tallulahgs: Lonely Kaori (Lonely Kaori)
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[Title] Points of Light Among the Stars
[Fandom] Doctor Who (classic series)
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Jamie/Zoe. Zoe doesn't take Jamie for granted.



They are cuddled up in bed together in the half-dark – the TARDIS seems to dim the lights automatically, which Jamie finds worrying. Zoe can't see why – it makes sense, doesn't it? – but that's rather the point, that actually when you start looking around the universe you find nothing makes sense to absolutely everyone. Whatever you take for granted, someone out there will think you're illogical or insane or just ridiculously stubborn for considering it at all.

She smiles, and Jamie mumbles against her, “What is it?”

“I'm feeling happy, that's all.”

“Aye. Well. So you should.”

She doesn't take Jamie for granted. That is the illogical part. She knows that this relationship is simply intimacy through shared experiences of peril plus pheromones and hormones lighting up the correct receptors, and that that is all. There's no god to thank, no fate, and it isn't anything more than humans have been doing and feeling for millennia.

But it feels like something. It feels like sunlight on the sea, like being unable to stop smiling, like the universe opening itself up to you and you knowing you will never get bored of learning who and what it is.

No doubt Jamie would think this was illogical, too, were she to express any of it. To him, this is probably just what people do and isn’t about... silly feelings. For him it will have always been about being warm and feeling pleasure and, and making children, of course, even though he knows he doesn't need to worry about that with her.

But sometimes, even so, he looks at her as if he's as surprised and awed as she is that they've found each other.

Perhaps their mutual surprise is why it feels like coming home. That and the way that neither of them really understands the first thing about each other’s life. They both know that any expectations, anything they take for granted, the other one will likely have never even thought of. So they’re starting from nothing again. Like the TARDIS, flying through the emptiness of space, a point of light in the darkness.



[Title] Thanks Giving
[Fandom] X-Men: Days of Future Past
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Hank is grateful for the serum. Mention of Charles/Hank.



Hank is grateful for the serum. Of course he is. If it wasn’t for that, he’d be a monster. And even alone in an empty house apart from one other person it would still matter. That’s not him. He is him and this – mutation is what he should call it but deformity is what he whispers in his head, knowing Charles can’t hear him – is everything he should be striving to get away from.

Hank is grateful for the serum. Because without it Charles wouldn’t be able to walk, and the two of them would be even more trapped than they already are. Not that they are really trapped. They’re waiting. This is a temporary setback. They both know they have to stay positive and that would be even more difficult if Charles were wheelchair-bound and still hearing everyone else’s misery in his head.

Hank is grateful for the serum. He’s not stupid. Charles would never look twice at him if he were his true self. His other self. His other self because the body he is in now, the normal-human body is his true self and he doesn’t know what Charles sees in it anyway but he knows Charles would see nothing of value in a hairy, ugly monster. It’s a long time since he’s even kissed anyone. This is more than he ever could have expected.

Hank is grateful for the serum. Without it, Charles would hear everything he’s thinking. Not that the man ever snooped, ever made you feel like he was prying. Not that he’d ever have used any of what he knew against you. No, it’s more that Hank spends entirely too much time being furious and he doesn’t know why. He wants to be judgemental and cruel and inflexible, tell Charles that Erik and everything that happened isn’t worth drinking yourself to death over, tell Charles that he himself misses Raven enough that it hurts and he’s coping all right, tell Charles that worse things happen every day and at least they’re both alive and normal and even have something to take away some of the stranger aspects of their problems. He doesn’t actually mean most of this but the thought of saying it tugs at him. Like wanting to throw a glass or a bottle against the wall. Just because you want to destroy something.

Hank is grateful for the serum. It doesn’t change who he really is, what he’s really thinking, how much he wants to stop being careful and considerate. But it keeps him normal on the outside and that lets him pretend.



[Title] Oblivion
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Post-canon. Matsuda tries to stop himself thinking too much.



Usually as it starts getting dark is when Matsuda starts thinking too much. Sometimes it’s okay because he’s still at work and he can drown himself in that. If he’s still at work but he’s about to leave, he’ll probably be able to drag someone out for drinks after.

If he’s already left, or if it’s a day off, then it’s more of a problem. He doesn’t like being at home when he’s thinking too much. Home doesn’t feel like his home, it feels like a place belonging to some idiot he hardly knows, it feels like somewhere he’s having to crash at because some better arrangement went wrong. And sure, you can drink at home if you want, but it kind of magnifies everything instead of drowning it out, and what’s the point in that?

