#nearly there just gotta tidy up the ending and have a last edit

[vanmarkus]

WIP Wednesday 🍸

I'm always late so now I decided to try and post early and start the day off with a snippet from the drunk and stupid fic – which is almost finished, currently standing at 11k and hopefully will be posted on Friday at the latest~

Eddie nodded, his hair an absolute mess and falling over Buck’s face as he moved. His hands finally found their way under Buck’s shirt and he ran them over his abs, then his pecks, lingering over his nipples, rubbing his thumbs in circles around them and – fuck, Buck was always so much more sensitive when drunk.

He bit his bottom lip, but it did little to stifle the high-pitched moan ripping out of his throat. He pushed his chest into Eddie's hands, his breath catching as his nipples hardened under Eddie’s touch.

“Fuck… Eddie.” If you’d ask Buck, he’d say it was absolutely not a whine, but since no one was asking he was quite content on letting Eddie’s name twist off of his tongue in any manner of sound.

Eddie pushed Buck’s shirt up as far as it went with his jacket still wrapped around his shoulders and slid lower over his body to exchange his right hand to his mouth and o-kay. Buck was definitely whining now.

If he had the composure he might’ve made a mental note about how no one ever took him apart with so little, but right now all he could pay attention to was the route of Eddie’s tongue around his nipple and the way his wet and overly-warm lips wrapped around it, sucking after every few laps.

Buck’s hands went to Eddie’s back, suddenly too aware of how overdressed they both were. He fisted the fabric of his Henley, pulling and tugging, not coordinated or coherent enough to make Eddie lift himself up long enough to actually take it off of him.

No pressure tagging: @forthewolves @eddiediaztho @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @callaplums @ladydorian05

[atlafan]

Bar Crossed Lovers - One Shot

a/n: i truthfully couldn’t think of a better name, so please enjoy the bad pun. idk wtf this is, but it’s friends to lovers with a little bit of angst, and of course smut. hope you enjoy! 4.8k

He wasn’t sure how it happened. The two of you were the last ones at the party, and he had offered to help clean up. It was genuine, a friend helping another friend tidy up after a night of drinking with others. How he ended up in your bed, inside of you for hours, well, that was trickier to understand. You weren’t sure how it happened either, but you weren’t complaining. It had been a while, and he was there. He didn’t stay the night. There was no confession of love or feelings, it was just sex.

Neither of you talked about it. You both just figured it was a drunken mistake, or maybe it wasn’t a mistake. You both clearly needed it, but it wasn’t something to make a big deal out of. It was when you both worked next that it got a little awkward. You both were in early for set up.

See, you and your friends all worked at a bar. Some of you were in grad school, and some of you were just working there until you figured out what it was you really wanted to do with your life. It was good and easy money. It’s how you met Harry in the first place. He was already behind the bar when you clocked in. He was polishing the glasses that were fresh out of the dishwasher.

“Hey.” You say, as you pull out the cutting board and limes.

“Hi.” He sets a glass down and looks at you. “How are you?”

“Good, how are you?” You say, without looking at him.

“Good.”

You nod your head and hear him scoff. You put your knife down and look at him. He was still looking at you, arms crossed.

“This doesn’t need to be so weird.” He says.

“I agree.”

“So why are you acting like this?”

“Because I don’t really know what to say to you. How do we continue as normal? Do we let our friends know what happened?”

‘I don’t see how it’s any of their business, Y/N.”

“They’re gonna know something’s up, Harry.” You point to the splotch on your neck and his face flushes.

“It’s been a few days…”

“You didn’t exactly do it gently.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t tell you to stop.” You blush and turn back to your limes as he continues with the glasses.

“We were drunk and we did what a lot of people do when their drunk.” He shrugs.

“I figured that’s why you stayed back, because you wanted to hook up.”

“Well, I genuinely felt bad that our friends didn’t throw any of their garbage away, so I wanted to help.”

“You’ve always been nice.” You chuckle. “Maybe too nice.” You shake your head at the memory of that night. You feel a slight surge go through you, but you try to shake that away as well.

“You weren’t exactly complaining the other night, babe.” He grins and you swat your rag at him. “Gotta be able to joke about it.”

“It is sort of funny, been friends for a while and all of a sudden we just hook up.”

“I don’t blame you, I am pretty irresistible.”

“Harry.” You sigh.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Just lightening the mood, that’s all. Look, it doesn’t need to be a big deal. It was a nice hook up.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“But that’s all it was, right?”

“Right.” You put all of the limes into the container and grab a few lemons. “I don’t like you as anything more than a friend.”

“Same here.”

“But…I wouldn’t hate if it happened again.” Your cheeks had to be beat red at this point.

“Neither would I.”

“Really?” You look at him.

“Sure.” He shrugs and lifts another rack of glasses to the counter. “No strings attached sex? I’m game.”

“I just don’t want our friendship to get fucked up, that’s all.”

“I agree. We should make it clear if we’re hanging out to hook up or not, and if it gets deeper for someone, then it should stop.”

“Right, because I’m just dying to be in a relationship with you.” You say sarcastically.

“Aren’t most people?”

“Jesus.” You nudge him and he chuckles. “We would also need to stop if one of us meets someone else. We would need to be upfront about it.”

“What about other hook ups?”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Like on Tinder or something?”

“I don’t need to know about that, just…make sure you wrap it up.”

“Deal.” He grins.

//

After that, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You often found yourself getting distracted at work, and so did Harry. Almost every night you worked together you’d end up having a quickie in one of your cars. Your friends eventually found out too. It wasn’t hard to figure out since you both got caught in the bathroom at one of their places one night. You all had a good laugh about it and just explained it was nothing more than hooking up. Everyone was pretty cool with it.

You had just finished hooking up at his place when you were getting your clothes back on.

“You know, you don’t have to slip out just yet.” He says as he pulls his boxers back on. “We were watching a movie.”

“Yeah, for like five seconds.” You laugh. “I need to get going, though.” You slip your shirt on and lean across the bed to give him kiss on the cheek. “I have a paper I need to work on, you know how it is.”

“I do, you came here to distress.” He smirks.

“And I did.” You give him one last kiss before grabbing your keys. “See you at work tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Harry makes his bed back up and throws a load of laundry in the washer. His phone pings with a few messages from Tinder, but he’s found himself checking and responding less and less. He was having great sex with you, why go out and get it somewhere else? After finishing up some homework of his own, he texts you.

Harry: how’s the paper going?

You: almost done!

Harry: let me know if you want a reward ;)

You: miss me already? Lol

Harry: just parts of you

You: very funny

Harry: ;p

You: if I say yes will you go down on me?

Harry: I’m on my way

//

Having sex with Harry was great, but it was starting to take up a lot of your free time. He was the one that would text you for the booty call more often than you would, which surprised you. You didn’t question it because it was nice to feel wanted. Every time he kisses the back of your shoulder as he drilled into you, or as he had you bent of the bed, or even when his head was between your legs, you enjoyed being wanted. But you wanted to be wanted for things other than sex. You wanted to have excuses to get dress up and go out on nice dates. You worked long hours and your grad work kept you busy too. Sometimes you just wanted to be swept off your feet, not swept off to the bedroom.

One night while you were working, a group of young men came in. They all sat down right at the bar instead of getting a booth.

“When can I get you guys started off with?”

“Pitcher of beer, please.” One of them says to you. He was handsome, very handsome.

“You got it.” You smile.

You found yourself chatting with him a bit in between other customers. His name was Noel, and he worked at a publishing company. He and his coworkers were celebrating finishing a large manuscript edit. Harry noticed you flirted, but to be fair, you flirted a lot. So did he. It was how all the bartenders got more tips. There was something different about this, though. You seemed genuinely interested in what this guy had to say.

“We have to get going soon, but I’d love to keep getting to know you. Your grad work seems really interesting.” He writes his number on the receipt. “Call me sometime.” He smiles.

You bite your bottom lip and tuck the receipt copy into your apron. You had butterflies in your stomach. This was good, this was really good. What a cute way to meet someone. You and your other friends giggle about Noel. You were definitely going to call him.

“Coming back to mine tonight?” Harry asks as you both work to close down the bar.

“Sure.” You smile.

//

Your willingness to hook up with Harry had gotten less and less frequent. You had called Noel. You talked for hours. You had a lot in common. You had gone out on a couple of dates with him, and they went really well. It was time to tell Harry your hook ups needed to stop altogether.

“Slow your roll, I didn’t come over here for that.” You laugh and push him away. He was kissing on your neck the second you came over to his place.

“What did you come here for then?” He gasps facetiously. “Are we hanging out for real?”

“Yes.” You both sit down on his couch. “I have to tell you something. I’m…sort of seeing someone.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t slept with him yet, but I’d like to. We’re not official yet either, but I feel like we probably will be, so this needs to stop. Is that okay? Still friends?”

“Course it’s okay, and of course we’re still friends. Thanks for being so honest.” He smiles.

“Thanks for being so cool with it. I know I’ve been sort of distant in that sense lately, but I’ve just been trying to figure out how I feel. I really like this guy and I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“I get it.”

You hug him and kiss him on the cheek. The two of you settle in with a movie, and then you leave. Harry went to bed aggravated as all hell. He liked hooking up with you. He was hoping the conversation you had earlier wouldn’t have come so soon. You had been doing what you were doing for nearly three months. How could you have gotten bored with him? You always praised him in the bedroom, how could you want someone else to fuck you?

//

You and your friends would be all hanging out after work, and you’d be bringing Noel to formally meet them. You had been seeing him for a few weeks now. You hadn’t gone all the way with him yet, just making out and some heavy petting. You weren’t sure what the holdup was, but you didn’t mind taking it sort of slow.

He comes into the bar just before close and sits down. You squeal when you see him. You come around from the bar and kiss him on the cheek.

“I just need to change quick in the back, and then we can head to Michelle’s.”

“Sounds good, take your time.”

You kiss him on the lips quickly and then head to the back to change. Harry catches this and squints at Noel while he wipes down the bar. Noel gives him a half smile and Harry returns it. Tonight was going to be interesting to say the least.

After a few drinks, you all settled in on a game of Scrabble. It would be lame or boring if you weren’t drinking.

“Challenge! Challenge! No way that’s a word!” Michelle says to Harry.

“Is too!”

“It’s a slang term, no slang!” Chris yells in her defense.

“Where in the blood rules does it say you can’t use slang?! If it’s in the dictionary, it’s a fucking word! That’s ten points, write it down.” He crosses his arms, and Michelle groans.

“I’ve never seen so many people get worked up by a game of Scrabble before.” Noel chuckles. “This is great.” He kisses you on the cheek.

