#as the heterosexual values were culturally pushed

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

societies that demonize children and child bearing when their population starts its dramatic decline and women still refuse to have children: 😮

[iwanthermidnightz]

To me, these articles responding to that opinion piece aren’t so much concerned with contributing to the conversation, but with jumping on a topic for clicks that has been blown out of proportion because it made some Swifties uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the actual subject the piece is about has been unbothered by it and taken a woman on her arm to the Golden Globes.

And before anyone tries to counter—yes. We all know why Travis wasn’t there. Yet she has other male friends and even Austin she could have taken with her. Or gone alone.

I think the real conversation should be why it’s ok to “obsess and speculate” over Taylor’s sexuality when it’s assumed to be heterosexual, but an issue to “obsess and speculate” over her sexuality when posited that she could be queer or that her lyrics have queer undertones (if that’s the right wording).

People speculated for SIX YEARS that she was married to Joe Alwyn and were very much recently speculating that Travis was proposing over Christmas. Someone on Deuxmoi speculated she had a miscarriage, which (in addition to the pushed marriage ceremony narrative) pissed Tree off and prompted a direct response. But hey, those are completely fine, because those are built around a heterosexual construct. (*sarcasm*)

Yet, when an article brings up queerness and Taylor Swift in the same sentence, based on words written a spoken and actions conducted by Taylor herself (who as we know, prides herself on writing her own lyrics), it’s suddenly “harmful speculation” or a “delusional obsession” by a group of people projecting their “fantasies” and sexualities on a woman who has said she is straight.

Yeah, all while placing herself smack dab in the middle of the (LGBT) community in YNTCD….when she could have been Ryan Reynolds in her own video.

But I digress.

I think what’s really harmful is when people like Misha Collins (for example) tweet at Taylor about the piece saying his DM’s are open if she wants to talk because “he’s been there” (when idk, she could just talk to Shawn Mendes, who her “associates” threw in traffic while voicing their dismay).

After all, a few years ago at an event, Misha himself said:

"By a show of force, how many of you would consider yourself introverts? How many extroverts? And how many bisexuals?" Then said “I’m all three”.

He later “apologized” calling it “clumsiness of his language”. Saying his intent “was to wave off actually discussing my sexuality”, but he “badly fumbled that” and understood that it was seen as him coming out as bisexual.

So….here we are. Bisexuality (in the queerness family tree and used among the words “extrovert” and “introvert”) is being posed as “clumsiness of language”.

It’s just interesting to me how people use “obsession” and “speculation” in context of sexuality.

I very much agree. Thank you for putting this into words.

The most concerning part (and this has been the case for years and years) is how comfortable people (usually straight) are with accusing queer people of a whole slew of problematic accusations rooted in their ignorance and unwillingness to understand queer experience, culture and history, and their obvious intent of trying to hurt and gaslight an already vulnerable community with the most malicious rhetoric. It tells me the views/experiences of the lgbtqia+ community are not valued. At least not as much as heteronormative standards.

Like the guardian article mentioned yesterday,

“the entertainment industry is perfectly fine with its biggest stars flirting with LGBTQ+ imagery. It’s fine with its biggest stars draping themselves in rainbow flags and making statements about allyship. Dare to suggest that those stars might actually be gay, though, and you’ll see quite a lot of old-fashioned homophobia coming out.”

Moral is, it’s clear society is ok with using queer culture when it’s beneficial, and at the same time using it as a scapegoat when they feel threatened by it.

It’s the double standards and hypocrisy for me. It’s exhausting.

[she-is-ovarit]

Hey, I hope your day is going well. I just wanted to say that I really value your perspective on women-specific issues, especially as it relates to transgender people. I have begun doing my own digging/research into this growing trend and found it concerning and disturbing. I have spent the last chunk of time reading your long posts and opening up some JSTOR resources to read myself. I'd like to read more concrete, primary info about Hirschfeld and Gohr...whatever his last name was. Do you know where I could access that?

Also, if you have any other primary reading, I'd love to take a look at that.

Thank you!! ❤️ (I also sent this in a DM, but then noticed you may not see it)

Hi - my apologies for what was likely a long delay, I have been on hiatus from Tumblr.

To be honest, surfing through research databases is probably your best bet, using their names plus any keywords you're wondering about. There is also a book published that at the very least mentions a bit about Hirschfeld - I haven't read it. It's called "Racism and the making of gay rights".

Malcom Clark seems to have gone down a research path about Hirschfeld. Treat this more as an opinion piece and follow the links: https://malcolmrichardclark.substack.com/p/transing-theholocaust

Something in addition to these men that I have found - even Dr. Hamburger, the sexologist who transitioned the first U.S. man (Christine Jorgeson) and fanned the flames in popularizing transsexual surgeries after he published 400 letters to his medical community (likely without the consent of the patients) by homosexual people asking to transition (and do keep in mind the 1950s was a severely homophobic time period), was also very much a eugenicist. He was also another sexologist performing "sex changes" in Germany.

Chrstine Jorgeson was a homosexual man who disavowed homosexuality due to his patriotism.

"A dual concern to cure the deviant individual and to protect society was echoed in the paper (“Transvestism”) which Jorgensen’s Danish clinicians, Drs. Christian Hamburger, Georg Stürup and Dahl-Iversen, wrote for the Journal of the American Medical Association in 1953. Preben Hertoft and Thorkil Sorensen who have studied the medical files and interviewed psychiatrist Dr. Georg Stürup claim that “the original intention of the medical team was not to change a man into a woman, but to help a man who suffered from his homosexual impulses” (167). Hamburger and his colleagues revealed their anxiety about homosexuality when they commented: “At any rate, from a eugenic point of view it would do no harm if a number of sexually abnormal men were castrated and thus deprived of their sexual libido.”"

This source also explains how the culture changed for the patients seeking these transsexual surgeries, too. Originally the trans patients (overwhelmingly male) still considered themselves as gay men and wanted to be considered as gay men - just simulating the appearance of a woman. It was in the 1960s or so that conservative doctors began pushing that they were never the sex they were born as to begin with because they believed it was the only way that this subset of patients would be able to live "fulfilling heterosexual lives".

https://www.jstor.org/stable/43308827

[subternia]

I try not to engage in sawnik discourse but like sometimes I'm trying to prevent myself from thinking that pushing for sega to make one of the most popular straight ships canon isn't the most lame ass shit ever.

For a more nuanced explanation It'd be far better for him to accept her feelings and still choose to reject her, bc he just doesn't feel that type of way w her. Sonic as a character is akin to a force of nature. While he does accept the importance and value of friendship, he still chooses freedom above all else. I also don't really trust sega ( on the en side of things from what I've seen ) to develop their relationship in any meaningful way, as most of sonic's character has been altered or rewritten for the past 30 years now to varying degrees of success. Sonic's character doesn't and hasn't worked best when he's written in proximity towards a love interest because you'd have to delve pretty out of character for it to substantially work. I think if they were to work on sonic and amy's dynamic it'd be in the context of their friendship, because that's where all the interesting bits lie. Also if I'm being real here, having the most culturally unchallenged type of relationship ( that being heterosexual ) getting confirmed by a videogame company would barely if ever spark an insane meltdown within the larger fanbase like be fucking fr.

TL;DR I hate love sorry. ( slash jay )

[keeleyfoster]

Men Who Hate Women & The 'Snowflake' Generation.

“‘Snowflake Generation’ – is a term used to mock their perceived intolerance and easily offended nature” (Haslop, O’Rourke, & Southern, 2021, pg 2). This weeks reading,  #NoSnowflakes: The toleration of harassment and an emergent gender-related digital divide, in a UK student online culture” focuses on the issues circulating around online harassment and the gender related digital divide. Data was collected by UK students to analyse the impact of online harassment on students and the emergence of a gender related digital divide. 

80% of students were found to have experienced some sort of ‘online harassment’, but what exactly is online harassment? Haslop et all, defines online harassment “as threats or other offensive unwanted behaviours targeted directly at others through new technology channels (e.g. Internet, text messaging) or posted online for others to see that is likely to cause them harm, unintentionally or otherwise” (Haslop, O’Rourke, & Southern, 2021, pg 1420). The authors underline that the high prevalence of online harassment is especially concerning since it can inhibit people from wanting to participate in online discussion, especially women and other marginalised groups. (Haslop, O’Rourke, & Southern, 2021). Women and non-binary students were found to be more affected and targeted by online harassment and thus, less likely to participate in online spaces to reduce the risk of harassment (Haslop, O’Rourke, & Southern, 2021). This ‘fear’ is what has unfortunately lead to a gender divide, which Haslop et al describes as ‘forms of stratification’ (Haslop, O’Rourke, & Southern, 2021). These ‘forms of stratification’ develop in online spaces to solidify inequalities between different online groups. 

Men have dominated the creation of digital technology and digitised environments, which has contributed to the reproduction of gendered disparities in these contexts, for example, platforms such as Reddit, an online discussion forum, have been found to cater their algorithm in ways that prioritise White, Heterosexual males (Haslop, O’Rourke, & Southern, 2021). This explanation/example is enough to understand why women and marginalised groups often fear to speak freely, and when they do, they are targeted, it is because they are involving themselves in a space literally catered, designed and favoured for men. 

