{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat","title":"a barbaric yawp","subtitle":"MopCat","author":{"name":"MopCat"},"link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"service.feed","type":"application\/x.atom+xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom","title":"a barbaric yawp"}}],"updated":"2011-12-12T01:41:27Z","entry":[{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:54389","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/54389.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=54389"}}],"title":"because I have a cracked head, and am not above fishing for compliments","published":"2011-12-12T01:41:27Z","updated":"2011-12-12T01:41:27Z","content":"
 <\/span> <\/span>Holiday Love Meme<\/a><\/div>
 ♥ <\/span> <\/span><\/div>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:48901","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/48901.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=48901"}}],"title":"STARING DOWN THE SUN","published":"2011-07-21T07:39:07Z","updated":"2011-07-21T07:39:07Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"character: arthur"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fanfiction"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fandom: inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: arthur\/eames"}}],"content":"Title<\/b>; Staring Down The Sun
Rating\/warnings<\/b>; PG.
Word count<\/b>; 1192
Characters<\/b>; Eames\/Arthur
Notes<\/b>; Written ae_match.
A huge thank you to <\/a>lezzerlee<\/b><\/a><\/span> for the copious amounts of reading and beta duties you did. I'd also like to thank <\/a>paperstains<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <\/a>ohmydarlingdear<\/b><\/a><\/span> for being utter wonders to collab with :3

SO YES, as well as fic. This also has art by <\/a>paperstains<\/b><\/a><\/span> and a podfic by <\/a>ohmydarlingdear<\/b><\/a><\/span>

Summary<\/b>; "Arthur’s fascination with fire starts with his sister.<\/i>"  --  FIREMAN AU


over here<\/a><\/div>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:48007","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/48007.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=48007"}}],"title":"NATURE OF DUST","published":"2011-07-13T11:28:23Z","updated":"2011-07-13T11:28:23Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"character: arthur"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fanfiction"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: arthur\/eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: dom"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fandom: inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: mal"}}],"content":"Title<\/b>; Nature of Dust
Rating\/warnings<\/b>; PG.
Word count<\/b>; 883
Characters<\/b>; Eames\/Arthur, Mal\/Dom
Notes<\/b>; Written <\/a>ae_match<\/b><\/a><\/span> with the prompt of covers<\/i>.
This is somewhat based on Never Let Me Go<\/i>, but not really, considering I never finished book nor movie. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say I took the general idea and completely and utterly bullshitted all the details.

Summary<\/b>; "Mal’s always stood by the idea that she doesn’t believe in love, so it’s somewhat a surprise to Arthur when she’s the one to place forward the idea.<\/i>"
 <\/div>
Pretending to fall in love: their saving grace.<\/a><\/div>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:45821","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/45821.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=45821"}}],"title":"OPINIONS WON'T KEEP YOU WARM AT NIGHT ","published":"2011-05-09T07:15:56Z","updated":"2011-06-20T23:37:02Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"character: arthur"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fandom: inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: arthur\/eames"}}],"content":"Title<\/strong>; Opinions Won't Keep You Warm at Night
Rating\/warnings<\/strong>; PG.
Word count<\/strong>; 1078
Characters<\/strong>; Eames\/Arthur
Notes<\/strong>; Written for this<\/a> prompt on the  <\/a>inception_kink<\/b><\/a><\/span> meme. Unbeta'd.
Summary<\/strong>; "Arthur doesn’t return for two weeks. This is when Eames starts to worry<\/em>."





 “Dinner?” Because they’re both working with different people and Eames is starting to miss the house they own in England for majority of the year.

He misses the fireplace and the toast for Sunday night dinner when neither of them can be bothered.

Arthur agrees, easy smile on his face when he leaves the apartment.






In the first weeks Eames learns to hate Russia - Russia, where things that go missing don’t have a tendency to be found.






It’s not even a conscious discussion on his part:

“Just a tea, please,” all in mangled Russian. Morning after and he returns because it’s the last place he’s promised to meet him.

Eames isn’t worried yet. Because in the past there have been plenty of times either of them have missed a meeting point. There was that time in Australia where Eames couldn’t fly from Sydney to Darwin for over a week.

Arthur had pretended not to be worried then too – but hey, that was ten years ago and neither them had learnt how to hide it at that point.

Arthur had waited in Fanny Bay for a week. More than that: he returns to Fanny Bay Super Pizza<\/i> each day. Each day for a goddamn week.

They were kicked out for violence when Eames finally arrived.






Eames starts to teach them English.

Elvira is a dear. She minces words better then Cobb slurring drunkenly in French, swears at Eames constantly in Russian and bitches about the Ukrainians moving in next door – “what kind of Ukrainians run a supermarket anyway?” Eames doesn’t understand the logic behind that one.

She can’t be a day younger then seventy-six and her restaurant is charming<\/i>.

He teaches the regulars too, and Elvira’s husband. Or more accurately: he answers their questions. He tells them what this word means, and if what little English they already know makes sense (“\u041d\u0435\u0442,” and then they laugh).

He teaches the serving boy the words bugger<\/i>, twat<\/i> and wanker<\/i>. Mainly because all school boys should know those ones.






Arthur doesn’t return for two weeks. This is when Eames starts to worry.






He has a habit of coinciding beginnings with the start of a new week, so Eames starts looking for Arthur on a Monday.

He throws everything into looking for Arthur: calls in favours he’d been meaning to savour; renews contacts years past dead; spends every waking hour pooling everything he knows into one single purpose.

He works from Elvira’s restaurant because even dream-sharing criminals hesitate to wield guns in a Russian woman’s domain.






Six months in and Eames sells the house in England.






Eames and Arthur meet in the army.

Mal was always under the impression that they were the be all and end all of them Dreaming Sharing program. That people begged to do their bidding and they were known for their brilliant minds and outstanding partnership – they weren’t: Mal liked to romanticize things.

They communicate for the first time when they both steal a PASIV device on the same night.

(That day had been the last straw for a lot of them: four men emptying their minds into limbo and, upon awaking emptying bullets into everyone who’d been in the room. Eames had been on a coffee run. The Americans were scheduled to use the room in half an hour.)






Two years in Eames stops trying to find him.

Him. Arth<\/i> –

Eames inhales his tea.

Arthur.

Arthur is dead and Eames sits in the same restaurant, pretending he doesn’t twitch whenever a what would you like<\/i>? Comes from Elvira.






Ignoring a single man’s calls for over five years is harder then Eames thinks it should be.

Sometimes, he forgets to check the caller ID when he picks up the phone for example, or he can’t really remember what he’s avoiding when he’s drunk. Eames is drunk a lot.

Eames supposes it’s because there’s a part of him that expects Cobb to sound the same on the phone as he did the night Mal died.

He’s not sure why – Arthur and Dom were no more than civil to each other until Mal death.

