#Cobb: be back in time for the kick.

[fiiiiin]

whenever I read the screenplay I notice how easily dry this dialogue could’ve been in regards to the character dynamics. Yes there already is implied history written into the script but the wistful drawl with which Tom Hardy says “Arthur?” Gratuitously life-changing. TH and JGL SOLD that ship with their suggestive performances. Don’t even get me started on the ad-libbed “darling” and the hotel room PASIV scene.

[sol-insidious]

Hey some good dinluke fics you'd recommend that you read recently? Ty in advance have a lovely day :)

Hello hello! I hope you're having a lovely day as well :D

Ah, unfortunately I've been slacking off on the Dinluke fic department these days! If you're specifically asking for recent fic recs, I sadly don't have as many as you'd might like, but here are some sliiiiightly more recent ones that I think deserve much more love:

Wild Mynock Chase (pixie_rings)

Summary: Din Djarin winds up captured, along with Cobb Vanth, by Cad Bane. Luke Skywalker, determined to get his husband back, ends up on a merry chase across the galaxy, in a reluctant team-up with an old enemy: Boba Fett, ex-bounty hunter turned daimyo of Tatooine. They'll need to call on some old faces in order to finally catch up with Cad Bane and put a stop to him once and for all. Rating: T Word Count: 16,216 Status: Complete A one-shot sequel to the life-changing Dinluke fic, Ever Decreasing Circles. If you haven't read that fic already, read that before this one, but basically Wild Mynock Chase is a fun series of shenanigans Luke has to go through as he's trying to rescue Din's dumb, regal ass. I love it so much when fic writers shine a spotlight on Luke's competency as a fighter and a protector.

On the Road Again with Someone New (Malakia)

Summary: Din's ready for his last trip before settling down for his son. It was meant to be simple until Peli called in her favor. Rating: T Word Count: 6,711 Status: Complete The first part of a lovely two-shot featuring trucker Din and hitchhiker!Luke. I love their road-trip conversations dearly.

Dinluke Anthology 2024 (CTRL_D)

Summary: Dinluke short stories and vignettes based on art and other prompts. Rating: M Word Count: 6,074 Status: Complete SHAMELESS SELF-PLUG FOR CHAPTER 2. A collection of three lovely, individual one-shots featuring a BoBF-compliant Dinluke story, an Aq Vetina AU, and a Roman AU.

came in from the outside (burned out from a joy ride)🔞 (lelex)

Summary: “It’s illegal,” Din points out one night a few weeks later, as if he didn’t beat the shit out of folks for money for the better part of his life. “So is jaywalking,” Luke says, completely unconcerned. He’s sitting on one of the wheely carts and kicking his feet, watching Din work. One of his shoe laces is untied. Din wants to get down on his knees and wrap his fingers around Luke’s ankle like some sort of regency idiot from the movies Cara pretends she doesn’t like, double knot his laces. “And pirating movies.” Rating: E Word Count: 17,912 Status: Complete A exceptionally solid medium-burn, modern AU Dinluke fic. Luke is a street racer and Din's a mechanic. What more can I say?

Helplessly Hoping🔞 (darth_grips)

Summary: Early in his career as his covert's beroya, Din Djarin visits Tatooine for his second time ever in pursuit of a bounty. He's hot, he's miserable, everything's stupidly expensive, and he keeps getting distracted – primarily by a blonde-haired, blue-eyed local boy. Yeah, he's pretty. And sure, he can coax a speeder into performing terrifying stunts Din's never seen outside of an action holo. But that's not necessarily a reason for his instincts to be all over the place when it comes to this guy, right? Right? Rating: E Word Count: 170,459 Status: Ongoing Mind the tags! This is an omegaverse (A/B/O) Dinluke fic. But with how diverse the GFFA is already with its 20 million unique sentient species, secondary genders or "secgens" seem to fit right into the canon lore for our two human guys. This fic is a fantastic demonstration of worldbuilding that showcases how multiple combinations of primary sexes and secondary genders are subject to oppressive gender norms that go beyond a binary patriarchy. What does our perception of "misogyny" look like for a person who firmly identifies as a man, and how would internalized toxic masculinity look like if it was societally enforced twice over?

[mediumgayitalian]

He’s not looking at her when he walks in, just barely before the last second of the bell.

She’s looking at him, though.

“Lee Fletcher?”

Lee whips his head up, pausing at his seat. The woman has the greenest eyes he’s ever seen — unnaturally so, like pools of chlorophyll — and they lock onto him like the scope of a crossbow.

“Uh. Yeah.” There’s a click as the door closes. Lee swallows, sliding slowly into his desk, keeping his hand, as surreptitiously as he can, down low by his thigh, just out of view. “You the sub?”

Cody sneers from beside him. “You having another episode, freak? Mrs. Cobb has been here all semester.”

Lee glances over at — Mrs. Cobb. She watches him carefully, strange eyes carefully blank, scared hands still and stiff on the arms of her chair. He has been in this Calculus II class for seven months now. He has never seen her once.

Cody hasn’t either.

But Cody’s a fuckin’ dumbass.

“Right,” Lee says lightly. “I’ll up to dosage to three batteries a night. Can always count on you, Codster.”

Cody scowls deeper, kicking over Lee’s backpack. His books go flying across the front of the classroom, papers fluttering about like butterfly wings. “Whatever, tardo.”

“Language,” says Mrs. Cobb. Her voice is low, gravelly; like Lee would expect for someone her age, only there’s an undertone to it, a smoothness he’s never head before. Like the rustling of leaves in the breeze right before you fall asleep. She watches him, again, eyes the only thing that track him, rest of her as stiff as a branch. “If everyone is ready, we’ll get right to it.”

Without waiting for input, and completely ignoring the group of kids gossiping away in the corner, she wheels towards the blackboard and starts writing. It does not take long for the few students awake to lose interest. She doesn’t seem to care.

“You have a desk, Lee Fletcher.”

Lee blinks, coming back to himself; his books have been gathered and his backpack has been zipped. His knees ache, and there are at least four spitballs in his head.

Mrs. Cobb pauses, tilting her head to the side.

“It’s a challenge in the classroom, isn’t it?”

Lee curls a hand around the strap of his backpack.

“What is?”

“The ADHD.” She taps her stick of chalk, tap, tap, snap. “Useful out in the world, though, I bet. Makes you quick.”

There is no reason for her to know about that. Even if she has been his teacher this whole time — and Lee knows she hasn’t, even though he cannot recall who she’s replaced — the school does not have the information. Lee knows. He filled out the forms.

He gives up on pretence.

“Who the hell are you?“

“Your teacher.” She wheels around, thick eyebrow raised. “And your elder, so I’ll thank you not to speak to me that way.”

Lee’s mind races. She is human-sized — Lastrogonians can’t hide that. Neither can cyclops. An empousa would never in a million years choose an elderly form, and they’re concrete brick of a school is nowhere near so much as a sprout for her to be a dryad, even one of the nicer ones. If it was a minotaur, he’d already be dead.

He fuckin’ knew he shoulda read more in his Ancient Zoology: An Alpha to Omega Guide on Ancient Creatures book. Stopping at P was a mistake.

“I know you’re not human.” He unzips, as quietly as he can, blindly ruffling through the smallest pocket. “You’re not fooling me, I’m not —”

The background sounds of the school go white. Lee faintly, in the back of his tongue, tastes copper.

Mrs. Cobb reacts half a second before he does.

“Everybody down!”

[thenwhatthefukcisthis]

that inception darling gun scene is so insane like normally if it's a rival relationship after eames shown off his big ass gun arthur should have done the same (show off his dream skill) because that's how every rival relationship works, they compete with each other but what arthur did was act surprised, made an impressive look, oh his gay ass was smitten with eames so much like your plan didn't go smoothly, you missed the target, and you panicked a bit but then you have this hot british men helping you by pulling out his big imaginary gun and calling you darling and suddenly everything seems to be better, no wonder why he was the one hooking the iv for eames during the second dream stage instead of cobb in the original screenplay because that's his boyfriend, his pookie, his future partner

Nonnie you are SO right! And hii!

Yes, like you said, this easily could’ve been a dick measuring contest (tbh, on paper, it is! even with the darling bit, cause when sometimes when you add piece like “sweetie, hon, dear”, with the right amount of contempt, it can turn very hostile)

but while the darling (everyone say thank you Tom hardy) did add the cherry on top and was the final push over the edge, the reason why the line will go down as the gayest moment in cinema is all of the other little bits ; ramble under the cut :)

1. Like you correctly said, the priceless reaction of arthur (everyone say thank you JGL) for eames pulling out his big ass gun.

Had he done the same face he did when eames kicked his chair or given his bitchface of specificity, or like stared at eames with “oh my god you are better at this than me”, the scene would’ve been basically a dudebro moment. a waste of space and time.

instead, he kept his arthur face on (once again, thank you JGL for not blushing and giggling when a sexy British guy calls you darling) and delivered a mixture of a admiration ok cool and that was pretty darn hot and familiarity that’s my eames for you, always saving the day and a grudging but fond thanks you for having my back and saving my ass.

2. The moment leading up to it. oh there’s a beautiful piece by @mister-eames which I will link if I can find it, how in that particular moment, is so important in the sense that, it follows right after a very stressful moment. Arthur had been shouted at and singled out it was your responsibility this was not supposed to happen we were not prepared for this for possibly running the entire mission and killing a billionaire and putting everyone is danger and even if it was cobbs fault , it was still obvious that if arthur had known about the subconscious, things would’ve been much smoother.

And the way Arthur said sorry (once again, thank you JGL, you sublime sob) was so heartbreaking that he owned up to his mistake and was truly sorry (in contrast to yusufs nonchalance and cobbs reluctance guilt of drugging everyone w/o consent. So it’s not hard to imagine that arthur was beating himself up and was shouldering the responsibility of getting everyone out as much as he can. that’s why he was putting his sanity on line by firing.

And eames coming in, delivering a smooth line which is akin to their usual banter with a endearing name thrown out and while eames could’ve smirked or winked or scoffed by one upping his coworker, instead choosing to come in and leave without a big fanfare (again, thank you mr hardy for being you) , just offering a silent support you did your best I don’t blame you I’m with you added so much to that scene, which made that dialogue birth thousands of fics and and fanarts.

in short, we need inception 2: arthur and eames

[tumfullofblue]

Maroni's Kid (Oswald Cobb x Fem!Reader) (NSFT)

ʕ⚆_⚆ʔ Yes, so. Mama bear was NOT immune to big fucking man with little to no morale. If he could only be a few years older, too... but that's my kink talking lmao.

Anyway, dabbling into DC fandom! No spoilers, please, I haven't finished the show yet lmao.

ʕ˘з˘ʔ

TW for LOTS of dirty talking and pet naming.

«A Maroni’s kid shouldn’t pour drinks for the likes of me.”

“Is that right?” you shrugged, wiping the counter with a clean cloth before sliding a glass with ember liquid towards the big man. “You just happen to be here… and I just happen to be on my shift.”

Oz’s laugh was a low, wet sound—like a knife pulled from a rib cage. Just the kind of a sound you learned that made your stomach twist in the best way. That, and his damn accent, the one you could never pick up for your own speech, despite being born and raised in Gotham.

"Funny."

He lifted the glass you’d poured, swirling the bourbon idly. His thick fingers were adorned with quite a few heavy rings, stones blinking in the low light of a bar. He was holding his glass very carefully, but you know what those fingers were capable of. You dreamed of them wrapped around your neck, after all.

"Your uncle’s men are busy getting their teeth kicked in down at the docks tonight by Falcone. But you? You’re here. Polishing glasses. Pouring me the drink just how I like it."

You didn’t flinch. Just tilted your head, all innocence.

"A girl’s gotta eat."

"Mm. Right. Of course."

He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours over the rim, before doing slow journey all over your body in a small, but very cute casual dress and matching heels; cute enough to be at his club, and comfortable for… other tasks you had to do. Your figure filled out the black fabric nicely and Oz let out something between a grumble and a hum, though you decided not to pay too much attention to that. Maroni’s kid my ass, you thought. That’s all that you’re gonna be for him? Just some entitled brat he took under his wing so when the time comes, he could use you against your family?

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here, birdie. Papa Oz will make sure you eat plenty if you know when to sing and when to shut your pretty beak.”

