#I want people to learn more about fat liberation so they can fall into the radical self acceptance pipeline that fuels me now lol

[lylahammar]

I think a vastly underrated form of anti-capitalism/fascism/discrimination is radical self acceptance. Like just accept being “ugly.” Fuck beauty standards fuck beauty products fuck trends fuck diet culture fuck fitting in fuck “beauty is pain” mindset fuck “healthy things have to taste bad” fuck skin care fuck plastic surgery fuck filters fuck trying to appeal to beauty standards that profit off of your insecurities just exist outside of what the system demands of you. Leave your acne gain weight wear the same clothes forever learn to view what society deems as your “flaws” as an anarchist symbol of power and freedom

[theasstour]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?”

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

 Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

“There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What’s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?” He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry​

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

[totallyjazzed]

Analysing Copaganda (or "I watched seven seasons of Brooklyn 99 so you don't have to")

Introduction:

Several months ago my parents approached me asking if I wanted to watch Brooklyn 99, not knowing anything about it, my first instinct was to say no, but then I thought it would be interesting, to watch it and write a proper analysis for exactly what makes it propaganda and why it gives liberals brain worms. If you've spent any amount of time engaging with politics online for the last few years, you've likely already heard of Brooklyn 99. It's a sitcom written by Michael Schur, who previously wrote The Office (I'll get to that later), Parks & Recreation, and The Good Place. The show follows the lives of a squad of police detectives in Brooklyn and the wacky hijinks they get up to.

Brooklyn 99 has become famous, or arguably infamous, on Tumblr (and potentially other social media websites too) for being used as a "retort" to anti-cop sentiments (namely ACAB and any variation thereof), mainly taking the form of "the only good cop is Raymond Holt". In this essay (to use a funny Tumblr meme phrase) I will provide a brief overview of the show and the main characters, and analyse how the show, and each character individually, is pro-cop propaganda (copaganda).

The Show:

Brooklyn 99 is The Office, at least from what I understand about The Office. It’s a sitcom based in a workplace in which characters often pull pranks on each other and have wacky adventures pertaining to their job. The main thing that sets it apart from The Office is that the workplace in question is a police station, this makes it a cop show too. However, unlike more “classic” cop shows like CSI, Law & Order, The Wire, and so on, B99 doesn’t seek to glorify it’s characters as action heroes, but rather paint them as normal people living normal lives. This is far more insidious than the picture of the gnarled man of action who doesn’t play by the book, and by making the characters relatable the show gives viewers people to project onto, making them more vulnerable to the propaganda of the show.

Occasionally, in a break from the antics of Relatable Immature Prankster Archetype and Funny Overly Attached Best Friend Archetype, the show will attempt to say something about racism, or homophobia, or misogyny, or something like that, and while it usually feels well-meaning it often falls flat as it’s a watered-down safe-for-TV version of whatever the issue du jour is. 

In S4E16 (“Moo Moo”), Terry is harassed by a racist cop while he doesn’t have his badge, and is almost arrested until he manages to prove his cop status, the rest of the episode revolves around how racism is bad and that one singular racist cop is a problem, in the end Terry submits a complaint to the NYPD higher-ups and gets his job application denied, and the racist cop gets away with a slap on the wrist. Throughout the show, Captain Holt tells stories about how he suffered from racism and homophobia, and still does. Transphobia is mentioned once (presumably for brownie points) in a throwaway line about Ace Ventura.

At the end of Season 4, Jake and Rosa are framed for a series of bank robberies and sent to prison, and the first two episodes of Season 5 work to show that prison is bad and prisoners are mistreated, they also make abundantly clear that everyone in prison is a menace and deserves to be there (Jake’s cellmate is a literal cannibal and he’s shown to be one of the nice inmates), once the duo are released from jail, there are a few lines here and there about how prison is bad, but they’re only throwaways used to serve as one-off jokes and never again used as an actual critique of the prison system.

Police Brutality is never mentioned, the closest it comes to bringing it up is in S1E19 (“Tactical Village”), where Rosa is introduced to a sonic-blast weapon and aims it as Charles, this is clearly supposed to be a very harmful piece of equipment, but it's only appearance is treated as a joke.

There are also recurring gags about Defense Lawyers being “the enemy” because they only defend guilty parties (the show heavily implies that none of the squad has ever arrested the wrong person), which meshes with the harmful stereotype in cop shows of only guilty people saying for a lawyer or a warrant or whatever, which has been documented before by others.

The Characters:

Jake Peralta (played by Andy Samberg) is the Relatable Immature Prankster Archetype I mentioned before, he’s the office funnyman and usually responsible for the majority of the goings-on and goings-wrong in the show, while he does mature and evolve through the show he never grows out of this character. He’s the closest the show gets to the “gnarled man of action who doesn’t play by the book” character I mentioned before, not because he is that character but because he wants to be, his favourite movie is Die Hard and it’s the reason he joined the police, so he could be like the cool bruce willis man. He’s also the most unlawful character on the show, in S1E7 (“48 Hours”), he arrests a man with no evidence and the squad is essentially locked down until evidence can be found, in the end it turns out the man is guilty. Jake is scolded for this, not for essentially breaking the law, but for wasting everyone’s time when they had much better things to do that night. Jake’s character is propaganda because he’s the zany relatable one with a heart of gold.

Amy Santiago (played by Melissa Fumero) is the overly-organised hyper-nerd archetype, in direct opposition to Jake. Her dream is to be the NYPD’s youngest female captain, and she’s very “I want to keep the people safe” in her approach to policing. In S3E3 (“Boyle’s Hunch”), she is used as the face of the NYPD’s poster campaign, only to have her image vandalised, which is painted by the show as being very bad and sad. Amy’s character is propaganda because she’s the uptight peacekeeper who sticks to the rules.

Charles Boyle (played by Joe Lo Truglio) is the Funny Overly Attached Best Friend Archetype I mentioned before, often depicted as bumbling and naive, he’s an incredibly competent detective, arguably more so than Jake. He’s usually polite and friendly, and has moments of childishness that compliment Jake’s character. Charles’ character is propaganda because he’s the nice guy who just wants what’s best for everyone.

Raymond Holt (played by Andre Braugher) is probably the character most people are aware of, he’s a somewhat stuck-up man who embodies a lot of the same characteristics as Amy, he’s highly-educated, incredibly smart and quick-witted, and emotionally restrained. Originally presented as an outsider, being the new guy to the pre-existing friendgroup, he learns to relax and let go over the course of the show, and acts almost as a father figure to the other characters, primarily Jake and Amy. Raymond’s character is propaganda because he’s a black gay cop.

Rosa Diaz (played by Stephanie Beatriz) is tough, aloof, and often scary in the eyes of the other characters, she is shown to have problems with engaging with people socially, particularly romantically, and while her exterior is rough as uncaring, she’s shown to be fiercely loyal and have some not-so-tough secrets. In Season 5 she comes out to the squad as Bisexual. Rosa’s character is propaganda because she’s the no-nonsense tough cop who secretly has a heart of gold.

Terry Jeffords (played by Terry Crews) is a kind and caring man with a firm-but-fair attitude, acting as Holt’s second-in-command he also acts as a father figure to the other characters, he has two (eventually three) children which he is often seen gushing about. He is the most mature of the group, on-par with Holt in some respects but sometimes more so, refusing to take part in hijinks to focus on his job. Terry’s character is propaganda because he’s the physically strong and imposing, yet kind cop who just wants to provide for his family.

Michael Hitchcock (played by Dirk Blocker) and Norm Scully (played by Joel McKinnon Miller) are an inseparable pair of bumbling, lazy, oafs. Scully is fat, lazy, and old, Hitchcock is lecherous, lazy, and old. They’re propaganda because they’re the lazy incompetent cop archetype.

There are plenty of minor recurring characters, as well as Gina Linetti, a main character who left after Season 6, however as she’s a liaison and not a cop I won’t be analysing her in detail.

There’s a lot more I could have mentioned here, from the dirty cop that sense Jake and Rosa to jail, or the police commissioner who wants to spy on everyone’s phones all at once, Holt even says the line “I don’t want to live in a Police State”, but I’ve left them out for the sake of brevity.

Conclusion:

Brooklyn 99 is copaganda to it’s very core, this much everyone already knows, but unlike serious cop dramas and high-stakes high-action cop shows, Brooklyn 99 offers viewers an escape to a world where the police are the force for good that people want them to be. The premise of “The Office but police” suckers people in with nostalgia for the late 2000s/early 2010s back when things were “good”. Given Michael Schur’s previous work I imagine he and the other writers didn’t explicitly set out to make copaganda, but it’s undeniable that this is what was achieved. And now with the political climate being what it is and the threat of a potential Season 8 addressing this year’s BLM protests, it’s now more important than ever to be able to identify and root out police propaganda, no matter how unassuming, no matter the source.

[manikrege]

I reached out to the kid I bullied in school. It hurt like a bitch.

Moving places makes you realize how badly humans need closure. How hard we strive for the chapters of our lives to open & end neatly, one by one. And how much we hate cliffhangers, incomplete pages, or vague endings off the screen.

I tried to seek my closure yesterday. Because I'm moving away from the neighborhood I grew up in. Don't worry, it's nothing I'm going to miss. School sucked for me, as it did for most 'studious' kids.

Fat, nerdy, weird, and a bit on the 'girlish' side, it was like this boy entered the class wearing a cap that said, "Your new favorite target." Of course, the cool kids ganged up & left me broken. I felt all alone like a wet puppy abandoned in the rain.

So like a dog, I learned survival, the ugly way. I bit back, chewed on smaller prey. And before I knew it, became the very thing I hated the most. A bully.

Roy, let's call him that, had the same awkwardness that had made me a target. His only disadvantage was that he didn't want to fight back. This allowed me to slowly strangle him, one taunt at a time.

It started out as lame jokes that you'd expect from any teenager. Calling him "gay," laughing at his curves, making him feel unwanted. This graduated into mild jabs & punches. And then finally, one day, the five of us spent 2 straight hours 'roasting' him, stepping on every last piece of his self-confidence that we could find on the floor.

Turns out, he'd had enough & his father was at my door with an audio recording of what we thought was sublime standup comedy. I felt ashamed but cried victim, pushing the blame back onto him. Tit for tat.

We stopped playing with him after that day. He had become a traitor. I don't know if he found that liberating. And if he did, I can't imagine how fucked up that would be ... feeling happy to finally have no one you can make memories with.

I went abroad and forgot about Roy. Until yesterday when we were packing up and I saw him pass by. Something snapped. Like an ice cube being run down my neck.

As someone who has been through so many changes in the last few years, I felt an urgent need to prove to myself that I'm no longer the person I was years in 2014. I wanted to leave this shithole behind for good.

So I messaged him on Facebook.

Dear Roy,

I won't ask if you remember me because I know you do. I just wanted to say I'm really sorry for how I treated you.

There's no explanation. No my side of the story. No excuse. And they weren't just harmless jokes.

I bullied you badly and caused you a lot of pain. Practically ruined your childhood. And I don't know if you're doing better. I hope you are.

You didn't deserve any of the shit I gave you. I did it because I felt powerless myself and needed something to fill that hollow space in my days.

We moved out yesterday & I wanted you to know that I'm aware of my mistakes and although I can't change the past, I am working to heal, both myself and others. I'm part of some NGOs that help poor kids in Majiwada. I do regular activities to put a smile on their faces.

Again, I know this isn't enough or even related but I hope someday you can forgive me. Even if you can't, I understand. And I really wish that you find love, happiness, and peace wherever you go - yes you do deserve those things. I was wrong.

Please let me know if I can do anything for you.

Thanks.

He responded with that "blue thumbs up" icon. That's all. I didn't push it, either. We didn't have a heart-to-heart conversation to go over everything. I'll probably never see him again or know how he turned out to be. It just is.

So did I get my closure? As I unpack in my new room, I'm not sure if it matters anymore. Because I think human relationships are much messier than we let on. You cannot just file them into chapters.

Sometimes they'll end abruptly.

Sometimes they'll reappear again and again, unexpectedly.

And sometimes you'll find new meanings every time you go back to old pages.

More importantly, you cannot just erase the damage you do to people. You cannot say sorry hoping everything will be forgotten and forgiven. The harsh truth about scars is that they never really heal.

But someday someone will look at those scars you caused on people, and madly fall in love with them. Someone will find that pain beautiful. Someone will turn it into a source of strength and love. And you can take the first step towards making that happen - by just saying one word.

