutsche Towers fiasco.”

“You haven’t eaten since we left Deutsche Towers too”, Koku counters, as he peers closer to his meal, still paranoid of seeing an eyeball on it just like the stew in the Deutsche Towers. “Thanks to me.”

America collectively sighs, “There was something in that fucking stew. I’d rather go hungry than eat human meat.”

“Please just eat with us”, Koku pleads.

“The only thing she’d be eating would be men’s fluids”, Teikoku intervenes, a smile on his face, his eyes on America, “like the slut she is.”

Koku chokes on his steak, his eyes pinned on America, who was biting her lip and looking down at the floors. He can feel a burning rage festering inside of him, wanting to throw his spoon on to his brother, uncaring of the consequences since he had just insulted America, who was busily doing her job of protecting him. He wanted to wipe off that smile on his brother’s face, tell him about how he'd had qualms about his joke, but all he could do was glare down at his plate as America shifts uncomfortably down the floors.

It seems that Teikoku can sense the thick and nauseous atmosphere gnawing down everyone’s throats, as Palau awkwardly refills her glass, Tokyo stares at his dinner before picking up his spoon then putting it back down, Hokkaido was helping Okinawa eat his lunch as he fusses around with utensils, making gurgling sounds like the small child that he is. Teikoku takes another big bite off his steak and he laughs, his laugh echoing in the walls of this large house, too large to see the entire exit clearly, no escape, no end.

“What I said was funny”, he says, eyes on America and Koku, his crimson red eyes swirling with the need to make everyone suffer, “why aren’t you laughing?”

Koku takes a small bite of his dinner, also not feeling like eating. You know full well why, asshole.

Palau was the first one to collapse underneath her father’s pressure, as she put her fork down on her plate, plastering on a smile that would collapse after a minute or so, “Haha, that’s so funny, Otōsan.” She shoots an apologetic look towards America, who only nods in forgiveness.

Tokyo fakes a chuckle, which was more of an exhausted huff, tired of his brother’s scummy ways. “Truly funny, Nīsan.”

Hokkaido weakly laughs, fussing with Okinawa to make him giggle. “Okinawa thinks it’s funny as well, Dad.”

All of them give America sheepish looks, but America smiles weakly, silently stating that Teikoku has no match for her wits and that his words fall flat against her defences, her walls as thick as her bones. Koku, meanwhile, sneaks his free hand to entwine with hers for comfort, but she (purposefully or not, it still hurts) inches her hand away, and he has to take a bite out of his dinner so that he could quell and still his beating heart, who only beats for one name only.

Teikoku laughs again, this time more deranged and haunting, as if singing a song to chaos and disorder to come and take his entire family away, the echoes of his laughter still resonating inside this wretched home.

His eyes stretch to Koku, who was picking at his dinner now, not in the mood to eat. “What’s wrong, Koku? Too drained to eat?”

He gives his brother a small and tired smile, trying to diffuse the burning rage inside him. “Yes, I’m going to go to my room now.” He stands up, walking away from the dining table before his route is interrupted by a small laugh.

Teikoku stands from his throne of bright and shimmering gold, his red eyes smouldering. “You do know it is rude to leave dinner without having finished what is on your plate, right?”

“America can have it”, his brother replies casually, and before Teikoku can answer he is already up and running towards his room, followed by America.

“Miss America?”, Palau’s dainty feet catch up with both Koku and America as they both drift into Koku’s room. America turns back to Koku’s niece, flitting in a white frock, her dark hair highlighted with a few auburn curls, her green eyes staring at the woman in front of her.

“What is it, Palau?”, America asks, trying not to coo at the young girl (from her tone of voice and facial expression, it was quite obvious for Koku to see it).

Palau fidgets, leg bouncing a little, “I’m sorry for saying my Dad’s joke was funny.”

America heaves a sigh, kneeling down to reach the girl’s height and wrapping her around with her arms, and Koku sees the ring once again, closely tucked in America’s shirt. “It’s okay, I forgive you. It was your father’s fault, not yours.”

“But still”, Palau looks at America guiltily, and Koku can’t help but be struck with the sense of familiarity in these eyes, “I supported my Dad’s joke.”

Koku sighs, patting Palau, “You didn’t, you were forced to laugh with him. So were the others.”

Palau smiles up at America, her green eyes gazing at her with awe and wonder. “Sometimes, in my dreams, I wonder if you were my mother.”

She runs to her room, leaving America and Koku puzzled at what she meant. Koku gives America a small look as they enter his room. His room wasn’t that clean, per se; his blankets were wrinkled and not folded, clothes strewn across the room, mingling with the crumpled papers that Koku had thrown across the floor for several reasons; an open drawer with a pistol out in the open, and the trails of a knotted rope under his bed. Once America stares at the laptop sitting uselessly on his study desk, Koku kicks the knotted rope deeper beneath his bed.

“America, whatever Teikoku said at dinner, I don’t think that’s true”, he states, as America silently and listlessly looks into the distance, her eyes becoming glassy.

“Maybe it is”, America softly says, her back still facing him, as she hangs her head low, silently untying her blonde hair- the first time he had seen her do that in front of him. “M-maybe I’m just a slut, like what Teikoku said. Like what Weimar said.” She turns to look at him with tears rolling down her cheeks, forest green eyes showing too much sadness swelling inside of her.

Koku shakes his head, as he approaches the girl in tears, looking less like a hardened bodyguard that harbours his needs and more of a hurt girl. “No. Don’t say that America. They don’t know you.”

America chokes back a sob, clearly thinking about it seriously. “No, no, Japan. It’s true.”

He stares at her, “I know I don’t know the real you. That we’ve only known each other for a few days, but still; you’re not a slut. You’re not a minx. You’re not a whore like they say.”

She lets out a startled cry, wiping away her tears. “No. Please. You’re just making this worse. They know me. You don’t.”

Her blonde hair falls down to her shoulders, tears still running down her cheeks as they softly drop down towards the floor, as Koku instinctively envelops her in his arms, feeling her shaking and sobbing body on his. He closes his eyes as he buries himself into America as comfort for his bodyguard, who believes every insult that was slammed across her body as if she was invincible to their attempts of humiliating her, degrading her, turning her into something else in their eyes.

But to Koku, he only sees someone who is… a normal human being, nothing more, nothing less.

“I don’t care if we’ve only met for a few days”, he says, looking back at America, who has seized crying but is now burying her face into Koku’s chest, her hair messy; he can feel his heart beating faster, a warmth surging inside of him but he disregards them to comfort America’s overwhelming feelings inside of her, combing through her hair using his fingers as she wipes the rest of her tears into his shirt, which didn’t bother him all that much.

America looks up at him, solemn green eyes staring right back at his firm grey ones. “I still know who you really are.”

America scoffs, looking away, a hand on Koku’s shoulder. “You’d say anything to stop me from throwing a pity party in your room.”

