TOO DREAMY.

indie rp / twin peaks / est. june 2017

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@dearlaura this is a Very Important photo and i had to post it for Reasons

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just changed audrey’s ‘self’ tag to ‘the little girl who lived down the lane’ because i hate myself i guess

[ruthwilson]

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dearlaura:

   It’s harder and harder to distinguish the lines between reality and that strange, strange place she goes to when she’s asleep. When she dreams, she’s always where she wants to be- safe in Audrey’s arms, safe in the notion that nobody immediate could find them and she’d be over- and then it’s all disrupted in this fucking whirlwind of blood and branches and the smell of fire. She’d been burning in her dream, felt it on the white heat of her skin. 

                              When this kind of fire starts, it’s very hard to put out. 

  “I couldn’t breathe,” Laura sobs, hands shaking as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, frustrated. “I couldn’t fucking breathe, and- and all the fire was swallowing me up!”

  Laura didn’t want to be vulnerable right now, but everything in her body screamed it’s dissent from the flames and she was so horribly hot. Her hands rush from her cheeks to her hair, instinctively tugging and pulling at rigid curls, by all accounts a fucking mess. Shameful.

She’s had nightmares before, too. Bad ones, but maybe never as bad as Laura’s. At least... Audrey has always been able to wake up and shake herself out of it, anyway. 

“There isn’t any fire.” Spoken softly; she’s impossibly gentle with Laura, it comes naturally somehow, some way. She isn’t inclined to be this way with anybody else. Her hands want to reach out for comfort, but she keeps them clasped together, knows it might do more harm than good. “You’re safe here. This is my room, remember?” 

Alone together, under the guise of a sleepover (though to be fair, Audrey’s parents never seemed to care when Laura was around, no questions were ever asked), protectively swathed by the curtains draping over the sides of her canopy bed. 

“---Can I hold your hand? So you know I’m here?”

[cherrystemmed-blog]

so like i thought rewatching tw.in p.eaks from the beginning would help cleanse my brain after tptr but it’s actually just super weird because of the knowledge i have now :\

also in the pilot i forgot that audrey totally lights a cigarette, takes one drag, and puts it out in her locker who raised you, child? that is wasteful

[inthedarktrees]

Audrey investigates

Sherilyn Fenn | Twin Peaks

[ngalitzine]

What am I gonna find in here, Audrey? Pictures my father paid for.

[t-wnpks]

 I’m Audrey Horne and I get what I want. 

[wordsnquotes]

She is proud, she is struggling with herself; but kind, charming, generous.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via wordsnquotes)

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@totheedge  ( gets to kidnap a feisty lil thing tbh )

This cannot be happening again. 

This is a nightmare, has to be, if only she could wake up.                            Wake up, Audrey, wake up wake up wake up!

But now her eyes are open, open even though she can’t see anything---can’t see anything because there is something covering her eyes, and her hands won’t move to rip it away because they’re bound behind her back. Nothing over her mouth, though, so she can scream---and she does, even if it won’t do any good. 

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@dearlaura ( gets a semi-plotted thing because i said so )

“Please don’t cry.”

She hates it when Laura is sad. No, that isn’t accurate---Laura is always sad, just as Audrey is always sad, only neither of them allow it to be on display if they can help it---it’s more that she hates to see Laura cry. Hates to see tears in those crystalline blue eyes, hates the knowledge that there is hardly anything she can do to stop them.

“Please---” But she refrains from getting too close, holding her tight or even taking her hands because she knows sometimes when Laura is upset, she doesn’t like to be touched. Instead, she brushes a wispy blond strand away from Laura’s face, tucks it behind her ear. “---It’s all right.” Voice soft, barely registering above a whisper. ”It was only a dream.”

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damnfinecup:

He takes a hard swallow, his eyelids flutter.  His breath is shaky, but it releases softly.  There is bittersweet relief in hearing that she hasn’t gone through that.  Dale remembers that day vividly, how he retched onto cement in a parking lot, all the disgusting sobbing, Windom’s distaste (that he should have taken as a sign that something was wrong), how he tried to clean and clean and clean that feeling of death lingering over him.  As if a bar of soap could make his conscience as clean as fresh linens.  “G- good.”  It’s a mumble, and he rakes his shoulder against his eyes.  Embarrassing.  This is his reintroduction into the world, like a rebirth, and he’s acting much the part of a newborn with the tears and inability to comprehend what is around him.  But he has that fascination all over again.  Wonders what clothes he is wearing.  It’s not his suit, but a jail uniform.  

