etrangerz
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Arthur frowned, his eyes sleep-swollen and narrowed a bit. They were both wondering the same thing, Eames knew, but Arthur surprised him by being the one to ask it.
“Is this really happening?” he said.
He didn’t look away from Eames. People milled about around them, their voices indistinct. Music played in the distance from somewhere, the melody bordering on familiar.
It was different from the standard settings they were asked to dream up, sure, but that used to happen in the beginning, when everything was unstable and the physics were difficult to grasp. They would end up in strange places, random pockets of time in one another’s lives. Once, during the second trial, they’d ended up in Eames’ childhood home as it burned to the ground. Another time they’d been ankle deep in Lake Michigan with a projection of an older man in fishing gear who called Arthur son and went into cardiac arrest in the water.
“Yes.” Eames squinted through the sunlight. “I think so.”
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- English
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Bookmarked by etrangerz
09 Oct 2022
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“You know,” Ariadne says, “you two talk right past each other.”
Arthur and Eames, in between and after.
Bookmarked by etrangerz
06 Oct 2022
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“Don’t call me buddy,” Cas says.
*
Sometime after "Stories Are Made of Mistakes"
Series
- Part 2 of Stories Are Made of Mistakes
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- English
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- 1,436
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- 1/1
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Bookmarked by etrangerz
06 Sep 2022
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After waking up in a strange place with only his exboyfriend (God, he hopes he's not dating this moron now), he's stuck trying to remember the last five years of his life. But everything seems to rub him the wrong way, from the boxes of Mac and Cheese to the utter depravity that is his closet.
The only time he ever seems to feel himself is around Julia, and there is something about her mouth...
He's still gay, isn't he?
Excerpt:Stewart had been to the gun range, Arthur realized as soon as he stepped into the entryway and could smell him. There was no mistaking the scent of gunpowder as faint as it might have been. When Arthur got closer, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“You should come with me next time,” Stewart said, and Arthur stepped back, embarrassed.
Something about the smell of gunpowder. It was comforting, familiar, almost routine. At the same time, it was provocative, heady. Arthur wanted to chase that scent down streets and corridors, through fields and forests, on boats and in cars. As if gunpowder were as vital as blood pumping through his veins. “Yeah, maybe.” His mind was too busy flitting from thought to thought to settle on anything except the need for a gun in his hand.Bookmarked by etrangerz
05 Sep 2022
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Bookmarked by etrangerz
31 Aug 2022