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dropsofletters · 4 years

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break-up season

title: break-up season pairing: ten/reader genre: pizza shop worker!au/strangers to lovers!au summary: break-up season, the time in which a love-hater like ten finally proves to himself that love is a mere stigma of society, rather than a concept. his favorite pastime is to look out of the window of the pizza shop he works at, watching as couples gather for dinner simply to leave as two separate individuals that couldn’t even look each other in the eye. that is changed when he actually sees someone trying to get together with a woman, a love confession so cringe-worthy that he just had to intervene. the only thing he wants is to save this woman from the horrid taste of love, but maybe his views change by the time he gets to know her. type: fluff/romance/humor word count: 14,406 ⚠️ disclaimer: this is part of the love diaries, my valentine’s day project with wayv, if you want to read the rest of the members’ stories, you can click here and find the masterlist for it.

The corner of the pizza shop is his favorite spot out of the entire room. Not too breezy, not too coated with the smell of mozzarella cheese and thick sauces, definitely close enough to the laptop his job asked him to use for costumers so he can do his job as a waiter, but far from the sets of people seated by the tables, most of the time consisting of couples. Under his red cap, Ten brushes the bangs that cloud his vision to study the clients he has—watch as they socialize, fall in love and fall out of it, as well. One would think that Ten likes that corner so much because he seeks for warmth, or he loves the view he gets through the glassed windows, getting to see the jewelry store that is right in front of his vision, as well as the beauty of the mini garden in between the two spots, but there are whole other reasons as to why he is obsessed with it.

In reality, Ten just enjoys the gossip and it became part of him the more he worked at the pizza place. From his peripheral, he can see bad dates and couples breaking up, he can see coworkers that can’t stand each other and friends that are too entranced on their phones to even look at each other. He can connect the dots, create stories and figure out the reason why deep feelings are normally followed by disappointment. If people fear being alone or it is the human mechanism of life to look for the worst matches, he doesn’t know, but he has grown to love storytelling for the past year and so.

Synchronized with the beat in the background, Ten’s fingertips tapped on the counter, diverting his gaze from the window to look around the pizza place. In the background, an upbeat pop song has him humming to himself, studying the couple that sits only a few tables away, and annoying Ten with all the reasons in the world, considering he is supposed to close the pizza place in twenty minutes and they haven’t even gotten halfway through their pizza, their drinks or their laughter. One of them is a guy he actually knows; wearing long black hair and one of those stupid smiles from people who think their jokes are the funniest ever told in the world. He’ll give it to Kunhang, he’s pretty funny when he tries to be.

Pushing his cap off his head to run his fingers through his hair, he takes another look out of the window, staring at the faint reflection of the lights outside of his workplace, a few people walking around hand in hand. Some people call the beginning of February the love season, but he prefers to call it ‘The Break-Up’ season instead. The amount of relationships broken to get into another one grow exponentially each year, like feelings become vainer with the pass of time…and that is a reality people never really accept. In his mind, he can already read the posts in social media about how unnecessary love is, braggers who say it because the person they like never paid attention to them. The people who are truly closed to the idea of love are realists, though not a lot existed in the world. Either way, Ten is one of them. He knows how fleeting a relationship can be and embarks more in flirtatious gathers instead of getting in the directionless ship that is love.

Past his reflection, showing the sweat that presses on his forehead and the tiredness in his gaze, Ten catches the sight of a couple that don’t seem to be having such a great time, even when the atmosphere is love is practically being pushed to everyone’s faces in that time of the year. The subtle frown on her face is indicator of her discomfort as the guy cradles his head in between his fingers, spewing out whatever cages him inside his brain, the typical ending to a pair of lovers, but by the look on her face…there was more than discomposure in her brain, confusion, too, like an outburst that came unexpected. Ten leans forward slightly, trying to read their lips to the best of his capabilities.

He comes up with nothingness, really, it is not one of his talents to read someone’s lips to perfection, much less when the words are not being repeated to him like a mantra. The weight of the situation falls far from a tale to talk about when he wants to prove love is not real when Ten’s eyes make out the figure of the man’s jaw clenching, mouth spitting words quickly, his neck turning a deep shade of red, the veins around the skin marking down uncomfortably. His mind runs a few miles per minute, weighting the possibilities of actually getting in the middle of a relationship and earning a few shouts from the man for him to keep, but he couldn’t care less.

Today, Ten curses the name of romance again, opting to believe in something stronger—helpfulness.

Today, Ten takes his sketchbook out of his backpack, one that he doesn’t even use that often anymore with how packed work has been for him, and he scribbles down a few words with his thickest black marker, pressing the sketchbook to the window and knocking on the surface loud enough for the couple in front of him to listen to him. His knuckles touch the window repeatedly, taking a few tries to have the woman’s date to shut his mouth when her gaze turned to the pizza shop, squinting at the letters written in the piece of paper. Call it being nosy, or perhaps something deep within him tells him that he has to get that woman out of that situation before anything goes out of hand, but his fingers point at the piece of paper like his life depends on it.

Her otherwise angered expression turned to confusion again, her eyes scanning the words like her life depended on understanding the message. Your pizza is ready, it read, and damn him and his excuses…because she had not even entered the place, let alone asked for anything over the phone—there was no way he would know in this case, either—, but it was the best he had managed to think about in such a quickened moment of pressure. The stranger in question nods her head, pushing her purse higher up her shoulders, the golden chain dipping on her skin thanks to her short sleeved shirt, but the worst bruise would harm her ego, watching from afar as the woman’s date wrapped his hand around her wrist, trying to bring him back to him, like the devil asking an angel to be dragged down to the pits of hell. Instead, she elbowed his side, getting away from his grasp just in time for Ten to read the most important words of the conversation the two lovers had.

“Don’t call me again.”

When he was a mere child, he had wanted to be a superhero and maybe, this was his superpower. To battle the wronged, toxic, twisted romance that the world was selling nowadays, sold to softened and easily loving individuals like fresh bread straight out of the oven.

The sound of the bell atop the door ringing is what he hears first, catching a glance of the man outside who simply rolls his eyes before turning on the heels of his extremely shiny boots before going away. To hell, really, that was exactly what he deserved. By the door, he sees how she inspected the world, a firm frown resting upon her features, home of all the despair, the entirety of her anger, the tail of the snake that lived inside her head, wanting to scream at the world for giving her such a bad date. Then, she lifts her face, chin tipped high when she stops leaning against the door to look at the waiter and Ten can only manage to give a faint smile, closing the sketchbook with his fingers before pressing the surface to his chest.

“I didn’t order anything.” She breathes the words out and maybe, it is too soon for Ten to figure out that the sound of her voice is calming. Something about the way she speaks is admirable, like all the clouds in the world had filled her vocal chords, giving it that sense of softness. A weighted blanket would be the best way to describe it, warm and tranquil, perfect to complete a night.

“I know.” Ten says, reaching for his cap and putting it over his head again, trying to cover up his messy hair. Now that he notices, the guy outside does not deserve someone like her—far too pretty with her mascara-coated eyelashes, her eyes that glisten under the most miniscule of lights, holders of speckles of sugar in their sweetened glare. “I just…I thought that guy was bothering you.”

Leaning forward on the counter, she bites down on her bottom lip, playing with her own nails as she speaks. “Was it that obvious?”

Nodding his head, he pushes his body back on the wall behind him, crossing one leg over the other as he spends the last few minutes at the pizza shop talking to a complete stranger. “It was.” He breathes out, the warm air of the shop kissing his skin. “I am just a stranger and you probably will think I am getting into your business…but was that your boyfriend?”

Sliding her purse off her shoulder, the chain clinking against the counter obnoxiously as she looks for something inside, he receives an answer soon after, mixed with a chuckle of her own. “God, no, no. I thought—That was our first date.”

As he watches her fingers take out some money, her eyes staring at the chalkboard behind him with the prices and the specialties, all the color is drained from his face. Now, he has heard of bad first dates, but with the argument that guy had just created…he would have thought they had known each other a bit more. Some people are just crazy, and that is the first reason why serious dating sounds so atrocious to him. “What do you mean first date?”

“It was supposed to be in here, you know.” She starts, pushing the money forward before pointing at the chalkboard. “Can I have some Sicilian Pizza, please? For takeout.”

“Sure.” Even though they are supposed to be closing soon, Ten doesn’t mind giving this poor soul what she is paying for. Taking the money and writing down the order on a piece of paper, he touches the bell that calls out for the chef, watching Randy’s tired expression when he pushes the piece of a paper towards him. Sooner than later, the chef is cussing inside the kitchen, too far away from him to even listen. “So,” Resting the weight of his head on his hand, he watches her expression as she talks to him. “Your date hadn’t even started and he was already making a scene.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she pushes out a gush of breath from her parted lips. “He was saying some bullshit about how I am a woman of respect and how I should cover up more skin, because if I plan to date him…I just had to look decent.”

Looking at her outfit, Ten simply scoffs at the mindset of such a close-minded man. The pink tank top barely shows a glimpse of her chest and if it did show more, it would be entirely her issue. High waisted pants wrapped around her body snugly, pairing it up with her small handbag and her sneakers. “You’re probably not asking for my opinion, but you look great. Don’t pay attention to guys like that.”

Smiling, he watches as she presses her pink lipstick coated lips together. The magic of her comes from how enchanting she seems to be; not like a princess of sorts, but definitely like someone who holds conversations nicely, being sweet from the moment someone approaches her. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.”

“It’s what I had to do.” The black haired man says.

“No, most people wouldn’t have done anything.” She pushes, her argument becoming valid with the ignorance of the actual world. People are so obsessed with love they confuse it with absolute insanity. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“What you’re saying is enough,” Ten indicates, turning his back to look at the fridge nearby. He asks for her name as he scans the sodas there, watching the different sizes and looking for the coldest one. “Cool. My name is Ten.” Introductions come easily to him. Coming to terms with himself, he really does think that he is the type of person that makes friends everywhere, but holding feelings towards someone comes uneasily for him. Never has he ever been in love, much less does he consider it important. A mere title to cover up hook-ups and heartbreak, that is all love is. “Do you want a Coca Cola? It’s on me.”

“No, no—”

“You don’t like it? I could offer you another brand, let me see…”

“No. I like it, but you don’t have to give me one.” At the sound of those words, Ten takes out the small bottle of soda and puts it in front of her, taking a straw out and placing it just beside the drink. An amused huff leaves her lips, because she has barely known the man for a few minutes, and yet he has acted far nicer than her date had done. “Okay, thank you.”

Rolling his eyes, he continues. “Don’t thank me so much.”

“You’re a godsend.” She replies, twisting the lid off before pushing the straw inside, taking a long sip to bring one of those delightful hums that cold drinks bring after a tiresome day. The muscles in her arms relax, the color returning to her lips after the second sip and in the matter of seconds, she is speaking to him once again. “Ten, I need to ask you a question. I hope you don’t mind.” She starts, looking up for a few seconds before shaking her head. “Are all guys like this? Such assholes, like, I can’t seem to find a good one. Not even my friends can. That guy was a blind date, and it didn’t even start!”

Taking a cloth to wipe the counter with, Ten takes a few moments to think about it. “I mean…love and romance and all those things…they have always been a headache.” He tries to make her feel better, but in reality, Ten doesn’t have much knowledge about what could bring a person to want to date so seriously. Most of his relationships included people he was already friends with, simply taking common attraction and casualties as their starting point and basing it in mutual feeling rather than in love. “Don’t look and you’ll find something. You shouldn’t rush.”

“…I know that, but I had to hear it again.”

“Yeah, just don’t pick any more idiots.”

“Easier said than done.”

The conversation holds for longer, work tangling in their words, talking about the frustrations of life and the longevity of the heat during the week, an anomaly to what the weatherman had indicated on Monday. Talking to her comes in the form of sweet smiles, thankfulness for something that she considers brave, but he claims it is normal. Someone like her speaks about friendships and love so highly that her feelings are out in the world, heart ready to be destroyed if it came to end in the wrong hands, and Ten is the absolute opposite of that. A man that is naturally charming, but rarely thinks of the depth of his connections with people. While she wants an ocean of feelings and to dive in them, Ten is fine with surfing across them, feeling like the king of the world for never being kicked by any of those waves.

Even then, he thinks the simplicity of their conversation will only fall as one encounter and by the time he is closing the pizza shop, his heart feels full. Heavy with pride for doing something great today…saving someone from the asphyxiating grip of hate dressed as love, or what people claim to call ‘romance’ nowadays. Toxicity at its finest.

To Ten, love is an impossibility in this era and nothing could change his mind.

