#a woman sculptor who really got it

[gatheringbones]

[“My girlfriend (I’ll call her Rachel) and I have been riding the same bus to the Metro station together nearly every weekday morning for the last two years. After a few weeks, all the commuters on the bus start to look familiar. You begin to notice who travels with whom. You start to give people secret nicknames (Franklin Planner Guy, Park Service Guy, Beautiful Woman, Vancouver Boy). Pretty soon you start noticing each other around town, start saying hi at the farmers’ market. You don’t know each other’s names, but if someone disappears from their regular bus for more than a few days, you begin to wonder if they’re okay, if they’ve moved or changed jobs. It’s an odd sort of community.

Rachel and I wondered sometimes if our fellow workers had nicknames for us, too. What would we call ourselves? Dress Alike Girls? We’ve committed the Ultimate Lesbian Sin—dressing alike—on more than one occasion. We have totally dissimilar clothing tastes, but an unfortunate affinity for the same colors, so we’ve been known to show up at each other’s houses in the morning to find one of us wearing tailored silk khakis, black pumps, and a dark blouse—that would be Rachel—and the other (that would be me) in khaki shorts, black sneakers, and a dark blue T-shirt. Embarrassing. We finally decided that our bus gang would call us Jointed at the Hip Girls. We’d sit at the back of the bus, hold hands sometimes, whisper. We didn’t need to wear T-shirts that said “Dyke.”

But we didn’t actually think about it very much either. We felt safe enough in our little bus world to be “straight acting” (ha ha).

And one morning, when we were standing on the platform at the Metro station, one of our bus buddies approached. She’s tall, light-skinned African-American woman with a penchant for outfits that Rachel admires, and we had wondered if she were family; she had that look about her. She apologized for interrupting and said, I just wanted to tell you guys that it’s so nice to see you in the mornings. I looked at Rachel, a little puzzled. I mean, the woman continued, You both just look really happy when you’re together, you sort of glow.

I started to blush. My ears got very, very hot.

Umm, I umm, I said.

Rachel was more composed (although she was blushing too). She thanked the woman graciously, and asked her name. Kara, she told us. I actually ran into Kara the other day at the grocery store, and we rode the bus home together. I found out that she’s a poet and a sculptor, and she lives three blocks from me. I told her I was writing about her in an essay I was doing for an anthology. She laughed and said, Oh, because of that thing I did that morning?, and chatted for a few more minutes. I don’t remember the rest of that conversation either, really. After all this time, is it possible that I’m still traumatized at the thought of coming out?”]

kanani kauka, from freedom rings, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[gabessquishytum]

What about a pretty woman idea?

Dream is an artist, preferably a sculptor who is very low in inspiration. He is temperamental and difficult but his work is exquisite so people put up with him.

Only he has nothing.

Until on a nighttime walk he comes across escort hob wearing the exact outfit Julia roberts was in the beginning of the movie.

Hob puts the moves on him, hoping to earn enough that he can quit for the night and go to bed, but dream makes him a better offer.

He is in desperate need of a muse and there’s just something about hob. It’s his beauty, his warm skin, but it’s also something in his eyes.

Dream offers hob a ton of money—his family is rich, he doesn’t need it—if only hob will pose for him, and for a brief time live at Dream’s place so he can work.

Hob is skeptical but when he looks dream up and sees his work he’s moved to tears.

So he accepts.

Hob moves into dream’s loft and dream carefully strips him down and looks at him from all angles, his eyes intent and heavy.

The exhibit is going to be inherently sexual. Hob is sculpted in pieces, from his lips to the curve of the small of his back.

But Dream’s favorite piece is just a simple small statue of hob sleeping, cuddled up in Dream’s spare robe.

Of course they have sex. Dream needs to know the way hob looks in his back spread open and begging for his cock if he’s going to recreate it. He needs to memorize the way his skin dimples under his fingers and how hob’s throat works when he swallows his cum.

By the time the exhibit launches they’re both in love but neither has said. They’re both searching for reasons to stay together and afraid to bring it up.

Dream invites hob to the opening, has him on his arm and calls him his muse and hob hurts with how much he wants it to be real.

But then everything goes wrong. Corinthian finds hob in the bathroom. He’s an art critic and a former client and he makes hob an offer—he’ll write about how Dream’s precious muse is actually his paid whore if hob doesn’t offer him something better. hob punches him and runs. But now he’s convinced he can’t go back, even to explain things to dream. It’s all ruined…

Oh no, poor Hob! The initial agony of knowing that he'll never really mean anything to Dream is only compounded by how much Hob misses him, now. His life was so beautiful with Dream, even if it was all just pretend. Now he's back on street corners and dive bars, spending all the money he earns on drinks to take away the pain. He's in a messy haze, getting himself into dangerous situations, and more than once he wakes up on the floor of some unfamiliar apartment, with no recollection of how he got there.

Eventually he just can't stay away from the exhibition and he sneaks in to look at all the statues, all the large sculptures, even the initial sketches that the gallery are displaying alongside the main pieces. Hob doesn't recognise himself. The way Dream makes him look so beautiful, open and unafraid. He feels like he doesn't deserve to have anyone looking at him like that.

Dream would profoundly disagree. Turns out he's been waiting, hoping that Hob would eventually go back to the exhibition. He's been practically camped out at the gallery since witnesses saw Hob punch Cori and run off. Dream guessed what had happened immediately and he's had people out all over the city looking for Hob.

Dream apologises deeply for making Hob so unhappy. He should never have used him like just another tool to create his art. Especially when they both clearly started having feelings. Dream had meant to confess and ask Hob to stay, to be his boyfriend at the opening, but obviously that all went wrong... he would totally understand if Hob can't forgive him.

Turns out, Hob can forgive him. As long as he gets to keep that one little statue of him asleep in Dream’s robe. He'll display it on the nightstand in their apartment, and hopefully it'll remind him that he can be beautiful. As long as he's also loved.

[the-dixon-effect]

Sweet Interruptions

A/N: thanks so much @matilda4eve for this request which you can find here 💕image creds @Emotionalady on pinterest | i had so much fun writing this and i really hope you guys enjoy because as usual i was up in the earliest hours of the morning writing this 😭

summary: Y/N and Daryl are both secretly pining for each other, and it takes all manner of 'interruptions' to bring them together.

era: season 3-4, prison era

pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

words: 2.3k

warnings: suggestive, Merle being annoying, basically no warnings ^_^

The Georgian wind was hot against your bare shoulders as you stood in the prison yard. It didn't go unnoticed by the other residents how, like always, you appeared lost in your thoughts as you idly gazed at the archer who was working a considerable distance away. Despite having spoken, maybe, two words to Daryl, you were already in deep. You watched his arms flex, those irresistibly tanned biceps contract and relax as if he were a sculptor shaping a beautiful piece of art, when in reality he was simply tweaking his motorcycle. You admired the way his unkempt chocolate hair framed his pretty face, and, when you caught sight of those gorgeous cerulean eyes that seemed invisible to everyone else, it felt enough to just look at him, without needing any attention from him whatsoever. You adored all of him, not just his appearance, and simply from observation you could tell he was a troubled man. How you dreamt of wiping away those tears you knew Daryl hid away somewhere deep inside, reserved for those cold nights spent alone. You dreamt of holding him tight, feeling his big arms wrap around your waist, kissing him anywhere you could reach and-

You were enraptured. And today, it would take some groundbreaking event to drag you from your wild imagination. Just the sight of him working on his bike had you rubbing your thighs together. You loved the way his brows furrowed in concentration, and you couldn't help but imagine him doing other things with those skilled hands.

With blown-out pupils and parted lips, you had lost all sense of where you were and what you might look like gawking at the archer. A forceful hand on your shoulder made you practically jump out of your skin as you took in your surroundings in an instant. You turned your body sharply to face whoever had, somewhat rudely, in your opinion, interrupted your typical daydreams. You recognized the woman and thank God it was a friend, not someone with too many questions about what you were doing, you thought, now considering that your staring might have been a little excessive. It was Maggie, and that familiar Southern drawl reached your ears before you could register the mischievous look she was giving you.

"Aren't ya 'sposed to be workin' out here?" she said, with a very obvious smirk painting the subtle lines on her face. When you realised that she could see straight through you, you decided it was no use denying your little crush any longer. Rubbing your hand on the back of your clammy neck, you spoke quietly, smirking a little yourself.

"It's not like I got something better to do," you said, blushing.

"Well," she began, stringing out the syllable in a playful tone, "you could be helpin' me insteada' standin' out here like a deer in headlights."

You hummed, "Or, I could stay right here." you said with a giggle.

Sure, everybody knew about your infatuation, and sure, Daryl had noticed too. Unbeknownst to you, he had caught himself stealing glances at you too. He noticed the little things, the kind of things any other lust-filled guy wouldn't see. The silkiness of your hair, the precious flare in your cheeks after spending a day in the sun, your beautiful wide smile, the way your cheeks crease when you smile, the gleam in those bewitching eyes when you're looking at him. You were so... sweet. That's it, sweet. If he could define your being in one word, that would be it. Sweet. So sickeningly sweet, Daryl concluded that he'd never met anyone so soft and pure in his life before.

Sometimes, he hated it. What was a girl like you doing in a world like this? Surely, he thought, it would catch up to you soon enough and you'd die at the hands of-

Daryl could hear his brother's voice ringing in his ears.

Ya gon' protect her, lil' bro? She sure needs it, pretty thing won't survive long on her own.

A part of him feared that the memory of Merle's cynicism was right. Except, unlike other times, he wanted to protect you. For the first time, the idea of making a girl feel safe didn't come as a burden. The desire to keep you from harm came unfamiliar to him. It was a strange feeling that, despite the barriers he built that were supposed to guard him from these superficial affections, began to pierce his thoughts and corrupt his selfish notions. It started in the daytime, when he found himself glimpsing at you from a distance, then thinking about you, what you might feel like under his hands, so deliciously forbidden. Then thoughts of you entered his mind at night, and waves of guilt didn't cease to wash over him every time he buried his calloused hands beneath the rough denim of his jeans.

Your presence was angelic, he couldn't bring himself to deny that. If only he could work up the courage just to talk to you.

She don't wantchu, baby brother! What's a cute girl like her gon' wanna do with ya?

Nah, this time, Merle was wrong. Daryl had seen the way you looked at him, the way the corners of your mouth tugged up in a slightly mischievous grin when the two of you locked eyes across the room, right? Yes. This time, his anxiety and self-consciousness were not going to get the better of him.

The next day, Daryl's fingers tightly gripped the metal hand railing of the prison staircase, threatening to turn white if he didn't loosen his grasp. He was staring you down, having lost a little bit of the sudden confidence he found himself equipped with yesterday. Maybe he should talk to Rick, or Glenn? They were good with girls, right? Perhaps they'd offer the right advice for Daryl's foreign predicament.

Before Daryl could consider what he might say to the more 'experienced' men of the group, he was approached by Glenn, who adorned a beige button-up, black jeans, and a grin from ear to ear.

"Hey, man, why don't you just talk to her?" without really registering Glenn's words, Daryl was more focused on the sight of you in the corner of the dining area. Perched on a rusty metal seat, he couldn't shake the notion that you appeared so... out of place. Surrounded by those sporting worn clothes and sullen dispositions, you maintained a distinct luminescence that Daryl could only pine-

Shit. She's lookin' at me. An' I'm lookin' at her. An' what the fuck is Glenn saying?

"Uh- uhh, yeah," Daryl drawled. He turned sharply, and hoped it actually was a question to which he answered appropriately. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to think that the stoic hunter was crumbling under the gaze of a dead-girl-walking. It seemed, however, that he was too late.

"Look man, she obviously likes you and- and this world's too unpredictable not to tell her the truth about how you feel. I mean, look at what me and Maggie have." Daryl nodded. He somehow couldn't meet the other man's eyes. He agreed, though, that Glenn was right. In a world where love seemed like the most unattainable possibility, one look around this new residency revealed that love, however frivolous (and, dangerous), was blossoming all around. Glenn and Maggie, Judith, Tyreese and Karen, and ever-observant Daryl hadn't failed to notice the stolen glances between Rick and the newcomer Michonne. Maybe, despite the world outside the walls, Daryl could let himself love you. And let himself be loved by you.

With a pat on the shoulder and a nod goodbye, Daryl was left alone on the staircase with a grip on the rail a little looser than it was previously. At least, if he couldn't man up and straight up talk to you, he could find a way to show his love.

Show, don't tell, he decided.

ONE WEEK LATER Daryl stood in the prison yard, one leg swung over the seat of his bike, lost in the fond memory of a conversation you engaged him in the other day. He struggled even to remember what you spoke about. His thoughts were clouded with visions of you, the way your mouth looked when you smiled and talked at the same time, the way your eyes widened a little and your pupils expanded. Was that... just for him? Oh yes, that was it. He was going on a run and... you needed a new jacket, since you lost the old one during the transition from the farm to the prison, and now winter was approaching. Daryl was uncharacteristically nervous about whether you would like it, whether it would fit. Your sweet voice immediately snapped him out of his anxiety (which he had no idea how to handle) when you held up his gift and thanked him graciously.

"Hey, Daryl, I was... uhh- since you're visiting that old mall, I was just wondering if you could maybe pick up a jacket for me from a clothing store... or something? I lost mine and it's getting kinda cold... Don't bother if it's too much trouble!"

