#to have the west turn it into a dark day for Israel is actually fucking comical

[sleevebuscemii]

was listening to an interview with some guy who was an advisor on arab-israeli negotiations for three administrations in the US and he started talking about how he was in jerusalem october 6th 1973 and saw ‘an israeli society that was traumatized’ and how israel has overcome trauma before blah blah blah like BITCH!!!!!! you mean THE 6th of October, when Egypt defeated the Israeli army and forced them to retreat out of the Sinai Peninsula WHICH THEY WERE OCCUPYING???

just absolutely baffling that israel’s CONSISTENT playbook is to start a war and then cry when they have to suffer the consequences of said war. how are YOU gonna be traumatized from stealing someone else’s house and then them taking it back??!!??!!!! fake ass country i swear to god

whats even funnier is that he then went on to talk about how egypt and israel signed a peace treaty six years as in like ‘look see arabs and israel can find peace’ AS IF egypt didn’t face extreme backlash for decades for signing that treaty, as if it wasn’t one of the most controversial actions in arab-israeli relations in history, so much controversy and backlash that the president of egypt who signed it was assassinated for signing it.

[themostexpensiveboningknife]

2020

Failed party, money in drawer, communicate, move house, move boxes, drive in van, walk to shops, buy noodles, think it’s the end, see whole bus of soldiers in Beijing, new area, walk in darkness, think about leaving, leave, think its temporary, in taxi, post stupid photos, check and check again phone, think people with goggles on my plane are over reacting, take off my mask to eat, keep taking off to loosen, arrive back in London. Tube. Cold. Pub. Party at WeWork. Exhibition at Dulwich Gallery. Farringdon. Drugs and drinks. Brockley, South east London. DJ. Ethiopian food. Morley’s Peckham. Walking on the River. Photographer friend’s house. Canal cycle. National Gallery. Car crash, Dalston. Omar Souleyman. Corsica Studios. Meet girl, back to my friends, back to hers, sex. Morning up to mum’s best friends birthday, Covent Garden restaurant. In a van, Sunday roast. Chisenhale Gallery. arebyte Gallery. Getting worse in China, seems nice and easy and calm in England. Camberwell beers and more. Second-hand book shops, Charing Cross Road. Courtauld. Leafed through a book about a man who lived his entire 86.5 years in East London. Still talking to the same girl back in China. Both believe I’ll be back soon. Chicken wings. West London, meal. South London pub. DJing somewhere inside. Kent, see grandma. Rave, Bermondsey. Friends from Israel and Germany arrive. More drinks, more drugs. Mixing friends. Gay bar in Bethnal Green for old friend’s birthday. Acid, confused and hilarious. Tate Britain. Serpentine. Cranes on the bridge. Liverpool Street film screening. Feels shallow, but good. Begin regular E Pellici sojourns. Primrose Hill with Dad. Beer festival with Keaton and co. Peckham, school friend’s house, bad vibe. More drinks, more drugs. Working on first music compilation with Slowcook and Fafa. Begin watching all of the Studio Ghibli movies. Watching Breaking Bad. At some point have huge argument with my brother, it went like this: He came home from work and I was sitting watching Breaking Bad, he asks, “Have you been like that all day?” I either took it in the wrong way or picked up on a sly dig. It was probably me, but at this point I was pretty self-conscious and worried about going back to China and whether or not I would have a job back there. Was getting surprisingly pissed off with my brother mentioning his work, felt like an affront to me. Weird. He goes crazy (he has a short fuse), punching a wall, ready to fight me. My mum is pretty upset. A few days later I go into his room and try to patch things up. Turns into a deeper chat. He feels like I haven’t been a good brother to him, he gives the example of not looking out for him on his first days of school. I say I’m sorry, it’s because I’m a bit scared and insecure. In retrospect I regret a little laying so much weakness on the table, seems his interactions/ways of acting around me have changed a bit. Still not sure how I feel about it all. Considered getting a gold tooth with Matthew. Play with cats, enjoying them more and more. Rave in Dalston, good music from Asia and beyond. Looking at magazines. Not doing much work at all. Being out and about instead. Go to Norfolk. It’s beautiful, but get way too drunk on first night, sick everywhere, wake up naked in sick. Massive fucking shitshow. Majority of people there have no choice but to act weirdly around me now, which is understandable. Still some nice aspects. One girl there surely hates me a lot. Tate Modern. Art stuff by self is good. Corsica Studios, semi-art, semi-music event. Mr. Bao for first time of many. Radio in Tottenham. Take drugs. Pubs. Drive to Asda with brother to stock up on food. It’s March and the reality of the pandemic is hitting. More canal cycling. First and only group chat on Zoom. BH Funk. Probably have taken cocaine and messaged one of three or four girls numerous times by now. If there’s one, in the cold light of day, horrible and disgusting thing I’ve done too much this year it’s this. Incessant messaging of poor girls that I know will react (although increasingly they don’t, I manage to alienate even close friends in this way). Southbank and The Mall with Nick. Reading about Wuhan. List of good texts. Continuing to do some writing. Making WeChat posts for guī WeChat, including mix series and miniessays. Greenwich park with Matthew. Grime quiz online. Delivering food regularly for my mum’s school. Hackney Marshes with Luan. Epping Forest with Mum and Dad. By this point probably have woken up feeling sorry for myself in Ludo’s flat, after untold amounts of alcohol and cocaine. Online rave. Beijing artists only mix. Go to Switzerland, pass through Italy on the way. Its breath taking, the mountains, the expanse of scenery, not used to it. Climbing up mountains with no one around. Rolo and Patrick and Rita smoke too much weed. I really, really, really still hate smoking it. Feel a bit annoyed how long we spend sitting around while they smoke, but this is way outbalanced by the uniqueness of where we are and the beauty all around. Producing more and more, actually getting somewhere. Cooking more and more food. Reading more and more, like: Black and British, The Corrections, Real Fast Food, Bass, Mids, Tops, Zadie Smith, Olivia Lang, Graham Greene, JG Ballard, Monica Ali, Mo Yan, Jenny Zhang, John le Carre, Naked Lunch, Nabokov, Bukowski, Zora Neale Hurston, Wiley, Bitcoin, Murakami, Judith E. Butler, The Painter of Modern Life, Maupassant, Chekov, Video Art, Gravity’s Rainbow (couldn’t finish), Anaïs Nin, The Net Delusion (couldn’t finish), The Establishment and how they got away with it (couldn’t finish), Roddy Doyle, The Secret of Scent, General Intellects, Women In Love, The Intelligent Investor, Lyndon Johnson. Victoria Park more often than I can remember. To Chrissy’s house. Mile End Park. Very regularly sitting on the river in Wapping. Bring the chessboard and play Ludo sometimes, people smile and look at you differently when you’re playing chess and drinking beers versus just sitting and drinking beer. I May Destroy You. Industry. The beautiful wide expanse of Hackney Marshes. My incessant quest to reach 1000 followers in Instagram. More cycling, and I hate to say it but it really was: Here there and everywhere. Margate with my Dad to see my grandma in hospital and saw the Turner Prize exhibition. Light blue like scrubs, the sky and sun felt eternal. Swimming in dirty water. Make a DJ mix of old 2000s Road Rap. Eat cheese in Peckham. Cycle along the canal north, keep going and going through Tottenham, past Enfield keep going, it’s mad how quickly it becomes quiet fields on all sides, arrive to some kind of lake, swim and then back to the centre of town. Outside a Hawksmoor church in Shadwell ate chicken with Karim and Ludo. DJing. From my bedroom window saw a big crane in the middle of the night sitting on the canal. Begin developing the second DCCY compilation this time with BULLY magazine. Go to a house in an old school in Camberwell. Discover new secret riverside spots in East London. Finally give up my apartment in Beijing. Mile End park. Cycle further and further East to a pedestrian bridge I didn’t know existed. Get onto the beach and into the Thames water. Interview Akito. Begin writing more, after few months of wiling away the summertime. My friend Emmy gets married in Rwanda, I give him some money as a wedding gift which he tells me he used to buy his wife’s dress. Protests in HK always on TV. Get more into finances, crypto and trading, and just saving in general. Had sex with an old friend. Now meeting a girl I first knew years ago in Beijing. More secret river spots. Keaton has his baby, Noah. More times on Hackney Marshes. Barbican conservatory. Watching more films, try to watch all the films of some directors including: Jia Zhangke, Bong Joon-ho, Edward Yang, Wong Kar-wai, Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Decide to watch all of the infamous lauded series, go through Breaking Bad, The Wire and The Sopranos. Go to the seaside for a few days, camping also. Henry Wu album launch in a car park in Bermondsey. Go to visit Keaton’s baby for the first time. Good photography exhibition at Photographer’s Gallery. Go to Wallace Collection again. August. Go to Berlin. Swimming in Berlin lakes until I get an ear infection. It makes me drowsy and lethargic, but still seems to spend all my time cycling around the city. On one night cycle for hours to a rave on the outskirts of the city. Like a lot the abandoned airport in Berlin. Oh yeah, vaping. Found a dead bumble bee. Speak with Nevin about projects. Write a piece about the future of the art world for a magazine being started by Nevin’s friend in Canada. Go to Lithuania. Walk around Vilnius, get too drunk by myself. Get to the Curonian Spit and Nida, beaches and new friends. For the Nightlife Residency project. For a short while life is like on a desert island of new food, new people, new locations, quiet and new meaning. Go to the Russian border on the beach. Cycle to the road boarder and get stopped by the police. Go nude on the beach for the first time. Sauna, sand dunes and forests. DJ out for the first time in ages, this time with Nono. To Kaunus and try nice and stodgy Georgian food for the first time. Hackney Wick back for party. Meet a ginger girl online and go on a date. Wallace Collection again. Free beer and pizza. White Cube. National Gallery, Titian. On BBC Radio London with my Dad. Riverside beers. Saw a lost swan near my front door. Meet Keaton near his work, one of many times. Making more and more music, getting better. Decide I need more organisation and clarity, put everything I’ve done on a blog. More or less long since given up on my job at M Woods. But don’t really begin looking for anything new because it’s still sunny. At some point I start getting benefits money. Go to see La Haine in the cinema. Someone blocks me on WeChat because of me. Some pub somewhere. Sunday walks and breakfast with my parents. Go to an exhibition in Woolworth Road with Muzi. Realise how nice it is to run to Victoria Park along the canal. Vicky Park in general. Dinners at friends’ houses. Museum of London. Walking with Michael in some countryside near London, surprising how quickly things turn green. Break onto a pier in Wapping with Jack. Battersea Park. Tate, Bruce Nauman. Old Street Weatherspoon’s with Keaton, drugs. Central London cemetery. Chinese in Camberwell. Chinese in Aldgate. Italian in Camberwell. More and more exercise, running, weights and yoga with my brother. Sadie Coles. Nick, Central London. Gucci Mane. Hampstead Heath more because Ludo and his flatmates are nearby. Ludo’s now house more for days and nights of you guessed it. Borough Market more, with Emma. Alexandra Palace walk and famous sandwiches after. Tate Britian new lights. More time at Muzi’s. Signing up for cycle courier. LYL Radio show. Shave head. Take acid and it hurts my stomach. Camden Arts Centre with Muzi. Christmas party with friends. Birthday. Cake with Muzi, presents and Indian takeaway from family, walk in Vicky Park with Ludo and Karim plus battered sausage and chips. Christmas at home nice and warming meal. Evening to Ludo’s place with more friends. Boxing day with Matthew, pints and then more at his house in Peckham all night long. Next day is tough! Giant turkey sandwiches, turkey soup, turkey curry. Buy first NFTs. New Year’s Eve stay in at Muzi’s, one drink and a cake.

[countryshitposts]

don’t threaten me with a good time

this crappy fanfic is finally finished! After pouring blood, sweat and tears for three weeks, i finished this, with a whopping 17, 000 word count! That means you have no choice but to read :)

pls REBLOG, not like ÓwÒ

Now i can finally move on with GE getting a one-shot

and i can’t thank @redffeather enough for being there for me ÚwÙ

-

Indonesia, Malaysia and the Philippines would always organize the Christmas party every year, Christmas decorations at hand. It'd always be routine for this trio to organize the Christmas party, invite everyone important enough to be invited, and decorate the entire venue with Christmas decorations and clean it up after the party is over. Today Malaysia had voted for the party venue to be in the Spratly Islands, and Philip counters it by saying it was ill-willed to put the party on a disputed territory.

(Philip has been waiting for the day of the Christmas party ever since September- like every year, his Christmas season starts at the ninth month due to its suffix. Malaysia and Indonesia had been woken up by his incessant need to play booming Christmas songs at twelve in the morning.)

"I still think this is stupid", Philip says as he puts a mistletoe on the doorway, to congratulate couples or undeserving people of a fate. "It's not a bright idea to invite people to some disputed island in the West Philippine-"

"South China Sea", Malaysia pretentiously corrects, earning her a glare from the man. She flicks her fingers as she looks at the list of invites.

(Malaysia was the only one who had decided who's worthy enough for an invite to their Christmas party, and no one should object of whom she decided to invite.)

"Who did you invite to this, again?", Indonesia asks as he carefully sets the sofas to the furthest corner of the room to accommodate space.

"The countries, of course, all of them - except for North Korea - some important cities and a number of disputed territories-" she narrows her eyes as she reads the list, but just then Philip sputters.

"You included the disputed territories?!", Philip exclaims, looking at Malaysia like she was a madman.

Malaysia shrugs. "Well yeah, at least they'd have more involvement than going to meetings of their claimants'."

"This is the stupidest idea you have in a while", Indonesia states. "But oh well, you invited everyone needed."

"And everyone useless", Philip mutters under his breath.

Indonesia takes out another table from a room, and he laughs. "Is this where people's taxes go?"

Philip smirks cryptically. "Where else? Hospitals?"

-

Singapore and Brunei were the first to arrive, of course. They live near the Spratly Isles and can get there in due time. Malaysia ushers them in, and they enter while looking at the Christmas decorations with an unimpressed look.

("This is Philippines we're talking about", Brunei whispers to Singapore. "Why isn't the whole place decorated in mistletoe yet?")

"Brunei, Singapore!", Philippines greets them and embraces them both. "The food-to share goes to those tables Indonesia is still arranging to this night-" the man glares at him as he pushes the tables into one consecutive line- "-and you put your gifts underneath the Christmas tree of course."