You swallowed, hard. The sweet arousal of you two flirting has been replaced by a cold sense of impending danger. That was the thing with Oswald – you didn’t know if you could trust him. If you could ever trust him.

"I just serve drinks, Mr. Cobb."

"Oz," he set the glass down with a click. "When I’m deciding whether to slit your throat or fuck you on my table? You’ll call me Oz."

A beat. The music from the club’s speakers throbbed like a second heartbeat in your ears. You stared at his empty seat long after he waddled upstairs, to his office, the unspoken invitation hanging heavy in the air. You took the glass and finished the drink in one big gulp, feeling it burn down your throat and mixing with the aftertaste of his lips and your shame.

The stairs to his office loomed like a gallows. Three hours after midnight, the witch’s hour. You left the bar and adjusted your dress. Your family counted on you. Your uncle counted on you. You took two steps at a time—fuck hesitation, fuck loyalty, fuck him—until the door swung open under your palm. Oz was waiting. Sitting in his chair, leaning back, letting everyone (letting you) see the way his body was taking space, unapologetic. If only you were that comfortable in your own skin...

“Here for your paycheck, sweetie?”

The door clicked shut behind you, a sound similar to a gun shot.

"I had to decide if you were worth the bullet my uncle’ll put in me.”

“Uncle? Uncle Sal, huh? You talk an awful lot about him, that-that in my books means you either hate the old man or-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” you hissed, loosing your composure just like that. Oz swallowed down a hearty chuckle, taking a drag from his cigar.

“You? Telling me to stop? Such a bold lil’ thing, ain’t cha? Think I won’t kill you myself? Huh? Think you are safe here?”

Your lips pressed together, nails digging into your palms. Every word that damn man said hurt more and more. The feeling of danger returned. You realized that it never left, not when he was around you. You shouldn’t want him. You can’t help but want him.

"So you can listen, good. Let’s cut the shit, birdie," he said, voice gravel-deep. "You didn’t climb those stairs to stare at me with your gorgeous eyes. You came ‘cause you wanted to. ‘Cause you’ve been dreamin’ about this since the first time you saw me waltz into your uncle’s territory like I owned it."

He leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight, the sound shooting straight between your thighs. Damn him being this big. Damn him to hell.

"Admit it. That’s what really pisses you off. You Maronis love your fuckin’ pride. And yours crumbled when you’ve been reduced to pouring drinks and trying to be a brave little soldier. A spy for your old man."

He exhaled the smoke. It curled around his face and you swore you saw something glimmering in his eyes – like a small opening of Oswald’s soul, if he had one. You blinked your tears away.

“C’mere,” he motioned and you did like he said, a doll in a black dress being pulled by the strings. He patted the table’s surface, offering you to sit at the end, one hand laying almost carefully at your lower back.

“Ach, birdie,” he sighed, earnestly. “You’re too young to be caught in those games. You should be out there, dancin’, drinkin’, having ladies and gents see you move,” he motioned down at the dance floor, where sea of people was moving fast, reminding you of some tribal ancient dance.

“I’m smarter than that,” you retorted.

“No. No you ain’t. Not when you want me,” there he was again, accusing you, being right. You hated him for that. You ached for him to show you how depraved you were, how fucked up your brain was – no Drops needed for that.

“And the best part about it?” his voice dropped even lower, rumbling in his chest, making you lean closer so you can hear what he was saying. The man smelled of whiskey. Of sweat. Of power.

“You don’t want to fuck me to get closer to me or Falcone men. You want to fuck me because you know I could take good care of ya. Not talking bout jewels and dresses; no you wanna feel protected. Wanted. Huh? No smart words from you? Good. You know when to shut up and listen to your elders after all.”

He placed the cigar in ashtray, one hand cupping your cheek, his fingertips warm from tobacco. There wasn’t a spark between you, but the tension was almost electrical anyway. Obeying some kind of pull you slide down table, ending up on your boss’ lap, the chair giving a whine again under your combined weight. The kiss that followed was slow, sensual, the kind that told you of his experience, his age more than he looks could ever do. The scar under your fingertips was rough, a raised map of violence you traced like a prayer. He let you—let you explore the proof of his survival, his triumph, his ruin.

Oswald’s hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair—not pulling, just holding, like he was savoring the way you melted against him. The kiss deepened, languid and filthy, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him with a soft, involuntary sound.

"There she is," he murmured against your mouth, voice roughened by smoke and want. "Finally giving papa what he wants."

Your kiss ended only when he pushed you back to his table, this time, your chest was pressed against it, giving Oswald a nice view of your ass in a tight dress. Your hands held to the surface, cheek pressed against it.

“Gonna fuck you good, birdie,” he promised, feeling up your beautiful legs all up to your hips, groaning when he cupped your butt cheeks, massaging them. “That ass was driving me crazy since day one, ya know? And you are hiding it from me…”

Smack!

“Such a bad girl,” he chuckled, hearing you moan when his large, warm hand slapped your butt like you were nothing but an insolent child. “Such a bad, bad birdie in my cage.”

You heard him grumbling, undoing his belt and pulling his pants just enough to free himself and oh, how you wished you could see him, see if his cock was as big as the rest of his body. You whimpered – the large man was pinning you down with his sheer weight, with the power he had over you and your life right now. Oswald didn’t hesitate to yank your panties down, kicking your legs wider.

“Fuckin’ hell… soaking for me,” he groaned, spreading your folds with his thick fingers, watching your little hole fluttering around nothing. Humiliated with just how aroused you were, you let out a whimper again. A warm hand pressed you even further to the table, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“C’mon, birdie, fuck yourself on papa’s cock,” he taunted you and you did, you moved back, in one fluid motion swallowing him whole, moaning at just how thick he was, how he stretched you so prettily. You didn’t wait for yourself to adjust, just moving your hips, fucking yourself on Oz’s girth like he ordered you to do. The bastard only had to sit back and enjoy the show, occasionally slapping your butt cheek just to hear your breath hitch and watch the flesh wriggling.

“Enjoying yourself down here? Am I- hfff- big enough for your pussy, birdie?”

Your only answer was a moan, pitiful and high pitched and Oswald fished your hair, leaning closer, now taking more control, his stomach heavy against you as his hips was driving his cock deeper and deeper into you.

“I didn’t fuckin’ hear an answer.”

“Ah! Y-yes, papa! Yes, it’s-- hah, ha- fuck, it’s so big… been thinkin’ about this for so long… wanted you to fuck me, to ruin me…”

“Yeah? Ruin you? Then that’s what I’m gonna do,” he started moving faster, forcefully dragging you back to his length when you, overstimulated, tried to scoot away. Your clit was pulsing, wanting attention, but he was too occupied with his own pleasure to think about yours and your hands were gripping table’s end. “Gonna ruin you for everyone else. For Falcone. For Maroni. Gonna send you back to your uncle Sal with pussy full of my cum – let him see who really owns his precious little niece.”

That filth undid you. The fact that Salvatore would probably smell sex on you later… you came with a low moan, squeezing Oz’s dick so hard it made him fill you up just a few thrusts later. Again, he used his whole weight, almost laying down on you, still fully sheathed inside you, your combined fluids dripping down on an expensive carpet.

“You are worth your paycheck after all,” he chuckled, kissing your temple almost tenderly. He pulled out, satisfied, watching his cum bubbling out of your abused hole. When he was tucking himself back, he allowed him one last dirty pleasure – using his fingers to stuff it back into you, earning quite a few more moans.

“Send your uncle Sal my regards, birdie. And do come back to my office tomorrow night. We have a lot to discuss about… your loyalty.”

[staranon95]

really should get back on my dincobb posting

i got into thinking about dincobb being like... real solid FWB. Din never stays long enough for a relationship to form and i see Din as the type to refrain from getting too involved with someone because he's too committed to being a provider for his people and never thinking about his needs

so any time he can, he'll stop by Freetown, kick some sand for a day or two and then leave. just long enough that people get friendly with him but not long enough for him to warrant the idea that he'll stay around for good. though everyone in town knows Din comes here for one reason and that reason stats with a C and ends with a B

Cobb is a perpetual bachelor in my mind. too many negative experiences have turned him off relationships quite a bit and i think how he grew up, how he matured, it's made him an abrasive person and he won't compromise on his beliefs. obviously when he met Din, it likely softened him a bit. made him see things differently. to choose a life built on mutual understanding rather than feeling like your back is up against a wall and you have to fight your way out

and Cobb obviously enjoys whenever Din rolls in. they get back to it, picking up where they last left off.

this undeniably leads to many sexy shenanigans because they both cannot resist the pull between them

and each time Din has to leave, it gets harder and harder for them both to realize what it is they want

[aristocratic-otter]

Hi all! It's so lovely to see so many people motivated by the fresh feeling of a new year. Thank you for sharing your work with me, @artsyunderstudy, @nausikaaa, @monbons, @thewholelemon, @roomwithanopenfire,

@whatevertheweather, @bookish-bogwitch, @martsonmars, @bookishbroadwayandblind, and @prettygoododds.

One thing I learned from reading everyone's year-end retrospectives: if I want to be more involved, I need to stop being such a perfectionist! I could have been posting every week, but I'd be kicking myself over not having finished a piece of every single WIP...and so I wouldn't post. I'm gonna challenge myself to just post, even if I only wrote one thing the previous week. So that said, it was a vacation week for me, so along with posting my gift fic for @facewithoutheart, A Very Zombie Christmas, I did actually do work on a lot of my WIPs, and you can expect updates on at least two of them this week.

So, here we go. As always, I absolutely did not bother to count six sentences:

From my 2023 COTTA, Snow Fox:

It took some convincing to get Penny and Mitali out the window and up onto the roof. Well, more Mitali than Penny. Neither woman much liked the fact that their petticoats and whatever other underthings women wear would be clearly visible from underneath the whole time they were climbing. 

Penny accepted it as a necessity with a grumble and an embarrassed flush, but Mitali truly balked at the idea. Finally, Pen suggested that I lower a loop of rope rather than an end of rope, and the women could sit in the loop and be hauled up. That resolved the whole ridiculous issue, and we had both women out of the house and onto the roof in short order. 

From my COBB with @cutestkilla: The Rat and the River

I’ve always wanted to be part of one of Snow’s famous ‘lunch meetings’.  Penelope’s told me about them. Simon thinks better with food, so all  information is shared and ideas are circulated over meals in Simon’s team. I used to wish to be British myself so I could join his team and take part in these comfortable meetings of minds. I love food and I love talk, especially talk about disease. What could be more enticing than spending time over sandwiches with the famous Snow’s angels? 

Especially one particular angel. 

From Tiktok Dancer:

Penny, Shep, Agatha and I are all staring at him, jaws hanging loose in our surprise at his unexpected eloquence and passion. Baz just sips on his fruity cocktail and smiles back at us demurely.

I suddenly realize how little I know about this man I’ve fallen head over heels for. And not knowing makes me itch—I can’t stand it.

“What dream are you pursuing?”  I blurt. 

Baz looks at me steadily, and I can almost see him revising his first answer in his head.

From my Visitor Baz AU: 

Baz is dead.

Baz is dead. 

I can’t understand it. The idea that Baz, my terrible roommate, will never snark at me from his desk across the room from mine again…that he’ll never use up all the hot water with his endless showers or wear his uniform in such a way that makes it look designer while all the rest of us look boring. He’ll never suck down a rat in the catacombs or earn the highest score on a Magic Words exam. 

Baz is dead. 

From Saving Simon Snow (I’ve got to reread this one to get my mojo back on it, I think. But here’s six new shortish sentences):

In all our years of cohabitation, I’ve never seen Simon truly lose his temper with Bunce. With me, certainly. Hundreds of times. In the Catacombs, he was irritable and defiant. But now? The moment Bunce grabs hold of his arm, Simon goes off. 

 From CORB #1, Baby Mine with @argumentativeantitheticalg

His voice takes on that haughty, lecturing tone I used to hate so much. Or at least that I used to think that I hated. It made me want to slam him against the wall and get in his face. 

I think I maybe just wanted to get my face on his face. Why was I so fucking stupid?

I’m lost in rumination on my own failings when the rise in volume from the crib and the pointed clearing of Baz’s throat both bring me back.