Koku raises a brow, “Who said you were having a pity party? I genuinely care about your health, since you are, after all, my bodyguard.”

She breaks away from his embrace, and he can feel his heart plunging. “Quit the talk about me being your bodyguard. You think you know me more than them? Prove it, since I haven’t told you shit.”

Koku opens his mouth, trying to formulate words and recalling the times America wasn’t so private about her life, his mind going back in circles, but even before he can answer her, she scoffs, looking dejected.

“See? You don’t know anything about me.” She crosses her arms, looking away, her now loose hair covering the side of her face, “so don’t you ever tell me-”

“You haven’t even let me answer, America”, Koku interrupts, and she turns to look at him, “I may not know your past or your relationships, but from what I’ve gathered from watching and observing you, it’s this; you’re smart- not that especially smart but you excel, especially from all of those observations you’ve made, and the fact that you always think one step ahead; how you’re just so calm and collected, even when Teikoku and Weimar try insulting you; then there was those times you’re all… spunky and sassy- I thought it was annoying when you first showed up, but then… I’ve grown attached to it. And then there’s your moxie and charm, how you seem to handle everything with grace and elegance; I like that about you; even your negative traits, because it shows everyone we’re all human.”

Koku holds her hand, as she stares back at his eyes, the sun and the stars colliding to become a supernova of emotions, their entire world plunging to the inky black depths, no way out through the galaxies because the entire galaxy had imploded to create the world as they know it, universes screaming out about how they are just like the sun and the moon, as heavenly bodies watch and sway to their beat.

It was America’s turn to be speechless, the crickets masking her being unable to talk back to Koku.

“Watashi wa anata ga sukidesu”, he whispers soothingly, kissing her forehead lightly for her comfort. “I think we both need to clear our minds this afternoon and evening.”

America raises a brow, “What are we gonna do?”

Koku stares at the window, which had already offered him a chance at escape. “Drink until Teikoku finds and kills us both.”

-

He had escaped through his window like a renegade numerous times before; away from bleak and grey reality, to the colourful lights around the City’s centre at night, its lights enchanting and blinding him from afar, his grey eyes flaring up with beautiful fascination at the entrancing and enthralling lights, loving the way they rival the stars in the night sky, with its overly intrusive lights, as if they are spreading out hidden stars from each and every crevice of the world, from the unknown to the known territories they have only uncovered in a matter of time.

Koku had learned how to dodge the boring and monotonous reality to make way for the great wide open, by following the lights in the alleys and corners that are willing to give him a chance of freedom, away from that damned man that sits on his throne of bones, freeing himself from the grasp of calm and seriousness, to embrace happiness and revelry like never before.

America climbs down first, of course; wanting to cushion Koku’s climb down, and also making sure the coast is clear, as if Teikoku was guarding this section of his home, as if any of his guards were to monitor the exits and entrances of this miserable and wretched house. As he scales the building down, he lands on his feet, the grass cushioning his fall. He stares at the stars, winking at him with mischievousness, as he feels a body pressed up to him.

He looks down to find America, staring at the stars, mesmerised. “I miss stargazing with my brothers.” She sighs longingly, and Koku smiles a little.

He tentatively takes her hand, which surprises her a little, as she stares back at Koku, getting lost in her green eyes, even more valuable than the jewelry that Teikoku forces him to wear to show off their fortune.

“I miss this serene surrounding too”, Koku replies, “do you want to explore it more?”

America stares at their hands, entwined like they were a star-crossed the heavens have chosen them to save the entire world from a great darkness. Then her once loose fingers tighten their hold on Koku’s hands, and he does the same, staring into each other’s eyes like they had enough time in the entire world.

“Let’s go.” Two words already made Koku feel as if he is invincible in a world where evil reigned, as they sneak out of the house, past the wired fence, and into the night, shrouded by Lady Nyx’s curtain of stars and the moon.

“When I said we were going to drink, I didn’t mean in a bar.” America sighs as she follows Koku into the sea of dancing people, all handling drinks, the booming music and neon lights blinking on and off no longer a hindrance to him, as he strides inside the bar, like he was one of them, like he had never embraced the suffocating standards that society had given him.

His ears muffle the booming music, as he leads America into the bartender’s table, who was busily chatting with his other customers, a cigarette in hand. He despises cigarettes, but he tries to tolerate them as he approaches the bartender, pale blonde hair matted, his icy blue eyes on a girl clad in revealing clothes. Koku smirks a little as he sits down on the stool, with America remaining standing, eyes narrowed as she peers into the bartender, as if he was familiar to her.

“Hey Rossiya!”, he catches the bartender’s attention, his light blonde hair swishing his way, as his icy blue eyes thaw with warmth, his face rising to a smile.

“Tovarishch!”, he exclaims, as he approaches Koku. Behind him, America’s breath hitches as she continues to stare at his icy blue eyes. Russia notices America right behind him, and his smile falters as another blizzard hits him in the face. “Ah, I didn’t think you’d bring a friend over here.”

Koku - oblivious - snorts, “She’s my bodyguard and friend: America.”

The man stares at America suspiciously, before once again giving Koku a - rather forced - smile. “So, the usual?”

Koku nods, a daring glint in his eyes. “The usual.”

Russia rolls his eyes, already sliding down a glass full of whatever Koku had ordered, as he catches it in one hand, already taking a sip of the substance, fire going down his throat like a muddy hill, the drink naturally burning his throat as he feels hands on his shoulder, aware that America was still there to help him through his horrible choices in life.

He can feel his spirit being fuelled with more fire and energy, combining his heart and soul together to create even the worst of good.

Koku turns around from his chair to look at America, who was more or less disinterested at the fact she was around a mass with people having a good time, or the fact in front of her there were all kinds of drinks, still choosing her job over the excitement of a life in Night’s blanket. She was blankly staring at the bartender, who was lighting up another cigarette while flirting with a tipsy girl.

“Are you all right?”, he asks, quelling down the thought of green masking his every move, as America turns back to him, red splotches on her cheeks. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, uh, yeah”, she says, fidgeting with her fingers a bit, fingering her phone in her pockets, staring back at Russia, “we met once.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, but goes back to drinking, trying to hide his envy from the bartender, because being jealous is simply ridiculous; he had never felt these emotions before and he certainly loathes how and why it’s showing up now because America spares Russia a look or two is enough to drive him up the wall.

“I’m going to call someone”, America says to his ear, the loud music now an increasing dynamite in his ears, “mind telling me which quiet place I could call ‘em in?”

“The bathroom”, he simply replies, asking Russia for another drink, “be careful since a lot of people fucking in the stalls.”

“Alright, thanks!” She gives Koku a smile, as she struts down towards the direction of the bathroom, where a dozen drunk guys and girls were littered on and about, but Koku pays attention no more as he gives himself up to the solitude of drinking.