"And since you both came early", Indonesia pants. "Help me move the fucking tables."

Singapore scoffs. "Told you we should've arrive even later." He and Brunei help Indonesia with the tables, leaving Philip and Mal alone together.

Mal links arms with Philip, much to his confusion as he looks at her. She smiles and says, "Well then, you and me should cook more food for the others."

"They're bringing their own", Philip deadpans, "I don't think they'd like pig."

"But you ordered the roasted pig right?" Malaysia seductively traces her fingers over his back and lifts his chin up with one. The man looks away, face red and looking quite bashful. "You always feel like an outcast when you hang out with us." She stands on her tiptoes as she lets her breath touch his ear. "I can make you feel like you're not."

"Hey assholes", they turn to look at Indonesia glaring at them, with Brunei and Singapore giggling like school girls behind him, "why don't you actually cook instead of flirting 'round the place?"

Malaysia scoffs and takes Philip's hand as she drags him towards the kitchen, the man putting up no fight.

"Phil will eat Mal out in the kitchen, would he?", Singapore says between giggles.

-

Daehan Minguk was, to put it simply, fatigued over another argument with Japan over the war crimes and the ongoing trade war between them. He just can't stand Ilbon and their ignorance; sooner or later they will have to apologize. He feels himself drowning in a heated blaze of anger and anguish as he throws his coat onto the sofa, not bothering to pick up any stray material from his floors. He finds a lone envelope on his night stand, and he yanks it and tears the envelope open (he's never one for gentleness) and pulls the paper from its source. Of course, it's an invite from the annual and yearly Christmas party from Malleisia, Ghonghwagug and Jedo. He can feel his day get better just from the invite alone, but then he deflates when he sees who his Secret Santa was.

Mongolia.

He grimaces. He'd rather have Ilbon as his exchange gift than he. At least he can gift the asshole a hive of bees and be done with it, but it has to be this guy.

Minguk gulps, remembering that night from before, the night where their lips mistakenly touched, where their bodies collided and warmth and friction showered them in such love and affection. He remembered their uneven breathing, the way Mongolia's drunk eyes shown the slightest bit of love, and Minguk can feel himself shiver; he committed a crime. A disgusting crime that shouldn't even be punished by death itself.

And worst of all, he liked it.

No.

Loved the feeling.

That may be his biggest regret of all, and now he feels like shit all over.

-

Him and Kazakhstan walk alone towards the venue, food-to-share and exchange gift on their hands, chattering comfortably. Or, Kazakhstan was the one carrying the conversation and Mongolia only replies in nods or hums, his mind in another place. His mind is back to thinking about the one man that made his heart beat so rapidly, unlike any other woman he met in his life. His brain is filled with the man's image and wit and words, his ears still echoing his voice and beat, and his body feeling the heat and warmth they had shared that faithful night.

It was tearing him apart.

So he tries to listen to what Kazakh was saying, waving his arms around with a delighted expression on his face.

"The other Central Asians told me to go on my own 'cause they were busy cleaning the place", Kazakhstan says dejectedly as he and Mongolia walk to the venue, which was pretty bright due to how many Christmas lights were fluttering around the areas. Kazakhstan opens his mouth to explain a few more things but Mongolia tunes out, trying to find yet another way to try and avoid Ömnöd Solongos the entire night he was there. Kazakhstan continues on rambling about more topics Mongolia has no interest in as they take a step onto the front porch.

Kazakhstan gives the door three knocks before it opens, revealing a man shorter than them with messy black hair, dark skin, an eye patch that resembles the sun and stars, and blue eyes. Yes, the party organizer himself. He looks at them both with a bright smile.

"More guests!", he says, ushering them inside. Mongolia and Kazakhstan ogle at the dozens of Christmas decor strung up across the place like Santa's home but not in the South Pole. "You can place the food you brought with ya on those tables right over there and the exchange gifts underneath the Christmas tree."

"Bayarlaa", Mongolia says as he and Kazakhstan follow the man's instructions. He just then realized he had forgotten the man's name and wanted to ask him, but he tells himself the guy could've forgotten his name too as he watches him greet Japan.

-

Koku walks towards the party venue alone, loving the way the trees sway calmly with the breeze. It was a little warmer in the tropic regions, but still a little cold at night so they took a coat with them. They smile at the surroundings' serene energy, not like the noisy and mentally deteriorating office buildings they've become accustomed to for forever. They brought some of their prized foods to share with the others- sushi, pufferfish to name a few. They were actually relieved that they didn't pick either Chūgoku nor Kankoku as their Secret Santa - they would've flip - but instead they got Firipin, thank the stars.

They finally set their sights on the party venue, quite bright against the dark skies above them, wven blinding the stars. They walks faster as they take two steps on the porch and knock on the door. Someone opens it and that someone smiles at them.

"Japan!", a familiar set of warm arms wrap around them, and they smile a little. Their red eyes meet Philip's remaining blue eye, his stars twinkling like the stars planted on the night sky.

"Konbawa Firipin", Japan greets him with a bow, clutching their food-to-share and exchange gift. They fully enter the manor, looking at the Christmas-themed surroundings (of course, this is Philip they're talking about) Indonesia, Marēshia and Shingaporu were buried in a deep discussion of food and politics, while Brunei and Mongoru places their gifts underneath the Christmas tree. Another boy approaches Firipin - Kazafusutan - and asks him where the bathroom is and he gives him the directions.

They see no Chūgoku or Kankoku yet.

They'll enjoy moments of not being intrusive.

-

Israel hitches a ride with the Arabs no matter how many times they insult him. It was better than asking America for a ride anyway. He crosses his arms as he tries to tune out Saudi Arabia and Bahrain's disgusting flirting.

("I'd eat you and your meals because they're all delicious Albahrayn", Saudi Arabia says, a hand on the wheel and a hand on Bahrain's thighs as she giggles uncontrollably.

Israel resists the urge to gag.)

Qatar had also insisted on bringing his - illegally bought - pet cheetah to the Christmas party and like a spoiled child his wish is granted. Israel can hear the large cat ripping their presents and eating their food-to-share. The Arabs didn't care; their servants would fix everything for them. Speaking of the servants, they were driving in a cheap van that was supposed to be tailing behind them but Saudi Arabia speeds the car up like the pretentious shit he is.

He sighs. He should've rode with their servants.

-

Vietnam carefully wraps her present in red paper, its smooth texture soft to her skin. Gift-wrapping is apparently appeasing her and making her feel better, especially after she drunk enough beer to make this day a hungover day. Yet she still has a Christmas party to attend to, and she'd love for everyone to try her foods, and she couldn't risk her exchange gift being lonely for the season.

After finishing wrapping her gift up she starts to prepare to put all her foods in a single box after sorting them out. She puts the box of food and present behind their car with a sigh, as if she has done a lot of her chores.

Vietnam walks over to her room and opens her wardrobe; her friends had encouraged her to wear something other than formal clothes or military ones this party. She looks at her trusty AK, gleaming in the artificial light, never rusty nor dusty. Of course she'll take it to the party; perhaps that man will be there. She looks through her clothes, most of them military, formal... she looks at the last.

It was a dress.

A gift from the Soviet Union before he died.

Vietnam takes it.

-

"Vietnam", she sighs as she hears that familiar voice. Philippines approaches her with that flirtatious smirk of his, posture straight and hands in his pockets, a tip of his gold wedding ring just exposed.

She points the head of her AK towards Philippines, stopping his advances as she glares at him with a hard look. Philippines, on the other hand, remains unfazed. Rather, he has that signature flirtatious smirk of his, his blue eye trailing over Vietnam's AK then hovering over her body much to her annoyance. Pursing her lips she knocks the head of her AK onto Philip's head, making him stumble backwards.

"Learned your lesson?", Vietnam asks with a proud smirk on her face, an arm on her waist.

Philip's stance was precarious, like a tree trying not to be knocked down by a ravaging force. He recovers quite quickly, standing still in that confident posture of his.

"Only thing I learned is that you need a real gun, mahal."

Vietnam's eye twitches, walking away from that stubborn man with her head held up high, firmly believing she still has dignity inside of her. She sees Malaysia ushering her near the Christmas tree - which now has loads of Christmas lights and decorations - she reaches Malaysia who was now rummaging through a box and taking out a dozen Christmas lights.

"I need you to string those all over the second floor", Malaysia tells Vietnam as she forwards the decor to her arms.

"Why do I have to do this?", Vietnam asks, groaning.

"Because Philip is freaking out how there are only few Christmas decor", Malaysia states as she takes more decor out the box. "And you know how that asshole gets iffy whenever nothing is done."

Vietnam sighs, knowing she has absolutely no choice.

-

The party was in full swing once the Central Asians and the remaining of the South East Asians finally arrive. They were all wearing warm clothes and smiles, and Philip is eager to guide them all to the front of the manor to the very back of it. Indonesia busily tries to set the sound system, speakers and all, and Singapore helps his uncle. They set the curtains on the stage, the instruments and the bases. After all, some might even want to sing in their drunken haze. They also carry the karaoke up the stage, grunting as they did so.

("Why isn't Philip helping you?", Singapore grunts and almost stumbles when he takes a simple misstep.

"Asshole's lazy", Indonesia replies. "Wants to flirt with the girls all night.")

Meanwhile, Malaysia and Vietnam were busily decorating the entire place to make it look more... Christmas-er. Vietnam helps Philip by cooking the food as well, and luckily for her the man didn't utter a word that can hinder her cooking.

Kazakhstan runs towards the Central Asians and throws his arms towards them with a laugh. Mongolia smiles as he approaches them, feeling at ease that he at least knows some people in the party.

"Sorry for leaving you alone", Kyrgyzstan says as she's embraced in a hug by Kazakhstan. She high-fives Mongolia as they break apart. She points towards her friends, "those guys are really slow."

Turkmenistan scoffs, rolling his eyes after putting his gift and food in the designated places. "It's not like you were any better."

Tajikistan looks at Mongolia and they both shake hands. "Mongolia, it's nice to see you again."

"Me as well."

Uzbekistan looks around to find almost no one in the manor, "Are we still early or are we literally the only ones invited?"

"The Philippines said that Malaysia also invited some cities and disputed territories." Mongolia scratches his head; he still didn't get the absolute logic of inviting disputed territories, but the venue is the Spratly Isles so it makes everything even.

Just then, a trumpet sounds from beyond the door. Everyone turns their heads towards the entrance, brows furrowed. Philip sighs, knowing who the newcomers will be and walks off towards the kitchen to help Vietnam cook the rice. Mongolia tilts his head, confused to who was coming, until the door opens to reveal faceless men and women dressed in modest clothes, holding a red-and-gold carpet. One man in a shirt and baggy pants clear his throat as the others unroll the carpet, looking towards the door and bowing like footmen.

"Presenting the Arabs!", the man standing announces in a clear and solid voice. He urges for the others to clap, and they obey his orders (Philippines and Vietnam emerge from the kitchen with a pot of rice; the latter groans as she hears the announcement). "The man, the myth, the legend himself; Saudi Arabia!" The aforementioned man enters the manor, strutting on the path the carpet has provided for him. He lets the onlookers ogle at his outfit, looking baritone and simple except it was not; it was made with the finest silk, expensive jewellery and a wide smirk on his face.

"Miss Albahrayn comes next", the man says exhaustedly. Bahrain struts, high heels and all, hijab covering her hair yet still looking as glamorous as ever. She joins her boyfriend after she walks off the runway, and they both kiss, going deeper and deeper into it. Their audience applauds, silently wishing they would stop being extra.

"And here comes the beautiful and luxurious Miss Alkuayt!" Kuwait walks confidently, head held up high and sunglasses perched on her nose while petting all her jewels, red lipstick rosy and bright on her lips.

"Here is the handsome and kind Dawlat Qatar!" Qatar comes in with - of course - an expensive outfit, dark hair and beard trimmed and bright teeth shining, holding a jewel encrusted leash that is used to keep his disobedient cheetah at bay. He winks at the girls as he passes by; they roll their eyes at him. Qatar pulls his cheetah towards Philip and grabs his uncompromising hand.

"I need you to take care of my little Kitty", he says in a childish voice, and Philip blinks.

"What?"

Qatar groans. "Alfalabin, I know we don't see eye-to-eye on small matters, but please take care of my darling Kitty." Qatar breaks out into a soliloquy of how to take care of his pet cheetah, with Philip absolutely lost as Qatar's pet - Kitty is her name - absolutely refuses to collaborate with him. She yanks on her collar while Philip tries to pull her back, awkwardly smiling at Qatar who was still rambling about the do's and don'ts' of taking care of a pet cheetah.

"Next we have Miss Saltanat Eamman." The servant continues, looking towards a young woman with an elderly smile and face, her outfit the most modest out of the Arabs but still flauntingly rich. "And of course we couldn't forget about Alyaman." Yemen walks casually, a slower pace unlike his other friends, but still looking refined and rich as ever.

"And last but not the least; Al'imarat Alearabiat Almutahida!" UAE rivals the Saudi Arabia just how similar his clothes are to his, yet it had quite many patterns and all of his fingers have beautiful jewelries crusted into golden rings. After his show-off was over, everyone's applauds were louder this time and the Arabs bow. The servants roll up the carpet and the music, bringing forth the gifts and food to the designated places. Israel comes in with an exhausted look, rolling his eyes at the Arabs.

"Arab Peninsula?", he states, leaning against the door, his gift and presents in hand (he denied the servants from taking his). "More like Show-Off Peninsula."

"Israel!", Philip calls, yanking on the cheetah's leash, thoroughly frustrated that he has been turned to a pet keeper. God, even he can't stop an extinction of an animal. "You know the rules."

-

The cold winter air touches Minguk's cheeks, cold and soft on his skin. He finds himself near a launchpad, the helicopter's helipad spinning like a goddamn top. His bodyguard and also pilot takes his gift and food and takes it towards the back of the helicopter. Minguk shrugs as his ears deafens the buzzing and noises of the vehicle he was going to ride on, then hops on it.

So he takes off to the night, the heights becoming even higher, the people now just dots, lights buzzing around him. He looks up to see the stars; so close, yet so far. He wonders if he can just touch them if he reaches so high, but he knows he's just going to fall of an plummet to his death.

Who said he didn't look forward to plummeting towards his death?

He looks at the stars again.

He gasps.