🍕

In the confines of the highly illuminated room, Ten goes from one side to the other, repeatedly bowing to the clients in front of him, taking his notebook and writing down their orders, taking as many as he can in his hands—while also keeping them in order—before giving them to Randy, filling him with more work to do at the kitchen. It is tiresome, if February was difficult, March just exudes that draining energy that leaves Ten in a grumpy mood, more often than not tugging at the uncomfortably tight cap that he has to use with his uniform and swearing the damned red chemise that bruises his eyes with its bright color, warrior of all fashion that existed in the world. If anything, such a busy atmosphere would have filled his body with life if he was the one eating or enjoying the presence of background chatter, but being a waiter in such a situation—and the only one working, too—is quite the displeasure.

Seriously, the pizza place has been doing excellently nowadays and still, his boss acts as if it would be too expensive to hire another worker, either for the kitchen or to attend the costumers. Those who are the wealthiest are the most obsessed with their money.

Pressing the phone to his ear, he is trying to talk to one of the customers that wants to order through the device, but it is far too loud in the pizza place for him to listen. His vocal chords hurt from how loudly he is speaking, cursing the day he decided that working as a waiter in a pizza shop was going to be easy, but that is far from the reality. The sound of a pair of long fingers tapping on the bell makes him look up from his position, staring at the tall man with the chef hat on. Randy was a little bit over his thirties, in love with cooking and the smell of the fresh sauce he made for every pizza, spending time all around the world to prepare the majesties that they serve in Ten’s workplace. “Hey, dude, there are a group of girls that have been waiting there for a while.” Pointing at one of the tables in the pizza place, Ten hangs up on the call—thankful that it ended, really—placing the neat piece of paper on Randy’s hand. “And the Greek one is ready. Table seven.”

“Table seven, okay.” Ten repeats, fixing the hat over his head before huffing. “I am an absolute mess. How difficult is it for the boss to get another person to help us out here?”

The smell of the pizza makes him gag slightly when he picks it up; tired of the cheese, of the thick sauce and the toppings, everything seems to be too much for him. “I don’t know. I could help you out if you need it—”

“No, take care of the pizzas. Thank you, though.” Ten comments in a rushed manner, moving away from the counter and going towards the seventh table, seeing the happy smiles the family give him before he is off to the table Randy had talked about. The third table, if he is not mistaken, closer to the door and with more seats than most. Once in front of his new clients, he opens his small notepad to write their orders down, starting his introduction without really looking at who he is talking to. “Good night, welcome to The Tower of Pizza, is there anything I can serve for you tonight?”

“Ten!” The excitement in a woman’s tone makes him stare away from his notepad, instead settling his gaze on the person that is calling out for him. The same woman that had been there a little bit over a month ago, the one that he had given a free Coca Cola to and the same one whose tastes in men were not equal to her tastes in the delicious Italian treat. This time, she looks even more radiant, hanging around with a group of women—all looking at him by now, interested in why their friend even knows this person in the first place, portraying an easygoing smile and a beautiful floral shirt. “I didn’t expect you to be working today.”

Ten chuckles, taking the time to smile for the first time in the entirety of the day, and it all comes thanks to the slice of sweetness that comes with her greeting. “I work here every day. I’m the only waiter that works here.”

“For real?”

“Yes.” Ten looks up and down her face, realizing that she is far more radiant around her friends, who are stealing glances from Ten to their friend, back again and repeatedly. “I would love to talk for longer, but I have to attend more clients. What do you guys want?”

��Two of your lasagna special and one extra-large pizza. Which one do you recommend today?” After writing down their orders, Ten notices that his tongue is sticking out in concentration, something he does specifically when he is writing and focused in something. Looking over his shoulder, he sees what is written in the chalkboard before humming.

“I think Chicago could work well with you tonight.” Ten comments, deciding to bite back a smile but it is far too impossible for him to do so. It would be a lie of him to say that the sight of her hasn’t brightened his day up, for some reason that still remains unknown for him, but maybe it is the visual of her, the beauty of her smile that lets him know he just has a piece of art to look at while he works.

“Give me one of those. Thank you.” Their fingertips barely touch together when she pushes the menu towards him, skin coming in contact with a brief electrocution state before it fades to blackness. With a bow, Ten is gone, not without sparing one last glance at her to see that she is already looking at him, giving him a tight lipped smile that reads ‘I feel sorry for you, but you can do this’.

Other than that, the night goes in a blur for him, from talking to yet another customer to remembering which pizza went to certain table, to giving out the takeout boxes before anyone complains about his slowness. By the time it is about to close, he realizes there is one person seated in table number three, her purse resting over the surface, hand holding her chin up while she watches the rerun of some old show that plays on the big TV screen of the pizza shop. Ten pushes his cap off, looking at the serenity of her face and feeling a bit more relaxed, even when his chest is rising and falling with each breath and he feels like once he gets home the shower is going to have to welcome him for more than an hour.

Fixing his hair with the tips of his fingers, the man can’t help but walk over to his client, the one that should have left three hours ago just like her friends, but that decided to stay back for some reason. His hands hook around the edge of the seat beside her, dragging it across the floor obnoxiously before sitting down. The look she gives him is peaceful and he simply doesn’t get it. That type of patience and interest can only speak wonders about her and even if she just wants to talk to him or it was something else that kept her there, he thinks it’s enviable. And today, out of all days, Ten is feeling the slightest bit touched that someone would give him both a nice tip and also, stay for him a few minutes after the closing time.

“I thought you would have left with your friends.”

“I wanted to make sure you were fine after all that work you did.” She comments, watching as the apples of Ten’s cheeks lift up in a smile. In all sincerity, Ten has gotten a million gifts, surely a lot of effective nice touches of sympathy that would have warmed his heart back then, but for a complete stranger to do something as kind as that for him is truly unexpected. “I hope it doesn’t seem creepy.”

“A little bit. It matches with my nosiness in that date of yours.” The laughter that leaves her lips is joyful, pushing a few strands away from her face to get a good look at him. His eyes trail over her features, as sweet as her, with this air of innocence that has him thrilled, but instead, he opts to look at the screen that had taken her attention for most of the time she spent at that table alone. “You’re watching How I Met Your Mother?”

While leaning back on her seat, she answers. “I never really got to know how he met the mother. I actually thought the mother was Robin all along.”

“I don’t know who the mother was, either.” The realization downs him, watching the episode running but he is not actually paying much attention to it. “I stopped watching when I realized Barney and Robin wouldn’t end up together.”

“They don’t?!”

“Sorry, did I just spoil it?” Though he smiles, because the honesty in her face is a complete gush of fresh air. “They get a divorce I think, I don’t know. I read it online and stopped watching after that.”

Pushing her lips forward in realization, she lifts her eyebrows in surprise. “Real love doesn’t exist now.”

This is the matter in which Ten specializes the most, a love-hater from the moment he recognized what the meaning of such thing was. Funnily enough, it didn’t take a heartbreak for Ten or falling in love tremendously with someone for him to realize what it means to fall in love. It is a responsibility, to start with, so heavy that it connects two people and falls upon different parts of their lives. Secondly, love is only a conceptualization that a person can individually get to know and someone may never know if the feeling is as strong for the other, or as weak in certain occasions. Sometimes, routine and romance sound exactly the same and damn him for hating it so much. “It doesn’t take a show to realize that.” Bringing his beliefs forward, she turns to look at him.

“You don’t believe in love, do you?” She asks, the conversation becoming seemingly interesting to her.

His fingers play with the cap in between them, touching the fabric as he speaks. “Not really, no.” The smell of her cologne becomes more prominent for him when he folds his body forward to get closer to her, his hands sprawling across the table. “What about you?”

“I believe it exists.”

“Why?”

“Just…look at the amount of people who are married or live together or survive long distance relationships. That takes love.”

Tilting his head to the side, Ten gives his own train of thoughts a chance. “I think of that as compromise, not exactly love.” The tone of his voice is soft, mainly because he knows love is such a subjective feeling for most people and he doesn’t want to ruin it for someone who may just feel it, but in reality, love has died down with the passage of time and now, people have started to love more things rather than other individuals. Passion became the new version of love and he feels far more attached to that part of himself. “Like sure, I can love dancing or going out to the karaoke with my friends, but I am not married to any of those activities. That doesn’t mean I love them less.”

“That’s true—” Her voice is cut off when her phone vibrates and his eyes immediately look down, catching a glimpse of the name of the contact. “It’s this asshole again.” She cusses, pressing the red button on her phone only to sigh. “You know, after this guy…I may think you are right,” She shakes her head, lost in her thoughts of anger and frustration. “He keeps calling me and I don’t know what his issue is. I don’t even know why I want to fall in love when all I get are these half-assed guys that don’t even deserve the title of romance.”

“Sure, love doesn’t exist in my eyes…but that doesn’t mean you don’t get the chance to find a nice guy.” Ten comments, shrugging his shoulders soon after. “I think you just have a radar for finding the wrong ones.”

“How do I know if it’s a good one?”

“…I don’t know. I don’t date to find ‘the one’.” Doing quotations in the air, she smiles at his antics before her phone vibrates once again. The noise is insupportable to her ears, as if the earth is shaking beneath her fingertips in the reminder of the mistakes she made, and Ten is not so fond of the idea of a creep going around and ruining her night after spending such a great time with her friends. His hand reaches forward, asking permission with his gaze to pick it up before she hums, watching as he brings the phone up his ear.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering?! You didn’t come back to the parking lot after our date and I was waiting for you. Do you think—?”

“Sorry man, wrong number.” Ten announces, the man on the other end being cut off immediately before he huffs out a breath.

“This bitch didn’t even give me her number properly?”

“I guess…” Though, he doesn’t like the tone this guy is speaking in and surely, all he wants to do is hang up right at that moment. Which he gets to do with all the pleasure in the world, anger emanating from his words the moment he mumbles out a quick goodbye and pushes his thumb own on the red button on the screen. Her eyes are wide, gleaming even though the lights in the pizza shop may be the main cause of it all and soon after, she breathes out at the appearance of her grin. “Block that number and never look back. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Thank you.” She stands up from her spot, pushing her purse up her shoulder while holding her phone on the other hand. “I suppose you’re going to have to close down soon.”

“Yeah, I’m going out to eat with Randy, that guy in the kitchen.” Ten chuckles, pressing his hands down on the pockets of his jeans before looking up at her. “But thank you for waiting for me to check up on me. It means a lot.”

“I’d do it again.” She nods her head, almost turning around on her heels but her movements halter to a stop, instead opting to take a good glance of the man in front of her, giving him his phone as embarrassment takes over her features. “I was actually going to ask for your number. You were so nice to me and you still are…so if I ever need someone to talk to, I would like to have you in my contacts.”

“Is that so?” Ten’s voice lowers a bit, fixing his cap over his head before writing down his number, saving his name as ‘Ten’ along with a pizza emoticon by its side, taking the time to take his phone out and jotting her number down as well. There is something about her, past her enchantment and the dulcet personality that he always talks about, but the facility he feels when talking to her, like there is nothing beneath her that could ever be used to judge someone. Her caring nature is the most outstanding, a person of energetic happiness out of all the somberness of the world. “Just text me anytime.”

“I will.” She smiles, waving her hand in the air before getting out of the pizza shop, leaving with the dangle of the bell on the ceiling above the door. Something about that night leaves him with a smile on his face and putting How I Met Your Mother in his list of ‘to watch’ shows. Something twists, changes and perhaps, he should pull away—attraction is what he feels, but for someone who adores love and the thought launches his brain away from her, thinking that their goals are far too different for him to even try flirting. Perhaps, he should really ignore it all and let the start of a simple friendship blossom without any second thoughts partaking on that decision.

🍕

What are you doing now?

The vibration of his phone shouldn’t startle him as he is washing the dishes, soapy hands coming up from the plate in between his hands to hover in the air, eyes staring at the blinking notification on his phone. But it does. The past few weeks have been a reminder that there are so much more than the tedious hours of working in a food place, that there is more to the world than waking up, going to the dance studio to practice a bit, going to the pizza place he works at and returning home so tired he can’t even keep his eyes open. His phone finds solace in the company, texts of questioning coming from his friends and family as they ask how his life is doing and when the next adventure is going to surface for them to share new moments together, but now he has something else to look forward to. A conversation that is far more interesting in the twists and turns that come from it, the initiation a mere greeting and then, it was an endless chat in the hopes of getting to know each other.

He promises himself that he’ll finish washing that one last plate before going over to his phone, but the smile is already settling on his face at the reminder of his new friend on the other end, taking time away from her tedious hours of studying to respond to his texts. The last one they shared was during his lunchbreak, and she only got to answer now, following her dream with so much strength that one would think she’d break her head in the process. However, considering that she is probably taking a break from studying for her tests and that he is actually not doing anything too important, then he might as well answer…

Patting his hands dry in a cloth, he goes over to the counter to grip the device in between his fingers, sliding his fingers across the screen to write down his password before he is met by the sight of the opened conversation with his new friend. He calls it endless, mainly because from the moment it started with a brief ‘hello’, it never got a goodbye. Talking to her comes naturally, coming together thanks to art and connecting with each other in the name of passion, for they equally thrive for a dream.

