Larian really pulling a reverse uno by focusing hard on astarion's prettyboy flirt vibe in all the marketing and then making his arc about reclaiming bodily autonomy

I love them for it. It's everything I wanted from astarion. I'm obsessed with him.

Chapter 19 - Change the Stars

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Allusions to Childhood Trauma

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Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

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This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch

Would you do it with me

Heal the scars and change the stars

Would you do it for me

Turn loose the heaven within

~ Nightwish - Ever Dream ~

As soon as all the children had left the building, a visible sigh of relief went through the people assembled on stage. All of them were glad that their first assignment of the day was done and they would be able to get some rest before returning for their second show in a few hours’ time.

Lizzie and Skye were chatting about the meet & greet when the sound of subdued voices drew their attention. Merula and Orion were standing close together at the exit of the stage; Merula was frowning, her whole body language defensive, while the signs of tension Lizzie had noticed on Orion previously were rapidly breaking through as he spoke. When Merula hissed something to him, Orion gave a frustrated sigh, turned on his heels and marched off stage.

Merula’s whole demeanour changed instantly; she seemed to be sorry for whatever she had said. But when she saw Lizzie and Skye looking, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, before walking away into the opposite direction.

“What a fun little trip down memory lane,” Everett said with a dry chuckle as he came to stand beside them. He rested his elbow on Lizzie’s shoulder but she shook it off again.

“Don’t be a dick, Ev,” she frowned, “you know it’s hard for them.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged, “it’s a show, just like anything else in this fucking business. They should be used to it by now. Ladies,” he tipped two of his fingers against his temple and left them standing.

Skye looked after him, shaking her head. “When exactly did Ev turn into such a dick?”

“Ask me something easier,” Lizzie muttered in return.

They didn’t speak much on their way back to the hotel, at least not to each other. Skye was rambling on about the new additions Celtic Glasgow had made to its roster, but Lizzie was only half listening.

The thought about Orion disappearing so abruptly wouldn’t leave her mind. These kinds of events stirred up memories in Merula and him, but usually, it was only Merula who openly showed signs of her distress; Lizzie had never before seen them getting into an argument afterwards.

“Jameson? Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, what?” Lizzie looked at her friend remorsefully; she had no idea what Skye had been talking about, let alone if they still were on the topic of football.

“I was saying we’re going to slay it this year in the Champions’ League. No comment on this from a misguided Reds fan?”

“In your dreams, Parkin. You’ll be lucky if you make it through the preliminary rounds,” Lizzie said half-heartedly. Usually, she would never pass on an argument about football, but today her mind was elsewhere.

“You know what, I’m more tired than I thought,” Lizzie said when they had arrived at their hotel, “I think I’ll catch some sleep before heading back.”

Skye made an indignant sound. “I thought we wanted to grab something to eat.”

“Sorry about that, but I really need to get some rest,” Lizzie said evasively, not meeting Skye’s eyes. “Maybe Ev is around somewhere, you could spend some time with him.”

Skye snorted. “As if. See you later, Jameson.”

Lizzie waited until Skye was out of sight before climbing the stairs to the floor where they had their rooms. But instead of entering her own room, she walked straight past it until she came to Orion’s door. Hesitating for a moment, she knocked tentatively against the dark, lacquered wood.

She waited a little before she knocked again, but no sound was coming from behind the door. Lizzie wondered for a moment if she had misjudged Orion and he wasn’t in there after all.

“Orion?” she called quietly. “Are you there?”

After a moment, she could hear movement from the inside of the hotel room. She stepped back when the door opened, revealing Orion standing in the doorframe. He looked at her questioningly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing,” Lizzie said. His clothes were creased and his hair even more tousled than usual. “Have you been sleeping? Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Orion shook his head. “I tried to, but to no avail. My mind won’t let me rest.”

Lizzie hummed in response. “I thought so. You seemed upset before you left.” She offered him a warm smile. “Do you want some distraction?”