He didn’t know how many drinks he’d had this night - he lost count at a dozen - his vision blurring as the masses of people on the dance floor mix with the now annoyingly bright and flashing neon lights, as he stumbles around, looking for America through the midst of people, already having a migraine with how loud everything looks and sounds. Then, from his drunken haze, he sees America uncomfortably standing through the midst of the people, being disturbed by drunk men prowling on her, one even having the gall to put a hand on her shoulder, and she slaps it away, glaring defiantly into their drunken eyes, glowing with desire.

Koku decides this was no time trying to understand which was real and what was fabricated by his intoxicated mind; there was an overflowing sense of emotions deep in him, a lion finally roaring deep inside him, feeling the need to protect a person he cherishes all his life. He steels himself, trying not to look and act drunk in front of those thugs- he just wanted them to back off.

As he approaches them, feeling America’s air of uneasiness, he hears a few of those scoundrels’ catcalls and statements.

“How come a pretty lil lady like ya haven’t appeared ‘round here?”, one coos, slightly drunk, but his speech was - undeniably - perfect.

“Soooo glad fresh meat showed up in heeeere”, one slurs, his eyes on America’s chest, as if expecting her to take them off, but she just glares right at her. The man just turns to another man with a sly grin. “And a spunkone atthat.”

The third man just chuckles, still looking at America hungrily. “She’d be shubmissive once she gerron teh bed though.”

All men laugh at the statement, as America tries to escape their group but one of them grabs her at the wrist; she tries to pull her wrist away, the men closing in on her, but Koku was faster.

He swiftly enters the group of men and slaps away the hand on America’s wrist, swinging an arm around her shaking body, as she stares at him with her forest green eyes, anticipating his next move. Koku glares at the men, wishing that his eyes could kill, trying to find a way to calm his beating heart and maudlin mind, thinking of words to say, hoping that him being tipsy is not that obvious.

“Who tehfuck are ya?”, one of them says, his face blurry against Koku’s vision, despite him wearing contacts.

“Sh-she’s my girlfrieeeend”, he says, clearly drunk, but still knowing what he’s doing. America from under his grasp jolts at the sudden lie, as she looks up at him once again, confusion and embarrassment in her eyes. “Meaning you can all fuck off.”

There was a tense pause within the group, the only thing trying to break their silence was the booming music and the noise of the crowd on the dance floor, as Koku tried to stand straight, glaring at them all, a storm wishing to unleash a torrent of destruction.

Then one of the men laugh, “I don’t think you are prove that you’re her ‘booooyfriend’.” The rest of the men snigger, as Koku just scowls at them, staring tentatively at America.

She was lost in thought, as if debating whether or not to actually do it with him; even his heart was beating and his mind pounding, but not from the drinks he had taken, and rather from what he was about to do, his knees going weak as his brain conjures up multiple to thousands of scenarios where this would be weighed lightly, and not in a situation where they fabricate something that doesn’t wholly exist, a lie to carve out all lies, a diversion for someone else's blessing. He could think of the most romantic ways on how he and she would do this, not in some bar that reeked of predatory men, but in a gorgeous scenery, rivalling the ones on his mind.

Koku takes a deep breath, before putting a finger to America’s chin, pushing her up, until she can see him clearly now, through his drunken haze and into his grey eyes, trying to see if there was consciousness inside of his mind. “Watashi o yurushite.”

Before America could answer or his beating heart and brain tells him this was needlessly a horrible idea, his lips collide with hers as his mind starts to scream and shout at how he shouldn’t be kissing a girl he likes in the least romantic way possible, to fend off these worthless fucks he’d have no trouble beating to the ground. He feels his entire insides burst with too much emotions to describe, that even his drunken mind could not taint with horrible and indecent thoughts, too infatuated with America to consider imagining her with disgrace.

He feels her knees buckle, and his arms snake across her back as they feel time stop around them, her arms on his waist- he opens one eye to take a curious peek at the girl he was kissing, and starts to go red once he sees how invested she was in this fabrication, as her red lips part to give him more room to kiss her, her eyes closed.

He was guiltily in love with this; in love with the way America’s body was pressed up against him, in love with how she was giving herself away to him for a short while, in love with the way her heart was beating the same beat as his. One of his hands rake through her loose blonde hair, its wavy curls hypnotising him, making him sway to the beat of the booming music, and he wishes that time would not pick up its rhythm again and break their kiss apart.

But of course, the magic is over, as America gently parts from him, her face red and eyes shining of embarrassment and fascination. Meanwhile Koku’s still intoxicated brain feels as if it was going to break itself into tiny little pieces, losing it, missing the way they dance to the tune, as their lips tingle and loved every touch they made.

They break eye contact, as they face their audience, a group of drunk, middle-aged men, whose faces were unreadable, the silence as brittle as his and America’s kiss. His first kiss.

And again, all the men laugh, their breaths mixing, as they stare back at the couple with mocking eyes.

“‘Ve seen berrer kisscenes in pornos”, says one, as he takes a swig of beer, “that was nutin’.”

“Have a harime tellin’ if these two’re really datin’”, another man replies between laughs, and Koku can feel his cheeks searing red.

“I dun feel th’love”, says one another, “the girl looks more like a whore to m-”

Before he can finish that sentence, however, someone punches him on the cheek, and he collides with the walls behind him, and Koku, fists clenched and knuckles bruised, inhale and exhale harshly, his grey eyes glowing with a murderous blaze, no longer choosing to play nice.

“Call her that again”, he snarls between gritted teeth towards the other men, as the man he had punched recovers from his assault, massaging his nose, which was bleeding out blood. “I dare you. I FUCKING DARE YOU TO!”

“H’broke m’nose!”, says the man, still holding his nose, dropping his glass of vodka somewhere. “This asshole broke m’nose!”

“Good.” Koku braces himself for a fight to come, eyes narrowing at the others, who were now marching at him with slow but formidable speed. “‘Cause you’re all going to regret calling her that.”

He had been trained to fight self-defence from a young age; and he knew all moves and had practised them in his room, whenever he thinks he’s in private or with one of his brothers (Teikoku had skill he could never match up to, but he could beat Tokyo in a fair match). He ignores the pain in his knuckles, knowing that he was more satisfied with the fact that he had dealt enough damage to that fucker’s nose.

He turns to look at America, who was staring at his knuckles, then at his determined stare, before he goes back to try and beat up the others too. The fight had gotten everyone’s attention too- soon an entire circle was surrounding them, and much to his chagrin, many started to chant, deliberately causing the pounding on his head to increase, as his vision starts to blur, intoxication getting the best of him-

Pain explodes on his left cheek, as he can feel himself toppling backwards, his eye and cheek swelling up with pain. He hears America’s cries in the background, but it was drowned out by the chantings of the crowd forming. From the corner of his eye, the bartender was not behind his bar, as if he was never there.