From CORB #2: The Stoves Come On At Night, with @ebbpettier

I wake up.

For several seconds, I blink groggily into the early morning light. I try to catch at the wisps of the dream I was having, but they’re fading. 

I can’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. Like I’d planned, I’d slept a few hours last night and then got up at three a.m. Three hours later, after I’d finished a sketchy patrol, I headed back to bed as the first rays of the sun were just breaking over the horizon. 

It can’t be more than 8 am now. What on earth woke me up? Even if I can’t really remember it, I’d been having such a pleasant dream…

Suddenly, I realize that the annoying buzzing sound I hear is an alarm–the fire alarm!

Tags and howdies to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @fatalfangirl,

@melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist,  @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean,

@raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz,

@krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer, @nightimedreamersghost, @mooncello,

@shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart,  @theearlgreymage, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife,

@thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart, @thewholelemon, @skeedelvee, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

@messofthejess, @best--dress, @noblecorgi, @alexalexinii,  @hushed-chorus, 

@rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @cutestkilla, @letraspal, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,

@wellbelesbian, @ic3-que3n, @emeryhall, @larkral, @youarenevertooold,

@j-nipper-95, @ebbpettier, and @argumentativeantitheticalg

[jebbzfixations]

30 Days of Inception - Day Two: Headcanon about Favorite Character @inception30daychallenge

For his entire life, Arthur has never been able to sleep through the night. Ever since he was a kid, he’d relentlessly toss and turn, back and forth, kept awake by the ramblings in his head and always woken up by the nightmares that followed. After joining up with Cobb and dreamsharing so often that he stopped dreaming, he hoped the problem would be solved, but to no avail. Eventually, he gets used to this aspect of his life. The exhaustion becomes background noise, the slight buzz in his head becomes second nature. He learns to work with the lack of sleep, and, in his very Arthur way, take advantage of it. After all, it’s quiet at three in the morning, and therefore the best time to get ahead on some work. The team’s always impressed with how it seems like somehow, this guy has more hours in the day than everybody else, and that’s because he kind of does. Sure, he’ll probably die a few years earlier, and maybe he’s forgotten what it feels like to be rested, but hell, his job is sleeping. It’s not like he needs any more of it, right?

Then, once they’ve stopped acting like fools, Eames and Arthur shack up. There are obvious perks to this relationship, namely that neither of them are going insane anymore, but there’s an unexpected benefit of Eames’ newfound constant presence in Arthur’s life. See, it doesn’t really make sense. Eames is anything but a pleasant sleeping partner. He’s first of all big, full of muscle, and takes up far more space than anyone reasonably should. He’s not shy about that, either. He will flail out all over the bed, moving pillows wherever he wants, kicking blankets off of the bed, Mr. Eames will do anything to get comfortable. He also snores louder than anyone Arthur has met in his life, so loud he’s certain it seeps through the walls and disturbs the neighbors. All of this, and yet the first time Arthur sleeps next to Eames, he sleeps through the night. At first he thinks it’s a fluke, but then it keeps happening. Somehow, he consistently wakes up…rested? It’s so foreign to him to feel properly groggy from sleep rather than a lack of it, and it quite honestly takes some getting used to. It even bugs him at first. Eames is already a fantastic distraction, and now he’s stolen Arthur’s extra work time, too. But eventually, Arthur realizes that it is much easier to work and function when you’re getting eight hours. He starts performing better at work, getting tasks done more efficiently, and, much to the glee of the team, tends to be in a better mood these days.

The team is so pleased with this outcome that eventually, they buy Eames a cake and thank him for finally erasing the bags from under their point man’s eyes.

[stargazer2709]

The Boogeyman & The Hangman | 1. After Hours

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I'm a Gotham man from birth. A man who lived under the wing of a Falcone for twenty years, even since I was just a young boy. Doing what I was good at made me who others think I am. Loving made me who I really am.

After the best part of my life, the job was just dealing with obstacles for the Family that I chose, or maybe they chose me. However, that didn't stop me from being kicked out, despite working there for almost half my life. Who doesn't love receiving nothing but pats on the back for their hard work?

The worst part about being unemployed is that you have nothing else to think about, and I can't deal with the absence of the woman who gave me hope at the lowest point in my life.

My former boss, Carmine Falcone, was killed a few days ago, and I can say that he has left a very big space to fill. Things have not been the same since he passed away, and with it the end of my service to the Family.

Anyway, today, November 23, I just finished one last pending matter, returning to my apartment tired, it being still very dark before dawn. Just when I think this early part of the day has been stressful enough, I get a phone call. No one but my good friend Oswald Cobb, calling at this hour, I'd be willing to bet he's screwed up somewhere and needs help or it's going to be a night of drinking.

“What's the matter, Oz?” I say as soon as I answer the call, and the phone is on my ear.

“Hey, what's up? Listen here, somethin' big just happened, and I'm gonna need a hand.” Yes, indeed, he screwed up. “Come on, I'm at the Iceberg Lounge, it'll be a quick matter.”

Oh God.

“Fine. I’ll be there.” As we finish talking, the call ends and I can only theorize what the hell mess Oz has gotten himself into this time to ask me for help.

Do I have another choice? Of course not, I don't. Since any Oz-related business involves a car, I have no need to use mine. I hail a cab outside my apartment and ask to be taken to the club. I pray that this little matter will not be so important and I can return home early.

Fast forward a few minutes and I'm here, at the Iceberg Lounge, closed for obvious reasons, after the blood of Gotham's most dangerous bastard was spilled literally right at that entrance. Getting out of the cab, my most reasonable option to find Oz would be in the back, and I was right. I can see the beautiful Maserati parked, but no sign of good old Oz.

I'm about to call him, when I'm surprised by the sound of a door opening and there's the man. Apparently he doesn't come alone. He looks at me with a certain sparkle in his eyes. He seems pleased to see me.

“Hey, come here now, I need someone strong. This kid is a fuckin' spaghetti strand, he's not helpin' me at all.” He sounds exhausted, apparently carrying something. Or someone.

“'Kid'? What kid?” The moment I approach to help, just after Oz, a young man comes out of the place, with a worried and completely scared expression. I don't know which part of this strikes me as weirder, the part where Oz is removing a corpse from his own club or that he just adopted a stray.

I help load the bagged corpse with the help of Oz and the guy I barely know and together we get to the trunk of the Maserati to leave the place. Closing the trunk, I finally get a breather and head over to Oz to talk.

“I don't know if I want to know who this poor idiot is, and what he did to end up like this." I say this jokingly, and receive a brief awkward silence, which is then softened by that oh-so-sarcastic Oz tone.

“You're right, you don't want to.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks with his classic limp towards the boy. “Now, you wanted my car so badly, you can drive.” After that, he gives the car keys to the young man, to which he agrees and takes them. “Go on.”

It was all a long, uncomfortable car ride to specific points in the city that would eventually end at a junkyard where Oz would dispose of the body. I waited in the car for a couple of minutes for the two guys to finish the job, sitting in the back seats, in this case, like a child with two parents arguing while he looks out the window.

As we return, the boy is back behind the wheel and Oz is in the passenger seat. The whole atmosphere feels lighter and my good friend turns to look at me with a more carefree smile.

“Hey, man, the kid's stayin' with us, okay? This is, uh... Victor.” He returns to his seat and continues smiling at me through the rearview mirror.

“Nice to meet you, Victor.” Now I lean over to the front seats and pat the boy on the shoulder, trying to comfort him, because I could tell he had had a bitter experience just now.

“N-nice... Nice to meet you too, sir.” He answers me and seems less nervous than he was a few minutes ago.

Oz smiles as he assures us that we are all in the same boat, as this mess seems to have only just begun. An issue later got in the way, as Oz was in charge of the Falcone Family's Drop operation, and he had to keep an eye on it, especially in these tough days. It's not all good news when it's time to start the engine once again to head to the Falcone Mansion, as my good friend has been requested for a 'business meeting'.

Holy crap, it's even dawn already.

And so, our journey ends at the entrance of the mansion, parking there, planning our next steps carefully.

“Alright, listen, if we don't come out...” There is a slight pause in his words and in an instant he continues. “Nah, we'll be fine. You'll be fine. It's gonna be fine.” The boy at this point doesn't know whether to actually be scared or not. Maybe it's just Oz playing one of his practical jokes on matters like this. For God's sake. “I'm messing with you, kid! Alright, just sit tight, you know? Maybe look for your sense of humor. It's gotta be here somewhere.”

Oh man, this guy. Before he interacted with his door to leave, I stopped him by putting my hand on his shoulder having approached him.

“Hey, hey, what do you mean by 'we'? Do I really have to go in there?”

“I need you to be there. That way they'll know I have your back, you know? Come on, they're just weak pricks, they couldn't do anything to you if they wanted to. You just have to be there, dammit." Without even letting me respond, he opens the door and walks out, leaving me behind.

As always, I can't let good old Oz go in there without me.

“Easy, Vic. It's just in and out. Just stay here.” Just like Oz did, I'm just trying to make the boy feel safe even in these circumstances. I open my door too and follow Oz into the mansion.

The doors open into a small dining room where the guys behind this stupid business are waiting for us.

“Johnny. Milos.” My good friend greets them both, walking around the place until he sits down. The two men pay attention to him, and then notice the anomaly here. Me.

“What the hell is he doing here?” The man sitting at the end of the table asks, clearly not happy to see me here.

“Hey, calm down, Johnny, he's with me, okay? If we can finish this soon, go ahead.” Oz has my back even when I'm not welcome in this house, at least not now, not when I have no one else to owe loyalty to.

Viti and Milos prefer to leave the matter aside so as not to make it bigger than it is. It's just blah blah, business, and they will move the operations to Robbinsville. Oz tries to counter-argue with an alleged shipment that will arrive in the next few days. I admit this guy always has an ace up his sleeve.

At this, the two subjects in front divert their attention to the other side of the room, leaving everything in an awkward silence. What the hell are they looking at?

“Sofia, please, join us.” Now Milos motions with his hand for the person they were looking at to come closer. But hearing 'Sofia', just that, makes my heart, without exaggeration, want to jump straight out of my chest.

Damn. Is it really her? It's been ten long years. Maybe I've gone mad and this is a product of my fatigue and exhaustion from long days of work.

“Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt.” That melodious voice echoes in my head over and over again. I'm so afraid of turning around and discovering that voice is just in my imagination, or maybe I'm hallucinating.

The fact that Oz turns to look behind him gives me some hope. Maybe I'm not hallucinating it. Maybe... it is her.

“Oz, you remember Carmine’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

Oh my God. Seriously, it's her. I immediately turn around and what a surprise, it's her, Sofia Falcone, finally and after ten years, without a window in between to separate us.

“Sofia. I thought you were still at, uh...”

“Arkham?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I've been rehabilitated.” That lovely, subtle, elegant voice, along with a smile are so far the best damn thing that has happened to me this crazy week.

Just seeing her, out in the open, without that striped suit, finally within my reach, makes me feel so many things right now. I could take her in my arms, hug her, kiss her, as if the day after this one didn't exist, but I can't take that risk. Not even for me. For her. I would love to be able to obey my feelings, my heart, but the show must go on.

“Miss Sofia, it's... A pleasure to have you back home.” And there it is, my best attempt at the proper, formal man the Falcones had hired long ago, the one who would never dare even look in the same direction as the princess of the family.

She looks at me, instantly deducing my false role as a bodyguard who is just doing his job, without any personal motives or love affairs involved. That smile on her face could mean many things. To those in the room except me, it might just seem like a polite response to my greeting. But for me, I think it's the best way she finds to reciprocate without pulling back the curtain of fiction.

“Yes, quite a pleasure, indeed.” She answers dryly, as if my presence doesn't keep her awake at night, as if I'm just someone else standing in the room like the rest of the guards at home. Without anything else to add, she looks back at the back of the room, now addressing Milos. “Have you asked him about my brother?”

“I thought we agreed-” The bearded man tries to reply but is interrupted by the beautiful and elegant newcomer.

“Have you heard from Alberto?” Now she asks Oz the questions, maybe he might have answers.

“Al?”

“He went out last night, he refused his bodyguards, and he never came home.” She remains sharp with her words, but I can bet that deep down she is dying of anguish to know the whereabouts of her brother.

