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11 August 2010 @ 05:04 pm
[fic]: flawless  
Title: Flawless

Author: That.Other.Boleyn.Girl

Rating: M.

Genre: Romance/Angst.

Word Count: 3,029.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Summary: It's been five years but Eames still can't stop wanting him. Eames/Arthur, slash, One-Shot.

A/N: God, I keep churning these out like no tomorrow. Wrote this one because I felt the need to write an almost-companion-piece to To Begin, not so much in plot or characterisation, but in writing style. (And also because I desperately wanted to write some version of car!sex.)

Please don't forget to comment!


--
Flawless
--

In your dreams, Arthur is –

You don’t know.

There are so many things you don’t know any more. You wonder if you’ve always been this ambiguous, and you think no, you weren’t, there was a time when you knew exactly what you wanted because you always wanted more than was ever good for you, wallets, wristwatches, cigarette cases and Arthur, Arthur the worst of the entire lot. Arthur’s always telling you not to push your luck and you wonder if you ever had any luck in the first place.

In your dreams, Arthur is the kind of thing that doesn’t make any sense.

Some days when you’re working with him you don’t mean to, you don’t mean a lot of things, but he’s there and he’s standing and he’s whole, wet drops on his shoulders because he’s forgotten his umbrella and Arthur must be kicking himself for that, and you lean across his perfect chair and rifle through his perfect files and steal his perfect ballpoint pens. Some days you swallow courage hard and you fiddle with his perfect tie.

Arthur glares at you every time.

Perfectly.

Arthur glares when you back him against a wall, sixth job together and you remember this, crisp linen suit, Arthur’s hands finding the cracks in the brick and still glaring when he kisses you.

You remember knowing exactly what you wanted because you always wanted just that little bit more.

You remember Arthur hissing Eames, Eames against your throat and his right hand fisted in your hair and Arthur saying Eames like he’d drowned on it, taut stomach bucking beneath your palm and you wonder what the fuck happened to all that, to just knowing.

(If you ever really knew at all.)

--

You dream of your first job.

This is with Arthur, of course, not really your first job because you’ve done so many before this but first because Arthur is what you measure by, now. You’ve forgotten how you told time before he met you. Perhaps you never told time back then.

It’s night, and you think there might have been stars, your dream but you were never good with astronomy at school so the constellations are probably not correct up there.

You dream of Arthur.

Arthur is on a window ledge.

This is fine, but then again he is two hundred metres up from the ground, so fine is most likely relative in this case.

Arthur is stepping along the building’s edge and you are a couple of hotel floors up from him and you can tell the tops of his head and his shoulders, his hands when they reach out to grip against steel, body pressed flush against windowpanes. You can see that he’s not rushing things, cars blinking on the map-like streets below. Arthur looks up, once, just once and his eyes catch the torch-light that you’re showing and you can hear him, clean-cut like he’s wearing a microphone, turn that off, Eames, you keep shining it into my face. You don’t turn it off and he doesn’t tell you again, but when he reaches you at your windowsill he ignores the hand that you stretch to him, steps inside like he’s just come in through a door and there’s not one crease on his vest or his shirt.

You don’t know why, but that’s the first time that you want him.

It’s been five years now and you still haven’t stopped.

--

Arthur is drenched, dark hair matted to the skin of his forehead and you want to lick the droplets away from his neck.

Arthur says this is your fault, Eames.

It actually is, third level down and your mark’s not been trained but you forget that you didn’t build the Penrose steps, push him down it and he lands with a sickening slap. You wonder for a moment how Ariadne will take this, first job without Cobb to head things, mark at the bottom of a non-infinite staircase with a broken neck and all of his secrets in Limbo.

Arthur says I’m hoping you’ve got a plan, although from experience I know not to get my hopes up for you.

(You’re getting drenched.)

Arthur is furious and you can see this, the .45 calibre of his dark brown eyes, and anger suits him, you think, jars up all of his elegant lines and makes him somewhat closer to human.

We’ll have to wait for the kick, you say.

Arthur’s bristling and you think he’s beautiful.