“What, not gon’ gerrup?”, one of the drunkards ask snidely, the others roaring with laughter, as Koku’s vision increasingly goes blurry, as he tries narrowing his eyes to see who decided to hit him, his heart throbbing, his lips tasting copper. “See, thish man’s a weakring.”

Koku bounces back like fire, and without warning he sidekicks another drunk man, who slides down the floor as if it was merely a slide and the other growls as he pulls Koku up by his shirt, spitting on his face as if he was spitting acid, but Koku spits back at him, his glare multiplying, as he hits his perpetrator with ease, sending him toppling down the floor, breaking his grip with his shirt. He stares at his last opponent, who was getting ready to try to give him a punch, but he sidesteps and sends the drunkard crashing to the crowd, the crowd oohing and aahing.

“Japan!”, America calls out, as she grabs him by the shoulders, and the neon lights are replaced by her worried face, her eyes swirling with concern and worry, and her lips shaped like an ‘o’, “we need to get out of here! You’re too drunk-”

Without thinking (his mind has now submerged to rock bottom) he closes his eyes and leans in to kiss her again, her lips coated in warmth, making him swoon with pleasure and regret that he did this drunk and without her consent, once again feeling her body pressed up on him, her hands raking through his hair, her legs dancing with his, as he himself combs through her blonde hair once again, his knees going weak, his lungs spreading fire to his heart, loving every second his heart beats for her.

America pushes him away harshly, making him lose his balance for a second, before he catches his own body, before he hits the ground. Once again, in his drunken haze (and perhaps pain), he can feel his mind and heart screaming as one, at how he did not think this through and clearly, at how America would of course not want a drunk man to kiss her as if this whole thing was real, that they weren’t in a bar that reeks of beer and drunk men and women prowling on fresh meat, that he wasn’t at the very least looking mangy-looking.

(His mouth must have tasted like blood from that hit.)

Again, without thinking of his consequences, he opens his mouth, “Anata wa watashi o sukide wanai?” He had no chance of translating his words, as in the corner of his eye one of the men tries to hit America, but she looks back just in time before completely desecrating his face.

America stares back at him, “Koku, your brother’s going to get worried when you show up in your house like that. Let’s go home.”

Koku shakes his head, disregarding the hurt he had gotten from America, “No, not until these guys are on the ground.”

Before America could speak, he goes back to the drunk men who had decided to disturb his peace and ride away from the distorting reality; one tries to catch him with his grubby little hands but Koku quickly clenches his fists and uppercuts the asshole, knocking out one of his teeth, as another tries to punch him again, ultimately succeeding as Koku staggers back but he comes back by striking him with the back of his hand, anger exploding and erupting like a thunderstorm.

Gritting his teeth, he kicks another man in the chest and as he lies on the ground, Koku steps on the man’s rib cage, making the drunk man gasp in pain but before he tries to recover he stomps on the drunkard more, harder- another man tries to sneak up at Koku once again, but America steps in and kicks him on the groin, leaving Koku about to hit him-

He feels a hand tighten its grip around his arm, and with the last of his strength he looks up to find Russia glaring at him, light blonde hair covering half of his face, his icy blue eyes crackling with fire.

“That’s enough”, his low voice booms, but instead of glaring at the one who instigated this whole mess, he turns to glare at America, “get out, the both of you, now. And Japan, go rest.”

He shakes his head, “Iie, noruntiiiirr… they ayamaru.” He takes a deep breath, his adrenaline rush now over, as he can feel his mind trying to shut down, as his legs buckle, but before he falls down the floor, he feels another set of arms holding him up.

“I’ll handle it from here”, America says breathlessly, glaring up at Russia, and Koku’s mind wonders what their past was together, his entire heart once again being poisoned with jealousy.

Russia shakes his head, “No, I’ll accompany you both out of my you both decided to desecrate.”

The drinks now seemed to finally have contaminated his brain; he can only see moving blurry objects, colourful lights dancing in his vision, despite the fact he was wearing contacts (or was one of them misplaced as he was being beaten up by those dudes?), feeling himself being lifted up, as his feet try to make absolute contact with the hard ground, but he feels as if he was in heaven, no boundaries whatsoever.

He hears muffled voices in his ears- but they were not directed at him, and rather at someone else, the voices in each ear making him shake and quake, the intensity of their voices too high for him to muster.

Then the arms holding him up cease to exist, as he drops to the ground; he groans in pain, his hands palming concrete, as he raises his grey eyes, to find two blurry bodies in front of him, both of whom he knows well. America was being pressed to the wall by Russia, whose face was getting closer, closer, closer to America’s-

Before he can muster what had happened, Koku’s consciousness fades, but he knew their lips collided.

-

Koku’s head pounding was why he woke up in the first place; he feels comfortable, yet hot and warm at the same time. He groans a little, feeling his mind pounding at his skull, begging to be let out but he refuses, now feeling the consequences of last night as the pain of earning a black eye and an irritating hangover now combines, creating an even worse torture method for himself. He silently swears, sitting up with struggle, and to his delight, he finds painkillers and a glass of water on the top of his drawers.

His unequal vision bothers him as well; as if he was standing in the coral reefs of the ocean, one eye fully submerged underwater, the saltwater fully blurring away his vision, and the other trying to peer into the horizon, but it struggles a little.

Koku sighs, as he untangles himself from his blankets, trying to ignore his hangover brain, drinking and taking the painkillers, which calms his blazing headache a little. He opens his drawers and fishes out his glasses; he takes his remaining eye contact out from his eye, feeling the entire world blur around him, before he puts his glasses on. In an instant his vision readjusts himself to fit in his perspective, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart.

The migraine was horrible, though; as if a thousand thunderstorms try penetrating his walls, as he tries to calm himself down with sheer willpower, as he goes back to lying down, trying to recall the night he had, and how and why he has a damned black eye. He only remembers Russia and America kissing, however, and something warm colliding with his lips, but that was it, as if the night did not exist and it had only skipped into the morning.

The door opens, silently interrupting his thoughts- he grimaces at the thought it was his brother coming to visit him, but it was America herself, who was sporting a large bruise on her eye as she stares at Koku, relieved.

“Thank god you’re okay”, she says, breathless, “your brother-”

“Who did that to you?”, Koku demands, interrupting what America was going to say, a familiar fire burning inside of him once again.

America closes her mouth a little, blinking, then covering her bruised eye with her hand. “Uh, Russia did.”

Koku’s eyes flare with outrage and jealousy. If they had a thing back then, then America was right to leave him as he seems to have hit her a dozen of times.

“He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.” He tries to keep his tone leveled, but he was steaming, as America shrugs, sighing a little.

“He really isn’t.”

America opens her mouth once again, but Koku was not listening, in his haze of a hangover, his jealousy being replaced with a fiery rage, hating how Russia had just done that so simply towards America, and wishing he would have also just punched that asshole’s face to get it over with.

“Koku?” America was sitting on the edge of his bed now, legs crossed.