The simple text stares back at him and in no time, he is answering.

Washing the dishes, but I am too lazy to continue…My roommate is not there for me to boss him around, either.

For a moment, he thinks of what he should write next.

How is studying going?

What he learns from her is that her dramatics are palpable, the hyperbole ever present in anything she says. It brings excitement to them, considering Ten has always enjoyed to live life with interesting people at hand. Like a show or a meal, two things that he has gotten to know well with his dream in one hand and his job in another, they all need to be outstanding to be exciting and enjoyed by other individuals.

The three dots move repeatedly, until a message arrives at his sight. The amount of emoticons in the verge of crying that she adds is exponential, definitely enough to bring a smile to his face. The pressure a university student must feel at this time of the year is not quite the highest, for April is just another month in meaningless existence, but for her…every day is a final test type of day and the fear of failure clings to her. It’s difficult to learn some of the passages from those books and even though she studies her hardest, there are times where she doesn’t get the grade she wanted—or deserved, for the matter—and Ten has self-taught himself the ability of making her feel better.

I can’t understand shit. I want to cry.

Ten’s eyes widen at that, brown hues becoming soft at the reminder of how difficult it is to have someone’s hard work not paying off for them. That was how he felt at the start of the previous year, the reason why he started working at a pizza shop in the first place.

Take a small break and then, go back to studying. You can do this. Learn the most important stuff. You don’t have to pressure yourself.

Easier said than done, he knows, but when he doesn’t get an answer for the next five minutes, he knows he either lost her to the need of sleep or she went back to studying. It is actually a push for him to continue doing errands, finally cleaning up his place after a draining week, making sure that the sheets on his bed are changed, the cushions on his couch are fluffed out, the bathroom is clean…and in the matter of seconds, he is trying to relax with a shower and a nice, hot meal. Not that he can fully relax, not when he is watching an episode of that damned show that pulled them together the last time they had physically seen each other and he is constantly reminded of her. His mind comes up with the most absurd of questions: Has she eaten? He wonders, and it is the type of question he rarely wonders about someone, and yet…there she is, in the back of his brain like a warning sign, shining bright and leaving him in utter distress.

His sheets are well wrapped around his body by the time eleven hits in the clock, his drowsiness getting the best of him and dragging him to the bed before he can even watch another episode. The fabrics are comfortable around his legs, the restriction from his jeans long gone and replaced with the sweet touch of relief. His black hair is made a mess, his skin still glistening with whatever skincare product he managed to put on his face with such sleepiness and still, he opens his eyes when he hears his charging phone vibrating on the bedside table. He should let it be, keep it as a nice touch for his early morning tomorrow, but his fingers move far too quickly, worry overtaking him when his eyes squint to look at the bright source of light.

Giving importance to someone in a few weeks of talking is stupid, but Ten knows the name of all of this—attraction, but the thought is often pushed to the back of his brain. Though his flirty remarks are there, he knows it is not a good idea to go out with someone like her, for she has never shown interest in that way and she is a huge believer of real love and fairytales.

Hence, the text.

Ugh, sorry, I was studying again. All I want to do is sleep and have someone cuddle me because my head is hurting so bad.

Their views about love are absolute different and Ten doesn’t understand the importance of intimacy past relief quite well. He doesn’t want to get the connection of two people through skin and soul, merely because it seems too unprotected, like all the walls a person could have holding up being torn for the mere action of feeling accompanied. That, he doesn’t understand, and most of their nights—and days—talking don’t consist of her imminent love for…well, love, but he knows that it is always in the back of her head. A love like one in the movies, like one in TV shows, a forever and always disguised as reality.

Haha, you should go rest now. Also, what’s your deal with cuddling and all those soft things? Too many rom-coms or what?

The joking manner is there, only highlighted by his emoticons and he gets the response equally as fast, probably because she is opting to go to bed, laying down against her sheets just like how he is doing in his own room.

I just want to experience it. Everyone talks about dating and being in love, it must be a good thing. Let me have my fun. Don’t be such a hater.

A scoff leaves his lips, the corner of them lifting up in a smile.

Love is overrated.

You have not fallen in love either, hush. Don’t judge it until you try! What makes you think it’s overrated?

He doesn’t remember falling asleep but once he opens his eyes in the peak of the morning when the Sun is barely peeking on the sky, his alarm ringing in his ears obnoxiously, his body frightens in fear of not charging his phone, only to be met by a fully charged battery—thankfully, and he sighs in glee at that, turning his alarm off in a hassle—and a text that has him laughing.

Never. And it’s just a gut feeling.

Maybe, his gut feeling is right…but there is always an exception to the rule.

🍕

“You’re telling me your favorite cinnamon rolls come from a food truck?”

After an entire month of talking is when Ten finally has the time—and the energy—to go out with his pizza-place-found friend. Not that she is any less tired, sporting a pair of sunglasses that now rests on top of her head, a perfect mask for the bags under her eyes after such tedious times in school and work. Radiant and beautiful, still, she is, though visibly stiff by the way her shoulders remain tight under the fabric of her patterned blouse. The streets of such a welcoming city are what surrounds them, the sidewalks filled with people in that side of town—as it turns out, there is a universe of street food that he has yet to know and she has a PhD in junk food knowledge. The conversation had started nicely, meeting at the nearest park before diverting their attention from formalities to asking about their lives whilst walking and finally, the most important, filling their stomachs in this meeting.

Meeting, since it’s not a date. She brought it up first…and never really called it a date, either.

His attire is different from the one she had seen him in at his workplace, though she has liked one or two of his Instagram posts. His pierced ears are shown by his hairstyle, moved back slightly by a bit of gel, though not too much. His usual red and bright uniform is changed for something simpler, a white graphic t-shirt tucked into his jeans, something that was complimented by his friend earlier on the night. His fingers hook on the strap of his backpack, dangling off one shoulder when she gives him a nod.

“So, you saw my group of friends the other day. Ash? She’s like the worst cook ever, and when we were roommates she would always bring me something from what she had for dinner. Sweet, really.” Though, Ten remembers hearing that Ash is also the same person that she said was the worst roommate she ever had. Too much of a mess and too clingy with her boyfriend, for someone who loves romance so much, she couldn’t stand the tiniest bit of public displays of affection. “She showed me this place once and it’s a pastry food truck. It’s so delicious. The old lady that owns it knows me and all.”

Ten raises his eyebrows at that, smirking at her words. “Wow, impressive. The lady from the food truck knows you.” The sarcasm in his voice, mixed with sassiness, has her groaning before pushing his side slightly, making him tumble a bit before regaining his balance. “Hey, I was joking!”

“Once you taste her cinnamon rolls you’re going to regret ever talking like that.” She tells him, already looking in the depths of her purse to find some money, leading the way in their little trip through the seas of people in such street. “It’s either eating that or we go buy some fruits to eat.”

Scrunching up his nose momentarily, he shrugs his shoulders as if it is nothing. “I never said anything against the old lady. I’m just saying you get so excited over the tiniest of stuff.” Contrary to what his words may sound like, the smile on his face is full of adoration, because she feels so wildly that she may be the culprit of innocence.

She looks at him with a bit of a frown over her face, her bottom lip jutting out when she speaks: “And that’s wrong?”

Her steps begin haltering, slower until they reach a pink and white food truck with donuts and pastries all painted on the walls. Indeed, there is an old lady inside the truck, peeking her head outside to look at the customers who arrive. However, Ten has a conversation at hand and his heart palpitates softly at the mere sight of her face, like she has been told that before. Excitement is always overlooked as overreaction and to see someone’s imminent smile at life is…something that is not expected to be found in the world. Why take that happiness away when it already lives beneath her? “That’s not wrong at all,” He tells her, the background filled with music coming from one of the food trucks a few miles away. “It’s admirable. I wish I could look at life the way you do.”

She chuckles at his words, something inside her eyes gleaming with happiness. “You’re okay as you are. People like me get hurt in the long run…but you…Ten, I don’t think you’re even able to get your heart broken. Now, that is admirable.”

Wrong she is, for one of the few times in her life, mainly because Ten tries to convince himself that through joking manners, the everlasting sassiness within him and this permanent fight against love, he is going to protect himself from a lot of things. Heartbreak, for once, coming from a broken goal or a time-lapse that wasn’t met. He thinks not feeling too much is the cure of weakness, but at the same time, there is a bit of curiousness within him. What happens to those people who simply feel? Who worry so much and love so much, who give their whole lives out for people and not for a goal. The closest thing he has ever felt for that is the romance he has with his own art, but he knows his own dream is controlled by his actions, for the dancefloor is not going to suddenly step on his heart for no apparent reason.

People do that a lot, even absentmindedly.

He has done it, too. The amount of people he has had to pull away from because he doesn’t feel as strongly for them as they do is there, a reminder that he has his devilish side, as well.

“Thank you?” Ten comments, laughing at her words and earning a nod from her before their conversation is rudely—or nicely, maybe—interrupted by the lady in the food truck. Her eyes are adorned by the wrinkles at the edges, rounded glasses resting on the bridge of her nose and dyed blonde hair covering her otherwise gray locks. An apron is tied around her waist, sweet like the paintings in the food-truck, but the smile she gives to her known client is almost diabetes inducing.

“Oh, you’re back with another boy! This one is prettier than that one you brought last time.”

She is a gorgeous woman…and in desperate need to experience whatever love is, so it is not surprising that she has gone in a few dates. In her words, she never goes past the first date and it has been like that for the past two or three years. She either gets tired of her date or they are absolutely bat-shit crazy. Nonetheless, the black haired young man takes that as an opportunity to lean over where she is, speaking loud enough for the lady and his friend to listen to him. “You already brought another guy here?”

A guilty smile appears on her face when she licks the inside of her cheek, looking over her shoulder to stare at Ten. “Yes. Why? Jealous?”

“Curious. You have to show me a picture of that guy so I can know what I’m being compared to.”

“Who you’re being compared to. You used the wrong word.”

“No, I meant what. All you date is trash, after all.”

Laughing at his words or perhaps at his antics, the two friends lift their gazes to look at the old lady who has a look of adoration over her face, practically spilling the dulcet taste of her pastries on her grin. “Hello! Yes, I brought my friend with me today. Can we have two cinnamon rolls and…two glazed donuts, please?”

The woman gets to work, picking up a paper bag with the food truck’s logo imprinted on it and picking out the pastries her client had ordered. “Just a friend?” Ten exchanges a glance with her, earning a shrug before they both confirm that they are just friends. “It’s none of my business…but you’re missing out. This young man is very pretty.”

When he wraps his fingers around the bag given to them, paying the entirety of it even when she tries to give her half of the money to the woman in front of her, he laughs at the compliment. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you.”

“Do you have some diet coke, too?” She asks before nudging Ten’s side. “Let me invite the drinks, at least.”

“I do!” The old woman indicates, reaching over for the drinks and receiving the money according to the prizes displayed behind her. The coldness of the bottle clings to his fingertips, his bones and joints aching slightly at how cold it is, watching when his friend pays for them before standing by his side. The walk starts soon after—not without forgetting to thank the old woman by the food truck—, step after step being followed by the sound of lids being twisted and the paper bag opening once they reach a nearby small table for them to sit at.

“Nice old lady.” Ten comments, taking a napkin to place the cinnamon roll over it and give it a bite, only to hear the sound of her chuckle.

“She’s not that nosy most of the time, but you must have reminded her of her young love affair or something.” Her eyes are fixated on him when he gives the first bite, her lips pressing down together out of nervousness. “Do you like it? They are my absolute favorites. I have them more than I pride myself on.”

The taste is flavorful, the almonds in the mix making the crunch a lot more pleasurable. The pastry is not too dry, leaving the lemon cream on top to coat it with a hint of bitterness, though necessary. The pastry hits the back of his tongue like a sonata, too much but at the same time everything he needed. “These are so good.”

“I have the best tastes.”

“Speaking of,” Ten says, pressing the corner of the napkin to his lips before leaning forward on his seat. The look on his face is of interest and she is halfway through chewing on her cinnamon roll, eyes looking at him with all the innocence in the world when he continues. “Who was that guy you brought here, as well? I should feel bad…but knowing you, you just did that because you were being too nice, as per usual, so I’ll let it slide.” Once again, he is mocking her and a gush of air leaves his lips when she kicks his calf under the table, softly, of course.

Her fingers push her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it as she speaks. “I went out on a date with a guy like five months ago. He was the nicest guy I’ve gone out on a date with, which is why I decided to bring him here for dessert.”

From his spot, Ten hums at her words. “And you weren’t the dessert?”