“Sofia, that's enough.” Viti breaks the tense atmosphere, putting his word over hers.

“I-I better get out of here.” Feeling this atmosphere as much as everyone else, like water almost reaching the point of drowning him, Oz decides to leave before this gets worse. He walks to the exit, but not before saying goodbye. “And, uh... It's good to see you.” After this, he walks away, not even making sure I'm following behind him.

“Well, uh... I think... I should go too.” Personally, I also feel the tide rising over me until I almost drown and I decide to leave too before the bomb explodes. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” I nod my head to the two men, and then to the beautiful young lady. “Miss.”

I'm about to start walking out of the room when Sofia stops me in my tracks, mentioning my name, and having all my attention to herself, she speaks up. “Don’t go yet. We have a lot to talk about. I’ll wait for you at the end of the hall.”

At this point I have no idea how to react. Maybe this really is Sofia's new mood, or maybe it's her wonderful acting tool in front of the judging eyes of the Family. Whatever it is, it's Sofia, and I would do anything for her. I nod again and I can leave the room, still trying to come to terms with what has happened. The woman I once loved and still love is here, just when I thought I couldn't miss her anymore in life. Once upon a time this seemed like something far away from happening.

Only a few minutes pass when I see Sofia coming towards me. That white outfit of hers suits her incredibly well, and I've noticed that over time she looks even more beautiful than she did years ago. She stops right in front of me, looking up at me with her gaze that now seems more vulnerable than a moment ago, as if just passing through the door made her mood change.

With her so close, I can only think about the time we missed each other, and which I plan to make up for. Starting now.

Finally, after a long time, I can feel Sofia's body and the warmth of it close to me, having surrounded her tightly with my arms, bringing her closer to me. Every part of me shivers at the feeling of this kind of physical contact with her. Her hands touching my back in response to my hug causes something in my body that I haven't felt in years, and I'm not exaggerating. It feels like we haven't hugged like this in a lifetime. After all, I've waited a whole decade for this.

“I... I don't know what to say, honey, I... I missed you so much.” Along with my body shaking, my voice shakes being so close to her, and I can't find a better time to speak than now, hugging her body.

“I know, love, I know.” Her voice so close to my ear is just one of many reasons why my knees might give out and let me fall to the floor. She buries her face in my neck area, feeling her hot breath on my skin, which only makes me want more. “I'm finally here, just for you...”

We separate from each other's embrace and, standing face to face once again, the kiss we've been waiting for years is a reality. Every second Sofia's lips press against mine makes the seconds I spend missing her, wanting her, worth it. I just want to stay like this forever, enjoying this moment for longer than circumstances could offer me. A caress on my cheek gives me the reassurance I needed. My love is back, and she's not going anywhere from now on, and I wouldn't let her go again.

Sofia's slender fingers slide over my cheek after she pulls away from me once our kiss is over. I can still taste her on my lips, and though I could have a lot more of them another time, her presence is enough for me. A warm smile appears on her face and that's when she speaks again.

“Like I said before, honey, we have a lot to talk about, so I hope you're hungry. We'll go get lunch.” Damn, she's so straight-laced when she wants something. And I'm certainly in.

This day just gets better and better.

[brattylikestoeat]

Story time because why not I can’t sleep.

I got home around 3am yesterday Mister was at my door by 9am.

Who is Mister? Older man from my kink days. Back when I was heavy on the kink scene. We’ve flirted over the years, he was either in a relationship or I was so it never really aligned if that makes sense. He one of those background characters I kept in my phone just in case.

Mister is older (don’t ask, tad bit ashamed at the age) but he keeps himself up, very much body builder with silver hair, a few tattoos, tall and handsome.

He a very much all or nothing type guy. A Dom who takes bdsm way too seriously. I’m here to have fun and have amazing sex. So we kinda clash on that. The name isn’t bratty for no reason.

Our texting kicked up the week of my birthday. He texted me, we went out, did a little shopping, and had a nightcap. Just drinks, no sex and he sent me home.

The following Thursday (after the calls) he asked if I was busy and if not if I wanted to come over.

As much as I love my apartment I like going to others house more. He has a nice home in Cobb, and I can smoke there so hell yeah I’ll come.

To Mister sex doesn’t exist without kink. If he isn’t being dominate and getting his way he don’t want it. And tbh that’s hard for me because I haven’t done it in so long. But he walked me thru it, nice and slow.

I felt like he punished me for making him wait. I’m made him wait for access and he just didn’t like it. He def took it out on me that first night.

That was a week ago. Our second date was today. I invited him over because after the night I had, I knew I wasn’t leaving the house at all.

He gets here and he has a bag. He not spending the night, not even staying to lunch. He asked for a towel or sheet and he set everything in his bag on there. Rope, clamps, and a few other things.

“I’m going to make you want me.” He told me.

In my mind I’m like good luck. But tbh he kinda did that lol.

Mister worked me through 4 earth shattering orgasms. Two of them while I was tied up.

One of the things that surprised me, was he kept telling me to tell him I love him.

I love what you are doing to me. I love how you are making me feel. I love that you are giving me a few hours to take my mind off my situation. But love you? Lol hell nah.

But I told him, because that’s what he needed to hear. One of the reason these men are so hooked on me is because I become their dream. I tell them what they want to hear, I give them what they want.

2 hours later and we’re done. Just laying in my bed. But he gotta go, I got actual plans today that don’t involve him.

Mister cleaned himself and his items up while I laid in bed. I could get at least two hours of sleep if I tried but I knew I wouldn’t.

By the time he got himself together I could tell he was anxious.

There always this doubt they went to far, did to much, overstepped some boundaries.

But he looked at me and said, “I don’t wanna leave you.”

“Why not baby?” I ask. Mind you I’m still naked, looking up at him.

“You need me rn.”

I almost laughed in his face. I need sleep, I need something to eat, I need a blunt, I need to check on my cat.

He had served his purpose and he knew that. He hoping I don’t fade back into obscurity and ghost him.

But I won’t. For now Mister can stay. 

[black-arcana]

HALESTORM Shares Official Music Video For 'Darkness Always Wins'

HALESTORM has released the official DJay Brawner-directed music video for "Darkness Always Wins", a slowly building, cinematic hard rock anthem that marked the Grammy-winning band's first release of 2025. The song, helmed by Grammy-winning producer Dave Cobb, was the first to be revealed from HALESTORM's sixth album, "Everest", due on August 8 on Atlantic Records.

"'Darkness Always Wins' is not a song of hope, nor is it a song of despair," said HALESTORM frontwoman Lzzy Hale. "It is reality. History repeating. Evil prevails and the good depart first. But we are not doomed as long as we persist and keep our fires burning. The war may not be won in this lifetime. But our mission is to pass the torch so that those who follow have a light to fight with."

In a social media post, HALESTORM guitarist Joe Hottinger wrote about "Darkness Always Wins": "We wrote this down in Savannah, GA. It was the first song we wrote for what became the album. It was like a test session… we went down there to see how it was working with Dave Cobb. Wrote and recorded this in two days at his then new studio. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that turned into a beautiful album."

In late May, HALESTORM released the official music video for the "Everest" title track, consisting of a variety of clips of humans on the brink and imminent explosions, both literal and metaphorical. Interspersed with the vignettes is a rage-fueled, passionate performance by the band.

"Our song 'Everest' is the summit of everything we've fought for — every scream, every scar, every triumph," Lzzy stated at the time. "This album is us, louder and bolder, and more brutally honest than ever, standing tall in the face of the storm."

Last month, HALESTORM kicked off a tour in Europe supporting the legendary IRON MAIDEN. Following that run, HALESTORM will perform at BLACK SABBATH's final show on July 5, and then they'll travel back to the U.S. to tour with VOLBEAT. In September, they'll kick off the "nEVEREST" North American tour with Lindsey Stirling and APOCALYPTICA.

Produced by Grammy winner Dave Cobb (Brandi Carlile, Chris Stapleton, Jason Isbell),"Everest" dives deeply, both lyrically and sonically, into the band's mountainous climb over the last couple decades.

"Our album 'Everest' is a story of our journey as a band, full of beautiful endings and new beginnings," Lzzy previously said. "We weave a tangled web of melancholy, frustration, anger and the vast purgatory of love and love lost. It is a rollercoaster of epic musical detours, great songwriting and completely unhinged twists and turns. 'Everest' is an auditory representation of the four pillars of HALESTORM. Let us reintroduce ourselves and invite you into our world…if you dare."

Rolling Stone said of "Darkness Always Wins", "What the song has going for is its catchy, brooding, and dramatic in all the ways we love HALESTORM songs to be," and Revolver noted "The arrangement remains lean even as the amps begin to crank into the red, though 'Darkness Always Wins' still sports some exquisite minor-key melodicism, a metal-chunked bridge, loud-as-hell requiem bells and a classically rippin' rock guitar solo."

"Everest" track listing:

01. Fallen Star 02. Everest 03. Shiver 04. Like A Woman Can 05. Rain Your Blood On Me 06. Darkness Always Wins 07. Gather The Lambs 08. WATCH OUT! 09. Broken Doll 10. K-I-L-L-I-N-G 11. I Gave You Everything 12. How Will You Remember Me?

In a recent interview with Cutter's Rockcast, Lzzy spoke about HALESTORM's songwriting and recording sessions with Cobb, known for his previous collaborations with the likes of Sammy Hagar, Slash, GRETA VAN FLEET and RIVAL SONS. Regarding the musical direction of the band's follow-up to 2022's "Back From The Dead", Lzzy said: "It's really hard to describe this one. We did the record with Dave Cobb, which is a new producer for us. His ADHD mixed very well with our ADHD. But we didn't do it traditionally the way we always do these albums. First day, we walked in and I always have, like, whatever, a ton of half-written songs or full-written songs, or, 'Here's a riff or whatever' — you come in with your bag of tricks. And Dave Cobb says, 'Oh, we're not gonna do any of that.' And I'm, like, 'What do you mean?' He's, like, 'We're not doing demos. I hate demos. What we're gonna do is we're gonna start and we're gonna write, and as we're writing, we're recording at the same time.' So that's what we did. The first day we actually ended up writing our first single that'll be coming out soon. But, yeah, we started, like, 'Okay, who's got a line?' 'Oh, I have this that I thought of yesterday.' 'Cool. That'll work. Let's go.' Set up the drums, set up the guitar, here's the vocals. And so we would be recording while we were writing it, and then we would get done and we would move on to the next day. And so there are songs that don't even have a click track to them or a guide because we forgot."

Lzzy continued: "There's so many different elements of songs that we used to write when we were kids, but, obviously, as adults — a lot of that feeling. It was kind of an emotional rollercoaster. There's also, I think, some of the heaviest songs we've ever written on there, some really beautiful mid-tempos. A lot of personalities that I've always wanted to kind of put on a record, but I never really had the freedom or time to, because usually when we do a HALESTORM record, it's, like, 'Okay, we have to have all the songs picked. We have to have them rehearsed.' We go in and kind of do it like an assembly line. Like, 'Okay, you do the bass, do the drums, do the guitar, do the vocals, and we're good.' So there's no time to really like sit with things before they're, like, 'Okay, we've already decided we're gonna do that.' And so the freedom and kind of the nerve-racking kind of element of the fact that there wasn't really a plan ended up being the special sauce on this album, because we were just chasing everything that got us excited. And if it wasn't a 'hell yeah', it was a 'hell no'. So there's nothing on there on this album that we don't feel complete ownership over. There's nothing on this album that anybody forced us to do. There's nothing on this album that isn't part of our personalities."

Elaborating on why the new HALESTORM album feels like it is a return to the band's roots in a way, Lzzy said: "My bass player said it yesterday. He's, like, 'It's kind of like this long road to the beginning,' 'cause all of the guys at one point in time said this really feels like we're back in our parents' basement again and we're hustling and we're trying to figure out how to write songs on the radio. But we have all this knowledge now. So everything ended up coming together so incredibly well. But it was almost like the reverse, that the music was telling us what to do and not us trying to like shoehorn anything in.

"I'm telling you, man, — it is the most HALESTORM record we've ever done," Lzzy added. "It is the first time in the 20 years we've been on Atlantic Records that we have not felt lorded over in regarding to making records, because usually it's time crunch. Somebody's always there being, like, 'Oh, we can't do that.' 'Oh, you probably shouldn't say that.' 'What about this thing?' And that kind of thing. So it usually becomes like a project, like a group project.