All he sees is Mongolia's dark blue eyes and beautiful smile staring back at him.

Minguk shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about that asshole through the night. He doesn't even want to look at him.

He just wants to party.

It is quite fascinating, that whenever you are in a high place even the tallest men can become tiny spectres of dots from below, moving like a microscope. Even the buildings that tower over him are now quite insignificant, not quite like unmoving specks but still under Minguk's eyes. His eyes hover over the party venue, very small underneath the height of the helicopter; the helicopter stops moving hovering lower and lower until it was safe distance for him to climb down with the rope ladder. Minguk's pilot gives him the rope ladder to throw, and Minguk does, as he climbs down, hands full with the gift for Mongolia and the food he has to share (horse head fiddles are quite long and heavy, and he prays to whatever deities out there to not let him fall).

His feet touch the ground, and he waves goodbye towards his pilot, who is now flying away from him and the party venue. When he turns his eyes towards the manor, he finds that he has attracted quite a lot of attention from the party-goers.

Especially the attention of Mongolia, who looked like he was going to pass out. The man stumbles in his step, like he was worried sick for Minguk, and the latter couldn't help but agree.

He failed his number one mission for the night.

"I thought you were going to fall off", Mongolia says with a noise between a cry and a laugh, embracing Minguk. "Please be more careful climbing down a helicopter seventy feet high."

Minguk chuckles. "I will."

("Gross", Brunei says, crossing his arms and looking at Minguk and Mongolia hugging.

Myanmar snorts, "Perhaps they're just friends.")

Minguk can feel his insides burst into flames, like they're debating whether he should avoid Mongolia for the rest of the party or he should just treat him as a friend for the rest of the night. No more of the past where they had drunkenly slept with each other. No more.

The party was in full swing once Minguk goes inside. He places the gift underneath the Christmas tree, telling Jedo he's done quite wonderfully as the organizer.

(Jedo smirks proudly, head held up high. "Of course, Christmas decorating is one of my hobbies.")

Minguk then asks - orders - Gonghwagug to bring his food-to-share on the tables, and Ghonghwagug groans as he stomps off towards the table, glaring towards Minguk as he makes his way.

("What an egotist." Ghonghwagug grumbles as he puts it near the others.)

Minguk looks towards Mongolia, whose eyes was set on one of his cousins, and he can't help but furrow his brows; he wants Mongolia's full attention and eyes on him only throughout the night. So Minguk does the unthinkable- wrap his arms on Mongolia's larger one, and it sure gains his attention.

"What is it, Ömnöd?", Mongolia asks Minguk, and the little bastard plays innocent.

"A... amugeosdo", Minguk replies in a rather flirtatious tone (he denies he's flirting like the coward he is, of course). "I just want to... spend time with a chingu, that's all."

Mongolia's eyes light up. "Well, why didn't you say so, Ömnöd?" Minguk watches in glee as Mongolia ends his conversation with Kaza-whatever. He turns his head to Minguk once again, and he loves that attention. "So, how are you?"

"Quite fine, thank you very much", Minguk clings onto Mongolia tightly, and they are both taken aback by this.

Minguk tries to let go of Mongolia, he is just a friend after all, but a part of him loves Mongolia's fresh nature scent, like he has been out in the steppes for quite sometime. Then he does something worse- his disgusting brain did not hold back;

He stands on his tiptoes, trying to reach Mongolia's ear and whispers into it, "Why don't we eat first, hm?"

He can feel Mongolia's heartbeat, its thumps becoming faster. He can feel Mongolia's breath, cool against his skin and steady. His dark red eyes were wide, as it turns to blue, then back to red, then to gold, the colours of his flag a kaleidoscope in his eyes.

"I-I tiim shüü, we should eat first." Mongolia runs a hand through his hair, face flushed with pink as he looks at Minguk up and down.

Minguk and Mongolia make their way to the buffet tables, where the Arab's servants has already unpacked the food everyone has brought and put it on serving platters. Everyone, be it country or city or some territory were all in a long line, to Minguk's displeasure.

So he pushes them away.

He pushes Senkaku isles, Northern Cyprus, Jerusalem away as he holds Mongolia's hand as he struts away from those nobodies, cutting in line.

"U-um Ömnöd", Mongolia tries to say but he was cut by Minguk pushing more people away from the line, each of them grunting and glaring at the couple.

"Move, I'm famous!", Minguk headbutts the last two in line, leaving a lot of displeased people behind them.

("God fucking damn it", Jedo says not far from them, "Minguk's ego strikes again.")

Once they reach the tables, Minguk's dark blue eyes find themselves land on Ilbon's gray ones. Minguk can feel his day deflate again once Ilbon raises a brow and crosses their arms, giving them a look like they were about to scold.

"Is that a way to treat other people?", they ask, their voice like a parent scolding a child. Minguk absolutely hates that tone.

"I seem to have spotted an absolute cunt", Minguk spits as he lets go of Mongolia so he can take a plate from the stack and fill it with countless foods, most from Mongolia's food-to-share.

"Ö-Ömnöd, that's not-", Mongolia tries to say but he is interrupted by Ilbon scoffing.

"Oh, resorting to immature name-calling, huh?", Ilbon says, "what are you, five?"

"I'm much more mature than you could ever be", Minguk says.

Ilbon scoffs condescendingly and Minguk fights the urge to punch them on the face, "Alright, if you say so."

To Minguk - and Mongolia's - relief, Ilbon stalks off to join Jedo and his friends.

"God fuck, this tastes heavenly", Minguk says as he tastes one of Mongolia's foods.

Mongolia smirks, "The Khorkhog?"

Minguk munches on the lamb more, "Yeah, whatever you call it.

-

"Fuck, Philip, you really butchered the sound system", Malaysia says as she tries to reboot the system.

Philip scowls, still holding on to the cheetah as he looks towards its owner with a death glare, "Blame the cat; not me."

Malaysia gives it one look before rolling her eyes. "Tie it on a post or some shit dumbass."

Philip's eyes turn a red before going back to a dark blue. "Qatar told me to eat shit when I tried doing that." He discreetly gives Qatar the bird before turning back to his friend who was fixing up the speakers.

Malaysia snickers, "Sucks to be you."

"It sucks to be every single one of us", Philip replies with a nod. "Asshole thinks I'm gonna take care of his precious baby pet all night; I'll feed her to the fucking dogs."

Malaysia gives him a glare. "Don't you fucking dare."

Philip smirks a little, "I won't do that you dumbass, that'd take too much of my energy. 'Cause I have to either call Mexìco or España to get rid of her."

Malaysia narrows her eyes, "I fucking hope not."

Indonesia runs up to them, cellphone in hand. "Let's get this party started?"

Malaysia and Philip look at each other and smirks, "Hell yeah."

Both of them grab a microphone from the stands of the stage, tapping at it to see if it was on.

"Hello, hello", Philip mutters into the mic and as it works he gives the crowd - some are turning heads his way - a wonderful and bright smile. "Welcome everyone to our annual Christmas party! To the newcomers, the presents go underneath the Christmas tree and the food-to-share you brought will be on the tables right over there!"

"Anyway, we don't want to keep you waiting", Malaysia continues, waving her arms around, "it's time for us to declare this party officially started!" As if on cue Indonesia started playing Christmas music on the speakers, a smile on his face as their audience applauds.

Philip climbs off the stage (with the cheetah, of course; he can feel Qatar's judgemental glare on the back of his head) and into the kitchen, where he is met with Vietnam trying to hold the punch with her bare hands. Philip sighs as he has no choice and ties the cheetah onto a post - the feline doesn't seem to care - and help the girl.

"Why don't you remove that goddamn AK from your waist?", Philip tells Vietnam and she glares at him.

"It might get stolen by others", Vietnam replies as they both put the punch on the table, inciting a lot of party-goers to take plastic cups from a stack and dip it onto the punch bowl.

"Last thing I need is someone spiking the punch and eggnog", Philip murmurs as he leaves Vietnam alone, stalking into the kitchen.

-

Vietnam watches Philip walk away towards the kitchen, leaving her alone. She shrugs and takes a plastic cup and dips it into the punch bowl, bringing it to her mouth and drinking it, satisfied. She didn't have the energy or nerve to talk to anyone, so she stands alone, cup in hand. Her mind comes back to some men who made her Christmases special.

The first one was, of course, Philip; a dozen bright smiles and cheerful laughs can immediately brighten your day. Not that happy, yet still one of the happiest men in her life. She had enjoyed his company, even until today, making her laugh like there was no tomorrow. His kisses were sweet, yet they have never went beyond simple forehead nor cheek kissing. He'd bring her lavish gifts or presents that'd stop after the Martial Law Era, but she was fine with that. He absolutely loved his singing, though; it made her eyes go wide as saucers as soon as he opens his mouth and strums his guitar. Perhaps all of Spain's children are talented in singing.

("I think about you everyday, mahal", Philip had said in the most meaningful way, caressing her and cradling her during a visit.

Vietnam laughed. "If you think about me everyday then what about your wife?"

He'd smile with a mysterious glint in his remaining right eye as he goes back to flirting with her.)

The next one was... unfortunately, China. He remembered his glares and his lips curled into a scowl as he looks at Vietnam with a disapproving glare, crossing his arms. Perhaps he did not approve of her living. They only tolerate each other during Christmas because of Soviet Union, who invites them into his home until his death. They would laugh at the most recent news, join each other for a smoke and take care of the children and tuck them tightly until they finally sleep soundly. She had remembered actually talking to China one night.

("How are you this Christmas?" Vietnam let out a puff of smoke; she and East thought it was funny that they sometimes make out irregular shapes.

"Never been better." China lit up a cigarette stick and stuck it on his mouth. "I'm with the love of my life."

Vietnam scoffed as she looked to the night air. "Sometimes I can still see him, you know. In my dreams."

China nodded. "You'll get used to it.)

The next was Soviet Union, hard yet delicate to some whom he loves dear. He was stern, strict and silent, but he was kind enough to invite her to Christmas dinner every year. Even if she has to be seated next to Quốc and listen to the couple discreetly flirt as they dine, much to her animosity.

(She saw the way Liên Xô looked at Quốc with such loving eyes, like a man looking at a woman. She had thought that he had hated men in love with other men, but yet here he is, flirting with another man like he was a woman in need of love and affection. Vietnam caught them kissing in Liên Xô's room; she did not need to be so scarred early in life.)

Of course, this delightful Christmas dinner would be gone in just about a few years once Quốc threw his ring at Liên Xô during an argument, and his seat is now vacant every Christmas dinner until Nước Nga took his seat.

(Nước Nga laughed and smiled more unlike Quốc ever did, complimenting Vietnam's food to the point it had made her uncomfortable.)

Then there were the other men, like Laos, Myanmar, and Indonesia, making her Christmas pleasant enough. Indonesia was like Philip- a little optimistic here and there, some smirks that means he has some other ulterior motive for her, his sharp tongue seducing her yet she resists, because of course she does, he is too much to handle, too much to be with.

(Indonesia let her sleep in his room after she got too drunk from the spiked eggnog two years ago; she remembered his arms sliding up to her as she sleeps soundly, waiting for her hungover tomorrow. But she can hear him singing his old folk songs- she always thought it was quite odd that his singing would lull her to sleep ever so often, like he was a male siren.)

Myanmar's hands were as soft yet his fingernails dig into her skin like it was the last day of tomorrow, glasses perched on top the bridge of his nose as he closes the book he keeps reading whenever it was Christmas time. He has slight animosity with Malaysia and Indonesia - just because of their religion, nothing else - and keeps to Thailand and the others.

(Myanmar's smile can look quite aggressive, as he closes his book shut loudly for everyone to hear like he is angry about something.)

Vietnam remembers some women that made her Christmas special as well. She and America may have started off in a rocky relationship, Vietnam War and communism and all (Châu Mỹ is the one who intervened in her war), but they've become... closer over the years. Châu Mỹ usually does the Christmas decor, blonde hair tied to a bun as her lipstick-covered lips try to make out what Vietnam's gift for her is.

(Châu Mỹ is quite a pleasant woman to be with, actually, despite the fact they have both been on bad terms and are still tense for the day, but she had filled up Vietnam's cup with hot chocolate and smoked with her on the terrace of her house, looking towards the white sheet of snow. It was a silent mutual pact, and she hopes it stays that way for a while. Perhaps they had some form of respect to each other, if that were the case.)

Malaysia would usually spoil her with presents whenever she has the chance- it was a special holiday after all, her endless excitement towards the holiday just matching Philip's (except for the fact that at least she waits until the end of Halloween to start decorating her house with red-and-white candy canes). She would give Vietnam new clothes, shoes, like she doesn't know how to take care of herself.

(Last year Vietnam had received an entire wardrobe of clothes from Mal, she was perplexed but she does love the clothes and the way it matches her physique.)

-

Renmin would've shown up just in time for the party if it wasn't for the goddamn traffic. He groans, putting a hand on his hair as he waits for the traffic to subside. By this rate he'd reach the end of the party. He was at the tail of the traffic, which wasn't even moving for the past few hours. He sighs; even if he wakes up early and leaves work at three in the afternoon the traffic still appears with no escape. Renmin looks at his wristwatch; six fifty-nine.

(He had prepared his gift for Rîben and food during work hours under the watch of Russia, who was guarding him from Běi like the good friend she is. He owes Éguó big time. He remembered finally wrapping his present up when Éguó tells him Běi has gone home.

"How much do I owe you?", Renmin had asked, checking for his pockets if he had enough money to give to his friend.

Éguó had smirked lightly, and he can't help but feel bombarded of memories with Sulian before he replaced his old love with his daughter.

She yanked his tie closer to her, much to his surprise, and she puts his lips to his ear, "A date." She let go of Renmin and walked off with a confident posture and a beautiful smile across her face.

She truly is just like her father.)

Renmin groans in frustration, the party starting at seven, knowing he'll be late. He presses the horn on his car, his vehicle letting out a noise, and much to his ire dozens of other cars let out large noises too, and he leans back to his seat.

(He knows those pesky Arabs are already there once the party has started, despite the fact they live the furthest among any region.)

-

"Malaysia, have you seen China?", Indonesia asks his sister as they were done counting the guests- almost everyone was there except for the man himself.

(Philip was busying himself on the phone, talking to his wife. He doesn't look pleased as he waves his arms up and down for emphasis.)