“No, Ten, I wasn’t.” Her eyes stop looking down at her phone to glare at him before breaking into laughter. “We didn’t even kiss or anything. His name is Cho and he’s a nurse, so he barely has time to…you know, go out on dates or whatever. We are friends right now.” The screen of her phone is showcased in front of his eyes, an Instagram account being shown to him. There, he sees a somewhat short and technically buff guy, with the most serious expression he has ever seen in his life—in reality, it would surprise Ten if this man has ever laughed in his life—. He wears glasses and scrubs, typical and taken out of a Grey’s Anatomy episode, though he is the exact type of person he would never imagine with the epitome of brightness. “That’s Cho. I mean…yes, you’re technically better looking, but he is opting for a masters and he is very serious. I think he is the type of man to settle down…and if he was not so busy, I’d go out on another date with him. See how it goes.”

“Does he ever smile?” Ten questions, earning a laugh from her part before she puts her phone down. The straw of her drink slips in between her lips, fruit too forbidden for him to look at even for the smallest of seconds, but the beauty of her is always in the back of his head.

“Not really, no.” The confirmation is all she needs.

“And you wanted to go out on a second date with him, just because…he is the type to settle down?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of me looking for someone?” Though, the way her smile suddenly shifts to face downwards is an indicator of her unhappiness. As far as he knows, and from what he can realize, there is more to her than simply looking for a man—she knows her worth as an individual, spending quality time with the people that make her feel the most at ease and bettering herself with knowledge the more she grows, but there is always that prick of curiousness in the form of a voice. “To settle down and look for the closest thing to a…I don’t know, real love?”

In most occasions, Ten jokes around with the people he enjoys talking to—he thinks life is more enjoyable if he just smiles at everything and shares his happiness with people, even if it’s remotely small or big. This is not one of those moments because the least Ten wants to do is laugh at her, contrary to what anyone would believe. He may not believe in love, but what may be an invisible ghost for him may be salvation for someone else. “Listen, love is a great thing for some people…if it even exists, to start with.” For the first time, she doesn’t give her opinion on the matter, simply munching on her food. “But that’s not a reason for you to settle for anyone, much less someone whose only personality trait is being…able to settle down. The point of looking for someone is that you enjoy yourself, too.” Her eyes stare up to look at him, her eyebrows magically drawn together in what seems to be surprise to hear him speak so seriously. “If you really liked this Cho guy, the least you would think about is that he wants to settle down. You would be talking about how funny he is or something, or like…how caring he is. Maybe, how he likes certain stuff you don’t or how he’s a nurse because he wants to save lives, like…is being serious all you can seem to notice?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she bites down on her bottom lip. “What’s the point, though?” Before Ten could answer, she gives a piece of her mind. “I’m looking for the perfect guy everywhere, but I never find him. I just— He’s the best I could find, that has to mean something.”

Taking a long sip of his drink, he responds soon after. “Yes. It means you are like any human being and make mistakes when dating. That’s normal.”

“I thought you said I had bad tastes.”

“That, too.” Soon after, the atmosphere switches to something more lightweight and Ten locks her phone before giving it back, placing it atop her hand delicately. “You don’t have to date without wanting to just to get the romance experience. You’re worth of loving and someone will arrive that will love you as much as you want to be loved.”

Looking up at the stars in the sky, drenching holes in the pure black sky, she smiles at his words before shaking her head. “Don’t tell me those things if you don’t want me to cry,” The words get choked up by her chuckle and Ten reaches over to open the bag of treats, holding his glazed donuts in between sugar and cinnamon coated fingertips while he listens to her voice, the beauty of naivety shining from within her soul. “You’re one sweet guy even though you try to make yourself look like a jerk, you know that?”

“I am.” He tells her, taking a big bite of his donut. “But we’re not getting full with only these two things. We should go grab some real food. Is there any food-truck with, like, something very good?”

“And then you try to drift the attention away from you being sweet.” She points out and the apples of Ten’s cheeks burn in embarrassment as he laughs at her words, nodding his head because he can only accept it. For someone who prides himself in his lack of feelings, he does get attached to people—not necessarily showing how much he appreciates them at any given time, but telling their reality straight to their face in order to protect them is more of his way of showing his admiration. Using the paper bag to hold the donut, she looks around the street as she thinks of the possibilities. “Huh, get ready, because I’m making you have the best food you’ve tried in your life.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Oh, I’m confident.”

The way she speaks after that…with such excitement and joy to live and breathe and love is simply what has Ten so intrigued to get to know her even more. Something about her was different, though not wronged, as if she made her purpose to give and give, expecting nothing in return. Those type of people didn’t exist that much anymore, or at least, he hasn’t met plenty of them…but it is a joy to watch someone like that exist at the same time as him, uniting them in threads of interest, of friendship, maybe attraction from his part, but once again, his conscience murders the thought before it can really settle. Someone like her wants true love, and Ten is just not the material for it.

🍕

A thousand odes of hatred he had written to the day his heart beat so loudly that he felt like he couldn’t even breathe and May welcomes him with such a feeling, laughter getting confused with the roaring of small engines going from one corner to the other, the mini version of a road welcoming him with the faux white lights on the ceiling, adrenaline in its minimal form. The feeling overcomes him when he is behind the steering wheel, speeding through the lapses and smiling at the world from under his helmet, thinking of himself as a racer until someone does the absolute most to make him laugh, someone’s car bumping right in the back of his own go-kart, repeatedly as that certain person mocks him:

“Whoa, is the talented Ten scared of racing with a go-kart?”

The lively tone in her voice shouldn’t have brought a flutter to his chest but it is to be expected; most of the time, he only gets to talk to her through the phone, mainly in texts that go back and forth between the two, with big hours of differences thanks to their busy schedules, but when he does get to hear her voice, it feels like he is living the best day of his life. A bump on his car makes his chest press against the steering wheel, looking over his shoulder to catch a sight of her expression and the giggle she gives him is not visible through the helmet. When she had told him that she loved to go-kart (“One of my friends works at a go-kart place. If we go after eight, we’ll get the whole experience by ourselves and we can do whatever we want.”), he had expected her to be respectful and sweet, like she normally is, but that was proven wrong quite rapidly.

“Stop bumping my car.” Ten adds in between laughter, only to feel another small nudge to the back of his car. It is not forceful, rather a little touch that has him frowning. “Hey, I said stop!” Stepping on the pedal to move back, now it is his go-kart that collides with hers, earning a small hiss from the woman.

“Did you just hit my car?”

“Uh, yeah. Get out my way.” Though he is laughing, enjoying himself so profoundly that he feels like it may be sinful. This is not how he feels when he hangs around with the annoying guy from the jewelry store in front of his workplace, Wong Yukhei, neither is it what he feels when he speaks to his closest of friends. It is not the tingly feeling of attraction…entirely, there is something more in there, something that he doesn’t want to name in fear of knowing what it is. Nicely felt it is, though he tries to ignore it. He continues to go forward, parking in front of her friend just in time to hear the roaring of her engine beside him, getting out of her go-kart and taking off her helmet, the strands of her hair made a mess and falling over her face when she hears him speak. “Did you even learn how to drive?!”

“I did,” Her helmet rests against her hips, the skin leaning to one side of her body before nearing him and tugging the helmet away from his face. “You look so cool with this thing on.”

His fingers run through his hair, taking the time to rub at his scalp before giving her a shameful smile. “So do you.” Her hands reach for his, bringing him up until he is standing away from the go-kart and right in front of her. “But I don’t think I want to race you again. Like, do you drive like that in real life? I’m scared of even riding with you!”

He feels the gaze of her friend trailing back behind them as they start to walk away from the go-karts. The second of May shouldn’t feel this good, a Saturday shouldn’t have such meaning…but with how tired she has been lately and how draining one of her classes has been, taking all the happiness she has and turning it into anger, he can’t help but want to make her feel better. She does so, too, claiming that they would have fun if they went out to race. She wasn’t wrong, sincerely. “You’re the one that was going so slow. You reminded me of a grandpa.”

Nudging her side, Ten watches as she chuckles before he grips her arm, bringing him back to where he is standing. “You’re learning all the bad things from me.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t have said that in February, for example, but no, you take all my asshole traits and make them your own.”

“I’m a good actress.” She comments, now taking a seat on the floor near the entrance, opening her backpack to get her water bottle out, taking a sip of it before giving the source of liquid to the man by her side. Ten takes the time to look at her, more disheveled that he has ever seen her, sweat clinging to her forehead, her lips so tightly holding on to its happiness that he could dance to the sound of her laughter. This is how he likes to see her, enjoying her life. “By the way, you’re going to be proud of me.” Her hand gets lost inside his bag once again but before she could show him whatever it was that would make him proud, Ten intervened.

“I’m already proud of you.” He utters, voice a little bit rough after taking such a big gulp of water. “But sure, tell me. What would make me proud?”

Clearing her throat, she unlocks her phone. “Well, you see, I posted a picture like two days ago. That one picture you took of me when we went out to the art museum?” He nods his head, recalling the image of her in front of a painting, a muse for the lens in his hands. “Well, Cho liked it and he sent me a direct message soon after.” He doesn’t know why his jaw tightens or why his smile disappears, why he feels like he is hearing news that leave a bitter taste on his tongue, but that is exactly how it feels. Jealous, that’s what takes over him, what turns his body in nothing more than a possessed soul. “And he was asking to meet up with me again in a date, but I told him I couldn’t because I don’t feel that way for him.”

His heart may have shattered; out of happiness, in a mocking manner or simply because he hates whatever is that keeps him tangled to her, but his eyes widen at her words…because the biggest romanticist in the world had given up romance thanks to an advice he had given her. “Yes?” He asks, earning a hum from her part as she shows him the messages. “And what did he say? Was he cool?”

“You’re right,” In any other occasion, she may have pouted at those words, but instead, she is welcoming the mistakes that come in the name of love. “I do like jerks. He blocked me after that.”

“…Asshole.” Ten spits, noticing how their shoulders are touching, eyes lifting to lock gazes with her before he realizes just how there is nothing left unclear in her gaze. The communication in between the two, of peacefulness and gratitude, shows through the brightness of her eyes and her lips part slightly to give him one of those tight lipped half-smiles.

“I’m glad I got out of that mess.”

“So am I.” He claims, feeling her fingers patting his thigh before her figure stands up in front of him.

“Let’s go for another round.” Her voice opts to say, Ten’s palms digging into the floor to lift his weight up. His fingers dust his jeans just in case he got any dirt on them, just in time to hear her speak something that he had repeated a thousand times. “You’re right. Love doesn’t even exist.”

His mind melts at the sound of those words, trying to come up with an answer that is valid, but instead he continues with something that sounds like the type of person he is. “You need something to believe in. Just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean you can’t.”

I don’t believe in it.

I don’t believe in love.

Love doesn’t exist.

Ten tries to repeat that inside his head by the time their meeting is over, left with the tingling sensation of her arms wrapped around him and he cusses himself for ever getting attached. He doesn’t even believe what his mind is trying to tell him, hormones mixing with matters of the heart and the mind. She is the one that believes in this, not him.

Love doesn’t exist.

🍕

White. Purple. Blue. All these colors splay across the masses of people in the dance floor, the sound of the bass thumping against every corner of his body, ribs and heart becoming one with the music. Not only is the fabric of her dress capturing all these lights, coating the satin dress in endless colors even though its plain shade remains black, but his eyes are constantly checking the beauty of her. Normally, the dance club is often visited by him whenever his friends from the dance studio invite him, and if he’s not too tired, he’ll pop by to have a drink or two and enjoy the music that makes people coexist in peace, but this time around, he decides to bring his friend with him. Unlike him, who is cladded in a white t-shirt with a nice jacket over it, his most expensive shoes indicating his invite to the dance floor, she looks pristine, white cropped sweater resting on top of her satin dress that is not falling in the middle of her thighs.

A couple of people give a few steps back and that is enough to shorten the space in between the two, her back colliding against his front as they look for a place in which they can finally dance the night away. He had promised that much, at least, always having to read her texts about how she really wants to see him dance in person—not through a video on Instagram, not through those self-made videos he sends her of a new routine he came up with for a future presentation, but body to body, eyes to eyes, skin to sin. Ten is eager, too, wanting to show the most passionate side of himself to her, the one who always speak about her favorite pieces of art, her love for adrenaline, the burst of dopamine becoming thrilling for him.

“You didn’t tell me it was this crowded.” She spoke, looking over her shoulder for her words to reach him. Ten looks into her eyes, their faces nearing thanks to the action, though his hand goes up to rest on her waist, wrapping the entirety of his arm around it and caging them to the nearest wall so the group of dancing individuals could pass by without stepping on their feet.

“It’s Friday night and I guess…people may feel like dancing.” Bringing his bottle of soda up his lips, he takes a brief sip before humming softly. His touch is still lingering within her, noticing how her breathing matches his when his chest presses to her back. “Which we should do about now. I brought you here to show you how to dance properly, didn’t I?”

This time, she turns around, her hands clasped in front of her with such excitement and glee that she might burst the skin there. “I’m so excited. I’ve never been in a place like this.”