Everyone seemed to really like Noel so far, but you wanted Harry’s opinion too. You notice him get up to refill his drink in the kitchen, so you get up to do the same.

“What do you think?” You whisper.

“About what?” He whispers back.

“Noel.” You giggle.

“Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “No offense, but I don’t really wanna give my two cents on your boyfriend.”

“Well, he’s not exactly my boyfr-“

“Either way.” He sips his drink. “Not something I feel super comfortable with.”

“I just wanted to know if you liked him so far…if I bring him around more often I’d wanna make sure you were comfortable with it.”

“And what if I wasn’t?” He had back you up so you were leaning against the counter. “You know me, I’m a real attention hog.” He smirks and walks away from you.

Harry missed you. He missed you like crazy. It had been a month since you last hooked up and he thought he was gonna go crazy. Never in a million years did he think he would be the one to catch feelings, but he did. Noel was probably a really nice guy, but he was now competition, and if there was one thing Harry didn’t like it was competition.

He had to watch as Noel would come in on the late nights at work to come pick you up, when that used to be him to make sure you got home safely. He had to listen when you would giggle with your other friends about the dates he would bring you on. It was torture.

//

One night it was raining, so Noel invited you over for a wine and movie date. You loved cuddling with him. About thirty minutes into the movie, and most of your glass of wine drank, you were making out on his couch.

“Y/n>” He breathes. “Want you.”

“Want you too.” You groan.

You were ready for him now, he had waited long enough. It also kind of turned you on to just be so comfortable with him to want to do it on his couch. He slipped your pants off and undid your own. You reach into your grab and pull out a condom. He happily slides it on. He fingers you, only for a few moments. When Harry would finger you…you shake the thought from your head. You can’t compare them right now.

When Noel pushes inside you, you were expecting it to feel incredible. It wasn’t like his dick was small or unsatisfying, but there was something that just wasn’t doing it for you. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t paying any attention to your clit, or the way he would only lightly kiss your neck, or that he wasn’t pulling at the roots of your hair. Shit.

“Y/N? Are you enjoying it? You’re like a million miles away.” He frowns.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I was feeling it…but…”

He pulls out of you and discards himself of the condom. You pull your pants back on and sit with him awkwardly on the couch.

“Is there something else I could have done?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think it would have made a difference.” You sigh. “I really like you Noel, I don’t know what my problem is tonight.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No.” Maybe. “At least, I didn’t think there was, but now I’m so sure.” You look at him. “I’m so sorry, I think I should go.”

He nods and sighs.

“I really like you too, but I don’t wanna force anything between us. Take all the time you need.”

You throw your arms around him and hold him tight. Noel was literally the perfect guy, what was wrong with you? You leave and drive around for a bit. You wanted to kill Harry for running through your mind. You didn’t want to date him, and you hadn’t really thought about him sexually since you stopped hooking up. You never thought about him when you kissed Noel, so why was it when you were finally getting intimate that he popped into your head?

You were suddenly filled with rage and you gripped your steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. You found yourself driving towards Harry’s apartment building. You get out of the car and slam the door closed. You had no idea if he was going to be there, and you were getting soaked, but you didn’t care. You had a bone to pick with him.

You bang on his door and ring the buzzer over and over. You hear him yell “hang on” a couple of times.

“Y/N?!” It looked like he had just gotten out of the shower. His hair was damp and the shirt he had clearly just put on was sticking to his still wet chest.

“You have some nerve, Harry Styles.” You brush by him as you walk into his place.

“Sure, come on in.” He says to himself. “Do you need a towel, you’re dripping?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine like this.” You cross your arms and looks at him.

“Alright, I really don’t have time for this, so you wanna explain the attitude?” He cross his arms now.

“I just tried having sex with Noel and I couldn’t because of you!”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. That was the last thing he expected you to say.

“What?”

“You…you…you ruined me!”

“I ruined you? What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, for started, when he fingered me, it felt like he was just jabbing, and his nails weren’t exactly short. Your nails are always perfectly filed.”

“It’s common curtesy.”

“And he only did it for a few minutes. Then, he didn’t even rub my clit. You always did that while you fucked me.”

“Because it makes you feel good.”

“Exactly!”

“Did you tell him?”

“What?”

“Did you vocalize what you wanted?”

“No…I didn’t have to with you.”

“Not everyone’s like me. Sometimes you have to-“

“But I don’t want to! I just want someone that knows what they’re doing! I don’t want it to be a race about who can get off the fastest. I want someone’s body on mine and just be in complete and utter ecstasy for a little while! And it probably would have been fine. Maybe I would have gotten vocal with him, but you wouldn’t leave my mind! You ruined me, Harry.”

“Yeah, well, you ruined me too.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “Do you know how hard it’s been watching you be with someone else? To give all your attention to some guy that wasn’t me?! Do you know how hard it’s been trying to respect your relationship, and not drag you into the back room to fuck you senseless?”

“I didn’t think you had feelings for me.”

“Neither did I.” He looks away. “But I do, and I have pretty much since you ended things. I started to really miss you…as more than a friend.” He rubs the back of his neck. His phone starts to ring. “Shit.”

“Do you have plans?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go.”

“No.” He answers his phone. “Hey…no, I’m actually glad you called. I have to cancel last minute. One of my friends is upset over some guy who’s been a real idiot. Yeah…I’m sorry.” He hangs up his phone and shoves it back in his pocket.

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“Yes, I did. I was gonna try to go out on a date since it seemed things were getting serious between you and Noel…”

“So you just canceled on that poor girl who was probably getting ready?!”

“Well, I never said I was perfect! You of all people should know that, it’s probably the reason you didn’t more than my dick, right?”

“You didn’t want more from me!”

“I did, I just didn’t know it!”

You groan loudly, completely frustrated with the entire situation.

“Wait, so you had sex with him tonight?”

“What?”

“Like right before you came here? He fucked you?”

“Only for a couple of minutes. He could tell I wasn’t into it.” You look away.

“Well, I’m not fucking you tonight, not unless you shower.”

“You really think I came over here for that?! I came here to yell at you!”

“For no fucking reason! Oh, boo hoo, you think I ruined you for all other men. Maybe Noel was just a dud in the sack. Maybe that’s why he was single.”

“So you would have just easily jumped into bed with me if I wanted?”

“In a heartbeat, but not if someone else just touched you. I don’t even wanna think about it.” He makes a disgusted noise. “It should have been me, it should always be me.”

“That’s how you really feel?”

“It is. How do you feel?”

“I want you, but I also want the dates and the romance. I don’t want the booty calls, Harry. It’s nice being wanted, but I wanna go out and do things. I like getting brunch and going to movies, or going to other bars, or-“

“Okay! We can do that, we can do all of it, Christ. I’d do anything if it meant you were mine again, even though you were never really fully mine, but I had a piece of you once, I want all of it now.”

“I want all of you too.” You start walking towards his bathroom. You knew it very well.

“Where are you going?”

“You asked me to shower, so that’s where I’m going.” He follows you in there and you stop short. “You…kept my body wash?” You snatch the travel size bottle and show it to him.

“Smells good.” He shrugs. “Didn’t wanna waste it.” You make a sweet pouty face at him. “Shut up, you know where the towels are.” He says and closes the door behind him.

After your shower you find him lounging on his bed. You have your towel secure around you.

“All Noel free?”

“Mhm.” You giggle and sit on the edge of the bed where he was laying.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. I just would’ve felt weird…” He sit up against the headboard.

“No, it made sense. I wouldn’t wanna hook up with you right after being with someone else either.” You look over at the empty space beside him. “You know, in the three months we were hooking up we never had a sleep over.”

“Is that your way of asking to spend the night?”

“Got a t-shirt I can sleep in?”

He hums his response and gets up. He goes into his dresser, and tosses you a shirt. You put it on and hang the towel up.

“Wanna just watch something on Netflix and cuddle?” He asks.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He smiles and puts the TV on while you crawl onto the bed. He throws an arm around you and rubs your back as he searches for something. You settle on some random movie. You bury your face in his chest and throw a leg over his.

“Why do you always do this?” He chuckles.

“Do what?”

“Any time we start a movie you get all needy.”

“You said you wanted to cuddle, this is me cuddling.”

“This is your knee getting very close to my dick.”

“Can you blame me? Haven’t had you in so long.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“If I hadn’t ended things you never would have realized you liked me as more than a friend.”

“Y/N.” He sighs. “How could you not tell? Have you ever had a casual hook up so passionate before?”

“I just thought you were really good in bed.” You chuckle.

“Well, I am. And like I said before, I didn’t really realize how I felt until after it was over, which is super shitty.” He looks down at you and cups your cheek. “You’re special to me. You always have been, think it’s why we’ve been such great friends.”

“You shouldn’t keep so much to yourself.”

“Tomorrow, after work, I’m taking you on a date. I don’t care how late it is, I’ll find a place to take you. Show you off to everyone, make ‘em all feel jealous.”

You smile as he leans in to kiss you. He push you down into the pillows and hovers over you. It felt so good to have his lips on yours again. You couldn’t believe how much you missed it, or how natural it felt. You tug at his shirt and take it off. His lips move to your jaw and to your neck. He sucks on your skin harshly and your nails rake down his back.

“This what you needed?” He whispers in your ear before he sucks on another spot.

“Yes.” You gasp. “Feels so good.”

He gets your shirt off and strips down to his boxers. He kisses down your chest, making sure to pay attention to your breasts. He kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, sucking on where he pleases. When his tongue meets your center you buck your hips up towards him.

“You know you’re not supposed to move. Or did you forget?”

“Maybe you should remind me.”

He grins and presses a hand down on your lower stomach. You gasp when his tongue laps around you again. Your hands grip at his hair when he starts to suck on your clit. You moan out when you feel two of his fingers slip inside you.

“This is how you like it, right?” He says against you.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when his fingers curl up against your spongy front wall. He sucks even harsher on your clit and you feel like you’re going to lose it.

“Harry.” You cry out.

You feel him groan as you come to your release. He removes his fingers and sticks his tongue inside you to fully get a taste of you. He had missed it so much. He was sort of getting carried away, and started eating you out again. His thumb creeps up to your clit to rub circles into it. Your head was thrashing against the pillow, and you were sweating from what he was doing to you. No one did this like Harry. Once you come again he slowly lifts his head. He was out of breath and his chin was glistening.

“Get on your stomach.” He breathes.

You grin and flip over. He grips your hips, and pulls you back to him. He slips his boxers off and then slips inside you.

“Oh, fuck.” You groan.

“You like my cock buried inside you?”

“Yes.”

