#dreamdetail

[forgereames]

@dreamdetail

Eames gets a few simple moments to revel in his successes. He allows himself one self-indulgent second to stare out over the beach, watching the way the setting sun casts rays across the waves, before the reality of the war comes crashing down on him. They poke him with their guns, shouting rough instructions he doesn’t understand. Eames ducks his head and follows as best he can, not fighting, not struggling. He knew it would come to this. He always did.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

He’s led to a dank, make-shift cell. The air is stuffy, unmoved by any sort of breeze, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust once he’s thrown in, the door slamming behind him. There’s a small window up high, no larger than a square foot or so. He blinks in the dim light and leans against the wall, closing his eyes and letting out a shuttering breath. It’s only once it’s truly silent that he hears someone else breathing as well. Eames’ eyes fly open and his attention is directed to the corner where a man is crouched against the wall, bloodied and shivering. Eames’ brows knit; he doesn’t take a step closer, doesn’t dare. Instead, he simply clears his throat, hoping for some kind of response.

“They got you, too?” It’s a terrible question with a horrifically obvious answer, but he feels awkward and trapped and doesn’t really know what to say. His bones ache. He wants to sleep. But his mind is racing a mile a minute, and if he can find a friendly face, it just might help him calm down.

[forgereames]

continued from here

@dreamdetail​

[text] You’re a poor liar, Arthur. And you’re an idiot if you think I’m going to leave you alone.

[text] Don’t patronize me. I always knew you were a risk. And I don’t believe you for a second.

[text] Don’t tell me it was only physical, and don’t act like I’m stupid to think you could love me. I know you better than that. So just let me know when you’re ready to be honest with me, and maybe we can have a real conversation.

[text] I know that you’re hurting. I get it. But that doesn’t mean you have to push me away. I’m not the only you’re lying to.

[forgereames]

@dreamdetail​

[Text - Arthur] Hey, so remember when you told me not to take that job with Lloyd?

[Text - Arthur] Well, I didn’t take your advice, and the job got mucked up, and now I’m kind of sort of running for my life. More or less. 

[Text - Arthur] Any wise sage advice? You know, advice I might actually follow this time? 

[forgereames]

@

positivity meme! ~ accepting

@dreamdetail / @yxtes / @yayforme

you’re seriously the best! i love it when we chat about stupid things like painful arthur/eames scenarios and dunkirk (STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THIS FILM) and how our different muses would interact. you’re such an incredible writer, and every thread i’ve had with you so far has always been so fun and engaging. you’ve been so welcoming to me and you ALWAYS send me ask memes (even if they’re painful) and you write an incredible arthur. thank you so much for being so wonderful. <3

[forgereames]

❛ We aren’t getting back together you know that right ? ❜ (dreamdetail - post inception - twist the knife why don't you arthur )

@dreamdetail

Eames swallows, a hard look on his face. He tries not to let his features shift to reflect how he’s feeling -- bruised, battered. Stupid. For some half-second, Eames had allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this job would change things. 

It had been a pointless hope, and now he’s kicking himself for even thinking such thoughts. Sure, they’d fallen back into their usual critical banter, and Arthur had even smiled at him once or twice, those small, knowing smiles that used to be reserved only for him, but why had he thought it would change anything? 

Eames looks away, puts his hands in his pockets, and does everything he can to exude an unaffected exterior, even though he’s terrible at covering these things up when it comes to Arthur.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, but it doesn’t sound convincing at all, and when he looks back at Arthur, there’s some kind of pleading look in his gaze, one he can’t quite cover up. He wants to ask why, to understand, to make Arthur say it to his face that he doesn’t care about him anymore, that he doesn’t love him anymore, but he just can’t. 

He’s too tired; the job has gone on too long. He wants to go home, wherever most feels like it, anyway, and forget the feelings of the past six months.

His next words are meant like a joke, but they don’t come out that way; it comes out bittersweet with a matching smile, and there’s a spark in his eyes that shows he’s not done loving Arthur, even if Arthur is done loving him. He can’t be. He never will be.

“But I can dream, right?”

[forgereames]

hello 911 i’d like to report @dreamdetail for emotionally torturing me

[forgereames]

❝ Every time you almost die, I almost die myself. ❞ (dreamdetail)

@dreamdetail

mortal instruments starters ~ accepting

Arthur is very rarely candid with his feelings. He hides behind snark and dry sarcasm and the very occasional knowing smile, the type he saves only for Eames. Eames has come to pick up on these intricacies of Arthur’s personality, to appreciate them and look beyond them to decipher what he really means when he dryly says “My, Eames, I’m impressed,” or when he blinks at him and asks, “Did you get dressed in the dark today?” or when he glares sidelong at Eames’ sometimes excessive use of the pet name “darling.” 

Now, however, it seems like Arthur is saying exactly what he’s feeling, without the loopholes and pinned expression to hide behind. Eames blinks; Arthur looks shaken and thrown off his game, almost like he’s just seen a ghost. His fingers twitch like he’s reaching for Eames’ hand, and Eames moves his hand forward to take it. 

This job is tough. It’s difficult. And they always pull through, always. But Eames knows just what Arthur is saying -- just because it’s death in a dream doesn’t mean it’s any less real. Dreams have never been any less real, not for them.

“I know,” he says, and his voice is strangely soft. He knows what it feels like. He knows what it does to them, to minds and hearts alike, to have to suffer that torture again and again. It never gets easier, and it never will.

“It won’t get easier,” he warns him, but there’s a soft smile on his features, one that’s hopeful instead of grim. “Means we have to try harder to watch each other’s backs, hm?”

[forgereames]

"I miss you more than I can bear… but we had our time together.” (dreamdetail)

@dreamdetail​

My Inception Meme!!! ~ accepting (part 1, part 2)

Eames stares at him, shocked and hurt. He doesn’t even try to hide it, the way his brows knit and his eyes widen, his jaw tightening as if he could crush the words to oblivion between his teeth and make them untrue.

They haven’t seen each other in eight months. Arthur’s been with Cobb. He’d left almost without a trace, and Eames had let him, determined that they would find each other again when the time was right, when Arthur was hurting less and Eames was more responsible and they were both in a place where they could love each other without the weight of the world getting in the way.

But Arthur’s speaking as if they’re done, as if it’s over, as if a hiatus was an ending, and Eames can’t even begin to comprehend it. 

Arthur looks good, and Eames hates him for it. He suddenly feels silly – ridiculously silly, for waiting, and for hoping, and for thinking that they had half a chance. He wants to feel sad and sorry for himself, to show Arthur how much he’s hurting, to prove that this isn’t even remotely fair.

But then he feels the anger, hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and he embraces it, because rage hurts less than grief.

“You don’t get to decide that it’s over,” he says, eyes like flints of steel, boring holes through Arthur as if Eames desires to tear him apart with a look. “It’s not just up to you.” It’s up to me too, dammit, and I say we’re not done, his mind screams. Don’t leave me. Don’t do this. Please. But those aren’t the words he speaks.