“It’s nothing different from a club, just that better dancers frequent it.” The atmosphere is enough to bring confidence to him, smiling as he tugs at her arm and brings her closer. Music is a part of him, the part that speaks the loudest and bleeds the strongest, the one that shows the reality of Ten—the sentimentalism, the spark, the bite, everything about him that makes him both rugged but also extremely soft. The eyes of people are used to settle on him thanks to his enchanting nature, his charismatic way of fixing every occasion and making it memorable, but the way she looks at him is soft, like she sees something that he never knew existed within him. “I, for one, am one of those dancers.”

She nods her head, once again being pushed by someone until her chest is pressed directly to Ten’s, her hands carefully resting on his waist to keep her from falling. Once the person goes away, she lets out a huff. “You are one of those dancers but way more polite. You didn’t tell me they were like this.”

“It happens. People are buzzed around here.” He comments, shrugging his shoulders before crooking his elbow for her to wrap her arm around it. She does without him having to tell her anything about it, too. “We have to make ourselves be respected, so we have to find a nice spot and just dance, that’s all.” His hands are a shelter, keeping her away from the people around them, roaming through the depths of drunken messes that are in the dance floor until they find a somewhat secluded spot, nearer to the center.

“I’m so glad you brought me here.” She tells him, feeling him tug at the edge of her sweater to pull her closer, her hands sneaking around his neck at that time. It’s the first time they are so close and in reality, Ten doesn’t mind the proximity, but what he does mind is the matter in which his heart seems to be freaking out about such a simplistic gesture. “I’m sorry I look a bit out of place. I didn’t know if the place was going to be cold or hot!”

“You look cute.” Ten tells her, looking at someone from the corner of his eyes when he feels like there is a person watching them and indeed, life smacks him in the face when he sees a guy looking at them, dancing slightly as he keeps his eyes on Ten’s friend. His gaze returns to the woman in front of him, clearing his throat. “There is a guy looking at you and he’s not bad looking.”

Most of the time, she is flattered by the subtlest of things, but this time around…when Ten really does think that she is going to turn back to look at the man that he is talking about, she doesn’t do anything impressive. It takes two steps forward for them to be even more together, her smile permanent on her features. “And? I came here with Ten, not with that guy.”

Now, the one who is flattered is himself and he is thankful of the dark room for hiding the blushing tips of his ears and the glistening cheeks that accompany her statement after it has been released to the world. Their world, in which only the two of them exist. “Oh, okay. I like that.” His bottom lip is stuck in between his teeth until he places his hands on the edge of her hands that are resting behind his head. “Do you want to slow dance? This is not how you normally dance in a place like this.”

Embarrassment takes over her features and she pulls away just the slightest, though her arms are placed on each side of his jaw. “It was your idea to teach me, so teach me.” For one second, he sees the mischief gleaming in her eyes and it is at that moment that he sees the power she holds over him, so capable of destroying his own world with her own sweetness. Sure, he is certain that she would never do such thing to him—not even absentmindedly—but she has invented this new part of himself that he can’t even recognize anymore. “Teach me a dance for girls.” The way she drags the world brings him a flashback of the time he sent her videos and pictures of him as a child, even though his awkwardness was eating him alive at the time, making him cringe at the reputation he was painting for himself. His fingers move her long earrings away from her face slightly before shaking his head.

“You said you would never mention it again!”

“But I’m a girl and I need to be taught a dance for girls.” Her lips pucker up slightly and Ten rolls his eyes, groaning when she laughs harder.

“It’s not funny.” He complains, though the smile on his face is his accessory whenever he is with her. This sweet, dulcet, overbearing taste in his mouth is obsessive and he hates it with his every being, knowing that if he gets too close he is going to become one of those people he used to groan at. What is more important, his pride…or whatever he feels for her, just not to say the name?

“To me, it is.”

His finger ghost over her waist, tickling her slightly before resting his hands there. “So mean.”

The worst part of it all is that he can’t get mad at her, not when she follows after his steps and does her best to become one with the thing he loves the most. At the end of the night, even when the electronic music is asking for loud stomping on the floor and loud cheering, he is simply slow dancing in the middle of a bunch of strangers, holding someone who holds the rawest, less known part of him and it’s so scary that he can simply smile through it, hoping that the devil of love never reaches him.

🍕

The beige curtains of his room move with the breeze coming from the air conditioner, to one side and the other, basically dozing Ten with an ounce of sleepiness, his eyes closing momentarily before he jolts awake once again, his fingers digging into the skin of the muscles on his legs, pained thanks to the huge amounts of practicing and the new motorcycle the boss at the pizza place had bought for the new delivery guy. Big surprise, the delivery guy got stomach sick at the end of the night and he had to run the last few errands at the shop while trying his hardest not to get into a crash.

Messily tied is his hair over his head and his phone hasn’t even vibrated with the hope of getting a ray of sunshine in his day. She said that she was busy earlier in the day, talking about a few projects from work that have only been piling up and she needs to get a signature from god-knows-who, meaning that she won’t even be a nice distraction from the night. Not even a distraction, Ten is genuinely worried about her…sometimes, she simply forgets to give herself breaks or she blames herself for a bad day, saying that anything that the world does wrongly is her fault. Some days, he wants her to stop giving so much and instead, asking something in return. Some days, Ten considers leaving his selfish ways behind simply to give her everything she deserves, which is exactly what she needs and desires. She is not perfect, perhaps too bright, too naïve, ready to take the lightning strike of the world only for the sake of settling well in people’s list of most loved people, but that is who she is…and Ten can’t say he doesn’t like it.

He really does like it, more than he prides himself on believing.

When he feels himself giving up on his stupid and useless self-massage, his ears make out the sound of his phone vibrating on his bedside table, but the call is cut short before he can even reach it. His fingers hook on the edge of the phone, unlocking it and trying to call the contact that had just called him, her name bringing worry immediately…that or the biggest feeling of longing. If they haven’t talked in a while, it has been even longer since the last time he saw her.

A text welcomes him after she hangs up the call, bright and straight in its delivery.

Sorry, I dialed the wrong number. Didn’t mean to bother you.

And of course, he replies:

You’re never a bother.

What he doesn’t expect, though, is for her to lie to him. Lie to him so innocently that it seems like the type of white lies a child would tell, something that she is not even good at doing. His alarm goes off obnoxiously, a tired breath going through his nose as he ponders when a day of relaxation is going to come by. All he has done for the past few years is dance and work, dance and work, in hopes of someday being able to do more than serving pizzas and concentrate on his dream, but as it turns out, he has not met that goal yet. His naked arms trail up until they rest over his eyes, right after snoozing the terrible sound that had filled the room, silky skin of his fingertips rubbing up and down his face, soon after patting on the surface of his bedside table, turning on his phone and being welcomed by the notification of a new voice message…and from the person who had said that had dialed the wrong number.

But he doesn’t have much time to listen to the long voicemail, so his phone rests peacefully over his bed as he starts to get ready for the day, the sound of her voice becoming background noise as he looks for a new pair of underwear, a fresh set of practice clothes for him to feel comfortable and in a minute, he must check if he packed his uniform inside his backpack—

“Uh, Ten, hi…I know you’re asleep by now…I actually didn’t want you to pick up.” The voicemail recalls, the sound of her laughter coming in nervous spurts. “Ah, I’m not brave enough to do this, but I’m doing it because I can’t actually lie and just—let me explain a few things first.” His weight leans against his closet, the fabric of the clothes he is going to wear for the day pressed to his chest. “You have taught me so much in the past few months. You taught me how to love myself past finding romance, you taught me that…guys aren’t shit.” He chuckles at her words, blinking softly at the device on his bed. “Okay, not really, I learned that myself. You taught me love isn’t real…and then, you…” A soft breath leaves her lips, shaky in its execution. “You told me one day I was worth loving, right, and from then on…I loved myself more. Sure, I wouldn’t say I’m all the way there…but…I realize my worth now and I was thinking one of these days that the only person I feel like is worth of all this mess I am, uh, it’s someone I know. That person is you, Ten.” His body moves forward when he hears those words, hands shaking as he grasps his phone in between his hands, frowning down at the name she is giving to what he thought was unwarranted. “It’s taking all in me to say this and you can ignore this, you can pretend I never said this and we can keep being friends after this, but I really wanted to ask you out on a date. Not when we first met, and I’m not doing it because I want a boyfriend. I’m doing it because I really, really, really, really like you as a person.” The sound of something shuffling in the background can only match the sound of jumping. Perhaps, she did that because she was nervous. “So yeah, that’s that. I’m here, I was going to tell it to you through the phone but I chickened out. I like you and I want to take you out on a date. Uh…you can call me, or not, that’s okay. Bye.”

That is so like anything he would have thought she would do when she likes someone. Cheesy, nervous, giggly and everything he used to hate. He can’t say he doesn’t despise love…because he does, and it will always be that way. He hates romantic comedies and love songs, but he also loves watching TV shows with her and singing to those songs as they walk around the city. In other people, it seems so utterly scary, so terrifyingly compromised that it makes him want to run away…but denying her a date is like denying her the heaven she deserves. The worst part is that his gift for ‘break-up season’, the season he enjoys the most because he can get a boost of his ego by proving he is right in his love theories, gave him a taste of his own medicine.

…The season of heartbreak proved him wrong. Or at least, everything seems far too peachy to ever end badly.

With a smile on his face and his body plopping down on the bed, he rings her phone, hoping that she picks up even if it’s too early to even be giving this call. The phone rings slightly until he hears her mumbling his name uncertainly, definitely sleepy as she does so, until he can’t even hide it anymore.

He’s not in love, but he likes her a lot…and that’s just enough for now. He is not going to spare himself the pleasure of trying it out.

“Where are you taking me, baby?”

February is break-up season, but June is the season of a new start for Ten.

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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Some liberal goof asserted that Ron DeSantis resided somewhere on the Asperger’s Spectrum in a recent tweet that I can’t dig up with just a cursory search, but said pinko tweeted that like it was a bad thing. It’s not. It’s a great thing, and we need more GOP pols with that condition’s political manifestation. People with Asperger’s tend to miss social cues and fail to respond as society expects, but many are also focused, driven, and generally amazing in their areas of interest. When you put those qualities together in a right-wing officeholder, that means you have a Conservative Terminator. Conservativing is what he does; it’s all he does.

So, bring on the Asperger’s Republicans.

Far too many Republicans, for far too long, have found themselves distracted and/or enslaved by the elite consensus, restrained by norms and conventions that the liberal elite demands we observe, but that it itself flaunts when those rules limit its options. These Fredocons care what people who care nothing about them think, and they find themselves responding to the outside stimuli of the garbage mainstream media instead of focusing intently on conservative change while disregarding the slings and arrows of the haters. When it comes to fighting the establishment, political Asperger’s is indicative of awesomeness.

And our next generation of Republicans needs to embrace their place on the Spectrum – the more inappropriate the liberal elite finds their reactions to its cues and signals, the better. No more tame, pliable sissies like Mitt (R-ish – Miracle Whip). No more of Nikki! Haley’s sucking up to the establishment while trying to grift the base by leveraging hack conserva-cliché’s from 2005 to present to us as hardcore instead of Jeb! in a dress. No more Kristi!s and Asa!s fronting as all tuff about men pretending to be girls to win races then folding the second the establishment disapproves. Instead, we need GOP politicians who are utterly immune to the siren song of a media and an establishment that seek to draw them in and crash them upon the rocks. Our pols need to ignore MSNBCNN and its hysterical horsehockey. They need to stop reading the NYT and WaPo and being scared that a bad write-up will get them uninvited to all the cool parties. They need to lock onto their target and take it out like an Israeli missile flattens a Hamas/AP frat house.

Look at Ron DeSantis – he just doesn't care what the bad guys say. Not at all. They scream that he won’t enforce face-diapering, that he’s too hard on election fraud, that’s he’s declared open season on those Antifa/BLM nimrods who trap normal citizens in their cars on public roads, and then DeSantis just goes ahead and does what he wants anyway. And it works – he’s super popular.

This was not Donald Trump’s style – Trump would engage the haters, if only to sock them in the gut, often with his apocryphal mean tweets. But not Ron the Conqueror. No, DeSantis’s accomplishments are his mean tweets.

See, the liberal elite always misunderstood the nature of Donald Trump, and the elite failed to appreciate the popularity of his ideas. In dealing the pain, Trump was the right man at the right time – we needed his punch-back then to show the simps we could counter-attack. But that strategy had a cost. The elite gleefully exploited Trump’s colorful antics, and it leveraged his feistiness into a weapon to energize the pinkos while alienating the softcons from fully supporting the most conservative president since Reagan. They focused on attacking Trump in terms of social class and style instead of in terms of substance. They couldn’t, and it’s only now that many people are noticing just how amazing Trump’s accomplishments were in contrast to President *’s unending series of failures.