A flicker of irritation crossed Orion’s face before the thoughtful expression from before returned. “I appreciate both your concern and your offer, but I’m not in the mood, sorry.”

Realising how her words must have sounded, Lizzie felt the heat rising to her face. “That’s not… No. Sorry, that came across all wrong. I just want to know if you’re okay. You never are after shows like this.”

Orion inclined his head. “That is true. Memories are a fickle thing; they can lie dormant so long you almost forget them, but once stirred, there is no running from them anymore.” He sighed, the sadness on his face tugging at Lizzie’s heartstrings. “To answer your question: No, I am not okay.”

Lizzie felt the overwhelming need to wrap her arms around him, just to give him the comfort he so obviously needed. But she was still standing in the hallway, somebody could step out of their room at any time.

“Can I come in?” she asked instead.

Orion looked her up and down, a curious look in his eyes. “Events like the one today have always brought back the ghosts of my past. Usually, you let me be; this is the first time you have come to me. Why?”

Lizzie contemplated his question, but didn’t know the answer. Orion liked to come to terms with anything that was bothering him on his own, she knew that. She had never felt the need to check on him before.

Instead of answering his question, she shrugged, the smile on her lips more uncertain than before. “I can leave if you want me to.”

She was relieved when Orion immediately shook his head and stepped away from the door. “No, your company is always welcome. I was just curious.”

Lizzie walked past him into the room that was looking exactly like hers, maybe a little less messy. Orion had drawn the curtains and turned on the lights, shutting out the bright blue sky outside. The sheets of the bed were creased, speaking of his failed attempt to escape from his thoughts by means of sleep.

Several of the notebooks containing his sacred ideas lay strewn around the room; Lizzie picked one of them up. She was itching to have a look inside but knew Orion wouldn’t appreciate it; he often shared his unfinished works with her, but always in his own time. And sure enough, he gently but firmly took the notebook from her hands and placed it in a neat stack on the desk alongside the others.

“Have you been able to get any work done?” she wanted to know.

Orion sighed again; it sounded like it came from the bottom of his heart. “Unfortunately not. My thoughts are running wild. Every time I focus on one thing, they break away and return to places I do not want them to go.” He motioned to the book lying upside down on his bed. “I can’t even read one sentence without them wandering off. I’d usually let them roam freely, but not today.”

He sat down on the bed, his dark hair falling into his face as he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’m not a pleasant company at this moment, I’m afraid, so I would understand if you want to spend your time with someone a little more uplifting.”

Lizzie was concerned at the level of distress Orion was displaying. She had known something was off with him but not that he was as affected so badly.

She kneeled down next to Orion on the bed, reaching out and gently touching his forearm. Orion tensed momentarily but his muscles relaxed once his eyes found hers. She gave him a reassuring smile.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

She let her hand drop when Orion shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Do you want me to go?” she offered a second time. It was plain to see that Orion was bothered but Lizzie didn’t know how to comfort him. She hated this feeling of helplessness.

But Orion shook his head again. “I’d be glad if you stayed.”

Lizzie’s eyes grew soft. “That’s why I’m here.”

She reached out again and drew Orion into a hug. The ends of his dark hair tickled her neck as he buried his face against her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her as he held on to her tightly. Lizzie felt his chest rise and fall as he took deep and deliberate breaths, shaky at first, but calmer by the minute; the tension in his shoulders started lessening ever so slowly.

She loosened her arms around his shoulders after a while, but Orion made no move to do the same. If anything, he pulled her even closer.

“You can let go now,” she chuckled against his hair.

“I don’t want to.”

The vibration of his words against her collarbone made Lizzie laugh softly. She leaned her head against his, her fingers gently grazing the skin on his neck.

They sat like that for a while, not speaking a single word, until Lizzie felt the muscles in her shoulders starting to tense. She leaned back ever so carefully until her back made contact with the headboard of the bed. Orion adjusted his position alongside her, his head coming to rest in her lap. His lips curved into a smile which was now reaching his eyes again.

“Do you feel better now?”