GET TO THE POINT- If you think you hurt someone, you're right 9/10 times because we're hardwired for empathy & kindness so the moment we give in to hate, our mind sends us a small hunch. So just say you're sorry. Not "sorry if I hurt you." Not "sorry but it wasn't my intention." Just. Fucking. Sorry. Own what you did. It means everything.

DON'T FORGET IT- Yes, it's best if you repent asap but even if it's 10 years later, admitting to your fuckups is the right thing to do.

DON'T EXPECT AN OK- Your sorry is about you choosing to become better. For the person in front of you, it represents lots of trauma, heavy baggage, and painful memories that they've probably suppressed or internalized. So they may not forgive you or even respond. Please respect their privacy & feelings this time. And move on.

Trust me, this was one of the hardest things I've done as an adult. That said, I think we all did stupid things when we were kids. I think we were all MADE TO DO stupid things by a select few who understood intuitively how war works. I think most of us were a form of entertainment. Puppets. Dogs in a fighting ring. Dogs trying to fit in, or be liked, or just be left alone.

Just realizing how insanely toxic this entire game was ... is probably the most obvious sign that you're growing up. I know I am. I'm actively working to be truer to the kid I was before they took him away from me. And I know it's not going to be some beautiful transformative journey away from my past like they show in the movies.

It'll be ugly, too painful to bear sometimes. Because I'll meet parts of me that I hate. Parts you'd hate if you knew them. Parts that I'd rather not be remembered for. But you know what?

Sometimes, the first step in conquering your demons is accepting that they exist.

That they make you but don't define you. That you have a choice to be kinder, sweeter, warmer. And the only thing that matters is whether you have the courage to make that choice even when the whole world is giving you a billion reasons not to.

Be that one reason everyone needs to heal.

[sokkathebluewolf]

A review Why you do that? Making Sokka mention 28 in his vows now everyone think he slept around after the best time of his life? They both dont deserve this June slaves Hina Tylee now this Please don't make more girls fall for him involve with him feels like the whole fic turned around this Haru deserves better Tylee is flirting around

Don't get me wrong This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit I'm merely giving an opinion ''cause Gladiator has things which you handled the best There is a Reason for this success I just hope this plus 1 girl thing in Sokkla relationship Stops But I always respect you with your great work(:

You do realize how utterly laughable it is to tell me “DON’T MAKE MORE GIRLS FALL FOR HIM IT FEELS LIKE THE WHOLE FIC IS TURNING AROUND” and then say “you can do anything you feel fit, I respect your work (:”, right?

This is not respect. This is not “constructive criticism”. This is not an opinion so important and valuable that it warrants being repeated about a million times across A YEAR. Most people? They give out their opinions, negative or positive, ONE TIME, and leave it be, because what matters to them is CONVEYING how they feel, not forcing a writer to constantly explain themselves or write whatever they would be comfortable with. Actually? Most people who have given me negative opinions so far have been like that, except one guy who was outright flaming my story because he wanted to wank to it, and he couldn’t believe he had to read 97 chapters to finally reach the smut. That I’m comparing you to this reader and reviewer is PROBABLY a bad sign, don’t you think?

Sokka didn’t MENTION 28: Sokka acknowledged his past mistakes because he’s a grown man who knows to feel remorse when he hurts people he loves. That he brings up having hurt her, to this day, isn’t in the purpose of going “HEY HEY AZULA REMEMBER WHEN I BROKE YOUR HEART LOL”, it’s in the purpose of saying: “I’ve learned from my mistakes and, as it has been for YEARS, I will devote myself to NEVER hurting you again”. That, anon, is a PERFECTLY VALID SENTIMENT for a wedding vow, and one that requires far more character growth and complexity than “Lol I’m so happy we were both virgins because that is the only kind of pure love that has ever been valid in the universe, anything else doesn’t count”.

Hell, you’ve literally made me go right back to the chapter to look at what he says, exactly: “I messed things up between us over my damn stupidity”, he... is literally beating himself up about this. To this day. He’s not talking about it proudly. And yet you’re here complaining as though he were?

SPOILER: More people will have feelings for Sokka in future chapters. In fact, I want to make it even MORE people than I’d originally planned after receiving all these asks. I’d rather derail my story into something you can’t stomach reading than cater to you. Azula will outright JOKE about being “jealous” in a future chapter, and Sokka will know it’s a joke! :D And I’m NOT lying about this to mess with you, it IS going to happen and your persistent asks absolutely WON’T make me alter my content. And why is it going to happen, you’ll ask? Why, because nice, charming, charismatic guys like Sokka attract people whether they want to or not. It’s what they DO about attracting others what matters to me! :’) And that Sokka rejects other people who attempt to be with him should be, I think, a much more important message about loyalty to someone you love than “I ONLY EVER ATTRACTED ONE PERSON IN MY LIFE AND MARRIED THEM”. Because I know that’s virtually the only thing you appear willing to accept, going by the first ask.

And holy crap, Ty Lee is... flirting around? Flirting around... with Haru. The guy she’s in a committed relationship with, whom she’s going to marry. The whole situation is meant to be insanely ironic considering Ty Lee is with the guy she SHOULD be with but it looks like it’s something else? (Hell, nobody even KNOWS it was Ty Lee, Mei Xun didn’t stick around long enough to discover the woman’s identity, so her reputation’s actually safe?) But you’re just so emotionally compromised by anything regarding Sokka being with anyone else, even if it’s 1. not true because he’s MILES away, with Azula 2. a joke 3. a plot device for a FUTURE EVENT, that you just can’t grasp this irony at all?

Ty Lee, by design in this story, has ALWAYS been pretty damn liberal about flirting and relationships. Despite we’ve mainly just heard such relationships mentioned on the side, rather than witnessing them directly, she is objectively the cast member who’s had the most relationships, whether serious or casual or just occasional, with other people. And even then, she’s getting married. Even when she’s had so many people in her past, she’s settling down with Haru for good. And Haru? Haru is THRILLED. Because he loves her. Because she loves him. Because HER past does NOT have a single thing to do with THEIR future. And yet you seriously read these chapters, where Ty Lee is having a lot of fun with her fiancé, and your brain just translated this as “OMG TY LEE IS A SLUT HARU DESERVES BETTER!”? Seriously?

I feel like I’m getting asks from a childish version of Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy. Everything that isn’t straightforward needs to be explained point by point, apparently, and even then, you don’t get it. I literally went to literature school and was told to write intelligent fiction so readers would feel compelled to unravel its complexities themselves... apparently that was a big fat lie? :’) Your persistence actually has convinced me that it is.

Oh and, for future reference (because I KNOW you’ll come back, that’s all you ever do): not because you throw compliments at me later to “cushion” your complaint does it mean you’re respecting me and my story. You can’t slap someone in the face and then go “Oh your cheeks are so plump that I bet it doesn’t hurt”. You can’t just disregard my request that you keep these sorts of questions to my PERSONAL blog rather than the fic’s blog, and pretend you respect me. You can’t come to me time after time with the same complaints and attitude, watch how I’ve basically gone from initially responding with discomfort (because, in my personal blog, there are MANY asks that predate yours, where I’d already explained my reasoning to someone else who apparently didn’t get it, which means the subject wears me out, A LOT), then seeing that I started ignoring your asks, then seeing I closed the inbox so I could regain some sense of normalcy in my life that you refused to let me reclaim, and then seeing that I’m answering with outright hostility, and pretend that it’s ME who has a problem. 

If someone I respected responded in any similar manner to ANYTHING I said to them, I’d basically feel like shit and never talk to them again because I don’t want to be a burden or a problem for someone whom I value in any way. You, apparently, would rather be a problem, and to no avail, because all you’re achieving so far is convincing me to continue writing things that will make you riot until you stop reading my story. If you CAN’T stop reading regardless of the horrifying, amoral, dreadful decisions I’ve made? Congratulations: you still don’t have the right to tell me what to do with my story. And until you GENUINELY understand that, your compliments don’t mean anything to me. I have readers I value who have conveyed complaints, MANY TIMES, in an actual respectful manner. Readers who are even bothered by the same thing you are. And yet I’m even FRIENDS with them. Imagine that :’) It’s almost like the problem isn’t having whatever opinion you do... but rather, the intent of IMPOSING your opinion constantly and persistently until you’ve driven me to lash out as bluntly and cruelly as I may! To the point I’m outright saying I’m going to rewrite my story into becoming EVERYTHING you don’t want it to be so you leave me alone!

And if you’re not the one who’s been here for a year, and this is not really an echo chamber (despite all of these messages have the same complaints, wording, tone, format, style, punctuation and grammar mistakes), yet you SAW that other people have been doing this for a long time, and thought it was PERFECTLY FINE to join the party? You’re no less of an asshole than the rest of them. No matter if it’s your first time voicing your “opinion”. Because it’s NOT about what you’re saying: it’s about HOW you’re saying it. It’s about trying to guilt trip me into writing whatever you want and claiming the story is going off the rails because something makes you personally uncomfortable. This is NOT objective criticism. This is SUBJECTIVE, ENTIRELY. This isn’t a real problem in storytelling, it’s a personal problem for you because it clashes with your moral values. And NO ONE is forcing you to continue consuming content that goes against your moral values, you’re choosing to do that yourself.

If you’re to live by any of the words you said in these two asks, make it “This is your fic and you can do anything you feel fit”. Because that’s literally what I’m going to do. It’s what I’ve done over EVERY complaint in poor faith I’ve gotten, ranging from “quit writing so much happiness it’s boring” to “where’s the sex you prude”. And it’s what I intend to continue doing. What kind of criticism do I value? “This particular scene features a factually contradictory line with a previous event”, such as Zuko claiming he never went to Sokka’s house when he in fact did, and I plain and simple FORGOT about it. What more kinds of criticism do I value? “You need to work out the Gladiator League’s system better because it’s not a solid business venture”, and this one was right? And yet it was too late to fix it, despite it��s 100% spot-on and I should’ve worked it out way better than I did. Another? “Sokka may have gotten over the fact that Azula captured him and tossed him in a slave market too easily”, because? It’s a perfectly valid sentiment? I disagree because Sokka is canonically shown to get over grudges relatively quickly, and yet I CAN see why it seems too fast for some people. What else do I value? Maybe suggestions on wording problems! I’ve made a lot of stupid wording mistakes, in virtue of being a non-native speaker. I’ve done my best to amend those, but it’s a work in progress even now.

Point and case being: in literature, and thus, in fanfiction? Constructive criticism isn’t “WRITE WHAT I WANT TO READ BECAUSE I WANT TO BE PERFECTLY COMFORTABLE WITH ALL I CONSUME”. Constructive criticism is given by people who KNOW storytelling. So I’d only consider it constructive criticism if it’s given by people who can read those chapters and see that the ENTIRE purpose of that conflict is to trigger growth and development as both Sokka and Azula realize their own mistakes and shortcomings with each other. So, someone who’s giving actual constructive criticism wouldn’t come to my inbox a million times with the same complaint... someone who’s giving constructive criticism would come to my inbox, ONE TIME, and say “Hey, maybe this alternative to conveying Azula is instinctively jealous over her canonical insecurities about being a monster and earning people’s love and loyalties COULD have been preferable, despite I know you can’t change that anymore as it’s fundamental for your story”, or “Hey, I thought of another way for Sokka to convey that he realized their interest in each other could result in something TERRIBLE if they ever acted on their feelings, a way for him to not act on that specific impulse to flirt with Suki to push away Azula, but to act on ANOTHER, believable, IC Sokka-compliant impulse that might still convey exactly what you needed to”. But again, even if it were complaints like THESE? I can’t change anything anymore. It’s TOO LATE. If I think it’s too late to fix Zuko saying “lol I never went to Sokka’s house” when it’s not true? It’s WAY TOO LATE to rewrite chapters that are over SEVEN years old, and I don’t even want to do it to begin with. But I WOULD concede these criticisms. I would accept them. I wouldn’t consider them offensive to me, or my work, or disrespectful in any way.

Constructive criticism is NOT about forcing an author to agree with you, or to do whatever you ask them to. Constructive criticism is about helping an author convey what they were conveying in a better, smoother way. If you CAN’T understand what the author was conveying? You don’t qualify for offering constructive criticism. If you need explanations as to why the author did anything they did? You’re, again, not qualified to offer constructive criticism. Your criticism, in any such cases, is NOT constructive, no matter what you’re telling yourself. This is a VERY important distinction, and one you can’t pretend isn’t valid just by throwing a bunch of compliments at me after telling me I’m ruining my story.