"We didn't do it in Nashville — we did it in Savannah, Georgia, locked in a house in the middle of nowhere, next to a river," Hale revealed. "The guys and I would wake up like around 11:30 a.m., we would start recording and we wouldn't stop until 4:00 a.m. And then we would annoy the hell out of the engineer who was trying to sleep with playing on the proper keyboard and coming up with weird stuff. But we were unsupervised in the best way, and it was all about, who are we now? Who were we then? This is our story. For me, when I listen to this album, it's my personal opus — all the things that I've gone through in my life, both dark and not. There's more questions than answers. It's not just me giving myself a pep talk, like 'I'm the fire', 'I'm back from the dead.' It's like I'm dealing with a lot of my reality and a lot of the reality of the world in my own way. And then it's also our story as a band, and you can really hear it in the music and in the lyrics. So I'm so excited for people to hear it. And it's to the point where it's, like, I don't even really care if anybody likes it because all four of us are, like, 'This is our favorite album we've ever done.'"

Fronted by Lzzy with drummer Arejay Hale, guitarist Joe Hottinger and bassist Josh Smith, HALESTORM's music has earned multiple platinum and gold certifications from the RIAA, and the band has earned a reputation as a powerful live music force, headlining sold-out shows and topping festival bills around the world, and sharing the stage with icons including HEAVEN & HELL, Alice Cooper, Joan Jett and JUDAS PRIEST. Additionally, Lzzy was named the first female brand ambassador for Gibson and served as host of AXS TV's "A Year In Music".

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(11)

Go to sleep, Miss Y/n

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Robert learns the truth of the plot to infiltrate his dreams...well...Cobb's version of the truth.

word count - 1.6k

warnings - betrayal, shitty fathers

a/n - I've realised the chapters are getting shorter and I think it's because when I'm writing I'm finding natural stopping points and I find I get more productive if I'm writing small chapters frequently than stressing about getting a large chapter finished.

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We arrived on the fifth floor, exiting out of the elevator, Robert first with a gesture from Cobb in faux attentiveness. I lagged behind, the tremendous terror I felt in combination from my last encounter and whatever was about to befall us buzzed within me. Even as the two men entered before me, my stride was shyer than theirs. Every so often Robert would chance a peak behind him at my frame. So I was ready at a moment to right myself once again.

With only his back to look at, I still managed to discern the shudders that racked Robert’s body. As I saw one sliver down his spine, the same feeling was repeated on my own. As if our hearts were actually the same, being passed back and forth between the two.

Silhouettes appeared out from the end of the hallway and Robert stumbled at another presence, the memory of our previous encounter merely one picture away.

“They’re with me.” My dad assured with a hand on Robert’s back. Offering a comfort I had yet to know. “Go on.” With this confirmation Robert’s eyes darted around the room numbers in search of any sense of familiarity. His body moved faster than his mind could comprehend. His eyes ended up bearing the brunt, shooting back and forth to catch what his mind had missed the first time.  

Feeling dismissed in my current position I found my feet shuffling towards Arthur. I clasped his arm in mine, leaning into his body to inhale his scent. The embrace I’d shared with Robert had cured my aching heart but to truly be healed I needed the feel of something I’d known before. In Arthur’s arms I could feel safe, whilst being undoubtedly assured no harm could come. He raised his arms so he could meet my hand with his. He clasped them together and brought them back down, my two fitting in his one. He looked at me, and I willed myself to meet his eyes. I gave a gentle nod. No more words were required before he met my hairline and christened it in his kiss. Unfortunately, I was unable to convey the platonic nature of this interaction before I saw Robert’s head fall low upon witnessing the two of us. I so badly wanted to jump back out into his arms but my sense of duty to the team and to my own promise held me still. Upon pondering this I also failed to catch the steel glare that landed on my father and the fist clenched close to where my own were being comforted.

The door labelled 528 stood before us. Robert’s panic grew as the familiar numbers jumped out to him. His head flicked back and forth from the door to my father in a silent agreement of what they both knew. Cobb gestured for Robert to stand with Ariadne and I as him and Arthur brandished their guns. They kicked the door down in perfect choreography for the scene they were trying to convince. They were led in by their weapons and they scoured the room in search for imagined intruders. Arthur paced towards the bathroom in perfect timing to ‘discover’ the briefcase.

“Mr Charles,” He announced. I did wonder if Arthur was going to do a different voice, remembering fondly when he would try different accents to make the jobs more fun.

“Do you know what that is Mr Fischer?” Dad asked.

“Yeah I—I think so, yeah.” Robert stuttered out and I sensed how close he was as he had gravitated towards my frame. My pinkie extended in search of something to hold. It was rewarded as I felt his own curl around it.

“They were trying to put you under.” Dad hurriedly uttered out.

“But I’m already under.” Roberts confusion spread through his adrenaline, linking the two.

“Under again.”

“What do you mean, a dream within a dream?”

An intruding sound alerted the room and we became aware of the fact we were no longer alone. For Robert he feared the oncoming consequences. The rest prepared for the next arrival.

“Shh.”

Cobb was aimed at the door as Arthur approached from the side. The door was unlocked, and Browning entered with his own key card. Arthur swiftly grabbed his arm in order to subdue him into compliance.

“Uncle Peter?” Robert appeared desperate to go to his godfathers aid, but I held him back with a slight tug on his sleeve. He responded to my action and remained still.

“You said you were kidnapped together?” My father asked.

“Well not – exactly – they –they already had him.” Roberts stutter was starting to become more prominent in the high-pressure environment and I had to wonder whether this was something he had been prone to before. Returning when he is placed in an environment which strains his heart. “They were tor—torturing him.”

“You saw this happen?” He breathed heavily when the question of sincerity was placed on the table. His eyes flitted to his godfather and seemed to truly focus for the first time. His conclusions became fully formed in the slight slouch of his godfather.

“The kidnappers are working for you?” Robert managed to push out in a whisper of disbelief.

“Oh Robert.” Browning sighed out as if in shame of the boy before him. The situation may have been an allusion but in Robert’s fallen expression I sensed that a scene like the one before was not unusual in his memories.

“You’re trying to get the safe open?” Robert’s voice shook. “To get the alternate will?”

“Fischer Morrow has been my whole life.” Browning said. “I can’t let you destroy it.” I had never had more of an urge to punch a projection in my whole life. And Robert knew it through the hand he gently placed over my newly clenched fist.

“I’m not gonna throw away my inheritance!” Robert shouted. “Why would I?”

“I couldn’t let you rise to your father’s last taunt.”

“What taunt?”

“The will Robert. That will? That’s his last insult. A challenge for you to build something for yourself. By telling you you’re not worthy of his accomplishments.” Browning hit the final nail.

Robert faced away and brought his hands up as if he could wipe away all the unpleasant feelings which were being forced upon him. I followed where his body paced, hoping any semblance of my presence would make him hurt a little less. He returned incredulously asking Browning to continue.

“What, but that – that he was, um, disappointed?” His words were intertwined with self-effacing laughs.

“I’m sorry.” Browning had the decency to refuse to meet Robert’s eyes in light of what he was revealing. “But he’s wrong. You can build a better company than he ever did.”

“Mr Fischer? He’s lying.” My dad approached to whisper to Robert.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, it’s what I do, he’s hiding something, and we need to find out what that is.” Eames stalked into the room with Saito tailing behind. His weak frame confirmed my worry that the temporary heal of the deeper dream was starting to peel off to awaken a new countdown to the end. “I need you to do the same thing to him, that he was going to do to you.”

Eames and Arthur both held Browning down to "prepare him" for the next level. Ariadne and I did the same thing but in preparation for the others.

“We’re going to go into his subconscious and find out what he doesn’t want you to know.” My father continued to explain.

“All right.” Robert agreed determinedly. He approached where Arthur had his IV prepared but he faltered and angled himself towards where I stood. I was busy arranging for Ariadne and failed to notice him until he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and was taken aback at his choice to converse with me. “Will you do it? For me?” He softly spoke and offered me the IV he had taken off Arthur. His eyes pierced down to capture just the two of us and they spoke to me to convey that I was the only one he could trust. I felt the burning glare of my father at the deviation from the scene. It had startled me as well but I was nothing if not an improviser.

“Of course.” I soothed, and gently clasped his bare arm in my hand to lightly insert the needle. I guided him to sit down on the bed. As the sedative seeped through my hand glided towards his neck. His weight fell onto it and I laid him down offering as much care as I could to ease him into this change. Once his head met the soft mattress, my fingers dragged back to the front. They lingered on his soft cheek and danced their way to his full pink lips. I was overcome seeing true peace line his features. But I was shot back to the situation at hand once Eames clapped my back in a warning.

“He’s out.” I announced.

“Wait whose subconscious are we going into exactly?” Ariadne questioned.

“We’re going into Fischer’s.” Cobb answered. “But I told him it was Brownings so he’d come be part of our team.”

“He’s gonna help us break into his own subconscious?” Arthur looked towards my father with doubt in his brow.

“That’s right.”

I laid down on the floor as Arthur kneeled over me, helping to prepare the IV.

“Security’s gonna run you hard.” I warned understanding the danger of leaving the dreamer at the whim of the projections and feeling genuine fear for Arthur up here on his own.

“Then I will lead them on a merry chase.” He teased as he smirked down at me knowing to reassure me in this moment, so my head would be clear of frivolous worries for his safety.

I giggled at his choice of words. “Just be back before the kick.” I relaxed my head back in wait of my slumber.

He lowered his voice to a soothing whisper. “Go to sleep, y/n.” he hushed.

LAYER THREE: THE SNOW

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Because y/n will have experienced stuff like the previous chapter before, it makes sense she would want to go to Arthur for comfort as it's her tried and tested way

Also like I said at the start, I know its a short chapter but I felt like it was a natural stopping point and it means I'm not trying to cram loads of plot at once.

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog

[thiswasinevitableid]

Together (Sternclay)

Another whumpcember prompt winner was Panic Attack. This is a continuation of this 1950s fill, but can be read as a stand alone

Authors note: This fill was supposed to be NSFW but took a very different turn than planned and it didn't fit with the tone. So, if you'd like to see part three with some fluff and smut, let me know.

The morning after the best night of his life, Joseph wakes up on the floor. 

That hasn’t happened to him since he bought the new bed, big enough so that he has to thrash a lot before he hits the floor. Lord only knows what buried memory sent him tumbling this time. He always wakes in too much of a panic to remember his dreams. 

“Joseph?”

He closes his eyes, breathes in steadily and slowly. It’s Barclay. Just Barclay. He came home with him last night after a Christmas party, he’s the first man Joseph’s ever slept with, he’s handsome and gentle and he cannot see Joseph on the hardwood, the ghosts of a nightmare making him kick and shout like a kidnapped child. 

“I’m okay, big guy” he stands, reaching for his robe, “I just caught my foot in the sheet and lost my balance.”

Soft footfalls, then Barclay is in the doorway, mug of coffee in either hand, “Here I thought you remembered last night and got all jelly-kneed. Know I did when I woke up.”

Joseph takes the offered mug, “I don’t come out of my dreams that easily. But now that you mention it…” he leans in and kisses Barclay once, sweetly, on the lips. The taller man sighs happily, gaze languid as he watches Joseph sip his coffee. 

“Would this be why you asked me last night how I take my coffee?”

“You caught me.” Barclay loops an arm around his waist, and Joseph is suddenly glad the curtains to the front are closed, “usually use that line before getting someone into the sack. But I do always wanna know. I…it’s important to me. To make it good for the other person. Makes them less likely to toss me out.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his distaste, “Some people don’t have the manners god gave a rock.”

“I mean I get it. Lots of guys aren’t on the level and need me to go before their wife gets home, and a lot of the ones who are lose interest as soon as they find out I did time.”

Joseph wants to turn and cup his face, promise him that he won’t lose interest, that the fruit trees in the yard will up and walk to Fresno before he sends Barclay away. Wants to pretend that there’s a world where it won’t be his own fault that his beautiful, fiery feeling between them fizzles out.

