fic: all the messes we made - one direction - zayn/liam

all the messes we made 1/? (AO3)

one direction, zayn/harry (eventually, with many peripheral pairings), r, c. 17 000 (this part)

Zayn considers Harry’s Audi contemptuously. The sadness leaves his eyes for a second, replaced by a dangerous, exhilarating kind of frown.

"This is such a bad car for a road trip," he says.

a/n: there’s already a note on the AO3 version so i’m not going to bother here, only to say, i know i said i was done with 1d, and i am, i really am. except? i kinda wanna finish this story, and i figured, why not post it in installments, mathilde, motivate yourself. so here we are, i guess. 


You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself and I don’t get it.   (requested by youknowyouweremuchmorethanthat)


❀ about me ❀


name: Mathilde
birthday: April 17th
zodiac: Aries
single or taken: single
height: 1m75, whatever that amounts to in feet
eye color: brown
middle name: Mary
favourite color: green
lucky number: 7


hogwarts house: the forbidden forest
favourite fictional character: lady knights; confident assholes; ice queens
favourite season: spring, and failing that winter
describe yourself in a few words: go figure. (or, like, haughty obsessed neurotic bitch i guess.)

future children’s names: no. 

meaning of your name: warrior
ultimate otp: fluctuates; right now i’d say caroline/klaus
what do you plan to/do for a living: write; failing that a moderately interesting job with lots of time to write
starbucks order: orange juice and chocolate donut


introvert or extrovert: neither, or a mix of the two
dawn or dusk: dawn (from the dusk side, if that makes sense)
righty or leftyright
coffee or tea:
tea, i don’t like coffee
rain or shine: rain
reading or writing: writing

about me  meme  


i know! it toes the line between angst, romance and outright silliness so well — and i’m getting whiplash from louis going from awkwardly besotted to hoarse and hot i can’t deaaal

from a writing standpoint it’s so flawlessly done, in terms of the pacing and how they manage to juggle so many story elements without making the audience feel bereft. like the thing with rose’s father, being such a small, minor thing—a mistake a lot of movies make is that they overload that kind of backstory in the beginning of the movie, as a cheap way to garner sympathy for their main character, and then by the end they just sort of quickly wrap it up, and so the viewer is left feeling like, “what the fuck???” because there was so much attention given to it in the beginning that such a quick resolution leaves you feeling cheated. but this movie was very good about keeping things paced in a way that you got invested in the same things the narrative was invested in, if that makes sense. every minor storyline was introduced very quickly and efficiently, so that when it wrapped up and disappeared just as quickly, you weren’t left feeling cheated, if you know what i mean. like—the rivalry with the previous french typing champion, the “”romance”” with the creepy-looking typewriter company guy, they were very quick plot elements that were brought in fast and wrapped up fast, as a way to provide background tension for the real story, which was rose and louis’ relationship and rose’s growing confidence as she progressed through the competitions. (i’ve got a lot of feelings about how stories need to have their priorities in order to truly be successful, ok) and then you’ve got the other elements to it that kind of provide this emotional depth to the characters—marie, bob and louis’ friendship, marie and rose’s friendship, louis’ family, the gossip of the people in town, etc etc, and then it managed to do this while using all these amazing romantic comedy tropes and never once fell into this trap that a lot of period-set movies get caught up in, where the nostalgic aesthetic of the time period-setting kind of becomes more important than the story you’re telling, and wow this is a huge wall of text but i just really really liked this movie, okay

also god yeah, rose being this unflappable adorable force of nature in contrast to louis the gigantic, neurotic emotional mess is just so beautiful wow can we talk about his face during all the competition scenes when he’s watching her from the sidelines, oh my god


Jean Cocteau and his lover and lifelong friend, the actor Jean Marais (1939).

Jean Cocteau and his lover and lifelong friend, the actor Jean Marais (1939).


Order. Zero, fifteen, thirty, sixty. The dishes stashed one after the other, in order of height. The squares on the sidewalk. No sound, meaning: the volume loud enough not to hear anything else. Order. Breathe in, breathe out. Six on each inhale – release. Pages: twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, a hundred. Chapters. Hours, stacked on one another: one, two, three (forty-five, one and a half, three), ten, twenty-four. Eight, nine, ten (nine and a half, thirteen). Order. I don’t take medication anymore, but it’s everywhere in the flat. Yesterday I took the pills out of their casing, made a neat little pile and thought about eating them all. It was about forty pills, anti-depressants, but it was so small and ineffectual in my palm, for a moment I felt sure they wouldn’t kill me. I thought: safety. I thought: this is my safe, where I keep my treasure: a little cardboard box with fifty white pills in it, waiting to be gobbled up. Maybe it doesn’t work without alcohol, I thought? Order. Order, it keeps me going, keeps me straight: light, dark, without thinking I’ll be washing the dishes, righting things, books, tables. I’m not all that obsessive, really: it’s a controlled mess, but order… it’s something else. More essential, in the line of things, not how they look from the outside. You have to have a schedule, or you die. Or you don’t wake up, or you don’t take a shower, you don’t answer the phone, you don’t eat, you don’t pee. You don’t do anything. A schedule. You need a schedule, that’s all.


Sometimes I wonderWhy we’re always coming downWhy we need to touch the groundWhy I didn’t keep on headingRight on up to heavenI miss my skyI miss my sky

Sometimes I wonder
Why we’re always coming down
Why we need to touch the ground
Why I didn’t keep on heading
Right on up to heaven
I miss my sky
I miss my sky

N  O  WHY  firefly