Arthur says the kick doesn’t come for at least three days, and Arthur says next time I’m coming down here with Ariadne instead, all the muscles in his arms drawn tight, standing half a metre from you and you can taste his desire to hit you.

You say I’m sure we can find a use for these three extra days, and then Arthur does hit you, hard knuckles slamming your cheek.

(You’re getting drenched.)

You take it because you can, and because you probably deserve it. When Arthur pulls his fist back for another try you catch his wrist in your grip because you can, and because he probably deserves it, and you shove him against the side of the car. His mouth tastes like rainwater and what you can’t have.

He bites you.

The moan wrangles its way past your teeth.

--

You end up in the car, sprawl of Arthur’s limbs and he’s still fighting you, sort of, hips pitching and both of his wrists in your hands and God, you think, you could die like this, Arthur’s mouth buried deep by the crook of your neck. You lean your weight on his thighs and he draws in a breath, pants it out. He’s soaked through. You can feel all his angles and they’re different to those you memorised last time, different because you’ve gone over that memory so often, worn it down, chipped it, always desperately.

Five years ago you would’ve thought this ridiculous.

The rain is drumming against the roof of the car and it stops you from thinking, a good thing, no need to think when Arthur’s hard underneath you and trying not to be, never wanting to be.

You say you’re not making this any easier, darling and Arthur bites out a shut the hell up, please, Eames.

You laugh at that without quite knowing why you do.

(There are so many things you don’t know any more.)

--

Arthur after sex is unmalleable, which is something you’ve been working very hard to change.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to, Arthur not losing the tone in his shoulders, every muscle still primed like a wound-up spring as if he thinks he’ll have to fight you or run. You don’t want him to do either but either invariably happens, and after all this time you think that you’re used to it now.

Almost.

The rain has thinned but that’s because it’s been hours. You think the two of you might be running out of air.

We’ll have to do what we did on the Fischer job, Arthur says like whatever just happened didn’t happen and you’re not lying on top of him with your belt undone.

You turn your head and you say what, sweetheart, you want to go deeper?

No, I don’t, Arthur says very pointedly. And I wouldn’t have to, if you hadn’t messed this all up.

Mistakes happen, you say, not because you’re defending yourself but because it seems to be a factor in everything, a factor in why you’re both here at all with Arthur’s shirt untucked and bite marks under his ear. Mistakes happen, you say, and Arthur says they don’t have to happen, and five minutes later when Arthur’s hooking himself up to the PASIV you feel the urge to stop him, to reverse all the things you both are.

Instead you say sweet dreams and grin at him, fingers itching. You’re not sure what you want any more.

--

Arthur comes back.

The kick happens.

Ariadne is smiling.

You think she’s smiling because she doesn’t know what happened down there.

--

In your dreams, Arthur is standing on a window ledge.

This is the same window ledge as five years ago, same vest, same burgundy-coloured tie, but Arthur’s not moving and he’s just standing there very still and you’re three floors up and completely helpless.

You still have your torch but it’s broken somehow. You can’t find a way to work the buttons.

You’re saying Arthur, what are you doing, and then you’re yelling it. You’re yelling Arthur, come on, don’t stay there, we’re on a timer and the wind is yanking at Arthur’s jacket, and Arthur’s not looking up at you and you wish you were wearing a microphone.

Arthur wants to jump.

You’re yelling Arthur, but Arthur is not listening to you.

You’re yelling Arthur and what the fuck are you trying to do and Arthur tells you you know I don’t want this, Eames.

You’re terrified. You think that if Arthur jumps, it’ll be both your hearts splattering below on the pavement. You think you should get out, get onto your windowsill but you’d never get down there in time, not if you climbed or if you took the elevator and you feel that the moment you turn your back he’ll be gone, so you try your utmost best not to blink.

Arthur’s saying you know I don’t want this, Eames, and you say Arthur darling, what do you mean by this. What is this. What is this that you say you don’t want.

Arthur looks straight at you and Arthur says weakness.

He jumps.

You wake with your voice in pieces. Your body is shaking and you can’t make it stop.