“Well” he sets his mug on the dresser, “you know I’m not married. And you’re the most fascinating man I’ve met in a long time. So, Mr. Cobb, unless you have somewhere urgent to be, I think you should come back to bed.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph may want Barclay for a roommate, but Barclay is still in the “rehabilitation” program. That comes with a lot of rules and a tight leash. 

God, would he like Barclay on a leash? He thinks he would. 

Focus, Stern. There’s a job to do. 

He trusts his teaching assistant to guide the Intermediate Japanese class through their review session while he makes the drive from campus down into east Oakland. The administrative offices are next to the jail, and he’s mistaken twice for someone’s lawyer before Owens is able to see him. 

“Stern!” Owens shakes his hand, “Finally taking me up on the offer of joining the force?”

Not even if hell froze over.

“Not quite. I have a question about the Re-Entry Program; are members ever allowed to live outside of the halfway house?”

“In rare circumstances, like if they have family in the area who won’t lead them right back into crime. You asking because of Cobb? The missus said you two got on like a house on fire last weekend.”

“We did. Between you and me, I’ve been thinking about getting a housemate; the place is too big for me, and my job keeps me busy enough that meeting a nice girl to share it with won’t happen any time soon. The problem is, it’s in such a good location I don’t want to lose it by moving.” He lets his smile brighten, “Barclay and I get along, and it’s the same distance from the cafe you have him working at as the halfway house. You know I can handle myself, and I trust you to vet the program members to not be dangerous.”

Owens fiddles with his pencil, “How about this: I’m trying to convince the county to let us use a sponsor system for the program. You and Cobb could be a test case; he’s a nice guy, and between you and me I thought it was good he got a soft judge. All you’d have to do is give reports once and awhile, help become a productive part of society, all that.”

“I think we can manage.” He sits down so Owens can show him some paperwork, makes a note in his pocket calendar to swing by the cafe and talk to Barclay about it. Tries not to think about how Barclay has less to atone for than he does.

He gets to Bettys right before closing, nurses a paper cup of coffee outside while he waits for Barclay to finish up. 

As he goes to throw his cup away, he hears someone urgently call a name, and then something heavy hits him in the side. A narrow muzzle pushes into his face, covered in brown and  black fur. 

His limbs are going numb, he needs to run, he can’t, he’s not there, he’s in Oakland, he’s safe. 

“Joey! Joey get down!” A harried young woman hauls the German shepherd off him, “Sit. Oh thank goodness you remember that one. I am so, so sorry sir. She used to belong to my brother who she adored and when she saw you she just snapped the leash and ran.”

“It’s okay, just a scuff on my coat.” He looks down at the dog, fights a flinch as it barks once, happily, and wags its tail at his attention, “I’m sorry I’m not who you’re looking for.”

“If you ever figure out how to explain that to her, let me know.”

Joseph notices the ribbon pinned to her jacket. Someone she loved is M.I.A.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. 

She gives him a sad smile, “I envy her optimism.” Another final apology, then she wishes him Merry Christmas and leaves with Joey in tow. 

Joseph brushes the dirt from his coat, so used to burying his fear he barely feels it. She’s heavier than the last one that hit him, his face slamming the mud, the shouts behind him, knowing that if they get their hands on him he’s done for, no one will come for him, and lord help him he knows what they do to spies, he’s seen it-

“Joseph?” Barclay is behind him, angelic under the street lights, “you okay?

“Just a little lost in thought.” He remembers why he’s here, pushes the past away, and steps as close to Barclay he can without drawing attention, “let me take you to dinner? I have some amazing news.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it’s a good thing two men can’t tie the knot. Right now that’s the only reason Barclay hasn’t gotten down on one knee only  three weeks after meeting Joseph. 

It’s not the house, mercifully quiet and tidy due to their joint cleaning, or Joseph making sure they split dinner duty. It’s not the new room that’s technically his own even though he spends every night under soft sheets with Joseph.

It’s that when they talked about the “sponsorship,” Joseph offered a bulleted list of how they could phrase the agreement so that Barclay could leave if he needed to, could not be just tossed out on his ass if things went south between them. That the night before he moved in, Joseph sat down with him to make a grocery list to cover them both. That when Barclay holds him, he feels safer and more at home than he thought he ever could, and can feel Joseph’s shoulders shaking with some nightmare, and hopes with everything in him that this relationship simmering between them will soothe whatever part of his past keeps chasing him. 

Life isn’t a fairytale. God knows they both understand that. But doesn’t it deserve a chance to be? 

In place of a proposal, he’s keeping Joseph company on the drive down to Salinas to see his family. Christmas is a relatively new practice in the family; it overlaps with Hanukkah this year, but according to Joseph, there’s been pressure to make at least a passing effort at Christmas.

“A neighbor told my mother it seemed un-American to not observe such an important day.”

“What the fuck?”

Joseph jabs his baked potato, “It’s the same one who couldn’t understand why my family wasn’t carted off to internment because they don’t understand Korea isn’t Japan.”

Barclay suspects that if Mrs. Stern is anything like her son, the neighbor was instantly withered by disapproval. The last time he visited him on campus he saw him turn that stare on some older students harassing the janitor and felt vicarious shame the rest of the night. 

They turn from the highway, away from the coast and into the farmland. Fields whiz by, brown without the strawberries, spinach, and artichokes that will cover them in the spring and summer. The radio has been playing the same ten Christmas songs, and so Joseph lowers the volume and asks about the Christmas party that Barclay attended at the halfway house. 

He sighs, “It was okay. Hank liked the records I got him.”

(They’d gone to the store on Shattuck to find them, pressed up against each other in the small space as they looked through the shelves and crates, and Joseph had walked out with five for the house, half his picks and half Barclays, plus one they’d grabbed for at the same time).

Joseph casts a glance his way, “What happened?”

“A bunch of the guys got me a ‘special gift.’ Said it’d make me into a real housewife. Relatedly, if you know any women who need stockings, point them my way.”

Two fingers raise off the wheel, “First of all, the joke is on them for wasting money on something that isn’t funny. Second of all, if they think taking care of a home is embarrassing, I have three generations of women who will happily threaten them in no fewer than three languages for you.”

“Keep that in mind, babe.” He leans over, kissing Joseph on the cheek.

The conversation turns to the movies, and by the time they turn onto the main drag they’re deep in debate about what to see the next time they catch a matinee. 

A plane buzzes overhead. Barclay wonders who the fuck is flying right now; maybe a celebrity zipping up for a Christmas on the coast, or an overworked mailcarrier. 

Joseph tenses in the driver's seat as he pulls toward the parking spaces in front of the darkened Parks Grocery. 

“Joseph? Baby, what’sAH!” He yelps as the bumper bangs into the sidewalk. 

“Shit.” Joseph hisses, then his voice flattens, “I’m sorry, it’s nothing, I just had trouble seeing the curb. Is the car alright?” 

Barclay pokes his head out, peering between the headlights, “Might be a little dent, but that’s it.”

When he looks back, Joseph's face is the same as it was a few minutes ago, friendly and collected, “That’s a relief. Okay, I can take the presents if you take the food; they’ll hold up better to the onslaught.”

Joseph’s right; the instant the door opens, he’s being hugged by a woman with brown hair piled on top of her head, an older man slapping him on the back, and a girl who looks like she could be his daughter clinging to his legs. He hears something ripping and hopes it’s wrapping paper and not Joseph’s shirt. 

The memory of coming back to the Lodge after being gone, of arms around him welcoming him home, sticks under his ribs like a knife. 

“Alright, alright, let the poor man in.” A figure that can only be Mr. Stern appears, looking up at his son before hugging him, “what, you thought I wasn’t going to get in on the action?” 

“Good to see you too, Dad.” He passes off the presents to a tall, blonde man, “Dad, everyone, this is my friend Barclay.”

He waves, pie tray in his free hand, “Thank you for letting me come on such short notice.”

The older man in the glasses waves his hand, “Eh, what’s one more, she’s cooking like the entire Giants are coming for dinner.”

“And who is that because, huh?” The woman who must be Mrs.Stern jabs a wooden spoon his way, “you ate half the table at the Seder last year.”

“Doctor says I gotta keep my strength up. That makes sense, right Joseph?”

“He’s a nice boy, he’s not gonna argue with his mother.” The grey haired woman says dryly from her spot beside him. 

“Bubbe is right on the money.” Joseph takes the pie and carries it to the counter.

“I can help out if you need.” Barclay offers, but Mrs. Stern waves for him to sit down. 

Joseph introduces him to everyone, and Barclay begins to understand why both floors above the grocery are occupied. Of the two sets of grandparents, his great aunt and uncle, parents, and older sister Lily, only Lily lives elsewhere. She and her husband, Craig, brought themselves and his niece Sophie down from San Francisco for the day. 

At one point he looks around, unable to find Joseph, and sees him speaking quietly to his parents in Korean. His stomach twists, wondering if it’s about him, if Joseph feels forced to justify while a man with a rap sheet is sitting in their living room. 

Then Sophie is nearly in his lap, demanding to know what kind of pie he made, and he lets himself be drawn back into the conversation. 

A tap on his shoulder, and he looks up to find Mrs. Stern.

“Barclay, can you help me bring some things up from the store? I forgot to cart them up earlier and a few of the boxes are a little heavy for me on those stairs.”

“Sure thing.” He follows her out the door and down the side stairwell, the grocers cool and dark when they get inside. She shifts boxes around in one of the storage closets while Barclay scans the newspapers on the wall. 

(Joseph’s whole family took her name, he realizes. “Park” belonged to his father, hence the name in friendly red letters out front). 

“Joseph said you two are moving in together?”

“Yeah. I’m really excited.”

“You mentioned you were up on the coast for a while. Is your family up there?”

He nods and she continues, “well, I’m flattered you chose our ‘christmas’ dinner to come to instead.”

“It’s, it’s not like that, my, I-” He looks over at her leaning on the counter and realizes he’s stepped right where she wanted him to. 

“I…I got into some trouble. And when I got out, they only let me up to see my family and friends once. They told me they were afraid that if I was paroled there, I’d just take up old habits.”

“And would you?”

He thinks about the names on immigration documents, the pleas for safety,  Indrid forging signatures perfectly while Barclay and Dani worked out which routes were the safest to send them.

“In a heartbeat.”

The steel in her posture softens, “You’re honest. That’s a good thing in a man.” She places a box onto the counter, “Joseph told Lawrence and I the truth. Don’t be angry with him for that, he comes by his inquisitive streak honestly from both of us and knew to head off our questions so we wouldn’t embarrass you by mistake asking them at the table.”

“I kinda had a hunch he had.”

She steps closer, “Can you promise me something? Keep an eye on him these next few weeks. This time of year is hard for him. He’s never said why, I assume it has to do with what happened over there. He hides it well, I’m not sure even Lawrence notices. But a mother always knows.”

Barclay feels strange relief, knowing someone else has spotted the brittle edge to Joseph's smile that's been worrying him the last few days,

“I’ll do my best.”

She reaches up and pats his cheek, “Thank you. Now, let's get these boxes upstairs. Careful not to drop that one, it’s mostly applesauce.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’d been doing so well. He made it through the drive down when the plane buzzed overhead and he was back in Dresden. Through the moment at the table when Sophie had if Barclay had been in the war and his mother simply said, “he was a hero, like your uncle.” Joseph had wanted to shout that unlike him, Barclay really was one. 

Then someone had to go and set off a firework right after they got home. 

Now he’s standing in the bedroom, fighting himself with rapidly dwindling success. He held it together then, why can’t he hold it together now? What if these attacks never stop, what if they get worse. If they get worse, someone will notice, oh god help him what if they happen in class, he’ll be fired for sure, what good is a professor who can’t do anything but shake? And if Barclay finds out, he’ll be gone in an instant, because Joseph will confess on top of everything else and then Barclay will know him not only as a coward who can’t keep the past at bay but as a failure. The one person he wants more than anything in the world will leave him and there will be no one to find him when one of these episodes finally stops his heart-

Warm, large hands cup his face, “Joseph, hey, stay with me.”

“I’m here.”

Barclay shakes his head, brown eyes overflowing with tender concern, “No, you’re not. You’re somewhere else. Come back to me. Please?”

