Crossover: this world’s underneath a rocking chair (tw/hp)
this world’s underneath a rocking chair
for anythingbutgrey. hp/twilight. hermione granger. jacob black. general spoilers. 898 words. r.
five times hermione granger went on a motorcycle road trip with jacob black
I call up my friend, the good angel
But she's out with her answerphone
She says she would love to come help but
The sea would electrocute us all
(radiohead) (nice dream)
i.
“This is a bad idea.”
He’s amused, she’s not amused and her fingers are already turning into her palms; don’t ask her, don’t ask her how’s she’s come her to the States in the spirit of everything and bonding, so says her mum when she reminds her.
“Chicken?”
“Arse,” she snaps, “Arse.”
Jacob Black is Jacob Black, the modern Darcy with a mouth and a smirk and the inability to form a rational process of thought. It’s been two days. It could be three. And there’s an edge of spontaneity lacing in his voice, each time he steps closer. It makes her nervous, the no reason policy, but her curiosity is more dangerous.
His mouth turns and come on, he doesn’t say, but she feels it nonetheless as she shifts, foot to foot, and feels almost invaded, her sense of space twisting around. She doesn’t remember meeting him, if she did meet him, and she’s uneasy, even though she’s already moving forward.
“My parents are going to kill me.”
The bike’s gorgeous though and she’s tempted really, to forgo any formalities. It’s been a couple years, maybe less, and she’s promised herself to seize every moment. She’s grudgingly impressed, her fingers brushing against the leather seat.
“You know you want to,” he says quietly, looking away.
Her lips purse; it’s someone else.
“Yeah,” she’s final now, “Yeah, why not?”
ii.
Granger’s an anomaly, he decides, and too proud of that fact.
She’s said nothing, since he’s told her, about his, uh, issue and he’s said nothing, to be fair, about hers. To believe in this stuff, he thinks, you gotta have some sense of responsibility to rationalize. But still, she’s freakishly amusing and he can kind of appreciate that.
“I think he’s angry.”
The bike’s outside, in the lot, and that’s a whole different story of how he and she, this whole idea, came to be. He’ll tell you they met in the city. She’ll say the beach. They both have this secret affinity for romanticizing this, in the end, this whole sense of being selfish, too selfish.
“The guy?”
Across from her, in a small diner, he’s watching her duck her head and tap her fingers against the table. She’s slow, she’s fast, and the entire time she’s redeveloping nervous habits; don’t tell her though, that he’s amused, but mainly, it’s because it’s a reminder and then it’s not, something completely new.
She shrugs. “I suppose,” she continues, “I deserve it for just leaving like I did.”
She’s talking about the letter, the strange one from a couple days ago. There was a motel in Vegas, along the strip, separate beds for them both but the letter came to him for her on his bed and she never said a word after that, clutching it too tightly.
“He’s pissed?” He leans forward.
“He’s angry,” she’s quiet.
iii.
He kisses her.
It’s a bottle of Jack between them, which she never cared to ask how he got it, but that’s how this was all planned too. Jack and love lost, their sense of each other fragmented to what they don’t know, but what they can access.
He doesn’t say Bell and she doesn’t say Harry; instead her fingers are in his hair, twisting as she slides her tongue into his mouth and she pushes her hips into his. She’s fierce, too unrelenting because she hasn’t figured anything out and this, this is what it should be about.
“Granger.”
There’s a half-growl and she slurs a laugh, her mouth pressing against his throat. She moans softly as his hand slips under her shirt, to her hip, and his fingers press harder.
“Come on,” she breathes, “Come on.”
He bites her lip; they won’t talk until San Francisco.
iv.
Bella happens in New York, on accident.
“Who’s that?” She asks softly, pinks skewed across her cheeks.
She’s nodding towards Hermione, away from the smile of amusement on his mouth, misplaced affection if you want to call it that. The truth is Granger’s a strange confident, talking but not talking and he’s learned to appreciate the course of that. He thinks, after a few more days, he might go and trust her - she’s promised not to steal the bike.
“A friend,” he shrugs. “We’re taking a trip.”
Bella nods, the winter coat swallowing her at the neck. For a moment, he’s curious and sees gloves and a bump over her finger, a ring for the obvious. He wants to be able to say things like good luck and goodbye, but the sense of impossibility is there, still lingering even now.
“I -”
Hermione touches his wrist, her fingers cold. “I’ll go get us a table,” she nods across the street, the reassurance almost unintentional, “and pancakes.”
He smirks, but Bella’s already stepping back with a shopping bag in one hand, back to wherever, he supposes. Maybe he cares. Maybe he can’t anymore. He watches her and remembers that still, once, there was always the opportunity to be young. He might still love her too, he might want to stay.
But she’ll never ask, not like this.
“See you around,” he calls, turning.
He stops wondering about looking back.
v.
29th October, 7:56am. Accident. I-880 N Northbound before Alvarado Niles Rd (Union City); two unknowns, fire. Left lane blocked Expect delays.