You gasp when he starts moving in and out of you. His hand grasps at the roots for your hair. His skin was slapping against yours. It was like the two of you had never been apart. You move your ass back against him to get in sync with his pace.

“Still so fucking tight. You feel amazing.” He grunts.

Harry tugs your hair harshly to pulls you back to him. Your head rolls back against his shoulder. One of his arms snakes between your breasts, and his other moves so his hand can rub your slit as his thrusts in and out of you.

“Taking me so well.” He says into your ear. You turn slightly to kiss him. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and bite down on it. “Fuck.” He breathes.

“Harry.” You whimper.

He could tell you were close again by the way you were tightening around him.

“Where, shit, where can I come?”

“Inside me, obviously.”

He rubs your clit faster and you grab at his hair. You cry out before he pushes you back down on the bed. He flips you over and slips back inside. His hand grips your throat in just the right way. You both make eye contact. He thought you looked beautiful like this.

“Shit.” He groans and fills you to the brim with his hot come.

“Oh my god, Harry.” You moan.

“Like that?”

“Love it.”

He pulls out of you and you clamp your legs together so you don’t make a mess. You hobble to bathroom to clean up and then come back to him. You collapse on top of his chest. He plays with your hair and kisses your forehead.

“So…you really wanna be with me?” He asks. Someone had to speak first.

“Yeah, I do.” You look up at him. “You wanna be with me?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll have to call Noel tomorrow to let him know it’s officially over.”

“Same with the girl I’ve been talking to.” He kisses your forehead again and looks at you. “And you’re really gonna spend the night?”

��Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Good, because I’m about ready to fuck you again. Got an entire month to make up for, babe.”

[freewheelshippin]

Major insomnia and heartache in this chili’s tonight (this morning), so here we are with a quick little fic about two dum dums learning how to share heartache.(SFW, no major content warnings I can think of.) 

next day edits: well, now that it’s not ass o’clock, i went back in and tidied this up and added a fair amount more!!  (much more satisfying ending instead of something so abrupt, haha.) doesn’t add any further content warnings, tho! 

Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed her, he thought as she tensed and her demeanor changed entirely. 

“I want to know,” he continued, resolutely. 

“Everyone says that,” she spat. “And nobody actually does.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ranmaru barked. “You heard me out when I told you about everything. Were you lying all those times you listened? Pretending to care just long enough I get over myself and shut up and move on?!” He knew, in his heart of hearts, of course she wasn’t, but the way she said it insulted him so badly he could practically taste the bitterness. 

She paused, looking to the side ruefully, shamefully. He had a feeling she’d struggle with eye contact this conversation, and he slouched his arms together, dropping back onto the couch with an irritated sigh, out of her line of sight. 

“....No. Absolutely not. Look, this … is different.” 

“How,” he growled. “You want to fucking talk about it. I tell you I’ll listen, it’s the least I owe you, and you say ‘no.’ You think I’m not gonna say ‘why’ after you shit all over my answer like that?” 

She took a longer time than usual to find words, so just a few empty seconds where he waited, frustrated and somewhat furious at the disconnect. 

“...You’re right that I shouldn’t have put it like that. That was shitty, and I’m sorry. But there’s...just...some kinds of life experiences that I’ve found nobody has any reason to learn to understand if it doesn’t happen to them. And...nobody’s prepared to deal with it -- meaningfully, anyways -- even secondhand.” 

“Are you just looking for excuses to run away from--” He nearly hesitated over the words, realizing what they were almost a second too late, but marching forward with them anyway. “--trusting me?” 

Another pause. “....I don’t know. I...can’t think of a time I’ve talked about it and….it hasn’t been taken from me.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means....” She lingered long enough that Ranmaru worried, rousing himself a bit from staring blankly at the ceiling as he sprawled on the couch. She hadn’t moved from where she had been standing, but she looked at a far-off bare wall with nothing on it. “...that...the way people aren’t,” Another pause, as she searched for the word, “magically equipped with how to deal with it. It...turns me from a person into….anything else.” 

“Like what.”

“An after-school lesson. Entertainment. A new toy. A pet. A messiah to burn later, if I’m being really dramatic and cynical. I don’t know, it depends on what flavor of asshole feels like coming out, and it’s never anything good.” 

“Then tell them they’re being an asshole -- tell me I’m being an asshole -- and don’t quit until you get what you want out of them!” 

“Look!” She finally lost that last twinge of polite restraint, of saying things more nicely than Ranmaru thought was worth bothering with. “What if I didn’t know how to do that, ‘cause how could I?! And what if I don’t want to have to fight every fucking time? What if I just want to be important enough to get it right on to begin with?! And-- don’t give me that shit about being so strong, you’ll survive the mistakes, blah blah -- fuck that! I’m tired of it! I’m not a crash-test dummy! So fucking crucify me for not buckling in to crash myself into who fuckin’ knows what just ‘cuz you got it in your head this is how you’ll repay this stupid friend debt you think you’re in -- you’re not! Just---” she grunted exasperatedly, her uncharacteristic stillness disappearing as she felt less cornered. 

“I don’t care if you think I don’t owe you!” Ranmaru shot back. “I do! I want to even the score! If you did right by me, then I gotta do right by you! It’s how I do things, and I’m not about to just forget and let you keep diggin’ yourself into this hole--”  (this hole I know very well, Ranmaru thought) “-- where you get so hellbent on doin’ it on your own you cut down all your vision, ‘n your potential, ‘n all the ways you reach it, ‘cuz you keep having to re-invent the wheel just to take a step forward with all the shit you’re carrying!” 

“Will you stop trying to quantify this!?” 

“I’m not! I’m just tellin’ you what I think, and I’m right!” (I know I’m right because of y--) 

“Okay! Maybe you are! About the hole thing -- not the whole thing, the -- the fuckin pit, not the whole-- ah, fuck it, you know what I mean! But I still think this debt system you keep putting basic acts of friendship into is dumb as shit!” 

Ranmaru could already feel the point of this argument slipping away from them. “Are you gonna tell me what’s eating at you so bad or not?!” 

She froze again. “---I’m. ….No. I’m not. I...my heart’s not ready, if things....go badly again.” 

“Fine,” Ranmaru said, resolutely. He was hurt, in a small way, but he felt better that she was at least being truthful, and least acting out of her best interest, not some idiotic idea of useless martyrdom. H couldn’t fault her for protecting her heart. He, of all people, couldn’t possibly do that. 

“...then I’ll work to be someone worthy of the trust you deserve,” he murmured, somewhat less resolutely. 

The words just came out of him before he could think better of it, so Ranmaru hadn’t considered any reaction to expect. But stunned silence, then sniffling tears, that was probably the reaction he’d been least prepared to deal with. 

“Oi-- don’t---” Ranmaru leapt to his feet, like he were a startled prey animal. “Don’t cry!” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she huffed through a miserable, contorted, crying face. “Come here, you stupid bastard!” She came towards him with arms outstretched, only just enough warning for Ranmaru to open his own and receive the gesture, an awkward stalwartness to him as he stiffly supported her while the tears ran their course. 

“I think it’s amazing how when you say shit like that,” she murmured, her arms tight around his chest. “I really do believe you mean it.” 

“....’cause I do,” Ranmaru grumbled, realizing his face burned just a little as she squeezed tighter, and he felt just a little colder when she let go. 

“...It’s not about you changing yourself, you know,” she continued, busying herself with cleaning up her tears and snot. “It’s not about you not being enough. You know that, right?” 

“...I don’t care if it is. I’d want to do it. I know you don’t expect people to be anyone but who they are. Whatever change I’d have to make was one I should be working on, anyway.” 

“Oh, god,” she sighed, stepping away to the nearest sink to wash her face, but there was a smile on her voice. “I really can’t underestimate how seriously you take everything.” 

“I told you. I’m always serious about what I do,” he muttered, a little sourly, as the faucet ran. 

“Charm point~!” she called from the bathroom in such a silly, mocking voice Ranmaru could hardly believe she’d been crying like she had just a bit ago. 

“Shut up! Stop saying weird shit like Reiji!” 

“Oh.” She came back with an ominous smile, a little at odds with her puffy eyes and smudged eyeliner. “Well, that’s how I know I really hit the nail on the head.” 

“What’s so charming about taking things seriously,” he bristled. “It’s just what people should do!” 

She laughed, so genuinely, so warmly, Ranmaru felt a twinge in his stomach. Maybe it was pride, maybe something else he didn’t want to unpack just yet. 

“C’mere,” she said again, despite going right to him, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly before leaning back, hoisting him higher until his toes dragged against the floor. Ranmaru let it happen, feeling his weight shift onto hers as she growled into the effort of getting him into the air, even with his extra height on her. He complained about these kinds of hugs, once, but had since grown so used to them, there was something about them he could admit to liking. 

“...Alright, alright. Put me down. Oi. Don’t swing me around, put me down!” The cats had gathered around, looking ready to pounce at his toes and pant legs as they waved through the air. 

“Is big baby scared of heights,” she said with that facetious tone that always got him. 

“Who said anything about that!? Put me down before the cats get on me -- like -- damn it, exactly like that!” One took a flying leap, batting at his legs until her claws her tangled into his pant leg. He could feel her grin into his shoulder as she obliged, slowly enough that the cats could get out of the way.

“It absolutely is what people should do,” she murmured, flopping back around him after he freed the the paw from its fabric prison (and his pants from any more catscratches). “You’ve just got the big stupid, stubborn heart to follow through with it. With literally everything you do.” 

“...Tch.” Ranmaru wrapped his arms around her then while he felt his cheeks, the tips of his ears prick with heat. “Of course you’d make it about heart. It’s not, it’s about the ways souls burn when you give ‘em the right passion and drive....” 

“Mmhmm,” she said, squeezing one last time before she released again. “Heart. It’s very rock of you.” She patted him on the back as she slipped out from his arms. “I’m gonna get myself a glass of water, you want one?”  

“...Oi. It’s not --” He sighed. “Whatever. Yeah, I’ll take one,” he replied, stretching back over the couch.

She disappeared, and ice and water clinked into glasses. Ranmaru, for a stolen moment, rested his right hand over his chest, quietly lingering at how open and warm it felt beneath all the skin, muscle, and bone. 

Even if she didn’t like the idea of it being a debt, Ranmaru swore to himself that he would’t let this sort of favor go unreturned. It was how he did things, after all. 

[glitterslag]

All Night Library - A Night At The Fandom gift for @illfoandillfie

Here’s my A Night At The Fandom gift for @illfoandillfie ! I hope you enjoy bby!!! (it started off cute and turned a little angsty idk what happened :( but it has a happy ending!) 