“I don’t know how, I’ve tried and tried and I can never make it stop, I just have to ride it out, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“What are you apologizing for?” Barclay, voice genuinely confused, is trying to guide him to sit on the bed, but his limbs are lead even as his heart tries to break his bones from the inside out, “you aren’t hurting me, things went well with your family, I thought everything was okay…”

Oh god that’s what the tone he couldn’t place at first is; Barclay is scared. He thinks he’s done something wrong. 

He’s already failing him. 

He has to push through, he can salvage this.

“Can you please close the curtain. And maybe roll up a towel at the bottom of the window? It’s those fucking fireworks, the noise and the light is getting to me.”

Barclay nods, squeezes his hand, and stands. Joseph inhales as deeply as he dares. 

It gets stuck, turning to a sob halfway through.

“Woah, woah baby hey” Barclay drops to his knees, “whatever you’re thinking of is in the past, it can’t get you here, you’re safe-”

He shakes his head without meaning to, “I don’t deserve to be. Someone else should have come back in my place.”

“Bullshit.” The murmur is surprisingly forceful. 

“No” he snaps, “it’s not. I was a spy, Barclay, and that means doing terrible things for the sake of keeping your cover. It means turning a blind eye to some of what you’re seeing because if you look too long you’ll decide to hell with the mission and try to stop it.”

Barclay stays quiet, keeps hold of his hands. There’s a burn scar on his wrist from an oven and Joseph raises it to his face, keeps it against his cheek. It’s easier to talk with it there, like whatever he says is a secret Barclay will hold in his palm for safekeeping. 

“I had a few near-misses but the worst one is the one I can’t shake. It was understood that if another agent was caught, unless we could be certain we could escape with them without blowing cover, we were not to intervene, even if it meant their death. I was in Dresden, technically as an axis member, but really on a mission where if I failed, there’d be more men dead than just me. It was already stressful because I knew there could be a bombing any moment.” 

He presses a kiss to Barclays skin to steady himself, “the other agent on the mission was found out. He ran, but where we were….there was no chance of escape, there were too many of them. I heard the shouts, knew what was happening, then he rounded the corner and I realized he was about to call out for me to help him. So I” he closes his eyes, lets him see it again as penance, “I shot him. Before he could reveal me, too.”

He’s still crying, but the sobs have stopped, and his heart is no longer ten seconds away from an attack. Now if only he could bring himself to look Barclay in the eye. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“It’s okay. If, I understand if this changes things-”

“No! I mean yeah, it does, but not how you’re thinking.” Barclay takes Joseph’s chin and gently guides his head up, “I literally don’t know what to say. Because what I want more than anything in the fucking world is to know the magic words that would make it better. But I don’t, and I’m not sure there are any, but I’ll be absolutely fucking damned if I make you feel worse. Yeah, I could sit here and judge, but I wasn’t fucking there, and what matters to me, in this moment, is that you’re still stuck.” He rests their foreheads together, “I know you’re trying to reconcile every awful thing you went through with the story everyone wants to tell about you. But I’m not someone you have to impress, or someone you have to confess to. I’m just the nobody cook who lucked out enough for you to like him.”

Joseph doesn’t throw himself into Barclay’s arms; that implies an energy he does not have. Instead he sinks into them, only for the cook to maneuver them both onto the bed and cradle him close. 

“How many times do I have to tell you you’re not a nobody, big guy?” The teasing comes out in a shaky whisper. 

“Dunno, it might not ever stick and you’ll just have to remind me every day how great I am.” 

He snickers, “I already plan on that.” A yawn overtakes him, “christ, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just drop this into a nice evening. I’m so fucking tired.”

“Then we should get some shut eye.” Barclay carefully undoes the buttons of Joseph’s dress shirt.

“But-” 

Barclay looks at him, eyes hopeful and serious, “You want this thing between us to go on for a while, right?”

“More than anything.”

“Then we don’t have to talk through every tough thing in one night. We’ve got time. We can make a life that’s worth all the pain it took to get here. Together.”

Joseph nods, presses a kiss to those full lips as a thumb brushes the last of the tears from his cheek, “together.”

[mister-eames]

im in SHAMBLES cause i always knew that the original security is gonna run you down line was between Arthur and Dom but was given to A/E later but only now I got to know that it was not “be back before the kick” in the original script but actually “be back in time for the kick” from Dom!! Be back in in time for the kick is not asking to be safe it’s actually a command or a direction; and it’s further cemented by Arthur’s reply in script; it’s “I’m on it” .. it matches their dynamic from the beginning, professional with cobb sort of calling the shots. But when mr Nolan gave it to A/E he had to change it?? Cause it doesn’t match this married couple??? So he made it be back BEFORE the kick with a thinly veiled “ BE SAFE BABE”???? And GO TO SLEEP MR EAMES ?? Meaning don’t worry about me darling I’ll be there???!!!!!! My head hurts??????

It still blows my mind how it was originally Arthur and Cobb having this moment in the script and Nolan, presumably like us, was captivated by the chemistry and quiet story of Arthur and Eames, and changed the characters around! It's a perfect bookend to their snarky beginnings, to the shot of them planning the job, you know the one, where it focuses on Arthur and Eames for "...we all yearn for reconciliation..." to this exchange. Nolan knew it was necessary, in case the audience was wondering, Arthur and Eames got their reconciliation. That we got to see them full circle.

Because the way it was scripted with Cobb was between friends/comrades. Arthur reaffirming to Cobb he can be trusted, that he's got his back despite what occurred and was revealed the level above. Lovely. But so much about Cobb and Arthur's friendship is not said in so many words. It really wasn't necessary. It didn't lend any sort of closure to the characters journey's to have this scene play out, it just didn't make sense.

The fact that the script had to change along with their characters so that Arthur and Eames could flirt and smile at each other and 'be back before the kick', and 'uh-huh go to sleep' like COME ON. It's the contrast from all their other scenes - the banter and teasing, Eames laughing at Arthur's kick tests - this scene was so gentle, so soft and so quiet. In the same way Eames didn't need to help Arthur with the projections in level one, Arthur did not have to help Eames with his cannula. He didn't need to flick Eames fingers away and help him above anyone else. Arthur very much chose to help out so they could have these sweet nothings this quiet talk.

Every time someone tries to reduce Arthur/Eames down to 'darling' I feel like the Will Smith meme pointing at all the rest of it. Like, are we all not seeing this?? It kills me. This scene kills me -- it's so important to their relationship and themselves as individual characters,

[enchi-elm]

But how long were Saito and Robert in limbo?

No one knows for sure! Nolan gives us juuuust information for me to come to my own conclusions but not enough to answer some pretty basic questions that might give us a definitive number.

But I have an answer for you!

Get ready for spreadsheets, time conversion charts, infograms, and so, so much conjecture.

(caution: contains overthinking)

By watching the scenes, making a note of what happens, and guesstimating loosely how many in-person minutes it would have taken, I have added up how much time the team spends in level 3 once they reach the fortress. There's a chart at the bottom that shows this in picture-form, but to be exact:

Eames rushes to resuscitate Robert, Cobb and Ariadne arrive, they talk about the plan, Cobb and Ariadne go under {3 minutes}

Eames gives Saito the gun, goes and sets charges, Saito holds off security, Saito dies {6.5 minutes}

Eames arrives in antechamber, Arthur starts the music, Eames starts reviving Robert (first attempt) {30 seconds}

Eames keeps trying to revive Robert {10 seconds}

Robert is revived and talks with Maurice, Eames watches Inception, Eames blows the charges {1 minute}

Ariadne arrives from limbo, wakes in level 3, the floor drops {1 second}

Ariadne wakes in level 2, the elevator stops {1 second}

The van sinks in the river, a sleeping Cobb is left behind and drowns {2 minutes}

Cobb washes up in limbo from having died [*], gets found by Saito's security, gets taken to Saito's palace, convinces him to wake up {30 minutes}

Obviously I had to assume a few things to make any of this work:

[*] I assume that Cobb drowning -- and actually dying instead of just sleeping -- is how he manages to wash up on the shores of limbo despite already being in limbo. If you want to quibble with me on this, PLEASE DO. I would love to talk about how this plot point was supposed to work

All these times are made up based on how many times it flashed between the scenes, how much progress Eames had made around the fortress and how badly it looked like he was getting his ass handed to him by Robert's security XD

The time for a kick from one level to the next (to wake up, essentially) is 1 second

Saito dies the instant before Eames appears in the antechamber

It takes Eames a few tries to get Robert back with the AED

You might notice that I've converted the times listed above (highlighted blue in the chart) into time spent in limbo. As Yusuf so kindly explains to us, there is a twenty-fold acceleration between levels. In table form, that looks like this:

There's not really a need to have a separate minutes and hours table--the numbers are the same, obviously, but it makes it easier to see our magic number highlighted in yellow, the numbers that Yusuf confirms for us: 10 hours in real time is 8.3 days in level 1, 5.5 months in level 2, 9.1 years in level 3, and a whopping 182 years in limbo (ouch).

Yes, you can access this spreadsheet here: [x].

So we have a rough timeline and a conversion chart. From there, it's just a very fun exercise in converting time and adding minutes.

So, as you can see, here's what we end up with:

Robert was in limbo for 203 minutes and 20 seconds, which equates to 3 hours, 23 minutes and 20 seconds.

Saito was in limbo for 320 070 minutes and 20 seconds, which equates to 7 months, 12 days, 6 hours, 30 minutes, and 20 seconds.

Wait, only 7 months? But Saito ends up, like, ancient, right? For sure! So for Nolan-verse to make sense, one of my assumptions has to be wrong. The one really easy way to rack up the years in limbo is to spend even a few more minutes in level 1. If Cobb takes 15 minutes (according to how time passes in level 1) to find Saito, that converts to 4.6 years in limbo.

So how long in level-1-time would Cobb have to faff about to pass 50 years in limbo? Thanks to the spreadsheet, we can find out it's 60 hours!

Other theories I've seen discuss how your appearance in limbo has a lot more to do with how old you feel than how old your "body" is. I like this idea!

Anyway, everyone else survives the van, swims to shore, and hangs around for 8.3 days.

Wait, 8.3 days? Don't they wake up?

This is where I get really confused because I think Nolan changes how kicks work.

There's a lot of pressure to sync up the kicks but we never find out why. Will they be left behind? Yanked out before the job is done? Left feeling totally discombobulated because part of their consciousness is on another dream level? I need specifics, Nolan! But as for the actual kick mechanic, honestly, I had a pretty good grasp on it until Ariadne said "we ride the kicks all the way up" and I could feel my tenuous understanding disintegrate like a marshmallow in a blast furnace.

Earlier in the movie, we see Arthur asleep, immune to Yusuf slapping his face. He only wakes when Yusuf tips him over. He needed a kick from the level above (reality) to wake up from his dream (level 1). We see the same thing when Cobb gets dumped in water at the start of the movie: a kick in reality to get him out of the dream.

If Arthur's elevator trick is all it takes to wake them up from the fortress (the kick from the level above), why have they got explosives in level 3 in the first place?

Because suddenly, the logic changes: when we see the kicks start to collapse, we watch Ariadne fall off a skyscraper in limbo (the lowest level) to get back up to level 3. This is the reverse of what we understand. The fortress explodes, the floor drops, the kick that happens in level 3 takes her to level 2. The elevator stops in level 2 and that kick takes her to level 1. Suddenly it's the kick from below that seems to do the trick.

And yet everything we see before then seems to go against then. IF YOU UNDERSTAND THIS BETTER THAN I DO, PLEASE DM ME. I'm too invested in this.

Anyway.

They're sitting at the rocky riverbank and shivering. They're too heavily sedated to wake up from death or fear. They need a kick. There's probably nothing stopping them from falling from a great height in level 1 to try and wake up, but again, what understanding of "kick" are we using? Could you do it in either reality or in the dream? Barring repeated jumping on a trampoline in level 1, they would need heavy turbulence on the plane (or the landing on the tarmac) in reality to disrupt their inner ear. If that's all it takes--yeah, they can wake up as soon as the job is done.

But for fic purposes (and yes I've got one in progress), I think it's way funnier if they just have to sit around for 8 days until the sedation wears off.

What about Mal? How long was she in limbo with Robert before Cobb showed up?