The elite finds itself at a grave disadvantage when it comes up against a pol it can’t provoke into fighting on the elite’s preferred ground, the favorable terrain of social class and style within a culture the elite controls. An Asperger’s Republican has a relentless focus on conservative achievement, of doing what he/she wants done, and he/she is not distracted by the disapproval of the media or even his/her peers. An Asperger’s Republican simply does conservative things, heedless of liberal howling and calumny, and then the liberals are stuck having to battle on the hostile terrain of actual achievements. What is someone going to say to DeSantis as Florida leads the recovery out of the pandemic paranoia? “Sure, there was no tsunami of death when you took the lead in eschewing flu hajibs, but you still should have made people wrap a hanky around their mugs forever because of reasons?”

There’s a lesson there for Republican pols – and all of us.

Stop giving a damn what people who hate you think and say, and just do what you promised to do. Don’t ask permission – and don’t ask forgiveness either. Get it done.

This is where I must join the Spectrum Caucus because there are going to be some folks who pretend to be highly offended, outraged, and literally shaking over my analogy to Asperger’s and “The Spectrum.” To them, I say this: I don’t care if you’re offended. I am going to do and say whatever I want, all the time, in whatever manner I feel like doing and saying it, and you are going to sit there and cry. Buzz off.

We need more people saying things like that, especially among our politicians.

#kurt schlichter #townhall.com

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sole-cuore-amore-e-droga · 5 years

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Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Hungary to Eurovision with yet another father song apparently

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Hungary, I love you, but you're bringing me down...

Never in my life have I wanted to fight a NF as much as A Dal 2019. The lineup was considerably less engaging with me than the previous year's one (but in the end it turned out to be even MORE engaging than the previous year's one), the design update (to which I got used to like 10 minutes later anyway) happened, the jury exterminated a handful of favourites, and a common Eurofan's worst fear apart from not having at least one glitzy-schlager-fiesta-wrapped entry a year occured yet again - the under/over-staging of songs with potential. What could've been a smooth sailing sweet ballad sung by a man with all his heart turned out to be a confused fisherman's piano boy tune with little to no emotional connection with the televiewer; a killer electropop soundscape piece sprinkled with intensity, fragility and neon-like colors was supposedly performed by a lost-on-stage housewive who probably has 2 kids and 2 cats at home; and that one folksy melody set to campfire suddenly lost all its fire with a snow backdrop behind. Truly a wrong time to become a full-on Hungary stan.

And yet, out of all this hot savaging and rampaging mess, entangled with fan-fave losses and one eliminee too late thanks to a common ESC song's worst fear (plagiarism accusations), emerged one gloriously victorious soul in the shape of a brave man of gypsy 'origo' who once has been elected to Eurovision to make his country proud with his killer ethnic track 2 years ago, and he nailed that right to the T, with the help of an onstage dancer and violinist (both female) to create some space for the song to breathe and exhale the passion of what he sang out of his heart by then - Joci Pápai. Yes, him again! Who did you expect, András Kállay-fucking-Saunders??

Anyways, his song this year is titled “Az én apám” (My father), written by him and partially co-written by a man hiding himself behind the name Caramel (and I prefer caramel candy more than the actual raw caramel tbh), who is probably finally lucky enough to see a composition of his go to Eurovision after he himself couldn’t quite make it as himself right back on the very first A Dal. This year he also wrote a cute little harmless ballad for a 16 year old girl but we’ll discuss her later (maybe), because it’s Joci’s time. Again.

As the title already indicates, it’s another song about a father, and unlike for AWS’s lead singer, Joci’s father is... alive and well, surprisingly, considering Joci is 37 and, at the time of his fatherly loss, Örs Siklósi from AWS was approximately 24-25. That definitely does not mean the parents’ loss can’t come in at any time of your year - A Dal 2019 had a contestant whose mother was murdered when he was NINE. 0_0 Not to mention that some mothers die during childbirth, too. Or even maybe some fathers die before children were born because all they need to be in part of babymaking is to give her satisfaction at the right time and boom, 9 months (or even earlier/later) of wait. But I digress. This is much different song from “Origo” as “Origo” had this ethnic upbeat rhythm to it, with violins included, and was mostly a captivating song with a little bit of rapping because Joci couldn’t fit so many words in all of the other verses he could have thought of for this song without having to extend the song for A Dal submission, so he had to do the rap, sorry “Origo” rap bit’s haters. “Az én apám”, meanwhile, has him project his feelings against a musical backdrop of a little bit more softer, acoustic, chill tune with a little poppier arrangement (and add some violins during his live performance on two of the A Dal shows, that are now a permanent part of the ESC version of the song!). And instead of the Romani onomatopoeia we’re getting “na na na, ya ya yah” in the chorus, which is as nice, but I’d rather “jalomaloma” out some bitches than have this.

For this one, he’s all alone, on his own, except for the other songwriter’s aid (dare I say that this personal song’s lyrics weren’t even written by Joci himself??? Not even a microscope??? Caramel you mastermind you). But mostly on stage, he’s alone. And shoeless. And with a starry-ish backdrop. Simple enough staging for a simple enough song, right? As it’s proven that simplicity can work in the past Eurovisions (see Sobral), and maybe, just maybe, Hungary does stand a chance for once again for being just simple, like Boggie was (but mostly she was more inoffensive and singing about a topic that’s still beaten to death every now and then, although this topic has fizzled out lately, which paved the way to all the love songs dominating NFs now, as well as the Latino craze). Though I doubted it was gonna remain so “simple” after it was revealed the Hungarian team is looking for everyone’s fathers’ pictures to be submitted to them. Yes, it was supposed to be one of THOSE kind of backdrops. I don’t even know what kind of use did Michael Schulte have of the fatherpics people sent HIM! Most of the backdrop focused of his lyric video aesthetic on the choruses, and I remember more of THAT, not the photos... so I doubted it was gonna work out on this one either. But in the end Joci wasn't satisfied with how all of those pics looked, so he will go for only showcasing his very own papi now.

Oh shit I forgot to talk what I feel about the song myself... well, safe to say that I didn’t warm up to it when I first heard the snippet ahead of every other A Dal snippet, but as in full, it just so happened to be nice enough, although I preferred “Origo” because reasons - not to mention that looking back at the A Dal 2017 state that I’ve seen from, I’d probably have had Joci as a legit fave to win it! And I already found Tótova to be too strange at first, unsure if it’s worth it to give them a second shot (post-2nd-listening-note: I did and it wasn’t that... bad?). And so, with low enough expectations, I didn’t even look into his chances all that further, especially with him being sick on the heat 3 day and only managing to barely tie-win in his heat just so he could dominate further rounds. But man did it turn out to be a beast later on.

So let’s, for now, say that I like it, but it’s just one of those artist return expectations that let you down because you really wanted to maybe see them again, but there would never be another song like the first one. Time will probably make me forget it all happened though and I’ll be able to enjoy it as much as “Origo”, as the “na na na” chorus part is really lovely enough. The song though, it is bafflingly too much reliant on too long verses in order to make the song just only have 2 of them and 2 choruses, and for the person that is biased for ‘2 verses - 3 choruses - bridge somewhere in between’ kind of songwriting that I am, it’s lowkey a glaring problem (as I'm finishing this weeks later than initially planned I actually got used to this structure and it even slightly compliments the song, but only slightly), as “Origo” has not only an engaging song but an engaging structure - nothing seems throwable out, nothing seems needed to additionally to be added. This one, however, is just there with its structure, and although hearts and minds are swayed by this, I don’t think I’ll get used to it this as a whole easy, unlike, like I said, time makes me forget the NF messfest and focus my love and support towards those that ARE going, not those that COULD’VE BEEN going. For now, I am not sure if I finished my review rant this properly, but for now, I’ll just wish Joci the best of luck, eventhough he’ll 1) never read this and 2) never understand this :( But still ^_^ Don’t let your nation down, big man and a father of two!

Approval factor: Despite reasons I’ll detail a little later, I’ll approve this entry, as I can’t be mad enough at Joci, for the humble man that he exists as, and the message he’s spreading, and the man he teamed up with. I approve of him but not of the background things.

Follow-up factor: From substance things, let’s just say it’s a bit of a yes and a bit of a no. No because ‘omfg it’s too soon for him wtf!!’ and I agree but if that’s what the juries initially wanted after seeing him in the lineup, and this return of his is now a bit more unnoticed and anonymous... but yes because it’s not a bad choice after AWS, because it was to be expected Hungary will send something softer after going out hard the last time, and they delivered the softness.

Qualification factor: depends on how does the audience feel for this emotionally, if Joci transmits his love for his father and that other supposed message as well well enough to the audience, in this simple staging of things (well if the fatherpic concept is still considered as ‘simple’ and nothing too cheesy or creepy). For now though I’ll be optimistic enough for Hungary - they won’t break their streak this year. If this simple-ish enough staging with just the singer on it doing his best worked for our lovely Ieva last year (despite these two not being a comparable songs), this would as well! And then settle around in top 15 provided enough people are there to give Joci just the right amount of love and patience that he needs (jury is a different question but since it’s not ethno-aggressive I think they might warm up to this as well, despite this being Hungary). Or even 16th-20th.

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

A Dal 2019, with all things considered, needs to immediately die in a hellhole. Mainly because of the juries doing their dirty work by drowning the public favourites yet again, and especially the good ones (I've mentioned some of them earlier in the first paragraph by description). Let me demonstrate two of my favourites to the unsuspecting audience:

• Let’s get the elephant out of the room first. LEANDER FUCKING KILLS. Would you even think they’d have had any sort of victory of a NF potential?? Well, not off the AWS’s heels, considering both them and AWS play metal music. But their 2019 entry, "Hazavágyom", was something else. It’s if your dad went out with a couple of his friends to start a campfire somewhere in the woods, and then he took out a guitar because he remembered that he wanted to play something new he learned after listening to a lot of Irish folk music. And they all go off together - one rhythm drum, one guitar, the others jam out to the rhythm and create a fully-fledged campfire song, and a mysterious violinstress appears out of nowhere to help keep the party going. No really, it’s in the music video. Them being the most positive surprise of the lineup 2019 really melted my heart as I didn't expect so many people siding with another shade of their music. And even I started to draw myself into that song more and more, of how dancy and heartfelt it sounded with them decent lyrics about some sort of personal affection (maybe??), hoping that the jury will listen with their hearts and minds open to this Leander’s change of things and let them win the selection that way. But in the end... you know that Assi Azar quote. That’s right. And even so guess what - their first hurdle was their last. Sure, you can say they had a flawed live performance (no violinstress :( too rough vocals at the last chorus :((((((), but if you crush a future of good potential ahead, you’ll never know what might have you lost and how much would you have liked it better if things were slightly improved according to what you thought that needed to be changed in it. As it is for now, both "Hazavágyom" and Leander Kills ended up being robbed of Tel Aviv 2019. Hats off for trying, though.

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• And then we have this fantabulous guy down here, with the name of Gergő Szekér and his journey-like legendary folk-tale, written for us guys, to let the past go, just like a (little) bird, and keep what matters only - “Madár, repülj!” mesmerized me from its first snippet (with me additionally commenting on that he’s a nice guy somehow), and then the full version came - with some rapping, wavy electronic bassline (that we haven’t seen striving since last days of dubstep’s relevancy), great choice of instruments, THAT gorgeous way of singing this whole song - I was ready to run away from the disappointment I had from Leander’s flop and immerse in this song fully knowing that it’s gonna be ‘such a jury darling!’... but a-MOTHERFUCKING-las! The boi missed the mark by 4 points in the superfinal vote-up in order just to tie with the unexpected new jury darling that was even BEATEN by Gergő in the semi, Bogi Nagy (the 16 year old I mentioned earlier)... the last juror thought that shooting up Bence Vavra to the superfinal spot was a good idea, and I can’t blame him as Bence deserved to go to the A Dal final for the little that he has participated in, but NOT AT MY BOI’S EXPENSE. ;_; I truly doubt that at this day and age there’ll be anyone capable of filling in the Gergő shaped hole in my heart... well, I can certainly TRY cutting him out of me, but the pre-NF-hype-build, his song’s remix with his X Faktor’s friends and my imagination of him dancing in the Telavivian postcards and engaging with his new Eurofandom fam through live interviews will haunt me from here on end... ugh.

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And normally I hype up the NF participants that I supported last time previous year but then they become just artists for me and I wanted more of their song but not of the actual performer in Eurovision and therefore I don’t want them to ESC anymore, but if both of those above artists go to Eurovision at some point, I’m likely stanning both the hell out of their songs AND themselves, for who they are and who they stand for (hopefully nothing too controversial, we already have had a fanfave oppose gay marriage once so imagine a Hungarian A Dal winner doing the same at some point :O). Leander for his overall talent, Gergő for everything he is (and plus a little bit of mutual acknowledgment I’m gonna talk about later UwU bias is strong ahahaha).