Funnily enough, ‘The Manosphere’ was created by men, and consists of a loosely defined network of online communities that are typically male-dominated and characterised by anti-feminist, misogynistic, and far-right beliefs (Bujalkagence & Rich, 2023). The Manosphere perpetuates harmful attitudes and stereotypes towards women, but is accepted as a place that connects ‘lost’ and ‘lonely’ men due to romantic rejection, alienation and loneliness (Bujalkagence & Rich, 2023). The Manosphere thrives off the power in putting women down via humiliation and exposure. For example, doxing, which involves the publishing of someones personal information, is utilised in a way to shame, intimidate and silence women who speak out against their values and beliefs (Bujalkagence & Rich, 2023). These attitudes just contribute to a horrid culture of misogyny, which makes it extremely difficult for women to speak freely in online forums without fear of harassment or even abuse (Bujalkagence & Rich, 2023).

Publics figures, such as Andrew Tate, drive this mentality in groups like ‘The Manosphere’. Tate gained large amounts of attention last year after being banned from using most major social media sites, as a result of  pushing an array of extremely aggressive sexist, misogynistic and anti-feminist ideas, which were intended to stir up controversy and bring attention to his brand (Bujalkagence & Rich, 2023). His ideals consist of things like, women are inferior to men and women should only be valuable for their sexual availability. Tate’s involvement in online forums and his ability to blame women for men’s problems have played a vital role in gaining him millions of followers and dollars (Bujalkagence & Rich, 2023). 

Unfortunately, de-faming or taking away people like Tate’s platforms will not resolve these problems, as someone who idolises Tate’s beliefs will pop right in to take his place. Terms like, ‘Snowflake’ are used in a way to silence women from speaking up for themselves in online communities which have been proven to cater directly to men. A digital gender divide will continue to progress due to the fact men will always find a way to blame women for their own anxieties. As a result of this unequal involvement in digital communities, populations are unable to properly interact with and benefit from online communication, information, and citizenship. 

References

Haslop, C., O’Rourke, F., & Southern, R. (2021). #NoSnowflakes: The toleration of harassment and an emergent gender-related digital divide, in a UK student online culture. Convergence, 27(5), 1418–1438.

Ben Rich and Eva Bujalkagence (2023)  'The draw of the ‘manosphere’: understanding Andrew Tate’s appeal to lost men',Links to an external site. The Conversation February 13.

Artsy, A. (2023). How Andrew Tate sells men on toxic masculinity. [online] Vox. Available at: https://www.vox.com/culture/2023/1/10/23547393/andrew-tate-toxic-masculinity-qa.

[talenlee]

Queerphobia In Cobrin'Seil

Everyone in Cobrin’Seil is queer to any extent that word can mean anything in talking about my D&D setting. This is not because when you make a dude in that setting part of the character creation setting is ticking the backstory box that, at some point, he has sucked some dick or whatever, but rather is instead because Cobrin’Seil is a world where heterosexuality as you understand it was never invented.

And boy oh boy that right there opens a door, doesn’t it.

The ‘invention’ of heterosexuality is one of those terms that can confuse people because people don’t tend to think of these things as being invented. Cultural practices and roles are often things that we see as being obvious outcomes of a natural phenomena in our world, and that means we wind up imagining them as absolute and natural. That’s something really useful to cultural practices and they can create weird alienating effects when they’re demonstrated as not obviously true.

If you’re ever curious to see a different non-sexy example, ask a white person about bidets or lota. Or you know, capitalism.

Point is that when I describe ‘heterosexuality’ and refer to it as ‘invented’ I don’t mean that nobody was having boy-on-girl banging because nobody came up with the idea and the idea was invented a hojillion years ago just in time to save whatever species did that from extinction. That’s animal behaviour, putting dongs in hoohahs is a thing we’re all very used to doing as organic entities. So much so that there are a lot of animals that will try and do it with anything they interpret as a hoohah, even if it’s, say, a beanbag.

But that’s non-cultural practice, that’s things doing things transcendant of the way those actions are regarded by other members of their group. Chances are very good if you’re reading this, you share a cultural space with me on this point; you’re almost certainly going to be carrying around in your head a set of bigotries and affordances that people can have around heterosexuality, even if you don’t comply with them or value them, because the British Empire was really good at exporting its specific heterosexuality and then America refined that heterosexuality through most of the same cultural connections. The model of heterosexuality we’re talking about here isn’t even unified across that stretch of history either – non-heterosexual behaviour was tolerated extensively across chunks of both American and British culture but publically advocating for and talking about that practice was seen as vulgar (and was illegal).

What is socially accepted is determined by what is excluded from that acceptability. In our world, that acceptability tends to be tied to a serious academic structure, which is also a thing that had to be invented and if you read in your history enough you’ll find a lot of it ties back into the publication of a work by one dude, Richard von Kraft-Ebigg, who died in 1902. That’s where we get some words you may think of as ‘normal’ words, but which were Latin terms he crafted and put into a German book and we adopted them wholesale. Homosexuality, for example, or sadism. Or analingus.

We use that one every day right?

It’s also a moving target. Back in the 1920s, homosexuality wasn’t ‘has sex with men exclusively,’ it was ‘so obsessed with sex it formed a morbid fascination’ and that that focused on sex with men. Heterosexuality at that time was seen as an equally morbid fascination, a pathologised interest in straight sex. Ten years later, it lost the idea of being an obssession with it, and got the name ‘normal’ sex in the dictionary.

(You can dig into this more by reading Jonathan Ned Katz’s The Invention of Heterosexuality, if you want).

Point is, heterosexuality as you and I us the word had to be invented and named. It is a cultural practice with a meaning and associated values and expectations and at no point did it get pushed into existence in Cobrin’Seil. The word probably exists but maybe it doesn’t, and when a player uses the word to express an idea through their character, they’re expressing a different idea with different weights and vibes in the context of the cultural space they’re living in.

This kind of misalignment between player and character happens all the time. A character asks someone something and they don’t understand you so you try again in Elvish. A player doesn’t need to speak Elvish to make that linguistic hop and yet that player is completely unable to use the Elvish language appropriately. The layer of fiction smooths this over.

This doesn’t mean that a player character in Cobrin’Seil reacts to the word ‘heterosexual’ like it’s a macabre outcropping from an alien universe. It probably has some useful cognate in the world, some idea like ‘oh my primary interest is in one of the major dominant genders of my culture that I don’t share,’ and we just roll over the gap there without any need for a contextual language report. But what it also means is that no character feels the need to explicate whether they are gay or straight because in the universe that is not considered an element of culturally expressing a normal persona. You might tell someone you’re straight or gay because you want them to know your personal preferences, but that’s something that they should only really care about if the conversation is about you having some access to your interests.

Basically, in Cobrin’Seil, the assumption is that ‘people have sex with other people’ and that’s about as specific an assumption you can make. It is not the same thing as we live in, because even in our own world homosexual and bisexual and pansexual behaviour are presented as concepts in opposition to a norm, and only need definition in the context of them being behaviours that need distinction.

This means that queerphobia in Cobrin’Seil is not any kind of stated default: there is no ‘normal’ for queer people to be functional rebels against. There may be communities and spaces where queerphobia arises, but those spaces by definition are going to be insular and weird and not places with widespread state power. You can have a queerphobic space to start from but when you get into the wider world of Cobrin’Seil, you’re always going to find that the world you’re in isn’t like that.

What about the Bernean Lodges, eh, though? You, Talen, after all, invented that place (and low key named it after a church you visited) and it’s meant to be oppressive fundie churches that patrol each other. Surely they’re a bunch of homophobes otherwise how else would you, the author, get cathartic joy out of hunting them down and knifing them in the head? Well listen, first, I can be violently opposed to religious bigotry on a number of axes that draw a visceral fictional thrill out of brutal retaliation, but also the Bernean Lodges are by definition isolated communities of weirdoes. Any given Lodge has a set of inexplicable faith guidelines that they are sure are the unique and true explication of divine will in the face of the apocalypse. They’re perfect for this kind of setup.

What about the Church of Olifar in the Eresh Protectorates? They’re very Catholic in their Holy City and their Bishops and Prelates? Aren’t they likely to have some of that same vibe? Well, the Church of Olifar’s vision on these things tends to be a little more Pauline. “Look, pursuit of the divine is the best thing. But also if you can’t just spend all your days in cloistered prayer, and you need to do things like eat, I guess that’s okay. And if that means you need a job I guess that’s okay. And I guess if you’re lonely, that’s okay to have partners. And I guess if you’re really into partners, that’s okay.” Or, perhaps, “Sure, sex may be great but have you ever spent eight of your days in deep fasting and meditation on the nature of the divine, bro?” It’s a faith system that’s a lot more about claiming there is an ideal minimum amount of sexuality, but it’s also way too widespread and pragmatic to actually enforce it.

Imagine one of those cathedrals but all the stained glass windows are ace flags.

