#;a grain of sand

[mostunwantedfbi]

@handgiven liked for a sentence starter!

"So about the book of Revelations thing: how much of it is actually going to come to pass? Do you know?"

[artaxlivs]

"Eddie, babe, you've seen this movie like seven times already." Steve whispers, rubbing his hand down Eddie's back as it hitches with sobs. "You know the horse comes back."

"N...Not this horse. That's a new horse. A new idea." His shoulders shake as he fights the build up of grief. "It's just *sniff* Bastian is a new reader, making a new story, making n-new w-wishes. This Artax dies."

Oh.

Oh.

Steve gets it, finally. Wonders just how long he's been missing the point here.

Because Eddie died. They got him back. But he'll never be the Eddie he was before. He's different now. It wasn't the Swamp of Sadness but it got him all the same. Maybe worse because he died full of hope and heroism. He died fighting. And when they got him back, they were still fighting. The story had continued without him.

Shifting them on the couch so they're face to face, Steve tucks Eddie's curls behind his ear, watches his face as he tries to calm his breathing, rubs Eddie's tears with his thumbs.

"If I got to wish the whole world into existence, you are the first thing I would wish for." Steve tells him, chest aching with weight of all the love he's been building up for Eddie since he'd taken his second first breath. "You. Every version of you is this one because you wouldn't be you without all the things you've learned along the way. Even death."

Fresh tears spill from Eddie's dark eyes and when he closes them against the honesty, eyelashes shadowing his pale cheeks, he shudders, "Promise?"

"A grain of sand. Just like in the Empress's hand. I promise on that grain of sand, you, and all the versions of you yet to come, are what I would wish for. Promise."

Steve tucks Eddie in close, holds him while he trembles through the last of his grief. Silently thanking The NeverEnding Story for showing them that there is hope after grief. Even if it starts with just a grain of sand.

[bathylychnops]

one molecule bigs in my sketchbook

[soracities]

Wisława Szymborska, “Children of Our Age”, View with a Grain of Sand (trans. Stanisław Barańczak & Clare Cavanagh)  

[syncogon]

[burin-burin]

before - after render

[cookies-for-another]

Another comic i couldn't fit in my last post, the context is the moment between MF and SM after her cocoon was torn apart and all those intruders were dealt with. Smilk can't blame her for her fury but also can't understand her hollow gaze in the aftermath. That woman with volition who granted wishes now lays in silk sheets, desires to return to flour

[joy-jpg]

[deadeyedfae]

💚

[cedarwoodtears]

smartest conversation between these two

[fourtytwo42]

SGS page 4

I like the pink boy a lot I hope nothing bad happens to him

[muzsmocsing]

I need someone to estimate the net casualties of junmei's divorce. It's in the millions for sure, the question is just how many.

[road-kill-eater]

woodburning hard

[the-acid-pear]

mmmaybe 3c with a trio of ur choice for the poly art meme?

Well we all know I HAD to draw them.....

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

So writer's block and health had me in a headlock for a few months, but as usual, can't keep me down forever...

tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour, @artemis-crimson, @genesisarclite and @constellation2330

(As usual, the tags are read if you like, post if you like, no pressure!)

from the upcoming chapter of stars through my fingers like grains of sand

"Company?" he asked quietly; she nodded. Moving quickly, he set one of the armchairs at an angle to the door, then pulled his .45 and double-checked the safety. At her look of confusion, he mouthed Trust me and gestured her over.

By the time they heard heavy footsteps outside the door, they'd arranged themselves: she was curled on his lap, one arm curved around his waist. It was the very picture of an intimate moment—except for the pistols hidden at their sides, ready for action. There was no knock; only the smash of wood as the lock tore free. As one, their arms snapped up, weapons pointed at the unarmored head of Mei's security "chief". "Well, now," Sam said, his voice full of false geniality, "were we expectin' a guest?"

"Guests knock," Cait said coldly, and clicked the hammer back. Like him, Cait preferred a .45, though hers was the more modern XM-2311, complete with suppressor. "People who smash in the door get shot."

Stocker growled. "You wouldn't—" The suppressor twitched to the side, and Cait put a bullet in the doorframe a bare inch from Stocker's face. They snapped their head back. "You crazy bitch!"

"She don't appreciate bein' interrupted," Sam said, the cheer gone from his voice. "Neither do I. So give me one good reason why the next one doesn't end up between your eyes."

Stocker's jaw set mutinously, but they'd been caught dead to rights; like most bullies, they were essentially a coward. "Mei wants you downstairs," they growled.

"Then I suggest you turn yourself around and let Ms. Devine know we'll be down in good time," he replied, the bonhomie back in his voice as if it had never gone. Without taking his eyes off Stocker, he leaned over to capture Cait's lips in a kiss.

"You just made a big mistake," Stocker snarled. "Don't think I'm going to forget this."

Though she returned the kiss with interest, Cait's pistol never wavered. Sam was starting to get a little distracted when she finally broke it off. "You should rethink that," she told Stocker, cool as Akilan winter. "My Sam's a fair man. Everybody gets one mistake. This is your one."

The merc snarled incoherently, then turned and stomped away. Sam waited until he heard the ding of the elevator to holster his sidearm; once Cait followed suit, he cupped her cheek in his hand. "Your Sam, huh?" he murmured—saw the beginnings of a blush and gave her a quick, appreciative kiss to forestall it. "I do love it when you get all possessive."

She made a grumbly little sound somewhere between embarrassment and annoyance—well, that primal part of her was still a sensitive topic, and all he could do was reassure her when it came up. "How long do we leave Devine hanging?" she asked.

"Long enough to make it clear we're not playing her game," he said firmly. "I don't see Stocker coming up here without Devine's say-so—"

"They didn't," Cait confirmed. "But I couldn't tell whether they broke in on orders or for the fun of it. I think they'd enjoy it either way." She shook her head. "'I won't forget this?' Where'd they get their dialogue, Republic Serial Villain Academy?" She snickered a little. "Will we rue the day?"

Sam couldn't hold back a bark of laughter. "Someone's going to, that's for damn sure."

[c-53]

Samuel R Delany’s prose is utterly gorgeous, even in mundanity.