"He's not here yet", Malaysia states matter-of-fact. "Stop asking me where he is and let's just move on to the first game."

Indonesia looks pissed. "You said it yourself; we can't start the game unless everyone is here."

Malaysia sighs. "Fine, we'll wait until the end of the goddamn party if we have to."

Meanwhile, Daehan Minguk and Mongolia were busying themselves in the couch, surrounded by a reading Miyanma and Saudi Arabia and Balein snogging, the girl on Saudi's lap.

(Much to Miyanma's disgust two couples were now occupying the sofa, his reading time ruined yet he still continues to read, trying not to mind these two. Unfortunately for him, things got a little bit heated with Arabia and Bahrain to the point Jedo had to reprimand them for their public display of affection.)

Daehan's arms were draped around Mongolia's waist, clearly the slightest bit tipsy after drinking the spiked eggnog.

("And who spiked the eggnog?", Jedo had asked, suspicious eyes scanning the crowd but no one dared respond. He purses his lips, eye turning a crimson red and gritting his teeth. "Since everyone here's too much of a pussy to admit it, I'll just take out my expensive wine out of my stash, then."

Spoiler alert: Kataleu spiked the eggnog.)

Minguk sings a song from a Korean boy group, and Mongolia tries to make Minguk let go of him but instead the boy hangs onto him tighter, like a child trying to cling to their mother like a koala and desperate to be by her side. He sees the slightest bit of flush in Minguk's face, the way he looks elated at the fact he's straddling Mongolia right now, threatening to kiss him in a drunken haze. Mongolia is trying hard to keep his arousal out of Minguk's way - how and why he got this, he didn't know - and keep the joy in Minguk's eyes.

Mongolia smiles, looking at Minguk's dark blue eyes glazed with tipsiness, slurring his words as he takes another sip out of the spiked eggnog.

He takes the glass of spiked eggnog out of Minguk's hand, and the other protests.

"I think you've had enough of that, khair." Mongolia leans back, his head touching Bahrain's legs as he hears their hushed whispers of flirtation.

(Myanmar lurches, shutting his book noticeably loudly, as he grumbles of horny men and women and leaves the sofa of unattended public display of affection and goes to another much vacant couch.)

"Give me that back, Mongolia", the way Ömnöd slurs his name makes his arousal even more aroused. Mongolia's anxiety heightens as he now realizes who gave him the arousal in the first place.

"Chwihago sipda", Ömnöd slurs once more, his hand brushing over Mongolia's arousal and Mongolia bites back a moan. Saudi Arabia and Bahrain stop their nonsensical flirting to stare at the couple sharing the sofa with them.

"Muthir lilaishmizaz mithli aljins min alrijal", Saudi Arabia whispers to Bahrain's ear, and she nods as she glares at Kuria Aljanubia and Manghulia, the former tipsy and unintentionally grinding his knee onto the latter's visible arousal, who was close to releasing a moan.

(Jedo had stopped his phone call with Missus Palau and was just staring at them with an unreadable expression, cup of champagne in hand.

They're really getting it on, Jedo thinks as he takes a sip of his champagne.)

However, for the straight couple, it seems that Mongolia and Minguk had heard their exchange and were now glaring at the couple.

"What the hell did you just call us?", Minguk furiously says, and Mongolia half-heartedly holds him back; he was quite tipsy and slurring after all. "Say that again to my face, Alabia, Balein."

"'Iina qult", Saudi Arabia snarls, smirking a little, "you're both disgusting gay men."

Minguk's blue eyes widen, and he tries to lunge at Saudi Arabia but Mongolia pins him down, worried for his safety.

"Naneun homoga anida!", Minguk bellows, trying to fight off Mongolia's bigger body off him to no avail; perhaps he being drunk is sapping his strength. All the while, Mongolia was trying to soothe and calm the man down.

(The others were not listening to their petty quarrel, Minguk's shouts has been drowned out by the Christmas music playing.)

"Ömnöd, taivshir", Mongolia says softly as he pins Minguk down on the sofa, not minding how absolutely suggestive this pose was, at least he can calm the man below him down. He sings some of his songs which Ömnöd seems to like, mustering up the courage to sing from his throat. He rocks Ömnöd's body like a baby (he's obviously quite embarrassed) while singing, and his friend's breathing starts to calm down.

Mongolia looks down at Minguk with such soft eyes, the latter didn't notice he was crying until he feels his cheeks are tear-stricken.

"Naneun... homoga anida", Minguk repeats, softer this time, caressing his cheek and bringing him closer to his face-

Mongolia pulls himself out of Minguk's grip, and the latter's eyes fills with hurt. Mongolia can feel a pang of regret inside of him, but he shakes his head; Minguk is quite drunk and he doesn't know what he's doing.

"I can hear Malaiz calling us for truth or dare now", Mongolia says, getting up and offering a hand towards Minguk. "Let's say we go there now, hm Ömnöd?"

The man in question was frozen in place, in a sitting position as he looks towards Mongolia's out stretched hand, debating internally whether if he should accept this act of kindness. He takes Mongolia's hand, emotionless, as Minguk looks at him with an unreadable expression.

"Uliga gaja", Minguk says coldly and Mongolia can't help but flinch as he walks off without him, not waiting for him to catch up.

-

"Kuso", Koku swears as they stumble from furniture to furniture, at the extent tripping on some of it before landing on their feet once again, glass full of cheap beer in hand. They didn't intake an amount of spiked eggnog like that idiot Kankoku had, but when Firipin decided to bring out his expensive wine and beer they immediately grabbed plastic cups and poured one for themselves.

At first they denied the eggnog, already believing it to be spiked - which it was, thanks a lot Katāru - but when Firipin takes out a dozen bottles from his hidden stash Koku knows when to get wasted. They smile like an idiot as they make their way through the party floor, the energetic music deafening their ears as they walk - stumble - to the entrance, closed and locked. Of course, they were missing one more party member, but they didn't bother.

(Kitachōsen was always never invited- after all, who needs an unhinged man threatening nukes every single way?)

Then Koku hears a knock on the door, the grumbling of Chinese on the other side, and they know he's come to crash their day. Luckily enough they had quickly maneuvered out of Kankoku's reach, that man is flirting the hell out of Mongoru, poor thing. So they open the door, and lo and behold; Chūgoku himself, intimidating and tall and stern. He was holding his gift for his Secret Santa, and a few foods here and there.

"Rîben", Chūgoku says, pursing his lips as he glares down at the drunk mess in front of him, who seems to not have a care in the world right now.

"Chūgoku", Koku says, slightly giddy from all the beer they have taken - was this their sixteenth shot? they lost count - and giggles in an out-of-character way. "You're late."

"I wouldn't be late if it weren't for the traffic", Chūgoku replies, fixing his hair despite the fact it was completely straight.

Koku laughs. "Alright, whatever you say so."

Marēshia and Indonesia run up to them, the former panting like they were out of breath.

"Thank god you're finally here", Marēshia says, pointing a finger towards Chūgoku, who only tries to cross his arms. "We were about to start the first game without you."

Chūgoku raises a brow, ever the pretentious piece of shit he was, "And that is?"

Indonesia beams, "Truth or Dare."

Koku chuckles, stumbling a bit until they gain Chūgoku's support, much to their surprise and embarrassment. "I love that game."

"I find it a grimace", Chūgoku replies, holding Koku's arms.

"Dare mo kinishinai", Koku slurs, and they can feel the taller's glare trying to stab him.

"Alright, let's go." Soon Chūgoku follows the brother and sister duo with a drunk Koku giggling under his grip.

-

Once Renmin and Rîben arrived to the massive space that was the living room, everyone had already formed a huge circle, talking to each other excitedly. Some had a bottle of beer, others had a couple of cigarettes on their hands or on their mouths, some even had the extreme audacity to be holding a packet of drugs (and right in front of Fēilǜbīn, much to the man's intense staring). He spots Minguo at the back, contentedly making bubble tea for the game, which is the demonic Truth or Dare.

Mǎláixīyà takes out an empty bottle of beer, and places it on the center of the entirely large cicle.

"I thought this was Truth or Dare?", Xīnjiāpō's voice sounds out from the hushed chatters, with a knowing smirk on his face. Mǎláixīyà glares at her son and just sighs.

"I spin the bottle first and whoever this bottle will point to is going to be forced to pick between truth or dare", she dumbly explains. "Not what you were thinking of, Singapore." Xīnjiāpō just smirks.

Mǎláixīyà spins the bottle, the glass bottle against the hard wood floor making noises that grates Renmin's ears. The crowd starts to chant, the bottle spinning to oblivion as the circle chants some more.

(Malaysia has the blandest dares and blunt questions of truth, so whoever gets to be picked by the bottle would be lucky.)

It stops on Myanmar, who was busily reading his book to the point he didn't listen to the chanting of other people. They weren't at all surprised, as Miǎndiàn fixes his glasses and narrows his eyes towards Mǎláixīyà, slamming his book shut.

"Hotetaal?", he asks Malaysia haughtily, voice of authority towards all. "I choose dare, if you're going to ask."

(Myanmar doesn't even want to attend the Christmas party but his friends forced him into this.)

Malaysia thinks for a moment, before smiling mischievously. "I dare you to down an entire bottle of gin."

Miǎndiàn visibly smirks, a condescending raise of an eyebrow completely making it look like he was sneering. "That's all?"

Mǎláixīyà raises a brow, "You didn't let me finish, bodoh- I dare you to down an entire bottle of gin under a minute, no stops."

Miǎndiàn struts towards Mǎláixīyà, who was holding a bottle of gin and takes it from her, opening it. He can smell its liquid, trying to seduce him with its addictive qualities. Renmin offers to time the dare with his wrist watch, and once Miǎndiàn gives him a thumbs up to signal that he is ready, Renmin starts to time the man's drinking capabilities.

(All the while he is staring at his brother, who was still busily making the worst bubble tea flavors out there, seemingly still not noticing Renmin.)

The circle immaturely chants at Miǎndiàn to chug, and Renmin tells him the time every ten seconds - and his drinking pace goes faster - until the wristwatch cuts the chants with an urgent beep like it was a missile threatening to overtake the entire party venue. Miǎndiàn releases his mouth from the bottle of gin, taking a deep breath and panting, stumbling a few times until Thailand had the decency to support him. Mǎláixīyà takes the - seemingly empty - bottle of gin from Miǎndiàn and takes a look at it, before snidely grinning at the man being supported by Tàiguó.

"You didn't even finish it", she tsks, earning a laugh from a number of people and Miǎndiàn's face turning a beet red from embarrassment; seems his pride is easy to pop after all. She nods towards Minguo, who throws her a cup of bubble tea that looks concerningly green. "You know what the punishment is."

A few minutes later Miǎndiàn was vomiting on the toilet, hair held back by Tàiguó who asks him to breathe before vomiting again, wheezing breathes echoing inside the house but no one cares as the game begins again.

-

Minguo of course has seen Renmin enter the manor in all his late glory; he just didn't want to intrude on his businesses and he doesn't want to seem like he had something to do with his brother. He busily makes a batch of bubble tea in the kitchen, silently humming an old Chinese melody his mother had sung to him when he was young.

(Philip had offered him the entire kitchen to make, and, despite some disagreements in the past he seems to be casual around Minguo.)

It is quite strange hanging about with people who don't really recognise Minguo as a country - unfortunately almost all Asians don't recognise him as one - but he has been invited to a Christmas party and it is quite an honour to be with them, despite the fact he hadn't talked to anyone yet.

"Philip, I- oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else." Minguo turns to find a woman in a manteau wearing a hijab, crimson red eyes staring back at Minguo's blue ones.

"Um, hey", Minguo awkwardly greets; he was never one for conversations, especially with strangers he really didn't know.

"Hi", the woman lets out a small wave and an awkward smile. "Iran."

Minguo nods, "Taiwan."

Iran blinks, his name clicking in. "You're China's brother, right?"

Minguo affirms. "Indeed, Miss Iran."

Iran shakes her head, chuckling a bit, "Oh, don't address me as 'Miss', it's too old fashioned. Just call me Iran and we'll be just fine."

"What are you doing here?", Minguo asks as he goes back to doing what he was doing.

"Oh, I was going to make food for myself", Iran shyly replies, "I forgot to bring foods and - honestly - I'm only familiar with some dishes from my friends in the Middle East."

Minguo nods a bit, smiling brightly. "Well, the kitchen has many a materials for your cooking; don't mind me."

Iran smiles and thanks him as she walks towards the fridge to take out the needed ingredients for the food she was about to make.

(All the while the noises from outside did not slow them down their work- the people are still playing truth or dare and Minguo is absolutely trying his best to give Malaysia more disgustingly flavored milk tea for those who didn't complete the dares or never spoke of the truth.)

After a while Minguo can feel a tap on his shoulder as he fixes himself - and Rîben - proper bubble tea. He turns his head to find a shy Iran holding out a plate enough for one.

"I cooked zereshk polo, and I was hoping you'd like the way it tastes", she says, and Minguo smiles, politely taking the plate out her hands. He takes a recently washed fork from the sink, eyeing the delicacy with a hungry eye. He takes one bite of the food and instantly falls in love with it.

He starts to take more and more bites, savouring the way it feels on his tongue and lips, its taste to the point he didn't notice had emptied the plate until he looks down to find that there's no more of the delicious cuisine left.

(Iran's expression was a mix of mortified and appreciation for Minguo accepting her cooking.)

Minguo clears his throat, pink from embarrassment, "Thank you so much for the food, Yīlǎng."

Yīlǎng blushes with pride, "No problem, Taiwan."

With that, they walk out of the kitchen, hand in hand.

-

"Rîben!", Koku turns their head up as they hear their name in Chinese, and their smile brightens more as they see Chūkaminkoku approaching them with two cups of bubble tea in hand.

"Taiwan!", they reply as they wrapped around each other in an embrace. Koku takes one of the bubble tea Chūkaminkoku was holding, starting to sip on it.

(Despite the fact it tastes horrible after about an estimated count of twenty shots but they still love the tea.)

"Jesus Christ Rîben, how much have you been drinking?", Taiwan asks, taking in Koku's completely wasted appearance. They were blushing mad, stumbling quite a bit with Taiwan's support.

"A fucking lot", Koku replies, undignified. They take another sip on the bubble tea, chewing on the pearls.