--

Zurich, Arthur is saying and you think it’s so predictable, sleek and graceful and perpetually neutral, the only city Arthur would think of in times like this when everything’s fast turning unsalvageable.

You sure you don’t need any company, love, you say, with a smile since this is meant to be flippant. You’re not supposed to care what his answer will be, and you don’t.

(Almost.)

You don’t care at all.

When he leaves he doesn’t turn back, not once. He has that subdued, brilliant air about him again, as poised and as perfect as a photograph.

--

You spend two weeks with Ariadne, cramped flat on the fringe of Paris and advertisements plastered in the narrow hallways, brushing your shoulders when you plough your way through. Ariadne makes you sleep on the couch but she spoils you with sticky date pudding and tea. You end up being the one to shake her awake in the mornings and she grouses at you very prettily, even though you both know she has class in an hour, and she should’ve been up in the first place anyway.

How on earth does Arthur put up with you, Ariadne grumbles one morning with her hair in a mess.

You tip her your most sarcastic wink and you say he doesn’t, sweetheart. He doesn’t.

I can imagine, she says.

(You don’t think that she can.)

--

Arthur’s hotel looks like it’s been stencilled, stone portico and gleaming, effortless steel, and you charm the receptionist in fluent German into telling you the number of the room Arthur’s in. On an impulse you book the room opposite his.

You wonder what on earth it is that you’re doing.

In your dreams, Arthur is standing on a window ledge.

For the first two nights you don’t run into Arthur, although sometimes you see shadows under his door, Arthur removing his jacket, perhaps, or his shoes, moving to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Twice you stand with your hand braced to knock and twice you back down, lean against the walnut instead, hoping and dreading that Arthur will know.

You spend days in the streets, just walking, Zurich stretched out like a notion around you. You’re not looking for Arthur, not exactly, but your chest always twists when you see a gray suit or a head of perfectly-smoothed brown hair, and it’s awful, what you’re doing, what you’ve turned yourself into, poker chip digging into your thigh.

You book tickets to London four separate times and you cancel each one with an hour to spare. Your suitcase is still packed, just in case.

In your dreams, Arthur is standing on a window ledge and he’s saying you know I don’t want this, Eames.

You don’t want this either, though your this differs from Arthur’s this, and you’re afraid of admitting what exactly this is. On the Friday you lean across the reception counter while requesting an extra quilt for your room and when you’re done the master key-card’s in your palm, and it burns at you like a talisman.

You wonder what on earth it is –

– that you’re doing, or perhaps what it is you’re not doing.

Arthur’s out and you move your way all through his suite, and you don’t know what you’re looking for. You run your fingers over the tables and over the made-up coverlet.

You stand with both your hands in your pockets in the centre of his bedroom, completely at a loss.

You’re still standing there when Arthur comes back.

You don’t hear him.

(In your dreams, Arthur doesn’t make any sense.)

Arthur comes back and he stops in the doorway when he finally sees you, tight-fitting jumper over his shirt and you catch the peek of a navy tie, a long throat, dark tailored suit pants and a silver wristwatch. You smile at him like this is nothing unusual and perhaps it isn’t, not for you and him.

You say you’ve a terrible view from this room, sweetheart. The one from the suite they gave me is much better.

You’re not surprised when Arthur says you’re not meant to be here.

No, you’re not, and you’ve told yourself this many times, but still you shrug and you say well, you weren’t meant to leave.

Arthur doesn’t reply to that. You watch as he takes his Glock out of his belt and puts it on the nearest drawer, all the delicate bones of his fingers and wrist on display. It’s deceptive how breakable Arthur looks, you think, whipcord thin and not showing any obvious muscle but still dangerous in his own understated way, in the steadiness that he keeps in his eyes, in the things Arthur has but won’t ever show to you. You take a step towards him and he shoots you a look.

You stop short.

Is it Ariadne, you say.

Arthur slings his right hand in his pocket and says what about Ariadne.

(The way Arthur looks at her, none of that hardness that he shows when he looks at you, lids low and the poker chip is making dents and grooves in the pad of your thumb as you grip it tight.)