When it does happen though, its somewhat of a surprise Eames does it on purpose:

“Dom?”

“Jesus<\/i>.”

Eames cries then, on the phone to the one man who knows what’s happening and in the middle of Elvira’s goddamn fucking shop.

Joseph, Elvira’s husband, invites he into the kitchen after that.

“Why did it take you six years?” is what he asks after Eames finishes his drink.






Eames isn’t one of the regulars. He’s as expected as chairs placed at the tables.






Elvira dies.

Eames pays for her funeral and later, when Joseph is arse over sloshed – after the grandchildren have left – Eames offers to shoot him.

“I wish I had been strong enough to offer you the same,” is what he says, “When you stopped looking.”

Eames leaves the gun on the table when he leaves for the night.






Eames never leaves Russia. Not even when Elvira’s restaurant is someone else’s.

Not even when there’s a threatening war, or the coldest winter recorded in fifty years. Not when the apartment burns down because he left the stove on.

Not when he ships over all the things he’s ever owned – from the house in England, the apartment in Paris; the several places they had stateside – and when he opens the first box the whole place suddenly smells of Arthur.

Not when he wears the colour from Arthur’s favourite jumper.






In Russia, Eames reverts back to the weight he was in sixth form.

He dies five days later, aged eighty-two.






Here’s what happens to Arthur:

The door smashing open, that’s the first thing he hears.

Gunshots follow and by this time Arthur has pushed aside the working table he’d been sitting at, gun in each hand.

Their architect goes down first, vomiting blood and clawing at the gaping hole angled towards her lungs.

Arthur shoots, fast, and several men die at his hand. He shoots and throws the chemist out the back door with a bump of his hip.

Arthur is shot in the doorway, bullet entering his stomach.

He’s passing out in a pool of bloody blue prints; he hopes the blood isn’t his.

The way he’s been flung onto the ground angles his watch hand towards his face; he hopes Eames wont pretend to make him sleep on the couch for being late.






His body is incinerated in the burning warehouse.






Arthur dies in Russia.<\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:44817","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/44817.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=44817"}}],"title":"mop_cat @ 2011-04-30T00:38:00","published":"2011-04-29T15:08:17Z","updated":"2011-04-29T23:44:35Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"fangirl tour"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"trial post"}}],"content":"This is just a trial post from my <\/a>fangirl_tour<\/b><\/a><\/span> post that's due in tomorrow. It contains thirteen recs from seven different fandoms (Harry Potter, Inception, Gattaca, Narnia, Dead Poet's Society and the Outsiders). Feel free to ignore for the moment being - I plan on linking to my actual post tomorrow. Unless you're <\/a>peyton07<\/b><\/a><\/span> of course. In which case you are forced to read.

  HARRY POTTER;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> A Journey.
Artist:<\/b> <\/a>reira_21<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/reira-21.livejournal.com\/13416.html
Pairing\/characters<\/b>: Draco\/Harry
Rating:<\/b> pg-13
Status:<\/b> complete
Summary:<\/b> This is Draco's long journey into the tunnel of Harry's subconscious, where he is lost and trapped. A mother will help him along the way. Divided in 4 parts.
Excerpt:<\/b>
\"Photobucket\"<\/a><\/div>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> ljdksfasgdg because I'm not blind. No, the artist is amazing: she has a style so utterly perfect you can't help but love her work. If I could have, I would have just linked you all to her master post and told you to go wild. You don't even have to be in the fandom let alone ship the pairing to enjoy her pieces. It's dark and perfect and beautiful and i wasn't joking when I said I fangirl this because I'm not blind.





Title:<\/b> Life's Disappointments
Author:<\/b> <\/a>lotus_lizzy<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/hp-nextgen-fest.livejournal.com\/24615.html
Pairing\/character:<\/b> Charlie and Scorpius
Rating:<\/b> pg-13
Status:<\/b> Complete
Summary:<\/b> A child’s imagination can be a wonderful thing, but it is often forgotten in favour of growing up.
Excerpt:<\/b>

Scorpius sat at his desk with the cockatrice doll staring right back at him.

"You are not real."

Scorpius waited for any reaction for the doll but it sat, lifeless, on the hard wood.

Looking at the doll’s cloth covering and misshapen proportions, Scorpius wondered how he had ever believed this doll to be a real animal.

"I prefer tea, now."

He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but this bird had a funny way of pulling words out of his mouth. <\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> Because this is a funny little story about childhood and how Scorpius is pulled out of it too fast. It's about imaginary friends (of which I personally had by the thousands) and about what it's like to have them torn away instead of waving them goodbye. It's written brilliantly and a strange mix of Winnie the Pooh and Calvin and Hobbs all mixed up in the HP verse.





Title:<\/b> Sodom and Gainsborough
Author:<\/b> <\/a>pandapens<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/rs-games.dreamwidth.org\/26332.html
Pairing\/character<\/b> Remus\/Sirius
Rating:<\/b> NC-17
Status:<\/b> Complete.
Summary:<\/b> Non magical AU - Remus Lupin is a miserable priest, caught up in a huge scandal. When Sirius Black (old flame and now astrophysicist) walks back into his life after 10 years, he finds himself getting a little more than he bargained for.
Excerpt:<\/b>

“Are you getting aggressive, Sir?” the Policeman asked, raising an eyebrow. Remus sank lower into his seat. Even though he was aware he should probably say something to attempt to dig himself out of the hole he’d made (the shovel he’d used had the words, alcohol, being Remus Lupin and orphan buggering on it), but he also thought he was quite angry; he was quite angry and the policeman was quite an arse and Remus really needed someone to take it out on.


“I’m not being aggressive, I’m being vulgar. There’s a difference, you empty-headed wank stain. ”<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> Because I was so bloody hesitant to read this before I actually did. I went into this story expecting to hate it and came out of it having found one of the best Remus\/Sirius stories I've read in years. It's completely unique to other R\/S fics out there - and by god, are there a lot. It takes an AU idea and runs with in fantastically.






INCEPTION;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> The Best Goodbyes Are Yours
Author:<\/b> <\/a>traincar<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/gunwars.livejournal.com\/2378.html
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Arthur\/Eames
Status:<\/b> Complete
Summary:<\/b> Eames knows how to say goodbye and Arthur knows how to say hello and this is why they're doing it right.
Excerpt:<\/b>

So he sits and eats and feels like a boy in an oversized shirt that isn’t his with a spoon in his hand that keeps an erratic beat against the bowl. And there’s a heartbeat in this, he thinks. Somewhere, there has to be a heartbeat in what they do, this back and forth, because nothing is alive without a heartbeat and Eames, he thinks, we are very much alive.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> BECAUSE IT IS BEAUTIFUL. There's a poetic sense and it's a story about Arthur and Eames but it's also a story about Mal. Everything this girl writes is quite simply beautiful. I recommend everything she's written but there's something about this one, and more importantly about the few sentences that I gave as an excerpt that I love.