He clears his throat, now feeling butterflies in his stomach, “Yes?”

America tilts her head, shyly looking at him, her cheeks flustered red. “To make you feel better, you look… kinda cute with your glasses on you.”

He feels his heart explode and puncture his lungs, now having trouble to breathe, his grey eyes shining with red once again.

“Thank you.”

He finally has reason to wear his glasses once again.

-

Willkommen zurück- welcome back

Chocho- butterfly

Kanojo ni denwa shinaide- don’t call her that

Iyagihabsida- let’s talk

Watashi no gakusei- student of mine

Naneun chucheuganda- i guess

Jeoldaejog-eulohaji- absolutely not

Watashi anata wa sukidesu- i like you for it

Tovarishch- comrade

Watashi o yurushite- forgive me

Anata wa watashi o sukide wanai- you don’t like me

Ayamaru- apologise

[parsippanylibrarykids]

By: Miss Jen, Miss Katy, & Miss Melissa

Picture Books 

Barnett, Mac. The Wolf, the Duck, and the Mouse. ​(Grades K-2)  This clever picture book begins with a mouse that is quickly gobbled up by a wolf. Fortunately his new accomodations AKA the wolf’s stomach include a duck with kitchenware and jam. The duck states “I may have been swallowed but I have no intention of being eaten.” Award winning illustrator Jon Klassen’s artwork add to the charm of this folkloric tale. 

Colleen, Marcie. Love, Triangle.​ ​ (Grades K-2) Square and Circle have been best friends since they were first created. Triangle arrives on the scene and brings new ideas. Both Square and Circle want to be friends with Triangle which causes a split between the two buddies. This common friendship problem is resolved at the end of this geometric story.

 Daywalt, Drew. The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors. ​(Grades K-3) The origins of the classic schoolyard game are explained in hilarious detail. Will Rock, Paper, or Scissors be victorious? Rock is searching for a worthy opponent. Paper leaves the Empire of Mom’s Home Office after conquering the Computer Printer while Scissors defeats Dinosaur-Shaped Chicken Nuggets. Wacky inanimate objects come to life under the expertise of illustrator Adam Rex. Fans of Daywalt’s The Day the Crayons Quit will be equally as charmed by this book. 

Denos, Julia. Windows. ​(PreS-1) In this story, a boy of color dons a read hoodie, leashes his dog and ventures out into the twilight, where the windows are “blinking awake as the lights turn on a neighborhood of paper lanterns”. The reader gets to peer in at the small figures dancing, making dinner or throwing a party and watch as the color of the sky changes. The compositions are rendered in ink, watercolor, letterpress and digital collage. The narrative ends with a story shared and a snuggle. Readers will want to revisit this story over and over. Everyday routine turned to wonder on an evening walk filled with discovery. 

Dykman, Ame. Read the Book, Lemmings!​ (PreS-2) Another delightful collaboration by the team behind Wolfie the Bunny and Horrible Bear! Lemmings don’t jump off cliffs. It says so in the book that Foxy is reading. However, the three lemmings on the boat have not read the book and keep jumping into the water. After trying unsuccessfully to get the lemmings to read the book, Foxy realizes he is going to have to actually teach the lemmings to read before he can stop them. A funny read aloud! Children will love this book at storytime and at home. 

Jory, John and Benji Davies. Come Home Already!​ (PreS-3) The third hysterical picture book about Duck and Bear, unlikely pals. In this book, an excited Duck wants to hang out with Bear but Bear has left to go fishing for a whole week on his own. Bear is relieved to have some time alone. What will Duck do while Bear is gone? How will he survive without his best friend? 

Lamothe, Matt. ​This is How We Do It: One Day in the Lives of Seven Kids from Around the World. ​(Grades K-3) Seven children from Italy, Japan, Uganda, Russia, India, Iran, and Peru describe one day in their lives as they eat, play, and learn. An author’s note, a glossary, a map, and photographs of the families are included at the end of the book. This is an informational picture book that could be used in a social studies unit. 

Shannon, David. Bizzy Mizz Lizzie​. (Grades 1-3)  Lizzie is the busiest, buzziest bee in Hivetown. She longs to impress the Queen by winning a spelling bee contest, but she studies to the point of exhaustion on top of trying to juggle all of her other activities. When she dozes off in the middle of the competition, the only solution is rest. Lizzie finally learns to stop and smell the flowers. A book with a good message and wonderful illustrations will appeal to young readers. 

Tsurumi, Andrea. Accident! ​(PreS-2) When a little armadillo named Lola knocks a jug of red juice all over her family’s white sofa, she flees to the library to hide. But as Lola run through town, she is joined by many others who have also made a mess and want to hide at the library too, avoiding conflict. Fun and colorful illustrations are found throughout the book and children will be drawn to the intricate details. This book teaches that a mistake can happen due to thoughtlessness, carelessness or bad luck and that it is ok to call it an accident but also necessary to “make it better” and “own up to it.” 

Easy Readers 

LaReau, Kara. The Infamous Ratsos are Not Afraid. ​(Grades 1-2) Brothers Louie and Ralphie Ratso plan to clear out an abandoned lot in their neighborhood and create an arcade. The problem is that the house next to the vacant lot might be haunted. ​This is the second book in the series that began with the Geisel Honor Book, The Infamous Ratsos. 

Shea, Bob. Ballet Cat: What’s Your Favorite Favorite? ​(Grades 1-3) Ballet Cat and her cousin Goat are preparing a show for grandma and both want to prove that they are the best. Ballet Cat will come up with a fancy dance routine and Goat will perform tricks at his magic show. Which one will be her FAVORITE favorite? Terrifically fun third entry in this series. 

Snyder, Laurel. Charlie & Mouse & Grumpy. ​ (Grades K-1) This picture book/easy reader hybrid is the sequel to Charlie and Mouse. Charlie and Mouse are brothers who are spending time with their grandfather AKA Grumpy. In four short chapters, the trio discuss what it means to be “medium”, enjoy a special night while the boys’ parents go out, and choose the proper goodnight song. 

Yoon, Salina. That’s My Book! and Other Stories. ​(Grades K-1) Big Duck, Little Duck, and Porcupine are a sweet trio of friends that find the best use for books, plan a talent show, and dress like a pirate. The latest addition to the Duck, Duck, Porcupine series contains three short chapters with bold text in large speech bubbles. 

Juvenile Fiction 

Bartok, Mira. The Wonderling. ​(Grades 4-6) Number 13 is a groundling (half human/half animal) who lives in an orphanage run by Ms. Carbunkle. He is named Arthur by a fellow groundling when he saves her. The pair of new friends escape the “Home” and set off on an adventure full of danger, magic, and mystery. Fans of Erin Hunter’s Warriors series will enjoy this lengthy fantasy novel. 