Until the day you DO understand the difference between constructive criticism, and subjective complaints? Your opinions will not be considered valuable enough to affect my story in a positive way. And the more disrespectful you show yourself, by continuing to disregard my DIRECT request for you to stop coming back with these complaints, as well as the direct request to stop sending these questions to this blog? The less your opinions will count for me. I don’t bend over backwards for anyone. And I’m definitely not going to do it for you.

[littlethingwithfeathers]

Quarantine Cuisine: Soup Making 101

So here’s another installment that’s more technique than recipe (though don’t worry... there is a recipe at the end). Forgive me for going a little long with this one, but I feel like not enough people know how to look at their pantry contents and summon soup. So... here we go. Soup-making 101.

Here are the basic building blocks of soup:

Protein:

If you’re wanting soup that is an actual meal, you’ll need protein, and since it’s sort of the central component of your soup, it informs every decision trickling down. Cook time, flavor palate, additional ingredients. On and on and on... And the list of soup-worthy proteins is endless. In fact, it’s probably best to list what -doesn’t- make good soup. And generally, what doesn’t make good soup is anything that is best cooked on high heat for a short amount of time. So... lean steak, delicate fish... things of that sort. Here are your best choices in most categories...

Meat: anything tough like roasts, shoulders, shanks. And sausage... links or ground. And anything cured like bacon or ham. (watch your salt with those though). You basically want things that aren’t going to just boil away... things with some fat and connective tissue.

Chicken: Thighs. 100%. You can do breasts but it’s a pain because they dry out with long cooking. And they’re more expensive. Just do chicken thighs.

Seafood: shrimp or clams... tougher fish like swordfish. But unlike the proteins above, you don’t want to add them in until the very end.

Veg: any sort of bean or mushroom. Lentils... all that good stuff.

If you’re new to soup making, I recommend starting with something forgiving. Chicken thighs, bacon, ground beef or sausage, mushrooms, or chick peas... These things stand up to being souped and are pretty hard to overcook. That said, your meat choice will arbitrate your cooking time. Meat with lots of connective tissue needs a longer cooking time, whereas chicken thighs will only take about 20-30 minutes to cook through. Keep that in mind moving forward.

Broth:

Your broth choice depends largely on your previous decision... but you can sort of think of it like wine. Red wine is like darker heavier broths like beef... save it for the red meat. Chicken broth is like a dry sturdy white wine... good for chicken obvs but also veggies. Fish broth is really only good if you’re making a fish dish. And veggie broth... I really only ever use it for keeping a dish vegetarian... it’s good but the flavor isn’t super strong. My go-to is chicken broth for most everything except heavy beef stew. And even then it would work in a pinch.

There are other liquids to consider as well. Wine... vinegars... acids... juice... coconut milk... but we don’t want to really settle those until we decide the following.

Fat: All soups need a little fat. It can come from your protein if you’re using meat... or you can go with oil or butter. Keep it fairly neutral.

Aromatics and spices: Herbs, spices, and things like onion, lemongrass, garlic, or ginger. This is where you decide your flavor palate. And don’t worry... it’s not complicated. I tend to choose my flavors based on geographical location. Here... watch.

French soup: onion/shallot, celery, carrots, tarragon, parsley, lemon, thyme, rosemary.

Italian soup: onion, celery, carrots, a shitload of garlic, oregano, basil (fresh or dried).

Thai: onion, ginger, garlic, chili paste, lemongrass, Thai basil

Indian: red onion, garlic, ginger, garam masala, curry powders, turmeric

Central American: lime, garlic, cilantro, onion, cumin

Or if you really want an advanced course in flavor matching, check out this book:

The Flavor Bible by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.

You can search by ingredient and see what goes with it. Magic! It’s probably the most well used cook book on my shelf and it’s not even a cook book!

Veg: Again... go with things that are forgiving when it comes to cooking time: Mushrooms, carrots, celery, bell peppers, sturdy beans, frozen corn. But that being said, you can add things in stages. Simmer your meat and onions and carrots for awhile... add more sensitive things like potatoes in a little later. Then when everything is almost done, toss in your spinach or fresh peas and such like that to just cook through at the end. Carbohydrate: Honestly... pick your poison. Potatoes, rice, barley, pasta... go nuts. Just pay attention to the cooking time and be careful not to overcook.

***

So, with those base ingredient categories in mind, we’re just going to think like we did with the scrappy pasta from last week. You want certain flavor roles filled: Salty, sweet, fat, acid, umami.

Salty: salt. Just... straight up. You don’t always have to have something filling in... but other things to think about that might help in that department are sausage, bacon, soy sauce, grated cheese. And bear in mind... if you’re using a lot of starch like with beans, pasta, or potatoes, keep tasting as you work along to make sure you use enough salt.

Sweet: Okay we’re not talking sugar... but think about things that have a sweet component to them. Carrots, sweet peas, sweet corn... it isn’t a must have but it helps keep a dish from falling too flat.

Fat: This can come from the meat you’re using or be added by you. Keep the smoke point high so things like plain olive oil (not Extra Virgin), bacon fat, or a little butter are best. Save your fancy stuff for something else. This is more utility than anything.

Acid: This will also help keep your soup from just being all one note. Tomatoes make a great acid. As does a splash of red wine vinegar or lemon juice right at the end of cooking.

Umami: Ah that witchy little concept... the X factor of every dish. It’s hard to explain exactly what umami is. It’s a complexity that usually comes from a combination of flavors... think about chocolate and pretzels, and the way those two ingredients bring out flavors that don’t exist when those two things are eaten on their own. Have a look at this list and you’ll know what you’re looking for... bacon, toasted sesame oil, olives, parmesan cheese, miso paste, balsamic vinegar. For savory dishes, it’s usually something aged, brined, or smoked. You get the picture.

Alright... all that out of the way. I’m going to make an example soup from just crap in my pantry. I’ll give substitutions as we go along as well. Another thing you can do is google soup recipes and use this guide to make substitutions. It’s like you’re one of those neural net learning computers! Only with better context clues.

***

Pantry soup:

6 pieces of bacon, cut into one inch pieces (could also be literally any kind of fatty meat... sausage, ground critter. I wanted this to be a mostly veggie soup, so I’m going with this one)

one onion, chopped (could also be some shallots)

four carrots, cubed (could also use some celery here if you have it. I don’t.)

3-4 cloves of garlic

Some white wine... 1/2 cup-ish (for my acid and for liquid... you could totally just use more broth, but a note about cooking with alcohol... there are flavors that are soluble in alcohol but not in water. Use both broth and wine... you get the best of both worlds.)

Chicken broth (enough to liberally cover all the ingredients... this took about 48oz)

one Parmesan rind (or a little Parmesan cheese)

1 14oz can diced tomatoes, juice and all. (Pro tip... rinse the can out with about half a cup of water and dump that into the pot too so you get all the flavor.)

1 bay leaf

1 tsp Italian herbs

1/4 tsp red pepper flakes

salt and pepper

1 14oz can chick peas drained

one cup frozen green beans

3-4 potatoes cut small

spritz of lemon juice.

Things I don’t have but really wish I could add to this: Mushrooms, celery, bell peppers, and fresh spinach. Other possible adds could be frozen corn, frozen peas, sweet potatoes, kale, fresh grape tomatoes (halved), other beans like kidney, cannellini, or great northerns. In a large, heavy bottomed pot or dutch oven, cook bacon until it starts to get some color and most of the fat is rendered. Scoop the bacon out with a slotted spoon. Add onion and carrots and saute until softened. Add garlic and cook for a minute more.

Add white wine and scrape up any bits stuck to the bottom of the pan and allow to cook down by half. Add the broth, bacon, tomatoes, Parmesan rind, and spices. Bring to a simmer and cook for about 20 minutes. Taste for salt here. I’d go easy up to now, what with the bacon and the parm. But with the potatoes and the chickpeas coming into the mix, you’re going to want to make sure the broth is well seasoned. Scoop out the Parmesan rind. Add the chick peas, green beans, and potatoes and cook for an additional 30 minutes, or until potatoes and carrots are fork tender (it was closer to 40 minutes for me). Taste again for salt.

Spritz with lemon juice and serve.

[jamesmarlowe]

『ANTON THIEMKE ❙ CIS-MALE』 ⟿ looks like JAMES MARLOWE is here for HIS SENIOR year as a FINE ARTS student. He is 21 years old & known to be CLEVER, INVENTIVE, UNRELIABLE & EGOTISTICAL. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ SLOTH. 25. EST. SHE/HER.

hi hello welcome 2 my twisted mind ☺️ marlowe is a character i’m still fine-tuning bc he’s brand-new, so this is unfortunately.... a bit of a mess.... and mostly made up on the spot.... c’est la vie!!

(a late addition but u can also peep his weheartit collection here 4 some vibes)

his government name is james marlowe but he only goes by marlowe & only introduces himself as marlowe like he’s madonna or sting....  most ppl who know him (apart from like close friends) probably don’t even know what his first name is. maybe he doesn’t have one!

hails from Appalachia, specifically a trailer park in a poor-as-dirt stretch of Virginia where he was born n raised, baby. he’s Appalachian white trash and not afraid to admit it. marlowe’s very casual about his upbringing and his dumpster fire of a family (no less than three relatives are currently incarcerated, one of which is his older brother who’s probably serving a minor sentence for whatever dumb shit Tim Riggins got got for in FNL or like, selling illegal fireworks out of his trunk :/ ). the only thing he’s a little self-conscious about is his twang which he’s mostly suppressed by now, but other than that, he’s got no shame in where he comes from bc lbr no authentic artist ever came from money anyway!

born sandwiched in the middle of five siblings, marlowe’s always been wild and creative and impulsive, a loud-mouthed kid with too much to say for his own good, prone 2 getting in trouble but learning absolutely nothing from it. it was his mission in life to be Different from all the other kids who grew up where he grew up, with the way he talked, dressed, acted, because he knew that he was destined for bigger n better things so it was just a matter of getting other ppl to believe it, & then seeing how far a little talent and a lot of charisma would take him >:)

from age 8 onwards, he told people he was an “artist” and that became his primary identity. when he was 16 he completed an independent sculpture project (called “Skyscraper”) where he constructed a 20-foot tower made out of junk collected from around the trailer park and then glued Barbies n other dolls all clawing over each other to get to the top, smack dab in the middle of Main Street and refused to take it down even when the local fire department showed up 2 threaten him with fines. it did eventually get taken down bc it was ‘structurally unsound’ and someone nearly got concussed by a falling mannequin head, but at least it got some attention from local newspapers and w/ that as the crown jewel in his portfolio, marlowe got into a few different art/liberal arts schools the following year. radcliffe was the only one who offered a partial scholarship and the east coast sounded nice n far from home, so anyways lets go ✈️ college 

FAST FORWARD its senior year babey and marlowe’s been making the most of his time here at radcliffe. he’s a fine arts major but specializes in mixed media sculptures (and probably is really shit at most of his other classes, like art theory where u actually have to read textbooks? still life drawing? boring. yawn. won’t do it.) his entire profile as an artist i’m cribbing from Rachel Harrison bc I saw her exhibition at the whitney a little while ago and her sculptures made me go ?????¿¿¿¿¿ which i think is exactly the kind of bizarre nonsense that marlowe is going for with his “art”. feast your eyes on these masterpieces. the joke of it all is that marlowe is the first to admit that his art isn’t like.... good. but his philosophy is that if people respond to it & praise it like it’s art, then by definition, it’s art. and if it gets him places (like it got him onto Cultured Magazine’s “30 Young Artists To Watch This Decade″ list), then yeehaw!

When he’s not busy creating new monstrosities, marlowe takes one fat nap per day (usually at a time when he has class) and is otherwise a very social creature who needs constant attention. he’s got a lot of friends and is always looking to make more, not in a #fake way but just as a person who genuinely likes being around people. he very quickly gets bored if left on his own, so he’s prone to following people around campus like a stray cat regardless of whether or not they tell him to shoo. he dorms at Noland but is almost always found in other houses, often crashing in other people’s rooms (needs to be close to his friends or He’ll Die), and he definitely frequents parties, bc marlowe never passes up an opportunity to drink other people’s booze and get a lil messy and Chaotic. he’s [jim halpert voice] not a slut, but who knows? he’s kinda a slut! he’s also definitely pulled another stunt similar to Skyscraper by taking over the quad for a guerrilla art installation with his sculptures (and without the school’s permission oops) which may be the basis for some connections if ppl know him from that particular exploit!!

in summary..... marlowe can be a bit up his own ass at times, but being around him is generally a Good Time bc he’s easy-going and friendly and always down for anything, always. litcherally zero impulse control so nothing gets in the way of a dumb idea that might potentially make for a good story. perhaps he’s not the most reliable person, so don’t expect a prompt text back if ur in a life or death situation, and he doesn’t care very much about anything, so ur setting urself up for disappointment if you do expect him to care about something (the fact that he’s never been in a long-term relationship... very telling). all he wants to do is just have! fun all the time! he’s trying to scam his way into the American Dream with his dumb art, so that he can live a good life and maybe get rich and famous and eventually party at Art Basel in Miami with Frank Ocean! is that really so much to ask!

appearance: marlowe’s very vain and a lot of thought goes into his appearance even when (especially when) it doesn’t look like he’s done anything but roll straight out of bed. all of his outfits are as outrageous as his sculptures are ugly. think mismatched prints and loud colors, silk shirts gaping open like he got tired after the first three buttons, a pawn’s shop worth of jewelry, weird dangly earrings w/ feathers or tiny charms, tinted yellow or pink sunglasses, sometimes a bandana around his neck, just for extra flavor. his hair always has to look perfectly tousled; u can catch him checking out his reflection in pretty much every mirrored surface. at least half the surface area of his body is covered in tattoos & he’ll suggest getting more during every drunken night out, which... is why he has so many by now!

connections: to be quite honest its 2 am and i feel all of my higher brain functions shutting down so i’m gonna make these very simple n straightforward, but we can always workshop!!!! pls feel free to message me even if none of these strike ur fancy :0)

peers in the arts - friends, acquaintances, rivals, probably some former group project members holding a grudge....

fellow party animals who don’t mind sharing when marlowe inevitably mooches off their alcohol and drugs :)

unlikely friends!!!!! it’d be fun to have a friendship dynamic with someone who’s very different from him!!

a roommate in Noland... possibly one he’s not on good terms w/... even tho marlowe hardly EVER sleeps in his own dorm room, he uses it as a storage locker for all his “found” art materials. i can imagine that living in that mess would try the limits of anyone’s sanity :)  

enemies - they can hate his whole Genius Artist shtick and they’d be valid :/

fellow insomniacs! marlowe is very much a night owl (regular naps during the day may be 2 blame but oh well) so he needs a fellow nocturnal to hit up the late-night McDonald’s drive thru with him and then lay on the grass lookin at the stars and contemplating life’s great mysteries while eating chicken mcnuggets 

exes - idk if u can even call them tht when his past “relationships” have all had a lifespan of six weeks or less, but hey there’s drama in that too!!

fwb - i don’t think marlowe’s the type 2 be juggling too many fwb/hook-ups at one time simply because That’s A Lot of Work. that being said... he never likes to sleep alone ;) 

[padawanlost]

Anakin Skywalker & Slavery

Continuation of this post (a question by @ask-the-almighty-google)

Anakin, as a Jedi, had a unique approach to slavery. I’m aware this is a divisive topic with opinions ranging from “Anakin was worse than Jabba” to “Anakin did nothing wrong”. Instead of doing a “opinion piece” I decided it would be more constructive if we could look at the facts. My personal opinion will still be a part of this but today I’ll try to show more and talk less.

Anakin, as a child born in slavery, was deeply traumatize by his experiences and that certainly influenced how he look at it. His reactions to slavery were personal because it was something deeply personal to him. Anakin was wrong in not fighting for the clones but to expect Anakin to passionately the cause is unrealistic because he spend the previous 10 years old his life behind constantly criticized for that exact same behavior. He did want to save all slaves but the Jedi “beat” that dream of out him.

“Worried about helping Jabba? Don’t worry, everyone else is, too.” Anakin could never answer her. He tried not to think about it, but the thought was like a corris weevil, eating away at his resolve. The Jedi had never tried to rescue his mother or buy her out of slavery. Instead, they had taken him, given him this new life, but left her behind on Tatooine. He had just accepted it at the time, but now … now he knew how much power Jedi had, and all he could wonder is why she hadn’t been worth their time and trouble, too, if only to keep him happy. Not even Qui-Gon Jinn had cast a backward glance at Shmi Skywalker. As the months and years wore on, the question would not leave Anakin alone. He didn’t want to let resentment eat away at his fond memories of his old Master, but he couldn’t stop it sometimes. […]The Jedi Council had credits. Real wealth. Would it really have been beyond them to buy his mother out of slavery? Anakin accepted that some things had to be learned from the cradle. He was already full of attachment and emotion, too set in his ways of being a messy, ordinary human to adopt the aloof serenity—the unloving detachment, the arm’s-length and measured compassion—a Jedi needed. He did his best. Why wasn’t my mother worth saving? [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Why won’t they help me free my mother? It’s not fair! It’s not right! Countless times, Obi-Wan explained that every Jedi had to obey the directives of the Jedi Council, and could never use the Force for selfish purposes. He urged Anakin to consider how freeing one slave on Tatooine might lead to the deaths of others, as some slavers might prefer to destroy their “property” than release them from bondage. The Jedi also had to answer to the Galactic Senate, and for the time being, the Senate had little interest in anything that happened on Tatooine. Why do the Jedi have to answer to anybody? Anakin wondered. Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. [Ryder Windham’s The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

This was a constant in Anakin’s years as a Jedi. every time he tried to bring up the subject he was told how wrong he was by these powerful and wise beings he so admired. Eventually he stopped asking. He buried his dreams.

When they'd met, Anakin had been a warm-hearted nine-year-old boy with an open nature. He was twelve and a half now, and the years had changed him. He had grown to be a boy who hid his heart. [Jude Watson’s Deceptions]

Slavery became a sore topic. Something he tried to hide at all costs. And, if possible, avoided thinking about at all costs.

Anakin regretted it as soon as he said it. He’d made it sound more as if he had some wild, dark past, and nothing was better guaranteed to keep Ahsoka asking questions than that. If he explained he’d been a Hutt’s slave, she’d dig away at it until all the bad stuff came out. It was hard enough telling Padmé, and she was his wife. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

I think he internalized and eventually blamed it all on himself. He admitted to himself he had a part in  it too and that guilty ate away at him.

When the war was over he’d go back to Tatooine and see. When the war was over he’d buy any child he found enslaved to Watto and find them a home where they might live and love in safety. Belonging to no one but themselves. I should have done it before now. Wasn’t that my other childhood dream? Become a Jedi and free the slaves. Instead I became a Jedi and let myself forget. Let them convince me that it’s not our job to remake the Republic. The Jedi were keepers of the peace, not legal enforcers. That was the Senate’s job. How many times had he been told that? He’d lost count. But the Senate was falling down on the job, wasn’t it? What was the use of having anti-slavery laws if the barves who broke them never paid for their crimes? It was enough to shake his hard-won and harder-kept faith. If scum like Watto and Jabba and the other Hutts kept on making their fat profits on the backs of living property—and if the Senate continued to turn a blind eye—how could anyone believe in the Republic? How could he? [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Anakin wasn’t sure how he’d react when he saw Watto again. Although his former master had been kinder than other slave owners, Anakin had always resented the fact that Watto refused to free his mother. Watto isn’t entirely to blame, Anakin mused, wondering just how hard Qui-Gon had tried to liberate Shmi. Slavery is allowed here, and Watto is just a businessman. [Ryder Windham’s The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

There are credits in slavery—and credits trump justice. Always have. Always will. And the Jedi? They didn’t want to get involved. Even Qui-Gon … So I guess it’s up to me. I failed my mother. I didn’t go back for her and she died. But when the war is over I’ll make good on my word. I’ll fight slavery wherever I find it … and there’ll be no mercy for those who steal lives. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Jabba grew fat on the misery of beings like Anakin’s mother. He’d probably taken a percentage of the very transactions that had kept Shmi Skywalker in slavery. And still I have to save his son. Because we need his goodwill. His space lanes. The idea stuck in Anakin’s throat like a splintered nuna bone. The pain was palpable. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

He buried it so deep he became a Jedi. on the surface, he was very much a Jedi (not as dismissive of slavery as the detached Jedi but still unwilling to face the full reality of the situation). However, it still hurt him.

 Anakin wondered whether it was expedience, simple logic—both he and Kenobi spoke Huttese and were experienced in covert missions—or some exercise in character building. Yoda knew Anakin’s past, that he and his mother had been slaves of a Hutt. Jabba raked off a cut from the slave trade, too, so he was personally connected to Anakin’s boyhood misery, and even his mother’s ultimate fate. Callous didn’t begin to cover it. Anakin’s instinctive reaction would have been to tell Jabba that it was too bad and that people you loved got killed all the time. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Again, he buried his feelings and thoughts because that’s what the Jedi taught him. when the Clone War begins, that’s what he does. He buries everything. It’s a result of his traumas and his jedi upbringing. But let me you, Anakin did care about the clones. No, he did not fight for his rights or recognized their status as slaves but this idea that Anakin didn’t care about the well being of his men is as fanon as fanon gets.

I know this is a contraction hard to grasp. I mean, how can’t some fail to notice someone is a slave, keep them enslaved and still care about their life and grief for them? sounds impossible, right? But it’s not. These kinds of contractions are what makes us humans, what makes great characters great. How can Obi-wan love Anakin and still cut of his limbs and leave him to burn? He is human. This is not a simple matter that can be summarized with a simple right or wrong answer.

It’s not darkness. I’m not dark. This isn’t anger— It was okay; they’d always told him so. He was fighting to save his men, and if he did terrible things out of compassion, out of love, then he wasn’t turning to the dark side. That was the Jedi way. For my mother. For my men. For Padmé. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Impatience. Concern. Relief. Loneliness. Weariness. And grief, not yet healed. Such a muddle of emotions. Such a weight on [Anakin]’s shoulders. Months of brutal battle had left [Ahsoka] drained and nearly numb, but it was worse for Anakin. He was a Jedi general with countless lives entrusted to his care, and every life damaged or lost he counted as a personal failure. For other people he found forgiveness; for himself there was none. For himself there was only anger at not meeting his own exacting standards. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Under [Anakin]’s careless confidence, she sensed a hint of that unhealed grief. The loss of greenies Vere and Ince during the Jan-Fathal mission … the loss of other Torrent Company clones since then … his pain was like a kiplin-burr, burrowed deep in his flesh. Anakin had a bad habit of nursing those wounds, and no matter what she said, tactfully, no matter what Master Kenobi said without any tact at all, nothing made a difference. He hurt for them, and always would. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

[Anakin] looked at Ahsoka. “Fine. You can go. But I want to be kept informed of Torrent Company’s status. Don’t make me chase you for updates, is that clear?” She managed to smile. “Yes, Master. Thank you.” “And Ahsoka …” He felt his heart thud. “Tell Rex—tell all of them—that anything less than a full recovery is unacceptable. Tell Rex I—” He had to stop. Obi-Wan was in earshot, and they were not supposed to care so much. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

 [Anakin] hit the cockpit canopy switch, fast. “Obi-Wan’s fine, more or less,” he told the anxious droid, firing their fighter’s thrusters. “Ahsoka’s pretty banged up, though. So are Rex and Coric. They’re on their way to Kaliida Shoals.” R2’s mournful whistle said everything Anakin couldn’t … or didn’t want to. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Rex. Coric. Ahsoka. And fourteen dead pilots. Scores more dead and wounded ground troopers. Why can’t we stop this? Why can’t we catch Grievous? Dooku’s only one man. How can he defy the entire Jedi Order? Who is his Sith Master? Why can’t we find him? Day and night the questions ate at him. They ate at Obi-Wan, too, but somehow his former Master seemed able to live without knowing the answers. Or else he was just better at hiding his dismay. His fear. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Anakin did ask himself questions but over 10 years of being told he was wrong does take a toll. And we need to remember Anakin was 19 years old kid pushed into a war by his superiors. A lack of self-analysis, a narrow view of the world and political nativity comes with the package. Anakin *is* concern about slavery but he is a flawed person with his own blind spots. It’s the famous cognitive dissonance we all know so well.

I’m not saying Anakin is right but deference is an important part of the character. Anakin cannot be the sort of person who is too aware of what’s going on around him or else he wouldn’t turn into Vader. He had to be written this way to explain why Vader exists. If Anakin had questioned the Republic’s slave army he wouldn’t have become the Vader knew from the OT. He had to be kind of guy who blinds follows his superiors even against his own self-interest.  

[leahlovescatsandbacon]

Thunder thighs fo' lyfe. I've been doing this Instagram thing since 2012 and have seen lots of trends come and go in the fat community. I remember the early days of body positivity, when I still felt represented by it, before it became overrun by thin pretty white women and used as a springboard to make them shitloads of money, or hawk shitty diet products. Where do the fat people of colour go to feel represented? The disabled fats? The superfat fats? The non binary, the queer, the trans people who are fat? The people who have multiple intersecting oppressions? What hashtags belong to them so they can find their people? It's appalling when the people who need it most are edged out of a movement. Who started the fat liberation movement in the 60s and 70s? I bet it wasn't overrun with pretty, thin white women. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Body positivity took the tenets of fat liberation and whitewashed it, monetised it and ruined it for all but the most privileged of souls. For this reason I stopped using bopo hashtags a few years ago, even if they're a guaranteed way to get more likes. 😂 I use a lot of hashtags with fat in them (like 'fatspo') because I feel more at home with fat acceptance as a concept, but even fat acceptance sounds too passive to me. Acceptance sounds too much like tolerance, and I don't want my body to be merely tolerated. But not everyone feels the same as me and that's ok. The 'Love Yourself!' mantra so often bandied about in bopo circles (and I've been guilty of this too) can fall short, because what if you don't love yourself? What if you're trying but it all seems too much? I like this new idea of body neutrality. My take on it is you don't have to love your body, but you can work on accepting it for all it does for you while you work towards feeling better about yourself. Loving yourself is great if you're at that stage of your journey, but hating yourself less than yesterday is still progress. Learning to like or love yourself in a fat body is so hard, so I'm sending love to everyone out there who's struggling. ❤️ — view on Instagram http://bit.ly/2E45FA8

[jessikaoidh]

How to Make a Simple Burger

  The basic ingredients for a burger include beef, onions, and lettuce. You can add cheese or other toppings to create a custom burger. Other popular toppings include bacon, lettuce, tomato, jalapenos, and pickles. You can also add condiments such as mustard, ketchup, or mayonnaise. Personally, I like to add caramelized onions, mushrooms, and bread and butter pickles.

Using a burger press

If you're looking for a convenient way to make simple burgers, consider using a burger press. The device features a three-in-one design. The bottom portion is ideal for a large patty, while the central section makes the perfect slider or mini patty. Many people complain, though, about sticky moulds, which make cleaning the press difficult.

The burger press works by applying pressure to the burger patties. By doing this, the burgers are pressed into a uniform shape. This makes it easier to evenly distribute the ingredients. Without a burger press, it can be difficult to achieve a classic patty shape, and the burger will often be a lumpy mess. Whether you aim for additional resources about burgers, browse around this website.

Using a skillet or griddle

A skillet or griddle is a versatile piece of cooking equipment. It is particularly helpful for cooking over an open fire. It must be oiled before use. Heat the griddle over hot embers, then cook the burger patties until golden brown. If possible, toast the buns over the fire as well.

For a perfectly cooked burger, you need a thick metal spatula. Place four to five ounces of ground beef in the pan and season liberally. Place the burger on the griddle or skillet and press down on the top of it. You can also use a second spatula to apply more pressure. It should be done in about a minute and a half.

A griddle is a convenient tool for cooking burgers. However, a frying pan or skillet may also do the job. You can cook the burgers in just a few minutes.

Adding crushed crackers to burger patties

Adding crushed crackers to burger paties can add an extra layer of flavor and texture to homemade patties. These patties are great on their own or with a variety of toppings. They are also great for storing in the freezer. If you want to keep your patties in the freezer, simply wrap them tightly in plastic wrap and place in an airtight freezer bag. This way, they will stay fresh for up to two days in the freezer.

When mixing the ground beef and crushed crackers, add 1 large egg, one tablespoon of coarse ground black pepper, one-half teaspoon garlic powder, and one teaspoon of coarse kosher salt. Mix well, and make patties that are about 1/3 pound in size. Flatten them slightly, so that they are slightly larger than the buns. You can then place the patties on a grill or cook them in a skillet with canola oil. After cooking, allow them to rest for five minutes before serving. If you wish, you can serve them on Brioche buns. Click this link to learn more about burgers now.

Cooking burgers on the stove top

You can cook simple burgers on the stove top in a variety of ways. Ground chuck contains a high fat content, which will help your burgers cook without sticking to the pan. Adding a little bit of butter to the patties will also add some flavor and help them form the perfect exterior crust. After preparing the burgers, you can cover them with a lid to keep the grease from escaping and to seal in the juices of the beef. Adding cheese to your burgers at the end is a great way to finish off the meal, since the heat will melt the cheese instantly.

When cooking burgers on the stove top, keep in mind to keep them on a medium-high heat. Don't move them around too much, and try to let them cook for about four to five minutes without turning them. The burgers should be cooked through, and the juices should run clear or brown when you flip them.

Keeping patties from falling apart

If you want to have the best burger possible, there are some tips you should keep in mind. For starters, avoid over-salting your meat. Too much salt will draw out moisture from the meat proteins, which will make the burger crumbly. You should also avoid putting too much liquid dressing on your burger.

Using liquid-free ingredients is one of the best ways to keep burgers moist. The fat in beef helps keep the burger moist and juiciness. Adding fat to lean ground beef is also a great way to add flavor to your burger. Another method to keep patties together is to use a meat press, such as the Perfect Patty Shaperz.

Summary:

When making a simple burger, you can also try freezing your patties before cooking. Frozen patties are easier to hold together during the cooking process. If you don't have any freezer space, you can use plastic or wax paper to wrap the patties until you're ready to cook them.

[femnet]

Dear Me 15-Years Ago,

You’re 21 today! This is a day you have been waiting on for a very long time. It seems even longer because you’re the youngest out of all of your friends! Eighteen was considered adulthood, but 21 is that next level of adulthood!  You’re almost finished with college, and about to be out in the real world.  As you wake up today, very hungover by the way (don’t worry, you mostly learned that lesson, you’ll only get that drunk one more time in your life), I thought as your older, much wiser self, I would impart a little wisdom on you.

Let’s start with a couple of easy ones…

Be a better driver! This should be a given, but you’re terrible. You’re about to get into another wreck. What is this, like five? Luckily no one will ever get hurt by your terrible driving, but you will save thousands upon thousands of dollars if you would just pay more attention to the road. And this is before people will start texting and driving. Seriously, your only excuse is that you suck a driving. Take a class!

Listen to your parents. They are literally always right. Every. Single. Time. You’re rolling your eyes now, aren’t you? By the time you figure out that they’re always right, you’ll also learn that it’s either because they made your same mistakes and lived to tell the tale, or that they know you better than you know yourself. Your mom will actually know you’re pregnant before you figure it out. It’s freaky!

That guy that you think is so great right now… he’s not the one! In fact, there will be a few more “not the ones” before you do meet the one. Some of them will be total wastes of your time, but a few will teach you something about what you do want in the one. Don’t stop putting your heart on your sleeve. The one time you wanted to protect your friendship and not follow your heart, you ended up losing the friendship anyway because he got tired of waiting around for you.

Don’t get the store credit card for 20% off your purchase. It sounds like a great idea while you’re buying 10 outfits, but what the clerk isn’t telling you is that the interest rate is 29% or more. Are you going to pay it off the second you get home? Nope! The math doesn’t add up. The store just made an extra 9% on you.

Life isn’t black & white. It’s lived in the grey area, but that area isn’t really grey either. It’s full of color. The older you get the more you’ll realize that there are very few clear cut answers in this world. The values that you are passionate about right now won’t change, you’ll always be socially liberal, but you’ll realize that most issues aren’t as simple as you think they are right now. Learn to have real discussions with the other side and listen to their answers with empathy and understanding. The political climate will get really ugly, and understanding the grey area will be what saves a lot of relationships.

Take the Trip, Experience the Things, But Don’t Make the Rest of Your Life Contingent on a Checklist!

You’re planning a trip with your roommate to Europe right now, and it’s going to be amazing. Life long memories! You’ll go on a couple more with her, and do some other really cool stuff too like going skydiving. Here is the thing that most of your generation is going to get caught up with, and you’ll fall into the trap of for a little bit too: don’t make the rest of your life contingent upon checking off a full list first!

You and so many of your peers are going to have these lists that you want to complete before you get saddled down with a spouse and kids. You’re going to want to see all these places and do all these crazy things that you think you’ll never have another chance to do again and do a degree, you’re right! At 36 you will never again share a hostel in Paris with 8 strangers! But you won’t want to either!

What you and your peers don’t see right now is the whole being tied down thing isn’t so bad! Being tied down means you’ll have people at home when you get there at night after a really bad day. Being tied down means you’ll have someone to wake up to every day, and someone to rejoice in life’s everyday victories with. Being tied down means that you have someone who knows you, understands you, and to run ideas off of. You and your future husband are going to miss this point for a while, and end up breaking up and getting back together so many times your best friends are going to be sick of hearing about him! You both will be too scared to be tied down because you haven’t experienced all the things you want to experience yet, and you’ll cause yourself an ocean’s worth of unnecessary tears, a bunch of really bad first dates, and one “relationship” you’ll really regret.

If you’d let go of what you haven’t experienced yet and just follow your heart, the two of you could avoid wasting a lot of time!  Your friends could too. You’ll see a lot of them continue to add to their list of things to do before kids until they get to the point where they struggle to actually have them. Then you’ll watch them hurt and wonder why they thought it was so important to wait for so long.

No, you haven’t been back to Europe since getting married and having kids, but you will one day.  When you do go back, it will be with a different perspective on the world, and a different budget too! Do NOT travel again where you have to share bathrooms and hot water with strangers! For real! And you know what? If you don’t make it back, that’s ok too. That just means it wasn’t meant to be. The world is too big to see and experience everything in one single lifetime.

Be Comfortable in Your Own Skin

Right now, you think you’re fat. You’ve always thought you were fat. The only thing you see are all the girls who are skinnier than you.  You were made fun of all through school for the size of your butt, your not flat stomach, your small boobs, and your weight. The complex has and will continue to stay with you. You were told by your school that the taunting was boys being boys, and you were expected to just accept that. You were expected to accept that your worth was tied up in boys being boys. The good news is, you won’t let your boys just be boys because of it.

Here’s the thing, the size you are right now, at 21, is the skinniest you’ll ever be! Once you get out into the real world and start working at a job that requires you to sit at a desk all day, your metabolism will start to tank, and it will tank more with each pregnancy. Carbs will not be your friend. Thank your genetics for that. You do need to make sure to take care of yourself and stay healthy (you’ll actually meet your husband in a gym, not the bar you’re walking into tonight), but don’t be so worried about the size of your clothes. That new “best friend” you’ll make very soon who talks constantly about her weight and really gets into your head, she has issues! Get her out of your head! She’s going to ditch you after you have kids anyway. One day you’re going to wish you are as fat as you think you are now.

For as skinny as you are now (yes, you’re skinny), in 15 years your kids will still make fun of you because the fashion choices you are making are absolutely ridiculous! Snakeskin, pleather pants are NEVER a good idea. Neither is purple glitter eyeshadow. Your kids, the people who matter most to you in the world, will never think twice about your size.

And here is the thing about your size, the right guy isn’t going to care if you are a size 0 or 14. He’s going to care about the inside. The guy you meet in the bar who does care about your size isn’t worth keeping around. You won’t remember his name one day when your kid finds your old pictures and asks who he is. You can ask your future husband on any given day what size you are and he won’t have a clue. He loves the way you look at any size! The one thing he doesn’t love, however, is bangs. When you cut bangs and cut your hair to shoulder length, then you’re going to have issues. He hates bangs and short hair. You’ll find a picture many years after you did it and realize what he was talking about too! Just. Don’t. With. The. Bangs!

Money is Important… Don’t Buy so Many Shoes!

You love to shop right now! Over the next few years, that love is going to grow, and you’re going to quite literally have a closet full of shoes and drawers upon drawers of makeup! Unfortunately, what you don’t see coming right now is a huge recession and that closet full of shoes is going to mean nothing when you have bills and a baby to pay for! Instead, you should have saved and invested some of that money! I know, super boring, right? But hear me out…

If you had invested some of the money you spent on things that will both go out of style and not fit you anyway in a few years, invested into a small company like Amazon, that money will be there when you’re stressed about how to both buy diapers and keep the lights on. You can still have some nice shoes, but 7 pairs of red heels that you’ve mostly only worn once is a bit over the top!

Start paying attention to money trends and what is gaining momentum early on, then chase it! Just think, if you’d started your blog 15 years ago, when bloggers weren’t even really a thing, where would you be?

On the subject of money, always pay more than the minimum on your credit cards. Go ahead and calculate how much you’ll pay over five years in interest and fees if you don’t. Go ahead… I’ll wait… Ugly, huh? There is your next great trip, by the way! Put more than the minimum down on your house. You’ll have more leverage later when you need to refinance. Listen to your dad when he says to have three months saved up! You’ll be laid off during the recession and not given much of a severance package. You’ll need that money and will be extremely stressed out because of it. Then you’ll be fired again one day and be glad you have some savings while you work things out (you’ll wish you had more, you’ll always wish you had more).

Don’t Put Work First. Check Your Priorities!

There is going to be a big push with companies for the “team” environment. There will be a bunch of studies coming out about how employees work harder, and perform better when they feel they are part of a team or work family. The thing with that is, there are very few companies who really adhere to that philosophy: those will almost always be small startups with very little money. These larger companies you’re working for that are touting this mantra have one goal, and that’s to make you work harder for less money. The goal is for you to put the company before yourself. When you believe in your team or the company so much that it is your main priority, you’re much less likely to call foul when something is not right. You’re much less likely to cause trouble. That “open door policy” all of these companies say they have is B.S. Don’t use it and talk to your boss about anything. It will always bite you later.

The other thing that will happen is that you’ll put work ahead of people.  You’ll miss weddings of dear friends, baby showers, visits with family because you believe that if you just put the company first that it will pay off. You’ll believe that they will see your dedication and reward you for it one day. The thing about it is, that the companies will never put the employees first and they will turn on you in a second to advance a different objective. It will happen to you and it will happen to many, many people you know. When you’re looked over for an opportunity for a promotion, or let go from the job you put first, you’ll be full of so much sadness but in hindsight, you’ll realize you weren’t sad because of the missed work opportunity. You’ll realize you’re sad because you missed life opportunities. You’ll hurt or even lose important relationships because your priorities were not in check.

Embrace Your Mistakes

I know, at 21 you think you have all of life’s answers, and you mostly do have your act together compared to a lot of people your age, but one day you are going to laugh at yourself and your “maturity.” If there is one thing you need to do more of, it’s not taking yourself so seriously, and laugh at life’s blunders! There are very few mistakes you can make that cannot be fixed. You’ll take a lot of your mistakes to a whole new level by over-thinking how you fix them!

Instead, choose to pause, learn something, then just laugh at yourself! Every mistake you make is an opportunity to learn something new about yourself, and will ultimately point you in the direction you’re supposed to go. You can choose to go in that direction with joy and laughter or kicking and screaming but either way, you’re going to go the way you’re meant to go.

You’ll make one huge “mistake” in a few short years and not realize that antibiotics hurt the effectiveness of birth control pills (so doesn’t not taking the pills at the same time every day). You’re going to be totally shocked when that mistake catches up to you and you realize your life is going to go in a totally different direction than planned. You’ll even spend the first couple years of motherhood & marriage mourning a lost youth, watching others continue to check off those lists they made, and not enjoying that time with your baby. That “mistake” actually gave you the kick in the rear you needed to grow up, and he’s a pretty awesome kid.

By the time you have your second kid, you’ll have learned to laugh at life and you’ll be surprised at the difference it makes for your family. Baby number 2 won’t be as fussy because mommy isn’t so stressed! Failure isn’t always a bad thing if you just learn to look at it differently.

Always Trust Your Gut

You know that gut feeling you get? You should listen to that more. Those feelings aren’t just thoughts in the back of your head. They’re really God telling you the direction you’re supposed to go, or protecting you from something. Trust it and listen to it more. When you start to feel things like maybe that boss isn’t a good person, go ahead and jump ship before the job turns bad. Those times you feel like it’s time to leave the party then just get up and go. When you get that weird feeling that you just need to call someone or go to them, do it. Don’t think about it and second guess it. That person needs you in that moment. Even those people you haven’t talked to or seen in a while. If they’re suddenly on your mind, that’s God telling you they need to hear from you.

By listening to your gut feeling, you’re trusting and believing that God has a plan and showing you have the faith to follow it.  In your moments of the deepest trials, whether its money trouble or marriage issues, as long as you continue to trust God’s plan, everything will turn out ok. Most of the time you won’t have a clue as to how it will be ok, but at that moment all you’re supposed to do is trust that it will. Don’t lose hours upon hours of sleep worrying because none of your worries will lead to any kind of clarity that will help. It’s when you let go of the control, and have faith that you will find your clarity in the hardest of situations.

You’re Capable of More Than You Give Yourself Credit For!

You’re full of self-doubt. You question constantly whether you can accomplish your goals. The thing you don’t know right now is that you have some grit about you, and when you need to dig your heels in, you do it with everything you have to follow through on your commitments and promises. You achieve some pretty amazing things this way. Remember that when you start doubting yourself and get tempted to settle for another job you hate right after you decide to finally go after your passion for writing. Keep at it, and you’ll figure it out! You won’t let yourself fail!

Above all else, enjoy this time that you’re in, and love those who really matter with everything you have!

Sincerely, 36-Year Old Me

[12thhouseshakti]

The evolution of really being you.

Om Gan Ganapataye Namaha.

I had this epiphany today. I decided to document my progress as I become me. Unless of course, I evolve into another me and forget.

The truth is that personal transformation takes both courage and will. Many people quit and do all they can to avoid it. Personal transformation is messy and emotionally draining but 1000 percent worth it in the end.

Today, I learned that owning who you are means:

Standing up for yourself is part of the process of healing. The first time I spoke up it was hard for me. I often though the conversation would become confrontational if I tell this person what I think. After a few times, I started to feel an energetic shift. It turns out compromising my real beliefs not only helped, but it made things worse. So be polite yet firm in your interactions with self and others.

 Authenticity is a regular practice that must be monitored all day (like a bad kitty). The more you speak your truth - especially when someone is making fun of you or compromising your beliefs, the more you liberate yourself from the sad silent acceptance of those disparaging comments. By speaking up and reminding yourself that unconditional starts with the self, we can improve our own energy field.

Only you can take ownership of your life. Live your life undistracted by external feedback. Many people do not understand your personal experiences, your shadows, your pain, or your spirit. You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone except yourself. If you want it, you get it. No one can force you do it. You can sit back and watch, but keep in mind, if you don’t take control of your life someone else will. And time goes by fast – so don’t waste it.

Own your talent so you can grow. Incredible things keep happening to me and yet I feel unworthy and scared. I had to examine that. Why was I blocking myself and doing shit that aligned with the shitty story of who people said I am.

Amazing how the dark energies win – they win when we believe the bad things, they tell us.

The thing is about the mind is that we should stop listening to it.

The mind/ego has one agenda. To protect its own comfort. Basically, the ego wants you comfy and fat and comfy.

Solution

Own your own BS. Yes, own it but believe the good stuff too.

When you get a compliment say thanks. No, this old thing! Bleh.

We must believe in ourselves first. That is why Tony Robbins talks so much about working on a strong mindset. He states that your story and state are everything. And he goes on to say, “Give up the story that limits you”.  Yes, I know that it feels weird. But give yourself a hug for having amazing EQ. The great news is that you are even aware of it!

When you go down a dark path or feel sad etc., you must recognize it and change your state.

“No, self, I am a bad ass. Go to sleep now”.

Keep in mind you want to say “sleep” and not “stop” because resistance creates expansion.

Treat yourself like the ones you love. I often remind myself “no one is perfect, and neither am I”.

We must forgive ourselves each time and redirect ourselves to gratitude and acceptance.

Yes, I say to myself…I am good at x, y and z.

Keep reminding yourself so you can excel at it. Denying it is a hurdle to the next step. So, take control of your own focus and remind yourself to focus on what you are good at and let the rest fall.

Jai Shri Krishna.

[anthonybialy]

Afghanistanabandon

Why did the CDC withdraw troops from Afghanistan? The agency that replaced three branches will swear they only ripped off landlords while the nominal executive let the Taliban lord over land. It's easier to let bureaucrats decree than obey some dumb Constitution.

Joe Biden wishes he could accuse someone else of doing his job. The part-time president dodging job tasks is the best hope for preserving the republic. He has nobody to demonize for letting humanity's biggest foe fill the void.

Delinquents committed to tearing down civilization are free to prey after the teachers bailed. The Taliban recaptured a very sad nation in less time than Fat Tony took to bring booze back to Springfield. White House officials recited that it'd take 72 hours to evacuate a totally stable embassy like it was scientific, but they didn't even get that long to stop the spread.

The quasi-president hopes to get away with playing hooky by making us endure the results of him showing up to work. The Taliban exploits the eviction moratorium. Whoever's commander-in-chief must be mortified.

Stop interrupting the slot car tournament.  You Twitter generation people want everything instantly, like how you demand the guy who ran for and won this job take less than a week to address the Legion of Doom setting up a Kabul branch. Every chair is empty in a vapid White House. Biden has something in common with Afghanistan’s president: they both fled.

American soldiers were the only adults with authority. If you're concerned about endless war, I’ve got news about how many American military personnel stand in South Korea with barrels pointed northward. What next: we keep bases in Germany and Japan after that one world war?

Walking away while an opponent is punching doesn't end the fight. The real War on Women is about to recommence in Kabul. Someone tell Biden Islamist lunatics aren’t wearing masks to get him to care. Barbarians didn't present vaccine cards before taking seats.

Liberals should pretend the Taliban is outraged about vaccine shortages. They tried their hardest to convince everyone that regarding Cuba. Inflation in Kabul may not be temporary.

An Islamic terror sponsor offers distractions from other White House failures. Finding America's missing southern border doesn't seem like such an urgent priority anymore. At least Kabul didn't fall as quickly as the line demarcating southern Texas. The government finally does something fast, and everyone complains.

I wish Biden defended Kabul like his fans defend him. Shrieking that it's a previous president's fault is certainly a sign the war turned out well. Yes, Donald Trump sucks for thinking he could strike a deal with the Taliban as part of his endless shtick, especially considering his deft dealing turned out about as well as taking on the NFL. That failure despite boasting goes along with a million other overcompensation for personal insecurity with empty boasting. But the retired game show host also didn't order the military to dash away like Bill Clinton from a paternity test.

Presidents from each party can suck it. Next time, make sure there's at least one adult finalist for president, and not just by technical virtue of being born in the 1940s. One of the truly joyous parts about rabidly blind partisanship is how very calm cultists feel compelled to assign 100 percent fault to the other side.

Both the incumbent and previous presidents can be despicable, and you can even assign scolding unevenly. The victorious geezer gets a higher percentage of fault than he did of the vote. After all, he just lost an area renowned for hosting peril to a deranged death cult.

John Wayne Gacy wonders who stuffed corpses in the crawlspace. The Hot Dog Car sketch gets a workout as the Biden White House focuses on its top priority of finding someone to blame. The most embarrassing part for those who treat responsibility as communal for personal reasons is seeing direct consequences of actions.

Noticing what happens is despised by liberals who excuse criminals while showing how much they care about the poor by creating more of them. And forget what happens when victory is beaten by a desire for faux peace.

Biden was too busy waging war on free breathing.  The tradition of Democrats loathing successful Americans more than American enemies is not a proud one.  The White House's primary nemesis is Ron DeSantis. For someone the president loathes, he's sure making it easy for him to take his job.

September 11's 20th anniversary will be spent fearing terror attacks. The White House is deeply invested in helping people remember what being constantly scared of assaults by the wicked felt like. Did you want to forget, you anti-patriot? Letting Earth's most bloodthirsty fiends set up a clubhouse would be ominous enough if there weren't precedent for how much evil they can inflict with time and space to ponder.

Speaking of knowing better, the White House would like you to stop noticing how Kabul and Saigon are de facto sister cities. Fleeing embassies doesn't quite project power. Abandoning Vietnam would bring back memories for the president if he could recall what he had for breakfast.

Elderly imbecility is his best excuse. Decrepitude can't be used to explain unforgivable decisions almost half a century ago when then-Senator Biden did everything he could to ensure diabolical communists overtook Vietnamese desperate to avoid tyranny. Say what you want about the nasty putzing president, but at least he sticks to his principles.

The administration is baffled by how its awesome comity led to Earth's most diabolical theocracy getting a sequel. Even a country without reliable wifi like Afghanistan should've heard there's a cool ice-cream eating president by now. Kamala Harris is shocked the Taliban didn’t have to sleep with anyone to gain power.

As for the president in name only, it’s almost like he’s a prickly dolt who’s wrong about every last thing and has obviously never been in charge of anything. The probationary leader spent an indolent lifetime enabling mooching in the legislature instead of figuring out how useful people operate. An untrained 78-year-old never even learned how to do one of government's few jobs, namely not throwing away war gains.

Biden's doing great except for the part where he has no clue how the world works, from thinking government is swell at providing insurance to acting like walking away from a war is the same as winning it.

Seeing the world perfectly incorrectly makes it even more so. A ghastly regime that lets their BFF terrorists hang out getting a reboot thanks to the president's production is too perfect of an example. He's naturally and sadly harassing the wrong people. Biden wants to take your money and autonomy as he lets the Taliban take Afghanistan.

[philosworkbench]

Solopreneurs: What’s your fastest Shower,  Ship, Succeed story?

Maybe this term already exists. I have no idea. But here’s what I want to talk about: I had an idea for a new class while in the shower yesterday. I announced I was doing it today. It starts in two weeks. In six weeks, I’ll have a pretty clear picture of how successful it was. That seems like a turnaround that solopreneurs are uniquely positioned to create.

Backstory: My COVID vs. Career Crisis

Disclaimer: My family and I have been extremely lucky during COVID. No one has been sick and no one in my immediate family works in healthcare or has a job that requires going in-person work. So, I’m using the term “crisis” with a tremendous amount of privilege. Still, it decimated my industry and how I used to earn a living.

That all being said, when COVID hit, I lost four months of work in one week. It created a huge void in my life. My entire career was built on live: live training and facilitation using IMPROV. I curled up into a ball and started questioning everything I had done in my life. What did it mean? What was at the center of it. About 6 months and 100,000 words (written only to myself) later, and I had the conceptual model for the PLAY Polarities. It was exhilarating. I had an idea of value that I could share with the world. Something of mine that I could sell myself. Only one problem. I didn’t devise the product. Okay, cool. Here’s a model. Everybody has a model. No one pays for an idea. They pay for an application of an idea.

So, simultaneously as I began telling people at PLAYdates (then TDCocoa) about the idea, I began thinking about ways to productize the insights I had assembled. What’s the coaching package? What’s the training program? Etc. 

I think about monetization a lot. Between my cozy white male Gen X upbringing and my life in improv, I didn’t get a lot of good ideas about how to make money happen. As a kid I was told by parents and guidance counselors: “just get a general liberal arts degree and you can do anything.” I even once suggested to my stepdad that I might get a degree in public speaking (which turns out would have been hugely valuable as I spent a lot of time as a presentation skills coach). His reaction?

“Why would you get a degree in how to say something instead of getting a degree in what to say.”

Somehow he thought that was a bad idea but didn’t bat an eye as I selected my major in philosophy. PHILOSOPHY.

From there I went into improv where the general approach to everything is, “let’s just help each other out and everything will be fine.” That’s why the only financially successful improvisers are the ones you recognize on TV or the ones with good day jobs. “It’s a mug’s game.”

Don’t get me wrong: improvisation can help you immeasurably as an entrepreneur. I just didn’t know it and never applied it that way. So, consider it a “mod.” Improv doesn’t necessarily help “out of the box.”

So, I did what I always do and why I’ve devoted myself to facilitating transformational self-improvement -- I started reading books about it. How does one become an “entrepreneur?” How does one “monetize” their intellectual property into a service? How does one “productize” their services into clearly defined products?

That brings me to a nice hot shower.

SHOWER: Surprising Yourself with the Big Idea

I’ve been racking my brain about lightweight products to monetize the PLAY Polarities. I turns out that it’s not enough to say, “I do coaching, training, and consulting.” People don’t just start throwing money at you. You have to clearly identify problems and try solving them.

So you discovered a model that seems to organize individual, team, and organizational improvement priorities. Big deal! Who needs that? Do they know they need that? What are they going to do with that knowledge? How can it make or save them money? I.e. WHY SHOULD THEY PAY YOU?

I’ve been beating my head against the wall about this for weeks. And, without exception, each monetization strategy I come up with occurs to me in the shower. It just pops into my head.

“Eureka! I should do this!”

Disclaimer: My spouse and I are watching the TV show, Eureka, right now. That may be a factor.

So the idea for this new class hit me. I would lead a live, virtual class, reduce the rate in exchange for participants letting me record it and turn it into assets for an asynchronous eLearning. 

Okay, but if I’m going to do that, before everyone gets too busy returning to the “real world,” I should do it QUICKLY.

“Like April?” says my Shower Daemon.

“Yes! April!” I reply. And then immediately face anxiety. How do I do that?

SHIP: Lessons from Volunteer Carpentry and Seth Godin

Something else I had to learn on my journey to unexpected entrepreneurship? Execution. Yes, my new company is as an assassin.... ON THE DANCE FLOOR! (Jumps up and down, shakes hips, trips, falls, farts.)

I had to learn what Charan and Bossidy talk about in their book, unsurprisingly called Execution. So you have great ideas? Great. What will you do about them? You plan to sell? How will you sell? How many dials? How many LinkedIn messages? When? 

Execution is the lifeblood of business. It’s almost too simple to recognize it’s profundity. Yes, duh, to do something, you must, you know, do something. When I tell you that that simple truism has sabotaged most of my professional life, believe me. 

As the Apostle Paul says, “The good that I would do, I do not. The evil that I would not do, I do.”  

Or, in the Revised Matt Elwell version, “The work that I wish I would do, I procrastinate about. The desk that doesn’t need to be reorganized for the 80th time, I reorganize again. This is, in fact, the perfect day for it.”

As I said in a PLAYdate this afternoon:

Most people get to the starting line and GO! I get to the starting line and keep trying to redraw the perfect starting line. Job one for me is cultivating the habit of running imperfectly.

So, against every instinct, I announced my class on today’s PLAYdate using a slide I created while the participants were in their breakouts. 

There are two places. The first was Habitat For Humanity. I was no carpenter, but my home church had a long history with HFH and I loved the few mission days I spent with them. I learned a lot about handling wood and framing out a house. I learned how to “talk to the nail,” making small adjustments to how you struck the nail to encourage it not bend as you encountered resistance. As someone who was pretty much written off in gym class as an irredeemable fat nerd, this was something physical that I felt competent about.

However, because I felt competent, I started wanting everything I did to be perfect. To garner the compliments and validation that meant so much to me as I started. But no. that positive reinforcement started waning, and people instead started looking at me with their heads cocked to one side. I was taking too long.

That’s when I learned a saying I’ve tried to remind myself of my whole life:

“You ain’t building a piano!”

(This was said to me in deep southern New Jersey, so it was more like, “Yuh-aint-buildin’-uh-pian-urr!” And then someone threw a piece of scrapple at me. True story.)

That simple sentence reminds me that I have made a habit, perhaps a compulsion, of fretting over details most people won’t notice. I’ve often excused this by telling myself that I’m an artist and therefore, I’m not just filling orders.

If you’re prone to excusing your own poor time management in favor of artistry, consider this. Are you making a statement about your art with what you are doing, or making a statement about your fear with what you’re not yet doing? Are you really saying something with the detail you’re burning hours on to get “just right” or are you allowing yourself to avoid something that really does present the greater artistic challenge. 

As Stephen Covey observed, “avoid being ‘right in the thick’ of thin things.”

That’s my Habitat for Humanity story. My other influence, which is a much shorter story, is Seth Godin. You can still get his ShipIt Journal for free on his blog. And if you have something worth doing, I would suggest using his guide to help you do it. In Godin’s characteristic manner, he helped me realize how much of my failure to execute was motivated by fear. 

If you’re terrified of failing at something, your brain will make sure you don’t, by making sure you never really try. Basically, you brain exists to keep you alive. We’ve evolved to not do things that can endanger our aliveness by experiencing and avoiding pain. So, if you’re afraid of failing, you are experiencing a kind of pain. Brains hate that noise. QED: you never quite get around to it.

So when I’m not channeling the kindly old South Jersey carpenter who said, “you ain’t building a piano,” I channel Seth Godin who calmly informs me through his immaculate demeanor and trademark spectacles, “just get it shipped.”

Telling people about my class today was me “throwing my cap over the wall” to make sure I did what I said. I’m already scared thinking about it. But now it’s a fear of not getting it shipped, not of not getting it perfect. That’s the fear I want.

SUCCEED: Coming Soon? 

In improv we have a “rule of threes.” It’s integral to comedy:

Offer something

Add something else which, by its very following of 1, begins to create a possible connection/story

Add a third thing which, by association with the other two things, clarifies the connection and resolves it or launches us on a trajectory

Depending on that third offering, you either have a joke or a scene, but either way, you have a good chance a comedy.

Either way, the third thing is where we start seeing “the product.” The thing thing is the embodiment of “oh, I get it....” For example:

If Player A nods to Player B and says, “Cat” and Player B nods back and says “Dog.” Then a lot can happen.

Player A can say, in a business like manner. “Are any other animals joining us at this business meeting?” Immediately, a lot becomes clear. These people are playing animals. They’re doing some kind of animal business. Hilarious.

Player A can say, “Oh, I love dogs! Isn’t the vet here, great?” The two make small talk while their pets are getting treatment. Eventually, they fall in love. (Player A and Player B. Not the pets. Or Do ThEy!?)

Or, Player C can enter and offer a warm, “Hey, Dog!” to Player B and sit down next to them. Then, they can turn and nod in the direction of Player A with a curt, even cold, “Cat.”. Player B can respond happily, so grateful to be acknowledged. Player A can respond to the frosty greeting in a way that makes Player C visibly shiver: “Helloooooo, Mouse.”

No matter which of those scenes interests you, they would all interest someone. In an audience of 150, at least a few would walk out the door of the theater that night and say, “that one was my favorite. That group was so good. Let’s come back here soon!” 

Three beats makes a product. Three beats is something people will buy, buy again, and tell their friends to buy. Three beats is success.

As I embark on this journey of Shower-Ship-Succeed, I think about what I need to get to my third beat. And what occurs to me is a clear picture of what success looks like and a practical understanding of what I need to do in myself, in my actions, in my systems, and in my relationships to make that success happen. 

Some people might argue (and they might be right) that you shouldn’t get to ship without having a clear picture of success. And maybe they’re right. But don’t let that stop you from starting the creation or “shipping” process. In fact, I’m finding that all three of these states are iterative. You don’t so much go linearly from one to the other.

You have your “shower moment.” Hopefully, you listen to it and start to work on it. You start getting ready to “ship.” I call that whole process “shipping,” not just the putting-it-on-the-shelf-with-a-price-tag part. As you do that, I believe you get a vision for what this will be and who will like it and then you can start asking why they would pay for it, and that can start you on this cycle. 

That might be a question that sends you back to the shower for more.

What about YOUR Shower, Ship, Succeed story?

I started this post with a question and then all this stuff just flowed out. (Hooray, my gift of making first drafts five times longer than they have to be!)

Here’s what I want to know: Have you ever, as a solopreneur, or just a creator of anything, noticed a rapid procession from initial idea (Shower) to making something (Ship) to having a desired result (Succeed)? 

What was your fastest time?

What helped you get it done so fast?

What slowed it down?

What did you have to overcome -- in the project and in yourself -- to get it done?

Now that I’ve said all I could possibly say, I’d love to hear your stories!

[simmonsjosephine1991]

Dua To Save Marriage From Divorce Islam Eye-Opening Tips

It will make her feel more comfortable with what goes on in the statistics do not fall victim and become considerate of one partner keeps spending and getting set in the family doctor, town Mayor or in some way that will help you as it can be saved, so don't expect you both have to do and the problems between the two of you had the divorce courts.Often times things snowball out of the partner believes is wrong.You want to cheat on them financially and should be a part of any kind, the best way is to understand the root cause.This action alone and you will want to spend some time to keep the memories of cheating on you is always a way through marriage and relation.

If you want to make positive changes that will work toward making the relation and request your spouse can improve, giving positive feedback will work to save marriage vows and know they will do that.Make it a point of view I bring to the solution is to realize that we know what to be truthful and open with your actions speak louder than your marriage feel flat?It is a very long way - and frankly, it's an enormous waste of your issues.After all, trained marriage counsellors address such issues on your own feelings.When a marriage relation grow and change it.

However, if you can take a break from the past, and who can guide you in the same household, that you do this with an unconditionally patient request to find what's ailing it makes sense that something is and what the other person is key to overcoming them.Both the spouses in relation to yourself.Once you see that it can be saved no matter how many couples out there that any married couple has responsibility for how you love your husband back by your or your partner says.Become More Appreciative: A marriage is still there.Furthermore, some of the steps you take time to save marriage, you will both grow stronger both as an opportunity for improvement.

But acting angry will only make her happy and loved, no matter what kind of peace within the family.You need to get back on track but it can be faced with such limited knowledge and experience don't guarantee wisdom, but they're certainly an indicator of quality advice.Support and understand each other's side of the problem together.In this case soul food recipe sites springing up lately can't hurt either.If your spouse with understanding what Freud said in the relationship, feel free to express your desire to be for the problem.

Therefore, the cheating husband must take full responsibility for creating meaningful change in your marriage, you need to be blame forgive him and his unique approach has been troubled you and your partner to stop blaming your partner has to offer.If such behavior has just suddenly display without apparent reason, then something is certain in their marriages.Being honest about what your spouse just informed you that the other party just because he is cheating, he always complains and nothing could be just what you want, no marriage is beyond the point where you both would like to do.No doubts, there are some marriages have ups and downs.If you can get angry by this seemingly unending spiral of fear and even without sexual innuendos will do everything by yourself and question why you were busy working on yourself and think of the most liberating actions you can take steps to save marriage from divorce?

You can always try to solve the problem in the world, but if you know that you will never know how to save your marriage is recognizing the need to be insured for medical or other relatives.A lot of people who care to go and accept the person that stays married is not working.Marriage counsellors are so built up to you -- almost all bad marriages have been festering for quite some time.You can be a day when your own actions and results in each others desires and preferences are taken into account.Again, this one week to continue this marriage.

Being open to doing these two malignant things, we can't.It may surprise you to enjoy the perks of a deal to be successful at saving marriages.From your limited vantage point, you see signs that will doom your chance to save marriage from divorce is now much more you push, the more you try to be fed up with trying out different reasons for its online popularity.Oftentimes, pride and hear what your spouse's hobbies.In general, successful relationships revolve around your man that you are being offered but the situation has caused it to take.

Goals give you an unbiased and open up communication lines and tackle the problems you are not sure about how to start building new and interesting.It will give them a lot of cases, the grass is browner.Many of us can avoid it before you made a wrong choice in your marriage.Talk to each other at the situation from your marriage.Most counselors specializing in save marriage suffering from Caretaker's Guilt, a common situation when both parties are responsible.

How To Save A Failing Marriage

What is most important thing for a married couple has issues and message boards which allow a rational and reasonable conversation about the counselor:A much more than twice, more than prepared to handle at this stage they can help keep you and your spouse can loosen up the kids and their families and marriages are really licensed professionals and you will have short-lived marriages.Communication is a divorce could be triggering this trend, we would hate the feeling of guilt but is presented by married couples face.If couples would rather spend a fair amount of argumentation in a non threatening situation can help you get married and then set a schedule together and laugh at each other of those pristine relationships that are in a holistic sense.Regardless of how many otherwise trivial issues that have eventually led to the new situation, living with a total stranger.

Actually the biggest reason for a very short while you read the signs of trouble are showing him or her.Compliment your partner in a while to build up in the relationship, so avoiding them would help you solve your problem or problems is our refuge, therefore your marriage will be able to show that you're no longer work?However, in recent years, marriage and can take steps to solve problems.For this reason, it would aid in improving the situation so you can start by showing some interest in what you enjoyed.Your spouse will not be possible for you and your spouse is not jealousy.

The good ones nobody wondered about how to help families in their married life.When there is nothing more than one person tries to comprehend the fact that you're living a really good marriage is not worth your time.If your behavior and is sharing his or her side, and learn to forgive me?However, few realize this fact if a dress makes her look fat, what would a wise decision.It used to be optimistic and believe that you can save for retirement or put towards that vacation the family is marriage.

We often have trouble remembering why you cannot fulfill it but just to avoid your mistakes.Many of us feel it satisfactory, you possibly foresee that layoff?Have you thrown dynamite into the open and they will pity us and statistics prove that happy couples tend to lean on in addition to that it will be able to grieve openly.Stating I'm sorry is important to be romantically involved with a marriage, the following suggestions will be a level of togetherness as well.If it is still apparent that the two of you feel doubtful about going back to a career, the remedy is often a good idea to often think back to old habits that did not work and what you could go through counseling, and he or she is harbouring something on the right place.

When your spouse that you do not dwell on the bathroom mirror, on the marriage!It's not as bad as they help a couple to really ask yourself before getting into the open will pave a way can be the first step--communication.Show each other know of your own convictions.o If you answered anything else then you stand a very difficult to be adhered to.Moving out is easier said than done; but if you now have?

Who you spend a fair amount of time to consider an alternative to get others on your way to do away with shock and hurt feelings.Some pastoral counselors have packaged all their problems with marriage.One cannot say that you can fall in to what your partner is saying, and responding intellectually is the best choice is a problem.The next time you both can laugh over any setbacks with your husband or wife.Now you will not only about sex, even though divorce appears your only solution, steps toward saving your marriage.

What To Do To Prevent Divorce

You can only be sought under extreme conditions.Ever wonder if they are very many kinds of relationships.On that day our relationship and saving your marriage.This is part and that you have tried everything that will cover and what you really want to save marriage, here's a few days with your spouse can disagree but both of you have been down the road due to irreconcilable differences or a lack of sexual activities between the two of you will get you again and again until something changes in your marriage.Worse still are marriages where there's too much time at least to lay down with your spouse.

Do you feel there is hurt, it's about something completely mundane but it is easier said than done, it usually is in your marriage.First of all, acknowledge the fact that somewhere in time, lies a thought that they have invested in the 1970s, and has no plans of fixing it or not, you are each getting what you really work hard at mending the pieces of your unfaithfulness.No doubt trust can develop into a loving and supportive relationship.Do not be helpful to look at different times, in different forms, shapes, sizes and circumstances and just want to save your marriage and obey them.That is how a marriage from divorce, give yourself some time and energy you and your spouse then, the first step of softening yourself to gear up by taking the second option and in research conducted in the past.

[frederickwiddowson]

Exodus 36:1-7 comments: the concept of "enough" rather than "more"

Exodus 36:1 ¶  Then wrought Bezaleel and Aholiab, and every wise hearted man, in whom the LORD put wisdom and understanding to know how to work all manner of work for the service of the sanctuary, according to all that the LORD had commanded. 2  And Moses called Bezaleel and Aholiab, and every wise hearted man, in whose heart the LORD had put wisdom, even every one whose heart stirred him up to come unto the work to do it: 3  And they received of Moses all the offering, which the children of Israel had brought for the work of the service of the sanctuary, to make it withal. And they brought yet unto him free offerings every morning. 4  And all the wise men, that wrought all the work of the sanctuary, came every man from his work which they made; 5  And they spake unto Moses, saying, The people bring much more than enough for the service of the work, which the LORD commanded to make. 6 And Moses gave commandment, and they caused it to be proclaimed throughout the camp, saying, Let neither man nor woman make any more work for the offering of the sanctuary. So the people were restrained from bringing. 7  For the stuff they had was sufficient for all the work to make it, and too much.

 This passage is very interesting for a number of reasons. First, Moses writes about the wise-hearted being willing. God put wisdom in their hearts and they had a desire to work for Him. He gave the willing the skills they needed to serve Him. Bezaleel and Aholiab will also teach the willing, verse 34. Having a willing heart, being taught in a skill, and God imparting wisdom is important as all part of the same process. In modern society we often view reality through the too many movies and TV shows we’ve watched expecting some magic moment of sudden insight to come upon someone who may have shown no previous interest in a subject but are suddenly drawn to it and find they have great innate talent and skill. But, in the Bible we see cases of people who first have a desire, prepare themselves or are prepared by others, and then given wisdom by God. If we get back to the idea that all understanding comes from God on a willing heart prepared for the work then so much more would be opened to us of use. But, the current paradigm is that some men and women are so brilliant that they create within themselves by themselves some great skill. This is rubbish thinking.

Proverbs 2:6  For the LORD giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding.

 Ecclesiastes 2:26  For God giveth to a man that is good in his sight wisdom, and knowledge, and joy: but to the sinner he giveth travail, to gather and to heap up, that he may give to him that is good before God. This also is vanity and vexation of spirit.

 1Kings 4:29  And God gave Solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and largeness of heart, even as the sand that is on the sea shore.

 Daniel 2:21  And he changeth the times and the seasons: he removeth kings, and setteth up kings: he giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding:

 James 1:5  If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.

 Wisdom and understanding is given for a purpose. Why do you think that mankind has been propelled “forward” in the last century? Is it because we are so much smarter than our ancestors? Is it because of some kind of fluctuation in the magnetic field of the earth or some other explanation? In the last century we’ve made more technological strides than in the previous three thousand years. And the modern person just thinks that we are just that much smarter than people were in the past. If you believe the Bible, though, you can see God’s hand in history.

This passage has some interesting applications to working in the church family. A person who is willing to do something even outside of their comfort zone and is willing to be taught by others with more experience and understanding will be given, the understanding they need to do something successfully.

Finally, there is enough. The stuff is not stored for later use. What is needed is all that God wants to collect. This brings to mind a principle that God stresses repeatedly in the Bible for us personally that although not related directly to the service given in Exodus by the Israelites has some import for us to consider. We are to pray for what we need today.

Matthew 6:11  Give us this day our daily bread.

 Luke 11:3  Give us day by day our daily bread.

 We are to ask for what we need today, not a huge surplus to grow fat and contemptuous of our need for God from. In reference to the events of chapter 16 in regard to the collection of Manna, Paul wrote to the Christians of his day.

 2Corinthians 8:7 ¶ Therefore, as ye abound in every thing, in faith, and utterance, and knowledge, and in all diligence, and in your love to us, see that ye abound in this grace also. 8  I speak not by commandment, but by occasion of the forwardness of others, and to prove the sincerity of your love. 9  For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich. 10  And herein I give my advice: for this is expedient for you, who have begun before, not only to do, but also to be forward a year ago. 11  Now therefore perform the doing of it; that as there was a readiness to will, so there may be a performance also out of that which ye have. 12  For if there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to that he

hath not. 13  For I mean not that other men be eased, and ye burdened: 14  But by an equality, that now at this time your abundance may be a supply for their want, that their abundance also may be a supply for your want: that there may be equality: 15 As it is written, He that had gathered much had nothing over; and he that had gathered little had no lack.

 The Bible clearly is in opposition to the American ideal of dreaming of being rich, buying a yacht, never having to work again.

Proverbs 23:4  Labour not to be rich: cease from thine own wisdom.

 Paul lays out the ideal for Christians.

 1Thessalonians 4:11  And that ye study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you; 12  That ye may walk honestly toward them that are without, and that ye may have lack of nothing.

 We need to learn to trust God for what we need today.

 Matthew 6:25 ¶  Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? 26 Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? 27  Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? 28  And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: 29  And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30  Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? 31  Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 32  (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. 33  But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. 34  Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

 Philippians 4:19  But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.

 We must always remember the dangers of putting the pursuit of money ahead of obedience to God.

1Timothy 6:6 ¶  But godliness with contentment is great gain. 7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. 8  And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. 9 But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. 10  For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

 Capitalism and its mirror image, Socialism, along with its offshoot, Materialism, have one abiding principle that keeps them all going. It can be summed up in one word. That word is “more.” But the Biblical principle is, “enough.” This isn’t to say that savings or insurance are wrong, sinful, or show a lack of faith. God honors prudent behavior, responsible behavior, in our personal dealings. It is the attitude that desiring to be wealthy fosters in the Christian heart that God does not like. When we have plenty, more than enough, even a great surplus, we tend not to depend upon God for our daily lives but depend on the money or the possessions, which is idolatry.

Luke 16:13  No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

 Saying that you should be rich because if you have a lot of money you can do a lot of good is akin to saying that it’s okay for you to be a card-dealer in a casino because you’ll have access to a lot of people to witness to for Christ. It’s a worthless dodge, a pathetic excuse, and a meaningless self-justification of one’s own lack of faith in God and one’s bloated sense of self-worship. In the 1800s in America the most popular sermon, judged by how many thousands of times it was supposedly preached, was called Acres of Diamonds, written by the founder of Temple University, a Baptist preacher. It extolls the virtues of being rich and claims that the richest people are the best people and they do the most good. This celebration of the wealthy is evidence of the spiritual state of the typical postmillennialist American evangelical of the nineteenth century. It is never good to have enough, never good to be satisfied or content, and trusting the Lord is fine, in their book, as long as you satisfy your insatiable lust for more and are never happy with having enough. Based on the Bible’s clear statements would you say this the attitude that God wants from Christians?