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Sex is Not the Enemy and you wish there were a fic to go with it? Is there a still from your favorite series that needs a story to accompany it? Do you have a vast stockpile of pictures of outer space that would make amazing back drops for a sci-fi story? Well, this is your place! You're invited to post an
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She can't remember the last time, not even sitting here in her own dream, watching her child-self swim laps in a tidily chlorinated indoor pool. She tries to remember if either Cobb, the elder or the younger, had tried to warn her about not being able to let go control to the soundtrack of the child splashing about. Confused, but not in danger.
At least she doesn't have to worry about her own constructs turning against her, or confusingly inappropriate kisses from Arthur as a defense mechanism. She belongs in her own mind.
She hopes.
She draws in another deep breath, trying to relax, release, to stop rendering, stop building--on any scale at all. She closes her eyes in the dreamscape, tries not to wonder if she's just exiting REM.
A droplet of water catches on her face; another strikes her arm. She opens her eyes, stretching out her arms to feel the water rising up from the pool, striking against her skin of its own volition and none of her design.
She laughs, and laughing, wakes.
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The water honestly looks as though it's falling upward to me, and I kept trying to figure out a scenario, and then a friend mentioned Inception and -- yes! Ariadne!
:)
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I have a feeling most Architects in Inception have planning-brain hangups. :)
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