Fandom:<\/b> Inception and Doctor Who crossover.
Title:<\/b> He's Gone By Many Names (and then three squeals)
Author:<\/b> <\/a>arty_darc<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/arty-darc.livejournal.com\/43019.html
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Arthur\/Eames
Rating:<\/b> pg
Status:<\/b> well kinda complete but there might possibly be more.
Summary:<\/b> "What if I said I wasn't from around here?"

"I would say, 'Of course you're not'."

"And I didn't mean England."

“. . . Fine. I’ll play. And how did you get here?”

“Well, I could show you if you’d like.”

Excerpt:<\/b>

“Eames—”

“—Do you have to call me Eames?” he asks, turning away from the consoles. He’ll change things up later. There are even bigger concerns, things he really out to put right now.

And Arthur's still stepping in and out like a child on the border of two towns, even as he says:

“I’ve called you Eames for seven years. Yes, I do.”<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> Eames is the twelfth doctor. Arthur is his companion. I don't believe anything else needs to be said.





Title:<\/b> Janus
Author:<\/b> <\/a>wayoffbase<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/wayoffbase.livejournal.com\/17321.html
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Arthur\/Eames
Rating:<\/b> r
Status:<\/b> Complete
Summary:<\/b> Janus. In Roman mythology, Janus is the god of gates, doors, doorways, beginnings, endings, and time. He was frequently used to symbolize change and transitions such as the progression of past to future, of one condition to another, of one vision to another, the growing up of young people, and of one universe to another.
Excerpt:<\/b>

Inside is an almost complete set of make-up. It has all the basics – lipstick, lip gloss, foundation, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara. All in colours Eames likes or that look good on him or both. Arthur knows him well by now, and he knows what Eames will like, what will suit him. He also knows how much Eames has missed expressing himself, and although they have the PASIV, and Eames can go under and become a woman whenever he wants, it isn’t the same, can never be fully satisfying, especially not for long periods of time, because it just isn’t real. And it won’t ever be real. And Eames is okay with that, has learned to accept what he has. But it helps when he has this, when he can change reality, just that little bit. <\/i>

Why I fangirl this: <\/b> This story handles Eames' transsexuality in such a beautiful, wonderful and utterly brilliant way. Eames never loses character and more than a story about Arthur and Eames, it's a character study of Eames. The way the author describes Eames relationships with other people and with the two sides of himself - ohmygod<\/i>. It's one of those stories that make you completely heartbroken with jealousy over the fact that you didn't write it.





Title:<\/b> The Gates of Horn and Ivory
Author:<\/b> <\/a>jibrailis<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/44322.html
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Arthur\/Eames
Rating:<\/b> NC-17
Status:<\/b> Complete.
Excerpt:<\/b>

There are two options here. Either Eames is a projection and\/or forgery, or he's real and sharing Arthur's dream. Arthur can't read either one into the way Eames smiles at him, open and affectionate. It's nothing like how Eames has ever smiled at him in real life, which makes Arthur's brain shift towards the projection end of the scale, except that it's an awfully good projection. He may not have firsthand knowledge but the smile is exactly how he has seen Eames smile at other people before, and this Eames smells right, and looks right, down to the small imperfections of skin and hair.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT BREATHING IS.




TAMORA PIERCE;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> Fallen
Author:<\/b> Confusedknight
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/www.fanfiction.net\/s\/3271761\/1\/Fallen
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Keladry of Mindelan
Rating:<\/b> T
Status:<\/b> On-going
Summary:<\/b> Kicked out of Page training, Kel becomes entangled in a bitter struggle for the suffering people of Scanra. Four years later she returns to Tortall, a stranger to those who once knew her, a stranger who has not forgotten the promises she made...
Excerpt:<\/b>

'I hope,' Kel spoke up, 'That any of you, all of you, would help to continue to train Greenwoods defensive forces. At best you'll be given another thirty men to defend this camp. By the end of the summer you'll have at least six hundred, if not more, refugees. It's grossly unfair to ask so few to defend so many. I urge you to make use of the refugees.' She paused before ploughing on, 'I know many nobles speak badly of commoners but these villagers have lead hard lives. They've lost nearly everything in this war and will fight as hard as any soldier to protect the loved ones they have left. Show them the way and they'll be willing to defend this camp to their last.'<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> SO, i've been reading this fic from practically the time it started up. This fic is what people mean when they say epic saga<\/i>. So for anyone who's read the Kel books, we all know Kel get's to stay after her probationary year at the Palace. This story starts with the idea that she didn't. It's epic and amazing and not quite finished. It's brilliant in a way that these completely different events end in the same character that's present at the end of the Protector of the Small<\/i> quartet. The OC's are brilliant. The characterisation is brilliant and the best part? Everyone who's ever read it secretly wishes that this was the published version instead.




THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> Five Times Susan Almost Remembered Narnia
Author:<\/b> <\/a>amazingly_me<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/amazingly-me.livejournal.com\/88057.html
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Susan Pevensie
Rating:<\/b> pg
Status:<\/b> Complete
Summary:<\/b> Susan is eighteen and three different boys want to take her dancing on Saturday night. One boy, though, wants to take her to an archery range — something different, he says, and grins toothily — and despite the curlers in her hair screaming otherwise, the pumps gazing at her forlornly from her closet, his is the invitation she accepts.
Excerpt:<\/b>

Susan is twenty-one and this dinner party is all mother has talked about for weeks. Who will be there, and who will see her there, and who will hear that she was there, and who will care. Susan is excited, of course. She long ago learned that the opportunities presented at dinner parties are far greater then those presented in job interviews. And of course, looking the part is half the struggle.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> Susan is a character so under-loved in this fandom, specially after her time in Narnia. This fic is written so simply and in clear-cut words and it makes it all the more beautiful. It's kinda the story that got me into the fandom to tell you the truth.





THE OUTSIDERS;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> Broken Knife
Author:<\/b> Destina
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/archiveofourown.org\/collections\/yuletide2010\/works\/143919
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Dallas Winston, Johnny Cade, Ponyboy Curtis and Sodapop Curtis
Rating:<\/b> mature
Status:<\/b> Complete.
Summary:<\/b> It seems to Johnny he's been watching Dallas Winston his whole life.
Excerpt:<\/b>

Dally gives him things, nothing of consequence, just trinkets. An empty Band-Aid tin that Dally passes to him when they're out drinking one night by the wash. It's smooth, hollow; it's like the inside of Johnny's chest, anytime he's not with Dally. He packs it up with his smokes so there's no space left for things to rattle around inside.