Also, please know that I’ve spent the majority of my degree actively trying to avoid the library so I’m sorry if I got anything utterly wrong!

Summary: A little drabble about an all-night library and the blond haired, salt-and-vinegar crisp eating, fingernail chewing patron who comes to be your secret crush. 

Word Count: 1.5k-ish 

Warnings: Sad cold Rog with no money for his heating bills :(

The library was open 24 hours. 

That was why it didn’t strike you as unusual, at first, when he would appear some time after 10pm, spread his things out messily across the far table under the window (always the same one), and hit the books. 

He was probably a student, you reasoned, with an essay to write or a midterm test to study for. It wasn’t unusual to see them at this hour, especially around exam season.

In fact, you’d often see him with some dog-eared text book in hand, scribbling away furiously as he tugged at his blonde mop in frustration, face set into a hard line as you watched his eyes reading back over the same passage again and again and again. 

Sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, you’d peer around the shelves and take a glance at what he was reading. Biology text books, for the most part, apart from when he was taking a break and then he’d be reading sci-fi. Or horror, or comic books. Or the crossword page in the back of the paper. Or even once, when he was quite sure that no one was around to catch him, a heavily thumbed through edition of Playboy (Gala Christmas Issue). 

As the weeks wore on you noticed more and more little things about your mystery boy. 

There were coffee rings stained onto the front cover of every one of his exercise books. He chewed on the end of his pencil when he was concentrating. He bit his nails. Salt and vinegar crisps were his go-to study snack. He wasn’t a natural blonde. 

Whether or not he noticed you, however, you couldn’t say. He never spoke to you. Never smiled. He never, during any of the countless nights you spent trying not to watch him over your card catalogues, looked up and caught your eye. 

–

When you returned to work after the Christmas break to find your favourite crisp munching, biology studying, comic book reading patron still turning up on an almost nightly basis, it became clear he was going to be a permanent fixture. You began to wonder whether he was an insomniac. 

He wouldn’t be the first to try to find sleep here. There is a special kind of quiet that can only be found within libraries after dark, and it was not unusual to come across someone fast asleep between the aisles when you were stacking shelves at three in the morning. 

The other alternative was that he was homeless. You hoped with all of your heart that it wasn’t the truth, but it could be difficult to tell sometimes. This was London, after all. Students, hobos, people who lived in Shoreditch - they all looked the same, for Christ’s sake. 

You never were one to keep up with the ridiculous trends. 

One night, when he had gone into the other room to rifle through the medicine text books, you decided to go snooping through his things. It was wrong and you knew it, but the chance to find out his secrets was too tempting to pass up on. 

“If he comes back, I’ll just pretend to be tidying up over here.” You thought as you crept over, sneaking a glance over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t there. You started by searching through his rucksack. 

A chocolate bar, a DC comic, muddy football boots wrapped up in a Farmfoods bag. It was difficult to imagine those skinny legs, which were normally stuffed into drainpipe jeans, in a pair of mesh shorts. Difficult, but not completely un-arousing. 

You put the vision into the spank-bank for later, and carried on with your search. Among the more notable items were a pair of wooden drum sticks, and what looked to be his diary. 

After another nervous glance over your shoulder, you opened it eagerly, careful not to tear the pages as you flipped through. Out fell a strip of photos, taken in a booth, of him and a dark eyed boy in a fur coat. They were posing and making silly faces, just like anyone would with their friend, and you realised then that the only time you’d ever seen him smile was in these pictures. 

You found doodles of lightening bolts and superheroes and cars, and crude little depictions of stick men in odd sex positions, little quotes and jokes and sayings and what you thought must be the initials of his name - RMT - over and over in various styles. Bubble writing, calligraphic script, big and spiky and coloured in in purple. You found song lyrics he’d copied down. T Rex, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones. To your surprise, there were some he seemed to have written himself. 

“Sleeping very soundly on a Saturday morning

I was dreaming I was Al Capone

There’s a rumor going round

Gotta clear outta town…”

He’d decorated the page with little musical notes. He’d even gone back and critiqued his own work, crossing out words and writing little red notes in the margin, like “this needs work” or “find a better rhyme”. You were utterly stunned. 

Just then, you heard a shuffle coming from the other room, so you slammed the book shut and left in a hurry. 

–

About a week later, RMT (that was how you’d come to secretly refer to him) checked out some books. He’d never done that before. Sure, he’d sit and read them, for hours, sometimes, but take them home he did not. That was why you were so pleasantly surprised when he strolled up to the counter with an armful, dropping them down in front of you with a flash of a grin. 

Your surge of private joy didn’t last long, however, as when you started the process of checking out his large stack of books, the boy spoke up. 

“You read my diary.” 

You blanched.

He said it matter-of-factly. His voice was soft and high-pitched. There was a hint of accusation there, maybe, but he certainly didn’t sound angry.

Nevertheless, you found you couldn’t speak.

“I…” 

“You read my diary.” 

He said it again. 

“I saw you.”

You fumbled for an excuse. You didn’t have one. 

“I’m really sorry.” You said finally, eyes fixed on his feet. “I just - I was just… concerned.” 

You said finally, shifting your gaze up his body slowly, until you could look him in the face. His expression was unreadable.

“You’ve come here nearly every night for the past three months.” You explained quietly, glancing around to check that none of the few other patrons were within earshot. “I guess I was just a little worried you didn’t have anywhere to sleep.” 

You looked at him apologetically.

He was shifting from foot to foot. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“I’m sorry.” You said again quickly. “That was so rude of me, I was completely overstep-” 

“It’s fine.” He cut in. 

“Truth is,” He swallowed, glancing around, and then started again. “Truth is, my landlord cut the heating off in my place a while back.”

Your heart sank.

“I come here because it’s the only place in know that’s warm and- and free and..” 

He trailed off.

Now you wished you’d never said anything at all. Looking at him now, seeming almost to shrink under your gaze - it broke your heart. 

“You’re always welcome here.” You said in a small voice. 

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“Of course.”

You smiled at him softly, and it seemed to perk him up a bit. 

“And if you ever need a place to stay…” 

You bit your lip. His eyes widened at the insinuation. 

“I, uh, I’d like that.” 

It was obvious it hadn’t been what he was expected, but he seemed pleased. 

You stamped his copy of Physicians Desk Reference For Prescription Drugs Volume XII before writing down your phone number, along with your name and a little kiss. 

“B-r-i-g-i-d.” He struggled to read upside down. You giggled. “I’m Roger.” 

You closed the book and slid it across the counter to him shyly. The last one. 

“Call me, Roger.” 

He placed his big, warm hand over yours as he took back the book. 

“I will.” 

       «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[stellarbisexual]

you want reddie prompts??? i'm so terrible with coming up with ideas but maybe college reddie, something a little smutty and a little fluffy

Richie’s not really one for napping; he’s not really one for sleeping in general, subsisting on coffee and gummy worms and Nerds rope and his own “joie de vivre,” as he likes to put it.  But he loves to help Eddie nap.  And powering through the end of their final semester of college has required a lot of naps.  All Eddie has to do is come shuffling into the kitchen where Richie’s snacking or the living room where Richie’s reading with that sweet look on his face, and Richie’s swift on his feet.  

He shuts all the lights in all the rooms, pulls the blackout curtains in their bedroom closed, lights a lavender-scented candle on the bedside table, and turns on Eddie’s white noise machine, Eddie falling into their bed with a grateful sigh.  Richie shuts the bedroom door, climbs in after him, and wraps both arms around him, pulling him in nice and tight, and presses his mouth to the back of his neck.  Eddie’s usually good for about forty minutes like that (no more or he’ll wake up cranky and kind of headachey).  He’ll stir on his own, and Richie, still awake, will welcome him back to consciousness with a gentle squeeze and a kiss to his shoulder.  

The last few weeks, though, forty minutes is often not nearly enough, Eddie perpetually sleep-deprived and a little faded.  Alarms are necessary, and when those fail, Richie has to urge Eddie out of bed or off the living room sofa, as much as he doesn’t want to.

It’s the day before the first draft of his final chapter is due, and Eddie snuggles more deeply into the crook of Richie’s neck as his iPhone tinkles.  

Richie pushes his fingers gently through Eddie’s hair.  “Come on, shortcake, you’ve gotta wake up.”  He kisses his temple, trying to soften the blow.  “You told me to not let you sleep more than an hour.”

Eddie groans.  “‘M awake.”  The finish line of his thesis has happened to coincide with a serious case of senioritis for Eddie.  Even though he’s almost done, he can see the light at the end of the tunnel, he kind of regrets agreeing to do a thesis at all.  All he wants right now is to do the bare minimum so he can graduate and start his life with Richie, one in the real world, with jobs and vacations and maybe a dog–and, more importantly, no more fucking papers.

He sucks a kiss into Richie’s neck and inches up the hem of his t-shirt.  “I’m very awake.”  He slinks down the mattress, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center line of Richie’s stomach, tongue slipping out to taste the hair leading down to his boxer briefs.  

Richie shakes his head with a deep sigh.  “Sneaky, baby.  I know what you’re doing.  It’s not going to work.”  Eddie’s vicious little mouth starts sucking a bruise into his left hip, and he grabs his chin, fixing him with a look.  “You have to finish that chapter.”

Eddie makes his eyes ultrawide.  “Right now?”  He unbuttons Richie’s jeans and hooks his fingertips into the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling it down just enough so he can nuzzle into the dark, dark hair there.  

“Jesus,” Richie breathes.  “You’re evil, Eds.  You’re pure evil.  You know I can’t resist your sweet, sweet lovin,’ and you’re totally taking advantage.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Eddie says, scraping his teeth over Richie’s sensitive skin, making his hips rise off the mattress, and sliding his small, tidy hands up his sides.

Richie quickly takes him by the shoulders and flips him.  “You gave me explicit instructions to wake you up at three and make sure you go to the library and go to your carrel and finish that chapter.”  Before Eddie can protest–with his hands or his mouth–Richie reaches under his shirt and starts tickling him.  “You said, and I quote, ‘I’ll probably try to sway you with my magic dick, but under no circumstances–’”

Eddie shrieks and giggles.  “That’s not what I fucking said!”

“‘–Under no circumstances are you to let me seduce you as a means of procrastination.’  That’s what you said.”  Richie palms his cheek and kisses him sweetly.  “Remember last month?  You were up the whole fucking night and just barely made it to your meeting with your advisor because you were editing to the last fucking second.  Because you paraded around in those little green shorts that drive me fucking bonkers–”

Eddie’s eyes light up.  “I can get them from my drawer.  They’re clean.”