Plus, there’s the church as most people see it and the church as its own doctrine sees it. Most Eresh Protectorate citizens are pretty sure that the church’s positions line up with theirs, because it’s just not vital to the doctrines they teach most of the time, because, again, talking about sexuality in an attempt to enforce a ‘normal’ isn’t a thing that happens in the setting.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#CobrinSeil #DungeonsDragons #Games

[sexstories-101]

Why are there sexual cartoons?

Hentai and other sexual cartoons serve as extranormal stimuli that arouse people's sexual desires. Men's sexual inclinations, in particular.

David Buss, an evolutionary psychologist, argues in his book The Evolution of Desire that evolution imprinted men and women with specific impulses for seeking mates. Such instincts were developed in response to the problems we experienced in our evolutionary context and have largely remained within us (evolution is slow and steady).

Because evolutionary success is dependent on passing on one's genes, ancestral men developed to value women who could bore children, whereas ancestral women valued men who had the status and means to care for children. Because there were no fertility clinics in the ancient savannah, men had to rely on other techniques to find appropriate mates. They relied on their vision.

"Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder," Buss adds, "but those eyes and the minds behind the eyes have been fashioned by millions of years of human development." "Because physical and behavioral cues give the most potent observable proof of a woman's reproductive worth, ancestral men acquired a preference for women who exhibited these indicators."

Youth, health, and social status are all visual cues that indicate reproductive value. In summary, men are hardwired to want attractiveness in their partners. While attraction varies by culture, some typical characteristics include "full lips, clear complexion, smooth skin, clear eyes, glossy hair, and good muscle tone, as well as behavioral characteristics such as a bouncy, young walk, an energetic facial expression, and a high energy level."

Hentai sex amplifies these visual clues to eleven. The female protagonists in these films take the natural cues that males have evolved to seek in mates and push them to levels that are not sustainable in nature. They are essentially polka-dotted eggs for the heterosexual male mentality.

Consider Jazz Age sex symbol Betty Boop to keep us in SFW territory. Boop checks all of the boxes that Buss highlights as indicators of men's reproductive and health value. Her complexion is silky, her lips are thick, she has terrific muscle tone, and her eyes are huge and clear. She's effervescent and exudes a lot of bubbly, youthful energy.

In truth, her youth is an unnatural extreme, with features stretched to ridiculous, neotenic proportions. Her head is enormous, her legs are too long for her body, her arms are too short, and her hip-to-waist ratio prevents her from walking. A real-life Betty Boop surviving puberty would be considered a medical miracle. She has survived as a sex icon in cartoon form for nearly 100 years.

If you think the phenomenon is limited to illustrations, think again. According to one study, even high heels can generate an abnormal response.

 If you are looking for motivation to enhance your sexual drive.

Kindly visit https://porno19.com/ a Vietnam porn website about hentai sex movies

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number) 

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

*    *    *    *    *    *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter. 

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat. 

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society. 

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’  his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room. 

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck. 

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin. 

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

 Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips. 

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had. 

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango. 

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion).  The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere. 

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it. 

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’ 

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough. 

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did. 

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother. 

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat. 

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door. 

 Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be. 

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company. 

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants,  and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.  

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel. 

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already. 

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.” 

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like. 

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy. 

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation. 

Right? 

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy. 

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table. 

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon. 

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants. 

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny. 

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could. 

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again. 

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared  trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin. 

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class. 

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go. 

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.  

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’. 

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence. 

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said. 

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement. 

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.” 

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible. 

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked. 

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited. 

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible. 

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another. 

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart. 

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent. 

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.” 

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy. 

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.” 

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully. 

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”  

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be. 

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her. 

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest  as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer. 

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning. 

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him. 

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked. 

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home. 

His home. 

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture). 

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too. 

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did. 

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number. 

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room. 

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise. 

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her. 

“Oh my god!” She said,  “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with.  She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’. 

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’. 

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm.  The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow. 

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up. 

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf. 

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.” 

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.” 

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.” 

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three. 

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said. 

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n. 

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her. 

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.” 

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck.  Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements. 

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm. 

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous. 

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing. 

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”  

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram. 

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added. 

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?” 

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma. 

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time. 

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates. 

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat. 

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store. 

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should. 

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage. 

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead. 

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance. 

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way. 

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day. 

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that. 

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning. 

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart. 

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down. 

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content. 

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.    

It’s no use. 

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true. 

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be. 

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him. 

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier. 

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin. 

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible. 

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy. 

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips. 

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay. 

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day? 

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look. 

“Back again so soon, H?” 

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop. 

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.” 

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said. 

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal. 

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and- 

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart. 

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?” 

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off. 

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove. 

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.” 

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.” 

 It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence? 

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.” 

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.” 

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out. 

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle. 

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly. 

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice. 

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like. 

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.” 

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.  

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance. 

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought. 

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).    

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling. 

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.” 

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!” 

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles. 

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!” 

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all. 

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else. 

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time, 

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.” 

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s  side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands. 

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm? 

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.” 

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose. 

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.” 

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her. 

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.” 

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum. 

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face. 

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body. 

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything. 

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers. 

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes. 

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning. 

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole. 

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum. 

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.  

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?” 

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-” 

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists. 

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?” 

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.” 

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning. 

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching. 

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?” 

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center. 

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?” 

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.” 

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent. 

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling. 

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.  

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning. 

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom. 

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.  

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds. 

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface. 

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves. 

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button. 

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like. 

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut. 

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock. 

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her. 

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself. 

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm. 

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge. 

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base. 

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum. 

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum. 

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out. 

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again. 

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body. 

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads: 

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name. 

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

[carpathxanridge]

so my mother has been taking a digital sexual harrassment seminar for her work over the past few days and she noticed something disturbing and infuriating:

all of the example situations thus far have been of female perpetrators. two were heterosexual, one homosexual.

and i understand where this push is coming from. they believe it would be “sexist” to imply that only men are capable of sexual harrassment, and they want to drive that point home. and in past years, they typically achieved this by alternating between examples of male and female perpetrators, something i would argue is still wrong because it is demographically inaccurate. that in itself implies that workplace sexual harrassment is not a gendered issue, when we know it is.

but for all of the examples thus far to be of female perpetrators? the only possible motivation behind that is to preserve men’s comfort, and avoid putting the onus on men where it belongs.

and i recognized a similar disturbing trend in my own school’s sexual harrassment training when we were forced to watch wildly offensive and euphemistic Tea Consent video. if you haven’t already been subjected to it, I’d encourage you watch it and see for yourself how it implies that men who commit violent sexual assault on unconscious women are simply confused! if only we presented information on what constitutes violent rape in a way that were easier for them to digest and understand, then of course they wouldn’t do it!

i dont think i need to explain why it’s rape culture to talk to college aged men about consent as if they are children, as if they simply don’t understand consent and would never willingly violate it, when college campuses have a sexual assault epidemic and so many of the perpetrators are excused harsh sentences or any sentences at all on account of them being young and “making a mistake.” not only is the video itself an offensive analogy, but it refuses to name the issues: of male violence, male sexual entitlement, rape. it values the comfort of the male audience over women’s realities.

not to mention, my mother told me that the first situation her seminar portrayed was one of revenge porn. over 80 percent of the victims of revenge porn are female, and there’s gender disparity in the type of revenge porn men and women face—women face public humiliation and violation, having their images posted to myriad public forums and often facing doxxing, death threats and harrassment as a result, whereas men more often face financial extortion. to pretend that revenge porn isn’t a gendered issue is grossly offensive.

if i werent already so disillusioned id say i can’t believe we’ve really reached a point where sexual harrassment seminars, with supposed aims of education and workplace abuse prevention, seem more concerned about not seeming sexist against men than they are with demographic accuracy and actually naming male sexual violence.

[woman-loving]

I don't think "everyone is bisexual" means every single person desires relations with both sexes.

What I do think it means is: If we define bisexuality as the potential to have interest in someone of a particular sex, which we do, then that implies everyone is bisexual since preferences radically change all the time.

So monosexism is the push-back against the bisexual model of human sexuality. A homophobe having sex with all the women to prove himself doesn't actually negate his bisexuality and that scares him. It destroys a hierarchy.

don't mind me just spilling my thoughts

No worries, though that's not how I think about it.

In the first place, I don’t use the framework of “monosexism” at all. There also doesn’t need to be a strict separation of heterosexuality and homosexuality in order for their to be a hierarchy. In this example of the homophobe failing to prove unwavering heterosexuality, I see the inability to finally dispel the specter of homosexuality (or gender failure/transgression more generally) as a useful feature within patriarchy. When a man can never decisively demonstrate that he is a Correct Man, he may need to actively perform Correct Manhood by e.g. denigrating or distancing himself from women and gay men, in order to avoid opening himself up to charges of gender failure. (See more thoughts here, and in the linked article.)