There are other things, too. A plastic whistle Dally's kid sister found in a cereal box, or pieces of gum in shiny foil. All of them treasures to Johnny, who has nothing of his own, except Dally. Always Dally.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> I think the main reason I fangirl this is because of how true it is to the characters. I was in the Outsiders fandom for a few years before leaving it and I've just recently returned. This is one of the brilliant fics I've found since being back there. And one of the things I've noticed about this fandom is how it's how to keep the characters true to how they are within the novel; I think fic hits the nail on the head in that aspect.





THE DEAD POET'S SOCIETY;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> Over the Rooftops of the World
Author:<\/b> <\/a>syllic<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/syllic.livejournal.com\/26669.html
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Neil Perry\/Todd Anderson
Rating:<\/b> R
Status:<\/b> Complete
Excerpt:<\/b>

By the time Todd is fourteen, he's gotten pretty good at carving out a small space for himself to be himself. The space really is small—tiny, even—but he's gotten good at keeping other people out of it.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> If you've ever seen the film (which if you haven't, drop everything you are doing and watch it right this moment) there's a lot about Todd that's left unsaid. He's learnt to keep other's out, you know there's always been the aspect of his brother shadowing over him - but the thing is, you never really get inside his brain. That's where this fic comes in.





Title:<\/b> In Motion
Author:<\/b> littledust
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/archiveofourown.org\/collections\/yuletide2009\/works\/37397
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Neil Perry\/Todd Anderson
Rating:<\/b> General Audiences
Status:<\/b> Complete
Summary:<\/b> Neil Perry is not, in fact, a very talented poet. It is rather intimidating to find out that his roommate is.
Excerpt:<\/b>

Another boy gets up to read his poem after Mr. Keating pans poetry out of Todd like gold from a river, but Neil doesn't hear a thing. His mind is still reeling from a sensation that feels curiously like elation. Neil is fiercely glad that his classmates had the sense to applaud Todd's poem--glad, and jealous at the same time. He has seen this poetry in Todd all along, though he never expected a display of such unexpected--grace, that's the word for it, though there is nothing less graceful than Todd Anderson trying his hand at public speaking.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> like the above DPS fic, there's a lot that's unsaid in the film and every little piece of information that's gained from this fic is a wonder. Most of all, I love the descriptions in this fic - mainly the insights Neil has on his roommate. Dead Poet's Society is kinda a dead fandom at this moment in time (at least of lj) but this is one of my favourites.





GATTACA;<\/font><\/i><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big><\/big>
Title:<\/b> The Beauty of the Dark
Author:<\/b> <\/a>candle_beck<\/b><\/a><\/span>
Link:<\/b> http:\/\/candle-beck.livejournal.com\/31589.html?view=3210085
Pairing\/character<\/b>: Vincent\/Jerome
Rating:<\/b> R
Status:<\/b> Complete
Summary:<\/b> You don't belong here, and I wish you would stay.
Excerpt:<\/b>

The strange thing is, he does belong up there, for all his flaws, his weaknesses, for all the ways he has fallen short in this place. He belongs up there, and he will be able to look God in the eye, he will be able to demand his answers and ask for forgiveness, and forgiveness will be granted to him. He belongs up in the beauty of the dark, it fits him like nothing on this planet ever has.

He will see God up there, I am sure. He will find what he has been looking for.<\/i>

Why I fangirl this:<\/b> Ok, so we study Gattaca for bloody yonks at school. What amazed me about the whole class unit was no one else in my bloody class saw the relationship<\/i> between Jerome and Vincent. After some searching in the fanfic world I didn't come up with much but this is one of the few I did ♥<\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:42680","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/42680.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=42680"}}],"title":"SIX MONTHS IN A LEAKY BOAT ","published":"2011-01-20T06:45:59Z","updated":"2011-01-20T06:45:59Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: regulus\/remus"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"rarepair_shorts"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: remus lupin"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"harry potter"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: regulus black"}}],"content":" Title<\/b>; Six Months in a Leaky Boat.
Rating\/warnings<\/b>; PG.
Word count<\/b>; 1691.
Characters<\/b>; Regulus Black\/Remus Lupin.
Notes<\/b>; Written for the <\/a>rarepair_shorts<\/b><\/a><\/span> fic exchange,  <\/a>captainpookey<\/b><\/a><\/span> being the recipient. I also accidentally misspelt the title on the original posting, so, ALSO KNOWN AS: Six Months is a Leaky Boat >.>
I WIPE MY HANDS OF THIS FIC. I hated writing it, I hate it now: so much angst this fic caused and I shall never be happy with it. Therefore, I'm going to leave it here and pretend it never happened. I think the main problem is Regulus, who I love to bits and pieces (he's my favourite character ;___;) and I never write him because I love him too much. That makes sense, don't disagree.<\/strike> He kind doesn't have a character and IDK, I just wasn't overly happy with the way this turned out. Thank you to  <\/a>native_spirit<\/b><\/a><\/span> and Indy for the beta ♥
Summary<\/b>; "Regulus is two months away from seventeen when he plans his own death.<\/i>"

 <\/div>

“I’m too good for that, there’s a mind under this hat.<\/em>”
- Laura Marling.<\/div>




Regulus is nearly sorted into Ravenclaw: “You’ll be happiest there, a dreamer I suppose. Don’t all dreamers want to fly<\/em>?<\/em>” He doesn’t, because his brother is loud and wild, and he’s seen the bruises left by his mother’s hand.

Instead, he’s proclaimed Slytherin in a voice that had sounded so quiet in his head.

Remus is in second year.






When Regulus is seven, he draws his first picture of something important. There’s a grey haired cat that should be mottled orange and table that has three legs instead of four on each side. Essentially though, it’s a picture of his brother.

Later, Regulus will have a thousand and one pages of notebook hidden at the bottom of his trunk. Each will hold a picture, a frame of life and sketched in ink and pen.

There will ever be only two other pictures of Sirius he will draw.






Regulus has been a Slytherin for time measured in a welcoming feast:

“Nice to see you’re still listening to mother.”

Sirius’ shoes are neater than his own. Polished, tied and looped through all holes. His hands are at his sides and grey eyes show none of the emotion they need.

“I can’t choose where I’m sorted Sirius.” But he can, he did and it goes round and round to the point he believes himself hearing another’s voice: I did, I did, I did<\/em>.

“I hope you’re happy Reg,” It sounds fond. It sounds wrong from Sirius’ voice. It leaves him alert and feeling wild. Like he’s dragged back to reality from a dream he rather live.

There’s another boy at his brother’s shoulder: wide-eyed and curious and hidden.

This is the first time Regulus meets Remus.






Regulus is thirteen when there are too many half-bloods and people attending from lines that don’t deserve to be taught.

There’s two, five, seven and finally a muggle-born sorted into Slytherin.

Regulus sketches his profile in the back of a leather bound notebook.