(Truth or Dare had gotten quite boring fast, now some were just jamming into the Christmas music Firipin insistently kept on playing, competing who can drink the most shots without vomiting, somewhere in a nook or cranny kissing each other with passion.)

Meanwhile, Vietnam pours herself another glass of wine when she feels a hand ghost up her behind. She rapidly looks behind her to find no one suspicious to have done a douche move, so she goes back to minding her own business. Then she feels a hand pressing hard to her behind. She whirls around and catches India in the act. When he sees a pair of golden eyes staring back at him he recoils, but it was too late-

Vietnam grabs Ấn Độ's wrist, gritting her teeth. Ấn Độ looks quite afraid of her, and she absolutely likes that.

"Did you just fucking grope me?", Vietnam snarls, and Ấn Độ had the audacity to shake his head a no despite the fact she had just caught him touching her. She digs her fingernails into his skin. "You think I didn't see that, you asshole?" She lets go of Ấn Độ to grab her AK slung across her back and points it at his head; he looks quite shaken.

(He should, how dare he.)

"I d-din't mean to, I swear-"

"Didn't fucking- why I outta-"

"What the absolute fuck is going on?!", Philip exclaims as he enters the scene, ever so acting as the mediator. Malaysia holds Vietnam's arms, who was ready to either shoot or hit Ấn Độ with it.

"This vỏ bọc", she growls, pointing to Ấn Độ, "fucking groped my ass and he's denying it like the coward he is."

"Ekschuse mein?", Ấn Độ speaks, raising a brow, "I was just minding my own business when you grabbed me by the arms, you paagal kutiya!"

"Don't make excuses!", Vietnam hisses, looking at Ấn Độ with immense hatred and anger, fighting under Malaysia's firm grip. "I saw what you fucking did."

Malaysia looks at Philip, who shrugs and turns to glare at Ấn Độ.

"Don't make excuses, India", he says, crossing his arms as he gives him the 'I'm Not Buying It' glare. "I wish to make this party safe for everyone, and it seems you're threatening that safety. I kindly ask of you never to take a single step to Vietnam's direction again in the entirety of the night. Umalis ka na, manyako."

Obediently, Ấn Độ scampers away like the scared little bug he is, and Malaysia releases Vietnam from her grip, the latter breathing hard to calm herself down.

(Philip is quite a misogynist though; the fact that he supported Vietnam's statement is a miracle. The man himself has read the Bible for about four thousand times now, actually.)

"For a second there, I thought I was going to shoot him in the head and throw his corpse across the room." Vietnam laughs a bit, earning a laugh from both Philip and Malaysia.

"Asshole probably deserves it", Malaysia replies with a chuckle. "Asked me to send him nudes and I immediately blocked him from all social media accounts I have."

"He's kind of creepy, to say the least." Philip looks off to Ấn Độ, who was now chatting with an Arab country Vietnam did not remember the name of.

"To be honest, I'd choose your flirting from his touches." Vietnam's statement causes Philip's face to grow red, and she can feel Malaysia's aura of displeasure.

Philip smirks, touching her cheeks before retracting his hand. "Babe, I can flirt but I can't bang." With that, he kisses Vietnam's cheek and walks away with Malaysia, who seems to be chattering casually with him after the hot mess that is Vietnam and Ấn Độ.

-

Minguk ignores Mongolia for the entirety Truth or Dare session, sitting between Jedo and Ghonghwagug, who were both on their phones (the former was texting his wife while the latter was playing a mobile game), and he sees Mongolia sitting beside Jung-gug, who was busily chatting to Ilbon, which was out of character for the both of them.

(Then again, Ilbon was drunk as fuck, so perhaps they are being out of character.)

Minguk, still knows the feeling of being left out and jealousy despite his drunken haze. He furrows his brows as he drinks even more of the beer he had fished out from Jedo's stash (the spiked eggnog ran out, sadly), feeling his face heat up from the warm Asian flush it was giving him.

The bottle spins towards him, and he cannot say that he's the little bit surprised.

"Dare", he slurs towards Kataleu, who smirks.

"I dare you to sing the entirety of your favourite song", Kataleu says, and the circle starts to whisper. Jedo pats him on the back encouragingly, and Ghonghwagug mildly cheers for him.

He has sung thousands of songs from his lifetime, yes. From old, traditional Korean folk songs he has grown used of hearing from his mother, to the wretched Japanese melodies he was forced to sing for a number of decades, to the modern music Migug introduced to him, to the cheerful pop music he produces today. And to the masterpiece that is Mongolia's songs.

So Minguk clears his throat, getting ready to sing a song that has been stuck in his mind for as long as he can remember.

The first lyric cuts Mongolia and Jung-gug's conversation short, as they both turn to Minguk trying to deal with throat-singing (to impress Mongolia) and his inability to form coherent words (he blames how tipsy he is). He tries to keep the song in tune, but yet no matter how much he tries to throat-sing he has to stop to catch for a breath or his voice will crack, earning a laugh from the crowd.

(He absolutely hates being laughed at, ever since he was a child. He doesn't like how mean-spirited children seem to be, even by today's standards.)

But as he's done more fuck-ups than singing, and with the whole crowd laughing at his expense, he can feel his anxiety kick in. He swallows it down, trying to remain calm as he continues singing, but even then, doubts starts to circulate around his head, voices whispering about how he is a failure and how he cannot compete with Mongolia.

Minguk wants to scream, and he does, slowly but surely. He ignores the tune Mongolia's song is going for, not anymore throat singing as his voice starts to rise and rise and rise; there was also no more melodic tune into it, like he was just screaming.

Which he is.

The entire crowd goes quiet as the singer in front of them slowly goes insane, screaming and trying not to cry because that would be a blow to his big and awful ego. Their trying to keep their anxiety under control, pride out and ego bursting.

And then Minguk stops with his screaming-singing, the silence like a vase shattering a glass of noise. He locks eyes with Mongolia briefly before running towards the bathroom, heavily wanting to empty his stomach, who is now the victim of his anxiety. He flings himself to the toilet, absolutely vomiting his insides out like it was nothing. His stomach churns and his muscles on his chest burn. He coughs, noticing how bits of his digested food got into his hair which made him vomit out his insides more.

"Ömnöd?" Minguk grimaces- why is Mongolia's voice so soft, so caring? Why does he have the kindest eyes and why does Mongolia care about what is happening to him? Mongolia knocks on the door, and Minguk only responds with a cry. "Ömnöd, please answer me."

Minguk starts to feel the tears in his eyes threatening to spill all the more, his breathing getting laboured and his chest contracting to the point he cannot breathe any longer. But Mongolia cannot see him like this. Like a... a weak, fragile and vulnerable creature. He just can't.

"Ömnod, if you are not going to answer me, I will break this door open." Minguk shakes his head, clutching at his chest as he coughs up more bile from his throat.

"One..."

Minguk tries to bar the door with his body, but a single move inflicts pain onto him and he now refuses to get up to face Mongolia.

"Two..."

Minguk chokes, feeling his tears finally spill from his eyes as he gives up with hiding his emotions.

"Three!"

He flinches as he hears a loud crash in front of him, followed by a concerned gasp from a voice he knows all too well.

He feels two arms wrap around him, but he can feel his muscles strain even more so he pushes Mongolia away from his shaking and shivering body.

(Like how he has pushed away everyone in his life.)

"Ömnöd, are you having a panic attack?", Mongolia asks softly and slowly, the tone of his voice laced with concern that it sickens Minguk so much.

(Mongolia reminds him so much of his mother it's making him weep.)

Minguk whimpers as he tries to get further away from Mongolia, who shakes his head dejectedly.

Then, he sees his mother take the place of Mongolia, kind eyes, a warm aura surrounding her, hands on her lap, her face full of concern.

(Now he cannot differentiate his mother to the man he was damned to love.)

"M-mama", Minguk chokes, becoming the child he once used to be before the empire of the sun came, stripped them of their land, their honour, their culture, and of their mother. He had longed to see her again, but yet he did not see her after the defeat of the man who had ruined their lives. He reaches his arms out, weeping silently as big arms scoop him out from the floors.

That is not Eomma's arms. Eomma's arms were gentle, soft, motherly. These were hard yet gentle, but he still feels strange underneath all these.

"Look at me."

Minguk finds himself in a soft bed, and he looks in front to find himself face-to-face with Mongolia, face stern yet soft. He longs for the arms that has let go of him, yearns for them to take him to his comfort zone.

"I'm sorry, Mongolia."

He then feels a kiss on his forehead, much to his surprise.

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I... I'm just being..."

Mongolia laughs, and it makes Minguk's heart beat faster and face grow red.

(He is disgusted by this fact and wishes to hide this revelation from the world.)

"If anything, I'm the one who should be sorry, for denying you friendship."

Mongolia feels a familiar weight on his body, and he sees Minguk getting comfortable in his arms. A beautiful sight for him, really.

"I want to go downstairs", Ömnod demands, and Mongolia smiles and chuckles.

"Alright then, dear. Also I absolutely loved the way you sang my piece, if you're wondering."

-

Philip would tell everyone he hates Christmas and that would be a fucking lie. They would laugh and joke about what they have done this winter season, and Philip would join in to, because of course they'd have many a tale of Christmas to bring up.

("One time Bangsamoro accidentally knocked into Cebu's skateboard", he told excitedly, fingers digging into his scalp as he stresses over the controversy that is his drug war, "both of them were to be sent to the hospital immediately."

Everyone had laughed, because they would, and Philip really wanted to shoot them like he did with the addicts.)

But it seems that a call from Palau and seeing his brothers attend the Christmas party meant to take stress away ruined his goddamn day the most.

(If he had the choice to shoot either his brothers or his wife, he'd pick his brothers- he's still in love with Palau for both of them to consider mutually murdering each other to death.)

Which is why he did not know how and why he was playing the game of naught that is Never Have I Ever.

(Perhaps he had been too drunk to even care or notice his surroundings at all, preferring the people around him to go about explaining to him what is happening right now.)

Thank god Qatar let him tie that damned cheetah to a post, now he is free to get blackout drunk with absolutely no consequences.

"Never have I ever", Koku slurs a bit, as they hold on to their shot glass like it's their entire lifeline, "had sex."

Almost everyone in this room drinks after Koku's statement, and Philip downs his entire bottle down to the core. He asks one of the Arab's servants to fetch another one for him, and they are speedy enough to give him what he needs.

(It is no surprise how everyone here are not virgins anymore, to say the least. Philip lost his after a night with Katipunan; that woman was something.)

Only Koku, Vietnam, Thailand, Indonesia and Myanmar did not drink from their shot glasses, much to everyone's sniggers.

(From what Philip gathered, it was because Koku was an ill asexual, Vietnam has no interest in such things yet, Thailand is not looking forward to getting laid soon, Indonesia thinks pre-marital sex is atrocious and Myanmar is busy committing genocide against his ethnic minorities to care for a pathetic thing such as sex.)

"Who wants to go next?", Koku asks, and Philip raises his hand.

Philip clears his throat as he tries to think of something that is so subjective and inappropriate to the point perhaps no one is ever safe from drinking whatever the hell Taiwan brewed. "Never have I ever... killed a family member?"

Much to his surprise, only a select few have the actual gall to drink their shot glasses. He drinks too, feeling the vodka burn his throat for what seems like a hundredth time this night.

(He's never really liked vodka and the way it tastes- he prefers the brewed beer in cheap stores or the fine wine in many a fine dining restaurants.)

"The fact that only a few of us drank means you guys didn't have any satisfaction murdering your family", China says, drinking another shot of whatever the hell is in his glass.

"You're saying as if we were satisfied of murdering our own kin", Thailand replies with narrowed eyes.

"A little on point, but, yes- after all I got the entire land to bow down to me."

(Philip can hear Taiwan growl, but he has no care in the world for their brotherly feud.)

"Messed up shit", Vietnam replies, dangling her legs on to Cambodia, who looks more or less unaffected.

(The Khmer Rouge is, how does Cambodia put it, an ass.)

"My father is one of the most cruel men I know", Cambodia says, her arm of flesh ghosting her arm stump, "I had to take him out."

"Which is justified", Myanmar nods, looking up from his book and back down.

"The only thing that isn't justified is you committing genocide on the Rohingya peoples!", Bangladesh spits, who was between his brothers India and Pakistan, who seem to be glaring at each other along the way.

Myanmar rolls his eyes. "They are not my people. They are yours. They would not learn that they are living in my land that they are disgracingly over populating."

Bangladesh resorts to screaming into Myanmar's face, who was unhinged and goes back to reading his book. The man screams some more, being held down by his brothers until his throat is sore and the vodka in his system kicks in.

Philip looks at them with tired eyes, knowing that they would be mature enough to not fight of the recent controversies in a party meant to relieve stress and absolutely enjoy the night they are having.

(Perhaps Philip isn't enjoying his night as well, for the past three years his corruption streak has been growing and growing to the point he digs his nails through his skin for the sheer amount of people he has to please and how uptight everyone is of him. Perhaps they do not get that drug addicts are supposed to die, should be erased from history as worthless scummy criminals with no shame and no future. He has never enjoyed a single night to himself.

No matter how many favours his favourite men and women ask of him, they never repay him, because they, like him, are selfish.)

He sighs to himself as he stands, much to everyone's curiosity being piqued.

"I'm just gonna smoke a few sticks", he says, pointing to the door. "Continue your game."

(Perhaps he truly hates the addicts littering the streets, yet he pays no mind to how he demands taxes and pays his people's money on lavish luxuries in his life, dooming his country more into poverty.

Sometimes he would kiss up to the more lavish and powerful countries, needing money; and he pays them no attention, disliking them all.)

He looks at the mistletoe above the door way, and he sighs- only a few kisses were available during the night, and they were already from couples who purposefully stand below the mistletoe. Absolutely no excitement whatsoever. Philip sits on the wooden porch, taking out a box of cigarettes and picking one of them then taking a lighter out. He loves the way the flames can flicker an inferno of orange before burning the cigarette and dying suddenly. Philip puffs on his cigarette, and he feels a weight on his shoulder.

"I thought you said you'll ban smoking." Malaysia takes out his box of cigarettes and lighter - without permission like the wretch she was - and lights up one of the cigarettes, putting it on her mouth.

Philip shrugs. "The wonders of relapsing and never recovering from cigarettes."