"Yeah, yeah, of course,"

You tried suppressing a little bit of shock after he agreed without a snarky remark, or without an irritated huff leaving his thin lips. As you stood rocking on your heels, you couldn't help but blush at the fact that his reaction was different for you than for everyone else.

Before Daryl could register the presence of a woman beside him and cease his musing for another day, he felt a brush of distinctly soft skin on the hand that rested on the seat of his bike. He turned to face whoever had just interrupted his romantic daze, preparing to brush them off as fast as he could, but- It was you. And were wearing that jacket. The one that he'd given to you. He almost melted at the sight and he had to compose himself before attempting to address you. He couldn't avoid, however, furrowing his brows and softening his eyes in the way you adored so.

"Uh, hey," he drawled, as his eyes wandered the lengths of your body and took in the sight of you, standing so close to him.

"Hey Daryl, I just... wanted to say thanks so much! I really appreciate you going out to get this for me," you said, softly and dreamily. You paused for a moment, averting your gaze down at your feet, contemplating how Daryl's eyes hadn't ceased studying your image since you approached him.

"I just wonder if there's anything I could do to return the favour?" Your wide eyes seemed to be speaking a different language, and Daryl could interpret only this;

I see the way you look at me,

I know you want me too,

Come inside.

"Nah, dun' worry 'bout it. Glad you like it."

"Alright, well, thanks anyway!" In that moment, you searched every cell of your body for the courage you needed to do what you were about to do. Rising up to your tiptoes, you swiftly but softly pecked a kiss on his cheek and began to quickly stride back to the prison entrance, before he had a chance to berate you.

"Hey, Y/N," he called out. You hummed in response, realising that you hadn't managed to make it as far as you wanted. A wave of guilt rushed through you, suddenly. It's not a big deal, it's just a kiss on the cheek, right?

"Rick said something about wanting us to talk later, you and me,"

"Rick did? Why later, why not now?"

Daryl was lost. He hadn't planned what to say next in this conversation. In truth, he just wanted you to stay, and if that meant succumbing to stuttering in front of you, then so be it.

"I, uhh- I dunno', I guess he thinks there's... things we oughta' discuss?"

One corner of your mouth tugged up when you realised just how utterly clueless Daryl really was. "Yeah, like what?" Let's see how he plays this one out, you thought.

"I dunno', unspoken stuff, I guess?" It was clear Daryl didn't know how to operate when attempting to vocalize his feelings. His glossy hair was falling over his eyes and framing his pretty face so perfectly, in a way that caught the last of the sunlight and lingered before it disappeared behind the trees.

You couldn't help yourself.

Approaching the archer, you removed your hands from the back pockets of your jeans and held eye contact for a moment. When his thin lips pressed together in what you recognised as a smile, you leaned in, pressing one hand to the side of his face and feeling the warmth of his flushed cheeks. Rising to your tiptoes once more, you closed the small distance between the two of you and waited for him to return the sweet kiss. It must have taken him a couple seconds to register what was happening because, when he did, you relaxed into the beautiful embrace of your tongues.

He tasted like pinewood, cinnamon, and stormy weather. It was delicious, and you couldn't get enough. When he allowed himself to place his hands on your hips, you felt the need for air rise up from the pit of your stomach to your throat. Placing your other hand on the back of Daryl's neck, you moved away slowly, not yet withdrawing from the closeness, and spoke,

"You can tell Rick that you're gonna come find me later."

[see-arcane]

Goncharov (1973): “Why an apple?”

I know Goncharov is drowning in so MANY themes. We have the Running Out of Time theme, the Cycle of Violence and Repression theme, the Can’t Fight Nature theme with all its animal motifs, we even have Ice Pick Joe’s criminally underappreciated arc about Humanity Doing Violence to Anything/Anyone Outside the Mold of the Cycle/What the Majority Says is Natural theme. Themes on themes on themes!

But the one that still keeps needling me in the heart is, of all things, the Fruit theme. Yes, really. 

Sure, right, the whole ‘Forbidden Fruit’ thing is extremely old hat to cinema now, especially within media dealing with gay romances (rather, gay romances that Almost Were and Ended Tragically). But the way it’s played with in Goncharov seems to hit just to the left of the cliché and lets something new grow.

Or, in the case of our various doomed characters, lets it get mowed down.

It starts with the fruit stand. Katya and Sofia, two wives shopping for two husbands. They come to the apples. Sofia, with her serpent bracelet twinkling, stoops to help Katya pick up the fallen fruit that escaped her basket. Is the meeting orchestrated? Accident? Neither woman would ever tell, considering where both stand--where they recognize each other from. The worlds of men and murder they stand so precariously within.

Still. It is so hard to make friends in their worlds. And they are in public. And just for a while, just here, in the sun, they can pretend they are just two women who know each other from somewhere. Just making friends. 

Apples segues to temptation, you know the drill--they even bring it up in conversation! 

...A conversation that the cut to the far end of afternoon reveals has stretched all the way out of the market and into a bistro. Just two women, just two friends, just talking (in public). They bring up Adam and Eve and the Forbidden Fruit and--

Sofia: I never got why it had to be an apple.

Katya: What do you mean? 

Sofia: I mean I don’t get it. Why an apple? 

Katya: I don’t know. Because it’s always been an apple, I guess. It’s easier to pull off in art. All the painters and sculptors and everyone else who makes those kind of calls, they all just got together and decided, ‘An apple looks pretty simple. Nice, smooth, round. Easy enough to draw in a tree.’ And boom, everyone sees nothing but apples in the Tree of Knowledge ever after. So it’s always apples.

Sofia: The dullest possible produce. The Forbidden Fruit is supposed to be something off limits, something special. All the knowledge of the world and of each other and of the realization that these two fools are running around the Garden with their asses bare in front of the Almighty. Apples don’t seem right for that. It’s dull. It’s a thing for pastry and postcards. 

Katya: ...What would you pick instead?

Sofia: Pomegranates. No question.

Katya: Why pomegranates? 

Sofia: It’s the fruit that the God of the Dead uses to trick the Goddess of Spring into staying with him in the Underworld. She tastes the seeds and she’s forced to stay down there for half a year, every year, forever. A fruit so powerful it can trap a goddess seems like the kind of fruit that could banish humanity from Paradise. 

(Cue that Very Telling pause. The unbroken eye contact. Then...)

Sofia: Tastes better than apples too. And it looks like a jewel when you split it open. 

(Of course, when it’s time to order dessert, they split a pomegranate panna cotta. The scene closes with Katya licking her lips.)

Katya: I do like apples. But this? This is amazing. I’d go to Hell for this.*

(*There’s a whole other essay in describing Katya’s bisexuality, her partaking of apples and pomegranates in equal measure, the genuine hurt she feels in knowing that Goncharov cares for her, but not beyond the presentation they put on for his peers. Arm candy with benefits (and constant threat to her life). And it wouldn’t be so bad, she knows, if they were at least still friends like they were at the start--but all of that has gone to Andrey. The friendship, the love, the care; at least as much as Goncharov is capable of beyond his own issues. But I digress.)

We see this whole undercurrent play out through the film, in parallel to the hammered-in fear and resignation that comes with the characters being crushed by the mantra of You Can’t Go On Forever, Can’t Fight the Cycle, Can’t Fight Nature, Can’t Step Outside the Norm/the Nuclear Family (of the Mafia/the Mob Or Else).

Because it doesn’t have to be an apple.

They never had to worry about the time burning away their lives one miserable day at a time, unhappy and cramped with violence and expectations that are a wholly self-perpetuating horror show that humanity inflicts on itself. The characters compare themselves to animals more than once in the film, all unable to fight the inevitable. But as Andrey and Katya point out to their respective paramours, it does not have to be that way. It never did--it doesn’t need to be now. Please. Please.

They can have the Forbidden Fruit and it can be whatever they want! Let it be a pomegranate! Let them glut themselves on it! And, hell, why do they have to buy into everyone else’s rules about what is and isn’t forbidden anyway? They’re none of them living within the law in the first place. Blood’s on everyone’s hands. Can’t they sin a little sweeter? Can’t they admit the sin they want most isn’t a sin at all, no matter what lies to the contrary they’ve swallowed in the caustic hell they’ve found themselves in?

“We can grow our own garden somewhere,” Katya pleads with Sofia, smiling through tears trying so hard not to fall--the first tears she’s allowed herself in years. 

“We can grow our own tobacco,” Andrey tries to joke with Goncharov, not joking at all. He still has that cheap scuffed lighter Goncharov gifted him years ago when they were both nobodies, and he grips it in his visible hand like a talisman.

Of course, we know the endings there. 

Katya lives to leave, without husband or lover or friend, and mourn the fact that her beloved Temptation cannot be tempted in turn. Not with where Sofia stands. Rooted by cold blood as much as fear. This is what she knows. This is her world, her Tree, her Devil she knows, her Underworld to rule as much as any queen can rule there, unhappy but resigned. Go, Eve. Grow your garden alone. 

Andrey pulls the trigger, and feels more pain in that instant than even Goncharov does with the hole in his heart. He walks away, mourning the man who is as much a victim of himself as the bullet; a stubborn Adam who spat out his fruit and insisted upon fighting the Serpent, who dies reliving a memory of two cigars, sharing a flame against a cold night--the light fading, fading, fading...

It never had to be this way. Not for any of them. Not really. But even with the Forbidden Fruits of their choice hanging in reach, free to take and run, it was not eating them that resulted in their respective tragedies. 

The Forbidden Fruit is there to be eaten. To be learned from. To force you to grow and go. To step outside the boundaries made to keep you in. 

But you just can’t make everyone eat.

[cereal-before-milk]

VAGINAS AND JAPAN

What would happen if in a country like Japan, which has a festivity on phallic symbols (Kanamara Matsuri), a woman decides to exhibit art whose main concept is the vagina? Maybe you already know the answer or you can imagine it or maybe not, anyway this is what happened to Megumi Igarashi, a mangaka, artist, sculptor, feminist and activist, whose mission is to free Manko.

❀ MEGUMI IGARASHI

also known by her stage name Rokudenashiko, which means good for nothing, she was born in Shizuoka prefecture, Japan, on March 14, 1972. Unlike her sister, who was a perfect girl, Megumi wasn't a good student, wasn't even good at sports and wasn't a very formal girl either. Igarashi was also bullied, although she was so insensitive that didn't even realize she was being bullied. In 1990 she moved to Tokyo to study philosophy at Kokugakuin University. Shortly after graduating in 1994, she began to devote herself to manga, even winning an award from the Kodansha publishing house in 1998. Making manga made her less and less excited due to the competitiveness, but Igarashi found a refuge in experience reporting manga or of reality (taiken rupo).

In 2002 Megumi got married so she began to introduce her sexual experiences into her works. She created a manga about infidelities (something that happened in their marriage on both sides) and as the society in which she lives they only get angry with women and men are usually forgiven, but very few people in Japan managed it understand, so didn't have many sales. When discussing her sexual experiences, she realized that no female mangaka drew pussys. Megumi says that all the feminist artists' portraits of vaginas she had seen were sad and dark, showing how difficult it is to be a woman, but she wanted to show a more cheerful and colorful vision of the vagina and make it a pop icon, just like the penis in her country.

Igarashi had a complex about her own vagina, as she had never seen another one before and thought her might be abnormal. More or less there came the idea of ​​starting to make molds and art on her vulva. At first the artist was a bit cautious, but when she started receiving a lot of negative reviews and comments like "you must be a really horny girl", she jumped at the idea of ​​dedicating herself to making art with her manko (Japanese slang for refer to vagina).

Megumi wants women to be able to talk about their pussy freely. "Most Japanese women have been brainwashed by their parents since they were children to think that their body, especially their vagina, is obscene. Boys are allowed to talk about the penis easily, even in public, but girls are not allowed. Parents forbid it. I think it leads women to think that our sexual organs are shameful and dirty. If women had more freedom to talk about their vagina, they could ask to use a condom, discuss sexual illnesses, their problems, etc. without being embarrassed, since people feel uncomfortable just hearing man(ko), but the same doesn't happen when they hear the word penis". Verbatim words from her blog 6d745.

❀ MANKO ART

As I said before the main theme of Rokudenashiko's art is her Manko. With that idea always being the center of her artistic concept, she has designed a lot of objects from necklaces, bracelets, to cell phone covers or even a remote-controlled robot.

Within her art collection in 2011 a series was born that she calls Deco-man, which is a play on words between decoration and manko. It basically consists of making molds of her vagina, decorating them and turning them into dioramas where her vagina is subtly camouflaged, like on that golf course or on the moon.

Her star work is a 2 meter Kayak called Pussy Boat. She even cost her freedom to carry it out.

And how can we forget about Manko-chan, her beloved pop icon. A very striking figure with a funny (obviously) slightly anthropomorphic pussy shape that has a manga and a lot of merchandising such as: floats, clothes, figures of different colors, plushies, etc.

She also organizes workshops for women who are interested in learning more about their vagina. And they don't need to bring materials, since Megumi prepares everything.

❀ HOW DID SHE BECOME AN ALLEGED CRIMINAL?

In July 2014, the mangaka was arrested at her home and all her works were seized for violating Japanese law against obscenity. It all begins in 2013 when she wants to raise money through crowdfunding to carry out her star work, a Kayak (pussy boat) with which to take walks.