So he mainly goes out on his own by that point. Tokyo’s full of bars and people that he doesn’t know. He can walk and walk – he prefers that to taking the subway, sitting under bright lights, feeling like everyone’s giving him funny looks. Walking in the dark, in the cold, he can pretend he’s someone else.

Tokyo’s full of bars and the people in those bars, if they’re on their own too, they mostly want to be distracted as much as he does. Matsuda wouldn’t have done this kind of stuff before, not just picking someone up in a bar. He was holding out hope for proper dates and steady girlfriends. Or holding out hope for other things which he knows now were so stupid and wide of the mark he can’t even think them.

Considering how much of the last six years he spent working in hotel rooms, you’d think it’d bother him going back to them, but it’s not the same. The hotels Ryuzaki installed himself in, or even the places they stayed in Los Angeles, were the fancy kind, trying to look like mansions, everything thick and velvet. Mostly now if it’s him and someone else and neither of them are close to their apartment they go to whatever’s cheapest and closest. Nicotine-stained blinds and thinning sheets and a bathroom so small you can barely stand up in it. Matsuda’s fine with that, though. It’s not like he’s going to live here, is it? And actually these kinds of places, it’s sort of comforting being in a room that’s the same as all the other rooms and nothing’s changed in it for about the last thirty years. It makes him feel like a toy in a kid’s play house or something. Like you don’t need a comfortable chair, just something that’s shaped right.

He’s thinking about this and he’s focusing on playing the happy-go-lucky maybe-kinda-drunk guy out for some fun and he’s walking the line between feeling the good parts and feeling everything. It’s exhausting but that’s okay, then he knows he’ll actually get some sleep after. If he’s tired the next day, even better. He can kid himself any bad feelings are just due to having to wake up.



[Title] On the Way to the City of Angels
[Fandom] Bugsy Malone
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] Bugsy and Blousey skipped town and are making their way to Hollywood, at last.



They’ve been driving for days now but Bugsy doesn’t seem to be tired. In his shirt sleeves, resting his arm on the car door, looking over at her with that smile. Blousey thought, when she first saw him smile, that that was the face of a guy who’s always playing an angle, always trying to run rings around you. Now she knows yeah, he is always playing an angle, but he’s smiling at her because he’s thinking, Come on, life’s good, you can make it work for you, right? and he wants her to feel like that too.

They’ve been driving for days, the roads winding past them like film through a projector. Air tastes different, like sun and wheat and dust. Sometimes it’s so hot she dozes off and when she opens her eyes she can’t remember where she is. Heavy-headed, cooler air, the sun ahead of them instead of above. Bugsy whistling as he drives. Mostly songs she remembers learning to sing background to at Fat Sam’s.

He’ll be mad you took the car, she says, one time where they’ve stopped at a small town diner and are sharing a dish of ice cream.

Bugsy raises his eyebrows at her. Sam? Come on. He owes me big now. He’ll understand. And… if he doesn’t, I don’t reckon he’s gonna come all the way out here to slap me around. Too much trouble.

She laughs and says Sure, and he’s got a lot of cleaning up to do after what happened.

World kind of goes quiet like it’s waiting for them to talk about what happened but funny thing is, Blousey’s thoughts won’t settle on it. Her mind slides off it like water down glass.

Bugsy starts talking about the route instead. They press on, they can make this or that town by nightfall. Rent us a couple of rooms. Blousey can’t remember how much dough they’ve got left. But Bugsy never frowns when he opens his wallet and they manage to eat and if it looks like a safe spot sometimes they’ve slept in the car. She wants to ask him sometimes, You mind? You mind driving across the whole country to get me a dream? But what’d she say if he said yes? She’d feel like she’d been tricked into being the selfish one and then she’d probably turn mean, tell him she never asked him for a thing, say he should go back to Tallulah if he didn’t want to be here.

Funny, though, she’s running this whole scene in her mind but she kind of knows it’s not actually going to happen. It’s that kind of day. That kind of trip. Everything’s golden and sometimes they’re talking and sometimes they’re singing like a couple of kids and sometimes they’re just quiet and she’s looking out at the fields and the road. Sky’s so blue it hurts. Why would either of them turn around and go? Where’d they even go to?

They’re eating up the miles but it doesn’t feel like they’re racing to get anywhere. Blousey always figured if she ever finally made it to Hollywood she’d be on tenterhooks all the way, desperate to take her first steps in the City of Angels, but it isn’t like that. It’s like this journey, her and Bugsy, sun-warmed water and silence and never another car on the road, it’s like that’s what she was waiting for, all this time.

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