They lapse to a comfortable silence, with them looking at the stars and the winds trying to tell them how chilly it is in the tropics. Philip's hand fixes the hair covering his eyes and adjusts his eye patch to the right place.

(He hates it when people call him a pirate, whether it be a joking manner. He would want to shoot them in the heads with a gun, be it a real one.)

"Your statement back there", Malaysia breaks the silence. "Was it to find comfort that you're not the only person to have murdered a lovely family member?"

"To find solace into thinking that others had done what a sick fuck would do, yes", Philip replies, gazing at the stars. "I wonder how life would've been like if I did not kill my mother."

(Perhaps he would've been exiled from his father's court- if he cannot prove he was masculine enough by killing his mother then he is not worth anything to him anymore.)

"Your mood is... somber."

"I'm not somber; I'm just reliving family memories that would've been rewritten forever."

"And you should stop doing that- it ain't healthy for you. For anyone else. Let's talk about South Korea's flirting with Mongolia."

Philip recoils from a looming sadness in him and looks at Malaysia with a disgusted look. She was also pursing her lips after the topic change.

"They're kind of repulsive", Philip confesses, "a sin that God will not accept and send them straight to hell where they belong."

"The truth- except I don't approve of Brunei's stoning."

Philip nods. "Me neither. I can tolerate the homos as long as they don't touch me or I'll punch them in the face and push them down the third floor. But Brunei, puta, I think he's going too far."

Malaysia chuckles, looking at Philip with her golden eyes, enchanting him even further. "Let's go back?"

Philip stomps on his cigarette, a small smile on his face. "Let's." He links his arms with Malaysia as they enter the house-

"Oh shit, someone's gonna have to kiss."

Philip and Malaysia's eyes widen as they look up to see the mistletoe hanging innocently above the doorway. The couple turn white, and a few of the countries who has witnessed the event grab their phones from their pockets to film the whole thing.

I'll kill them, Malaysia thinks, her hands sweating a little.

Philip looks a little white and sweaty, but he looks at Malaysia with a knowing smirk on his face. Before the girl had time to think, familiar hands cup her face and brings her closer to Philip's face- she was going red in the face, and the man holding her just chuckles.

"Don't worry dear, it's a one time thing." And their lips collided.

-

Pakistan wouldn't be lying if he says he wants to strangle Bhārat and obliviate him from existence. Apparently the asshole that is his brother groped many a woman this night - with Vietnam being a strong case of displeasure - and now he was badly flirting with an Arab woman.

Apparently only one person was not invited to the Christmas party - like every year - and that was North Korea. And who can blame them? The man was unhinged to the point of no return, always looking at men and women like they were a threat then threatening to nuke them himself. He did not have many encounters with the insane man but he has heard many tales of him.

Pakistan can also see why Renmin would not notify Choson Inmin of a friendly gathering and instead hides himself from him. Who can blame the man? Inmin has not heard of being invited to a Christmas Party (nor any gathering) for decades.

So imagine his surprise when he sees Inmin standing on the doorway, looking everywhere until he finds who he was looking for.

"Comrade Jung-gug!", he shouts, and everyone in the venue turns towards the party-crasher.

("I thought we agreed not to invite the weirdo?", Philip whispers to Malaysia.

"I didn't invite him", Malaysia replies forcefully. "I've never invited him for decades.")

Renmin grimaces as he hears his name in Korean (he hopes that it was Minguk calling him once again but no), and he turns to look at the person who considers him as a father he never had. Pakistan has always wondered; if Renmin dislikes the company of the nuke-loving man so much then why does not try to distance himself from him? Perhaps it is because of how unnaturally clingy Inmin is.

"Why didn't you tell me you were attending a celebration, comrade?", Inmin asks, genuine hurt in his voice.

(Pakistan feels uncomfortable with the revelation that a man as insane as Inmin can express such authentic emotions. For all he knows Inmin is faking the hurt- or is he not? The man expresses how lonely he is sometimes if he ever shows up in meetings.)

Renmin was not entertaining him, and Inmin wraps his arms around his waist. Pakistan could not help but chuckle. Renmin recoils at the sensation, as he discreetly tries to tug the man's arms away but now Inmin is acting like a toddler who is clinging on to their father like there was no tomorrow.

(From the corner of his eye, the Arabs were recording this in their phones, perhaps as potential blackmail.)

"Běi", Renmin says with a grim voice. He is not even trying to hide how absolutely done he is with Inmin. "How did you know I was here?"

"I overheard Leosia and Bellaluseu speaking about how you're in a Christmas party", Inmin explains, not letting go of Renmin, much to the man's absolute ire. "You are lucky I found you well enough, Jung-gug." He nuzzles into Renmin, and he it blanches the poor man captive of the hug.

"What the absolute fuck are you doing here, Inmin?" Pakistan groans as he can feel another fight incoming, as Minguk and Mongolia near the two. Inmin's grip tightens as he growls like a dog towards Minguk and Mongolia, the former unmoved and the latter showing concern.

"Minguk, what a... surprise." Inmin drawls out the last word and Minguk, ever-so egotistic, raises a brow in question.

"You're the one who surprised me by showing your pathetic self in the party."

Inmin's remaining eye flares. "I'm pathetic? Why don't you look at yourself in the mirror and show me who's pathetic?"

Minguk's face contorts to one of anger and imperiousness. "At least I'm not some unhinged piece of shit that only lives inside the walls of his dead country."

Inmin lets go of Renmin's waist - to the man's relief - and lunges towards Minguk, who was bracing himself for the fight.

"You guys are fucking animals." Koku steps between the two Korean brothers, and the atmosphere with in the East Asians brew to enmity.

"That's ironic for you to say", Renmin says, and Pakistan couldn't help but be excited for the fight that is going to come soon.

(A few people were taking out recorders, urging them to fight- next time they might urge the Middle Easterns to fight among themselves too.)

Pakistan would hate being the mediator for this fight.

(Philip was missing; perhaps locking himself with either Malaysia or Vietnam in a room.)

Then again, sometimes Renmin would meditate the fight between he and Bhārāt whenever it goes bad in the Kashmir- perhaps he should do calm this situation down too.

But Renmin isn't entering the fight yet- he was locking his eyes with Koku, narrowing them and crossing his arms.

"What a hypocrite", Minguk snipes, turning to Koku. "Leave us be you fucking asshole."

"Well you both are assholes", Koku replies, "if you could just-"

"For god's sake, bi zui Rîben", Renmin growls, the atmosphere becoming even more tense. Renmin's hard glare is directed towards Koku, who jumps a little but remains unfazed, glaring at the taller man. "Let them be until they both calm down."

(No one dares cross Renmin once he glares at them.

Pakistan witnessed that the hard way.)

"Ömnod, please", Mongolia pleads with his friend, trying to calm him down, he looks at Renmin.

"I should've nuked you back when you just woke up", Inmin tells Koku, who remains unvexed. Koku sighs, trying to fix their smooth hair which was dishevelled from the drinking.

They turn to look at Renmin, then at Minguk, still struggling under Mongolia's grip. "I know we've had our grievances-"

"No shit", Minguk interrupts and Mongolia shoots him a scolding look.

"-but perhaps we can agree on kicking Kitachōsen out of the party." Koku and Minguk look towards Renmin, with a mutual understanding.

(A surprise, really; the three of them never agree on anything except for the fact that Choson Inmin can go suck a fucking dick.)

Renmin turns to Inmin with a small smile lacing their lips- he is the only one Inmin trusts after all, nobody else. "I need to show you a party trick, quick, follow me."

Inmin lights up like a little child and tails behind Renmin, who was chattering away naturally. Pakistan then sees that Renmin is leading Inmin to the front door he once came in and he cannot help but laugh a little, causing him to spill his drink in the process.

As he cleans his mess up from his clothes, he hears a "Hey!", and looks up to find that Renmin had shoved Inmin out of the door and bars it with his own hands, ushering Koku and Minguk to take something to bar the goddamn door because he is not going to be there all night long.

Pakistan hears the threat of nukes from outside the manor, but he could not care less as he walks up to Renmin and gives him an abandoned table leg and Renmin sets it between the door knobs where it belongs. Pakistan can hear Inmin banging and demanding to be let it, but at this point everyone was too busy laughing and applauding for the East Asian Holy Trinity (coined by America herself).

(Philip finally appears in the scene a little late, hair messy and clothes crumpled as he tells Indonesia to make the music even louder to drown out Choson Inmin's promises of a nuke.

"Did you-", Indonesia looks at his friend up and down, "did you get laid?"

"Maybe", Philip replies, an enigmatic aura surrounding him as he buttons up his collar, "now put those horrifying kpop songs in full volume to drown out the motherfucker's threats.")

-

A select majority - and by majority most are countries - huddle around a bottle, waiting to be picked. Quite a lot are actually looking forward to see who the bottle lands upon and what chaos and destruction might bring; like a mistletoe hanging innocently above an ignorant couple's eyes.

"I'll go first", Saudi Arabia volunteers, who was sitting far away from Bahrain, who was with the other Arabs.

(Saudi Arabia was sitting between Iraq and Iran, both minding their own business. He has calculated the radius and distance it takes for the bottle to spin; it can not miss her. He has also measured the strength he needs for spinning the bottle and it pinpointing towards Bahrain.)

And so, with a flick of his finger, the bottle spins. The man who has spun his fate prays to Allah, hoping he gets the woman of his dreams. Everyone's eyes were pinned to the bottle, intrigued and silently anticipating that the bottle does not stop at his girlfriend, because that would be too boring already.

(There is a reason why Saudi Arabia volunteered to go first and it it because he does not want his lips to be tainted by others'.)

Then the bottle stops.

The crowd gasps, and so does Saudi Arabia.

It did not stop at Bahrain, much to her heartbreak.

It stopped at-

"Oh my fucking god", Israel stares at the bottle, mouth agape, then locking eyes with Saudi Arabia. He looks at Bahrain with true fear in his eyes, then back at 'Iisrayiyl.

"Allahum aghfir li", Saudi Arabia prays to himself, taking in calm breathes as he walks to 'Iisrayiyl's direction, feeling everyone's eyes upon him and the man he was about to kiss.

("This is going to be so disgusting", Brunei whispers to Singapore, who elbows him.)

Saeudiun steels himself for what was about to calm, scratching his beard as he cups 'Iisrayiyl's face, feeling disgust churn inside of him. Even just mere inches apart from kissing a boy is now disgusting him. What did he do to deserve his Spin the Bottle soulmate be a homo erotic man?

"I bet you're liking this, shadh jinsiaan", he growls.

"Believe me when I say I don't." Without a warning the blue-eyed man kisses Saeudiun with no warning whatsoever, causing him to recoil and lurch in disgust, feeling his inside shake with the feeling of a man - man! - kissing him with such a burning passion to the point he did not know what he is doing.

So Saeudiun grabs the Jew and deepens their kiss, trying feel some kind of friction in him but all he can feel is sheer and utter hatred and 'Iisrayiyl's growing arousal between his pants and Saeudiun wanted to vomit. This man loves what they are doing write now, this man loves doing a crime.

(He is well aware of 'Iisrayiyl legalising those marriages and honestly, he hates him even more by now.)

'Iisrayiyl pushes him off, and Saeudiun's mouth tingles before he stands and runs off to the bathroom.

Israel looks at the bottle on the floor, clearly unaffected at the fact he just made out with someone he has grudges with for a long time. He spins the object of chaos and it lands on Taiwan, much to the latter's surprise.

(He's not horrified like Saeudiun, though. Taiwan legalised gay marriage just this year.)

Israel is quite surprised at how much of a good kisser Taiwan is, pleased with the fact that he was not the only one to be openly, well, bisexual.

(Asians are so close-minded.)

This kissing game goes on and on, from Taiwan and Iran, Myanmar and Bangladesh (much to their displeasure, of course) to Philip and Vietnam (the latter surprisingly let Philip in) and then Bahrain and Minguk (the former was pretty much weeping she did not get the chance to kiss her boyfriend). Now Minguk has to spin and see who he is damned to get. He takes a breath, expecting the worst to come as he spins the bottle.

He prays it is not Mongolia.

It spins.

He prays it is not Mongolia.

It slows towards Ilbon's direction.

He prays it is Mongolia.

Minguk prays, crossing his fingers, hoping to land on a girl, any girl, just not men or Ilbon (Lord knows what he will do to them rather than kissing them).

The bottle stops.

Minguk stares at Mongolia, who was once seated next to Renmin again, and he sighs, accepting his fate as someone who eats men out.

(He will have to douse himself in holy water, despite the fact he was not religious.)

Minguk sighs, standing from where he was seated - between Jedo and Ghonghwagug once again - and makes his way to Mongolia, paying no heed to the whispers and the stares. He kneels in front of Mongolia, taking his hand, before slowly bridging the distance between them. Minguk hears Mongolia gasp, and he pays that no heed, drunk mind making him comfortable on the taller's lap, his mouth tasting like cigarettes and vodka he had the pleasure of intaking a while ago. He asks permission to enter Mongolia's mouth, and he obliges, snaking his arms around Minguk as the latter can feel his growing arousal. Minguk's tongue explores the insides of Mongolia's mouth, loving the way he groans. Mongolia has also decided to let his tongue enter Minguk's mouth, and he gasps, gripping onto Mongolia's hair more.

"Guys, get a room", Philip says with a joking tone in his voice.

(Philip maybe religious and homophobic, but not as radical as the others; after all, he has a same-sex marriage bill pending.)

Minguk and Mongolia break the kiss, trying to clean up their face where saliva was - shamefully - visible. Minguk immediately goes back to his seat, quite flustered, with Jedo and Ghonghwagug giving him encouraging pats on the shoulder.

Mongolia spins the bottle, and it lands on Renmin and they both share a brief kiss on the lips (everyone booed). Renmin spins the bottle and much to his shock it lands on Koku, who was next to Jedo and texting. Once Philip catches wind of the tense atmosphere he smirks and elbows Koku, and they turns to look at Philip inquisitively. Philip smirks, pointing at the bottle and at him.

Koku's eyes hover over the bottle then at Renmin, who was poised as ever. They sigh, turning their phone off, looking at Renmin with an expression of disgust. Koku and Renmin glare at each other for a while, before Koku presses their faces together then give Renmin a tiny peck on the lips.

The crowd immediately boo, but this time it has more intensity than Mongolia and Renmin only pecking each other on the lips.

"That was not spicy at all!", Malaysia objects.