He closed his eyes, enjoying the way her fingers were gently stroking his hair. “I do. You have gathered my thoughts from the past and firmly grounded them in this moment again.”

Lizzie smiled. “That’s good.” She didn’t stop brushing her fingers through his hair, however. Orion wasn’t the only one who was feeling considerably calmer than before.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Orion said suddenly, “I wouldn’t have expected it, but thank you.”

Frowning slightly, Lizzie tilted her head. “You said so before. Why is it so strange that I would want to know if you’re okay?”

Orion averted his eyes, looking at the ceiling instead. He was turning the pendant of his necklace between his fingers. “We never spend time together like this.”

A trace of hurt flickered across Lizzie’s face and she pulled her hand away. “You make this sound as if I don’t care for you except for a good shag,” she said a little more sharply than she had meant to. It stung that Orion seemed to be thinking that way. “We’re friends after all, I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”

He didn’t look at her, seemingly lost in thought. “I haven’t.”

He turned his head slightly. “I didn’t mean to upset you; of course we are friends. I meant that I usually keep to myself when my emotions run wild and until today, you’ve always left me alone. Why did you come today?” he repeated his question from earlier.

Lizzie hesitated. “You seemed different.”

Orion hummed in confirmation, his face darkening again. “Today was different.”

His voice sounded so defeated, Lizzie had never heard him speak like this before. She picked up stroking his hair again. “Why?”

This time, Orion didn’t deny her the explanation. “It was something Merula said after the show was over,” he said quietly. “Being confronted by the demons of our past always gets to her, much more so than it does to me. Our experiences are the same but also so different. She is angry with Ethan, she thinks he’s exploiting stories better left alone for the sake of publicity. Which I can’t really disagree with,” Orion added sadly. “To him it’s not about making those children happy but about pitching our sales.”

“But that’s something we’ve known all along,” Lizzie pointed out. “He’s never kept his attitude a secret.”

“True, but Merula thinks we’re giving these kids false perspectives. And I think she’s right.”

He closed his eyes as if the thought was paining him. “The determination in our hearts can take us places unimaginable. But even so, the universe has a plan for all of us. Not everyone can end up being a superhero, astronaut or rockstar,” he smiled wryly at the last one. “All those kids today were looking at me with this utmost trust that one days their dreams will come true. It breaks my heart knowing that they will have to face the truth eventually. Most of them won’t be as lucky as Merula and I were.”

Lizzie listened to his words, feeling her heart break a little at the pain in Orion’s voice. She could tell how much he was hurting for these children; her throat felt constricted at the thought of how Orion himself must have felt all those years ago.

“Maybe they won’t,” Lizzie said quietly, “but that’s a lesson we all had to learn eventually.” She caught his gaze and held it. “Something you like to tell us right before we go on stage is how everything that matters is the present. To not dwell on songs that are done and not about which one is coming next. Just to focus on what is now, that’s the only way to truly live the moment.”

Her hand went from his hair to his face, the backs of her fingers caressing his cheek. She felt the scratch of his beard against the back of her hand; even though she was familiar with how it bit into her skin, this moment shared between them felt incredibly intimate.

Maybe it was the way Orion was looking at her; his eyes caught hers as he listened, his complete focus bound on what she had to say.

“These kids today,” she continued, “they are living in the here and now, just like you always try to teach us. In their minds, they are living their dreams, even if it’s only for a little while. You are their proof that it's worth hanging onto them, and that is something so precious. Without dreams, there’s no reason to chase after what we truly want. No one can achieve anything great without a goal in mind. You’re right, not all of them will become what they dream of now, but you have shown them that with a bit of luck and dedication, it can happen. Anyone can find happiness, no matter who they are.

Orion let her words sink in. “You really think so?” he asked eventually, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

A smile stole onto Lizzie’s face. “I’m sure of it.”

The corners of Orion’s mouth twitched into a slight smirk. “I wasn’t the only one they adored, though. I saw how they were looking at you.” His smirk widened into a grin. “You seemed to have gained a personal fan.”