There is a first kiss. Pushed up against a cold, outside, castle wall and he’s the one holding the boy’s position against him. The air is cold, frost clinging to his eyelashes and breath hitching in throats unable to be hidden by white clouds. Regulus holds himself up with gloved fingers and a leg that’s stable against rock. Their lips are numb, teeth caught and tongues that are too hot: the kiss is not executed well.

But there’s a feeling that hitches his heart in his chest and a flutter in his mind that leaves him simple.

Regulus is fifteen: cold, calculating, eyes that hide an artist and fifteen.

Remus is sixteen.






Remus’ voice is something that hurts. His voice pitches and swoons; cracks over history notes. His accent is as soft as Sirius’, and Regulus wonders whether this is the place he is born in his tone, or if it’s something learnt.

When Remus has spoken himself hoarse, during a night where Sirius, Potter and Pettigrew are cleaning kitchen floors, Regulus watches him fall asleep in an upholstered library chair.

There are scars running length ways across his face, like an animal has swiped his paw across the boy’s face. On the left plain of his head, there is a scar that cuts too close to his eye, I was jumping on my ma’s bed, came off the side and hit the corner of her dressing table. Nearly lost the vision in my eye<\/em>, rendering his left eye a lighter shade than the right.

He looks younger and Regulus brings him alive on paper.






People figure it out before he does:

“You shouldn’t be hanging around Lupin anymore.”

And Regulus doesn’t know how Severus has found him, or doesn’t acknowledge the tone in which his voice is set, but wonders who else, how many people, and who else knows.

They’re standing against castle walls, calculating.

“Like you and Evans, Severus?” and pushes himself forward.

Never take confrontation sitting down Regulus, even if means showing no fear on your face. <\/em>






There’s a moment, somewhere within Remus’ sixth year and sex happens faster then Regulus believes it should.

He is drawing -- quick, hurried and the vacant expressions his father has moulded over Christmas come alive under his pen. They’re not overly beautiful pictures, not in a sense that locks out all emotion, but Orion no longer can call his wand his own, and Regulus is understanding of pressure. He should be undertaking potions homework, or undertaking something that means more to the way the world stands, but he is here. Drawing, because without a pen under his hand, he is a dreamer and dreamers lose control too easily. Not that he is scared, but controlling reality is expected of him.

Then there are footsteps at the door and Regulus assumes them belonging to Severus. Instead, “I didn’t know you could draw,” is whispered and Regulus looks up sharply, emotions hidden: the way he is taught.

Remus is standing in front of him, not close but neither far. He looks broken, in a way Regulus will not and cannot ever show, and broken in a sense that makes him want to thrust his notebook into his bag a prey tell of homework he has left undone. He doesn’t though, because, goddamn, he has pride in a sense that will not get him killed.

This is how sex happens -- between then, and Regulus believes it going too quick. He has a cunning sense of pride though, so he leaves with his notebook tucked under his arm. Leaves refusing to show limp in his gait and leaves, leaving Remus broken in twice as many parts.






There’s a single tattoo in the end, at the age of sixteen, drawn on with the tip of a wand.






In fifth year, he stops playing Quidditch.

The last game he plays is against Gryffindor: wild, fast and unwatchable. Already people are starting to cheer for the other team despite what colours they wear. It wasn’t always that way, but war is reaching their ears and people are scared.

Regulus spends majority of his time in the air trying to keep his mind on the game. He should be watching for the snitch, he should be listening to the score and better yet, he should know the score without having to be told.

When Potter, who has spent the game at his shoulder looking for the snitch, shoots of like he can see something to follow and Sirius sends a bludger brushing past his ear, Regulus pretends not to notice






Regulus is two months away from seventeen when he plans his own death.






At the age of twelve, Regulus is reading within the library, notes pilled in his head and no mention of paper by his side. He is twelve, when he closes a leather bound book describing the use of Australian flowers in potions and opens one other out lining horcruxes. He is twelve when he devours this information like he does all other.

He is twelve when he grasps understanding on the magic that will end his life.






“I can’t say I’m overly fond of Astronomy.” This isn’t how their first fight starts, but it might be the one that ends in Regulus’ blackened eye.

“It’s not that hard Remus, here, give it to me.”

“No, I don’t see the point of stars,” he’s quiet now, “Sometimes I think the world would be better without the night sky.”

Regulus’ hands are tight on cover binding, on a textbook that’s secondhand from secondhand. The page is open onto constellations: Andromeda in the left hand corner.

“That’s the thing though, isn’t it Remus? What about Sirius? The dog star: brightest in the sky. You don’t think he’s a waste of time, do you.”

Remus punches him.






There’s a problem with Regulus’ stupid, stupid, heartbeat. The way it quickens and jumps every second note it shouldn’t, when Regulus is not meant to fall in love and when he has more important things that should be on his mind.

He can school his face impassive, imposing and Black, but there’s a problem with his stupid, stupid heart.






After Remus is finished school, and after Regulus has pulled-out, pulled-out because no one is staying and he has things to do he’s been assigned, Regulus forgets to draw.

He is running, running when there are muggles in front of him and all he wants to do is stop. “Kill them,” rings in his ears and he’s heard that voice before, but knows it’s in his head.

He’s running, running when they surround him and bellow get him<\/em> after he screeches, “Avada Kedavra”. Running, running when he continues moving and they take him by the legs.
…<\/div>

When he is opening his eyes again, Sirius is at his arm (holding him down, despite appearances) and dry retching over his left shoulder. The same shoulder he broke climbing the apple tree in the back garden<\/em>, Regulus notices, we weren’t a day over ten<\/em>.

And there are Sirius’ words -- circling, circling above their heads, “I killed him, I killed my brother. And because he had Voldemort’s fucking lighthouse beacon tattooed onto his arm.” Sirius is never good with words, he burns too bright, and sentence structures are left behind.

Remus though, Remus who has two-thousand more scars than he should have, and who Regulus knows is a werewolf, now, is looking at him. Left eye still lighter than the other and hands too large for a neat set of handwriting. Remus, who is looking at him, then looking at Sirius and the two boys behind his shoulders -- none of who are watching, because times are black, and Sirius is forever a Black.

“You fucking fool,” because Remus is the one that teaches Sirius and Potter to swear and then he is kissing him.

It hurts.

There is released pressure on his arm when Severus drives him backwards by his robe collar, holding Remus with a wand point thrust in front of both their bodies, like Remus isn’t going to fight.

They disapparate.






Regulus is eighteen when he dies.<\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:42127","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/42127.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=42127"}}],"title":"mop_cat @ 2011-01-13T19:05:00","published":"2011-01-13T08:35:47Z","updated":"2011-01-14T07:56:48Z","content":"  MY DEARS, I'd really appreciate it if you'd check out my thread<\/a> for the fundraiser for Australian Flood Relief.

Even if you don't bid on mine, please consider bidding on something. I know people effected by the flood, friends' families, a friend's brother that's gone missing and others. There's whole communities that are going to need a lot of help.

And to anyone that's effected by the floods or the fires, I hope you're all safe bbs. \u2665"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:38443","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/38443.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=38443"}}],"title":"WELCOME TO THE OCCUPATION","published":"2010-12-03T06:11:12Z","updated":"2010-12-03T06:11:12Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: louis weasley"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"harry potter"}}],"content":"Title;<\/strong> Welcome to the Occupation.
Rating\/warnings;<\/strong> G
Word count;<\/strong> 1460
Characters;<\/strong> Louis Weasley. 
Notes;<\/strong> I should be writing the several pieces for the exchanges I've signed up for, instead, I did this. This is basically me playing around with a character I don't see a lot of. 
Summary;<\/strong> "He lives his life, of course, but he watches others’ with a transfixed fascination.<\/em>"


01. Birth<\/strong><\/em>:
“Love? – It’s going to be ok Fleur. I promise,” and Bill Weasley should be used to this by now, after two others, and he’s not. He’s utterly terrified, ecstatic and has only been this highly strung a handful of times within his life: all those things, all at once.

Fleur murmurs uncontrollably in French, her hair plastered in wet strands around her face and a look in her eye that clearly screams It better be alright William Weasley, because if it’s not, I’m going to arrange your castration<\/i>.

Bill has seen this look in his wife’s face twice – twice<\/i> – before and it doesn’t scare him any less the third time ‘round.

“Excuse me Sir, we’re going to start the push,” and two and a half hours later, he’s holding the goddamn ugliest boy he’s ever seen in his arms.

He’s grinning like a mad man though, as he breathes Louis<\/i> and ghosts a finger over his son’s clenched hand.





02. World<\/em><\/strong>:
The world holds more stories in its core than anything else in the galaxy.

Louis knows this at a young age – a very young age: when his Grandfather tells him stories of King Arthur. A man who’s a knight and if he’s a muggle granddad, how come he can use magic?<\/i>

Stories, for Louis, are history. History of common day, somewhat mundane occurrences – In Louis’ mind, they’re still history. In fact, Louis leaves a degree in history – a muggle degree at that (and on top of a Wizarding historic one of course) – believing that it’s little, tiny, youngest daughters of youngest daughters that make better history than kings and queens (and powerful wizards and one-eyed witches with hearts of gold).

When he’s younger, Louis’ world revolves around history books stuffed at the back of bookshelves, facts notated by Hogwarts history teachers and stories he constructs with more than an average understanding of once-upon-a-time events.

When Louis is older, his world doesn’t change that much. There’s a team of six historians he calls him own, there’s stories and half truths he chases into the night, there’s facts he claims and a world full of stories knocking on his door.





03. Family<\/em><\/strong>:
Louis grows up believing that all families are huge, loud and obnoxious. They all have stories and hidden messages that a new generation isn’t allowed to learn.

He also thinks, at least for a few years, that every family owns a cat with a French name he can’t pronounce.

It’s not all families, he figures out with analytical skills beyond his six years of age, but it is his.

There’s Weasleys and Potters and Lupins and Blacks and other maybe-relatives and although he’s not sure how that many last names work, Louis knows that they’re all his family and he’s always going to treat them as such.

(By the end of things, there’s also Malfoys, Scamanders and Andersons; there’s people that he only addresses by first name, because in a generic Weasley family, you can never be quite sure.)





04. Friend<\/em><\/strong>:
Louis is newborn babe the first time he meets Teddy, he’s four during his earliest memory of the boy, he’s twelve the first time they kiss, fourteen and sixteen the next (he’s fifteen though, when he realises he’s not in love with him but he does<\/i> love him). He’s sixteen when Teddy teaches him to drive, twenty when he goes to Teddy’s first art show, he’s years too young when he watches him slowly kill himself – but that’s a different story, and not one that really belongs here.

The truth of the matter though, is that Teddy is in Louis’ life from the beginning.

When he’s eleven, Louis mutters, I’m scared and Teddy tweaks his nose: You’ll make plenty of friends.<\/i>

Louis doesn’t make many friends: he makes one. A Ravenclaw boy and they sit next to each other in the history section of the library, silent, for most of first year before they ever utter a conversation.

Louis doesn’t make plenty<\/i> of friends, but he does have Teddy.





05. School<\/em><\/strong>:
“Gryffindor<\/i>,” and that, is that.





06. Romance<\/em><\/strong>:
Romance is something Louis watches. He doesn’t participate, but he smiles when his sister is engaged (despite the fact he isn’t all that sure about John), laughs when Hugo goes to kiss Scorpius and ends up face first in the back-yard pond and he watches romance in the faces of his aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his own mum and dad.

Then he turns eighteen, and he’s half in love with everyone.

“Can I help you?” Louis’ arms are filled with books and maps and hand-written journals from the eighteenth century, he’s also reaching to the top shelve of the library bookshelf with his left and trying not to lose his balance with his feet. He considers nodding, but decides on shaking his head, his thoughts somewhere else entirely and not completely sure, by this point, what the girl had asked him in the first place.

He’s then pushed out the way with a bump to his hip and he’s too busy trying to keep everything bundled in his hands.

“There you go love,” the book he’s been trying to reach waving in front of his face and a gravel voice as dark as the girl’s skin is entering his ear.

Thank-you<\/i>’s are given with a smile, and Louis finds he does romance a little differently than the rest of them.





07. Hatred<\/em><\/strong>:
“I hate you,” he screeches, it’s not a bellow: his voice hasn’t broken yet and all because Dom is holding the King Arthur book he’s gotten – the first King Arthur book he’s ever gotten – over her head and smirking at him.

His mother stalks into the room with a billowing French grace and he turns to whine, ma dying on his lips when she shakes him by the shoulders and there’s a look in her eye that Louis never forgets.

“Faire vous ne dites jamais que le mot, Louis. Jamais.” Don’t you ever say that word, Louis. Never. <\/i>

So he doesn’t.





08. Grief<\/em><\/strong>:
Grief is uncontrollably loud.





09. Death<\/em><\/strong>:
The first death in Louis life isn’t his own. He receives a phone call at three in the morning, a sobbing Lily on the phone (whoever gave her the duty, he wants to hurt within every inch of their life) and a story that renders him completely awake and wanting to sleep like he has never before in his life. It’s just turned Wednesday morning and the first thing he knows that day is the death of Rose Weasley.

She’s seventeen years old and dies in a muggle car crash. She is dead before all four of her grandparents and out strips the rest of them by years.

Rose’s death isn’t the last one he experiences, but it’s the one that leaves him dreading late-night phone calls. Rosie’s funeral leaves him scared for Albus’ own life for a while, but it’s when Victoire rings him up late one night, that he feels electrifying nerves shoot through his body and mind, when he thinks please, please, not again and let’s out pent-up-breath when his sister calmly informs him she’s gone into labor.

It’s this moment that Louis thinks that maybe death is a little more scaring then he’s ever given it credit for.





10. Life<\/em><\/strong>:
Life<\/i>, Louis decides, is quite unlike anything he has ever experienced before<\/i>. And that scares him a little.

He doesn’t know much about his own life, in a ‘round about kind of way, he doesn’t really care for it either. He doesn’t want to die, sure, but it’s his life and he’s always been more interested in that of others.

He lives his life, of course, but he watches others’ with a transfixed fascination.

He makes his living out of studying people’s lives but he’s more than inclined to do it because he loves it. Louis watches people in the street, teeming with movement, breath and thoughts converting their emotions. He knows, with very startling clarity, that he wont see these people again but that gives it a little bit of excitement. It’s his one chance to capture these people, and he gives his soul to it every time. Watching the life of someone he knows is different – but it’s the difference between tea and coffee: neither is bad, but one is coffee and the other is tea: there’s not much point in trying to change that. His family, Louis finds, are some of the most interesting to watch. Some of them fall into patterns he can devise, the others, they dodge holds and foot holes like they’re allergic to them.

Louis watches the lives of his family, because to the day he dies, they will always be the interesting ones.

<\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:38329","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/38329.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=38329"}}],"title":"WHERE THE SIDE WALK KNOWS MY FACE","published":"2010-11-25T06:06:52Z","updated":"2011-06-20T22:47:15Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"character: arthur"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fandom: inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: arthur\/eames"}}],"content":" Title;<\/strong> Where the Side Walk Knows My Face. 
Rating\/warnings;<\/strong> G
Word count;<\/strong> 709. 
Characters;<\/strong> Arthur\/Eames
Notes;<\/strong> Written for this<\/a> prompt on the Inception kink meme.  It's something I kinda forgot I wrote until I was looking though the prompts and re-read it. It's small, quick and something akin to a drabble.
Summary;<\/strong> "It starts with Arthur's sign: room for let\/inquire within.<\/i>" AU. 


It starts with Arthur’s sign: room for let\/inquire within.

It starts with Eames asking “can I pay you for the year – upfront?” because this might be his chance for home; because Jesus fucking Christ he’s grown up two doors down from here where there’s now a blacked hovel; because it hurts to walk away when he recognises the washing lines strung across front gardens; because, most of all, he’s drunk and parts of his body he believed dead are pumping blood again.





The house is old; lining the street with a dozen other’s identical and graced with the numbers two and four (numbers that don’t make sense due to the fact the street starts at twelve). It isn’t much, god, it’s barely a singular pound, but the way Eames sees it, it’s a white blank page.





Arthur, to Eames – at first – is an American man with an English name. He drinks tea, smells like washing detergent despite what he’s wearing and eats fish and chips like it’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s never seen the sea from anywhere closer than a descending plane.

They share a kitchen, bathroom and spare change for the coin-operated laundry down the road.





Eames is somewhat of a twat. It’s pure, simple English, and he knows it to a fault. It’s what gets him kicked out of home in the first place.

The first night there, he doesn’t mean to make himself a fool. He pays Arthur, lugs his always-been-keep-in-a-boot-of-a-car clothes into his room and eats the dinner Arthur orders for them from the Curry place around the corner (it’s the same one Eames has held up at knife point at the age of fourteen). When he smiles goodnight with a “darling” Eames doesn’t travel up the stairs with the ideals of menace coursing through his mind.

He doesn’t mean it, but somewhere along the lines, blasting Jeff Buckley out portable-radio speakers is the only way to make sure he doesn’t give up during the night.

When he’s making toast at ten past nine in the morning, Arthur looks at him with bleak, sleep-deprived expressions but doesn’t order him out.





House one and eight (eighteen) burns down Christmas, 1997. Rosie and her two sons do not make it out (they die) and Daniel Eames the first drowns himself at sea the next morning over. Eames (the second) is twenty years old.





He’s been living there two weeks when Arthur leaves a battered, dog-eared copy of The Cather in the Rye on the kitchen bench.

Eames has re-read it and dropped it within the bucket of water he’d been planning to use watering the garden within four hours.

When he forces himself to bring it in side and leave it on the dinning table, Arthur yells at him and worries himself out of a pristine, drawn together, three-piece suit. He doesn’t take the suit off, but, in Eames’ opinion, it suddenly doesn’t fit him anymore either.

When the shouting has stopped, Eames forces a smirk on his face:

“Sorry pet,” despite the fact it’s a first edition copy.





In the middle: there’s Eames being cocky and Arthur snarking comments at his retreating back. There’s uttered pet’s and darling’s and there’s men and women Eames drags home during a time past the dead of night. There’s toast and a fight that ends with his head being dunked in dirty washing-up water. There’s loud music and masturbation in the shower that paper-thin walls can’t hide.

In the middle: there’s a kiss between the two of them and something that might be the start of a relationship life-long partners and grandparents might share. There’s words masked in the flesh of Arthur’s neck and sentences hidden by the skin hiding Eames’ bones.

Importantly though: there’s not one whisper of the word love between them.





It ends with two words by the lady who owns the corner shop: “Daniel Eames?”

It ends with Eames: leaving his things in his room and taking off in a car that doesn’t work.

It ends with Eames: leaving without staying an entire year and refusing to demand the money he’s already payed in advance.

It ends with Arthur: tearing at his hair and slicing his finger open while dividing an apple into quarters.<\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:36931","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/36931.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=36931"}}],"title":"mop_cat @ 2010-11-17T20:33:00","published":"2010-11-17T10:03:59Z","updated":"2010-11-17T11:08:29Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"guys just look."}},{"@attributes":{"term":"this is pure amazment"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"art"}}],"content":"GUYS. GUYS. THIS IS AMAZING.  <\/a>gray_queen<\/b><\/a><\/span> DREW THIS BEAUTIFUL PICTURE FOR MY FIC. I'VE NEVER HAD ANYTHING DRAWN FOR ANYTHING I'VE WRITTEN. Check it out, over here<\/a> - god, you don't even have to read the fic JUST LOOK AT THE PICTURE. "},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:36678","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/36678.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=36678"}}],"title":"SITTING ON THE SHELF","published":"2010-11-14T10:23:18Z","updated":"2011-06-20T23:37:28Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"character: arthur"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fandom: inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: arthur\/eames"}}],"content":"Title;<\/strong> Sitting on the Shelf. 
Rating\/warnings;<\/strong> G
Word count;<\/strong> 1078
Characters;<\/strong> Arthur\/Eames
Notes;<\/strong> Written for this <\/a> prompt on the Inception kink meme.  EDIT: THIS FIC NOW HAS ART<\/a> by <\/a>gray_queen<\/b><\/a><\/span>. LOOK AT IT, IT'S BEAUTIFUL.
Summary;<\/strong> "Sarah sends him with stamps plastered onto the cardboard and twine keeping the box together. <\/em>"  coin operated AU where Eames is Arthur's coin operated boy. 


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Coin operated boy\u2028\/ with his pretty coin operated voice\u2028\/ saying that he loves me \/ that he’s thinking of me\u2028\/ straight and to the point\u2028\/ that is why I want \/ a coin operated boy.<\/em><\/div>




Arthur’s sister buys him as a joke. Pure, simple I am the elder twin, deal with the things I do<\/em>, so Arthur does, because at the age of eleven, Arthur’s twin threatens to beat him if he doesn’t.

Sarah sends him with stamps plastered onto the cardboard and twine keeping the box together.

Arthur unravels him, stares at his face for a moment – his eyes, his lips, his ears, his forehead and Jesus Christ<\/em>, his lips – and names him “Eames”.





In dreams, Eames is alive. Made with a heart that’s not metal and no coin slot covering his chest, sitting in the place one holds their hand when gesturing to their heart.

He trials faces that aren’t his own and aren’t (im)perfected by substances that fail to be skin. He switches faces, bodies but never minds like it’s second nature instead of something first time tried.

Arthur titles him forger because he’s always worked better in a pair.





Eames’ voice is honey-laden and English. Arthur isn’t sure because he’s programmed that way or because, maybe, he really is born in England. Arthur brings him alive with pounds and pence because it seems the right thing to do.

Sometimes, Arthur brings him alive at night with a pound coin and sits them down on the couch with cups of tea only one of them will drink. He sits close and warm and listens to Eames read books in languages neither of them have learnt.

“I love you pet,” he finishes. Arthur kisses the seam behind his ear.





Arthur get’s angry with him, once.

“You’re not fucking real,” he yells and shouts and bellows and, distantly, wonders what his neighbours must think.

When he’s finished though, Eames is silent and no longer alive: there’s no coins to keep him awake and he’s most likely missed every word Arthur’s ranted completely.





Sex isn’t all that different. There’s hot breath and panting quickened into gasps. Arthur just has to remember to insert the right amount of money (sometimes, it makes him feel like a prostitute instead of Eames) for what he wants.





Not everyone understands what he is to Arthur.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His father asks.

His mother forces a smile on her face.

Dom is curious as to whether or not his dreams are human.

Arthur’s sister: “I meant it as a joke you know.”

“I know.”

Sarah doesn’t really bring it up again, “I’m slightly jealous of his lips” is what she says instead.





Mal loves him. Likes his voice and eyes, asks somewhat jokingly if his sister can order one for her too.

When she dies, when Dom loses everything that’s grounded him and when Arthur leaves him sitting on a New York shelf for over a year, Eames tells him that he wishes he could cry for her.





Eames is good at painting. Better than Arthur and considers going to The New York Art Institute. He has enough money to say the least, and if he’d asked, Arthur would pay for the fees out of the money saved for electricity bills.

Arthur is scared, terrified though. He knows that Eames can operate himself if someone awakes him first and if he remembers. He can keep going and he can thrive, but if he forgets, Arthur is terrified as to what will happen to him. What others will do to him.

In the end, he keeps Eames asleep for a day and a week. When he wakes, he doesn’t mention it again and Arthur wants to know if he honestly forgotten or if he’s just pretending.

It doesn’t matter either way in the end: coin operated boys should be allowed to dream.





Arthur is known for his quick wit; biting sarcasm. In a way, he’s almost thankful Eames isn’t human. So far, he’s the only one that Arthur hasn’t broken, the only one that can run beside him and out distance him if he tried.





Eames is pulled into criminal life because Arthur is the one with the coin purse.





Like Arthur, Eames is good at gathering information. He could point if he wanted, but he’s better with people then Arthur will ever be. Ask something that’s written down in ink, Arthur will have it on your desk by the end of the afternoon at the latest.

Ask Eames to draw a conclusion about the lone man within the corner store, he’ll have it in mere moments.





Eames has ruffled Arthur’s hair and turned his coat inside out when he wasn’t looking.

“I hate you Eames.” Is what Arthur says when he decides he’s cold enough to steal the god-awful scarf from around the other man’s neck.

Eames lets him: “I love you too darling.”





Arthur is forty when Eames refuses to be awoken with a singular, gleaming pound coin.

He inserts another, and then another and then to the point where Eames should be running on six pounds solid.

He still doesn’t wake up.

Arthur is, maybe, starting to become hysterical. Considers calling Dom. Considers taking him to the fucking hospital, because in the terms of emotion and in the terms of heart, Eames has always been more human than Arthur.

More human than Arthur and Eames is the one with an insert coin here<\/em> slot where his heart should be.

When Arthur gathers his wits in a tally of minutes that should be shorter, he calls Eames’ original manufacturer.

“Serial number?” They ask and it’s almost like an accusation

“12369,” It’s a fitting number really, but Arthur doesn’t really care at the moment.

“Shit, the things over fifteen years old.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Send it in.”

So Arthur does. Sends Eames in a cardboard coffin, dressed in clothes he loves and hair combed off his face.

He leaves a coin in his breast pocket, kisses his mouth and sends him in.





Arthur picks up the phone:

“Mr. Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“We’re ringing about the coin operated boy.”

“Right.”

“We’re sorry to say, but the model is too old for us to still stock parts in any of our warehouses. We’ve already disposed of the product, and if
you’d like, we’re willing to send you the latest model, free of charge.”

Arthur hangs up the phone. <\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:35979","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/35979.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=35979"}}],"title":"roll away your stone","published":"2010-10-04T13:03:57Z","updated":"2011-06-20T23:37:56Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"character: arthur"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"character: eames"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fic"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"fandom: inception"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"pairing: arthur\/eames"}}],"content":" Title<\/b>; Roll Away Your Stone. 
Rating\/warnings<\/b>; G
Word count<\/b>; 1986
Characters<\/b>; Arthur\/Eames
Notes<\/b>; written for this prompt: Their relationship from their totems point of view on the inception kinkmeme, and is singularly, the oddest<\/em> thing I have ever written and not to mention the first Inception fic.
Summary<\/b>; "There are a million and one stories in the world. Everyone, everything, has a story - if you are willing to listen of course<\/em>."

over here, because I'm lazy. <\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:mop_cat:35293","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/35293.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/mop-cat.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=35293"}}],"title":"BIT OF A REVAMP, THEY'LL BE ADDED BACK SOON ","published":"2010-10-01T07:01:24Z","updated":"2011-06-23T04:53:17Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"quotes archive"}},"content":"
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