“No.”  Richie threatens to tickle him again.  “You are getting that adorable little ass out of bed, and you are going to the library.  Right now.”

Eddie makes a face, going limp underneath him.  “Fine.”

Richie smiles wide, kissing him, though Eddie’s unresponsive.  “You’re gonna love me so much for this later.  I promise.”

“Okay,” he pouts, hauling himself onto his feet, toeing his shoes back on and already heading for his backpack by the bedroom door.

Richie grabs his hand, pulling him back for a second.  “I’ll have dinner ready when you come back.”

“You’re going to cook?  That sounds more like a threat than a gift.”  Eddie pushes Richie’s hair out of his face, looking incredibly grateful despite his words.  

“No.  I’m going to order the best takeout you’ve ever had, baby.”  He pushes his face into Eddie’s neck and makes like he’s gobbling him up.  He gives him a push.  “Go be a little academic badass.  The shorts and I will be here when you return.”

tag list: (lmk if you want to be added!) @reddie-to-fight @hurleyhugo 

[alexanderwrites]

Thoughts Roundup - Twin Peaks: The Return, Part 17 & 18

“It is a story of many, but begins with one - and I knew her. The one leading to the many is Laura Palmer. Laura is the one”. So said the Log Lady in her iconic introduction to the first ever Twin Peaks. Just as Laura became a conduit to the town and its people, all these people led right back to Laura Palmer. She was at the end of every road, her photograph lived in all the town’s buildings, and even decades later in The Return, her face emerges slowly from the trees during the opening credits. What was about her always will be about her, and that cannot be changed. 

Everything in these two hours presents easier answers than Laura does, but that has always been true of her - she’s the one still filled with secrets. There is something of a heartbreaking, world-changing realisation in this finale, the kind of realisation that the patrons of the Roadhouse had when Maddie Palmer was killed. There was no way for them to know what had happened, but they felt it. Twin Peaks has always been about feeling rather than knowing. It feels like falling, like the world is being rocked from its axis, and it is the show at its most powerful.

There is a common idea in Television Finales that the last episode is where something concludes - where the world, for better or worse, is put to rights. And when this finale feels like it’s heading towards that, it takes a violent u-turn and reminds us that Twin Peaks has never been normal television.

The hellish final fight between Freddie and Bob is visually very Lynchian, yet there is an unusual amount of literalness and resolution to it. Just as Freddie punches Bob through the floor, the BobBall (there’s gotta to be a better word for it) rises again, a terrifying and unstoppable anthropomorphised nightmare that violates our screen, bursting from it with visceral and unknowable force. When Bob crawled over the couch in the Palmer house and came directly towards the camera, that was an invasive and affective moment, but this is that moment amplified to unbearable measures. But he still is vanquished, broken into small pieces and absorbed through the ceiling of the office. And after everything Doppelcoop had been through, after all the vicious, hardened monsters he’d come up against - it was Lucy who killed him with a single gunshot and sent him packing back to the black lodge. 

Lucy gets her heroic moment (She has always been an unsung hero, a smarter-than-you’d-think character who, despite struggling with mobile phones, still gets things done when she needs to) and even though all of these moments feel suspiciously neat and tidy, it’s hard not to be delighted by them. It turns out Naido is Diane as many suspected (and we finally learned earlier that Judy is the ancient evil being referred to in The Secret History of Twin Peaks, and most likely the experiment we saw in the box in New York) and her and Coop’s embrace is satisfying but again, very convenient. And then - right on time! - here’s Gordon, Tammy and Albert! And Bobby, The Mitchum Brothers, James and Freddie! They’re all here, all your favourite characters! And at any moment it almost feels like someone is about to come in and say “Coop, this telegram came for you - your old pal Harry Truman says ‘Coop, i’ve sent you a piece of cherry pie and a coffee, and i’ll be home soon. Hee-Haw, and Merry Christmas!’”. It feels unreal and purposefully kind of artificial. But something tells us this is off. 

After interacting with Naido/Diane, Dale looks as though he’s almost regressing back to who he was before waking up. But instead, he’s remembering something. He’s met her before, in another world. His moment of realisation echoes throughout the scene, as a transparent and ghostly image of Dale’s face dominates the frame and the rest of the action occurs, visually, inside his head. He remembers something, and we begin to suspect that none - or all - of these worlds are real, including the one we’re in now. 

Earlier in the episode, Cooper commented that the time 2.53pm is 2+5+3 which is “10, the number of completion”. The clock in the sheriff’s office cannot move on. It is stuck between 2.52 and 2.53. Time moves strangely and completion cannot be reached. There is something missing, which the transparent Dale comments on: “We Live Inside A Dream”. He also says that past dictates the future and that things will change, and suddenly, everything does start to change. As Dale will soon change the course of history, the moments in the office begin to feel unreal. Their current existence can’t exist as it does if what happened in the past is undone. The dream will soon be shattered, and it’s already starting to fracture. Is it future or past? One and the same. 

The past dictates the future, so if the past can be changed, then there are infinite ways that the story could turn out. There are versions where Laura was killed, versions where she lived, versions where she was never born in the first place. The version that we know is a dream inasmuch as it is just one version of events. It’s a version that was directly affected by Bob because he killed Laura. And so, as the sinking feeling begins again, the lights go out in the office and Dale, Gordon and Diane find themselves removed from the office and walking through darkness. Is this what it’s like to go missing in Twin Peaks? Is this what it was like for Jeffries or Desmond? And are the people in the Sheriff’s office still there, wondering just where the hell those three went? Or are they non-ex-ist-ent?

The trio find themselves in the basement of the Great Northern hotel. The door to which Dale has the key is maybe the final and most important precipice that he pushes himself through. Though he has been guided by The Fireman, this decision is what changes everything, and it’s a decision that we now know was not the right decision. It’s so painful, in hindsight, to see Dale so plucky and optimistic going into this. He so selflessly wants happiness for everyone, and not only that but wants to remove pain that exists now and has existed seemingly forever. He wants to be the ultimate hero, and once he’s in 1989 and writing himself into Laura’s history, he begins to act as a version of The Fireman. Jeffries has sent him here, after telling him where to find Judy, (”Say hello to Gordon. He’ll remember the unofficial version”), and at first Laura sees him hiding and screams. It’s an absolutely ingenious retconning of events, and visually it is seamless. The events that we see from Fire Walk With Me feel and look like a distant dream that Dale tries to wake her up from. When Laura stumbles through the woods, she sees Dale, looking tall, benevolent and completely out of place, much like The Fireman did whenever he appeared. 

As Laura Palmer’s theme chimes in, and as you hear her voice again, sounding so young and so sweet, it is overwhelmingly moving. You know that he is here to save her, and it is the bittersweetness of wishing this could happen and knowing that it cannot that makes you ache. As he lead her away, her plastic-wrapped corpse disappears from the beach, and Pete Martell finally gets to go fishing. It is almost too much to fathom, but as Dale leads her through the darkest woods, through complete silence, we know that it cannot be that simple. The sound the Fireman played back in Part 1 finally triggers something, and Laura is gone again, her agonising scream shattering our hopes. Laura is gone. She hasn’t been saved, she has been entirely relocated, and Sarah Palmer - or Judy, who seems to live inside her - feels this. The smashing and stabbing of Laura’s portrait by Sarah is violently ugly, and the editing as her strikes are reversed and chopped up is masterful. Someone has stolen her Garmonbozia. 

When Dale makes it out of those dark woods, he’s in the Black Lodge again, and this is where things start to look familiar. Laura’s whispered secret causes Dale some confusion, and she is ripped out of the lodge and placed in another time and another place. Her whisper is something we will never know, but it isn’t something Dale is happy to hear. “You can’t save me”. “You killed me”. “I’m in Odessa”. Who knows - it could’ve been any of these things, or none of these things. The point, really, is that we don’t know. We almost feel as if her words would somehow answer a cosmic question that’d make everything fall into place, but would they really? What could she say to make any of this okay? I think Dale’s reaction - an incredulous “huh?” - says that he is realising what we are all realising throughout this episode. Some awful, horrible truth. And even still, he listens to Leland - “find Laura”. 

Outside of the Lodge at Glastonbury Grove, it’s hard to tell what is real in the darkness of the woods. Diane is there, and Dale and her confirm to each other that they are their real selves. But by this stage, we don’t know who they are anymore. This is further obfuscated by the purposeful lack of time that we spend with Dale and Diane together. They are suddenly driving somewhere far, far away from Twin Peaks - 430 miles to be exact - to the place that Doppelcoop crashed and was nearly taken back to the lodge at the top of the season. And it’s here, next to crackling electric pylons that physically resemble the owl cave symbol we’ve seen time and time again, that Dale and Diane go through the final door. (Speaking of final doors, i’m so delighted to see a version of Coop/Dougie returning home to Janey-E and Sonny Jim. It was a long time coming, but it’s nice to see that sometimes you really can go home).

They know things will be different on the other side, but don’t they already feel different? We have been entirely disconnected from the rest of the characters in the finale, and that makes wherever Dale is seem completely isolated. The last of Dale as we know him is gone after one final kiss, and the blue skies turn into the darkest of nights once again - we are in another place. In this other place, Dale and Diane are still themselves, but they’ve lost something. Dale is colder, slower and quieter. Diane seems to be in pain again. At a motel, she stares out of her car window and sees herself emerge quietly from behind a wall. Perhaps this was a warning to her to get away. That the identity of Diane would be dead by the morning if she stayed. She stayed, and the world changed. 

Nothing has ever felt as wrong as their sex scene feels. Dale is emotionless and still throughout, not even reacting as Diane claws at and mashes his face; she looks towards the ceiling, desperate to be far away. It feels like they are becoming other people, they are slipping away from who they are into entirely different roles. It feels sickly and uncomfortable, as if the more they try to get closer, the further apart they drift. They aren’t themselves anymore.

She is gone when he wakes up, and in this other world they’ve passed into, she has fully accepted her identity as Linda. It is a continuing theme from Lost Highway, a nightmarish concept of finding out that you are not who you thought you were. Dale doesn’t accept that he’s Richard, and is confused by the letter he finds naming him as Richard, and signed Linda. Dale is holding on for dear life, but even he has to acknowledge that outside, the motel is not the one they entered last night, and the car he gets into is not the car they drove last night - if it even was last night. Identity is a big theme in Lynch’s work, and Dale bases his identity on being an enthusiastic, kind and hard-working man, but now he is being pushed further and further away from that until he is literally somebody else.