Harry keeps the clippings in a box, by the bed.
-
for anythingbutgrey. hp/twilight. hermione granger. jacob black. general spoilers. 898 words. r.
five times hermione granger went on a motorcycle road trip with jacob black
I call up my friend, the good angel
But she's out with her answerphone
She says she would love to come help but
The sea would electrocute us all
(radiohead) (nice dream)
i.
“This is a bad idea.”
He’s amused, she’s not amused and her fingers are already turning into her palms; don’t ask her, don’t ask her how’s she’s come her to the States in the spirit of everything and bonding, so says her mum when she reminds her.
“Chicken?”
“Arse,” she snaps, “Arse.”
Jacob Black is Jacob Black, the modern Darcy with a mouth and a smirk and the inability to form a rational process of thought. It’s been two days. It could be three. And there’s an edge of spontaneity lacing in his voice, each time he steps closer. It makes her nervous, the no reason policy, but her curiosity is more dangerous.
His mouth turns and come on, he doesn’t say, but she feels it nonetheless as she shifts, foot to foot, and feels almost invaded, her sense of space twisting around. She doesn’t remember meeting him, if she did meet him, and she’s uneasy, even though she’s already moving forward.
“My parents are going to kill me.”
The bike’s gorgeous though and she’s tempted really, to forgo any formalities. It’s been a couple years, maybe less, and she’s promised herself to seize every moment. She’s grudgingly impressed, her fingers brushing against the leather seat.
“You know you want to,” he says quietly, looking away.
Her lips purse; it’s someone else.
“Yeah,” she’s final now, “Yeah, why not?”
ii.
Granger’s an anomaly, he decides, and too proud of that fact.
She’s said nothing, since he’s told her, about his, uh, issue and he’s said nothing, to be fair, about hers. To believe in this stuff, he thinks, you gotta have some sense of responsibility to rationalize. But still, she’s freakishly amusing and he can kind of appreciate that.
“I think he’s angry.”
The bike’s outside, in the lot, and that’s a whole different story of how he and she, this whole idea, came to be. He’ll tell you they met in the city. She’ll say the beach. They both have this secret affinity for romanticizing this, in the end, this whole sense of being selfish, too selfish.
“The guy?”
Across from her, in a small diner, he’s watching her duck her head and tap her fingers against the table. She’s slow, she’s fast, and the entire time she’s redeveloping nervous habits; don’t tell her though, that he’s amused, but mainly, it’s because it’s a reminder and then it’s not, something completely new.
She shrugs. “I suppose,” she continues, “I deserve it for just leaving like I did.”
She’s talking about the letter, the strange one from a couple days ago. There was a motel in Vegas, along the strip, separate beds for them both but the letter came to him for her on his bed and she never said a word after that, clutching it too tightly.
“He’s pissed?” He leans forward.
“He’s angry,” she’s quiet.
iii.
He kisses her.
It’s a bottle of Jack between them, which she never cared to ask how he got it, but that’s how this was all planned too. Jack and love lost, their sense of each other fragmented to what they don’t know, but what they can access.
He doesn’t say Bell and she doesn’t say Harry; instead her fingers are in his hair, twisting as she slides her tongue into his mouth and she pushes her hips into his. She’s fierce, too unrelenting because she hasn’t figured anything out and this, this is what it should be about.
“Granger.”
There’s a half-growl and she slurs a laugh, her mouth pressing against his throat. She moans softly as his hand slips under her shirt, to her hip, and his fingers press harder.
“Come on,” she breathes, “Come on.”
He bites her lip; they won’t talk until San Francisco.
iv.
Bella happens in New York, on accident.
“Who’s that?” She asks softly, pinks skewed across her cheeks.
She’s nodding towards Hermione, away from the smile of amusement on his mouth, misplaced affection if you want to call it that. The truth is Granger’s a strange confident, talking but not talking and he’s learned to appreciate the course of that. He thinks, after a few more days, he might go and trust her - she’s promised not to steal the bike.
“A friend,” he shrugs. “We’re taking a trip.”
Bella nods, the winter coat swallowing her at the neck. For a moment, he’s curious and sees gloves and a bump over her finger, a ring for the obvious. He wants to be able to say things like good luck and goodbye, but the sense of impossibility is there, still lingering even now.
“I -”
Hermione touches his wrist, her fingers cold. “I’ll go get us a table,” she nods across the street, the reassurance almost unintentional, “and pancakes.”
He smirks, but Bella’s already stepping back with a shopping bag in one hand, back to wherever, he supposes. Maybe he cares. Maybe he can’t anymore. He watches her and remembers that still, once, there was always the opportunity to be young. He might still love her too, he might want to stay.
But she’ll never ask, not like this.
“See you around,” he calls, turning.
He stops wondering about looking back.
v.
29th October, 7:56am. Accident. I-880 N Northbound before Alvarado Niles Rd (Union City); two unknowns, fire. Left lane blocked Expect delays.
Harry keeps the clippings in a box, by the bed.
-