To all the people who contributed to the project, she sent the data of her vagina so that they could make the 3D project, but despite the fact that it was something artistic / for work, it violated the laws of obscenity, since in Japan it is forbidden to share your private parts. Obviously, Igarashi didn't think her detention was fair at all, since sharing data isn't obscene at all. "My vagina is no different from my legs or my arms," ​​She claimed to the police. And of course it was not fair at all, since the police and the press, from a corrupt system, violated her rights and criminalized Megumi for an act that she didn't even initially have, political, vindictive and far from obscene intentions.

She spent 10 days in jail, during which time a total of 21,000 signatures were collected online to drop the charges against Megumi, and a week later she was released. But on December 3 of that same year, she was arrested again along with Minori Watanabe, a feminist writer and sex shop owner, for displaying an "obscene" object, a plaster replica of Pussy Boat, in Watanabe's store. (everything in a sex shop could be considered obscene, don't bother). On December 24, Igarashi was charged with "exhibition of obscenity", "electromagnetic obscenity recording" and "distribution of electromagnetic obscenity recording medium" and was finally released on bail on the 26th. In 2015 the trials took place to declare her guilty or not guilty.

A couple of curiosities that I have read on her Twitter is that of the 3 judges of the supreme court who handled her case over the years, all were men and in Japan there are also women in the supreme court and also that since she was bored between trial and trial looked for a part-time job.

*a part is not guilty* Photograph: Kazuhiro Nogi

In 2016 she was found not guilty, because as the Kayak had such a striking decoration and color it was difficult to relate it to a pussy. She still had to pay a fine of ¥400,000 (€2,800 / $3,100) for having shared her vagina data and everything that the police had seized from her was returned and Megumi was finally able to navigate her kayak.

Had she been found guilty, she would have faced 2 years in prison and a fine of ¥2.5 million ($19,400/€18,000), a disproportionate punishment considering what she did. In 2021 Megumi Igarashi could already breathe without worry since she had her last trial (she could still have gone to jail), she paid the fine and is finally free. But not everything was a punishment for Igarashi, thanks to the fact that her case went viral and reached many parts of the world, Mike Scott, singer and guitarist of The Waterboys, became interested in her, he is currently her husband and they both had a son. So for Megumi being arrested became a kind of Tinder.

❀ WHAT IS OBSCENITY? 2016

French edition/ spanish edition

Megumi Igarashi narrates in this manga a bit of her life, everything that led her to make art with her vagina, the days she was in prison and the injustices and absurd situations she has experienced.

Obscenity is full of very interesting reflections on the female body and why it is considered obscene. Spoiler alert: because the man only sees them as a sexual object, but Rokudenashiko proves that it is just another body part. "They can be erotic, but they can also be funny, empowering or adorable."

The manga It a strong criticism of Japanese society, although it can also be applied to many others (I think the whole world shares taboos towards the vagina, maybe not in the same way, but in essence). This criticizes hypocrisy, since of course penises and vaginas are not the same, but not only in form and function but also because of how they are treated/represented in society. Megumi questions the reason for this, because the vagina is disgusting and is never portrayed, why it is talked about with disgust or even it seems as if it is forbidden to talk about it because it generates rejection and yet the same thing doesn't happen with the penis.

A couple of details that catch my attention is how the "Good for nothing" hides her anger with humor. In fact, humor is also used to cover up situations of criticism and injustice and thereby demonstrate the strength of the author, she applied the best way to laugh rather than cry. The other detail is how she never gives a conclusion. This manga that borders on the documentary, doesn't have absolute answers, only guidelines through personal experiences so that you can draw your own conclusions and be more or less on her side. She doesn't try to force you to have her same ideals.

What is Obscenity? is an excellent choice if you want to eliminate the taboos that your society has put in your head about the pussy, see the vagina with different eyes, normalize it, appreciate it much more and turn it into something pop.

Just say thank you Megumi Igarashi and FREE MANKO! <3

[aethelwyneleigh27]

In honor of Christmas spirit, I will present you with things I love about my moots and why I appreciate them. Hope this there's you guys up no matter what you're going through right now, you deserve to have something good said about you, I love you guys <333

A/n: please excuse the few ones because now I've started to drink.. vodka mule.. hope I don't say anything too weird and I know I'm kinda a weak drinker, still building my tolerance and all.

Alright, let's start with my most favorite moot..

@puff0o0

🩷 You are so pretty love, how dare you ever say anything otherwise. The curly hair and it's beautiful color, facial features that look like they've been carved by a sculptor and down to your sweet voice. Physically hurts me to know that you're gonna say otherwise :((

🩷 Your writing? Fucking top tier fluff ever, those mean comments about it? Screw them, your writing got you to almost 3k followers and they're just jealous because they don't have that.

🩷 You are such a good friend, always caring for everyone and not asking anything for in return. Also please love, give yourself a break and please rest. Never will forget the first time we interacted because you are by far the sweetest creator who so happens to be well known.

@connorsui

🩵 Christmas is the time of giving right? It's time to give some back to you. I'm gonna get this out of the was, sweetie you are the best kind of reader I have ever come across and there's really only one of you, I wouldn't have it any other way.

🩵 You are the kindest and funniest person ever, your commentary keeps us writers motivated. I mean this genuinely, I find myself always looking forward to what you have to say on my works.

🩵 I'm sure many writers you've reblogged will agree with me, your commentary has honestly been the best, you sure know how to make me feel better about what I write. Also I'mma need some of those memes you use, you're so iconic and funny I can't.

@simp4konig

❤️ You don't give yourself enough credit for how much you help people boost their works, saying you haven't done much but commenting, talking to me and just interacting with my work does so much.

❤️ You are literally so nice to me, I don't even know where to begin with the list of things you've done that you refuse to be credited for.

❤️ You're so funny and another great writer, I hope that I see more of your writing along the way.

@blingblong55

❤️ First of all, who gave you the right and talent to be such a good writer? Genuinely, what kind of drugs are implemented in your writing.. you got me to like Makarov.. you're that powerful. I know I'm into villains but I wouldn't be surprised if you got me to like shepherd too... Please don't. (This is not a challenge please 😭)

❤️ How can I say this without sounding like a total fangirl? I'm obsessed with your work as you can tell, so much so that you're one of the creators who inspired me to start writing again and still as of now I think of your works while writing my own.

❤️ I DEFINITELY WASN'T SQUEALING AND KICKING MY FEET IN MY BED WHEN YOU FIRST INTERACTED WITH MY WORK...

@anonymuslydumb

🩵 Love you as the first Filipino person I had interacted with within this app that doesn't happen to be my school friend or relative.

🩵 Mangangaroling po, blue and yellow bills only. Pwede din po through G-cash and ShopeePay, pero no less than 1k pag-ganon AHAHAHA CHAROT, KIMI LANG.

🩵 Mwah <3

@shadofireshinobi

🖤 You are so special I can't even, you're my first ever mutual, first request and first person that I can genuinely talk to here before anyone.

🖤 You've made me feel so comfortable in my own skin and I know you're facing difficulties with your own that I am too but you're in so much more difficulty. I really do wish the best for you, love.

🖤 You are so strong, confident and resilient, you've been through so much and gosh you are the definition of a powerful woman who I wanted to be when I was young. Child me would be the happiest knowing that a motherly figure is looking after her.

Past Friends and Relatives <3

@marshmallowinamess

💚 Do I even have to say this? You are the best person in my life, my soulmate forevermore, we've been through so much together that I don't know where to start. I wish I was able to express how much I love you.

💚 You have been there for me through thick and thin for the most difficult times of my life, you've saved me countless times and though it doesn't feel like I'm doing enough, I made a promise to myself that I will make it up to you even if it will be the rest of my life.

💚 You are the only person who stood up for me when I needed you the most, I just.. don't know what else to say because what can you give someone who's done so much for you? Who has treated you better than anyone in your life, better than your parents? What can you possibly do to repay someone who saved you from yourself?

@ysalinedevreux

❤️ I know we've had conflict and drama in the past and I just wanna say I'm thankful that you contacted me again because we would've missed out on the friendship we were supposed to have.

❤️ A lot has happened and yet you stayed strong and we both learned from our past.

❤️ Happy holidays my dear <3

@rabblebite

🧡 What more could I say to my most favorite cousin in the world?

🧡 Thanks for being there for me always, you've made heartwarming promises and we still have a lot of adventures together (we're both drunk right now)

🧡 Honestly I wish my dad would take me here more often because then I'd get to spend more time and gossip with you guys. Thank you for comforting me like you always do when I needed, immediately noticing the change in my voice and that I'm crying.

Special mentions:

@azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @trepaika @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @thesnowurzikdjinn @legallymentallyillfuckers @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb

You guys are always there to support my works and I want reciprocate that as much as I can, each and every one of you are so talented. I wish I can write more and do you guys justice but my eyes hurt so much and this is overdue. You guys are such good writers and even more amazing mutuals of mine who I know have been through some tough times. Know that all of you are welcome to talk to me when you need to and that my page is open to comfort as much as I can from a distance <3

[thegreatestsandwich]

Hey can you do a imagine with Morpheus where the reader is a normal person that is the reincarnation of Dream wife that was murder by Roderick Burgess and Dream find her? The rest is to you

Something fluff and romantic

A Blossom in Spring (Dream of Endless x Reencarnation!Reader)

(This man, I'm telling you guys, he got something that just ughh)

Pairing: Morpheus x Reencarnation!Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: He lost you once and now he had you back, he won't let you go easily. 

A/N: I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long!

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received!

Masterlist

How many times can someone be lost in a city they had lived there their whole life?

The answer it’s just infinite.

But to be honest it could be helpful if you actually tried to stay focus on how you lived your life, but the reality is that you have the attention span of a goldfish. Your thoughts just seem to drift from one thing to another, you could be described as a golden retriever, your mind was brilliant, beautiful and creative thoughts happened there, sadly you just shift from new idea to new idea. Thankfully you were a baker, so that helped you. Sadly, you were a baker, so every burn was a consequence of that.

Life was just too beautiful to simply stay focus on one thing at a time.

You sipped your green juice, the same juice you decided you hated the moment you made it, but one of your New Year’s resolutions was to drink this sickening stuff every morning wherever you went to work. Stupid healthy life.

After two right turns, one left one, into a small dangerous alley, twenty-seven steps and almost running straight into a wall, you finally arrived at your bakery unharmed. Well, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist to keep you from crossing -running- the street into your death.

Your head turned to look at your savior or saviors. And you were definitely staring.

His face was the definition of perfection. It was like a Greek sculptor decided to just create what a dream come true was like. Saying that his face was just perfect was to insult him.

So every single synonym of perfection began running wildly into your mind.   

Flawless? Check.

Superbness? Check.

Exquisite? Check.

Magnific? Check.

He was perfect, simply perfect, totally symmetrical. He was just wow.

So you said screw it and without any logical thinking, you reached up and grabbed his cheek, turning his face to every possible angle.

Yep. God decided to be good and create him.

Again. Wow.

“Are you alright?” The voice next to him asked, your eyes forcefully leave him to focus and the other person. And let’s just say, your reaction was the same.

“Are you real?” You asked instead, touching the women face the same way you touched him. You tried to shake off his arms but he didn’t budge, it kind of blush at that. “I’m sorry but like, why are your faces the definition of the crème de la crème?”

The women laughed, her hair bounced at the motion. “Thanks! Good genetics I supposed, don’t you think so little brother?” Your eyes turned to the men who refuse to let you go.

Your eyes wandered to their clothes, both where dressed in all black, it was really weird as it was the beginning of autumn, wasn’t people supposed to wear brown colors or something like that? The man reclusively let you go and took a step next to his sister.

“Something wrong?” The woman asked you curiously as she watched you practically devour her brother with your eyes.

“Nope!” You smiled, softly swaying side to side. “Thanks for saving me for a shameful death but I’m late for work, well I’m the owner but I have to be strict with me because I’m the only employer at the moment, but yeah if I don’t apply these kinds of rules to myself well, disaster. So I should go but if you see me walking straight to the arms of death you are more than welcome to save me. That goes specially to you handsome.” You began crossing the street, several people grunted at you when you pushed past them. You slightly turned and saw them still there watching you. “I’m single!”

Nailed it.

Death kept smiling as she watched her brother’s eyes kept on you. “So you were right little brother, she’s still the same as before.”

“Not a word sister.” Morpheus said as he turned and began walking away, not waiting for her to catch up.

“You know I have to go her way right?” She tried to kept the situation serious but it was impossible as her little brother halted his steps and turned to her. “I have a few stops the other way around but if you want you can retorn to your realm.”

Morpheus began walking back to her, his eyes hardening as he stood in front of her. “As I said sister, not a word.” His head nodded to the direction, silently motioning her to continue her way, he would follow.

Death linked their arms and began walking once again. “I’m happy you got her back Dream” She whispered, quietly hugging a little tighter his arm.

He only hummed in response. “I’m as well.”

Sometimes you hated Wednesday.

It was the slowest day of your week, the store mostly stayed alone, a few customers here and there but mostly you just sat behind the rows and rows of delicious pastries you made last night.

You sighed for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes.

The sound of the door opening made you happily stand up, you breathed in relief when you saw Irene and her boyfriend-not-boyfriend enter your store. She smiled at you the moment her eyes made contact with yours.

“Hi seaweed.” You happily greeted her. “Hi Mickey.”

“Hey, little cupcake, what’s up?” She greeted you. Mickey nodded at you, letting himself being drag quickly to the little cabinet, looking at all your desserts. “Did you saved me the lemon pie I’ve been craving for weeks?” Her short hair moving alongside her excitement steps.

You pouted for a moment, trying to appear sad.

