ennui.

Jun. 21st, 2011 12:04 am
ofvanity: (fischer)
[personal profile] ofvanity


Hi, darlings. Let's talk. Or not talk. It's around midnight, I'm buzzing with boredom and andrenaline and I was just scrolling through the nonsense that is our fandom. Don't mind the misspelling and bullshit, this is the second time this week that I'm crashing and I want to write this before I go through withdrawal again. It's quite distracting. 

HI, INTERNET. I live in Chicago, Internet. Chicago, Internet, IS AN AWFUL CITY. Because it hates me. And all of us Chicagoans. IT'S SO HUMID. I AM DYING OF HUMIDITY. WHICH, I'm just complaining, when I'm walking in between the fucking sky scrapers, the city is stunning. Stunning. 

I'm doing this, so excuse me for a sec.

-
This is the fifth time. Every night this week, Eames has slumped his shoulders against the wall of his hotel room, helpless and desperate for something carnal and reckless. Eames crawls to his hotel room, concussing himself on the doorway and angry. The job is stupid, ridiculous and fucking reckless, the violence should burn inside his ears, it should make him bleed through his nose and break his cranial bones. There is risk, Eames could die for this mark, Eames will die. In dreams, death is like thunder, pain is in the mind, but Eames has always dreamed of a painful death. Bad men always die. Sinners always burn.

This is the fifth night, he folds his fingers inside Arthur and presses his desperate bites into the edges of his ribs. Five nights in a row, sex and sex and sex. It's always sex with Arthur. Violence with Arthur. But Eames, he doesn't want this. Eames doesn't want to be reckless and violent, break his teeth and spit gore and clumps of flesh and blood onto the pavement. Eames has a penthouse in Manhattan, a house in Liverpool, an apartment in Caracas. Everyone he goes to has little carnations growing in the windowsills, dead or alive. 
 
Eames wants to care for carnations. To run away from Cobb and all his emotional stress, bearing heavy on the entire team's shoulders. How many times has he died at the hand of Mal's visceral hunt? How many times has she sliced her scalpel hands into his mouth and chest, cheating at chess? Only a few, he tells himself. It's fine, Cobb, I know how to take a hit.
 
In England, in Kent, there is a church at the end of the block where Eames prays to God on Christmas Eve. He's not a Christian. He sits at the church and pretends to pray, losing all hope in the world where people believe they're not alone. In London, he lies on concrete of his roof and cuts his face into the pavement, until his nose bleeds and there is grime rubbing between his teeth.  The carnations always die when he leaves, but that's fine because he can revive them. Life caught inside the creases of his palm.
 
This is the fifth night that Arthur has pushed his way in, with his whorish nails, stripping red down his back and moaning and begging. Arthur with his sharp suits and polished shoes, fuck me into oblivion, Eames. Arthur is begging and forcing, kill people for me Eames. Deprive them of carnations and beliefs and have the fucking audacity to preach righteousness. Look at me, Eames, I'm a child, tempting you into sin. 
 
 
Arthur looks up at him from between long lashes and red lips, begging for nothing, for something to pass the time. 
 
Eames is desperate, his heart is thudding loudly through the hallways, walking away from this job and this man, this unsavory death reaching out from beneath the soles of his feet. His carnations in Toronto still have a few days left and maybe for once, he can go back to something that's alive.
 
"No."
-
 
I was going through the meme, or something, idek. And for the 3825960th time, someone said, Eames can't refuse Arthur anything. And for once, I felt like Eames should refuse Arthur everything. Unbetaed. I've been having a tough week.

Date: 2011-06-21 05:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] everhaunting.livejournal.com
I'm going to be all bitch face and ask WHY IS THIS THE FIRST TIME I'M HEARING ABOUT/SEEING THIS? I've been angsty Mcfucking Angst face and bedridden and you could have given me something to do... Anyways, off to actually read the motherfucker.