Nothing, you say, though that’s not really true. Nothing, dear.

I’m here on a job, Arthur says.

You go through the motions and ask does it pay well? I know how much you hate being undervalued, darling and then Arthur says abruptly I’m tired, Eames, I’m tired, and you know it’s meant to be your cue.

You’re meant to dip your head, say certainly, Arthur, I’ll leave you to it then, good to catch you here but I’ll be flying back tomorrow and you’re meant to leave, not brush him on your way out, throw a parting snark but close the front door behind you silently and that would be the end of it and that would be so easy.

For Arthur, at least.

But not for you.

In your dreams, Arthur is saying you know I don’t want this and you don’t want it either, you want it to stop.

(But you always wanted more than was ever good for you.)

You say to him you’ll have to try harder than that, my dear, and Arthur’s eyes snap to you like you’ve startled him.

I’m not trying, Arthur says.

That’s the problem, you say.

There is no problem, Arthur says and he’s turning away and your hand snags his arm before you’ve realised it.

If there is no problem then why are you running, you say, why in God’s name are you running from me and Arthur is keeping his face curved stiffly away but he doesn’t make a move to shake you off. If there is no problem, you’re saying, why are you scared of this, and Arthur says I’m not scared, I’m not, why would I be scared of you, and you tell him this isn’t weakness, darling, this is something on an entirely different plane and no-one will think any less of you if you let this thing happen, if you let this thing be.

Arthur stops.

Arthur always stops like this just before he pulls a trigger, you think.

(In your dreams, Arthur is standing on a window ledge and you think if he jumps, if he jumps, if he jumps – )

Arthur always stops like this just before he pulls a trigger when you’re in pain and the barrel is pointed at you.

If I let what be, Arthur says at last. It’s not like what we have is perfect, anyway.

You mustn’t be afraid to be imperfect, dear, you say and that does it, he turns his head and he’s warm when he presses up into you and the small, broken sound that leaks out from his lips is enough, and it’ll always be enough, you think.

--

(If he jumps – but Arthur doesn’t.

He stays.)

--

Arthur’s not lying.

There is another job and you dial Ariadne from the bedside phone and she says yes, because Ariadne will always say yes, because like you and like Arthur she’s hooked already, she’s in.

Arthur’s head on your arm is a comfortable weight.

He’s smiling.

You’re not really used to this.

But you’ve always been one to want just that little bit more and you know you’ll get used to it, easily.

--
The End.
--

A/N: A very different Eames-voice to what you typically find, yes? Personally, I like my Eames playful on the outside and serious on the inside, but now that I've gone and talked about him like he's some kind of fried egg, I should probably sign off. Until next time, my dears!

(Oh - and if you enjoy my work, please don't hesitate to friend me to stay updated on my Arthur/Eames stories; and while you're at it, do take a look at my other Inception fics!)

Please don't forget to comment, loves! Part III of Alive should be posted before this Sunday night.

 
 
feel: exhausted
 
 
 
Eloise-Jennifer aka JAKrainbowcolored7 on August 11th, 2010 07:35 am (UTC)
Wow. This blew me away. I can't find any words eloquent enough to describe how wonderful all of that was and how much I enjoyed reading it. Thank you for writing something so beautiful. <333
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 08:59 am (UTC)
Oh, thank-you so much! Your comment just - seriously, it's so wonderful. It's such a pleasure to write for this fandom, everyone's just so lovely! Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy my future work! ♥
Mariapsycocatgirl on August 11th, 2010 08:10 am (UTC)
Oh. This made my heart go all tight, and I'm not even entirely sure why. It's less like I'm reading a story and more like I'm feeling my way through a dream, reading your fics. Your Eames voice is so very ON. And I hardly even noticed this was 2nd person POV, even though I normally hate reading it, it was that good. I think it's all the things you don't say that make this extra-especially brilliant. <3
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:05 am (UTC)
It's less like I'm reading a story and more like I'm feeling my way through a dream, reading your fics.