Hah, yeah, okay. So. Hear me out. She's Cobb's projection. Her death in level 3 should not have done anything. She's not wired to the PASIV, she's not a sedated human partaking in the dream-sharing. There is no separate, distinct human mind to fall into unconstructed dream space. Robert should, technically, be chilling in limbo alone.

Of course, once Cobb goes down there he inevitably takes her with him, the same way he does in every level he goes to. And her death in limbo, of course, is meaningful, certainly for Cobb.

I disagree with you on so many fronts.

DM me or find me on the Discord. I have so much time on my hands right now (clearly) and love dragging people into rabbit holes with me. I already am hemming and hawing about some of the lengths of time I chose for the events in level 3.

And if I have made an egregious math or plot error, I look forward to hearing about it for the rest of my life as the edited post tries to catch up with the original 😂

[blueberry-ovaries]

CHAPTER TWO: MAYBE HELL IS A LARGE MOUNTAIN IN TOCCOA, GEORGIA

A/N: Welcome to chapter two of hiraeth! This one is a long one and i’m not to sure if i’m happy with how it turned out, but i didn’t want to not post something so here it is!

Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: period typical sexism, inaccurate historical retellings, violence, blood and war related injuries, PTSD, Winnie’s hatred of authority, bullying (?), probably OOC writing and horrible americanisation of words

< previous chapter > - < next chapter >

Eating rats in Africa had to be more enjoyable than running up a mountain in full pack gear. Especially when your CO hated your company and by extension you

To answer the question what the fuck is a currahee? Winnie was forced into her brand new boots, and a much too large uniform, to run up a large mountain. Not only did she twist her ankle in the first five minutes, but if one more man kicked dirt into her eyes, she might start getting violent.

Lieutenant Sobel was a sadist. Winnie decided on mile two of the run. Given the fact that it looked like he was almost enjoying their looks of despair. As Sobel watched her red faced and sweaty body push past the men on the mountain, she could almost hear the taunting words and insults spilling from his tongue. Although smaller by quite a margin, Winnie had months of active duty behind her, helping aid her in this, rather ridiculous climb. Now that is something she could hear, the grumbles and insults from the men in her company, not many liked the idea that some scrawny looking kid they’ve never met, beating them up currahee.

The top of currahee was an amazing view, not the Winnie got to see much of it. Her CO yelling at her that ‘this isn’t good enough for easy’ or that ‘woman in the military are to blame for our time up currahee’. Like she wasn’t the fastest person to haul ass up the mountain.

The bottom of the mountain left easy company in a pile of doubled over figures with their hands on their knees, sucking in as much air as possible.

“look at that, miss face scar thinking she’s better than us” one of the men mutter between gasps

“what do ya think she did to deserve that one?” another mumbled

Clenching her jaw, Winnie stretched out her neck. no fighting on your first day. A deep breath and an internal lecture on formality she rolled back her shoulders, walking towards the showers as instructed. Now the problem she faced was that there were no women’s showers, which meant, finding a time where there was no men in the shower would be difficult.

After finding a clean pair of clothes. something not covered in dust or ticks! Deciding she was far too sweaty to not shower before the dinner service, she took a faster pace. if i can shower quickly, wearing my undergarments, i can get to the food hall before everyone and-

“outta my way” accompanied by a harsh shove

“watch it dumbass” she hisses back, dusting the dirt off her shorts

“whaddya say to me?” his nostrils flare

“do i have to spell it out for you too?” Crossing her arms over her chest

Both soldiers stand nearly face to face, although in Winnie’s case more face to chest. Her rather short temper was not helped by months at war, and her counterparts clear distaste for her was not helped by her smart mouth.

“Hayes, Cobb, is there a problem here?” Winters crosses his arms over his chest

“not at all lieutenant” Winnie responds, her eyes never once softening from their glare.

With a quick look up and down the taller man, Winnie pushed past him with a shoulder bump and made her way towards the shower block. For all the money the United States Government has put into its military, you would think that maybe the showers would be more than four walls with a flimsy lock. But no! i have to shower and watch my back.

Luck. Something that is not entirely on her side. After the fifth scar, Winnie decided that if there was a God, he was playing with his food before eating it. Luck, was being able to shower without being interrupted, and thanking her lucky stars, she was showering. Maybe it had to do with how quickly she ran to get her clean clothes, or maybe, just maybe, Luck was on her side. The cold water hit her chest, with a choked gasp Winnie jumps backwards.

———

The sweltering heat of Africa was dry. Bugs bite the exposed skin of their legs, now visible after doc let them borrow his scissors. My rash had been present for three days, doc said once it hits a week, we start to worry. I wasn’t worried. As long as the bugs didn’t come near me. Fighting off the Germans was one thing, but bugs? that was a whole new ball game.

They tried to give us shifts down at the ocean. It wasn’t the best option for a shower, but after months in the heat, any water was good enough to clean the mud and grime from our blood stained skin.

The best factor was that the ocean was cold. Even five minutes to dunk yourself under the water and slapping a wet slouch hat on your head was enough to keep you going for the night.

The salt water stings. Eyes blurring as they’re opened under the sea. A burning wound. The ocean turning red. With a strangled gasp and her wet hair sticking to her face like a second skin, she paddles. Winnie holds her left shoulder with her hand, legs kicking wildly as a shot rings through the air.

“Sniper!” her voice is hoarse as she yells for her friends to take cover.

Groaning as she lands on the sand with a wet thud, blood coating her fingers a deep crimson. Dust coating her skin, and a lasting feeling of the cold water sticking to her body.

——

Winnie shakes her head like she can shake the memories loose from her brain. Her hand slams the faucet down, the shower instantly stopping the stream of cold water. not in africa not in africa. Her hands work quickly, drying herself, changing into her uniform. The sooner she could get out of here and eat, the better.

The cold door held her weight as she rested her forehead against it. Eyes screwed shut her chest shuddered with half taken breaths. in. out. in. out. Only allowing two minutes to crack before she pieced herself together. She had things to do. With her dirty clothes in hand, now dropped into the wash bin, Winnie set out for dinner.

left. right. left. right. one foot in-front of the other.

Army food was nothing of great expectation. Army chefs who aren’t actually chefs, mass producing meals with food that Winnie isn’t all to certain is food. Nonetheless, anything was better than eating rats. So she kept her mouth shut, made sure to say thank you to the cooks, and took her tray, sitting at the corner of the table, plenty of room for the men to sit.

Soon enough, tables filled up all around her, and as expected Winnie was the plague. At least, she’s certain people thought she was. That was the only reason for a full table of easy company men to be pushed into one side of the table.

“i don’t have rabies you know” she muttered towards… Johnny was it? Maybe it was Joe “it won’t kill you to sit next to me”

Poking at the concerning loaf shaped meat on her tray, she glanced up as someone coughed. The seat opposite her was about to have an occupant. really wish i learnt those names. He looked out of place, and quite frankly awkward.

“Is this seat taken miss?” He had a soft voice.

“Go ahead” She sighed softly, an open hand as she pointed to the chair

“I hope you don’t mind, the other side is lookin’ a little cosy for my liking” he explained

“Not at all… as long as you don’t mind sitting with the outcast” poking at her meat loaf. If she avoided eye contact, maybe it would be less awkard

“My ma always said it wasn’t right to be mean to someone just ‘cause you don’t know ‘em” The man spoke softly, but he held a fond look when he mentioned his mother. It was rather sweet Winnie thought.

“Well your ma must be a real nice lady” with a smile Winnie looked up at the man “Winnie”

“Darrel… But everyone calls me Shifty” he responded kindly

“It’s lovely to meet you Shifty” she nodded, and responds in a soft, almost embarrassed tone “thank you for sitting with me-“

Chatter around the room stops as the doors to the cafeteria slam against the walls. Standing like Satan at the gates of hell was Sobel, a harsh glare set on his pointed features as he scans the room for his prey. Winnie knew it. as soon as his head swivelled around the room. It was her.

“What do you think you are doing” his voice carries through the now quiet room, he strides to stand next to Winnie

“Stand at attention.” he snaps

Shooting out of her seat, her hand snaps into attention

“Lieutenant Sobel… sir?” her eyebrows crease slightly “is there a problem sir?”

“Do you enjoy making a mockery of the United States Military Private Hayes?” he sneers

Winnie’s face flushes red, All eyes were on her, as she stood at attention, Sobel not saluting her. She had never felt so much hatred for a man, and she’s known him less than twelve hours.

“It’s Sargent” she mutters

“Are you disagreeing with a commanding officer private” the look he gives is one of total contempt, she was beneath him and he wanted her to know it. Still he salutes her.

“It’s. sergeant.” her teeth grit

“Are you implying that your commanding officer is wrong, private Hayes” His tone implied that he was right, even if he wasn’t. A challenge. And boy does she like a challenge

“When my commanding officer refers to me using the wrong rank, then it would seem he, is in fact wrong” she narrows her eyes “my rank may not be from the United States Military, but it is in every way, a rank. I worked for that rank and it would be appreciated if my commanding officer would acknowledge that fact… Sir”

A low whistle settles through the crowd, a soft “oh shit” comes from one of the easy men

“Winnie-“ shifty’s plea is cut off but an angry Sobel

“Respect seems to not be taught in your country. You will not have such blatant disrespect for a commanding officer.” Sobel seethes, a vein popping in his forehead “you will leave the remainder of your meal, and run currahee with your pack. And you will run it without drinking from your canteen, until you understand what respect is.”

Winnie’s jaw clenches so hard she fears she may have cracked a tooth. She tries to not glare at her CO.

“Do i make myself clear.” he asks, his voice low and threatening

“Yes. sir.” she grits out. Saluting.

——

The Georgian air was much warmer at night than Africa or New Guinea. But with the added weight of a full pack, complete with her canteen and new boots. New unbroken boots. Winnie was slowly warming up. The weight was not a new feeling. Carrying all her belongings, her comrades, weapons, anything of importance up the treacherous slopes and hills of Kokoda, the pack was not her worry for her punishment.

The lack of food, even if it tasted like wet cardboard and had the consistency of beans in jelly, was sustenance. And was she going to need that right now. By the time she reached her second dessent from currahee, Winnie noticed the little swirls in her vision. Still, she refused to drink from her canteen. She may be hot headed but she was not crazy enough to disobey a direct order such as this one.

Her feet felt like she was dragging them through the muddy walkways on New Guinea. Like she was up to her calves in mud so wet it was like quicksand. She felt like the world was on her shoulders, Hike three up Currahee left black dots in her vision. But Winnie was nothing if not stubborn, and if she was told to hike, well she was going to hike, if it meant proving her CO wrong.

The fall broke her nose. Atleast, she’s pretty sure it did. She can’t exactly see or hear who was talking to her, but she’s pretty sure he said the words ‘broken’ and ‘idiotic’. The stars looked pretty from here. It’s been so long since she’s been able to lay and watch the sky

“-an you hear me?” a southern drawl sounds

“What?” a mumbled response, as she rolls her neck side to side

“I said can you hear me?” the man asks, he had a rather deep voice. it was comforting however, rather than intimidating

“Yeah” groaning at the now present pain in her face, Winnie forced herself into a sit

“Take it easy, you hit your head pretty hard” he mumbles

“What happened?” Winnie blinks a few times, clearing the spots in her vision, her nose throbbed, and she was sure it needed to be reset

“You broke your nose” He answers off handedly, reaching up to feel around her nose

“How do you know.” Defensively Winnie pulls away from his hands “stop touchin’ me, you can’t just touch people without asking, especially when i don’t know you”

“Would ya stop bein’ difficult and let me fix it” he sighs, his accent getting thicker in irritation

“No. I don’t know you, how do i know you won’t just make it worse” tilting her head defiantly

He sighs in irritation

“Eugene Roe, medic” he drawls “now will you let me fix the nose ‘fore it gets worse”

reluctantly, she nods. Staring at the man with curiosity. He was handsome, there was no denying that. But he was reserved, not in the way Shifty was, like Eugene Roe was purposely closing himself off.

“i’m gonna set it now” he warns “one. two-“

A loud crack sounds through the air, followed swiftly by a string of curses. Winnie now hated yanks and their medics.

——

A/N: HI! i really hope you enjoyed chapter two of hiraeth! it will start to pick up shortly, but unfortunately the only way this chapter was getting written was if it was a ‘building chapter’ nonetheless i hope you enjoyed!

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