Too much change.

His eyes meet hers again as he interprets the question.  Tosses it around in his head.  What was the last thing?  It was his dream.  No, it wasn’t a dream.  Talking to Laura, Gerard.  He entered that circle of sycamores, and he didn’t ever walk out.  How did he get here?

“I was in the waiting room.”

Dale doesn’t know how to explain that to her.  Knows that it isn’t the most helpful statement, but his mind is in a daze, and words don’t come easily. 

“How did I get here?”

She doesn’t realize how tightly her hands are clasped together until one of her nails inadvertently digs into the opposite knuckle. It’s nothing short of startling when he looks her directly in the eyes. She thinks, briefly, that someone back home should know that Agent Cooper is here, whole and seemingly unharmed. Maybe she ought to call Sheriff Truman; makes a mental note to do that tonight. 

“The---waiting room?” It’s likely Cole has already heard this information, but she scribbles it down just the same. The waiting room. Of course Audrey can’t make heads or tails of it, just as she can’t fully answer his question. 

Her pen taps idly on the notepad for a few seconds while she considers what exactly to tell him, how much to let him in on. Even now, she finds it impossibly unnerving to think of lying to Dale Cooper. However the tables have turned, he is still someone she wants to impress, someone whose approval she craves. He is the sole reason she’s here at the Bureau in the first place.

“You were picked up by police who found you wandering downtown. You were disoriented, you couldn’t tell them anything they could understand. They ran your prints and ID’d you, so they called Gordon.” Lips purse together, brows knit as she thinks back to what he said. I was in the waiting room. “You were---in a waiting room? A hospital? You didn’t have any identification when they picked you up. No wallet. Nothing.” And, she assumes, no hospital bracelet. So that theory is probably off the table. “Can you describe it to me? Where you were? Anything you remember at all.”

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sister dear:

                     ‘ oh, ha-ha. next time i’ll ask god to do my homework instead, if you’re so keen on him. ’

      it’s just about as good-natured a taunt as audrey could muster, absent the spite someone else would have earned – but an ill-restrained roll of her eyes still follows, impatient toes curling and flexing in her shoes. she’s already well past tired of talking about school – it isn’t as though she’s ever going to have use for algebra or plant cell structure – and the sooner it’s over with, the better.

      she might have skipped – at least taken off for the afternoon – were it not for the plans just made.

                    ‘ you got that right. this is strictly a twelve hour deal, sister dearest. ’ frankly, she doesn’t quite know what liza gets out of the whole meals on wheels thing, especially when they both know she’s been wanting to quit. ( maybe audrey’ll quit on her behalf next week, if liza still can’t find the stones. consider it a favor. ) ‘ so are you and shelly, like, bosom friends now or what? ’

Audrey is only teasing. Liza has to remind herself of that, has to remind herself that her sister is the one person in the world who knows her inside and out and loves her anyway. Their bond is unbreakable and unique, only strengthens with age. Liza used to worry they might grow apart, for whatever reason.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Shelly.” 

Her gaze is downcast again, right hand picking nervously at the nails on her left, a bad habit long held. Of course it has something to do with Shelly---they are from completely different worlds, really, and have very little in common, but it’s important to Liza to gain the older girl’s approval. Making friends has been difficult her whole life. Chalk it up to her closeness with Audrey or just the fact that she’s a Horne. Besides that---the need for validation from her peers---she thinks Shelly Johnson might be one of the most beautiful human beings she’s ever seen outside of the movies or television. 

...And she’ll keep that to herself. 

A shrug, settling back against her headboard, bringing her legs up to fold criss-cross-applesauce like a little girl. “Laura Palmer’s supposed to help after school on Tuesdays, but she keeps flaking out. Big surprise. So I guess I’m really covering for Laura, because Shelly can’t miss another shift at the diner.”

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ooookay, back to business as usual, with any luck.

like for a starter ! will probably be short !  and also selective ! mutuals only, pretty please !

[wnq-writers]

what i like about her is that she blooms whether you water her or not. whether you give her light or not. she exists without your existence.

iambrillyant  (via pocmuzings)

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ooookay, back to business as usual, with any luck.

like for a starter ! will probably be short !  and also selective ! mutuals only, pretty please !