Dale seems to drive without direction. He’s not his usual determined self, and not a note of music is heard now. He drives through a flat, faceless but realistic looking town. The banality receives a jolt of terror, as a giant “JUDY’S” sign makes the place feel manufactured again. Inside the cafe, Dale is different. He doesn’t enjoy his coffee, he is far more violent than usual when dispatching the three men in the cafe (though gotta admit: they deserved it), and there is a spark gone from his eyes. He’s Dale minus something. He leaves Judy’s with his information on where to find “Laura” and waiting outside Laura’s - or Carrie’s, as she’s known in this reality - is that same buzzing telephone pole that was found in the fat trout trailer park. It is a symbol, a warning, a normal object repurposed as a symbol of something evil and dangerous. It is directly outside her house. Dale recognises this but continues.

There is such pain in seeing Laura not as Laura. She has disappeared from one reality to be thrown into one manufactured by Judy which sees her as Carrie, someone with a great deal of pain inside her too. Nervous and unsettled, she reacts with a stuttering dread to the name “Sarah”. She is on the verge of a realisation, even if she brushes off being told by Dale that she is a girl named Laura. He seems to have such a lack of control in this scene. He asks rambling, untidy questions that don’t get him anywhere. He has little sense of authority, and is easily confused by what he learns. He is Richard in this timeline, or at least, he was supposed to be. He’s holding onto Dale but he’s not as strong as he was. He wants to wake Laura up and to take her home, but what does he expect from that? Does he really think Laura can be saved, and Judy defeated? Would Laura really want to return home? Dale doesn’t think of this because he’s fixated on fixing things. But he ruptured something when he went back to 1989.

It’s hard to say what is more troubling in Carrie/Laura’s living room: the corpse, or the figurine on her mantle of the white horse. “Woe to the ones who behold the pale horse”, we were told by the Log Lady. Woe to Dale and woe to Carrie/Laura. We have descended fully into this netherworld with them and cut off contact with what is familiar. The focus that they get in this last episode begins to hint that this is it. As the minutes go on, we know there cannot be an encompassing closure. There are threads and stories that won’t be tied off. You can think of these last moments as a detour, but they’re a detour that close the story in an eternal, figure 8 loop. Just as the first ever episode of Twin Peaks shifted gear with Dale driving into the town, the final parts close with the same journey. The first time, he’d gone to save the memory of a girl named Laura Palmer. The second, he’s come to bring that girl back to life. 

And so they drive, and drive, and drive. She is happy to be leaving Odessa, to be far away from Judy’s and White Horses. She doesn’t know exactly what to expect, but she accepts the ride. The dark night ahead of them is the longest yet. The headlights on the road linger for so long. They are leaving Odessa on an odyssey through the lost highways and into woods of Laura’s memories. The blackness becomes all encompassing, this becomes their dark night of the soul. We are going deeper into this world and deeper into Laura, and we wait for any sign that she is who she was. She looks out the window and the douglas fir trees fail to trigger anything for her. They pass the Double R diner - the lights are off and the streets are empty - and still nothing. 

This isn’t home anymore. It wasn’t home when Laura was alive, either. It was a trap for her, just as Odessa was a trap. Twin Peaks was not a dream, but a nightmare for Laura. It was her dream - her nightmare - that they all lived inside. And Dale fails to recognise this and now he’s broken it. He wants for that to be erased and replaced with something better, but if she is erased, then how can it all exist? The Log Lady once said: “When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first, and the wind rises, and then all goodness is in jeopardy.”. Dale is a hero for trying to put that fire out, but Margaret was right: goodness is in jeopardy, and it isn’t easy, or possible, to save it this way.

At the house, Dale bumbles through questions to the owner. No, there’s no Sarah Palmer here. No, we didn’t buy the house from her. The answer that we do get says so much: her name is Alice Tremond, and she bought the house from Mrs Chalfont - both names given to a woman who existed both in our world and in the black lodge. Though she was largely benevolent, this hammers home that this isn’t the Twin Peaks we know. Something is very off. We are in their house now. Is this the same woman who will one day give Laura the painting of a doorway? There is too much to comprehend in these questions, and back on the street, it all washes over Dale as he is wounded in confusion. He tries to hold onto some semblance of reality, like a dream upon waking. But he is powerless again - he hasn’t delivered Laura home, he hasn’t saved her, and home doesn’t really exist anymore. 

The curtains are torn down and the realities crash into one, the dream has ended, and now we face a world where he and Laura possibly don’t exist. By taking Laura from the woods and delivering Laura back here, has he killed the memory of her? The question that strikes Dale is “What year is this?”. He staggers around in confusion; Laura looks down, beginning to tremble. She doesn’t know what year it is. She is on the cusp of a realisation, of a memory, of this dream she is in being shattered as the other one was. It is all too much to bear, until a familiar sound sends everything crashing to the ground. 

The sound is the haunted, ghostly voice of Sarah Palmer calling “Laura?” from the house. It isn’t just her calling the name - but the exact clip from the first episode of Sarah calling upstairs to Laura. A memory, a fragment of who she was and what happened to her, is calling out from some deep, dark and distant world. And like Doppelcoop’s ominous “:-) ALL” text message, the sound lights a fire and and she remembers everything. She does the only thing she can do, and we hear maybe the most famous, haunting and agonising sound in all of Twin Peaks: the primal scream of Laura Palmer.

Dale looks in fear, in shock. He has got what he wanted, but he’s realising what he wanted is not what is right. A pain that has lasted forever and will last forever is reawakened in her. Dale can go back and try to change history, and he can destroy the timeline as we know it: but he cannot undo the pain and the fear. Laura was killed. He tries to kill two birds with one stone: to save her from death, and then bring her back home. But she cannot be brought back home without remembering what happened to her. This kills her all over again. It is a paradox of anguish, a full circle that is destined to loop forever. Her scream shatters the dream, and the lights in the Palmer house suddenly shut off. She has broken something. And before we see where they go next - to non-existence, back to the start, or wherever else you like to imagine - it cuts to black, the only sound lingering is the echo of her scream. It will always echo. It will always have been, and it always will be. 

As the credits begin to roll, Dale and Laura are in the Lodge again, and she is whispering a secret into his ear in slow motion. Fear and confusion are written across his face. He is realising she cannot be saved. Perhaps he is realising his attempts to fix things have made them worse. He has shattered her dream, the dream of Twin Peaks, and as a result undone his reality as well as her’s. He has trapped himself between worlds. He longs to see, but he has never been able to wake up fully from his own dream. He has never been able to stare reality in the face and realise that he cannot save the world. If Twin Peaks has been Laura’s dream, it makes it no less real. It all happened, she saw it all unfold in her dreams, she saw herself sacrificed and much later, she saw Bob finally defeated. But then Dale undid this. 

It is impossible to think of this all in literal terms. I don’t think any of it was invalidated, and I don’t believe that it was all as simple as a literal dream. I think instead that we’ve been privy to a version of events and everyone has played inside that. Maybe that version was Laura’s dream and that’s the one that should’ve been. The Return has asked us repeatedly to question who the dreamer is, to challenge everything we are seeing, because nothing is ever simple, and nothing is ever really finished. 

Everyone believed The Return referred to Dale’s return to Twin Peaks. It didn’t. It referred to Dale trying to return the world to how he believed it should be - a place free from the abuse and murder of Laura Palmer. And he’s right, we shouldn’t live in a world where that kind of thing happens. But ultimately it did happen. Dale is powerless and misguided, because instead of learning from past trauma and building a healthy road away from that, he attempts to drive back down that dark road and delete and invalidate the existence of that trauma. That can never be done. You cannot remove it without removing everything along with it. Where he should’ve focussed on dismantling the evil going forward, he focussed on undoing the damage.

I don’t know if Laura will ever find peace in this, or any dream. I don’t know if Dale will, either. It is a painful realisation that home will never be the home you thought it was, and that you cannot go back and recapture what once existed. And the ending is certainly a bleak one that argues that we get caught in desperate cycles of trying to control and fix our pasts and futures. But what it also applauds is thorough and dedicated goodness, as well as the benefit of attentiveness and listening. Dale was goodness incarnate, but he didn’t listen as he should have. Perhaps we can make things better, perhaps we can help others and overcome evil. But we have to listen to do that. We can’t strip away the experiences of others, but we can listen and learn from them. The reason the ending was so dark was because of Dale’s flaw - that he didn’t learn this.

The Return has been about learning and about listening. It is a testament to understanding and appreciating the world around us, and loving each other enough to hear what they tell us. We shouldn’t give up. We should pay better attention. We should listen to what those in pain tell us. We should do as the log lady told us and listen to the trees blowing and the river flowing. We might never find answers that will satisfy us entirely, but we can pursue these questions, we can behold the mystery, and in this, we can try and make things better. And if we listen and look closely enough, we might just find a light shining in those darkest of nights. 

[killcapitalizm]

school’s out, let’s go get some ice cream; peter parker

request: part 2 to my heart flutters when i see you!

word count: 2,848

warnings: idk cute dumb teens. i didn’t edit this?

a/n: thank you guys for liking part 1 enough to want a part 2!! listened to this while writing. disclaimer, the store mentioned here isn’t a real store. also, i used some virginia woolf quotes here. they will be bolded. love you!! <3

tags: @kaliforniacoastalteens (if you wanna be tagged in future fics, just ask <3)

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Summer was burning out and while that never necessarily meant the end of crime, autumn seemed to be slowing down the criminals in Queens. Not that Peter wanted people to do bad things and break the law, but it was awfully boring (not to mention it’d be incredibly hard to impress Mr. Stark when there was nothing to impress him with). He’s nearly forgotten all of his hobbies while he was busy being Spider-man. He wasn’t quite sure what to do after school one day when he noticed that for about a week now, the only thing he’s done as Spider-man was occasionally direct lost people to their destination. And maybe it wasn’t just criminals that slowed in autumn; the entire city moved with a lag and Peter hasn’t seen a single jogger for the last two weeks. There was at first something peaceful about it but his head was always racing so something that should be considered a blessing was now the source of aching boredom for him. He really needed to do something new.

The first week of October became painfully still when Ned was pulled away to visit some relatives in another state for a while. He didn’t have any other friends that were as close to him as Ned, no one else shared every interest of his, and on the way to Biology one day he considered putting on his suit and swinging around the city just so he was doing something.

You glance at Peter as he walks into the classroom and you notice how disinterested he looks– it’s a look you haven’t seen on him for at least a year now. That boy’s eyes always shone, even in the dark they twinkled. There’s something up when that innocent light fades.

“Peter!” You called out and he meets your gaze. “C’mere.”

He shuffles over to you and sits next to you. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

“How’re you feeling?” You offer a smile that he doesn’t return.