Oh, that's entirely what I was going for, with this style! I'm so happy it worked!! Ha, and yes, a lot of people have been telling me that they generally dislike second person - personally, I don't mind it, provided it's done well. I have seen some terrible examples of it. But I think second person offers an intimacy that third person can't achieve, and a distance that first person can't replicate. Right in the middle. And I love it for that versatility. ♥
Denorios: inception arthur/eamesdenorios on August 11th, 2010 09:07 am (UTC)
Oh. Wow. This is just gorgeous and heartbreaking and so exactly how I see Eames it's like you pulled him out of my head.

Your style is just exquisite. It's so stream of consciousness and fragmented and yet it all makes perfect sense in the way a dream does, the way you have to squint and see it all as a whole because it's the only way to fit the pieces together.

Rambling comment is rambling, I know, but I love this.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:08 am (UTC)
Seriously, your comment is just... guh. I'm still reeling from it. Thank-you so much!

I get paranoid at times because I worry that people will find my style hard to follow, but I think you're right - that "you have to squint and see it all as a whole because it's the only way to fit the pieces together". If people got caught on the details of my fics, I think they'd never get out of that swamp called confusion. Like the dream world as Ariadne described it - it's more about the feel of it, isn't it?

(And dear, I adore rambling. I do it myself, quite often, as is exemplified by the length of this reply. Feel free to ramble as much as you like! ♥ ♥)
- denorios on August 12th, 2010 09:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
- epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:45 am (UTC) (Expand)
- denorios on August 12th, 2010 10:11 am (UTC) (Expand)
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❝lockwood❞: pic#103097007aatxe on August 11th, 2010 09:09 am (UTC)
so lovely.

You say you’re not making this any easier, darling and Arthur bites out a shut the hell up, please, Eames.

this line was my favorite. and i would totally express my pleasure so much better if it weren't 3 am. 8[
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:10 am (UTC)
3am?? Good Lord. Go to sleep, dear. (Actually - since it's probably not 3am anymore, I have no right to send you off to bed. Have a cookie instead.)

I'm thrilled you liked that line! I think it gets their dynamic across. Enough of it, anyway. ♥
D: inception: arthur/eamesoh_so_blase on August 11th, 2010 10:51 am (UTC)
Oh. You always leave me with no words and s heavy heart. Your writing is beautiful. Sososo beautiful. I don't.I would quote my fav line but i cant pick between all the amazingness.
I lovelovelove this.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:10 am (UTC)
Unf, your comment is so delicious. :gobbles it up:

Thank-you so much, dear! ♥
The Reverend C. Diddy Sunshinecathybites on August 11th, 2010 11:19 am (UTC)
This is *gorgeous*.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:10 am (UTC)
Thank-you! ♥
(Deleted comment)
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:16 am (UTC)
Aaargh, sdfsdhuiogbfsduio. This is what your comments do to me, each time, without fail. I pretty much die in happiness. It's all your fault. :wink:

OH YES FINALLY! Someone else loved my favourite line (You wake with your voice in pieces. Your body is shaking and you can’t make it stop.)! I spent, like, five minutes perfecting that goddamn line. I'm so sdhufiogsdnhuidasbgy that you loved it too. ♥

And Ariadne - I didn't want to create the same version of Ariadne as she appeared in To Begin, so I had to make her pseudo-oblivious, in this one. I wanted her, in her ignorance of what was happening, to serve as an emphasis on Arthur and Eames' strained relationship.

And yes, that's one of the primary flaws I find in Arthur's flawless character - the very nature of his near-flawlessness. (In this fic, anyway.) I wanted to present him as being trapped by this need for perfection, so that although he'd never admit he wants Eames, he still gives off the vibe that, deep inside, he does.

(Oh God. I'm analysing my own fic. I must be going crazy. I'm going to stop now.)

Thanks so much for your darling comment! ♥ ♥ ♥
- ladybelvidine on August 15th, 2010 04:14 am (UTC) (Expand)
- epistolic on August 15th, 2010 07:29 am (UTC) (Expand)
arty_darc on August 11th, 2010 01:57 pm (UTC)
So deliciously sad and gorgeous and genuine. This made my morning, so so very much. So much love, as always.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:16 am (UTC)
Gaw, thank-you, hun. I told you I'd find some way of tormenting Eames. :wink:
*: Eamesylilylines on August 11th, 2010 01:57 pm (UTC)
Bah! You kill me with all this beauty. Every time.