"At least make out!", Qatar shouts.

"Make out! Make out! Make out!" The crowd's chanting deafens Koku and Renmin's ears, and they look at each other and decide to fulfill the request asked by the crowd.

So Koku makes the first move; ultimately colliding their lips against Renmin's dry ones. As Koku leans closer they smell the perfume Renmin usually wears on himself- a pretentious amount of strawberry-scented perfume fills their nose, as they deepen the kiss further, letting their drunken desires take place.

(They will regret taking how many shots they have taken in the morning. And also kissing one of their enemies.)

Koku's tongue demands to enter Renmin's mouth, and he - surprisingly - opens himself up, holding Koku's hips as they explore the insides of Renmin's tongue, panting and making suggestive sounds as Koku knees Renmin's rising arousal.

(They both are quite drunk after all; and perhaps a little bit horny.)

Koku breaks the kiss, both gasping for air, before they go back to their seats and open their phone like what they did was absolutely nothing.

It was absolutely something.

-

By the time eleven hit, everyone in the manor were quite drunk, slurring words as they start to do their own random things. Philip and the South East Asians were busily singing karaoke unashamed. Minguk and Mongolia were drunkenly performing on stage, the other East Asians showing off their talents to the drunk crowd below them. The Central Asians were cooking themselves dinner in the kitchen, their merry laughs heard. The South Asians were bickering and having a drinking contest, with India about to lose and Sri Lanka chugging more beer. The Middle East were perhaps just hanging around- Qatar was feeding his cheetah with meat, Saudi and Bahrain were off in one of the guest rooms.

Mongolia slurs most of his throat songs, and Minguk just cackles once he hears such sophisticated words come out of his mouth. Mongolia was holding Minguk's hips with one of his arms, mouth buried deep to a microphone stand. They were singing and having the best night of their lives, loving (and hating, of course) how they make each other warm and comfortable.

When Mongolia sees a broom stick being held by Maldives, he leaps from the stage and comes running - stumbling because he is drunk - and halts Maldives from even using it.

"Is this fine steed yours?", he asks the poor man in question.

Maldives looks at the broomstick, then back at a drunk man towering over him. He nods, unsure if this was the right call. "Um, yes?"

"May I have this steed?" Mongolia rummages around his pockets, drunkenly looking for a kind of bag of gold in his pockets. "I have to conquer that pesky Jurchen Jin."

"Y-you can have it for free." Mongolia's face lights up as he takes the broom - steed - from Maldives' hands and puts the broomstick between his legs, and starts to mimic a horse's whinny as he starts to run - gallop - around the manor, singing songs.

(It was so impressive that everyone turns their eyes to him, thinking that there really was a horse in the manor.)

Minguk takes out his phone to record the shameful performance Mongolia was putting on despite the fact he's drunk and struggling to where the recorder was placed. Mongolia takes a potted plant, dumping the plant and soil on the floors, then putting the pot on his head, which was now covering half of his face.

"Let us relive the Mongolian Empire!", he shouts so encouragingly, no trace of being the slightest bit drunk nor tipsy. "For the great Genghis Khan!"

The crowd of drunk men and women cheers, whether they were satirical or quite serious will still be a mystery until today. Some where shouting at Mongolia to get on the stage, to which he obliges with no absolute fight, still whinnying and mimicking a horse as everyone laughs with him. Mongolia starts to sing one of a few songs of his, voice just as enchanting as it is while he is sober. Minguk cackles as he records more and more of Mongolia's meanderings; Mongolia thinking Iraq was a bandit threatening his empire, him being poetic, and of course: Mongolia tearing his shirt apart to reveal himself to everyone.

Minguk did not know why but his mouth waters at the sight of his friend's sculpted chest, lowering his phone a bit as he stares at Mongolia, who was thinking he was the reincarnation of the Mongol Empire and singing about how he is going to pillage all villages and take all women and children and murder the men.

(Philip, Malaysia and Indonesia tipsily agree that they need to do the Secret Santa fast before everyone is banging in corners of the manor or too drunk to function.)

As Minguk cheers for Mongolia, he suddenly feels light, two arms carrying him around his waist. He gasps as he looks up to find Mongolia, chest covered with sweat, dark blue eyes brimming with desire. The smaller tries to get Mongolia to let go of him, but he persists. Everyone whoops and shouts, taking their phones out for documentation (or, blackmail).

"You are too beautiful to be with that miserable man", he drawls and Minguk cannot help but burn up. Mongolia leans into Minguk, and he gasps as he feels the man's hot breath on his ear. "Why do not we escape this mundane place; you shall be my queen."

"M-Mongolia", the man stutters, not thinking of anything to say. First of all, he was quite heated from staring at Mongolia's face and exposed body, second he is too drunk to make good decisions, and third they are both men, thus this is still disgusting.

(Also didn't the Mongol Empire ban homosexual relationships back when he had control of all of Eurasia?)

Without a second thought, Minguk locks lips with Mongolia for the second time this night, making everyone shout out cheers and whoops and claps.

(Brunei and the Arabs share the moment loathing the kiss.)

Minguk was holding Mongolia's neck, pulling him close. "Naleul jeongboghasibsio."

Mongolia smirks, attacking Minguk's exposed neck with kisses with the latter moaning uncontrollably. Mongolia and Minguk's eyes lock with each other, as they walk away from the wide party room and into one of the guest rooms, the whole crowd exuberant and lively.

(Brunei boos at the couple as he drunkenly takes a few things around him and throws them towards the leaving couple, calling the couple undignified slurs. A majority of the Asians turn to glare at the bastard, and he was forced to stand in the corner.)

-

"I think we stalled the Secret Santa too much", Philip sighs, holding the mic. "So yes, we will have the Secret Santa and then we will party non-stop. Until you all drop and leave this place filthy like every year."

(Philip swears he is not guilt tripping them- he is manipulating them into cleaning his manor up so he would not suffer the consequences in the morning with a blazing hangover.)

"So it is my honour to begin this fine exchanging of gifts", he pulls his present beneath the Christmas tree with a smile, "my Secret Santa is none other than Israel!"

Israel appears right next to Philip, taking the present from his hands (he shakes it to see what he has gotten, only to sigh when he finds out it is another binder). He states his Secret Santa is Minguo; then Irān's Secret Santa who is Qazaqstan; then Renmin whose was Koku (much to their surprise), and Koku gives Philip his present. Since Minguk and Mongolia are unavailable due to making love - Brunei is Mongolia's Secret Santa to his dismay - Philip has to put their presents near the door they reside in, hearing them.

("I swear it will be one of those action figurines again", Philip mutters, groaning- he has become quite spoiled over the years.

Koku rolls their eyes, "I assure you, Firipin; not one of those action figurines I gifted you three years ago." They chuckle a bit, making Philip a bit wary.)

Renmin touches Koku's wrist slightly, and they turn to find amber eyes staring back at them. Needless to say, Koku was intimidated yet they stand their ground.

"What do you want from me?", Koku asks as Renmin motions for them to follow him. They both pass the hallways of Philip's portraits and picture frames, dozens of history being moulded into one art studio which is memory.

(Koku glances at a black-and-white photo of Philip in his military uniform during the second world war. They flinch and look away from it.)

Renmin stops near a seemingly empty door, and Koku's breathing starts to pick up. Then Renmin's lips collide with theirs, and Koku can feel sparks fly as they deepen the kiss, running a hand through Renmin's dark hair, loving the way his pants has become needy and distracting. They take no pleasure in this; they think his pants and mewls and subjective neediness is beautiful. No attraction towards it whatsoever.

When Renmin turns the knob, that is when they panic and push Renmin off of them, breaking the kiss. He looks at Koku with eyes of hurt, but they both know that they are both drunk, that they will forget this encounter in the morning as their hangover pounds their heads like it were the goddess Athena wishing to be freed from Zeus' head.

"Iie", Koku says rather shakily, looking towards Renmin with apologetic eyes. "I am asexual."

Renmin's eyes light up with recognition, then with regret and shame. "Duibuqi."

"I am sorry as well", Koku replies, not facing Renmin. "I am too conscious of sex-"

Before they can finish, however, they feel a weight upon them. Renmin's hands snake up from their waist then to their head.

"It's fine." And thus they kiss once again.

-

It was morning.

Oh how the party goers hate mornings.

Some have already left after midnight, while some stayed to do atrocious things in some of Philip's bedrooms.

(Philip would sigh as he enters a room that smells of sex.)

Minguk can feel a throbbing headache coming, and the urge to vomit. The curtains are parted way too much for his liking; the rays of the sun are waking him from his dream of tying a noose around his neck and falling to oblivion. He feels sore, like he had been dancing all night, but it was from his behind. Minguk can feel someone's breathing on his skin, and he shivers as he feels an arm around his - bare - waist.

He feels a sense of dèja vu inside of him, dreading to turn around. He feels sticky, the blankets making him more heated than before and it was not helping his incoming hangover.

He hears the person groan behind him, and he feels dread settle upon his stomach with bile increasing its way up his throat. The arm around his waist tightens, and he scolds himself for feeling affectionate warmth pool around his stomach.

"Good morning... Minguk?" He blanches as he turns his - naked - body towards Mongolia, who was naked yet wasn't covering his body with a blanket.

Minguk tightens his grip on the covers, letting out a scream.

He and Mongolia emerged from the room with their clothes, avoiding each others' gazes as they come to the dining room.

(It was conjoined with the living room and Philip and Indonesia took effort in rearranging the dining table to its proper place.)

Philip and others were busily eating breakfast, looking as if they were going to pass out. Philip glances in their direction as he slides them a few painkillers to aid their hangover.

"How are my favourite couple doing?", he asks pleasantly, no trace of malice nor blinding bias in his voice. Minguk and Mongolia look at each other before glancing away.

"We're not a goddamn couple", Minguk spits; from the corner of his eye Mongolia flinches.

Philip rolls his eyes, "Ah, this is the incessant denial Miss Estados Unidos was talking about."

-

Bonus:

"So, are they a couple or are they not?", America asks as she rewatches the video of Mongolia carrying Minguk bridal style for the umpteenth time.

Canada sighs, "You do know that you've been asking South that same question for over a few months now."

"And the answer is always a forceful 'no'", America replies. "I know that."

Canada scoffs, "Isn't Mongolia friends with Russia? Poor guy's going to be in trouble when she sees the video."

A call from - lo and behold - Russia interrupts their jolly morning. The siblings look at each other, with America sighing as she takes it.

A shrill, "You corrupted Mongolia didn't you?!", comes out of the phone call.

-

Translations:

Bayarlaa- thank you in Mongolia Konbawa- good evening in Japanese Mahal- love in Filipino Amugeosdo- nothing in Korean Tiim shüü- yes in Mongolian Khair- love in Mongolian muthir lilaishmizaz mithli aljins min alrijal- disgusting gay men in Arabic Kuso- fuck in Japanese Dare no kinishinai- who cares in Japanese Hotetaal- yes in Burmese 'Iina qult- I said in Arabic Naneun homoga anida- I'm not a homo in Korean Taivshir- calm down in Mongolian Bodoh- idiot in Malaysian Uliga gaja- let's go in Korean vỏ bọc- shithead in Vietnamese ekschuse mein- excuse me in Hindi Umalis ka na, manyako- leave, maniac in Filipino Puta- shit Allahum aghfir li- Allah forgive me in Arabic Naleul jeongboghasibsio- conquer me in Korean Iie- no in Japanese Duibuqi- i'm sorry in Chinese

Khorkog is a Mongolian food where lamb is cooked inside a pot over an open fire with carrots, onions, and potatoes Zereshk polo is an Iranian food which is a classic rice dish is studded with the red berries, which are dried and then rehydrated before cooking

[thewanderingmacy]

Prague

We’re almost caught up as I was in Prague under a week ago, from the 18-25.

Prague was really pretty. it met all my high expectations in terms of architecture and visual appeal. 

The first day I visited the medieval Jewish Quarter. It was surprisingly busy (like packed, wait in a lineup for 30 minutes busy) but I think it’s because I came at a time when a lot of tour groups were arriving. I saw the old synagogue and then walked a bit further (not much though because, as per usual, the jews were confined to a small space) to a memorial for the Czech victims of the holocaust, an old (massive!) Jewish Cemetery and 3 more synagogues/museum type spaces. I didn’t expect it to take so long but I was exploring the Jewish territory for about 3 hours before I headed to the city square for a tour. I actually had to rush, too (good for me for getting my Jew on). I was actually looking for a souvenir for my Jewish grandmother but I didn’t recognize any of the things. It was confusing me because I couldn’t tell if something was a Czech souvenir being sold in a synagogue or it was a Jewish icon. (Don’t worry, Huna- I’ll find something!). I arrived in the town square which was very pretty and lively and felt very Renaissance-y with a lot of pastel colours and decorative fronts, with a large Medieval cathedral in the background and the famous Prague clock providing the only dark buildings. I joined the walking tour for about 30 minutes (20 of that was the company just organizing us into two groups to start). My tour guide had a mullet and made us touch the cobblestone ground to “feel the beating heart of Europe”. That, combined with the fact that it was like 7 degrees in the middle of April, was too much for me and I left. I also really wanted to explore the town square, as their Easter market went on for a week so all the stalls with cute gifts and food were open. I got myself some apple cider. They also had a hot apple wine and for a second I thought i accidentally got that but I was in the clear. I chugged that down and then got a sausage for lunch. I took about 8 million photos before heading to the old town hall where the history of the town hall was laid out. I bought a ticket for a tour an hour from then and explored the tower, with the famous clock. I walked up the top and satisfyingly read all the cards explaining the detailed history of the town hall. I gotta say, I have a weird obligation to fully understand the place I’m in/the history I’m in, even though, most of the time, I don’t really want to read the plaques and what not, or see the statues, or sometimes even the cathedrals (I must have seen at least 50 by now), but I do it to satisfy my future self, knowing that I properly grasped the place, if that makes sense. Whenever I see a hill, I don’t want to climb it no matter what’s on top but I always suffer just to check it off my list of sights, and I always feel guilty when I don’t go through with something. Speaking of not going through, I never did the tour of the clock tower that I had a ticket for. It came with the ticket to visit the tower and was at a weird time, as I still had exploring to do. But I did walk up (elevator down, though) and get a great panoramic view of the town square. After that, I explored the surrounding area, did a wee bit of shopping (I found a shirt that I’d been looking for in Ireland so I figured I had to buy it), before heading back to the hostel.

