52 Pickup


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Stakes drew high, cards shimmering with a hint of astral magic, a threat of eternal servitude hovering within the betting pool.

Tempted I was, to fold, to walk away from that terrible risk, but the cards winked, one queen gesturing frantically, so I stayed, and when we revealed, I got the satisfaction of wiping that smug smile off his face – not just there at the table, but later too, when I showed him other, more sensual, moves.


Image by Whiley Dunsmore

Originally, I thought it fitting to end my first year of doing these two line stories on this one since it would have been my 52nd. It’s not, quite, since I skipped a few. I have them still, but some of them I couldn’t find artists or good links and I really don’t want to be posting a lot of pictures I obviously don’t own copyright to or have license to use.

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed my tiny stories. Here’s to next year and more stories about fantastical things and wonderful men! Happy new year to you and yours and I hope all your dreams come true <3

The Bond of Steel


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A sword chose him, claimed him as its own, taking his hopes and dreams and sharpening them to searing, razor points.

I’d thought I’d lost him forever, gone to the metal, to the blade, until he arrived with another in hand, steel singing a song I’d never before heard, stripping the film off my eyes and giving me the gift of sharing his world once more.


Image by Myunghyun Choi

It’s always nice to have fantasy men. To wonder at their stories :) Merry Christmas to everyone!

The Deception in Appearances


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The pack feared no one but her, that berry-bright cloak fluttering through the woods ever a harbinger of the last wild run.

He hid, not daring to make a sound lest she hear, yet wanting to watch as she skipped along, his mate’s fur ruffling, tossing back that familiar scent, his beloved reduced to nothing but a trophy and he too cowardly to take revenge.


Image by SneznyBars (DeviantArt)

Let’s face it, the stain on her basket does look like blood, like she’s got something sinister in there. But maybe it’s just berries in your mind.

What two line story would you write for this image?

Reflecting Rebirth (5 of 5)


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After the world moved on, so did I, fleeing the agonized memories of the city for the regrowth beyond.

It was there, deep within the peace, far from the abbey where he’d been born, I found him anew, his wings as glorious as when he first burst free, shining color upon my world all over again.


Image by David Aguirre Hoffmann

And they are rejoined, this time for good!

I like to think the glare behind is water and too bright sunlight rather than snow, but maybe you see something different. What would your two line story be? :)

Fractured Grave (4 of 5)


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War stole years, not just from me, but from the land, from my city, from a boy who once shook the stained designs upon the floor with hearty laughs and sweet flutterings of lashes.

His voice no longer echoed in the abbey, in the alcoves of the windows where I’d sit with him; the glass has shattered from the raging storms, the pieces left in jagged shards within his grave.


Image by silentfield (on ArtStation)

And the nostalgia reigns as the POV grows up. But good stories never end there, for they need to have the ‘sweet’ in bittersweet to be truly remembered.

Artistry Aflight (3 of 5)


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On our side, winging with a thousand shades, an impossibility roared through that first rush, staunching our assailants, slicing with a sharpness no steel could emulate.

This time everyone heard him, yet I saw in him a reflection of my own rage as I lifted a heavy sword and followed his lead.


Image by Exileden (on DeviantArt)

I actually used a completely different picture by the same artist as my prompt for this third part, but when I found the artist, I discovered they’d recreated the same stained glass creation. Not only that, but the image still worked perfectly, possibly even better, with the small story I was concocting.

Wounded Stone (2 of 5)


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A tortured night, of thunder cracks and powder sparks, crawled through my city, destroying my innocence and wrecking our future.

He burst free from the abbey, an explosion, grand, yet terrifying, for no glass rained down, nothing but his dappled beauty, color for that infamous day.


Image by Daniel Kvasznicza

I thought it just perfect since the building itself does not seem to be wrecked, nor is there glass littering the ground, so I was able to make it far more supernatural an occurrence.

Survivor: Island of the Idols Controversy Thoughts


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As anyone who has ever read my bio probably knows (or doesn’t know because bios are boring :P) I’m an avid Survivor fan. I’ve only missed one season out of the 38 finished seasons of the US version. I implicitly know edgic though I don’t make charts. I know my contestants similar to how sports fans know their players. I have even dragged my family (some of them kicking and screaming) into my obsession.