Now with my sorrows out of the way, let’s highlight some more of this shit-fest:

• How the fuck wasn’t Dávid Heatlie’s staging a big meme during the season?? At least nationwide?? Seriously. “La Mama Hotel”, his actual entry, might not be too much of a standout (considering it’s just some by-numbers-synth-heavy song with its only major saving grace being a kickass guitar solo), and he did not perform all his best, BUT THE LAMPS. THE FUCKING LAMPS. Too many of them, and they’re slightly too oldfashioned, but so aesthetically-satisfying out of nowhere. If I were a moth, I’d immediately run to his lamps at any given time, and even stay with them after they’re eventually returned to MTVA’s stage props garage or to a Hungarian IKEA. Yes I know the moth meme is dead btw but so what?

Not to mention the guy himself is a bit of a meme in my eyes.

• I already discussed about this on my only one-time “Fanwank Assimilation” bulletin and I have no intent to reiterate all that I said from there on this one word-for-word but let’s go on anyway. Olivér Berkes, the hipster friend of Zävodi from A Dal 2017, returned on his own to win many more hearts with a soft piano/acoustic ballad “Világítótorony” (lighthouse), which couldn’t have been staged more... disconnectingly. To summarize, it’s somewhat of a love song inspired by a lighthouse symbol (quite literally lol), staged as if it was like fisherman taking care of one lighthouse himself, coming and going to do his thing. And like, there was no click with people that made Olivér stand out with something else other than just this ballad, like he did by constantly tele-qualifying with Ádám Szabó’s current girlfriend back in A Dal 2016 and being put in the superfinal with aforementioned Zävodi in 2017. His song itself was just a nice song and kind of a lot people liked it it seems, but I wasn’t really getting it until too much later on after Olivér’s heat was over, so I was surprised with his elimination, but my feelings I got from this song off my first impression weren’t disappointed over this. Check his performance here.

• Can I call Rozina Pátkai a highlight? You might have not heard of her unless you’re Hungarian and/or THAT into their jazz scene, as she’s big on there. This year though she has had a “noisy electropop” song through to the chosen 30 of the A Dal selection, and it was of the name “Frida”. Nothing was too bad until she also ended up having some unfortunate first-hand mis-staging. I did say at the beginning of this post that she kinda looked like “lost-on-stage housewife who probably has 2 kids and 2 cats at home”, and that’s just me not being fond of the outfit she got, though I don’t really imagine in better clothes, or do I? Nevertheless, the Rubik’s cube visuals of her pictures and bright pink lighting (where visible) looked great on her staging somehow (and the on-screen effects), just not the visual aesthetic of the singer’s. Witness it here. Also witness what I meant with the visual parts of things:

Triple woman?? now I’m scared

who’s this shocked gal in the background that got cubed???? UwU

curious woman telling you a bedtime story on TV

Sorry, these captions are a little too silly, but still. The jurors were alright with it except for one (and that’s also the one who killed Olivér’s chances too a little) and the televote was harsh (5 points, yikes, the lowest ever telescore of this A Dal year). Well, if it was studio, we’d probably see her through, but me personally, I saw it as a semifinalist at best when I first heard her song. Now I think it would have been decent enough for a final too maybe? As at least the chorus of this is good but I was never too hooked on the first verse as it always reminds me of the annoyingly soft indie pop that dominates the current music trends... well alas.

(Sidenote: maybe her moterly styling was dedicated to her future child she’s currently carrying? Yep, turns out Rozina is currently pregnant, just like one other A Dal contestant this year!)

• A personal highlight for me, besides that one time Gergő Sz. spoke out to an ESCBubble interviewer that “there’s this, like, a guy or a girl from Lithuania, and [he] said “yeah, I’ve some re-LAH-tivs [sic] ... in Lithuania and she was like *exasperated gasp noise* “Lithuania! Oh my God! We love you so much!”” (and for a matter of fact, it was me :) I’ve been only acknowledged once ever but the acknowledgement still exists!!), was discovering Fatal Error (and USNK but mainly just Fatal Error) before they entered A Dal 2019 with THE EXACT SAME SONG I FIRST HEARD OF THEIRS. Yeah. “Kulcs” music video featured Örs Siklósi, your favourite Hungarian screamer/singer, as a presenter rather than a part of the song, and a good-ass metal song did he present. And as the A Dal 2019 season rolled on at the beginning, Fatal Error were on my hyping target until some better songs came on and I didn’t feel like stanning Fatal Error’s song as much as I only stanned them because they’re here for the fans even more at even more times than I expected them to be - liking their comments on the band’s Instagram and Youtube posts - nothing against other contestants though (Leander included), if they have their lives to carry on and only sit down to check Instagram twice a week or so, it’s perfectly fine. :) I am quite sure Joci is probably like this also. Nevertheless, Fatal Error totally rocked, despite coming off AWS’s heels, and they’re at least encouraging other rock acts to come over to A Dal to open themselves to the world of many eager people discovering new artists every now and then. Just like the victory of AWS sort of did. Also one of the guys from that band said that their mother was delighted to see his band live, which brings us to...

• ...The Middletonz, a fresh new band for András Kállay-Saunders to leech on through next few A Dals now that the band of his name is no longer a thing. They, and yesyes, were the first ever fan favourites to emerge, mainly for sounding modern and having these artists people hate seeing back to A Dal only because of so many tries in the show, but happy to see back in hopes for them finally taking A Dal by their hands (and for András it’s a ‘finally AGAIN’ moment), but problems arose when the juries weren’t fond of both Middletonz AND yesyes, so much so that the frontman of the latter band spoke that he’s not coming back to A Dal again (unless he lies to us by coming back in 2022 or so). What amuses me more about The Middletonz, other than the song (which is fine for the most part, the D’n’B + acoustics mix is neat and catchy, but the beat drops harder than my will to live, and it IS bad (okay further listens later it’s not THAT bad but still... you gotta have had tried harder, men), is their nationality. Besides the hidden phantom member of the group that we never heard on any interview but appeared to be present (at least on the heat stage of the NF), here we have András, which is Hungarian-American, and his friend of the (nick)name of Slashkovic, which is Dutch-Iranian! That’s a colourful palette of double nationalities. And not to mention, despite it being a minority language, therefore a perfectly fine addition, some Russian language is heard in their song, courtesy of Slashko himself. That and on the A Dal 2019 final night Slashko had his parents watching him perform live for the first time... and based on the amount of years he has hidden that from his parents, it took him SO DAMN LONG somehow to reveal himself. Damn. Anyways, anyone up here to bet we’ll see András again, especially after him being reminded to “never give up” by one of his fans? Well, now that he has definitely seen Joci win A Dal twice on his both attempts, it’s highkey positive. Now with or without Slashko? We’ll see.

• The infamous plagiarism incident, which actually hung like a shadow on one of the contestants and those accusations probably scared him for life, and then the scandal outright knifed out a completely different contestant, Petruska (if you remember him from 2016, you know who he is), a little too late into the competition. If you were so certain his song sounded alike, you’d have either eliminated him in the heats or not accepted his song at all, which... maybe did sound like a Vampire Weekend song, I’ll let you judge.

I can’t be arsed to highlight anyone else because there was a lot to go after. Like, two young-bun A Dal acts that came from the same kidshow (different season though) and one did the song all by himself but couldn’t carry it quite as far despite his basic technotronic visuals, another was completely dependent on Caramel’s songwriting capabilities and fared WAY better than everyone else expected, tied-winning the heat with Joci, being the 3rd qualifier on the semi and beating Gergő Sz. during the superfinal vote-up by 4 points (and Feró’s endorsement lol). Yes the latter person I was talking about was Bogi Nagy. Have her song linked too if you want to listen to it. (I could have also talked about her sitting on a hula hoop and having a long extended projector dress to showcase her childhood pictures onto, but that’s just a song-saving gimmick in my opinion, and I don’t wanna waste my thoughts on her any longer tbh.) And USNK, those two that won X Faktor 2018, Soundcloud-rapped a song about HASHTAGS HASHTAGS HASHTAGS, gave a needlessly over-colourful stage show and took Leander’s spot of qualification to the semis through televoting (and additionally pissed me and borisbubbles off. Ya welcome for an indirect tag too!). Wow. But enough being a bitter Betty, I’ll have to let the bird fly until the next NF season and wait for some more eager names to cheer for, even if they don’t have an exciting “#háttérzaj” of nationalities. Until then, A Dal, my love...

#eurovision 2019 #tel aviv 2019 reviews #hungary 2019 #joci pápai #az én apám #hungary

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killingmebtob · 6 years

Text

Cross My Heart // Jung Ilhoon

Author: @killingmebtob // Fiq

Title: Cross My Heart

Characters: Jung Ilhoon

Summary: Hey, do you still remember the promise we made under the red sky eighteen years ago?

Author’s Note: A little something from the request box and partly inspired by SID’s <Uso>, enjoy!

18 years ago

The little girl laughed as she laid next to her childhood friend on an empty grassy field under the red sky. Hand in hand, they stayed silent for a while. However, she felt that he was buzzing with energy and soon enough, he stood up and started talking about their dreams for the future. She smiled happily at him, even though she did not really know what he was talking about. What is the future? What are dreams? For the little seven-year-old girl, she was only aware of the present. And this present felt right because she was next to him, as always.

Crossing her legs while she sat up, she reached her hands out and used both her thumbs and forefingers to make a frame, as if she was capturing him through an imaginary camera lens. She loved photography, and she was always in awe when her father took their photos. As he stood in front of her, she took everything in slow motion and grinned.

Under that red sky, she held up her pinky finger to him and promised.

“Well, when you’re big, I’ll only take pictures of you! Cross my heart!”

Present day

Sighing, I dumped the box of albums on the foot of my bed before throwing myself face down on the thick covers. Groaning against the sheets, I stretched my legs out fully before I rolled over on my back. I stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes before I felt my phone vibrated. Reaching out for it, I rolled my eyes at my friend’s text.

“Yeah, you better thank me,” I muttered to myself, grinning while replying to her.

Feeling a little energised now, I pushed myself off the bed and walked towards my laptop. Humming to myself, I woke it up and continued where I had left off yesterday. He stood in the middle of the stage, looking at the stage floor while smiling. Grinning to myself, I admired this particular shot. After a few attempts, I knew which angle was the best to capture that moment that would put the other fans in a frenzy. I adjusted the picture’s brightness, humming to their latest song as I worked. While it had been awkward at first whenever I edited my childhood friend’s shots, it was now second nature to me to bring out his best profiles. He was my pride and joy; my muse since eighteen years ago and the only one I would take pictures for.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips when I recalled the childish promise we made under a particular vibrant sunset. We were innocent once, we had thought we would always be together and that promises were meant to be kept. We had uttered our dreams that day but I guessed I was the only one who remembered the promises that came with it. After his debut in 2012, I had consistently attended every single live, concert and any events that featured his group. I ran his fan-page although I hid the fact that I was his friend. It was easier that way; haters could be savage at times to fansites. Besides, in public, I was always his fan before anything else.

Satisfied with the intended outcome, I uploaded it on my Twitter page before I switched accounts to my best friend’s fansite. She had fallen ill the other day and had requested my help to take pictures of her group’s activity earlier today. I relented after she had offered me dinner and a couple of drinks in return for the favour. I scoffed at that. Who would have thought that a promise over food would cause me to break my promise eighteen years ago?

I shook my head at the thought. Here I was, being hung up over a stupid childish pinky swear that I knew the other party did not remember. He had never given any indication that he recalled anything related to our childhood other than my personal embarrassing experiences. And perhaps, it was better that way, especially for his future. Childhood promises were a bittersweet memory because they can be meaningful yet empty at the same time. Sighing, I tried to distract myself from the memory of eighteen years ago. On some days, I really wished I could ask him if he remembered that promise we made under the red sky.

Suddenly, I heard someone entering the code at my door and I rolled my eyes, knowing instantly who it was. There was only someone who made this nightly visits because of his schedule and presently, he was the bane of my existence. With a beep, Jung Ilhoon came into my apartment, unexpectedly looking strung up. He walked in, slamming the door behind him and made a beeline straight to where I stood.

“What, can’t even afford a single hello?” I asked sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest.

He glared at me, fury radiating off him but I paid him no heed. Instead, I stared back and rose up to his challenge.

“What were you doing earlier?” he snapped, his temper rising.

“I didn’t know I have to report to you my schedule. Wait, let me go and get my diary,” I bit back, rolling my eyes while standing my ground. “Do you need the finer details as well? Like my lunch and toilet breaks?”

With a flash, he closed the distance between us. Reaching out, he pointed to my laptop whose screen was still on my friend’s fansite page.

“What is that?” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

I glanced behind me and shrugged, wondering why he was making a big issue out of it.

“A fansite page, obviously,” I drawled.

