all the reasons why [rpf: jgl/mfox]
Title: all the reasons why
Fandom: RPF (real person fic)
Pairing: Joseph Gordon-Levitt/Megan Fox
Summary: She's the kind of girl with questionable morals. He's all about human connection. It's a fair trade.
Rating: PG
Notes: This is so many kinds of crack, I don't even fucking care. For library_of_sex who is literally the craziest person I know on LJ, making her also one of the coolest. I mean, she started foxy_mcloveitt with an equally awesome invicta. I'm a slow convert, guys. But I do love fic.
Shameless pimp!
Join foxy_mcloveitt: Because crack in the new cool.
"It's the principle of thing," Joe says. And she's laughing so hard she forgot whatever it was they were even talking about. When he leans in to kiss her, she thinks that it probably wasn't important in the first place. Not like this.
She's a girl of questionable reputation, one she isn't sure she's lived up to. Meg can't remember the last really terrible thing she did, if ever. Briefly, while she's using his shower, she wonders if a tattoo counts as too scandelous.
"You smell like my shampoo."
"Your shampoo smells like flowers," she notes, sliding onto a barstool. He contemplates the orange juice in his glass, then gives her a shrug. It is the first thing she will keep and remember. When she's awake on a plane and can't think of anything in LA she wants to go back to, she'll remember the way he stood in his kitchen and shrugged and drank juice and made her breakfast.
"People take you very seriously," she says. It's the third time (fourth? she's lost count now.) she's ended up here, just sitting on his sofa and flipping through the ten cable channels he has on mute.
"Do they?" He's reading a newspaper from two days ago, and she isn't sure why. It's an article about water laws in California, she thinks. Maybe TV listings for the day. Maybe something about her. Sometimes he does that. He'll find an article about her and he'll cut it out, writing something on a slip of paper and mailing it to wherever she is - congratulations on your third child or hope you get over your alien abduction soon. Tabloids to Joe are perfect and hysterical.
"You're kind of a big deal."
"I don't like that movie."
"No one likes that movie." His expression tells her he either doesn't understand or doesn't care. Either way, it's kind of cute.
When someone takes a picture of them together for the first time, he mails that to her, too. It's dated several months before, back when she didn't know about all his little quirks and pet peeves. Back when she didn't know about his chronic insomnia and he desire to take note of everything that happens and wrap the whole world in wires and connect every single human being.
It's back when she thinks that friendship is something she's just not really capable of. Back when she thinks that sex has to complicate things. Back before she knows it's people who mess things up.
aren't we precious?
She tacks the picture on the wall of the trailer she's living in, not really caring that they told her she wasn't allowed to, or that she could go out and buy the magazing herself. She prefers it this way - his sloppy scissor cuts and his untidy scrawl on the back of the clipping. It makes her feel closer to his old couch and his jersey sheets and his girly-smelling shampoo.
It makes her feel closer to him.
And when it finally reaches that point (she thinks it's called "the end"), it doesn't really feel finished.
"An interuption," he says over the phone. He's in London filming and she's in LA for the first time in weeks and that's just the way it is. Always right there and then not - missing one another by hours or flight numbers or street signs.
He doesn't sound sad when he tells her he probably won't be in LA for the rest of the year (though if she's going to make herself feel better, he doesn't sound happy about it, either). It's more of a hanging wire he has yet to connect.
"Do what you want," he says. "Do something that thrills you."
"You give terrible advice. It's too cerebral."
"Go have a good time." He laughs. "Better?" She hums her agreement and says goodbye.
She clips out an article about him and writes on a slip of paper why didn't you tell me you were gay? and gets one back a few weeks later -
sorry about your fifth husband. i heard he was a good guy.
The pictures and notes collect on her wall and she thinks that this is better than a lot of relationships she's been in. Mostly because it just feels like no matter how it ends - she hasn't lost anything at all.
Fandom: RPF (real person fic)
Pairing: Joseph Gordon-Levitt/Megan Fox
Summary: She's the kind of girl with questionable morals. He's all about human connection. It's a fair trade.
Rating: PG
Notes: This is so many kinds of crack, I don't even fucking care. For library_of_sex who is literally the craziest person I know on LJ, making her also one of the coolest. I mean, she started foxy_mcloveitt with an equally awesome invicta. I'm a slow convert, guys. But I do love fic.
Shameless pimp!
Join foxy_mcloveitt: Because crack in the new cool.
"It's the principle of thing," Joe says. And she's laughing so hard she forgot whatever it was they were even talking about. When he leans in to kiss her, she thinks that it probably wasn't important in the first place. Not like this.
She's a girl of questionable reputation, one she isn't sure she's lived up to. Meg can't remember the last really terrible thing she did, if ever. Briefly, while she's using his shower, she wonders if a tattoo counts as too scandelous.
"You smell like my shampoo."
"Your shampoo smells like flowers," she notes, sliding onto a barstool. He contemplates the orange juice in his glass, then gives her a shrug. It is the first thing she will keep and remember. When she's awake on a plane and can't think of anything in LA she wants to go back to, she'll remember the way he stood in his kitchen and shrugged and drank juice and made her breakfast.
"People take you very seriously," she says. It's the third time (fourth? she's lost count now.) she's ended up here, just sitting on his sofa and flipping through the ten cable channels he has on mute.
"Do they?" He's reading a newspaper from two days ago, and she isn't sure why. It's an article about water laws in California, she thinks. Maybe TV listings for the day. Maybe something about her. Sometimes he does that. He'll find an article about her and he'll cut it out, writing something on a slip of paper and mailing it to wherever she is - congratulations on your third child or hope you get over your alien abduction soon. Tabloids to Joe are perfect and hysterical.
"You're kind of a big deal."
"I don't like that movie."
"No one likes that movie." His expression tells her he either doesn't understand or doesn't care. Either way, it's kind of cute.
When someone takes a picture of them together for the first time, he mails that to her, too. It's dated several months before, back when she didn't know about all his little quirks and pet peeves. Back when she didn't know about his chronic insomnia and he desire to take note of everything that happens and wrap the whole world in wires and connect every single human being.
It's back when she thinks that friendship is something she's just not really capable of. Back when she thinks that sex has to complicate things. Back before she knows it's people who mess things up.
aren't we precious?
She tacks the picture on the wall of the trailer she's living in, not really caring that they told her she wasn't allowed to, or that she could go out and buy the magazing herself. She prefers it this way - his sloppy scissor cuts and his untidy scrawl on the back of the clipping. It makes her feel closer to his old couch and his jersey sheets and his girly-smelling shampoo.
It makes her feel closer to him.
And when it finally reaches that point (she thinks it's called "the end"), it doesn't really feel finished.
"An interuption," he says over the phone. He's in London filming and she's in LA for the first time in weeks and that's just the way it is. Always right there and then not - missing one another by hours or flight numbers or street signs.
He doesn't sound sad when he tells her he probably won't be in LA for the rest of the year (though if she's going to make herself feel better, he doesn't sound happy about it, either). It's more of a hanging wire he has yet to connect.
"Do what you want," he says. "Do something that thrills you."
"You give terrible advice. It's too cerebral."
"Go have a good time." He laughs. "Better?" She hums her agreement and says goodbye.
She clips out an article about him and writes on a slip of paper why didn't you tell me you were gay? and gets one back a few weeks later -
sorry about your fifth husband. i heard he was a good guy.
The pictures and notes collect on her wall and she thinks that this is better than a lot of relationships she's been in. Mostly because it just feels like no matter how it ends - she hasn't lost anything at all.