“Fine,” he answers, and then he’s gone again; he moves robotically as he pulls out his textbook while his mind is far away from this school and this city. You sigh, deciding to leave him be for now. You know better than to handle his gentleness with pushiness.

The class moves slowly, as Peter expected. You spent most of your time remembering that one time you told Peter that Michelle overheard him and he had gone red within a second and started apologizing over and over. You had told him that you really appreciated that he thought that and that it made you happy. Now, you wish you had said something smarter. Wittier. Better. Something that didn’t sound as obvious as “It means a lot coming from you.”

You clicked your pen. It’s over and done with. You shouldn’t worry about it. And then you smile to yourself because it feels a lot better to stop stressing over things you can’t change.

The final school bell rings for the day and you gather your things and shove them in your backpack. You fish you wallet out and check how much cash you have. Forty dollars should be enough.

“Peter?” You stand up next to him. He seems to snap out of whatever world he was in.

“Yeah?” He quickly starts to slide his belongings into his bag.

“Let’s go get ice cream.” You grin at him.

“W-What?” He looked up at you.

“Ice cream, you and me,” you say, grabbing his hand and tugging at him.

“Wait, why?” He stumbles as he stands up, nearly knocking his chair over. “Y/N!”

You pull him out of the classroom and head for the exit. “School’s out, let’s go get some ice cream. You need something fun.”

Peter sputters a bit more before quieting and simply letting you lead him off campus. You don’t let go of his hand, even when you enter the sluggish streets of Queens’ autumn. He dared to close his fingers around your hand and glanced up to find a giddy smile on your face. It took him a moment, but soon he shared that smile, glad to be doing something other than wondering what to do.

You led him to a street he rarely ever visited as Spider-man and has never been to as Peter. The street was far too quiet for a city street and it gave him some odd feeling of being foreign, stronger than when he was in Berlin. He pulled his hand away from yours nervously and you looked at him questioningly (and disappointedly).

“Ah, sorry,” Peter mumbled. “My-My hand’s getting sweaty.”

You playfully elbowed him, but didn’t take his hand again out of respect. “Mine, too.” You laugh gently. To your joy, Peter laughed a bit, too. Maybe he’s coming back.

“So, um, why’d you bring me here?” He asked as you crossed the empty street together, approaching a small but tidy sweets shop by the name of Fairy Floss.

“You look pretty down today,” you answered. “You’ve honestly looked awfully depressed lately, but today especially. I don’t know all the details– and don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to– but you should take better care of yourself.”

“Take care? I’m fine.” Peter went for the door but you beat him to it and let him in first. “And I’m not depressed.”

“Pete, I might not be as close to you as Ned is, but I know you better than you think I do.” You wish that was as deep as it sounded. You’ve just been around him long enough to notice the not-as-obvious about him. You wish you had gotten closer to him before the internship, it’s taken up most of his free time (although lately he hasn’t been as busy, which made you happy). “Something’s going on and I think it’s high time you think about yourself.”

Peter chokes something out and looks down, hands fiddling. You walk into the shop after him and tug him over to the counter. There’s an old woman behind the counter with a kind face and tired eyes. You smile gently at her.

“Hey, Milena,” you make sure to speak softly to her.

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you for a few weeks.” Her voice is gravelly and older than her body. “Have you finally brought me the Peter boy?”

You blush faintly, hoping she wouldn’t say anything about what you’ve said about him to her. You talk to her almost exclusively about Peter. “Yeah.”

Peter looked at you, clearly confused, but Milena beat you to it.

“Y/N tells me about you sometimes. You’re a lovely boy, Peter.” She staggers out of her chair and limps over to the counter. “What can I get for you, darling?”

“U-Uh…” Peter quickly looks up at the menu that was displayed behind Milena. “R-Rocky road ice cream?”

“And the usual for me, please. Both large cups.” You add, then bring Peter over to a table so that Milena can work. Once you sat down in front of Peter, you decided to try to talk to him.

“D’you want to tell me what’s going on with you?” You spoke barely above a whisper. “‘Cause I know you’re not feeing too great.”

“I, uh, I just–“ He shrugged. “I don’t know. I– yeah. I don’t know.”

You don’t know how to poke at him, so you just try to be careful. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” he says.

“How have you felt lately, then?”

“Um… bored, I guess?”

“Bored?”

“Yeah… yeah. Maybe stuck.”

“Ah.” You’ve felt like that before. Last summer break, you were feeling like that. So you did something about it. “Do something new.”

“What?”

“You need to do something new.” You sit back in your chair and smile at him.

“Like–Like what?” He stays in his hunched over position.

“I don’t know. Have you ever gone parasailing?”

“Parasailing?”

You laughed lightly. “It was pretty fun. Not as extreme as you’d think it is. But my point is, do something new. Actually, it doesn’t even have to be new. Do something you don’t do often.”

“But… What? I–I don’t really get, uh, what you’re getting at.” Peter played with the sleeves of his sweater, looking out of the shop’s window. There’s nothing moving outside.

“You said you felt bored and stuck. It’s been pretty dead around the city lately so sometimes you gotta go decide to do something yourself.” You shrug. “It worked for me last summer. Go live your best life.”
 “But I–“

Milena walked out from the back room with two cups of ice cream. “Kids?”

You stand up, but Peter’s already walking to the counter so you sit back down.

Peter smiles nervously at Milena, who seems to wear a permanent smile. “Uh, thanks, Miss.”

“You’re very welcome, Peter,” she croons. Then, she chuckles lightly and motions for Peter to lean toward her. When he does, she whispers in his ear, “I can see that look in your eyes when you look at Y/N. She shares it. Just in case you ever foolishly forget; she’s never not thinking of you.”

And then she leaves him with that whisper, limping her way to the back room. Peter is fairly sure she knows what she was talking about, but he didn’t want to believe it. Well, he did want to believe that Milena was saying that Y/N likes him back, but believing that would be dangerous if she were wrong about you. He hoped she wasn’t wrong. He hoped that whatever he chose to believe about that was the right choice.

“Isn’t she nice?” You ask Peter as he sits down with the ice cream, giving you your respectful cup. You pick up the spoon that came with it. “Milena is my mother’s friend. She’s an odd woman but that’s what’s so endearing about her.”

“Y–Yeah. She’s nice.” He mumbled and glanced out the window again. There was still nothing moving.

You opted to talk about something less serious while you ate with him, getting him to hold a conversation with you about a terrible gym teacher, a stupid Spanish project, an upsetting pop quiz in World History, and whatever else you two talked about. You saw a faint twinkle in his eyes and you grinned.

“I have an idea,” you say once you both have finished eating. “I know where to go.”

“What? Where?” Peter looked up at you.

“You’ll see. Can you throw this away for me, please? I need to go pay.” He nearly argued with you but then realized he didn’t bring any money, so he nodded and picked up your empty cups, going to throw them away as you walked over to the counter, pulling out your wallet.

Milena gives you a knowing look and mumbles to you, “She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. With Stars in her eyes and veils in her hair, with cyclamen and wild violets.”

You frowned at her. “The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went.” You set down a twenty dollar bill and shake your head when she reached to give you change.

“And you wish to be a poet; and you wish to be a lover,” she says, then waves you off. You sigh and roll your eyes, walking away from Milena and her encouragement. You know that Peter doesn't like you.

“So, where are we going?” Peter asks when you meet him at the door. This time, he opens it for you.

“You’ll see, Pete. It'll be fun.” You walk out and offer your hand, which he takes (you're relieved, if he didn't you would have left him right there out of embarrassment).

“Can you give me a hint?” He presses, walking with you away from the shop and away from the lifeless street. Finally, a car drove by, and Peter smiled a bit.

“Hmm,” you considered saying no, but you decided to humor him. “It's a dark place.”

“D–Dark?” He gives you a look, face a bit pink and you bite back a laugh.

“Yep, dark.” You winked playfully but he didn't pick up on the humor and instead blushed more.

“Oh,” he said simply, and you silently snorted at the possibilities of what he was thinking. The deep red of his cheeks were a good indicator as to what exactly he could be imagining.

It was a good while before you arrived to your destination, but it was worth the long walk. You stopped in front of an arcade, still holding Peter’s hand.

“An arcade?” He mumbled.

“There's something even better inside.” You open the door and walk in with him, leading him around the busy children and teenagers and a few adults and bring him to the back, where there was a line in front of a big door. Above it was the label Lazer Tag.

“And here we are!” You grinned.

“Woah. I haven't played laser tag since last year.” Peter looks up with a childish glint in his eyes, not as bright as usual but it was a good sign.

“I figured. You should come more often.” You pull him over into the line, joining the other waiting teens and children. “Isn't this better than doing whatever you were planning to do today?”

“Do you mean my plans to do nothing?” You both laugh, and Peter dares to believe what Milena told him because you looked far too beautiful when you laughed for him to not want to take a chance. So he started easy. “Hey, Y/N. That Milena lady from the shop likes Virginia Woolf, right?”

You froze. Milena, don't tell me you did it. “Y-Yeah. Why?”

“Um, nothing.” He didn't want to just say that she told him you liked him. She could still be wrong. “She just quoted something to me…”

“What did she say?” You successfully repressed the suspicious tone in your voice, but you still seemed a bit serious.

“Uh…” Peter’s heart raced as he thought of a non-romantic Virginia Woolf quote. “I-I’m sick to death of this particular self. I want another?”

“She hates that one.” You squinted, trying to figure out a reason Milena would say that to Peter. What was she trying to say?

Luckily for you, the line starts moving and you're soon occupied with putting on the heavy lazer tag vests and grabbing your guns. You stand to the side of the dark room with Peter, waiting for the others on your team to finish.

“Y/N?” His heart hasn't stopped racing.

“Yeah?”

“I-I lied. She didn't say that.” He admitted and rubbed his sweating palms together.

“What… What did she say?”

An employee told everyone to enter the lazer tag room and you again ceased the conversation, gathering in your team’s base. The only light came from the glowing decorations of the room and everyone’s vests. You still couldn't see very well, and neither could Peter. As the count down started from ten, you leaned over to Peter and whispered to him, “Peter, what did she say?”

“S-She…” He swallowed hard. “Just in case you ever foolishly forget; she's never not thinking of you.”

The count down ends and everyone files out of the base, but you pull Peter to a hidden corner of the room that you frequently used whenever you played here. Damn it, Milena. You both crouch down, pressing close together to try to hide from the opposing team that was no doubt wandering around close by.

“Look,” you whisper as someone started the music. Your eyes burned but you wouldn’t cry here. Not because of this. “I’m really sorry she said that to you. She- I… I’m sorry. It’s–It’s true, what she said about me, but I know that you don't like that. I’m sorry, Peter. You can forget about this.”