Key word. “Appear”

“You know I did.” Irene squealed in delight. “Let me just go get it.”

You quickly made your way to the back.

It wasn’t even a full minute when you heard Irene screamed, you quickly ran back to the front and the scene was just absurd.

Irene was screaming, hitting the handsome guy and beautiful girl with her pink bag.

“The fudge?” You whisperer alerted the two new arrivals. “I went away for five seconds and there’s a crime scene at my store.” You amusedly said. “That’s a felony, you actually committed murder on my store.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” The woman from before tried to defend herself against the fury of your friend. She was losing. Her brother stared at you. If he wasn’t a murderer you would felt flattered.

“Is he really dead or just passed out?” You wondered out loud. There was no telling what was going on. “You should stop hitting them Irene.”

“You know these people?!” Irene stopped for a second, looking at you in skepticism. “You know there murderers?!”

You shrugged, still looking at Mickey’s body. “Well, know, know them…not really, I just collide with them this morning, it actually makes sense that they are murderers, they are just absurdly good looking to be good people.”

“We are not murderers.” The woman offendedly said, moving away from Irene’s fury, “He was supposed to be alone for a few seconds.”

“We do not mean any harm to you.” The guy finally spoke, still looking at you. Irene noticed that and stood in front of your form, murdering him with her glare.

“Shut up, murderer.” Irene slightly turned to look at you. “Call the police, I’m not letting them get away.”

“On it!” You quickly grabbed your phone. “Hi! There’s been a murder on my store…Yes, the two murderers are here with me and my friend…Yes…Well, they are really hot…No, well that’s a really ambiguous question to ask…If you give me a minute I can ask them, yeah…Yeah.”

“Please hang up.” The guy slowly made his way to you, graciously moving around Irene, who gasp in offense when he ignored her. “Let us talk.” He pleaded gently.

You placed your index finger on his mouth.

“Shh, I’m reporting your murder with the police, hang on…” He grabbed your phone and destroyed it. “Hey! That’s a really not expensive phone…And you just destroyed it with your hand. Hot and strong? Awesome, are you an illegal alien…wait you are?”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N).” Irene grabbed your arm, quickly separating you from the guy, still wary of the girl. “You cannot ask someone if they are an alien, that’s offensive. Plus, the last thing you need is to get involved with an illegal alien.”

“Irene! They are right there!”

“They are murderers, honey.”

“We still don’t know if they murder Mickey?”

Irene had never questioned your intentions, after she left her abusive boyfriend, spend several months trying to get back at her feet with no money, no place to live and no one willing to hire someone without experience, she knew she was to turn into the life of a criminal. But then you came, you offered her a place to stay and help her get a job. Irene knew in that moment she would do anything in her power to not let you go the path she went through. So when these two beautiful people came into the store and the woman touched Mickey, causing him to just tumbled into the ground unmoving. She knew they were up to on good.

“Fine, fine!” Irene stressed out, she turned to the other two who kept watching them. “I’m closing my eyes, so does her.” She pointed at you. “The moment we open them, you are not going to be here and same with Mickey’s body. Got it?” She close her eyes, her hand placed against your eyes. “I’m counting!”

Both of you felt them disappear.

You opened your eyes when Irene took of her hand of your face and you were correct they were gone alongside with Mickey’s body.

Irene forced you to close early and both of you went to your place. For some reason, you didn’t understand why you were so tired.

You were confused as in why you were in a basement.

Remember.

Everything was hazy and you couldn’t focus.

Remember.

You felt yourself being drag into something.

Remember.

Your body felt the coldness of another body, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, you tried to cuddle into the body, you felt it hum.

Remember me.

You woke abruptly, perhaps it was the nightmare you just had or perhaps it’s the set of two eyes watching you from the darkness.

“It is rude to stare at someone in the middle of the night.” Your hands began playing with the bed sheets. “At least come and sit on the bed.”

Your jaw went slack when you saw the man of earlier walking closer to you. Yeah, total insanity right here. You wrapped the bed sheet around your form as the guy silently sat on the edge of the bed. The moonlight illuminating his face, making it more dreamy.

You arched a brow at him, trying to understand why was he here.

“So…what are you doing here?” You asked him. “Wait, am I still in my dream? This definitely doesn’t look like that basement from earlier.”

The man looked at you un surprise, silently mumbling ‘basement?’

“You remember?” He asked you, his voice warm and smooth. “You remember me?”

You pouted, your eyes shutting with force trying to remember your dream. “Not really, I mean there was a basement and a naked man that looked awfully like you, have that dream for a few nights now.”

The man took your hand and kissed it softly. “I have truly missed you, my wife.”

“Wife? Wait, hang on, that’s like a thousand million steps ahead buddy.” You tried to take back your hand but he didn’t let you. “At least tell me your name, because I’m calling you Steve Rogers, like Captain America.”

“My name isn’t Steve,” He let go of your hand. “Dream of Endless.”

“Dream of Endless, that’s really a dramatic and kind of cool name to be honest.” You nodded along your words. “Tell me, Dream of Endless, why are you doing in my room, besides watching me creepily?”

He smiled, his eyes shining even more brightly. “You were having a nightmare, I came to ease your fears.”

“Nightmare? Are you like the king of nightmares of something?” You looked at him, he had such a powerful presence that for some reason it made you breathless just looking at him. It was as if the air around him revolved around the energy and strength of the universe. Something you wanted to keep to yourself.

He felt your gaze and turned a bit so you could look better. So you could take his aura more.

“Yes, I am.” He whisperer. “You know it, you just need to remember.”

To be honest, you lost yourself for a bit, not really paying attention to what he was saying. “You are so beautiful, like you are that limited edition of something that it’s so difficult to find it feels it doesn’t exist…Are you French? Because you are really dreamy.”

He laughed. “I have missed how you always say everything that comes to your mind.”

“You know,” You said. “You might be a vampire if you are not French, and you seemed to belong to a dream, and your name is literally Dream, are you really real? Is that dream really real?”

“Yes.” He answered honestly. “I’m sorry this feels too much information.”

You shrugged. “Heard worse things, believed me, being friends with Irene makes you experience some crazy things in life.” You paused for a second. “I tell you what, Mr. Dream of Something Something, Let’s talk a bit more at breakfast, yeah? I’m kinda tired right now.”

Dream smiled softly, his hand brushing away some strands of hair from your face. “I’ll see you when you wake up, my wife.”

“Can’t wait.” You smiled back.

[diana-bookfairchild]

Falling (for you) Through The Snow

My fic for @jilychallenge2023 Winter in June Challenge. Partner: @wearingaberetinparis Prompt: You’re a snow artist and I think you just made a snowman(woman) that looks exactly like me… do you have anything to confess?

Lily Evans loathed the winter season.

She hated having to wear unwieldy scarves and large sweaters. She hated shivering and sneezing all the time. She hated the biting chill of the air. She hated the crunching of snow under her feet and having to shovel it out of the way. She hated even the merry carolers and especially the mistletoe she was allergic to.

It was honestly kind of ironic, because the man she was in love with was a snow artist and ice sculptor, which meant he basically personified All The Cold Things. Even imagining watching him make his intricate ice sculptures and snow craft made her smile.

She was that far gone.

Except that scenario was not at all plausible, firstly because she did not know the name of the man she was in love with, and secondly, he did not return her feelings. He was fixated on the The Unattainable Angel, or as Lily liked to call her, The One Who Had No Idea How Lucky She Was.

The name needed some work, but it conveyed her sentiment well enough.

She disliked disliking or competing with a fellow female but. . . Well, emotion did tend to disregard rational judgement and decision-making.

The love of her life thought ‘Effermont’ was a good pen-name, and she’d still fallen for him, so, well, love very clearly was one of those emotions.

It was her turn to write him, wasn’t it? It’d been nearly two days since she’d picked his letter up from Albus Dumbledore’s lovely little café Godric’s Hollow. If she left it much longer, he might think she’d abandoned him.

Or, more likely, that she’d died, seeing as he was rather full of himself on the exterior and would never believe anyone would deny themselves the opportunity to ‘bask in his reflected glory’ (his own words).

She’d grumble about the season to him. That always got him very cutely riled up.

Dear Eff,

Or should I say toff? I can’t believe you have a ski lodge! Are you going to it these hols? And what about your best friend/very annoying brother? Will he be going with you or is his wicked family going to trap him into one of their horror movie family reunions?

I can’t believe it’s winter again. I hate this season so much!

I can just see your face (I mean, I would I if I knew what it looked like) looking so annoyed. I know you like the winter, Eff. It’s the only flaw in your oh-so-perfect self.

I mean, winter is just plain annoying. With literally none of the good things other seasons bring! What comes in the winter? Slipping on the ice? Strawberries?

In other news, my sister and her husband came to visit home and my mum ordered me back, so I spent this weekend in my house in dodgy old Cokeworth. You haven’t heard of it. It’d be a no-name except I just wrote its name, so.

My nephew is a sweet baby, the cutest and chubbiest one on the planet. My sister on the other hand. . . Well, I’ll leave it at ‘we could get along better’. But you already know that. You probably know more of my sister and my relationship than anyone except my old best friend, but talking about him really brings down my mood so I’m not going to do that.

Not that much needs to happen for that. Winter is coming, after all. Winter is already here and that is such a pity.

She bought me this really ugly pink sweater. I’m sure it’s not lost on her that I’m a redhead and therefore ANY pink looks absolutely terrible on me, much less this garish monstrosity that makes me want to poke my eyes out when I look in the mirror while wearing it.

Redheads look terrible in pink. And basically any colour on the red spectrum. It’s a fact of life, and one she knows VERY well.

And she had the nerve to say it suited my personality? I’m sorry, what?

Honestly, sometimes I just want to kill her. And not in the good way – like how you say it about your very annoying best friend/brother.

How goes the life-ending heart rending love for The Unattainable Angel? You didn’t talk about that in your last letter, which is odd. Your letters are usually full of romantic woes. No judgement, mine were too, back when I actually had a romantic life to speak of.

How are your friends? Got into any ridiculous shenangians lately? Have you talked to your mother since your last letter? It sounds like you argued pretty badly and I know she’s very important to you, Mama’s boy.

In all seriousness, don’t let the bitterness fester. It does so too easily, and honestly, I’m a prime example. Don’t let one argument ruin such a wonderful relationship, Eff.

Onto lighter topics. I tried the flavour you recommended at Godric’s. It was good. Just the right amount of bitterness to offset the sweetness. Finally, we can say we both like a coffee flavour! It looked impossible for a while there.

And no, Katniss and Gale would definitely not make a good couple! The sheer amount of sweets you like to have is rotting your brain, Eff. Everlark all the way, thank you very much.

How are your studies going? Mine are going pretty well. At least you don’t need to take a Sociology class which requires you to send letters out to complete strangers in the hopes they’ll reply. I can’t regret picking this social experiment, though, because it got me you, and that made it pretty much worth it.

Pretty much. Weighing it out.

No letter hassle v. No Eff. Hmmm. Hard to say.

Kidding.

Continuing the getting to know you game: I hate, hate, HATE answering this but the embarrassing story about me my mum and dad just adore telling people is the time I went around the house narrating everything that was happening just in case we had cameras recording us for a reality show. Or the time I was flower-girl at my aunt’s wedding and I threw all the flowers on her new husband’s really annoying father’s head. Or the time I tried to cut my hair with safety scissors and had to get a bob cut to rectify the mess. Or the leash story. God, the leash story. You don’t want to know it. It’s even more mortifying as an adult.

If I could holiday anywhere, it’d be Italy. Venice and Rome especially! The thought of going along on a little gondola is just really fun, and Rome has all the history I love. History’s been my favourite subject since I was a kid. Not that I could ever tell dad. Maths has obviously been my sister’s and my favourite since we were kids and still is.

He still isn’t over me studying law.

So, for you! If you could have any name other than your given one (obviously, I don’t know what it is, so please don’t trick me by just using that!) what would it be? If you could have any pet, which animal and why?

And write something for me. You’re a psychology student, psychoanalyze me and write me something I’d like. I know, I know, your artistic talents tend towards visual – being a snow artist and all –  rather than literature, I’m the literature swot between us, but I recorded that song on the piano and sent it to you, didn’t I?

I hope the walls of your house didn’t collapse from how bad that was.

Lots of love,

Flower.

Her pining didn’t show through that, Lily thought, pleased. Nor did her bitterness at asking about The Unattainable Angel. Lily despised the thought of seeing the other girl as a competitor – and she didn’t – but she didn’t need to drive a stake through her heart by repeatedly hearing about her.

But she had long decided the only way to get over a hopeless crush was to power through it while making her heart bleed over and over. Hence the asking.

She folded the letter and slid it into the envelope.

“Lily!” Mary called from the hall. “Are you done getting ready?”

Lily froze guiltily. She’d completely forgotten about the party in favour of venting her frustrations at Eff. He was very good at taking that. He was quite possibly the best pen pal in the universe, except she had no objective way of measuring that.

Subjectively, he absolutely was.

But back to the moment.

“Er, not yet,” she yelled back to her roommate. “Give me a minute!”

She quickly put on the dress Eliza had gotten out for her earlier – much to her protestations then and now relief that she didn’t have to select one herself – and did her makeup. It wasn’t anywhere near what she would have typically done for a party.

“Your minute means an hour,” Mary was exaggeratedly complaining as she slipped out of her room. She frowned at her. “Why do you look like you threw that together in thirty seconds?”

Probably because she had.

“Never mind that,” Eliza said like the godsend she was. “Mare, do her hair while I get the mascara.”

“I don’t get why you guys treat me like a baby,” Lily grumbled, even as grateful as she was.

Eliza pinched her cheek. “Oh poor jelly-baby,” she cooed her very demeaning nickname for Lily.

“Quit acting like one then,” Mary suggested rudely, parting her hair.

“We’re stopping by Godric’s on the way.” Lily announced as she started driving on the icy roads, finally entirely ready. She looked in the rearview mirror for a moment. She looked amazing. Mary and Eliza were miracle workers.

Mary groaned. “Oh, come on. Do you do anything other than write to your beloved Effermont?”

Mary was very disapproving of the whole letter-writing thing: both the concept of writing to a stranger and the reopening of her very tender wounds of heartbreak every time.

“Plenty,” she replied drily. “Listen to your opinions regarding it, for one.”

“I’m just worried about you, Lils!” She called after her as she left the car. They’d reached Godric’s Hollow café.

Fair enough.

Albus Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as brightly as ever as he took her letter outside his café. “Your Effermont is in there right now,” he said amusedly. She flushed at the ‘your’ before actually registering the sentence.

“Oh my God,” she said, feeling a thrill run up her. This was the first time they’d ever been this close to each other – that Lily knew of, anyway. “I should go then. Don’t want him discovering my identity.”

“Of course. Is this the actual letter or simply the directions? For I fear he’s in somewhat of a hurry,” Albus said.

Lily grinned. Eff had made her drink his coffee recommendation – good and not ridiculously sweet for once – before she could get his last letter. She’d once made him climb a tree. He’d once given her a series of riddles to solve before Albus gave her his letter. It was fun, but also not something you could do quickly, and Lily’s grumble fest had been pretty quick. Their letters typically reached seven or eight pages.

“The letter itself,” she assured him, shaking his hand before striding back to the car. Mary frowned disapprovingly, and Eliza gave her a thumbs up.

Mary lectured her about the letters all through the drive, making her very relieved to come up the driveway of the house where Benjy Fenwick was hosting the party.

“That is one big ass house,” she said under her breath as she leaned against her car after parking. Mary and Eliza were already inside.

“Isn’t it just?” Remus Lupin smiled at her, looking as tired as always. “Fenwick has a really huge inheritance.”

She bit back the instinctive ‘how are you’ – she was sure a chronically sick person like him was sick of that (pun unintended) – and instead asked, “Where are your mates?”

He waved vaguely at the house. “Sirius and Peter are in there, causing trouble no doubt, but James got. . . Delayed.” There was a wry twist to the last word that suggested disapproval or amusement. Lily couldn’t tell. “I’m waiting for him now, in fact.”

Alarm reared in her head. The last thing she wanted was to run into James Potter. She didn’t loathe him anymore the way she had in high school, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him.

Too bad for her.

“Hey, Moony! I’ve got a new—” James Potter stopped short at the sight of her, blinking. He was casually handsome in a polo shirt and jacket and trousers, hair tousled, his spectacles lopsided on his angular face. “Evans.”

“Potter,” she said briskly. “I’ll see you in class, Remus.” She moved towards the house, when Potter grabbed her arm. It was gentle, not restricting or pulling, but it felt like a jolt of electricity ran up her arm. “Don’t touch me!”

She turned to glare at him. He backed up in alarm, holding his hands up. “Sorry, Evans. Just had a question.”

She breathed through her irritation. “What is it?”

“Can I use you as a model?”

“A model for what?” She stared at him.

Potter faltered, “I – uh, I’m an artist of sorts. And I was just wondering, for this commission—”

“You can,” she said brusquely, moving again. She modelled for art classes for extra money. She was used to being a muse for people. She didn’t know why Potter had asked in the first place but. . . It was considerate of him.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad.

On second thought, nah. She remembered the utter fiasco he’d created last week in the mess hall.

Potter was, for some reason, the person she disliked most among the self-proclaimed Marauders. Perhaps it was his brief obsession with asking her out back in high school, or the fact that he’d been the main perpetrator in Sev being bullied. But she immensely disliked talking to or being around him either way, so it didn’t really matter.

She rejoined Eliza – Mary was off somewhere with her toy of the night, this time Hestia Jones – and thankfully managed to avoid all the Marauders for the rest of the party.

She even managed to enjoy herself, drinking a fair bit, dancing, playing a couple games and giving her number to a cute guy who might actually help her get over Eff.

All in all not a half bad night. She’d gone to worse parties.

She found herself back in Godric’s Hollow the two evenings later, listening to Marshmello on her headphones, sipping a Frappuccino (bitter, obviously) and finishing editing her assignment in Trade Relations.

“Lily,” Albus called. She looked up enquiringly, slipping her headphones down her neck. “A note from your Effermont.”

The whole world lit up from its previously dull colours. She eagerly took the folded paper from the barista, reading the scrawled message. Eff had a weird handwriting: it was like he’d been taught calligraphy, but didn’t have the time or the bother to either use it properly or disregard it completely.

It was charming. She loved it.

You will find your letter at the following place: 1. Dog Walkers for Hire 2. Home Repair 3. Symphony Orchestra

Lily closed her laptop and packed her things hurriedly, eagerness swimming through her. She’d figured out the place easily, and rushed to the intersection, grabbing the letter (with a laugh at the fact that a Congrats! Sticker was stamped on the envelope) and walked back to the flat, pulling her shawl tighter around herself.

God, she hated the cold.

 Eff was as irascibly cheerful as ever.

To the Prettiest Flower in Existence, started the letter, making Lily blush delightedly.

It is I, your beloved Eff! I hope you haven’t missed me too much. It took a while to set up the hunt and write down everything I wanted to do. My mum goes crazy for Christmas. She’s hired all these decorators for the manor, and I can just hear you say ‘toff’! (If I knew what your voice sounded like, of course). So my very annoying best friend/brother and I had to clear off for a bit, and then my other friend had this episode with his illness and. . .

Well, anyway, I was busy. And things are all fine now. Mum isn’t going any less crazy, sadly, but the rest of it’s sorted.

To answer your questions: Honestly, I’m not sure what name I’d like. My dad and mum have these really ridiculous names, you’d laugh if you ever heard them. Seriously. And my best friends too. So I think I’d either want some stupidly fancy thing to match them (not likely) – like Theodore, or Romulus, or Perseus, or Octavius or Septimus. More likely some nice, common name like mine. So. . . Tom maybe. Tom sounds nice. Or Alastair. That’s a cool name too. Daniel. Sam. Alex. Noah. Henry, like my granddad. And I would love to be a Finnick, obviously. After my favourite character, even if it would invite jokes about being too finicky.

Honestly, it’s impossible to choose! Just like you to give these weird philosophical questions, Flower. I had to ask my parents why they chose the name James and all that, so points for giving me a chance to learn some family history plus some terrible details of their sex life I never wanted to know.

As for the second one, an owl. Hands down. I don’t need a dog, because my best friend/brother is practically one, minus the obedience part. An owl just sounds really amazing. Nocturnal animal, for one. It could keep me company on my night study sessions. Did you know they can rotate their necks upto 270 degrees?? And that they have asymmetrical ears? Plus they could be like carrier pigeons! Delivery owls! I’d train them. In fact, I want to be an owl trainer when I grow up. Forget my Psychology and Philosophy degree.

You’ve probably gathered from some of the other comments that I made up with mum. You were right. Naturally. You’re probably always right, and just incredible like that. I was a bit hesitant about making the first apology (my pride yada yada, psychoanalyzing and all) but your letter convinced me, so. . . Thanks for that, Flower. You’re the best.

I have heard of Cokeworth, actually. It’s where The Unattainable Angel is from, which is such a coincidence! Do you think you might know one another? You’re both about the same age – mine – and I gather it’s a fairly small town so you must, yeah?

I am extremely offended at your disparaging winter, Flower. My favourite season! I’m sorry, we’re over. I can’t write to someone who hates something so meaningful to me. I’m a snow artist! It’s a bit weird, isn’t it, that we’re writing to one another? Months after your first generic letter for your project? You dislike sweet stuff, I love it. You hate winter, and the winter is literally my livelihood. You ship Everlark, I ship Everthorne. BTW, you’re wrong about that. Like, so wrong. Attached is a list of reasons Everthorne would work. I love Katniss and Gale together!

Attached is also a story I wrote for you. Feel honoured, Flower. I don’t do this for just anybody. Also, don’t come at me when you find that it’s absolutely awful. I know. Like you said, I’m not a writer. I’m an artist. A SNOW artist, so deal with it. Winter’s the best. Winter is already here, and that is AMAZING.

Speaking as an artist, I can assure you, pink does not look terrible on all redheads. The Unattainable Angel is a redhead, and she would look pretty in a garbage bag, so I refute your assertion. I bet you look good in pink too.

In order to prove that, I, the stunning snow artist that I am, will be making a sculpture of The Unattainable Angel in pink! It’s a commission I got last week, for this business party in a garden in the suburbs. It’s some fundraiser, sort of, plus networking – don’t ask me. My dad does this kind of stuff for his business, and it all goes way over my head. Who holds something like this in a garden though? And wants an ice sculpture for it? Especially one of a girl? I contemplated not doing it, especially because I don’t want her stared at by perverts, but she agreed, and she’s a model, so she’s probably used to it. . .

She’s so great. And so incredibly gorgeous. I can’t wait to get sculpting! It’ll turn out beautiful, I’m sure. Anything would, with her as model.

Ouch about your sister, though. I can’t believe she said that. I’m sorry your relationship has soured so much. My best friend/adopted brother is the worst and most annoying person on the planet, but I can’t imagine my life or myself without him. I’m sorry you’ve lost that closeness. I’m sure it must be hard.

The Unattainable Angel is as, well, unattainable as ever. She really, really hates me. So nothing new on that front, except I actually managed words to ask her if she can be my model for the sculpture, to prove something to you and for the commission – the first more than the second ;)

Trust me, you don’t want to know about my friends. Really. Like I said, my chronically ill friend had an episode, but he’s fine now. But really. My brother and our other friend did this so stupid thing yesterday. . . It involved flag poles. And jumping off buildings. They may have been a tad drunk.

They must have been – either that, or clinically insane. And my mum still didn’t scold him! She’s definitely playing favourites. And I am not pouting about it. Also, I am so not a Mama’s boy, Flower! You take that back!

My studies are going well. I got an A on that test I wrote to you about being nervous about, so that’s a relief. It’s so weird to think we’re already well into our second year. It feels like I’m still at high school sometimes. The general stupidity of the population doesn’t change no matter where you are, I’m sure you would say. But still.

Yeeees, soon we’ll bring you onto the dark side Flower! Soon you’ll be consuming the sugariest and sweetest stuff known to mankind and loving it! In all seriousness, glad you liked the rec! I’m going to suggest white chocolate peppermint tea now. It’s a Godric’s special. It’s pretty sweet, but I think you’ll like it. Or maybe not. Try it and tell me!

I absolutely want to know the leash story! Tell me, tell me, tell me! Pretty please with a cherry on top? I’m sending you puppy eyes right now. I wish you could see. My mum tells me my puppy dog begging eyes are absolutely lethal. I bet you’d cave in an instant. I wish we could meet in person. I know you don’t want to – just an idle wish.

Also, wow. Those stories are hilarious. Not as stupidly embarrassing as ones my mum insists on telling though. She brings out the baby album every. time. somebody visits. It’s so stupid! And my brother is no help, he just keeps laughing, especially because there aren’t any baby photos of him.

I bet you looked cute with your bob cut, though. How old were you then? The thought that people might be watching us in some reality show is pretty scary. Thanks for the nightmares, Flower.

Continuing the game: Tell me your favourite traditions for a holiday. Any holiday. And if you could have any three books survive the apocalypse with you, which would they be?

I want you to write down five things you even slightly like about the winter. As a snow artist, I demand that my pen pal/closest female friend like at least something about it. If you could send me that piano recording (which wasn’t that bad by the way) you can do this. For me? With puppy dog eyes again.

Lots of love,

Effermont.

Lily was smiling instinctively as she read through the letter, already composing a reply inside her head. She couldn’t help it. Eff was so effortlessly cheerfully charming. God, she was so hopelessly in love with him. Even as he pined after The Unattainable Angel. Who sounded like a bitch who had no idea what she had.

Lily sighed and tried to let go of that misplaced anger. She just wished she could have Eff like her. He did seem like he was flirting sometimes. It got her hopes up when they oughtn’t.

Maybe Mary was right. Maybe this was bad for her.

But at the same time – she couldn’t stomach the thought of this stopping. Of never receiving a letter from him again. Of never laughing at his random thoughts and smiley faces. Of never feeling that despairing love again.

There was no good choice.

She let her chin drop onto her palm as she scanned the letter again idly, stopping at the places where he complimented her, blushing and feeling nerves stir in her stomach. Stopping where he described his latest commission, she frowned.

That sounded familiar. Lily thought about it, putting the letter and the attached papers away for later reading and replying. A networking event. Garden. In the suburbs. Ice. . . Then it clicked.

Marlene’s mum’s company was having a gala in the garden just outside her house. A semi-informal one. Marley had talked to her about the ice statue of a girl they’d ordered for it. Someone in the family had been commissioned.

Lily’s heart skipped a beat. Someone in Marley’s family could be Eff. The thought was almost dangerous. She’d met her friend’s immediate family a couple times. Her mind was immediately racing: she had two brothers. And multiple male cousins. One of them. . .