I spoke a bit about the girls in my dorm room. There was a nice, normal British girl above me whom I spoke to for a bit. She was taking a week off from her job, as it was Easter so she had a long weekend and just extended it. I think the following night I met the two other girls I mentioned, the one from New York and the party girl who was English, but raised in NYC so she sounded American. She’d just completed her degree in Switzerland too and was headed to Miami in July for a job in hospitality. The (full on) NYC girl was nice and very friendly but she spoke strangely. She kind of sounded like a dumb person trying to sound smart all the time. She’d make comments on Jews, and Israel, saying you can’t claim something you left behind but I was I don’t think the Jews left voluntarily? I don’t know, she was kind of innocent and simple and overly open, as in she told her all about her family. She was nice and offered me a place to stay if I’m ever in New York, and I could tell she was like a decently aware person in terms of liberal views but she just tried really hard or something. It’s hard to describe her but overall, she was friendly and had a good core, though seemed a bit misinformed whenever she spoke. The British-NYC-party girl seemed decent enough (I don’t really care about the partying thing so much as a character defining trait, while it does admittedly make relate to her less) but then she started talking about how she hates fat people and I was like Ok? so you’re a bad person, I can see that now. The most normal girl, the 100% british girl said she hated fat people too and me and the NYC girl were silent as they gushed over how much they hated fat people. Like first of all, that’s super offensive and inconsiderate because it literally has nothing to do with you and second of all, you were “blessed” (for lack of a better word) with being thin so you have ZERO idea what someone who wasn’t is going through. The reason I say that last part is because the party girl actually said “I don’t have an appetite, I don’t even like to eat most of the time”. Like bitch, that isn’t something to brag about. It is super mentally and physically unhealthy to treat eating as a trivial. Also, that fact that you say that to strangers is an obvious power move (as we were talking about our favourite foods, a conversation I was actually happy to participate in) to assert yourself as above us who are subject the horrors (read: gaining weight) of eating. Anyway, she just pissed me off and, at the time I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure what to say, but I thought about it a lot and determined that she’s a fucked up, privileged and just downright unintelligent asshole.

Alright, now back to Prague. one day I went to the Castle quarters where I explored the old cathedral and the government buildings, and the old palace. I bought a ticket for a tour there, which I actually went on, and got a decent understanding of the space as it had purposes beyond housing royalty such as the government being situated there as well. I also saw a cute area of it called The Golden Lane which was made up to look like an old medieval street with artifacts and rooms decorated as they would have been. I’m not sure if the buildings were actually authentic as well, though, and I had to rush to catch my tour. Another day, I explored the Charles Bridge and around the west side of the bridge were a lot of cute art shops were, as well as parks and a stunning 17th century garden with more great pano views. Another day, I went to the Troja Palace and the Prague Botanical Gardens, as well as a memorial on a MASSIVE hill that almost killed me. The palace was empty except for the fresco ceilings and walls but man were they gorgeous. I also got in for $0.20, I don’t know why the ticket guy charged me the price of a child under 5 but I’ll accept it. I took so many photos of the interiors and of the gardens, I keep posting them on instagram because they really took the cake in terms of bare interior design. I also climbed a massive hill to the botanical gardens, as well as a greenhouse though I don’t know why I did that- I thought it’d be more adult oriented but it was just filled with small children and butterflies. The memorial that I hiked to was so steep, I remember wanting to sit down on the paved road. And, by that point, I’d seen enough good views so I was just tired. Oh, also on this day (damn I was busy that day), I went to a mall and had some amazing Chinese food- fried chicken and rice with a sweet sauce, and saw the movie The Lost City of Z. I can’t tell how I feel about it though because, as I was watching it, I kept thinking the pacing is strange and the character isn’t very dimensional and then at the end it said “based on a true story” so I have to reevaluated everything I processed with that new context.

A different day, I’d planned on going to a market and visiting the New Town (for reference, the old town was surrounding and including the town square and the New Town, though still a couple hundred years old at least, was south of there) but I woke up and, after trying to update my phone, it stopped turning on. It was a Saturday too, of course, so nothing but an apple store in a mall was open, so that’s all I did that day, really, besides visiting an antique fair where everything was expensive. But! at the fair, there was a booth for fashion from the 1850′s-1920′s with a flyer for a museum space by the castle that showcases clothing items from those periods. The employee at the booth spoke at me in Czech for a few minutes and I just nodded because, at that point, it was too awkward to tell her I didn’t understand. I did end up going to the fashion museum and had a good time. The employee there spent about 30 minutes with me, going over the pieces which I enjoyed.

On the last day, I visited a massive park west of the river, where the library and monastery were. Again, it was a hike but this time it actually had some sicker that usual views. I had to wait for some hoes taking photos at one stop and, after waiting for literally 5 full minutes, I just snuck in beside them and took them because they were being rude and inconsiderate, so I was too. I visited the sites at the top of the hill, including the very pretty libraries for mother. I’d been trying to get to a nice library for a well. There was one in Oxford but it was only accessible by tour so I didn’t go, I tried to go to one in Dublin but the doors were locked when I got there, and at another place in Prague, the library was closed for renovation, so I was glad to see at least one beautiful library.

I mostly (pretty much only) eat in now. I treat myself maybe once every week to a meal out. I got a chicken schnitzel and some potatoes in Prague which were delicious and cheap ($5!). I had a lot of PB and J sandwiches and testing out some pasta dishes. I tried an Alfredo sauce which was nasty (I also got the wrong milk- some Slovenian bs and some gross, tart cheese which looked like feta but was clearly not), as well as some butter and mozzarella but the butter is weird, and, later on, I tried tomato sauce that was gross. I was struggling to say the least. I’ve gotten a bit more used to my options here- hot dogs and, today, mac and cheese. Snack wise, I’ve been going to town on Nutella and pretzels. 

Well, I think that’s it for now.

Macy

[phaelosopher]

New Post has been published on http://www.phaelosopher.com/2017/01/22/dividable-americans-not-trump-americas-greater-weakness/

'Dividable' Americans, Not Trump, Are America's Greater Weakness

Donald and Melania Trump take their first walk as President and First Lady.

It has been quite the new beginning for 2017. Now let us get accustomed to what seemed like the most unlikely of outcomes; i.e., the election of Donald J. Trump as president of United States of America Corporation, who managed to make it through the inauguration. Perhaps it was never in doubt, but it sure seemed that way.

I am not writing this as a Trump supporter, nor as a critic. To be either would be a giant waste of time and energy. As I have written on numerous occasions, the individual who plays the role of “Commander in Chief” is a focal point of public attention, with all the indicators and trappings of power, but he takes orders and implement policies and directives that originate from sources other than the American People.

You may find it hard to believe, but the President does not serve The People. If anything, he oversees their “management,” on behalf of those “behind the scenes” functionaries. The last president that dared attempt to take actions that would benefit the American People, was John Fitzgerald Kennedy. His killing, November 22, 1963, which seemed so senseless and cruel to me just 3 days into my 12th year on this planet, was a sad day indeed.

November 22, 1963 ~ one sad day for a 12-year old boy… and for the world.

I am not saying that the president does not serve The People to suggest that we have no power. Quite the contrary. Not only do we have power, we are the Power that makes things happen in this world… not just Americans, but The People of Earth. We use language, cultural, ethnic, and other factors, like religion, to emphasize our differences and even justify hostilities. They make it easy to dismiss or overlook so much that we have in common.

How does this behavior qualify as *being* the change that you seek?

Yes, there are people who simply want to take from the “rich”, but what we don’t realize, is that we are “the rich”. What is being taken from us ~ to the extent that we allow it ~ is hope, imagination, health, and our opportunity to grow and evolve in conscious awareness of the Amazing Power that is Within each of us. 

I just finished reading The Secret Science Beyond Miracles (1948), by Max Freedom Long. It is an amazing treatise on the work, philosophy, and science of early 20th Century Kahuna culture in Hawaii. These people were the healers, sages, and wise men and women of their communities. They had a working knowledge of who they are, and their connection with both ancestral spirits (consciousness), and the Aumakua or “High Self”.

When you read what the Kahunas did routinely, day in, and day out, before the “Christianization” of Hawaii, you have a clue of powers that are vested in all Human Beings. Fire walking was just one of many amazing practices that were commonplace in Hawaii. But just as Hawaiians were induced to turn away from their working traditions to adopt new religious customs that did not work (Kahunas facilitated healings that modern medicine still can’t begin to fathom), so have we been taught to turn to the human “authority”, whose motivations are generally more for his or her institution’s gain, than for yours or mine.

A Constant Vying for Your Attention

Why do you think there’s such a constant and incessant push by corporations to get your attention or gather information about you? It’s because bringing ideas to your attention, acceptance, and adoption makes them real, makes them spread and grow.

We’ve been groomed and conditioned to be great workers and consumers… followers who need “heroes” and “leaders” to “look up” to. We’ve been taught to believe in a false inequity, created by force. Then, taught by abusers, we equate “force,” coercion (another form of force), and the use thereof, with authority, “civilization,” “freedom”, “truth”…. even love.

So it’s no wonder that certain “clans” of people, who have maintained cooperative relationships for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and who are well prepared and experienced to exploit the minds of multitudes, have shaped our worldview, relying on our proclivity to trust, as the indigenous people of the Caribbean did when Christopher Columbus arrived in 1492, looking for new sources of gold so that King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella could fund their wars, and decided that he could use force to subjugate these people.

I have mentioned this title from time to time, but it stands mentioning here, A People’s History of the Unit ed States (PDF download), by Howard Zinn (1980 Longman), brilliantly documents instance after instance of deliberate, willful actions that, like a plague, infected, and then devastated the lives, cultures, traditions, and histories of millions of people. It will soon become evident that Columbus was the instrument, not the instigator, of these actions, just as POTUS has also had to jump through hoops set by current-day counterparts.

Obama Campaigned Against GMO But Signed Law to Protect Monsanto

Last year (2016), Barack Obama signed the DARK Act into law, which in essence, directly dishonored the People’s mandate that food products that involved genetically modified components be labeled. It struck down a law that passed in Vermont, and preempted labeling laws in Connecticut, Main, and Alaska, seed labeling laws in Vermont and Virginia, and prevented other states from adopting such legislation in the future.

And we just accepted this???

Mr. Obama’s action is actually easier to understand than the public’s non-reaction. He protected Monsanto from the consequences of The People’s inevitable awakening to how they have been systematically fucked over by institutions that they trusted were operating in their interest. Monsanto hasn’t operated in the public interest, but it was reasonable believe that the U.S. government agencies, like the USDA, EPA, CDC, etc., were. (I won’t include the FDA… I doubt anyone still believes they operate in the public interest… well, “Flat Earth” theory is making a comeback.)

Where were those people who were in the streets of Washington D.C. the other day breaking windows and burning cars, when Mr. Obama’s action was an affront to all to them, and Hillary Clinton would have continued the policies?

New problems created, none solved by calculated, organized, destructive acts.

This is not to say that Mr. Trump is inclined to repeal the DARK Act, since he hasn’t been required to offer an opinion about it.

Source: The Organic & Non-GMO Report.

Protests and acts of violence maintain tension and divisiveness, which tend to elevate the perceived need for security and harsh or “tough” responses instead of discussions about issues that need new approaches. The GMO debacle is just one of many.

International Old Boy’s Club

Mr. Trump is an “outsider,” but he’s an outsider who is on the inside. He would have had to be in order to be acceptable by the people/organizations that Washington actually works for. Notice how Israel was just fine with his election. President-elect Trump even insinuated himself into the U.N. Security Council condemnation of Israeli settlements on the West Bank (See Dec. 2016 Story), giving an indication that he would be more “pro” Israel. Never mind that Mr. Obama was directed (also in 2016) to send an $3.8 billion donation to Israel for 10 years, to do what they please, which generally means spending money on weapons that, among other things, they use against Palestinians on the Gaza Strip.

Donald Trump and Israel P.M. Benjamin Netanyahu.

Mr. Trump has already invited Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to visit Washington in early February.

To his credit, Mr. Trump was the only candidate, among the Republican contenders and in the runoff with Hillary Clinton, who offered anything approaching sentiment that could be construed as desiring to establish peaceful relations between Israeli and Palestinians in the region. Everyone else babbled “tough talk” about “enemies” and vigilance, totally deaf, dumb, and blind to atrocities that Israel has been party to, like the false flag attack of the U.S.S. Liberty June 8, 1967, that left over 200 people either dead or wounded.

But then, that’s the larger web at work, because evidence is that factions in Washington, including President Lyndon B. Johnson, were complicit in the operation.

When you look at what has been done, and is being done, some of the policies that the government agencies are behind, such as:

insane vaccination schedules,

no inclination to cut back or remove mercury preservatives in vaccines,

fluoridation in water supplies,

more shots required as condition of entering public school

GMO and pesticide use on crops,

standard cancer treatment regimens (chemotherapy, radiation, etc.)

chemtrails in the atmosphere, and

many other initiatives, too many to list here,

May actually be how they “manage” the larger population.

As such, Monsanto may actually be providing a service of population management for United States of America Corporation. Mr. Obama’s signing the DARK Act into law, after it was passed by both the Senate and House of Representatives, would simply allow the company to know it won’t be subject to any indemnification efforts when the wheels of this great travesty finally fall off the bus.

We are so ready to point fingers at each other, demanding change in the other, without looking in the mirror.

The problem with this is that it cuts both ways.

What we seek, expect, or demand from others, we must also be willing to give. More specifically, we must be able to embody. If you know that your life matters, then it is your responsibility and opportunity to demonstrate that this knowledge is active, by showing others that you value their life too. If you know that all life is sacred, and every human is a Gift, then look for that Gift within yourself. As you exercise it and share it, you’ll start noticing it in others. Strength will come, because it will be much harder to divide, when “enemies” become friends.

Videos

Here’s a short glimpse of Howard Zinn. If you don’t read his book in its entirety, just familiarize yourself with some of the scenarios that he chronicles. It’s not the history that you learned in public school (after getting up-to-date on your shots).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuLLUFXQKEY

Trace Amounts

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6yFujShISI

Alone With My Thoughts ~ Episode 14 ~ A New President and the Space/Time Continuum

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-ynRAvJgIk