Date: 2011-06-21 05:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ofvanity.livejournal.com
I literally fucking wrote this ten seconds ago. Eat penis.

Date: 2011-06-21 05:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kirstenlouise.livejournal.com
I'm sorry to hear you're having a bad time, babe. I hope your week improves soon.

I'm pretty burnt out on A/E in general, but there's the occasional piece that can pull out something new for me and I feel like you've done that here. It's an excellent character study with very forceful, intense prose.

I love the bit about Arthur's "whorish nails," and really everything that follows, because people DEMANDING EVERYTHING and no one refusing them is childish, not endearing.

Excellent work. Get some rest and feel better. ♥

Date: 2011-06-21 05:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ofvanity.livejournal.com
I'm sure it, thanks.

I'm glad you read this, regardless of the pairing and my horrific grammar. And I'm glad you got the core of it. You're magnificent. Thank you for the encouragement and kind words and excellent ideas.

From: [identity profile] everhaunting.livejournal.com
Have I ever told you that I love how when you write you can take one thing and make me smile and chuckle for no reason other than its cute, (Deprive them of carnations)and take that same object and break my heart with it? (His carnations in Toronto still have a few days left and maybe for once, he can go back to something that's alive.)And don't bother asking why that line breaks my heart. I'll probably explain it to you at like four in the morning three months from now. Eames always seems so...I can't think of the word right now. I legit spent twenty minutes typing and erasing words trying to think of the one that escapes me. Anyways, He always seems like he's looking out for his own best interest. (What the fuck is the word I'm looking for?)But, I feel like most people ignores that aspect of his character. I love how you make them feel real. I feel like I can go to the store and run into them. They don't seem like characters that you can mold and take from one story and drop into another. I don't think I can say this enough but I fucking love your writing. And no this is not me rubbing your belly and telling you you're beautiful. This is my honest thoughts and reflections. It's fucking two in the morning there is no way I can function enough to lie to you. And your fucking word choice. This doesn't just apply to your writing. Don't you ever wonder way I just let you rant to me? I fucking love the way you speak. Your word choice is just beautiful. In your writing and your every day speech. And now I'm rambling so I'm going to stop. I hope this is good enough. I think this whole thing is just one huge ramble, but oh well. I'm going to bed now. Goodnight. That's a lie. I'm probably going to go back on tumblr.

Have I ever told you that I adore you?

Date: 2011-06-22 03:56 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ofvanity.livejournal.com
Even if I haven't, I don't think it needs to be said.

Also, if you ever walk into a store and run into Eames--not Tom Hardy, Eames--I think you should call me so I can nurse break your legs and nurse you back to health. There was a good intention in there somewhere. Regardless, though, I look forward to that phone call three months from now.

This ESPN is getting scary, btw. I'm fucking breaking my spine to reach something and I don't even know what it is and you just show up on fucking stilts and pass it to me like a box of cereal. Did you know that? You know now, I suppose.

I think I'm going to sleep now. It's so easy in this goddamn humidity. Though I kind of want to stay up to watch the thunderstorms. The next time I sleep over at your house, preferably once your ankle is healed so I don't accidentally kick you at night or something, we should stay up until dawn and press our foreheads to the wet brick.

I'm writing this comment like I don't have an IM window open to the left.

Re: Have I ever told you that I adore you?

Date: 2011-09-26 03:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] everhaunting.livejournal.com
SO I just realized that it's been three months since I wrote you this comment and I couldn't call you at Four in the morning because you don't have a phone right now. So get a phone so I can try and explain why that line breaks my heart. Yeah?

Date: 2011-06-22 04:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] iluveames.livejournal.com
Just wanted to say that it wasn't even the A/E pair that drew my attention, but the fact that you were listening to Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis records while writing. THAT is brilliant darlin'. You have now become my favorite person! :)

Date: 2011-06-22 09:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ofvanity.livejournal.com
Ahaha, I LOVVVEEE The Martin and Lewis Show! Haha, thanks, ;D

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