Valentine’s Day Collection (part two)

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Wrapping up the mini story collection from Valentine’s Day are stories from Sashi to Lan and Hyx and Vale to Nexus. Continue reading

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2017 Creators Meme

I was tagged by Nezumi for this meme, so here we go ^__^

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 favorite works you’ve created last year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2017. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work.

Last year was a mixed bag for me in terms of creativity, something I’m working to remedy in 2018.  However, there were a few bright spots.  I drew a lot more than I have in the past few years.  Not colored, finished pieces, but lots of sketching and lineart, which I found to be quite enjoyable.  There was also writing, both the regular rps and another Christmas collection that was gifted to Nezu.  So even if I didn’t photograph my dolls as much as I wanted or managed much else in the way of creative production, the year wasn’t a total wash. Continue reading

Two Sides

From the 2017 Christmas Collection…

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Angel Hunt | Streifen

Side One.

The teahouse is reminiscent of Meiji-era Japan, replete with shoji doors, decorative screens, tatami mats, and wood paneled walls.  In the private dining room reserved for the restaurant’s elite, a low, rectangular table is bordered by zabuton on each side.  The merry trickling of water comes from the small bamboo fountain in one corner, and the air is rich with the scents of what remains on the two daily trayed sets – miso broiled fish, tofu and seaweed salad, seven grain rice, and various accompanying vegetables.  Beside the trays a pot of gyokuro sits on a warmer, the expensive tea brought by the hostess herself. Continue reading

Recovery

From the 2016 Christmas collection…

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Eden : Alternate Universe Unrelated

They say these meetings are only temporary.  A crutch to help with transition after tragedy.  A place to tell your stories and to listen to the stories of others, to share in the healing process.  The goal is not to forget, but to ease, a salve against the worst of the pain and feelings of helplessness.  For some this takes a few weeks, maybe a month, for others many more.  For a small handful, a year.  For me, this is the third year.  Three years of loss and grief, and while I no longer feel the acute pain of sorrow, still I find myself in this church basement twice a week.  I often ask myself why I still make these appearances.  No one else save the facilitator has been here longer than me.  Even the scant few who needed a year or so have come and gone.  Why do I still come?  It’s certainly not for the weak, lukewarm  coffee or chafing plastic chairs, nor the slightly stale, grocery store bakery bland cookies.  I come to watch the people.  Sam whose wife fought a long battle with cancer.  Jenny who lost her infant son.  Sienna whose husband was killed by a drunk driver while crossing the street.  David whose mother died of a heart attack.  Carter whose partner drowned on a fishing trip.  Kara whose grandfather drank himself to liver failure.  There are others, each with sad stories and pain-drenched emotions, each dealing with the crushing pain of having to say goodbye to a loved one.

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Season’s Eatings

Another story from the 2016 Christmas collection…


Angel Hunt | Streifen :  Alternate Universe 2

 

The last half block to the apartment building is eaten up in long strides over the aged and cracked sidewalk, dress shoes clicking out a rhythm that’s halfway between a fast paced walk and a jog.   The shining sun in the cloudless afternoon sky imparts plenty of light, but does little to mitigate the chill, the warmth of the office lost before a fraction of the distance toward home was completed.  Each step is harried by the blustery late autumn wind, all sharp edges that slice through the woolen overcoat and layers beneath as if they are the thinnest tissue paper.  The gusts tug at raven-dark hair, twisting the coarse strands into snarls and knots that look as though some small animal has taken up residence.  Dried leaves in the hues of scarlet, gold, and orange crackle underfoot, some swirling here and there in miniature vortexes when caught just right, a clacking accompaniment to the hurried walk.  

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