In anger, he slammed the screen shut and the force caused the table to shake slightly. Cursing him under my breath, I snatched the computer from under his hand and walked away from him. After placing it on my bed, I confronted the madman still standing by my desk. I stood by the doorway of my bedroom, too angry to pacify or even stand close to him.

“Look, what’s your problem! You came in, waltzing as if you own the house and you just man-handled my computer! I know you’re mad over something but that’s no excuse,” I exclaimed in an exasperated tone.

Ilhoon continued to seethe in anger, his glare burning holes into my eyes. Realising that I did not read minds, he took a few deep breaths before finally speaking.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what? You’re not making this easier, Ilhoon,” I spat.

“Our promise when we were kids!”

I blinked at his words, not fully registering them. Was he referring to that sunset eighteen years ago or…

As if he sensed that I was not comprehending him, he sighed angrily while running his hand through his hair. It took me a while to find my voice but when I did, I could only croak.

“What promise?”

“You promised me that you’ll only take pictures of me!”

Unable to control myself, I let out a bark of harsh laughter at the incredulity of the situation. Who was he to lecture me about broken promises when he broke his first?

“Grow up, Ilhoon. That was eighteen years ago and we were just kids then,” I scoffed aloud, waving a dismissive hand at his argument.

“Yeah, I can see that you’ve forgotten it clearly now. Guess I was the only one who was keeping it,” he rebutted, his temper rising as his fingers gripped at the edge of the study table.

“Hah! You broke it first and I was just meeting you halfway,” I shook my head.

A part of me was in disbelief at how childish our argument was but I was too riled up to even care.

“I never did!” he argued back.

“Yes, you did! I’ve been waiting, waiting for years for you to fulfill your half of the bargain, Ilhoon. And I’m done, I’m done waiting while knowing that you don’t give a shit about us,” I snapped, throwing my hands up in the air to articulate my point.

As if something in him snapped, he pushed himself from the desk and closed the distance between us. In my rage, I ignored the creeping fear and stayed still and unchallenged until he stood right before me. In this close distance, I was able to feel his fury emitting from every pore on his body but I was not about to let that get me. He stopped short, just an inch between us.

“I have never forgotten,” he muttered under his breath.

In a swift motion, he reached his right hand out and gripped my hips. He pulled me close and using his other hand, he held my chin and tilted it up. Before I could push myself off him, he pressed his soft lips against mine forcefully. As I gasped from the contact, he took the chance and angled his head to deepen the kiss. He became gentle, as if all of his suppressed anger had been released from that touch. His lips coaxed me to respond and too soon, I closed my eyes and gave in. He gripped my hips tighter and pulled me closer so that our bodies touched each other fully. I wound my arms around his neck and responded to his kiss with fervour, matching his pace and touch. I felt our breaths against each other and our soft pants filled the room. I felt him push as he directed me backward until my calves hit the box of albums on the foot of my bed.

That contact ended the daze I was in and I pulled away, panting heavily. But before I could extract myself, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into a deep embrace. Stunned, I stood still as I tried to get my mind to process just what had happened. Was I dreaming? Had I been wanting him for too long that I just imagined us kissing like two teenagers in heat?

With a sigh, he took a step back but did not release me. Instead, he held both of my hands while leaning his forehead on my shoulder. His breath tickled my skin as he spoke.

“I have never forgotten our promise,” he repeated softly. “I just keep thinking that it wasn’t time yet and… I thought you knew and you were waiting. It just wasn’t time yet, and we are finally growing after six years. But after seeing you today, at another group’s event, I just have to know if you still remember. If you are still waiting for me.”

“About today, I was just covering for my friend. It’s just for today ‘coz she’s sick,” I reasoned, my voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to break it. I just thought it won’t matter because I thought you didn’t remember.”

I patted his shoulder awkwardly as I tried to use my touch to convey my guilt and apology. With a sigh, he lifted his head and stared tenderly into my eyes. He cupped my cheek and with a small smile, he ran his thumb over my lips.

“Well, you thought wrong,” he stated simply.

18 years ago

Under that red sky, she held up her pinky finger to him and promised.

“Well, when you’re big, I’ll only take pictures of you! Cross my heart!”

Ilhoon stared at her, laughing at the sheer relief that there would be someone to support his dreams. Squatting next to her, he offered his pinky finger and made his promise.

“Then, when I’m big and rich, I’ll marry you!”

They linked their pinky fingers together, giggling at their first promise together. With a few motions, they sealed their deal. But before they went back home, they decided to spend a few more minutes together.

As they laid next to each other, their small fingers intertwined, he gazed up and made a silent promise to the red sky and to himself.

He would keep this promise. He would make her happy when he grew older.

He promised.

#btob ilhoon #btob #jung ilhoon #btob scenarios #btob imagines #btob fluff #ilhoon fluff #jung ilhoon imagines #jung ilhoon scenarios

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recalculatingthegenderwar · 7 years

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Feminists use Manchester bombing to push their ideology before bodies even cold

On May 22, 2017 at approximately 22:30 local time a suicide bomber set off an explosive at the Manchester Arena in Manchester, England after an Ariana Grande concert had finished. Current count has 23 killed and at least 120 injured.

More information is still coming out as the investigation continues. However, this didn't stop writers from Slate and Salon, no more than 24-hours after the attack, from using the bombing as a springboard to claim that not only were women and girls specifically target, but they are victims of massive societal oppression.

The Bombing at a Manchester Ariana Grande Show Was an Attack on Girls and Women" by Slate's Christina Cauterucci was (assuming U.S. Eastern Standard Time on the byline) published less than 6 hours after the bombing. Even now the true motives of the bomber are still being investigated, but 6 hours after the fact Cauterucci seemed perfectly comfortable suggesting the attack was in retaliation for pop-singer supposedly challenging the big, bad Patrichary.

"Like her pop-superstar predecessor Britney Spears, Grande has advanced a renegade, self-reflexive sexuality that’s threatening to the established heteropatriarchal order. If the Manchester bombing was an act of terrorism, its venue indicates that the attack was designed to terrorize young girls who idolize Grande’s image." [emphasis added]

Cauterucci even tries to subtlety weave in undertones of rape and slut-shaming:

Grande has long been the target of sexist rhetoric that has deemed her culpable for any sexual objectification or animosity that’s come her way. Her songs and wardrobe are sexy, yet she’s maintained a coy, youthful persona; the combination has led some haters to argue that she’s made her fortune by making people want to have sex with her, so whatever related harm befalls her is entirely her fault. [emphasis added]

It's confusing what Cauterucci is even suggesting here. Is she suggesting the bomber was some kind of misogynist Grande-hater? It doesn't help Cauterucci's point that attackers didn't appear to make any concentrated effort to harm Grande. The bomb went off after the concert ended, which makes sense if your goal is take out as many people as possible (people crowd together up as they rush for exists), but not if you are trying to assassinate Grande. Cauterucci even acknowledges that the attack didn't explicitly target women and girls, just a venue where there were likely to be a many women and girls:

"The victims of Monday’s bombing will almost certainly be mostly girls and women. The Grande fan demographic also includes a number of older millennial women, gay men, and general lovers of pop music, of course, but her live concerts are largely populated by tween and teenage girls and their moms."

Of course, Cauterucci doesn't have a break down of the gender ratio of the victims, because it hadn't (and still hasn't) been released. At the time Cauterucci published her article, the causality toll hadn't even been settled (Cauterucci's article still lists the death toll at 19 and the injury count at 50). Cauterucci doesn't even try to give us hard data about the gender/age makeup of the concert or Grande's fan base in general.

Salon article is worse

A Salon article entitled "Manchester was an attack on girls" by Mary Elizabeth Williams, is basically the same as the Slate article, but dialed up a few notches. It's more emotional, more bombastic and says even less. This is impressive, since (unlike Slate) Salon waited a full 19 and a half hours after the attack to publish this gem. Almost a full day!

Williams unconvincingly tries to show that young girls are constantly crushed by societal oppression and find brief precious moments of freedom in Ariana Grande's music.

"If you just happen to not be a girl or don’t live with girls, I want to tell you how truly spectacular they are and what they’re up against every goddamn day. I want to remind you what a refuge pop music is — music that speaks to you, without judgment. That makes you feel safe and joyful in a culture that seems to purposefully and ceaselessly try to tear you down. One that seeks to punish you for how you dress, that trivializes your interests and your icons, that obsesses over guarding your purity."

Williams mentions how some people wrote some not nice things on social media (with little evidence to back it up). Perhaps a high crime in the feminist world, but less concerning to most of us, especially when the subject is a deadly bombing. Williams article mostly boils down to 8-paragraphs of emotional venting about how wonderful and oppressed girls are:

"They are so, so strong, these girls — yes, these girls with their goofy Snapchat streaks and their mermaid hair and their willingness to love things unironically. Their courage and their grace would knock you out. And if you want to know what ferocious resilience looks like, take a look sometime at a young girl and her bestie, sharing a set of earbuds and dancing, in spite of it all."

Remember all of those terrorists attacks that targeted men

In all fairness, the attacker may have targeted the concert because it seemed like they would be many women and girls there (or maybe just because it was an event with lots of people). Unlike Slate and Salon, I'm waiting for the police investigation to be complete. I don't know the attacker's motivation. My point is that neither do Cauterucci and Williams, but that didn't stop them from writing their articles less than 24 hours after the bombing.

If the bomber was trying to kill a high number of women and girls, I imagine it was increase the perceived tragedy of the attack (because under "patriarchy" the deaths of women are seen as uniquely tragic for some reason).

Of course, Cauterucci and Williams really start going off rails by trying to spin the bombing into evidence of widespread oppression of women and/or girls. Here is a riddle for you. If bombing a concert where the fan base is likely mostly female is sexist, what is a shooting at club primarily catering to gay men? You would think Cauterucci and Williams might have asked themselves this question, since they both brought up the 2016 Orlando Pulse nightclub shooting in their articles as an example of terrorist/societal oppression.

Was that attack not specifically targeting men? 45 out of 49 of those killed were men (I can't find stats on the other 53 wounded). Now you might argue, that was because they were gay, not because they were men. I guess there just weren't any good lesbian clubs to shoot up. Maybe the bomber didn't mind women, just those pop-music fan women. But rather then splitting hairs over idiotic identity politics, let's have another example. How about the Charlie Hebo Massacre where attackers deliberately and systematically targeted men:

"After culling the women from the men, the victims were mercilessly shot at point-blank range, said Gerald Kierzek, a doctor who spoke to CNN after treating the stunned survivors."

""Sigolene Vinson, a freelance journalist attending the paper’s weekly editorial meeting, hit the floor and hid behind a partition but was grabbed by a gunman who pointed his AK-47 at her head. "You, we will not kill, because we don’t kill women. But read the Quran,” the gunman warned her, before repeatedly shouting “Allahu akbar” — Arabic for “God is great.”"

The Mirror seems to provide a slightly different quote from the attacker:

"She said the man told her: “I’m not killing you because you are a woman and we don’t kill women but you have to convert to Islam, read the Qu'ran and wear a veil.” She added that as the man left, he shouted “Allahu akbar, allahu akbar.""

Another Mirror article adds even more detail:

"She said Saïd Kouachi [one of the gunmen] turned towards the editorial room where his brother Chérif had shot Elsa Cayat[a woman], another Charlie writer, and shouted: “We don’t kill women,” three times. The men then left.""

Out of the 12 fatalities, Cayat was the only women. Furthermore, it seems one of the gunmen chewed the other out for killing her. It is unknown why she was the only female victim. There is suspicion that it may be because she was Jewish.

Feminists may counter these attacks don't count because they were committed by men. It doesn't matter. This is the problem with engaging feminist gender warriors. They treat the sexes like two sides in a war and one side (always the male side) has to be fault. You can't just blame ideologies or (God forbid) individuals. The point I'm making is that these terrorists attacks that largely targeted men were not considered sexist (and sexism was definitely not considered the main motivating factor), so there is no grounds to call the Manchester bombing sexist (especially when you don't know the motivation of the attacker).

The smart money is the attacker's motivate was Islamic terrorism. If so, then trying to cram the attack into a simplistic feminist gender war paradigm hinders seriously needed discussion about Islamic radicalization in the U.K.

More To Say

There is a lot more I could write about this because it touches so many nerves: how men are considered the socially acceptable recipients of violence, how tragedy is portrayed as uniquely tragic when it befalls a women("Earth destroyed - women most affected"), how men are genderless "victims" in a tragedy unless they are the villains, how feminists falls over themselves to defend an Islam that would destroy most of the basic freedoms Western women enjoy. Don't even get me started about the state of gender politics in the U.K. It's a country where vaguely defined "misogyny" has been made punishable by law and the courts punish men for rape after they have been found innocent.

There are also reports of a possible female accomplice in the bombings. What could this do the feminist narrative if it pans out?

However, I'll just stop here after pointing out that after the explosion, a nearby homeless man decided to take a break from enjoying his male privilege to help the wounded. But, you know, fuck patriarchy.