I think this -- "It’s deceptive how breakable Arthur looks, you think, whipcord thin and not showing any obvious muscle but still dangerous in his own understated way, in the steadiness that he keeps in his eyes, in the things Arthur has but won’t ever show to you." -- is exactly why Arthur is so intriguing a character. That's it perfectly. : )

And I like my Eames soft on the outside and serious on the inside as well! lol. That sounds ridiculous, but really, makes quite a lot of sense, I think.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:19 am (UTC)
Arthur, in my mind, is intriguing because he is himself paradoxical; and his physical presence and danger is an example of that, I guess. He gives off the impression of one thing, but is actually something completely different - and I think he enjoys defying expectation like that. Which makes him unpredictably predictable, and I love it to bits. ♥

(I'm glad my little metaphor with Eames made sense to you. I was actually worried I'd make myself out as clinically insane, writing it. :grin:)

Thanks for the comment, dear!
tenisunoelito: Harimaya Bridge the movietenisunoelito on August 11th, 2010 03:22 pm (UTC)
Nice
That was amazing, I love how you captured Eames's thought process!
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:19 am (UTC)
Re: Nice
Thank-you so much! ♥
trouvemoi: The Forger & The Point Mantrouvemoi on August 11th, 2010 05:04 pm (UTC)
You end up in the car, sprawl of Arthur’s limbs and he’s still fighting you, sort of, hips pitching and both of his wrists in your hands and God, you think, you could die like this, Arthur’s mouth buried deep by the crook of your neck. You lean your weight on his thighs and he draws in a breath, pants it out. He’s soaked through. You can feel all his angles and they’re different to those you memorised last time, different because you’ve gone over that memory so often, worn it down, chipped it, always desperately.

and

You mustn’t be afraid to be imperfect, dear, you say and that does it, he turns his head and he’s warm when he presses up into you and the small, broken sound that leaks out from his lips is enough, and it’ll always be enough, you think.

are just perfection fucking personified and god, I don't even have words for how this hit me, I mean, in a different way even than to begin, which I thought was the end-all be-all. It's more like a sucker-punch-to-the-gut, this one. Your characterizations are just so beautiful and effortless. Another stunner of a story, bb.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:22 am (UTC)
NO, WOMAN. YOU ARE PERFECTION FUCKING PERSONIFIED. THIS COMMENT JUST MADE MY DAY. ♥

It is slightly different to To Begin, isn't it? I was going for a similar tone, but a different approach - more symbolic. Everything's more direct in To Begin, because Eames is, I think, one to relate everything to something else, which Arthur doesn't do, or would prefer not to.

Your characterizations are just so beautiful and effortless. Another stunner of a story, bb.


:faints:
- trouvemoi on August 12th, 2010 03:50 pm (UTC) (Expand)
- epistolic on August 13th, 2010 12:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
- trouvemoi on August 13th, 2010 04:22 am (UTC) (Expand)
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- epistolic on August 16th, 2010 07:04 am (UTC) (Expand)
- trouvemoi on August 16th, 2010 02:44 pm (UTC) (Expand)
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- trouvemoi on August 16th, 2010 02:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
corblycorbly on August 11th, 2010 05:52 pm (UTC)
Wow. Just...wow.

You're amazing, you know that right?
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:22 am (UTC)
You're amazing, you know that right?


Aw, shucks! Thanks so much! :blushes:

third_raythird_ray on August 11th, 2010 06:09 pm (UTC)
I love to see Eames like this. Great story.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:23 am (UTC)
I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thanks so much for commenting, hun ♥
we_reflamingoswe_reflamingos on August 12th, 2010 12:33 am (UTC)
I am sooo loving your work
Please don't stop.