So I don’t see that kind of open-ended sexual possibility as automatically having an anti-patriarchal value. Additionally, there are forms of normative patriarchal manhood that allow for sexual contact with other men or boys in certain ways, which still maintain hierarchies among participants. Arguably, Correct Man is allowed to be sexually aggressive to gay/GNC/subordinate men without that necessarily tarnishing his Correct Manhood credentials. Patriarchy is more elaborate and flexible than just a demand for unswerving heterosexuality.

I think the stigma against bisexuality is complex, and can have nuances to it particular to its source (e.g. straight men, straight women, gay men, lesbians). But I tend to think it’s more a byproduct of gender dualism, rather than a heterosexual/homosexual or monosexual/bisexual dichotomy. (See here and here.)

I don’t think it’s very meaningful or useful to say that everyone is bisexual. First of all, if we’re imagining some basic human potential and capacity for change and unpredictability, I don’t think “bisexual” is a good word for that. And it’s not true that that’s all anybody ever means when they describe themselves as bisexual. A lot of people use it to mean a more relevant, sustained, and acknowledged pattern of interest in either men or women, and/or a more regular sexual/relationship practice that includes partners of different genders. Those characteristics aren’t universal.

I also think that there’s a big element of (interacting) social/cultural and personal meaning-making that goes into the formation of our selves as subjects. “Being” gay or bisexual is not just about potential or behavior, but can also include certain affiliations, engenderments, and particular understandings of the meaning that all these things have in our lives and selves. It’s not useful to say that everyone who’s had same-gender sex is gay or bisexual, because same-gender sex just doesn’t have the same meaning at all times.

Similarly, the nebulous potential that our future erotic-relational-sexual selves might be radically, unrecognizably different than what we expect doesn’t have a whole lot of relevance to most people, and it doesn’t need to have a single meaning i.e. that a person “is bisexual”. Even if such a radical change were to take place, the result wouldn’t automatically be a straightforward bisexuality. For example, if a person went from only being interested in men to only being interested in women, is this an expression of bisexuality or a switch between gay and straight?

To be honest, I think it would be pretty cool if we could give more recognition and value to the potential for radical change. But it would need to be accompanied by a value system that doesn’t use that potential for change as a pretext for dismissing a person’s current (and projected future) boundaries and self-understanding, or for dismissing meaningful parts of their past. (I’ve touched on this issue in several places: here, here, here, here, here, and in section VI here.)

[justice4sasuke]

Sasuke's journey was meant for him to become a chauvinistic lapdog, though. I could get why people wouldn't be satisfied with and care about Sasuke.

Oh honey you came in here on the wrong day let me tell you what.

First of all I don’t think Kishimoto intended on pretty much every character becoming complicit in this fucked up ninja system, or for it to be as fucked up as it is, he just accidentally made Konoha the bad guy when he didn’t want that and tried to sweep it under the rug. It didn’t work.

Second of all you’re really going to come into my inbox with that language after Sasuke spent the ENTIRE MANGA 

Feeling worthless because Itachi got more attention than him

Was traumatized by his beloved older brother

Had his entire community murdered

Spent the beginning of the series having his talents and accomplishments downplayed because Kishimoto is weird about people having natural talents

Was retraumatized by his brother

Was preyed on by Orochimaru and spent two years dealing with him to get stronger

Had the teacher he looked up to tell him to get over his trauma and be with his friends

Friends who are a girl who is constantly harassing him to date her and a boy who is attention starved and takes his inferiority complex out on Sasuke 

Literally no one in Sasuke’s life actually cares about or recognizes him as a person and he is constantly objectified by everyone around him

When Sasuke finally completes his goal to kill Itachi he immediately finds out Itachi killed everyone on orders from THE GOVERNMENT

Has a mental breakdown which Kishimoto frames as him “falling to the darkness” like he didn’t just find out the government sanctioned a genocide on his clan

Forces himself to continue reliving that information by confirming with multiple parties including Itachi himself that Itachi killed the clan on Konoha’s orders

Joins the war to save the fucking world while FUCKING EVERYONE gets in his way like Kakashi kill stealing when he goes to kill Obito which gives Minato enough time to show up and be sympathetic to the guy that put bombs on his infant giving Madara enough time to snatch his eyes AND having to listen to Naruto whining about watching out for Kakashi and Sakura when they are getting themselves in danger and Sasuke is TRYING TO SAVE THE WORLD

Does his best to come up with a fucking PLAN to actually change things that involves holding people accountable only to have Naruto whine some more about it and they beat the shit out of each other until they are both disabled (but not really because Naruto gets a new arm and this was always about PUNISHING SASUKE, the victim of genocide) and Sasuke is so beaten down by trauma and no one caring about him or the wrongs he and his community were dealt that he gives up and does what Naruto wants, framed as Sasuke magically cared about Naruto all along

Spends the rest of his life married to a woman who treats him like absolute shit that he avoids constantly and has to wander around aimlessly to repent for his “sins” or whatever even though his whole life has just been a trauma train and two of the elders responsible for most of it are still there helping Naruto as hokage

And you want to tell me I should take EVERYTHING SASUKE GOES THROUGH in the series and throw it out because Kishimoto pulls some bullshit at the end and completely throws Sasuke’s character out the window for the sake of glorifying the military state and heterosexuality. 

But I guess some people just want to take everything at face value. Okay, let’s look at Naruto on face value:

Can only manage to care about people if he sees himself in them

Treats Sasuke like complete shit for their entire relationship. Threatens to cripple him for not doing what he wants, doesn’t know anything about him or try to, only cares about Sasuke for what he can do for Naruto’s ego, always goes on about how Sasuke is popular even though Sasuke doesn’t care about that

Literally only wants to be hokage for the attention. Does not give a shit about doing the actual work.

Doesn’t have to address the Hyuuga shit because Neji died

Is fine with hiding the Uchiha massacre

DOESN’T EVEN CARE about the Uchiha massacre since when he finds out his first question is if the Uchiha were really going to attempt a coup like they’re not the VICTIMS here

Let’s Orochimaru roam freely because he says he won’t do anything even though he had imprisoned probably thousands of people in his life, did human experiments, a lot of which were children

Still employs the two remaining elders responsible for pushing the Uchiha massacre with no punishment or consequences

Let’s Kabuto run an orphanage because he was sorry enough even though he abetted Orochimaru in all his crimes.

Basically everyone in this series is complicit in the culture that Kishimoto created. Don’t fucking come to ME and tell me “...but Sasuke...” when he is one of the biggest VICTIMS of the Naruto universe. How dare you try to bring up SASUKE of all characters in this fucking series with this “chauvinist lapdog” shit. Stop blaming the fucking worst hurt of the victims and look at the people who were better off and didn’t even TRY to question a damn thing in their society. Actually fuck off with that shit and try to shut up and consume media more thoughtfully before trying this shit with me.

[lesbian-vmin]

Why do you think Vmin are "allowed" these questionable (at least for those who ship them) moments? I find it curious that some things are really pushed to the front (jikook for sure), and then sometime we get the vmin moments and left to wonder are they real or fanservice? I really despise the thought that either Jimin/V/other members are doing this on purpose, because they genuinely seem authentic (as much as a celebrity can be on camera), 1/2

Honestly, the whole moment of Jimin saying that he didn’t keep in touch with his members at all was pretty weird. Jimin, since day one, has painted himself as someone who loves his members very much. He doesn’t want to be away from them for too long, and he seems more interested with collaborating with each one of them individually before moving onto people outside of his group. This might be why we don’t have him collaborating with other artists while Jungkook, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Yoongi have all done so. And of course BTS as a whole. (I don’t think Taehyung and Jin have? But I might be forgetting something) And Jimin has a great voice. There’s no reason anyone wouldn’t want to feature him in a song. So I’m sure there are people who want to collaborate with him, and I imagine he’s gotten offers. (This is relevant to the ask, I promise.) Although language barriers may be a reason (he might not be as comfortable collaborating with people he can’t communicate with well as some of the others are, excluding Namjoon (and maybe Jungkook is getting there) who is better at English.)

So we can look at this several ways. We can take Jimin at his very minimal word and assume that he didn’t communicate with his members at all during his vacation. In which case, I would assume that he took it as a very much needed break from them, and decided to focus on the time that he was able to spend with his family. Or, we can assume that not every word is 100% true. Maybe when he says he didn’t keep in contact, he doesn’t mean that he didn’t keep in contact at all. Maybe he messaged them once in a while to see how they were doing, but didn’t contact them regularly. Maybe he did keep in contact with them, but just wasn’t talking about his vacation. They could have talked about anything under the sun, but since they weren’t sharing vacation details, he may have counted that as not keeping in contact. Because people would question, “mm, if you guys were in contact regularly, why don’t you know details about each other’s vacations?” If they happen to be talking about something, and another member seems to not know the information. He didn’t want to give anyone a reason to question things like that. We can also wonder if he did, in fact, keep in contact with them, but he doesn’t want to share certain things about the members and his personal time. So he just told us that he didn’t stay in contact with them. I don’t know whether to take Jimin at his word for that specific moment, but I also don’t think it matters whether they stayed in contact or not. Even if the members are close and consider each other friends or family, they don’t have to remain in contact at all times. I don’t think it’s weird for friends to go on vacation (say, home for the holidays) and not talk to each other. In fact, it’s the truest friends that can come back after not speaking for a week to months at a time and act like normal (instead of being awkward each other). Act like no time was lost. (At least this is how I see it because it’s how I am with my friends. I don’t typically keep in regular contact with people who aren’t physically around me [I don’t text much, so unless someone like talking on the phone or video chatting, we probably wouldn’t stay in contact while apart] because I like to enjoy the company of those I am actually with. This might have been the case for them. It doesn’t mean they aren’t close or don’t care about each other.)

Disclaimer. This post may talk about topics that could offend easily offended people. If you are easily offended. Don’t read. You have been warned. Also I talk a lot about both Jikook and Vmin in here. Skip to the Vmin part if (for whatever reason) you don’t want to read about Jikook. But I’d rather you really read the whole post because this goes beyond shipping and focuses on them as people.

JIKOOK

The way Jikook is pushed to the front to me is actually one of the things that make me feel like they are fan service a lot of the times. (I’m not saying anything bad about Jikook because it’s pretty obvious that Jimin and Jungkook both adore each other and love being around each other, but they really are pushed quite hard and obviously.) I don’t know why that is. I don’t know the company’s reason behind pushing Jikook so hard, but I have at least one idea as to why they would do so (if they aren’t a couple). Because Jungkook is the “manliest” member of the group, and Jimin is the most “feminine.” You have Jungkook who is tall, broad, and strong. Then there’s Jimin who is small and cute, and he doesn’t try so hard to be manly these days. (I felt like he tried to present himself like a strong man in early debut because he didn’t want people to view him as the smallest and weakest member of the group, but it’s pretty clear that he became more confident in who he actually is over the years. And this is not a hint toward any gender-identity because I’m a firm believer that a man doesn’t have to fit the “masculine” spectrum to identify as a man. I feel like that’s leaning toward toxic masculinity).

Anyway, focusing on the Jikook thing, I think that’s why they get pushed forward a lot. And I hate to say that about Big Hit because it’s a bold statement to make, but it makes sense. They can easily look like a couple because it’s easy for people to imagine Jungkook as the “man” and Jimin as the “woman.” Since there are many shippers who ship for fetish reasons instead of gay right reason, these kinds of ships are likely to draw people in. It’s unfortunate, but it’s also true. Because of heteronormative culture.

The big moments between Jikook, like I said, often look like fan service to me. That being said, I’m not saying all of their moments are fan service. It just looks like interactions between them are more likely to be focused on during editing because of the reasons I’ve stated above. It might be something they aren’t aware of because it’s just editing their natural interactions to be the front and center focus of productions, but I think that’s what’s happening. And it kind of makes me feel bad for them because it’s like the company is making a show of their relationship (regardless of what kind it is). Even if they are in a real romantic relationship, I can assure that’s not why they are pushed to the center, and it’s far more likely it’s for marketing purposes. So, yes. I hate it for them, even if they are in a relationship together because it could be the company saying “look at these two. Aren’t they precious?” But it feels more like “Look at these two. Don’t they look like a “real” couple between a boy and a girl because Jungkook is oh so strong and Jimin is oh so dainty?” Even if Big Hit is LGBT friendly, it doens’t mean that they can’t do/say homophobic things (even unintentionally) or that they can’t market BTS for a heteronormative culture, and a culture that fetishizes gay people or uses being gay for entertainment. (Edit: and fantasizing.) I’m not saying it’s right for them to do so, because I don’t agree with it at all. And I’d hope that’s not the reality of it (because I really want for Big Hit to be different), but it seems like it sometimes.

Now before I get into the Vmin part, I’m going to share a disclaimer. Because I hope people don’t come at me after I’ve already admitted that it’s pretty obvious that Jikook are close and love each other. I’ve mentioned a potential romantic relationship between them, so I’m not dismissing them as the “real” couple (and I’m also, ffs, not saying there is a “real” couple between the two). I adore Jikook, and I wouldn’t even be sad if they were ever confirmed. So. Keep that in mind for this next part.

VMIN

I don’t want this to turn into a post of me comparing Jikook and Vmin, and I decided to answer this ask because I was sure that I could answer it with that intention in mind. So let’s see if I can do this right.

When it comes to Vmin, I feel like there are far less moments that can be chalked up to fan service. There are clear moments that are fan service, so I’m not saying Vmin don’t participate in that at all, but it seems like they do less than Jikook. (And I know this is a comparison right here, but I hope it doesn’t get taken the wrong way but) When Jikook does fan service, it’s so seemless and natural. When it comes to Vmin, it’s sometimes a little awkward, and they’re more shy. I don’t know what that means for the two different types of relationships, but I’m not getting into that (because then it becomes comparing the two in a way I don’t want to on this blog).

I think Big Hit chooses Vmin friendship moments to focus on because they know that people love their “platonic soulmate” dynamics. But, when it comes to “shippy” moments, these aren’t pushed forward as much. Because Taehyung isn’t broad and manly like Jungkook, so it probably seems a little too gay. And that’s not okay. It doesn’t sell as well as a couple that can be imagined as heterosexual. (And I also think this is why Jikook is the bigger ship, honestly.)

That’s it, and I know I didn’t address everything in this ask. And I’m sorry for that. But I tried to focus on what (I think) was the main point. And I wanted to make it about something very real rather than about ships.

So while I did, in fact, compare the two, I’m not comparing their “realness” or anything like that. I’m comparing their marketing value because I think that’s what it boils down to when we get to see what we see. And if anyone comes at me for my comparison on a personal shipping level, you will be ignored because that’s not what this is about. And if you can’t get that from what I’ve said thus far, then you aren’t reading my words and heart correctly.

I do want to talk really quickly about them faking it, and I’m going to focus on Vmin for this because it’s a Vmin blog. I don’t think they fake it. Because some moments are so subtle that they’re clearly trying to be hidden, and some are so natural that they clearly weren’t thinking about it too much. That aside, I don’t think they would fake their close bond. When Jimin wrote a song and was told that he would sing it with Taehyung, he didn’t have to make Friends. He could have made the song about anything he wanted, and we would have taken it with just as much enthusiasm. It was his choice to make friends, and I believe he put his heart into that song. Since it was the first song he ever had part in for an album, it’d be pretty disrespectful to claim that he’s just trying to save face or not being honest in it. And I know a song could be chalked up to how well it sells, but I think that’s for the company to worry about, but as an artist myself, I know that your heart and soul goes into anything you create. And I just don’t feel right about blatantly disregarding a personal song, so yes. It’s one of my main arguments why Vmin are obviously, honestly, close and care about each other. And I will stand by that forever.

EDIT: All right. I went through this post and personally cherry picked the things I wanted you guys to focus on when reading instead of you doing it yourself. Because you’re hung up about the fact that I mentioned that Jikook has fan severice moments (even though I said the same thing about Vmin), so you’re clearly cherry picking, not reading the whole damn post, or getting hung about the fan service instead of focusing on my main fucking point. I NEVER said they weren’t close. In fact, I took the TIME to put a DISCLAIMER stating that it’s PRETTY OBVIOUS that they’re close, and that they genuinely like spending time together. I get that I said “Vmin has less fan service moments” or whatever. Let me clarify: What I meant was that it’s the EDITING and the fact that they FOCUS SO HARD on jikook that makes a lot of their moments feel like fan service. There’s no shortage of Jikook moments, and it’s NOT because Jikook are the only ones with moments, it’s because they’re the ones that make the cut most often. And I stated the reasons why I think that is. I literally even explained the thing about the editing and said, “It might be something they aren’t aware of because it’s just editing their natural interactions to be the front and center focus of productions,” but sure. Dismiss whichever statements you want. Because clearly you get to decide what I mean instead of me. Also, “So, yes. I hate it for them, even if they are in a relationship together because it could be the company saying “look at these two. Aren’t they precious?” But it feels more like “Look at these two. Don’t they look like a “real” couple between a boy and a girl”

And, in case it’s not clear from how I talked about their relationship here, I am, in fact, a Jikook shipper, too. I stated at least TWICE in here that I wasn’t trying to dismiss the realness of them. And I talked about how shitty it is for the company to use their relationship (if real) for marketing. And unless they’re ever confirmed, that’s what they’re doing. It’s marketing. Because if the company wanted people to care about their real relationship, they would let them come out. And that is NOT me dismissing the fact that they could be in a real relationship. If you can’t tell from what I’ve just written right here, I’ll clarify by repeating what I’ve already said in the post. Because if the are in a real relationship, I can guarantee you that is not why they get pushed so hard or shown the most. It’s because their masculine/feminine vibes are marketable. There are Jikookers, LIKE ME, who ship them because they like Jikook. But you can’t deny that there are a lot of Jikookers who ship them because they’re a straight girl in love with Jungkook and imagine herself in Jimin’s place because it’s easy to see. If you are one of the real Jikookers that ship them for their actual relationship and would LOVE it if they were ever confirmed, then fine. That’s not about you. But you have to admit that there are a LOT of shippers out there (not just Jikook) that ship them with guys because they don’t want them to end up with another girl that’s not the fan doing the shipping. Yet they still would be upset if they were ever confirmed because then it means they’re actually gay.

I love Jikook, and this post wasn’t intended to dismiss their relationship or bring it down. And I’d say I’m sorry if that’s the impression you got from it, but if you’d actually read and not choose which parts to focus on, you wouldn’t have gotten that impression. I just hate it that you guys got that impression because I do genuinely like Jikook. As much as Vmin, honestly. I was focusing on how the company treats the two ships, but sure. Dismiss every time I’ve drawn the post back to that point.

[lesbianfeminists]

There’s More Than One Way to ‘Erase’ Women

On 28th May Hungary’s Parliament signed a bill into law which ends legal recognition for transgender people. The votes of rightwing Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz party pushed the legislation through by a majority in the context of a pandemic in which he is ruling by decree indefinitely. The changes to Hungary’s Registry Act will restrict gender to biological sex at birth, a status determined by primary sex characteristics and chromosomes. All other forms of identification are tied to birth certificates in Hungary so these too will reflect birth sex.

Trans advocacy and human rights groups argue that it will lead to more discrimination because Hungarians are required to produce identity cards on a frequent basis. This means that they will, in effect, be ‘outing’ themselves in everyday situations which may be humiliating, at best, and dangerous at worst. The government say they are merely clarifying sex within the law; a disingenuous claim in a political context in which the traditional family is increasingly being placed at the heart of a ‘white’, Christian nation.

Julie Bindel recently argued that it was unwise of Pink News to look at Orban’s policies in relation to transgender people in isolation. They should instead be conceived of as part of a broader attack on women’s rights and the rights of minority groups.

But Bindel’s advice applies equally to those gender critical feminists, albeit small in number, who are responding positively to the news from Hungary, on the basis that Orban recognises the immutability of sex. Whilst Baroness Nicholson might see no problem in adding Hungary to her list of causes for celebration, feminists shouldn’t lose sight of a much bigger picture.

In 2013, Orban introduced a constitutional reform which enshrined the idea of ​​the family as the foundation of the nation in the Basic Law. Although abortion was legalised after the Second World War, since 2013 the Constitution has stated that “the life of the fetus must be protected from the moment of conception”. Orban has yet to move on abortion but he publically supports anti-abortion organisations and in 2017 he opened The World Congress of Families conference in Budapest. The WCF is a United States coalition is a virulently anti-abortion organisation which promotes Christian right values globally.

By 2018, he was setting out his plan for a new “cultural era” which included amending the kindergarten curriculum so that it would promote a “national identity, Christian cultural values, patriotism, attachment to homeland and family”. (5) In 2019, the government announced a series of pro-natalist measures which included a lifetime income tax exemption for mothers of four children and free IVF treatment for married heterosexual couples. These policies aim to reverse demographic decline and curb immigration, at one and the same time. Orban argues that “it’s a national interest to restore natural reproduction. Not one interest among others – but the only one. It’s a European interest too. It is the European interest”.

In essence, he subscribes to the white nationalist “demographic winter” theory, which claims that the “purity” of European civilisation is in peril due to the increasing numbers of non-white races, in general, and Muslim people, in particular. Orban’s draconian measures against migrants and refugees dovetail with this belief system.

Such policies also cast women in the role of wombs of the nation, echoing the eugenicist policies of Hitler, who also provided financial inducements to bribe Aryan women into motherhood. As Anita Komuves, a Hungarian journalist, tweeted, “Can we just simply declare that Hungary is Gilead from now on?”

Homosexuality is legal in Hungary, but same sex couples are unable to marry and registered partnerships don’t offer equivalent legal rights. Orban’s government has made the promotion of patriarchal family values so central to its cultural mission and policies that anti gay rhetoric amongst politicians has become commonplace. Last year, László Kövér, the speaker of the Hungarian parliament, compared supporters of lesbian and gay marriage and adoption to paedophiles. “Morally, there is no difference between the behaviour of a paedophile and the behaviour of someone who demands such things,” he said. (9) In 2017 the annual Pride event was attacked by violent right-wing extremists hurling faeces, acid and Molotov cocktails at the marchers and police.

Just as Orban has sought to eliminate the notion of gender identity within the law, so too has he gone to war against what he describes as “gender ideology”. In 2018 he issued a decree revoking funding for gender studies programmes in October that year. (10) At the time, this move was welcomed by some gender critical and radical feminists on the basis that postmodern feminism in the academy has contributed to a dogmatic sex denialism which is unable to analyse the basis of female oppression. (11) But, as with the changes in relation to the legal recognition of transgender people, Orban’s reasons were anything but feminist. As one government spokesman explained: “The government’s standpoint is that people are born either male or female, and we do not consider it acceptable for us to talk about socially constructed genders rather than biological sexes.” (12) Gender studies is seen as promoting too fluid an understanding of male and female roles in the place of a fixed social order in which women’s biological destiny is to be married mothers. The decision to withdraw funding from gender studies didn’t come out of nowhere. At a party congress in December 2015, László Kövér, one of the founders of the Fidesz party, stated:

“We don’t want the gender craziness. We don’t want to make Hungary a futureless society of man-hating women, and feminine men living in dread of women, and considering families and children only as barriers to self-fulfilment… And we would like if our daughters would consider, as the highest quality of self-fulfilment, the possibility of giving birth to our grandchildren.”

Orban’s war against “gender” also led to Hungary’s National Assembly recently passing a declaration which refused to ratify the Istanbul Convention, the Council of Europe’s Convention on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence.It was claimed that the convention promoted “gender ideology” and particular issue was taken with the section that defined gender as “socially constructed roles, behaviours, activities and attributes that a given society considers appropriate for women and men.” Hungarian politicians object to an understanding of gender which recognises that women’s ‘role’ can change, even improve (!), as societies change, an unwelcome thought to those wishing to uphold men’s power in the family and discourage homosexuality. As with a number of Orban’s other policy decisions, there was also a racist element to the refusal to ratify the convention. The fact that it would have afforded protections for migrant and refugee women was in direct contradiction to Hungary’s anti-immigration policies. As one far right, Hungarian blog put it:

“By refusing the ratification of the Istanbul Convention, Hungary, says ‘Yes!’ to the protection of women but ‘No!’ to gender ideology and illegal migration.”

(Women’s groups in the UK have long suspected that our government refuses to ratify the Convention as it would bind them to properly funding the VAWG sector.)

Orban’s concern about “gender” and “gender ideology” is shared by other states with a socially conservative programme for women. Some gender critical and radical feminists use this term, as well, which can be confusing when our respective analyses have so little in common. Here, it refers to a set of beliefs that conflate sex with gender and deny the material reality of sex-based oppression. This is a far cry from the definitions shared by the growing “anti gender” movements in Central and Eastern Europe.

These movements privilege biological understandings of what it means to be a man or a woman but only do so in order to insist that our biology should determine (and restrict) our lives.They want to hang on the man/woman binary because they believe that gendered roles and expectations, ones which place women below men, are determined by sex. In short, they deny that gender is a social construct. “Gender ideology”, as a term, has become something of a dustbin category, deployed variously to attack feminism, same sex marriage, reproductive rights and sex education in schools. Trump’s administration is engaged in an ongoing fight to remove the word “gender” from United Nations documents.

In this context, we need to remember that “gender” is still most frequently used as a proxy for women/sex in UN Conventions like CEDAW (The Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women). The term is also increasingly – to our concern – conflated with gender identity with all the risks that this entails.

But that fact shouldn’t blind us to the main motivations of those who oppose the use of the word gender at UN level. When conservatives say they want to replace the term “gender” with “sex”, it’s invariably to oppose women’s equality with men and to enshrine patriarchal understandings of women’s place in society. Replacing the language of gender with the language of sex is, in their terms, a route to a biologically driven and restricted notion of reproduction as women’s only fate. Replacing the language of gender with the language of sex is not necessarily a feminist enterprise.

Unless we establish very clear lines between ourselves and rightwing, religious fundamentalists, we are in danger of being swallowed up and used by the most anti-women, global forces, the canniest of which offer themselves as ‘partners’ in the fight against gender ideology: witness several events hosted by the Heritage Foundation, a hugely powerful Christian Right think tank which has platformed radical feminists.

The Heritage Foundation has particular chutzpah. Whilst claiming to be an ally in the feminist fight to preserve female only spaces and sex-based rights, it opposes reproductive rights, lesbian and gay rights and any measures to counter discrimination against women, notably the Equal Rights Amendment. In fact, it blames feminists for the current state of affairs – though Ryan Anderson would never be rude enough to say so at their shared events. “Transgender theories are part of the feminist goal of a sexual revolution that eliminates the proprietary family and celebrates non-monogamous sexual experiences.”

When it’s not cynically partnering with (a small number) of radical feminists as ‘cover’, the Heritage Foundation enjoys the company of the Holy See, the universal government of the Catholic Church which operates from Vatican City State. (20) The Vatican has opposed the notion of gender since the early-2000s, arguing that males and females have intrinsic attributes which aren’t shaped by social forces. Recently, they published an educational document called “Male and female he created them”.

Woman’s Place UK has consistently stated an opposition to working with, or supporting the work of the religious right (and their female representatives). Not simply because it is strategically disastrous but because it is wrong in principle. (22) When we look at what is happening in Hungary it is well to remember that there is more than one way to ‘erase’ women. Andrea Pető, a professor at the Central European University of Budapest, commenting on the official reports that Hungary (and Poland) send to the UN CEDAW Committee, noted, “we see that they replace the concept of women with that of family, women as independent agents are slowly disappearing from public policy documents, behind the single word family.”

https://womansplaceuk.org/2020/06/18/womens-rights-under-attack-hungary/

[colorisbyshe]

i would LOVE to hear your thoughts about why the "bi lesbian" label is so prevalent while no one identifies as a "gay bi man". As a lesbian, this shit has really been bothering me, and i can't even speak out on it for fear of being labeled a bigot

Oh, it’s the same reason why compulsory heterosexuality applies to all women but ONLY women whereas heteronormativity is a broader term--misogyny, patriarchy, whatever term you wanna lob at the idea that women cannot have valuable lives without being a complementary yet lesser partner to a man.

The idea that men and women should be together hurts all people, don’t get me wrong, but the biological/social “arguments” behind that are solely at the expense of women. It’s the idea that women cannot survive on their own and that men NEED a partner who will serve them, bear their children, and do whatever they want.

The idea that women can find fulfillment in other women and ONLY other women shucks this idea that we were made to serve men and cannot find value, safety, longevity without them. Women can be whole on their own is an absurd idea in this structure but the idea that women can live even FULLER lives with other women is nearly nonsensical under the ideas of heteronormativity, as it proposes an equality in relationships that can’t exist even in the wokest of m/f relationships (even in m/f relationships where tha man isn’t a misogynist, often structural inequalities they can’t change can negatively impact the relationship, such as the woman not having the same opportunities outside the relationship).

The idea of men being able to exist without women is like... an “obvious” idea in this culture. Men are strong and self reliant (except for when it comes to doing housework but lol... we know how that goes). And men uplifting other men is something already celebrated via sports, war, whatever the fuck. And that shit has already been homoerotic.

OBVIOUSLY gay men still experience homophobia and OBVIOUSLY bigots would RATHER they be with women. I’m not saying mlm don’t experience this shit.

But society doesn’t revolve around the idea that men can’t exist without women or that they must serve women. That they were pulled from women’s rib just so that the women won’t be lonely or have to fold their own laundry. They aren’t the domestic and emotional labor workforce of the nuclear family.

Women, all women, are pressured to be with men through compulsory heterosexuality and that manifests in labels like “bisexual lesbian.”

I WILL say I HAVE seen men identical as bi and gay at the same time, so this isn’t a “no men do it” type situation; we don’t have to erase other victims of this shit for my point to be salient. Somewhere floating around on this hellsite is a dude that used to aggressively argue with me that it wasn’t internalized homophobia that he couldn’t see himself romantically dating men but he sure did love to fuck them and so what if he’s not really happy with women, he can date them.

It’s just that that’s much more rare and much less a goal for society to push.

Chipping away at the label lesbian so it can include men is much more to the benefit of the men in society than chipping away at “gay man,” which doesn’t benefit (straight) men as much. Though gayness always having been an umbrella term has played its role too.

This is a multifaceted issue but the crux of it is “bi lesbian” happens much more because of misogyny and the idea that women only exist to cater to men. And are forced to rely on men for stability.

[i-can-sabotage-me-bi-myself]

"The CW television show ‘Supernatural’ recently concluded its fifteen season run, and while it should have been a bittersweet moment for fans, the ending left more than something to be desired.

When episode 15.18 aired, written by writer and co-executive producer Robert Berens, the reaction from fans and newcomers alike was unanimous - we weren’t crazy.

By confessing his love for lead Dean Winchester after 12 years, fallen angel Castiel had achieved something monumental for LGBT audiences around the world, and the ship that had been mere subtext for so long had finally become canon text.

With a large portion of their fanbase being LGBT+, Supernatural fans were delighted that they were finally being seen. Theories were spread like wildfire, and the fandom was alight with excitement at what might happen next. The term ‘Destiel’ trended above the US election for several hours.

But when 15.19 aired, and later the series finale 15.20, fans were left feeling more hollow than ever before.

Castiel was killed off not thirty seconds after his confession, and though his eventual resurrection was later mentioned in a passing comment, fans never again got to see him on-screen. Additionally, his sacrifice is not mentioned once in the following episodes, and the main characters do not even seem to mourn their best friend of over a decade.

It seems like Castiel had been pushed off screen for daring to be openly queer, and Dean had been silenced on the issue so it would not have to be addressed, and there was no risk of him being coded as a queer character.

Supernatural at large has a historical problem with killing off queer characters. One of the most prominent being Charlie Bradbury, a geeky lesbian who was murdered by a nazi and dumped in a bath tub, purely for the shock value and development of the male heterosexual leads. This trope, known as ‘burying the gays’, further extends to characters on other CW shows, such as Lexa on ‘The 100’.

Queer audiences deserve better, particularly from Supernatural – whose cultural legacy and success can largely be attributed to its large LGBT+ following.

Although the fans are grateful for the work and fight writers like Robert Berens put into the show and appreciate him and everyone else who fought for this behind the scenes, it still stings that we could not be given the kind of reciprocation seen in heterosexual pairings on television. LGBT romance deserves better than to be hushed off screen.

That is why we are here now. Queer characters like Castiel and Charlie did not deserve this ending, and neither did we. Let’s channel our upset into fighting back in the best possible way - by spreading love and support for these characters, for Robert Berens and Misha Collins, for all those who fought to establish Castiel as a queer character, and for LGBT+ people everywhere.

To the LGBT+ audience of Supernatural; you are important. You are loved. And you deserve to be heard."

[taekooktimeline]

Mint Choco: Sara’s Take

I take full responsibility for this controversial analysis 

Mid August 2018 (filmed) - As part of a run episode, BTS engaged in a heated debate. The topic: mint chocolate, in favour or against its commercialization. Members were separated depending on whether they liked mint chocolate or not. Jimin and Tae were on the fence about it - neither liked nor disliked the taste - but ended up in the “dislike it” team. This is all true, they were actually grouped on the basis of their relationship with mint choco - how they really felt about the ice-cream. They were NOT grouped by any other secret criteria. This is extremely important to remember. However, I believe there was a hidden motive for this debate and that it wasn’t a coincidence that they chose food as the topic (preference-oriented), especially one that is only enjoyed by a minority of society. The topic had been pre-planned along with the ending and final consensus. At the end, Yoongi - as the moderator with the prepared cards - very clearly said: “We don’t want to say that someone is wrong and someone is right, we just want to take one more step towards a more peaceful world”. After that cue, they then effortlessly changed their attitude, agreeing to respect & allow mint choco as long as both sides were considerate of each other. Jimin also said: “The reason we were having the discussion was to make the world a better place”, sounding like they had all been instructed about how they should lead and end the debate, walking them through the scheme. Seems quite purposeful and deep. 

Their arguments were specifically suited for the mint choco debate, but the nature of the chosen topic made them have obvious parallelisms with the most common and basic arguments used in LGBTQ discussions. Of course, they are not interchangeable if we take details into account, but they are if we only focus on the general ideas. These parallelisms with food are frequently used in real arguments by many LGBTQ individuals / supporters where they bring up such comparisons. In sum, I believe they were arguing about mint choco with the sole purpose of teaching a lesson of tolerance, respect and inclusion of minorities with different preferences as part of some hidden pro-LGBTQ activism (since it’s taboo to be straightforward about it). This doesn’t make any of the members “homophobic” by any means because as I said, they were divided according to their food preferences. They were also playing a part because even if they personally didn’t like mint choco, none of them wanted to ban it in real life (outside of the debate they respected other’s taste to begin with) but they were acting as if they did want to ban it in order for the debate to be possible. I will link their pro & anti-mint choco arguments with pro & anti-lgbtq arguments - although comparisons are never intended to fit 100% - as well as point out and give insight into a comment that could be a direct connection between both topics, but please, don’t be scandalized about it because I clearly explained the situation. NON OF THEM ARE HOMOPHOBIC, even if there’s a hidden driving force. Carefully reread this introduction if you find yourself confused or infuriated by the analysis. At this point I’m not responsible for misunderstandings. If you are too young beware because this might not be suited for you. 

The debate starts with Jk trying to make the opposite team empathize with mint choco lovers. He knows they are few people but if they completely get rid of it, what about them? This can be compared to equal marriage / rights.

The opposite team distances themselves from the issue. Basically, something like: “What do we have to do with it? That’s not our problem”. A typical attitude adopted by society. (*Reminder: they are playing parts and actually talking about mint choco during the entire debate. There is just an underlying double meaning).

Jk gets political and demands a solution. He thinks it’s their right.

A comparison -

He then makes a solid point: you’re not obligated to experience it even if it’s included as an option.

Comparison -

The opposition wants to force their own views and erase / prohibit what they personally dislike (*Reminder).

Comparison -

Definition of intolerance:

The minority thinks it’s a forced opinion.

Comparison -

Mint choco team bring back up their prior argument-

The MC shows bias towards the minorities. “You shouldn’t criticize them”, he says.

Opposition questions if it’s as simple as not partaking of it if not interested. Jk continues by reasoning that if it’s not available / facilitated then minorities have no means of accessing it as they can’t make it on their own. Again, can be compared to equal marriage.

Opposition start talking about their own personal differing taste - which coincides with the majority’s - and try to use it as a valid argument to push out the variation that they don’t align with by saying “I don’t think it makes sense”. This can be compared to heterosexuality (a liking for the opposite sex/gender coupled with a dislike / distaste / unattraction to the same gender/sex) versus homosexuality (the other way around) and the confusion it can elicit in unfamiliarezed or closed minded people.

The opposition adds the visual aspect to it. They think it’s unpleasant to look at (*Reminder). This is comparable with the known fact that a great number of people feel or even express disgust when they see any type of homosexual affection.

Minority team differs.

Comparison -

Opposition continues -

Comparison -

Minority team interjects saying it’s a prejudiced thought that lacks scientific basis.

Comparison (prejudices vs science) -

Studies indicate homosexuality is a natural variant within the animal kingdom, compatible with the survival of the species:

Minority team really wants to make others understand that it all comes down to personal taste.

Comparison: these are pictures taken from Korea’s LGBTQ pride festival. “I like tomato spaghetti, do you like cream spaghetti?”, can be read on her sign. In this case she’s linking tomato spaghetti with homosexuality (liking girls in her case), versus cream spaghetti which would be linked to heterosexuality. She’s saying it’s not a big deal and just a matter of preference, “Love is Love”.

Jk can’t let go of his main argument  which is a plea spoken out into the world. He’s asking for compassion.

Moderator highlighting their petition for respect -

Comparison (pride festival, attendee) -

Opposition offers an alternative route to satisfy their wishes. Joons says mint can be found in Argentina, although it is not the top producer (*Reminder: they are playing parts).

If we research a bit we’ll see Morocco takes the lead by an astonishing difference: 92.7% of global production. It’s nearly a mint monopoly. Argentina takes second place but with a derisory 6.7%. If Joon was sufficiently informed to know that Argentina came 2nd place, he must’ve certainly known Morocco was 1st place by a huge leap. Why didn’t he mention Morocco instead?

After a little more research I found out that Buenos Aires - capital of Argentina - is one of the top destinations for gay marriage tourism. They were the FIRST country in the world to pass a marriage law that allowed even non-residents to celebrate same-sex weddings with international recognition (although limited to countries where it’s legal). Even today there aren’t many countries where this is possible because even if they legalized gay marriage some countries have residency or citizenship restrictions.

Jk says “that’s too difficult” in relation to mint choco. Going back to the hidden topic, despite these existing options, traveling abroad is not viable for everyone due to increased costs and complications. What about the guests? Even if koreans marry in a foreign country, their same-sex marriage will not be valid in their home country.

Minority team repeats their arguments because they are convinced it’s a simple matter.

The moderator shows more bias by saying “don’t keep prejudiced thoughts”. The debate has a clear direction.

Comparison (pride festival, attendees) -

The opposition argues that by enabling the polemic option, the rest are exposed to accidental contamination as a result of unwanted contact when sharing experiences with friends that have those preferences. I’m not so sure about this one because they are actually arguing about mint choco and not every argument that they come up with necessarily makes allusion or is aplicable to the lgbtq topic but it could maybe be compared to the fear of being hit on by an individual of your same sex - which is a common fear.

Minority team then suggests people should first ask each other about their preferences and that way avoid unpleasant situations.

Comparison -

The opposition argues that even if they know about each other's tastes that won’t prevent either party from pursuing what they want.

Jk suggests they take precautionary measures and separate for certain scenarios. Jin later responded by saying Koreans value attachment.

A possible comparison is this below scenario where some members of a group of friends wanted to go to a gay club but the males of the group were disgusted by the idea in fear of being flirted with or groped by gay men, which is apparently something that men in general do - gay or straight - in Korea’s club culture. It was a problem because they all wanted to party together.

Knowingly, the opposition says something quite ridiculous. Tae said he wanted his friend to read his mind and know about his taste without the need to ask. This can be compared to those who find it offensive when someone doesn’t automatically know they are straight, as if they were bewildered by someone possibly thinking they were anything but straight (*Reminder: he’s playing a part).

Teammates absolutely love the irrational but emotional comment. Perfect for what they are going for.

Minority team rejects such emotional responses. It’s dangerous territory because a lot of harm has been derived from clouded judgment caused by strong emotions such as phobias.

The opposition says you can’t remove emotions from humankind, to which Jk says he too has friends. He also has emotions like any other but wouldn’t be offended by such questions.

Opposition then says it saddens them when they see all the mint choco left-over that people didn’t buy. They say it goes against market principles because it has low demand.

Comparison -

The opposition says it’s a waste of ingredients. This can be compared to people saying it’s a waste if you aren’t able to reproduce.

Comparison -

The minority team asks for coexistence.

Comparison -

They end up running a poll to see how many people in the entire room like mint choco. Turns out it’s between a 10% and a 15% of the staff. These numbers are very similar to the suspected percentage of worldwide lgbtq population - data which is part of popular knowledge. There are certainly many commonalities.

(There are many bi people that would never admit it nor act upon it).

Regardless of the comparatively small numbers, it’s said minorities should still be taken into account and their needs should be met.

Comparison -

The moderator then utters some peace-making words. They seem to serve as a cue because the opposing team starts to take a step back so as to find common ground.

Mint choco team emphasizes their simple wish to be respected as a minority.

The opposition is willing to accept on the condition that they always ask if it’s ok to add their debated preference into the shared experience so that they have the chance to decline, or simply decide.

They also come up with the idea of mixing chocolate into their mint toothpaste in order to get used to the taste and eliminate the negative thoughts associated with it. It’s a method that replicates the mint choco flavour but without having to actually swallow, just familiarize oneself with it.

This reminds me of how consuming  media with lgbtq representation helps society come to terms with their existence, combats ignorance / prejudices and makes people much more likely to welcome their inclusion.

“Western countries in which being lgbtq is broadly accepted have tv shows with lgbtq representation. That kind of culture being liked by the general public helps the lgbtq community in being incorporated into the general society”

(netizen in favour of gay marriage due to watching american tv shows)

They all agree that both parties should be considerate of each other.

Joon really liked his mint choco toothpaste idea and further explains when questioned, dramatizing his words as he says he’d do it “to understand them” (*Reminder: Joon is already in touch with lgbtq culture).

Comparison -

They all are now finding consensus and preaching a positive message of tolerance and respect to construct a better world where everyone has a place, which was the initial plan all along.

MC gives final cue -

Messages they want to transmit -

Comparison -

Mutual consideration -

Agreement -

Joon comes up with another idea so that the minorities can easily recognize each other and happily interact, being able to share experiences that they commonly enjoy. He wishes for a peaceful world.

Comparison (minorities tend to seek a community) -

Jimin confesses that they began the debate with the intention of “conceding for others”. Definition:

Debates aren’t normally like that. What they were first carrying out could be classified as a competitive debate, but they just used it as a tool to bring a fitting topic forward, create a heated situation that mimicked society, and later deviate so that they could put a message across and set a good example. They all clearly wanted to campaign in favour of minorities. Info that I gathered on how it normally goes:

“In a debate, opposing arguments are put forward to argue for opposing viewpoints. Logical consistency, factual accuracy and some degree of emotional appeal to the audience are elements in debating, where one side often prevails over the other party by presenting a superior "context" or framework of the issue.” 

“Competitive debates may be presided over by one or more judges or adjudicators. Both sides seek to win against the other while following the rules. One side is typically in favor of (also known as "for", "Affirmative", or "Pro") or opposed to (also known as "against", "Negative", "Con") a statement, proposition, moot or Resolution. Both sides are required to embrace and defend their own positions, otherwise it’s not a debate.”

When the time comes for Tae’s final remark, he takes the opportunity to remind them that he is neutral towards mint choco (the actual flavour) but after hearing all their points he declares he now likes it. This doesn’t make much sense because your taste doesn’t change no matter how much you empathize or agree with certain postures.

He pauses before his statement and then lets out a bashful chuckle when he continues. They all laugh quite soundly - too much of a reaction. It gives the impression of an inside joke. To me it’s like he’s now specifically referring to the hidden double meaning - to him being lgbtq.

Joon even covers his face with his arm like he too felt shy by extension -

Vmin high-five as Jimin gives it up for him. Note how Tae had his hands clasped tightly together while he laughed. That’s another indicator of awkwardness / anxiousness. It’s an unconscious way to hug himself and close off.

High-five:

Tae finishes his wishes -

Good news -

The recap of what they all want to convey is to respect each other’s differences -

Comparison (Pride festival) -

(http://www.vlive.tv/video/112445/playlist/27764)

The end ! :) Hope you found it sensible enough.

As a final note I’ll leave you with their message for the Love Myself campaign.