Bradley, Kimberly Brubaker. The War I Finally Won. ​(Grades 4-6)  Picking up right after 2015’s Newbery Honor book The War That Saved My Life, this very worthy sequel continues the story of Ada, her brother Jamie, and their guardian Susan. Set against the backdrop of World War II (which is felt much more immediately in this novel), Ada struggles to deal with the aftermath of years of abuse by her mother. An emotional, yet rewarding book for fans of the first book or for readers who love excellent historical fiction. 

Broach, Elise. Trouble at School for Marvin & James. ​(Grades 1-2) This is the third book in the Masterpiece Adventures series featuring best friends, James and Marvin. James is a human and Marvin is a small black beetle. James decides to bring Marvin to school so he can experience James’ art class taught by beloved teacher, Mr. Chang. Mr. Change has blue hair and often quotes, “There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.” Marvin enjoys school until a sneeze separates him from James. This book is an excellent choice for new chapter-book readers. 

Clements, Andrew. The Losers Club.​ (Grades 3-6) Alec loves to read -- so much so that it gets him in trouble at school and at home. Even the head of the afterschool program at his school says he can’t just sit around by himself and read; he has to join a club. So Alec comes up with a plan to create his own reading club, which he names The Losers Club to deter other kids from joining. His bright idea backfires when it turns out to be the most popular club at school. There are tons of great books referenced throughout, and there’s a helpful list at the back of the book for bookworms who want to read them all! 

DeStefano, Lauren. The Girl with the Ghost Machine.​ (Grades 4-6) Emmaline Beaumont was 10 years old when her mother died; two years later, her father remains so consumed with grief that it’s almost as if Emmaline has lost both parents. In a desperate attempt to bring his wife back, Monsieur Beaumont tinkers with his “ghost machine” night and day. When Emmaline’s attempt to destroy the machine doesn’t go as planned, she and readers are left wondering if precious memories of loved ones are worth trading for the chance to interact with them one more time. Emmaline’s twin best friends, Oliver and Gully, represent the push and pull between hope and logic that plagues Emmaline and offers her new ways of understanding grief. Readers should be prepared for heaviness and sadness throughout. A story of loss, friendship, and resilience. 

Farrer, Maria. Me and Mister P.​ (Grades 2-5) Arthur is tired of his younger brother Liam’s behavior. He can’t even watch television with volume since it upsets his brother. Arthur decides to run away from home but he meets a friendly polar bear named Mister P. who alters his plans. Mister P. helps Arthur accept his brother’s differences. This quirky story is bibliotherapy for siblings of children with autism as well as a good read for children who like fantastical animal stories. 

Krishnaswami, Uma. Step Up to the Plate, Maria Singh. ​(Grades 3-5) Maria Singh lives with her family in Yuba City, California during WWII. Most of the community members are adha-adha (half and half) with fathers from India and mothers from Mexico. Maria’s teacher forms a softball team which Maria wants to join but she is not sure if her father will let her. Maria and her family struggle against discrimination from kids and adults. 

Middleton, Dana. Open If You Dare. ​(Grades 4-6) For Birdie and her best friends, Ally and Rose, the joy of finishing elementary school is overshadowed by their dread of summer’s end. With Rose unwillingly moving back to England, and Ally and Birdie attending different middle schools, their long, close friendship is coming to an end. In the meantime, Ally deals with problems on and off the pitcher’s mound, while Birdie follows the trail of mystery, and Rose rebels against her parents in a creative, yet destructive way. The story is set in Atlanta with well-drawn individuals from different generations. Tween issues are addressed from first crush to first steps toward independence. A rewarding chapter book. 

Morris, Chad. Mustaches for Maddie.​ (Grades 4-6) Maddie is a 12 year old girl who has a big imagination. When she is diagnosed with a brain tumor, she faces surgery and possible negative outcomes from the operation. She also faces middle school friendships and even jealous classmates with humor and bravery. Maddies loves fake mustaches so her supporters wear them. This book is based on the authors’ daughter and will appeal to readers who liked Wonder by R.J. Palacio. 

Pennypacker, Sara. Waylon! Even More Awesome​. (Grades 2-4) A Clementine series spin off which features another likeable kid. Waylon and Baxter are classmates who have to share a dog who lives in a shelter. The two boys can not be more different. While Waylon loves everything about science and following rules, Baxter is always in trouble and close to being a juvenile delinquent. When their dog, Dumpster Eddy, is going to be thrown out of the shelter he is living in, the boys come up with a plan to save him. A book about friendship, family, perseverance and hard work make this a wonderful book for reluctant readers. 

Schlitz, Laura. Princess Cora and the Crocodile. ​(Grades 1-3) Princess Cora never has a moment to play or relax as her parents, the King and Queen, are constantly training her to be perfect. She writes a desperate letter to her fairy godmother asking for help. A pet crocodile arrives the next day and he impersonates Cora so she can have a day off. Caldecott Medalist Brian Floca’s illustrations add to the humor of this story. 

Swanson, Matthew. ​The Real McCoys. ​(Grades 3-5) Moxie McCoy is a fourth grade detective who faces her biggest challenge yet in this fun chapter book. When someone kidnaps beloved school mascot Eddie the Owl, Moxie is on the case-but she is forced to solve this new mystery on her own since her best friend, and fellow detective, has moved away. Moxie finds clues and points fingers but she needs help to find the owl mascot. Enter Milton, Moxie’s smart little brother. Can the real McCoys solve the crime of the century? 

Wilson, Amy. ​The Lost Frost Girl​. (Grades 4-6) A modern day fairy tale about a girl who discovers that she is Jack Frost’s daughter. Owl is a twelve year old girl with a quirky mom, a dad she has never met, a cool best friend named Mallory and a boy who gives her weird looks at school. When she finds out that Jack Frost is her father, she is determined to meet him and delves into Jack’s wonderful and wild world of winter. She realizes she is part human/part fay and has special powers of her own. A tale of family, friendship and magic and embracing who you are meant to be. 

Zemke, Deborah. The Curse of Einstein’s Pencil. ​(Grades 2-3) This second story about Bea Garcia will appeal to fans of Judy Moody. Bea is initially excited when the smartest girl in school, Judith Einstein asks her to be a partner in the geography contest. Then Bea wonders if the secret to Judith’s intelligence is her pencil. Bea takes Judith’s pencil when it rolls on the floor but the effect on her life and friendship is not what she expected. 

Graphic Novels 

Hale, Shannon and Pham, LeUyen. Real Friends​.​ (Grades 3-6) Shannon Hale, author of the bestselling Princess in Black series, debuts her first graphic novel: a memoir of her childhood friendships from kindergarten through sixth grade. Friends, rivals, and frenemies drift in and out of Shannon’s life, but her mean older sister remains a constant menacing presence. Readers will find much to relate to: neighborhood friends who move away; the dread of finding out that all of your friends have been assigned to another teacher. Hale as an adult narrates the story with a welcome perspective, acknowledging when she herself was a bad friend or seeing the dynamics of a situation more clearly in hindsight. Fans of Raina Telgemeier will love this. 

Jamieson, Victoria. All’s Faire in Middle School​.​ (Grades 4-8) From Victoria Jamieson, who won a Newbery Honor for Roller Girl, comes another middle grade graphic novel. Imogen has been homeschooled her whole life; her world revolves around the local Renaissance Faire where her parents work. But now she’s ready for her biggest challenge: middle school. Imogen’s unconventional background makes it difficult for her to fit in, but is she willing to do what it takes to conform? Recommend to fans of Raina Telgemeier. 

Siegel, Mark. The Sand Warrior. ​ (Grades 3-5) The Five Worlds is a galaxy of five planets filled with different species. Oona Lee teams up with An Tzu, a boy from the poorest slums, and Jax Amboy, a lonely star athlete. They discover that they may be able to light five ancient beacons and save the Five Worlds. Hand this fantasy story to fans of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the Amulet series. 

Biography 

Guglielmo, Amy and Tourville, Jacqueline. Pocket Full of Colors.​ ​(Grades K-4). Mary Blair is remembered today as one of the greatest and most influential Disney animators, but at the time, her use of color was considered “too vivid, too wild.” When her all-male colleagues at Disney reject her ideas, she strikes out on her own, where she finds huge success as an illustrator and set designer following her own vision. Finally, Walt Disney himself asks her to come back; she’s the only one he will trust to design the now-classic ride It’s a Small World. Gorgeous brightly-colored illustrations evoke Blair’s distinctive style. An author’s note is included at the end of the book. 

Meltzer, Brad. I am Sacagawea. ​(Grades 1-3) Sacagawea’s story is the latest addition to the Ordinary People Change the World​ best-selling biography series. Sacagawea was the only Native American to join Lewis and Clark’s expedition. Children will learn about the traits that made Sacagawea a trailblazer and the significant contributions she made to the world. A timeline and photos are included at the back of the book. Christopher Eliopoulos’ illustrations reflect his origins in the comic industry. He recreates lively scenes from Sacagawea’s life. 

Rosenstock, Barb. Vincent Can’t Sleep. ​(Grades K-2) This picture book biography of Vincent Van Gogh explores his life especially his troubles with insomnia. He had trouble sleeping as a child, an adolescent, and as an adult in the hospital. The text is short but lyrical while the illustrations in acrylic, pen, and watercolor reflect the night sky and his iconic work, The Starry Night. An author’s note and sources are included at the end of the book. 

Nonfiction 

Burcaw, Shane. Not So Different. ​(Grades 1-3). Shane was born with a degenerative muscle disease, and he’s never been able to walk. People always seem to ask him the same ten questions, like “How do you eat?” or “Why is your head so big?” Answers to these and more are accompanied by funny photographs. Through Shane’s funny and frank stories--he once broke his expensive motorized wheelchair by using it to lift his brother to dunk a basketball--readers will learn that they’re not so different from him after all. A nice introduction to disability for younger kids. 

Burns, Loree Griffin. Life on Surtsey: Iceland’s Upstart Island​. ​(Grades 4-7) In 1963, an underwater volcano off the coast of Iceland erupted, creating a new island formed from rock and ash. Scientists realized they could use this new island to study how life takes hold in a new environment. What are the first plants to grow on the bare rock? When and how do birds, insects, and other animals arrive? The book follows a team of scientists who return to the island every year to study the changes; full-color photographs document their journey and the changing island landscape. It’s a great introduction to how scientists really work, full of details that kids will love. (On a deserted island, how do you go to the bathroom?) A glossary and bibliography are included at the end of the book. 

Chin, Jason. Grand Canyon.​ (Grades 3-5) Some may think of the Grand Canyon as just a “big hole in the ground,” but through gorgeous and detailed illustrations, Chin reveals the complex ecosystem it hosts and what it tells us about our geological past. As a father and daughter hike through the canyon, the reader learns more about what makes each level of the canyon unique. Die-cuts reveal fossils in the modern-day, and when readers turn the page, they are transported back millions of years, to what the landscape looked like when each fossil was formed. Further scientific information, an author’s note, and sources are included at the end of the book. 

Eggers, Dave. ​Her Right Foot. ​(Grades 3 and up) A beautifully illustrated book about the history of the iconic statue along with humor and interesting trivia during the first part of the book. The second part of the book talks about the statue’s feet and how the back of her right foot is actually lifted as if she is going somewhere. No one ever seems to talk about the fact that the statue of liberty is walking; she is on the move. If the statue of liberty is a symbol of freedom, if the statue of liberty has welcomed millions of immigrants to the United States, then how can she stand still? 

Harris, Chris. I’m Just No Good At Rhyming.​ (Grades 3-8) Fans of Shel Silverstein, Ogden Nash, or Jack Prelutsky will enjoy this volume of humorous poetry for kids. Lane Smith’s hilarious illustrations add to the fun.

Rose, Deborah Lee. Beauty and the Beak. ​(Grades 3-5) An Alaskan bald eagle lost most of her beak after a poacher shot her. She was unable to eat, drink, or preen without her beak. The eagle later named Beauty was sent to the care of biologist Veltkamp at a raptor center in Idaho. Since Beauty’s beak did not regenerate, Veltkamp enlisted the help of a dentist and an engineer. Together they fashioned a beak for Beauty using a 3-D printer. This nonfiction animal rescue story has similaries to stories by the Hatkoffs including Winter’s Tail. 

Roy, Katherine. How To Be An Elephant. ​(Grades 3-6) A stunning look at how a newborn elephant matures into a capable member of the herd. This book emphasizes how an infant elephant learns through her family herd an array of skills that are necessary to keep up; from learning to walk and swim right away, projecting her voice, using her nose to eat and smell and keeping cool with her large ears. Large illustrations of calves with their herd are interspersed with captivating diagrams and smaller images work well together. A carefully researched book and a must have for all elementary school collections.  

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mr. moreau

an unfinished scrap of a novel i am not sure ill continue

i can see it its a diamond with the crossroads its white borders from my cracked window up here

i ‘ave to get that fixed)—  just below the fog (the fog is low today)

—and its on top of the street that was just painted

oh yesterday or maybe the day before that

or something,

i think

black as my genevieve’s ‘air

two bodies crisscrossed atop of each other and splattered like paint on a black canvas, a pollack of angry reds and i cant see their face cause theyve been ravaged by the hard concrete and im so high up looking down like a dreamer into a field of rye and i shudder because oh, how painful is that but i also suppose,

when youre fallin i guess you only feel the woosh of the wind under you and maybe your soul leaves your body before your body breaks into a million teeny tiny pieces and everything inside you that youve ever dreamed flows out of you like a bucket tipping over onto a tile floor—maybe

maybe its a perpetual fear and youre trapped inside a perpetual cycle of mind numbing terror because youre falling to your doom and you regret that your feet left the edge in the first place and maybe, maybe you shoulda called your mom and then told her that you loved her one last time or apologized to the man that you bumped into while you were hurrying home yesterday and the tears are flying from your face ‘cause you can see them surrounding your grave wearin nothing but black and your father is silent but a kind of silent youve never seen before and in that second you can just SEE him taking the same path you are and then

maybe the fear grips your limbs like god coming down and punishing you but all you feel is a childish sort of aversion an “i dont wanna” cause you dont wanna—you dont wanna die cause you have so so much to live for and youre cryin to some big fat man up in the sky but whats he gonna do? he cant stop you

but i wouldn’ know but i took the elevator and went down to look at the scene anyway cause we’re all drawn to the misfortune of others anyway like nothing more than moths having an orgy on a blue flame

mr. steinway was next to me in the elevator; he lived on the 13th floor and i on the 12th i saw him smoking up on the roof sometimes. he was a gentleman by any other name, except the part where his wife left him cause hed been caught with a particularly young mistress but i suppose that didnt matter because he played ravel’s jeux d’eau like no one else in the world could and maybe he played her body like that homonymous six figure grand he has, who knows

his face was wrinkled and ugly but the melodies he played were smooth and beautiful so who cared about his damn visage i guess

“oh, mister moreau,” and for that matter, his voice wasnt particularly musical either

“steinway, are you heading down to see what happened?”

“arent we all,” he chuckled like the deaths were a funny little joke he had made up,

“i think i’ll stop by the grocery store”

“is that so?” he spoke like a conductor introducing a symphony to an ignorant audience and he was just trying to find a way to relive his days of performing inside carnegie hall’s stern auditorium because all he performed in now was his empty apartment, we around ‘im the unwilling listeners. he silently watched the floor numbers count down on the bar above the elevator doors 10 9 8 7 “i ‘aven’t been there lately.” he finally said like he had wondered how to talk without being offensive while still showing his pockets were full of gold.

dick, i thought 4 5

and waited and 2 1 and the doors opened.

our doorman greeted us. he was a fine fellow and i talked with him when it was too awkward for silence. he had a prized son about to head off to columbia on some scholarship or another and his younger daughter was expected to follow in his shoes. his mother was bedridden his dad dead and apparently he made a great deal of money working as a valet for the most expensive hotel in the city on the weekends. he liked the color orange and his ties were sometimes tied with a different knot because his daughter liked to practice on him. for lunch he preferred a simple tomato and mozzarella panini from the cafe a few blocks away but occasionally he partook in the pita bread and hummus that mrs. tomadakis on the fourth floor gave him and he always always despised it when someone moved the rug in front of the door. i didnt know his name.

“another suicide, huh?” he gave me a warm smile and mr. steinway a slightly cooler one

he said ‘another’ because it had been the eighth one this month and we were only fourteen days into it and silently, slowly we found ourselves heading towards a point of numb disassociation—when one person committed suicide it was all over the news like mr. steinway’s scandal and you learned their birthday, their name, their age,

every tiny detail of they had been, the sorrow of their friends and family,

and everything that happened between the day that they they came into the world and the day they left

and the people reacted with horror, the parents apologized to their kids and the kids to their parents, and the grief counselors opened their doors to those who had lost someone in a similar fashion and had to relive the memory through someone else’s eyes and maybe a wide-eyed girl holdin the blade to her small wrist told herself not today, not today

but of course, thats me being optimistic

sometime after the third suicide all that popped up was a name and a vague somethingorother reason they lit themselves on fire or shot themselves in the ‘ead or something and then a frown from the casters, maybe a tinge of sympathy entered their tone but then 10 seconds passed and they forgot because this was all part of a trend that would end. the people talked about the suicides in hushed tones but now the conservations were turning into a more questioning again? and a response of yeses and then it tended to be never discussed again because hey it didnt involve us anyhow

so the nameless bodies started to pile up one on top of each other and i knew the faces and names of maybe three or four but no more.

i nodded to him. “troubling,” i said, because what else could i say

“yes, definitely. my wife had me turn off the news last night because she was so… distressed at all the incidents lately” the doorman replied and there was a hint of something unknown when he said it. nonetheless he turned to the man next to me because his priorities were his own “I heard your playing the other day, mr. steinway. marvelous as always,” he said, voice turned slick because steinway gave good tips. he couldn’t hear anything from all the way on the 1st floor of course

mr. steinway looked chuffed, a prizewinning cock who fought with all the other roosters. “the debussy or the khachaturian?”

“the khachaturian, of course. i always find myself partial to the contemporary—“ the doorman said in an inviting tone to begin an conversation that would undoubtedly net him a few more dollars or maybe a lot more next week—

“interesting!” steinway murmured in that hushed tone since discussion of classical music was clearly some covert operation that no one was supposed to know about. i walked outside into the cool fall air knowing that they would be stuck there for a good ten minutes or more and noticed that the crowd around the two corpses in the middle was gone already and the first thing i wondered was not who they were but rather if dear genevieve had heard the news

there is a photographer standing by the bodies with her big old camera snap snap and she looks up and stares at me staring at her she stands up and i notice that the bottom of her pants have been scuffed by the road she smiles at me without dusting herself off,

“hello!” she was too cheery for the death in front of her “do you live here?” she is the only one out here and the world feels strangely empty

“yes, i” i pointed to the clean, modern building to the left “live just over there,”

she looked at me up and down up and down “you wouldn’t know these people would you?” no i wouldnt

“no” her face fell but then it rose again as she stuffed a card into my clammy hand and the bracelets on her hand jangled and she grinned at me with white teeth but the front two were crooked as if someone ‘ad taken a pair of pliers to them and her brown ‘air was messy, her skin lighter than mine—“i was just wondering since no one seems to know who they are” (she spoke in a rush like she was breathless) and i finally start to wonder indeed, who they are because even as corpses their hands are entwined together “i’m” and now that im down here i can see the fine details in their “photographer, i” faces and the one on the left has that dead fish look in their dark eyes and the eyes are wide open and theyre staring into “crime scenes” my very soul and i wonder if theyre blaming me for my being complicit in their deaths because i too heard the news and did nothing but “ive been in the news” my hands are shaking and i think i couldnt have done anything because i didnt know but something jabs me — a maybe i did know because i too heard the news and passed by disinterested “but i also do” and im staring back at them and theyre staring back at me in a staring contest that i know i will lose “family portraits, anything you need basically” and the one on the rights eyes are closed and the part of their face that isnt all burst open and spilling onto the floor has a tender charm and their lips are fixed in what seems like a peaceful smile but im thinking no there is no way that could be peaceful and oh “call the number if” their ‘ands are all so small if i could just have grabbed those before they jumped maybe id be staring at an empty black canvas instead of a grotesque exhibit of all that we ‘ave done wrong

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medium: human on concrete