And you already know I'm having withdrawal issues from Alive. Very much looking forward to my next fix ;-)

Just finding this this morning's pretty much made my day. (My folks are arriving this afternoon for a four day visit, so having THIS day made is kind of a big deal!)
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:24 am (UTC)
Re: I am sooo loving your work
And you already know I'm having withdrawal issues from Alive. Very much looking forward to my next fix ;-)


Haha, you're wonderful. I'm holding back with the posting because otherwise I'll post faster than I can write, and that would be even worse. :grin:

I'm glad this fic made your day! Especially since the day was looking ghastly! ♥
harlequinmemoryharlequinmemory on August 12th, 2010 12:40 am (UTC)
Its such a graceful and fluid piece. I feel that when you work with these characters you bring about an intelligence to them that I rarely see anywhere else. I love the repetition, I love that Eames is just as conflicted as Arthur is, and I simply love your writing style!
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:25 am (UTC)
I feel that when you work with these characters you bring about an intelligence to them that I rarely see anywhere else.


Oh, darling. Oh, darling, darling, darling. You are too good to me. I'm so... your comment just... guh. Thank-you. Really. Thank-you.

(Deleted comment)
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:28 am (UTC)
You killed me with:

There's just something about this that made my chest tighten in anticipation, desperately wanting to read it all so quickly while wanting to take it slow and savour everything.


I actually felt that way while writing it, haha. Wanted to get everything written, and had to keep telling myself to take it slow and savour the writing process. I guess that emotion carried through to the actual fic. ♥

I love second person! I love writing it, and generally, I love reading it, provided of course that it's written well. I'm glad you believe I fall into the "written well" category - it really means a lot to me!



(Friended you back, by the way! Though have to warn you - there is a lot of nonsense on my journal, haha!)
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- epistolic on August 13th, 2010 12:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
asfrosteasfroste on August 12th, 2010 01:32 am (UTC)
lovely as always ^^ I agree, Eames is very much like that--which is a nice contrast to Arthur who is often portrayed as very tough and cool on the outside but somewhat of a marshmallow on the inside (there's a candy like that, I know it)

It's nice to see you write something happy, although who doesn't love the heart-wrenching beauty of your other fics?

ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:30 am (UTC)
Gaw, "as always"? :dies with the love:

Wow, actually, I never thought of Arthur that way, though now you put it like that, it fits perfectly. :tucks it into bag of to-be-used(exploited)-characterisations:

It's nice to see you write something happy, although who doesn't love the heart-wrenching beauty of your other fics?


:dies a second time:
CEO, Air Perv: Inception Saito Cobb Bluezoi_no_miko on August 12th, 2010 04:04 am (UTC)
Awwww, _Eames_. I don't think you wrote him too fried egg at all. ;)
The best thing about Eames, really, is the depth of emotion he feels, and you've really captured that well. ^^
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 12th, 2010 09:31 am (UTC)
The best thing about Eames, really, is the depth of emotion he feels, and you've really captured that well.


Thank you so much, dear! And it's so true, that thing about Eames - he basically breathes emotion. It makes him so much more fascinating, as a character...

Colinbehindthec on August 13th, 2010 08:37 pm (UTC)
s.dmfnaskjfalejkpae3.

yes.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 15th, 2010 07:20 am (UTC)
Gaw, thanks so much! :glomps:
unfurnished journal: pinslaceandbraids on August 13th, 2010 11:49 pm (UTC)
This is so beautiful. Your writing moves me and at points I thought I was going to cry.

You're right about not hearing from Eames like this. It's a good different. I would hate to think that he is simply a shallow and uncomplicated forger. He has depth! This definitely does that character justice.^^ great job!
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 15th, 2010 07:23 am (UTC)
Oh, wow, thank-you!

I would hate to think that he is simply a shallow and uncomplicated forger.


Me too - I think that to write Eames in that way would be a terrible slander to Nolan's masterpiece, right? And I love his double-sidedness - you can just tell by looking at him that he has to have a complicated past and backstory, simply because his characterisation is so vibrant in the movie. (And also - did anyone else notice the little twitch he had when he was talking to Cobb in Mombasa and said, "The relationship with the father"?? THAT is a backstory just waiting to be written.)