Oh my god, Peter screamed in his head. Oh my god, she likes me. She likes me back. His voice shook terribly as he recited one of the only Virginia Woolf quotes he knew well, “I-I would never re-write you. You are b-by far my most complete and greatest novel.”

You looked up at him in wonder. Did he really just say that? You nearly doubted your own sense of reality, but then you noticed something. Peter’s eyes shone bright, wide and childish and full of dreams. He was back. You slowly placed a hand on his face, still having trouble with the dark, and felt around for his lips with your thumb. His face was warm, he was probably blushing. You were, too.

Slowly, slowly, you leaned in. You leaned your forehead on his until you could feel his breath on your lips. He didn't pull back. So, you leaned forward, just a bit, and let your lips press to his.

“The sky stuck to them, the birds sang through them.” — Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

[artofchelleelle]

What It’s Like to Write a Book

Chapter 1… Just kidding!

But, to be serious, I preface that this is not a blanket piece that will cover the way every writer feels or behaves during the writing process. It is, however, my own personal journey as a writer and NaNoWriMoer (plus some advice) thus far. I hope it is insightful!

Writing a book is super fun and rewarding, but it can be a messy business, even when you plan and organize ‘til the cows come home. I’ve had Pinterest boards for nearly six years on what I want settings, buildings, clothing, and people to look like. I’ve done research online, rented books from the library, taken extensive notes on all sorts of things for months… But, I’ll tell you what. I’m still improv writing as I go.

Yep! I’m learning that my prepared, “Planner” self has turned into a “Plantser”, according to NaNoWriMo standards.

* To make a brief and educational aside, NaNoWriMo has three categories of preparedness badges it awards, and they are as follows (in my own words, of course):

Planner: Notes, notes, notes… and everything is plotted out. You’ve done so much work your novel could ALMOST write itself.

Plantser: You’ve got ideas! And… you’ve written some out. But, things are kind of uncertain…

Pantser: Woohoo! Starting from scratch!!!

Even after six years of thinking about this book, my ideas have evolved and changed so much. I’m tempted to say they’ve changed even more in the span of a few months. And, since I didn’t really have much of an outline beforehand, perhaps I cannot truly call myself a full-fledged “Planner”. Still debating that one.

Although I had some small sections and paragraphs written out before November’s NaNoWriMo event this past year, thus far, the majority of my writing has been contained within the months of November and December 2016 and I am amazed at how even that previously-mentioned book outline keeps evolving (May I also just say that having an outline is definitely a good way to go. I didn’t quite know where to start, but a friend sent me a link to this amazing outline (found here), which I used to create my own. I also recommend reading the other fun and helpful tips the blog’s author, Christine Frazier writes. It’s wonderful!).

Beginning the Beginning

After I had that outline filled in a bit, at least for the first few chapters, I got to writing. But, I didn’t start with what I thought would be the very beginning. I wrote a part that I felt most passionate about. Strangely enough, it did make it to the first chapter after I realized it was a good fit! But, I kept going with writing what I felt most drawn to, or what scenes I had previously visualized. It made writing consistently MUCH easier. And, as I’ve learned, more scenes and ideas pop into your head as you get those first ones down, so you just have to keep going, no matter how you feel.

It wasn’t but a few days in to NaNoWriMo that I realized something. Despite having an outline, I actually DIDN’T know where I was going! What ending was I working toward? What goals, struggles, and conflicts was I going to have to create and then wrap up in those last few chapters? So, I fixed my problem as best I knew how. I jumped to writing my ending.

This is where I realized my mind is a deeper, more unknown place than I could ever have imagined. I had no clue where all of these words and ideas were coming from. And, if any of you follow me on Twitter, you would have seen this post…

Really, though, I was so sucked into my own, surprisingly spooky, imaginary world that I needed a break. It was a lot like the feeling you get when you read a suspenseful novel for hours and you have to pull yourself away for dinner, right at the climax. You know, where you are supposed to figure out who the villain is or whether or not the hero solves the mystery. Except… I was the one writing it and I still had no idea where my ideas were coming from. Do DOOO do…. That was just as frightening. But, cool. Definitely cool. God is mysterious… I hope He tells me how those ideas got in there some day.

Once I put on my brave pants (and probably had some comforting hot chocolate), I wrote on! And boy, did writing the ending at the beginning help so much! I could further outline my plot and think more deeply about my characters, their motivations, and what in the world they would be doing for several hundred pages. It’s only fair… it’s their lives after all.

Ch… Ch… Ch… Changes!

But, it didn’t take long into my writing for my pre-formed ideas and all those thousands of words I had gotten down to suddenly have the plot and my characters make a HUGE shift.

Yes, that was a day later, folks. Everything happened so fast. And you know what ended up happening? I split a character in two! Yep! I decided that one character was having waaaayy too much responsibility put upon him. I can tell you, though, it made things a little tricky when it came to going back and making sure there was continuity, ‘cause I really liked that character before they got all interested in my protagonist.

I’ll admit I fought this change. I remember chatting with a fellow writer friend a few days before about my plot and how my characters were going to develop. They said something like, “You should make that one character her love interest.” I was like, NOOOO! I had fallen in love with this character I created. The whole plot seemed to revolve around him… he held so many keys to so many things. He was one big, easy answer to many of the problems.

And as I wrote that day, November 4, my friend’s words hit me… and I realized they were right. And that one character shouldn’t carry the plot along so heavily and be an easy, tidy fix to all the problems in this imaginary world. I knew the novel would be so much more interesting if I allowed things to grow, to change, and become more complex. I just had to take really good notes as I went.

Taking Notes

May I note here that taking excellent notes is crucial? There’s no way around it. You’ve gotta keep track of your ideas, changes, noticeable plot holes… all of it. Especially in the moment you notice them.

I kid you not, there are pages in my Word Doc where the margins are mostly text. And the notes can be from various days. Since I go back and read through what I’ve written quite a bit, particularly when I change one part of the book that relates to another, I have notes scattered around from all different days and times of reading them. And, I always try to date them so that I know the progression of my ideas.

I also do this in the chapter outline I created. I date the changes I make, and cross out old ideas I no longer think I’ll use. But, I try not to delete them. You never know when you might use that information! It does make for a rather messy plot outline, but it’s just the way it is. Perhaps a better color coding system would do well for me. ‘Til then, I’m happy with the mess it is!

Organization and Backup

Your style of organization may be a bit of a mess, as mine can sometimes be. That’s okay, as long as you know where everything is AND have the information backed up. I have two different notebooks full of ideas, the margin notes on the actual Word Doc, the plot outline (also a Word Doc), and a few other documents into which I have taken out portions of my story. My important computer work is all backed up, but I’ll admit my handwritten stuff isn’t quite so secured. Which, is definitely not cool, because the research that isn’t in my head is in one of those notebooks. And it’s a fair amount of research. I even have my character bios in there. *Sigh* Looks like I need to take my own advice!

But, I will say, I rather like the way I keep track of things. Every time I write and take a break, I save what I have and send it through one, big email chain. It helps me know what I’ve written each day and how the document changes should I ever need to go back and reference an older version. It’s also encouraging to see the file grow bigger every time you send it!

It may also be worth saying to try to have things backed up to some kind of cloud drive as well, and maybe a hard drive or USB. Or two. Two USB copies can’t hurt. Multiple, variegated types of storage can’t hurt, either.

Further Thoughts & Helpful Tips

I have to admit I’ve become rather addicted to my book. I have this strange way of dealing with it, though. There’s this intense desire to leave it be and walk away, to gather my thoughts and do something other than write. But, at the same time, I just want to keep going, and going, and going… There are days where my whole world revolves around my book. Aside from meals and small breaks, there was a day I pretty much spent morning to morning on it (Sorry to my husband who apparently was waiting for me to go to bed at 12:30 am! :/).

I’ve seen people say that they have a love / hate relationship with their books. I get it now, but hate may be a bit strong. There are days where I feel overwhelmed by the amount of additions I’ve put into the plot, or the edits I’ll have to make, or even by simply having to just keep writing until I figure out what happens next. But, it’s a fun relationship and I really enjoy writing.

Something I recommend, if you haven’t already done it, is writing as a group. You don’t have to be in person, but you’ll definitely benefit from having a team support you. I LOVE NaNoWriMo as it brings people together at one time to get out that first draft. I dunno about you, but I do a whole lot better when I have others to work alongside, or maybe even compete with on word count a little… It’s especially nice to have people to bounce ideas off of. It’s pretty priceless, especially when you get stuck.

Read Other Writers

If you do get stuck, though, and even if you don’t, I highly recommend reading other books in the genre you’re writing! I believe this was a tip NaNoWriMo tip sent out in 2016. If two of us are saying it, it must be a thing! I’ve got a shelf of books I’ve loved since I was in elementary school and have since added to. I recently picked up quite a few, if not the majority of the fantasy books for a re-read. I have a really hard time re-reading books, so this is a big deal. I’ll tell you what, though… it helped me so much!

In fact, it helped me reconnect with another big idea. I pulled “Aurelia” by Anne Osterlund off of my shelf (Thanks for the great book, girl!) and got curious. What if she had a website… So, I did some research and found her site! She had lots of great tips on there, and apparently had released sequels to “Aurelia” (I need to get on that!). But, what I liked most is something she had written about her characters. She mentioned that during her writing, her villain slowly revealed itself… and changed!

This really hit me. In fact, I needed to hear it. I needed confirmation that it was okay to let my characters evolve and change, to not keep them in their little boxes. That another author I respected and had read had gone through this. That things reveal themselves to you as you write and that things can change for the better.

So, thank you Anne Osterlund for your continued inspiration in my life. I am happy to say that since reading about your experience, my characters have developed wings of their own and are flying happily around my mind and helping me figure out where they need to go to get to the end of those (hopefully) 21 chapters. And, maybe a sequel or two!

I love writing and sharing about my experiences and would love to help however I can. If you have any questions or fun stories of your own, let me know! You can share them with me on Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and Instagram. And if you really want to make sure you reach me, you can even email me at ArtofChelleElle@gmail.com. I really do love getting mail!

Chat with ya later!

Chelle Elle

“Chelle Elle” has been drawing since she was really small. No restaurant napkin was ever safe when crayons were involved! Now, she writes and illustrates characters and other fun ideas to help her dreams and the dreams of others come to life! Yes, she’s available to help with your stories and would love to hear from you.

Email her today to learn more about how she can bring your ideas to life at ArtofChelleElle@gmail.com!

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