But would knowing be a good thing? Did she want to know who Eff really was?

Yes, her traitorous heart replied. Of course she wanted to know whom she was in love with.

But the more sensible part of her protested. She already liked him enough. Knowing his true identity, seeing him around the Hogwarts campus – that might literally shatter her. She didn’t know if she could handle it.

But Lily was impulsive, reckless. It was somethine Tuney and Sev had derided her for multiple times. It was part of who she was. She took out her phone and shot a message to Marlene, asking if she could come to her mum’s party, on account of being a law student and networking.

It wasn’t a lie. Meeting influential people would be useful.

But she knew her main reason for asking. And it was purely personal.

The party was nice – a much classier affair than the high school and college parties she’d been to, thankfully. She chatted with several people, made nice and got business cards, all the while looking for an ice sculpture of a girl, heart thumping.

“Lily!” Marlene called. “Hey, crazy coincidence you’re here.”

“Why is that?” She asked, putting her glass of wine down and making her way to her friend.

Marley pointed vaguely in the direction behind her. “This ice statue— it’s of a girl, and—”

Lily didn’t bother listening further, turning and making her way in that direction. Then she saw the statue, and came to a standstill.

It was her. It was her, in pink clothes, just as Eff had promised. It was her right down to the curves of her hair and the green in her eyes and the smile on her face.

Eff had used her as the model for his commission.

She was The Unattainable Angel.

Her mind went blank. Her whole body felt numb, and not from the cold. Her hands were trembling.

Eff was in love with her. He was every bit in love with her as she was with him, judging by his letters.

She had to—she had to find him. She had to tell him. She had to move. She had to do something.

But what?

Dear Eff,

I saw the statue you made for the McKinnon Offices’ Business Party. I know her. I want to meet. I think I can help you finally attain The Unattainable Angel.

Love,

Flower

To the Flower of Utter Amazingness,

You want to meet??! Like, seriously?? Tell me this isn’t a joke, Flower. I’ve wanted this for ages.

I can’t believe you saw the statue.

So you do know Evans, huh. Small world.

Godric’s Hollow? The table where you left your first letter? 5 pm on Monday?

Lots and lots of love,

Effermont

Dear Eff,

Smaller than you might think, actually.

I’ll see you there.

Lots of love,

Flower

Lily was dying of anticipation.

She wasn’t one to tend to hyperbole like that – but this was an extraordinary situation. She was about to meet the man she was head-over-heels in love with. She felt that deserved some exaggeration.

It was four fifty-five on Monday. Lily had her book bag swung over her shoulder, too wrecked with nerves to go back to her apartment post classes.

She was going to meet Eff!

She. Was. Going. To. Meet. Her. Pen-Pal.

It still wouldn’t quite sink in.

She sat on a bench across the road from the café, with the table they were supposed to meet at well within view. She wasn’t willing to be seen as – well, desperate, and reach first, and she wanted to have a chance to assess after she was blindsided by information.

Lily liked to be in control of things.

It was why she found herself so extremely annoyed when James Potter of all people sat in at the table, moments after she’d taken her own seat. Why did he have to pick now to come to Godric’s? And that particular seat?

Eff would come soon and ask him to move away, she thought hopefully. She kept a keen eye out for anyone approaching that particular table, but no one did.

Bitterness welled deep in her twenty minutes into the wait. She couldn’t believe Eff had stood her up like this. It was ridiculous. He’d seemed so excited in his letter. Even Albus had chuckled to her about it. Had something gone wrong on his side? Was he perhaps waiting, not wanting to eject someone from their seat?

Nah. He was too arrogant for that.

Impulsively, she stood and made her way to that table. Maybe there was a note? Another letter?

“Evans!” Potter – squeaked, flailing about undignifiedly. He was always so odd around her. She despised him, but he seemed to waver between awkward and sleazy around her. Which was a pity. He wasn’t bad looking and Mary kept insisting he’d grown up since high school.

Lily didn’t really see how bullies grew up.

“Potter.” she said shortly.

“Did you, uh, want the table?” Potter stood up quickly, hands in his pockets. She could understand that. Lily hated sitting when someone was looming over her. She opened her mouth to tell him to keep the table when: “I was just waiting for someone—”

Dread encapsulated her. Dots which she really didn’t need at that moment connected. “Who?” She asked urgently.

He blinked at her. “Who?” She asked again, impatient and nervous and scared and excited and disgusted and anxious and apprehensive all at once.

“Just a, er, friend— we’ve never met before so this was the meeting place we decided – but she’s late—”

“A pen-pal?” She asked quietly. “Eff?”

Wonder took over his face. He smiled blindingly, hand lifting as though to touch her face before he put it down. “Flower?” He said quietly.

They stared at one another for a moment.

“I can’t believe it’s you—” He laughed lightly.

James Potter. James Potter. The one who’d tugged on her pigtails and dumped paint all over her and teased her about her drawing and told her she was beautiful and amazing and relentlessly persecuted Sev and partnered with her for a Science Project and won the lacrosse championship for their school.

James Potter.

Was Eff. Effermont. Who was always cheerful, had ready jokes, was arrogantly charming, a shoulder for her to cry on, and was the one person she trusted and relied on most.

Whom she was in love with.

Feeling suffocated and trapped all of a sudden, she turned. “I can’t either,” she snapped curtly, walking briskly outside.

“Hey, Evans? What – where are you – Flower!”

Ignoring the urge to stop at the final call, she jogged back home, burying the need to cry deep inside.

“I. . . Don’t get it, Lils.” Mary said, frowning. “So the pen-pal you were head-over-heels for turns out to be a guy with a great bod and an even better brain? What’s to whine about?”

Lily stared at her best friend disbelievingly. “You don’t get it? Mare! It’s James Potter! I’m in love with James Potter!”

“Yeah. So?”

“It’s. . .” Lily couldn’t help it; she got up and began to pace. “It’s so. . . Confusing, I guess. I mean. I didn’t like Potter. I still don’t like him, frankly.”

“Oh, not this again,” Mary groaned. “Come on, Lily. Haven’t you been dragging this high school feud long enough?”

“He was an asshole!” Lily raged. “He bullied Sev!”

“Who gave back every bit he got,” she pointed out. “Look, I’m not saying Potter was right to do it, ganging up on Snape and doing all those awful things to him. It was terrible. It was wrong. But. . . It was years ago. You got to know Potter in a completely new, objective way. And you fell in love with him. Doesn’t that say something?”

Lily scowled, turning away from her friend. It did. It said several things.

It wasn’t as though she’d only hated Potter, even back then in high school. He’d asked her out repetitively during that one phase. He’d managed to cheer her up with his dumb jokes more than one time. He’d been an excellent partner for that one project they’d been paired up for. He’d been the only one who could keep up with her in the Debate Team – they’d used to argue until they were breathless, chests heaving.

Knowing Potter had been exhilarating even then. He was a constantly tempestuous ride, and she’d never known which side she was about to get – awkward Potter who couldn’t string together a sentence around her, the coolly confident one who teased and argued with her, the passionate jock she’d cheer on in the field, the bullying toerag who got off on the misery of others.

He was a dichotomy. Always.

But she’d never once gotten that vibe from Eff. Could he be arrogant, condescending, disregarding of others’ feelings occasionally and accidentally? Sure. But he was a good man at heart. Lily wouldn’t have set up a meeting if she didn’t believe that.

But Eff being James Potter. . .

And she was The Unattainable Angel. She, Lily Evans! She couldn’t believe it. And she couldn’t deny that thought made her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in years.

Her mind made the decision quickly. “Okay. Yes. You’re right.” Her heart was pounding.

“I cannot believe you said that!” Mary cheered. “The Best To-Be Lawyer and Judge in the world said I’m right! Woohoo! Where’s my phone, I need to record this.”

“Shut up.” Lily rolled her eyes, ducking her head at the compliments. “But. . . I don’t have his number. What do I do? What if he hates me? What if—”

“Lil. Chill. That guy isn’t capable of hating you,” Mary said reassuringly. “And you have his best mate’s number. Call Lupin. Ask him to . . . I don’t know, connect you with Potter.”

“Okay,” Lily breathed, rubbing at her chest. “Okay. Thanks, Mare. You’re the best.”

“I know.” Her friend smiled smugly. “Go get him, girl!”

Hey, she texted Remus.

Hey, came a text back, only five minutes later. What’s up?

Can you send me Potter’s number? She asked without preamble.

There were the three dots, indicating he was typing. Then they disappeared. And reappeared.

You really hurt him, Lily, was the final message.

She stared at it. Tapped on the screen while she figured out her reply.

I know. I want to make up for it.

There. She thought that conveyed the sentiment, even though the phrasing was awkward and not her best. She just. . . Really couldn’t think about anything. Love had that effect.

There was no reply in words – just a number. Heart pounding, she sent him a thank you before saving Potter’s number in her mobile and starting to message him.

She went through several drafts in her head before she decided he would appreciate casualness the best.

Hi, Eff, she sent. I’m so sorry about today. Do over?

As Her Floweriness commands, was the reply, setting her at ease the way only he could do. The main fountain on the school campus okay with you, Evans? Tomorrow evening, 7:00?

Absolutely. See you then, Potter.

No running away this time?

Definitely not.

And it was done. Lily rolled over in her bed, grabbing her pen and journal, an idea striking her.

There was no better way.

She sat on the fountain, watching the water spring from the funnel, tired and excited and scared. Snow fell around her, landing softly. It was only fair, Lily supposed, that she be the one to wait this time. Still. It wasn’t easy.

“Evans,” someone breathed, and Lily spun around hastily, nearly tripping into the water. He caught her, one hand around her waist and the other grabbing hers. “Easy there.”

She froze, tingling sensations spreading from the place his hands touched. She wanted to stay there forever. She wanted to rip herself away. She turned to him slowly. “Potter.”

He let go of her, stuffing his hands in his pockets, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She felt oddly bereft.

“I, um—”

“Maybe we should—”

They paused, having started speaking at the same time. Lily cleared her throat. “I. Wrote this for you.” She thrust her letter at him.

He blinked at it. “Wow.” Why didn’t he take it? Did he hate her? Did he not want it? Did he have some other idea of how this was going to go? Was he— “That’s weird. I wrote a letter for you too.” He took something out of his pocket: an envelope.

They stared at one another. She couldn’t believe they’d had the same idea. It was ridiculous. Connecting. Soulmating, if she believed in those crap romance novels Eliza liked to read. Hand trembling, she reached out to take his. They exchanged envelopes.

Lily tore her eyes from his face to the letter in her hands.

Lily-Flower,

Thanks for running away, Evans. I really needed that. Real nice of you—

Sorry about that. Just. . . Got a bit angry.

Hey, Flower. I can’t believe you’re Lily Evans. The girl I’ve been pining over like an idiot since high school. Yes, you can gasp in shock and recoil in disgust. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a massive crush on you.

No. That doesn’t sum it up.

I am absolutely, utterly, horrendously in love with you.

I don’t have the way with words you do. So. . . I’m not sure how. . . I guess I was halfway there even with my friend and pen-pal Flower. Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail always used to get these looks on their faces whenever I told them about the letters. But I was too hung up on you, Evans. You were. Well. You were The Unattainable Angel after all.

First and foremost, you’re my friend. And you don’t have to be. If you never want to see me again, call quits on the letters, that’s fine. I just hope you read this. One last letter from Effermont to Flower, eh?

I guess I can tell you why I picked that name now. My mum’s name is Euphemia. And you know my dad’s name is Fleamont. It was a kind of combination of their names. Plus, it sounds a bit like effeminate – which, I know is sometimes used as a slur, but you thought I was a girl when we first began writing. It was a joke.

A mean one. I know. I thought a lot about why you ran away like that. I was angry. Hurt. Still am, honestly. But I guess I can understand. I know you, Flower. I know you pretty well. So I can understand you running away to deal with your emotions.

I just hope you don’t mind this contact.

I haven’t. . . Always been the best person. I know that. And I don’t think I would have liked the person I would have turned out to be if I had continued like that. It’s. Hard. I was always arrogant, entitled, and jealous and bullying. . . And. It’s hard to describe.

And I know you hated me back then in high school, especially when I asked you out – which was all serious, by the way. I know you thought that me making a production of it was because it was a joke. It wasn’t.

Your hating me’s your prerogative, obviously.

I suppose I understand reconciling your friend with someone you loathe is hard.

Anyway. I’m just writing this to say. . . It’s okay. Whatever you want to do.

And I am still as in love with you as ever, Lily Evans. I didn’t need you to sing in the assembly like Peeta did (I hope you appreciate me making an Everlark reference). I just am. Have been for ages. Seems, at this point, like I always will be.

Yours,

Eff James Potter

Lily swallowed. She lowered the letter, looking at Potter. His face was intent, hopeful, wary. He was obviously done with her letter, folding it over and over in his hands.

“Since high school?” She whispered. “All those times. . . You were serious?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, Lily. I really, really was.”

He was calling her Lily now, she noticed vaguely. “You said whatever I want to do, you’re okay with it,” she said.

A flash of uncertainty. “Yeah. ‘Course. I meant that. Still do.” he assured her.

“And you don’t understand from my letter what that would be?” She asked, tone slightly teasing.

“Weeeeeell. . .” He dragged out the word, smirking a lopsided grin that made him very attractive. “You could stand to be a bit clearer.”

“Okay,” she said softly, walking closer to him. She could see the way snow fell on his head, the way the droplets clung to his lashes. The way his eyes, the golden flecks in the hazel, softened when they landed on her. “I am ardently, steadfastly, horrendously in love with you, Eff. James Potter.”

And she leaned up and kissed him.

He gasped, still for a moment, before kissing back. The pressure was electric. It was comforting. It was warmth, in the snowy winter around them. His arm came up against her back, lightly pressing, supporting. Her hands trailed up to his shoulders.

They parted, saying nothing for a long moment, staring at one another softly. James cleared his throat. “You’ve – got some snow here,” he patted it off her shoulder gently, letting his hand linger, his thumb brushing her collarbone.

She shivered, not entirely due to the cold. “Ugh. I hate snow.” She complained, still lightheaded from the kissing. “I loathe the winter.”

He smiled, a small quirk of his lips. “Yeah, I know.” He took her hand bringing it up to his lips. “Not only bad things happen in winter, though.”

She felt her own face light up in response, curling her hand with his, interlocking their fingers. “I suppose not.” Lily replied. “You still can’t say anything good about the snow though.”

“She says to the snow artist. . .”

And they bickered, walking hand-in-hand through the snow.

[sunburstsandmoonshadows]

Mentopolis OCs time, baby.

Lore below:

EDIT: SORRY I CHANGED HIS NAME. Roman Entic is now Romeo Entic. Because he has to be. Proceed.

Two artists residing in the mind of Elias Hodge; one a sculptor focused on form and feeling, and the other a strict Romantic in both senses of the word as well as an amateur poet. They're frequent collaborators (though often have their own solitary projects as well) working for the Daydream Workshop in the Hippocampus' Imagination Gallery, which has always struggled with funding under Mayor Logic and has received so many budget cuts come the Big Guy's new job that they've been promoted from merely hungry artists to starving artists. The only people still well-funded there are the Nightmare script writers and stage crew, who've been writing that show for decades now.

Moneyless and museless, the pair of artists wait out their days in hopes that the Big Guy gets a promotion that makes him relax and start thinking about others again. Or at least that he finds his interest piqued by a co-worker in some fashion--both are willing to cheer for the other.

Dee is a friend of Dan Fucks, as their tasks are closely related--he provides the desire to fuck, and she figures out who the Big Guy wants to fuck. She used to have her sculptures set up at Shuga's, but always has them removed after a while once the passion for the muse of that period wears out. With the dry spell regarding muses or any fun at all, she hasn't provided any new works after taking back her old ones yet.

Rome does not care for Dan that much, they get along best as co-workers who meet only when the time is right. He does move in the same circles as Imelda and Anastasia and had to deal with them loudly debating whether the Big Guy should "go for it" while they check out his paintings before their falling out. Anastasia also interviewed him for the article about the smiling woman that got canned.

Other details: --Rome constantly uses pet names for everyone. "Dear" and "darling" are the most common. --It's not very visible here, but Rome has a painted hand pressed to his heart on his shirt, for romantic gestures. --He also has large "rose-tinted glasses" :) --Dee is very touchy-feely, though she doesn't really mean anything by it. --While Dan Fucks, the active desire to fuck, is dressed for success in deep v-necks and fine pants, Dee, the passive observation of attractive people, is much more casually dressed. She represents a low-effort sort of sexiness that Dan does not. --Romance puts people on cloud nine, so Rome is surrounded with 'em. Dee is steamy all the time. I'm sure you can piece together the joke.

[wellthebardsdead]

Marigold: *walks out of the thieves guild cistern and freezes in pure fear seeing a familiar figure at the bar*

Brynjolf: you okay there lad?

Kaidan: Flower?…

Marigold: *reaching for his dagger* You.

The face sculptor: *turns her head to see him and audibly gasps* It’s you, my magnum opus.

Kaidan: you? Know each other-

The face sculptor: Oh yes. His surgery was a difficult one indeed. It took me days to break him apart and put him back together. Rearranging his spine, replacing his jaw and legs, not to mention reshaping those hideously deformed ears and fixing that ugly mouth of his, sadly I could never get it completely straight. But compared to what he looked like before he’s a vision, my finest w- *chokes as blood fills her mouth and her entrails spill out onto the floor as the high elf mercilessly guts her*

Marigold: *staring into her eyes as he twists the knife* You. Tortured me for days. You destroyed me. You cut me open when I was a boy and ignored my screams for mercy!!! *pulls it out and stabs her again* ILL KILL YOU LIKE I DID THAT MONSTER WHO PAID YOU- wh- LET ME GO!!!!

Kaidan, Brynjolf, & Dirge: *all grabbing hold of him pulling him off the now very dead woman*

Brynjolf: THATS ENOUGH LAD!

Dirge: FUCK HES STRONG!

Kaidan: *grabbing the knife from his hand* SNAP OUT OF IT MARIE!!

Delvin: *dragging the body back away from the elf knowing the sight of her is only going to keep him upset* Easy now lad. It’s alright, she can’t hurt you no more… let’s just calm down…

*a few hours and a big clean up effort later*

Kaidan: *walks back in from the cistern* I got him to sleep. He wouldn’t drink any water though, he’s gonna have a headache from all that crying… *sighs and sits down*

Brynjolf: I’ve never seen him like that before. It’s like he was possessed.

Delvin: well, from her words. The level of trauma she put him through can you really blame him for completely snapping?… I wonder what he looked like before… I can’t imagine him as anything other than the pretty elf he is.

Kaidan: he was beautiful then and he is now… just… wasn’t beautiful to the terrible people who changed him…

Brynjolf: I always wondered what those scars were from… under his jaw… now I wonder how many more he’s hiding under his armour…

Kaidan: plenty… both outside. And judging from that outburst of his… inside as well…

[redsamuraiii]

The Snow Woman (1968)

“I decided that I will not kill you. But in return, you must not tell anyone about what you see today. Even your most intimate people. Even your relatives, your wife or your children. If you say even one word about me, I will kill you.”

Based on the Japanese Folklore of Yuki-Onna, it tells the tale of a sculptor, Yosaku (Akira Ishihama), who encountered a ghost on a stormy snowy night where his mentor was frozen to death leaving him as the only survivor. 

Few years later, Yosaku met a beautiful woman named Yuki (Shiho Fujimura) when his mother offered her shelter from the heavy thunderstorm for the night where she befriends them both and admires his craftsmanship.

Over time, both Yosaku and his mother grew fond of Yuki and beg her to stay a bit longer to which she agreed. They eventually express their love for each other and got married, have a child and live a good life, which did not last long.

A priestess saw Yuki at the temple and knows who she really is, confronted her at her home but Yosaku does not believe it as he had seen a ghost before and Yuki is nothing like her. But Yosaku had forgotten the promise he made.

Having broke his promise he made on that stormy night, Yuki reveals her true self to Yosaku before killing him but her attempt was stopped by their child who was crying. Yuki had a change of heart and decides to leave them instead.

                                                                ***

It’s a good story which shows you that the humans are much more scarier than ghosts as humans are judgemental and egoistical creatures.

There are many folklore versions of Yuki Onna depending on which part of Japan it originates, each prefecture has its own stories and legends.

For this movie, it seems that it is set during Kamakura period, judging by the clothes that they wear and the attitude of the “warriors”. 

Yuki’s dressing and hair reminds me of the court ladies of Taira or Heike. She probably died while trying to flee from the war during winter.

But her spirits live on. Maybe the real reason Yuki did not kill Yosaku because he reminds her of her late husband who died in war.

At least that’s what I’d like to think. It’ll make the story more interesting when you include in some historical events.

[annas-hair-donut]

Fanfic ask game: F and/or N!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Ok, I would copy/paste all of Boom, Clap! and Overheard here. But I'll go with this little bit from Knock on Wood. I'm really proud of this fic in general. It's one of my best in terms of quality and it's also kind of personal. But I love this bit of dialogue because Kristoff is so cocky and I love that. I love how easily they flirt with each other, and I got the pacing just right an it flows well. I also think I did a good job of describing their feelings from Anna's POV. It's a stretch from canon, but I also love that. Like, it's smoother because it's a more subtle nod to canon.

"I was just signing CDs," he shrugged. "I'm a musician; that's how I make money." Then a shit-eating grin took over. “Wait… were you jealous?” “You’re so cocky!” He blushed and said, “That’s a yes.” She pursed her lips and he laughed modestly. “I mean, you basically admitted you’re attracted to me.” Her cheeks heated up and she huffed. Her refolded arms definitely weren't fooling him, though. “It’s not one of the many reasons you turned me down.” Then he looked across the room and said, “I thought you didn’t like being anyone’s second choice?” Anna's face dropped when she saw Hans dancing with a woman in a hot pink chiffon dress who didn’t know where to put her espadrilled feet. She knew where to put her lips, though. "That who you're here with?" he asked with stifled laughter. Anna rolled her eyes and looked back at him. “Whatever.” He chuckled before asking, “Hey, what’s your name?” “Anna.” He tipped his burnt orange baseball hat with a white longhorn embroidered on the front at her. Then he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Anna. I’m Kristoff.” Anna took his hand reluctantly and waited for him to lead her to the dance floor. But he sat down next to her and ordered a Lone Star instead. She followed his bobbing Adam’s apple as he tipped his beer back. “I thought you were going to ask me to dance,” she teased before casually sipping some water. “Song’s halfway over," he shrugged. "I want a whole dance with you.” Anna felt a fever come on; even the icy water didn't help. “Plus, I like to get to know a person before jumping into anything.” “That’s the cockiest thing you’ve said all night." He grinned. “Maybe. It’s working, though, isn’t it?” Anna took another sip of her water to hide her blush. She was about ready to take him home with her. “Yeah, it’s working,” he teased. She hated that he was right, but she smiled anyway. "So, I'm going to Little Longhorn Saloon tomorrow." Anna's body tingled but she finally asked, "Chicken shit bingo?" He smiled and felt his pockets until he produced the Sharpie he used to sign his CDs before writing his number on a slightly damp napkin. He tented his fingers on the napkin before sliding it over. “So, here’s the thing; I’m no one’s second choice either.” Anna peered over the napkin at him and didn’t blink. “Well, ok, then,” he said with a million-dollar smile. Then he took off his ratty hat with curved, tattered bill and set it on top of the napkin. He knocked three times on the wooden bar and held his hand out. “Do you wanna dance, Anna?”

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

This is such an easy question. There's 2.

One is the fic that made me want to write fanfic in the first place. It's still one of my favorite fics and I reread it every 6 months of so. The Ice Sculptor by feistypants. Seriously, everyone go read it.

The other is All I Really Want by @anywhozits. This is the other fic that has been most influential on me. Even though it's not finished, it's still well worth the read and I highly recommend it.

[sparklecryptid]

*cackles* I was ABSOLUTELY picturing a woman tbh.

And now all I can see is this lil (5'6 is good, puts her a solid whole person shorter than basically everyone but the hobbits and Gimli there) scowling person (now an elf again maybe? just NOT in Feanor's body bc that was too long ago, souls got a different picture of itself now) stomping up to Nerdanel and being like, "I AM SO SORRY!"

And Nerdanel- Nerdanel's eyes meet fire and, the color is wrong, a warm brown, not blue but, 'oh. Feanor.' "I don't know if I can forgive you for their deaths."

And this person, (you know what i dub them Rose bc RED and PRICKLY and very flammable) makes like 10 different faces in quick succession, "Oh no yes, I do get that. Not asking you to. But that's not what I'm talking about. SEVEN CHILDREN. SIX PREGNANCIES. I AM SO SORRY."

Nerdanel. Blinks. And- laughs. Fully and long, tears of mirth in the corners of her eyes for the first time in- far too long. "I rather did like the results, though the effort was long and hard."

Nardenel's eyes, drift over them catch on the wild tangle of nearly black curls wrestled into a bun on top of her head and pinned in place with a stylus of some kind, an odd shift of airy fabric dyed in odd swirls with a strangely proportioned leather jacket over it, and equally strange heavy soled boots that looked to have been hastily slipped on, laces loosely stuffed in the tops. It was nothing her husband would have looked twice at except to sniff derisively and certainly nothing he would have worn.

Well then. Nerdanel sits on the bench behind her, laying her skirt out with the ease of long (long long) practice. "My name is Nerdanel Mahataniel, I am a master stone worker and sculptor. I was once married to a prince and a fool, but he died a very long time ago now. Might I know your name?"

Brown eyes blink at her, hope bleeding into them like the sun over the sea. Then lips quirk in a familiar slow smile. She falls into a seat across from Nerdanel. "I'm Rose Barnett. I don't really have a, a craft? I was going to school for- well , something that doesn't actually have an equivalent here. Lore keeping, maybe. Sort of. And, well, as Rose I've never been married, or even in a relationship really. See, I kept looking for someone, and was always very disappointed when I never found them."

Nerdanel smiles.

(Well HECK, that's almost part of a FIC isn't it. *pokes it dubiously* I picked Barnett bc it's a last name that means 'a place cleared by fire' which, c'mon, PERFECT foreshadowing name for someone who finds out they used to be Feanor. She was in school to do something with computers, I think. Databases maybe? She gets twitchy about the idea of destroyed knowledge and UNSHAREABLE, paywall blocked knowledge. No idea why that could be.)

It is almost part of a fic and I LOVE IT

I also love that we both think that this lady has stompy boots. I thought of lady reincarnation of Feanor and my mind went ‘she needs stompy boots.’

Also i love the name don’t mind if i just-

-

It’s weird.

There is no other way to say it. Arriving in Tirion with her - former? Current? Estranged? Why are relationships so HARD - wife is weird.

Everyone is taller than her, everyone is bright and glowing in a way that Rose knows that she isn’t - a part of her reminds her that she was once that these streets were hers and Rose promptly shoves that part of her back into the mud - and Rose can’t help but feel inferior in a way that she’s used to, being a woman in tech doesn’t exactly get you any brownie points with the bros, but that makes her itch and want to rant at something.

It doesn’t help that everyone is taller than her by a good margin. Even Nerdanel who is a lovely darling woman who stays close to Rose as they make their way through Tirion’s streets is taller than Rose.

(Rose is going to deny that her first thought upon seeing Nerdanel was ‘Oh I’m VERY gay’ followed immediately by a sense of regret and longing for something that once was.)

Still, no one interrupts them on their way to what was Fëanor’s house in Tirion. Rose knows the layout, she knows every arch and structural support in the building and still when she and Nerdanel walk up to the gate Rose has to bite her lip to stop from swearing.

“Okay, I know we lived here,” Rose says as they pass through the doorway, “But this is-“ She gestures a bit helplessly. “-a little much?”

Nerdanel’s lips quirk into a smile as if Rose has said something amusing. Excuse you! Rose is being reasonable! She’s coming from a seven hundred square foot apartment! She’s allowed to be a bit shocked!

“You were a Prince,” Nerdanel reminds her.

“Yeah, right,” Rose says and does not make off color jokes about guillotines.

There’s noises from a door in front of them and Rose recognizes it as the family room and Rose stops. There’s a mess of feelings in her stomach guilt and love and regret and self loathing all at war inside her.

Her sons are behind that door and she is not who she once was. She is not their father anymore. Not in a way that they would know.

But she loves them still. Loves them with a fierceness that scares her. They are hers.

She might not be theirs but they are still hers, and if they don’t want her now, after all that has been said and done, Rose will understand.

It will hurt like a bitch.

But she’ll understand.

[munsons-maiden]

one thing i adore about characters like eddie where not much about their past/childhood is revealed is hearing everyone’s different hcs! i love hearing what people think his parents were like and how he ended up w wayne. i feel like i’m collecting them all and displaying them all on a little shelf

i hc eddie was such a mum’s boy growing up. i can definitely see her as an inspiring/struggling artist and sculptor but she also has a more sustainable income as a waitress or bartender. her and eddie lived in a apartment in hawkins town centre that was small but also had really cosy vibes. she would also 100% encourage eddie to pursue his creative interests like learning the guitar and playing D&D. i just feel like she would be so cool and friendly, and would have a unique name! and introduced eddie to rock music which lead him into discovering metal. i think she probably passed away when he was about to start high school (and his dad officially disappeared from his life around that time) so wayne dealt with a very angsty and grieving eddie. it’s also one of the many reasons eddie keeps up an emotional barrier.

i’d looove to hear what u think about eddie’s childhood, i think u understand his character so well! (sorry if u have already done a post like talking about that! if so i haven’t seen) also sorry for dumping this all in ur ask box 😭😭 u might also have a double of this ask cause i tried sending it earlier but tumblr had a funny 5 minutes and said it didn’t work

also if it isn’t taken, could i claim the 🍄 emoji? :)

YES omg I could totally see that 🥺🖤

And thank you so much! 🥺🖤 My hc has always been that his mum passed away when Eddie was too young to actually remember her, an od maybe or an accident, and his dad has been in charge until he was arrested and Eddie was given into Wayne's custody - and my favorite hc is that Wayne remembers Eddie's mother (I figure that Wayne is his father's brother because of the last name but he would have known Eddie's mum for sure) and since Eddie's father never talker about her, Wayne does. And Eddie learns all the things he always wanted to know about her, how lovely she was, that she played guitar just like him and used to sing lullabies for him. And that her favourite book was the Lord Of The Rings - and that's how Eddie came to love fantasy stories and LOTR, because they connect him to the woman he wished he'd gotten to know 😭

And I hc that Eddie got all of his looks, the dark curls, the beautiful brown eyes etc from her as well. And he's so proud and happy and relieved that that's the case, and that he doesn't look like the father who never really gave a shit about him.

And don't worry, it didn't sent it double (even if it had, no worries!) 🖤

And sure! 🖤🥰

[birindale]

History of the Star Sisters, Pt. 4

Something of a bonus interview by He-man.org user Tallstar, this time with Cathy Larson (referenced in an earlier interview I posted with Janice Varney-Hamlin). This was posted directly to the forums & is so still accessible! Cathy Larson worked on the She-Ra line as a whole, and was one of the team developing Mattel’s in-house lore (later supplemented by Filmation, specifically Larry DiTillio’s work). She’s the one who named Adora!

Cathy Larson was hired by Mattel in 1973. Through hard work and dedication, she climbed the corporate ladder and eventually secured the coveted Assistant Product Manager position, thereby making her one of the most influential employees to work on the Princess of Power toy line. She was also the Marketing Assistant on The Star Sisters extension line that was planned for release in 1987. In the early 90s, Cathy would go on to become Vice President of Marketing for Arco Toys, a Hong Kong-based division of parent company Mattel, which was acquired in 1986 and served as a letter of credit business offering low-priced, non-promoted toys primarily to U.S. retailers. The Arco Toys Division officially closed in 2000.

I started at Mattel right out of high school and realized very quickly that I wanted to work in Marketing because Mattel was a Marketing company and the bosses always had so much fun creating and advertising toy lines. But without a degree, it took me nine years and many different jobs to finally prove myself. I finally got the Assistant Product Manager job and worked for the Director of Dolls. She-Ra was the first project I really got to take a lead in. What were some of the difficulties / "hiccups" experienced by Design and/or Marketing on the Princess of Power line?

Mattel would bring their major customers into their (then) Hawthorne, Calif offices for presentations of the new She-Ra line. This was always stressful for the Designers and Marketers because we often had to show prototypes which could be quite rough. If too rough, especially on such an innovative line ("action figures for girls") the presentation didn't go well. If the presentation didn't go well often enough, the line could get dropped before it even got a shot. One presentation to Toys R Us, we had very rough epoxy sculpts, which were very fragile. Of course, minutes before the presentation, they were dropped and many arms and legs broke off the dolls. Horrors! But the amazing design team came in and fixed them and they were presented last that day.   The Powers of Grayskull extension line for Masters of the Universe (He-Ro, Eldor et al.) was planned for release the same year as The Star Sisters. Was there any/much communication between the Girls' and Boys' departments with regard to potential crossovers, story scenarios, synchronized product releases and so on?

Not really. The boys department were worried that having girls toys associated with their line might make it too sissy for their target market. Different retail buyers... Different kids... Different advertising venues... No real reason to cross-over. Do you know if the prototype Star Sisters figures featured in the Italian and American Mattel Toys catalogs still exist, and do you recall which employee(s) sculpted them and came up with their names? I don't know about prototypes. They were were often quite fragile and I would be surprised if they still existed. Aldo Favilli was Mattel's head of sculpting during my time on She-Ra. He would not have sculpted them himself as he had many free-lance sculptors across the country. Aldo was a soft spoken older Italian Man, tall and slender, and with the most beautiful hands. One of my favorite people at Mattel. I can see the woman who worked on names but I'm afraid I can't pull her name up from my memory banks. She came up with fabulous She-Ra names like "Castaspella" [[note: that means it’s Justine Dantzer]]. Perfect, right? By the way, She-Ra's alter ego was "Adora". I wanted to name her Dorian (which is my daughter's name) but my boss wouldn't let me so I settled on "Adora". Were any characters planned beyond Starla, Jewelstar, Tallstar and Glory Bird?

Probably not. I'm interested to know if there were any abandoned features and/or accessories? What were they?

Designers and Marketers would brainstorm tons of features and accessories and only a handful would make it into the line. So there are probably a lot of sketches of "abandoned" features and/or accessories. I know Mattel would hang onto these for years for proprietary reasons (maybe forever). Have you contacted them to see if they still have them? They might share them with you.   At one time, "Lee's Action Figure News & Toy Review" magazine reported that the dolls would have come with a mini-comic entitled "Beyond the Azure Star Caverns" and Mattel had plans for a Star Caverns playset, although no evidence has ever surfaced to back up these claims.  Any truth to these rumors? Sounds feasible but I honestly don't remember the details. If the line had started to slow down, a playset would have been the first to come out of the plans. Very expensive to tool and very hard to sell to the trade.   Do you recall if The Star Sisters got far enough along in the process to have packaging ("proof cards", etc.) designed for them?  If so, could you describe what it would have looked like? The 1987 Mattel Toys catalog mentions "four color window box packaging", so I'm curious to know if perhaps it would have been similar to what was released in Mexico for the first series Princess of Power figures, as opposed to the standard blister card style. Sorry, don't remember.  But, more than likely, the packaging was blister cards. [[note: the packaging was revealed at Power-Con four years after this interview & was in fact standard blister cards]] Were there any additional story scenarios for The Star Sisters beyond what fans' know from the final issue of the She-Ra, Princess of Power magazine? Probably not. The Star Sisters appear for all of one minute in a single episode of the She-Ra, Princess of Power animated series, although they look very different from the prototype dolls. Had the extension line received the necessary retailer support and been successful, would there have been any plans for a spin-off series based on this line? Or would The Star Sisters have simply made more appearances on the main series?   If successful, a spinoff most certainly would have been considered. I am curious to hear your thoughts on what you believe the factors were that led to the demise of this extension line for Princess of Power. The demise was a simple and common reason... we shipped too many dolls and they started to back up on the shelves. Once that happens, the retailers start to mark them down... and once that happens, it's quite impossible to continue because they just won't buy any more.  

[tropes-and-tales]

I'm a whore for Angel Reyes but I hate what happened to his character. Any fix it you can offer me to help me feel better?

Honestly, I haven't watched this season at all. I've been too busy, and friends who've been watching haven't led me to believe that I've missed much.

That said, I think it's obvious that the drama around the show runners and actors has hurt the overall arc of the show. It's also hurt the character development, so my head canons probably vary wildly from the canon of the show.

I think the original focus of the show, from what I’ve heard, was supposed to be Miguel versus EZ, brother against brother.  Light and dark, with the light turning darker and the dark turning lighter.  A woman between them.  Both struggling with their identities as Mexican-Americans, and what it means to be a hyphenate.  Angel was allegedly supposed to die in the first season.  Adelita’s baby daddy was supposed to be Miguel.

So my fix-it head canons hew more to the original arc of the series.

Angel has always struggled with being second best to golden boy EZ.

He loves his brother, but Angel is a deep sinkhole of no self-esteem and the resultant bad decisions.

He knows he’s a disappointment to his father, and Ignacio/Felipe has never given Angel the words of love and encouragement he needed.

He only ever got that from his mother, so when she was murdered, it sort of calcified him in an arrested development.

When EZ gets out of prison and becomes a prospect, Angel is 90% thrilled to have his little brother back....

....but he’s 10% resentful, especially when EZ starts to gain respect in the club.

The Mayans was Angel’s thing, and now it’s become EZ’s thing.

When EZ ropes him into his deal with the DEA...when Angel has to kill Kevin (RIP to Compte for another great death scene), it’s too much.

I picture Angel as having a dark night of the soul after he kills his cousin.  

He loves the M.C. life, but maybe Santo Padre holds too many ghosts now.

I imagine him transferring to another club, maybe more north in California.  Maybe he joins the Oakland charter.

Things move slower in the Oakland charter of the Mayans.  They are further from the chaos of the border, the chaos of the Galindo cartel.

It’s the mother charter too, so there’s a sense of history.  A sense of pride.

Oakland is a funky, arty city.  Not like Santo Padre at all.

Angel Reyes...without EZ and Felipe defining him, without the ghosts of Marisol and Kevin....he can discover who he really is.

One of his Oakland brothers had a girl who owns one of Oakland’s weird little art galleries.  He drags all the Mayans to an event when his girl has an art show.

That’s where Angel meets you.

You’re one of the featured artists.  You’re a sculptor—everything from delicate pieces carved from marble to big, nervy chunks of raw metal welded together.

You catch his eye immediately:  the rockabilly style of your clothing, the hair with a bright panel of magenta dyed into it.  The colorful tattoo peeking out from under your sleeve.

He catches your eye too.  He’s an absolute unit, tall and broad, and he has that lazy swagger as he walks around your piece, studying it.

You come over and introduce yourself.  Ask how he likes the piece.

“I don’t really understand any of this art shit,” he blurts out, and instead of being offended, you just laugh.

You take him through the show, explaining things with your artist’s eye.

You’re one of those casually touchy people, and Angel fucking melts under your tame touches on his arm, on his shoulder.

After the show?  The guys go out to a bar, and you join them.

You take him home with you, bold and assured in what you want.  You want him, and he wants you too.

Angel is—was—a complete fuck boi in Santo Padre, but he’s been changing over the past year.

It starts off casual with you, but it slides quickly into something more.

All that domestic shit Angel never cared about....he cares now.  With you.  He loves the life he’s able to build with you.

Sometimes he feels a pang for the life he left behind in Santo Padre.  He travels back, and he brings you with him:  you settled behind him on his bike, your arms around his middle.

Back in Santo Padre, you beside him, he realizes how much he’s grown.  How Santo Padre Angel was a screw-up and an overgrown boy, but how Oakland Angel is a man in the best sense of the word.  How much he’s laid his ghosts and insecurities to rest.