Sorry. Got too excited there. Thanks for the lovely comment, bb! ♥
l.m.: [inception] the subtle glanceincandescent on August 14th, 2010 02:46 am (UTC)
I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this. It's lovely. As always, I adore your tone of voice. Your have such a wonderful writing style, and it makes me terribly happy. I loved how Eames was like a fried egg - that's exactly how I imagine his character to be. And I'm serious. Your Eames was gorgeous. And I loved Arthur as well. So obscure, and yet so strong. You have one of my favorite relationships between the two in the fandom, I swear.

I'm on Alive III, I swear. And I've decided to do the dream exchange. I'll be tapping you to beta. I've just got my fingers crossed that I'll get to it in time, because I bet there'll be a lot more that 50 people signing up, with this fandom. (I was filling out the form early and got really disappointed because only the men are allowed, not women. I wanted some Ariadne/Mal so bad, though... My only femmslash otp. :D)
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 15th, 2010 07:26 am (UTC)
Oh gosh. Huge comment is fantastically huge. :love:

You have one of my favorite relationships between the two in the fandom, I swear.


:blushes, then dies:

Gah, the thing is that now I'm really wondering whether or not to do it. I mean, 2000 words is tiny. Sort of. (I'm just worried that, if I get a prompt I like, I'll go over 2000 and end up writing some stupid 20,000 word thing, or something. Wouldn't put it past myself.)

Wait, what? No femslash? :is indignant:

Do I need to sign up on the comm to be your beta or something?

- incandescent on August 15th, 2010 11:12 pm (UTC) (Expand)
- epistolic on August 16th, 2010 02:47 am (UTC) (Expand)
- incandescent on August 16th, 2010 03:01 am (UTC) (Expand)
- epistolic on August 18th, 2010 02:10 am (UTC) (Expand)
- incandescent on August 18th, 2010 02:19 am (UTC) (Expand)
- dreamxchngmod on August 16th, 2010 11:01 pm (UTC) (Expand)
- dreamxchngmod on August 16th, 2010 11:12 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Rebeccaivynights on August 14th, 2010 07:24 am (UTC)
Oh, wow. I just finished this and "To Begin" so consider this a comment for them both, k? 2nd person POV is so hard to pull off but your writing style is so absorbing. I got all caught up in them and was sad/tired/anxious right along with Arthur and Eames and then very relieved at the happy endings. Really enjoyed these. <33
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 15th, 2010 07:27 am (UTC)
Wow, thank-you so much! I'm very glad you liked the 2nd person POV, in both this and To Begin - I seem to be stuck in a 2nd person POV style rut, so a lot of my future One-Shots are going to be 2nd person, haha. It just offers so much freedom. :loves it:

I got all caught up in them and was sad/tired/anxious right along with Arthur and Eames and then very relieved at the happy endings.


Gawwww. :snuggles: Thanks for the lovely comment, hun! ♥
Niñacerulean_eyes on August 19th, 2010 11:34 am (UTC)
really enjoyed this one. :) thanks!
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 22nd, 2010 10:57 am (UTC)
Thanks so much! ♥
i've got interpersonal issues and syphilis: fall of 100 things: hint of an openingjacobella41 on August 19th, 2010 03:27 pm (UTC)
i love your eames. and i love your arthur. i love your eames voice. and i love your arthur voice. i love it. u. and all simultaneously.
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 22nd, 2010 10:58 am (UTC)
Gaw, darling. I ♥ you too. :snuggles:
Alhendraalhendra on August 28th, 2010 08:58 pm (UTC)
Beautiful! I love how vulnerable Arthur is - and how vulnerable Eames too, and how desperately he wants Arthur so badly, and how...I don't even know how to say it. So much emotion in this fic. Beautiful. (I'm repeating myself a lot...but what can I say? I adore your fics so, so much)
ABC, her eyelids say.epistolic on August 31st, 2010 02:55 am (UTC)
Thank-you!! Gah. sdbfygusdkbfygudk YOU ARE SO AWESOME. THANK-YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS, I LOVE YOU LIKE BURNING. REALLY.

:hugs: