Friday Recs (Yes, it's still Thursday)

[hackthis_archive]

Yes, these are Friday recommendations. Yes, it's still Thursday. Yes, I am sure because I'm sober. Why am I doing them today? a) Because I fucking can b) Because it's been that kind of week and c) See a & b.

Before we get to the Inception Recs, however, there are three other things that I'd very much like to draw your attention to:

a. Flowers for a Girl by yahtzee63, which is season five Mad Man about Joan and Peggy and Don. This story fit so seamlessly between last week and this week that when it was over I was pretty sure I'd just seen a scene from the TV show. Sharp, visceral writing of which even Matt Weiner himself would be like "That's what I'm talking about."

b. Bloodbuzz by wearemany -- Southland fic. Oh Southland how I love you. How I miss you. How nobody ever seems to write you. Why is that? I suppose because it's so dense. So complete on its own. And yet, there's always a tiny thread that you can tug on. wearemany tugged on the Ben Sherman Sr. thread. And man did the rug unravel. Ben/John, NC-17. With suits.

c. You all know how I feel about film recs. You only get one a year and I spent that vote on Inception this year. However. If you feel like I steered you in the right direction with that one, if you feel like maybe I know what I'm talking about sometimes, then listen to me now when I tell you: Go see The Social Network. I detest Facebook. I couldn't give a shit about Aaron Sorkin. The last good thing David Fincher did was Fight Club. Every time this movie trailer came on I wanted to slit someone else's throat. The only reason I think I got suckered into going is because they used an a cappella version of Radiohead's Creep and Kayne's Power for the previews. But you know what? The movie was extraordinary clever. And smart. And human. And you will leave there amazed by the power of just wanting to belong. Two very very enthusiastic thumbs up. (And there's a special treat for LJ people. No, for real). Go. See. It. When you get back you can write me fic about you know who (or you will once you see it).

And now, to that other stuff.


Art Recs

Get The Fuck Out Of My Head_2 by tatarnikova -- The artist gave this a much more poetic title than I did. I think of it as, "OMG that drawing where Arthur's in the shower!"

Hard Candy#1 and Version #2 by Sofie Hallor -- If you suspect I'm a tad picky about my Arthur/Joe art, you have no idea how I am about the Eames/Tom art. When I looked at this, all I could think, apart from "That is how you use color, people!", was, "Oh, look, it's Tom." I should also point out that version #1 is the artist-preferred version, because she didn't like the way the eyes looked (but I do, which is why you also get version 2).

Mal & Eames by smilevintage -- The artist put this together as a push for Mal/Eames. I'm including it, not because I am interested in the pairing, but because this Mal? This is my Mal. Smiling and happy and mischievous and loved. There seems to be a segment that believes that Mal is some how manipulative and mean and harsh, that Dom was her victim or whatever, but I don't buy into that shit at all. I think Dom betrayed her love and her trust when he incepted her. I think she gave him everything and he turned out to be a selfish ass. If anybody's a manipulative prick it's Dom. My Mal is Arthur's Mal, and we both think, "she's lovely."



Fic Recs

Believe Me if You Can (The House at Pooh Corner) by gyzym -- See. This. What. I can't even. Tee. Eye. Double Guh. Err. That's what this story is about. You have been warned. Also, Rabbit's growing pot in his garden. In the last three weeks my childhood has been utterly besmirched by angelgazing, aredblush and gyzym I need to go cry somewhere.

Beni Asla Bırakma by atomicskull -- This is the Yusuf fic of my heart. No, that's not hyperbole, that's the truth. atomicskull knew what I needed and wrote it without me even needing to ask and I am eternally grateful. Yusuf is smart, and kind, and falls in love and his friendship with Eames is built on the firmest foundations. There is a life pre-Inception and there's one post-Inception.

Childish Thoughts, Adult Minds by sekkritbandlj -- You would think my Kryptonite would be wee!Eames. I thought my Kryptonite was wee!Eames. Turns out it's wee!Arthur. And Eames with wee!Arthur. On the slide. And at the ice cream parlor. And tiny Arthur. You don't understand. I was defenseless. I blame johanirae since she made the art for it that showed me its existence

Eames Character Study by temperance_k -- There are all kinds of Eames characterizations in this fandom. Everyone sees something different. Some people believe Eames comes from some sort of abusive home, that it's all rag-tag gutter living and that he's unspeakably dim. I don't see that. I don't buy it; you couldn't sell it to me on a naked man. Then again, there are people who don't believe that Eames planned the entire fucking Inception job. I can only assume that anti-monopolistic sentiments are being discussed on the back of a can of Carlsberg. Doesn't make it any less valid. Just means it doesn't work for me. My characterization tends to come from the idea of Eames being a public school boy, from money, from his clear military background and the fact that he uses an endearment once, ostensibly to get Arthur's head back in the game; lazlet insisted he was firmly middle class. She only capitulated to me when she found an interview where Tom and Chris admit that Eames is old money, but you know, it's like I said before. Everybody sees things differently. And this story. The one that temperance_k wrote. I buy this story. I believe this story. So will you.

A Piece of the Plate (Got Stuck In My Heart) by jibrailis -- IRON CHEF AU FTW! Run, scurry, flee, read it now!

Plate Tectonics by indysaur -- Arthur moves in with Eames when his ex-fiancee tries to kill him. Like you do. But this story isn't really about that. This story is about living together and making room in your life for somebody else. But really, this story is about the awesome that is Yusuf. \o/ I love the Yusuf in this story. I want to take him home and make tea for him and give him biscuits

Plus One by someidiothasice -- I found this story last week through foxxcub and I'd give her a pony as a thank you, but I already gave her a pony. I can't have her running around taking other people's ponies. This is a story about Arthur in his off hours, about what he potentially gets up. This is about what happens when Eames comes along. It's the kind of thing you'll want to smoke something after, whether that's incense or a cigarette is up to you.

Put Your Hands On Me by meiface -- Arthur likes to be touched more than he thinks he does. This is yet another one of those things that is just kind of bulletproof for me. I know everybody's shocked. But I love the way meiface explores it here. The way Arthur thinks it's all about Eames when it's really all about him.

And before I go...

Upon my most recent viewing of Inception I am firmly convinced of the fact that Arthur is not a cold fish, that he's anything but repressed. That he's sensitive and emotionally aware. If you look a) at the scene where Ariadne wakes up after being stabbed and Arthur immediate runs to her side, b) when he talks about Mal being lovely c) when Dom is yelling at him, and Arthur's upset -- yes, because he fucked up but also because Dom is furious with him and d) where he drops down to Eames' side in the hotel room, that conversation. They'll run you down. Go to sleep, Mr. Eames. That shared smile. It's all there.

Arthur is astute. He is emotionally aware. He picks up on other people's cues. Whatever he is. He is not a fucking robot. Whatever he is, he feels things and he feels them deeply. Do not discount that.

Also, while I'm on my soapbox I'd just like to say that, "I love Eames clothes." I think they show a lot of fucking character and personality. I don't think they're tacky or gauche. They may not be bespoke suits and whatever, but the man fucking has style and he owns it. It's easy to wear something that comes preassembled from the same cloth. It's easy to stack black with black. It's a lot harder to decide who you want to be and let your clothes say that. Whether you spend an hour getting dressed or two minutes it all makes a statement, what do you want your statement to be?

And on a final note: if Eames were an animal, he'd totally be an otter. Adorable, self-absorbed, quick on the paw and unable to be denied at all.


And with that, you'll have to excuse me, I have to go back to my life being utter shite.

Comments

[atomicskull.livejournal.com]

I totally get this. I think it was somewhat of a challenge coming out of the movie with concrete characterizations for anyone, just because the movie was so plot driven. So people latched onto the Arthur: snappy dresser thing and... I can't actually justify where the Eames characterization of being a bad dresser came from. Americans who don't have as much access to European fashion? But I'm still not sure how Arthur: snappy dresser = Arthur: robot. I always saw Arthur who flirted with Ariadne and ribbed back at Eames and, in some way, cared about Mal.

But yeah, the more I write, the more I settle into them. I think you don't really know a character until you've churned out several thousand words of them and finally something just clicks.

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

I know plenty of snappy dressers who are also perfectly happy to wear ripped shirts and jeans with stains. I just... there is always so much more to people than whatever's on the surface. So Arthur's a snappy dresser, and what else? What side of the bed does he sleep on? What's his favorite book? Color? Does he cry at movies? Does he even like movies? What about TV? Does he cook? What's his favorite food? His favorite place? I can only speak for myself, but what I love about writing is a chance to expand, to create. I don't ever want just one thing, I want to see everything, to discover. People are nebulous, ephemeral and inconsistent. Maybe he loves tomatoes today and hates them tomorrow, that's how I write. But that's just me.

Also, the vast amount of American men have no style. None. If it's not a shirt from the GAP and jeans from... whomever then it doesn't match. If you can't buy it at the mall then it's just totally wrong. Isn't that how it works? If I can't mix and match all my plain white shirts and blue shirts and crappy khakis and whatnot then it's just too much work. But women do the same thing. It takes effort, most people don't want to put it in. Then again, the designers don't help either. The same cookie cutter shit in every store, no place to go to have some personality unless you want to churn out made $$ or make your own.

But yeah, the more I write, the more I settle into them. I think you don't really know a character until you've churned out several thousand words of them and finally something just clicks.

WORD.

[atomicskull.livejournal.com]

I still maintain that Arthur secretly loves movies where shit blows up, or there is a badass car chase. I bet he loves anything with Jason Stathum, haha. My mental picture of Arthur is that he has an incredible love of art and literature, but he watches trashy TV and movies because sometimes you just have to sit on your ass on the couch and not worry about a goddamn thing except what Michael Bay is going to blow up next.

(ps - your Arthur is so gorgeously, gorgeously done. I've always been in awe of what you can get him to do. He's incredibly real.)

And, oh my god, preaching to the choir on that American men have no style point. I'm lucky enough to live in Manhattan, so I do see guys who you can tell really care about their appearance and looking put together, and it is such a breath of fresh air. But chances are I'm still sitting on the subway between a bro with a popped collar and A&F flip flops (dude, it was 50 today, it's time to put them away) and the guy in ripped jeans and almost the same shade of blue t-shirt.

And ugh, The same cookie cutter shit in every store, no place to go to have some personality unless you want to churn out made $$ or make your own. forever and ever. I don't have the coin it takes to have a wardrobe even half full of designer clothes.