When the Varner-Zeke controversy happened, I felt that pain and railed privately about what happened, but in that situation we were given a certain amount of closure immediately with Zeke’s entire tribe standing up for him and Varner instantly feeling the backlash before being voted out.

But last night was something different.

Survivor is a family event in my house. We watch this together, we play an in-house fantasy survivor game (I have yet to win–argh!), we chat about our favorite contestants or who’s winner pick will pan out. This show reflects all types of people and gives rise to conversations about real-world situations, and I always think that’s a positive result of us watching together.

Last night wasn’t just hard, it was heart-wrenching, because this is the world my daughter is growing up in. A world that will invalidate her feelings, push against her boundaries and vilify her when she stands up against situations she has every right to stand up against.

She isn’t going to just have to fight men like Dan who constantly reach through her boundaries despite requests not to. She’s also going to have to fight against people like Elizabeth and Missy who will lie, manipulate and undermine victims.

She will also have to fight against people like Aaron, who think that because a situation didn’t apply to them directly, it must not exist. She will also have to suffer with people like Tommy, Dean, Elaine, and Lauren whose silence is deafening.

But this morning, I’m feeling better, because she’ll have Janets on her side who will always listen to what she has to say. She’ll have Jamals on her side, who support her right to her feelings and the right to choose when and how to be open about those feelings.

My winner pick is Missy. Both my kids chose Elizabeth. Unlike a lot of people, I’m not furious with these two women because I know that they have become normalized to a behavior that should not be normalized.

I know this because I have been that same person. I’ve been the silent one when I should have said something. I’ve been the one to lie and say “everything’s fine” when everything was not fine. Because I was made to feel afraid of saying anything contrary.

I tell my daughter that she has a right to her body, a right to choose who hugs her, who kisses her, who picks her up. I’ve taught her that her “stop” should be respected, no matter what it’s referring to, whether it’s to me stroking her hair, tickling her, hugging her. I spent years asking what I had permission to do and her response being “only hugs and loves,” precluding all pokes, tickles, pick-ups or nose boops. It became a game. I asked if I could do bird kisses, dragon kisses, gnome kisses, butterfly kisses, zombie kisses (she actually came up with zombie kisses in order to pretend to eat my brain). This game always, at its core, was about respecting her saying “no” to anything I came up with if she was uncomfortable.

And you know what? It was worth it. Because one day she started saying “Mom, you can tickle me…if you want.”

So instead of having horrible memories of being tickled and hating it, she requests it and knows that if she says “stop” that’s exactly what it means. So she doesn’t yell “stop” or “no” when I tickle her. She yells “don’t stop” despite being breathless with laughter.

I think it’s inordinately important for this to be a tenet in our lives, to teach our children to be respected at a young age, especially young girls, so that when they grow up they will expect and demand to be respected when they say “stop” rather than being forced to laugh inappropriateness off because that’s what they’ve been conditioned to do their entire lives.

An Affinity for Glass (1 of 5)


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I never knew what to call him, that boy within the glass.

He spoke to me, face awash with brightened color, of cornflower, grape and rose, his motions quivering the patterns cast upon the pews, yet all who heard me thought I merely spoke to my reflection.


Image by Munashichi

As I was scrolling back and forth between all my pictures trying to get inspired, I began to notice similarities between a lot of them. Same dragon, different color, or backgrounds with a familiar mossy covering, all beautiful in their own right, but they tend to blur together after awhile instead of standing out.

Then I caught a few that felt as if they were linked together, stained glass joining them into a chain of stories rather than the same one over and over. So the next few are all interconnected in my mind, though you don’t have to read them that way :)

The Expedition of a Lifetime


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Some stumbled upon the portal, while others sought it deliberately, but none ever returned.

That choice, to follow where his love had fled or stay behind forever, tore him asunder.


Image by Giuseppe Parisi

The picture I used for a prompt today is a digitally altered photo that reminds me of Dune a little bit. The artist has a making of below the actual picture when you click to get a real look :)

What would your two line story be?