Lizzie remembered the little girl and her burning enthusiasm all too well. “I did,” she laughed, “she told me she wants to become a drummer, just like me.”

“That’s a wonderful goal to have,” Orion said. “The world needs more people like you. Was that what you two talked about at the end?”

“No,” Lizzie chuckled, “she asked me about the dreamcatcher.”

Orion had closed his eyes again, enjoying the feel of Lizzie’s fingers entangled in his hair. She watched his face relaxing before she casually added “And she wanted to know if you’re my boyfriend.”

“Did she now?” he mumbled drowsily.

“I believe she is very in love with you. She told me she’s going to marry you once she’s older,” Lizzie giggled, “Just so you are prepared.”

“And what did you tell her?” Orion smirked.

“I said that you are a very lucky man,” she laughed, brushing a rogue strand of hair from his face.

Lizzie was glad to see that the sparkle in his eyes had returned when Orion looked at her; his gaze was as captivating again as it had always been.

“I guess I am.”

The unreadable expression on his face was gone before Lizzie could think on it any further. The trace of his smile was still playing around his lips as Orion let himself get carried away by her gentle touch.

After a few more minutes, his body relaxed completely and his head fell slightly to the side; he had finally fallen asleep.

Lizzie studied his face; her eyes wandered over his black hair messed up by her fingers, then down his forehead, lingering on his long lashes that almost seemed to touch his skin. She saw the shallow lines around his eyes, edged into his skin from the many moments he spent laughing with his friends. Her eyes followed the bridge of his nose and swept over the dark stubble on his cheeks before they came to rest on the curve of his lips. They were slightly parted, and for one second, she almost gave in to the urge to kiss him; just like that, one simple, innocent kiss.

Lizzie shook her head to clear her thoughts. What was she even thinking? That wasn’t how she did things; Orion wasn’t her boyfriend, and that was exactly how she wanted it to stay. She had no place stealing a kiss from him while he was asleep.

Trying her best not to move too much lest he might wake up again, she reached over to Orion’s book. Perhaps some reading would distract her from her unruly thoughts; with his head still resting on her lap, it wasn’t like she could do much else anyway.

She placed the feather Orion was using as a bookmark between the pages and flicked through the book until she found her own bookmark. She had started reading it some time ago, when she had waited for him to be done showering; by the time he had been done, she had already been thoroughly invested in the story.

Before she picked up where she had left off, she glanced down at Orion’s peaceful face. She felt a touch of sadness as she thought back on their conversation.

How could Orion genuinely not know what he meant to the people around him?

Simpatia

Word Count: 2,225

Character Count: 11,925

Warning: themes of trauma mentioned, Mentions of Rape,  and all things Hannibal like 

A/N: I really really hope you guys enjoy this fic it’s a part two to Empatia and more of Shanel Mahone please let me know if you guys enjoy it! 

"Sometimes I think the curse is gone...Days or even months, pass in peace but then, without warning it stirs... like malaria." Shanel said, her grip on the black leather seat hard almost causing scratches on it, It had been only a week since she and Hannibal had, had dinner together, and neither party wanted to bring anything up about it which made her think that maybe it was for the better, 

Hannibal watched her fidget in her seat, pulling at her clothes, specifically at her white buttoned-down shirt, almost as if it were choking her, "One month I can forget that it all," 

"That it all what.." Hannibal asked curiously as to what she would have said next, setting his notepad aside on his desk he could smell the fear on her, not from him but from something else though he'd push to even say that it was from somebody else, "Happened," she responded her tapping her heels and slouching in the seat making herself almost seem swallowed whole by the space around her which was already dark and bleak, she couldn't run and hide from the bad guy in her nightmares nor could she push the memories of what he told her didn't happen away either, 

"Our scars have the power to remind us our past was real.." Hannibal gave her a soft smile and a comforting handhold,

"DON'T!  do that..." she removed her hand away from his as quick as she could, to her it felt as if time was  frozen  and that everything she did had only slowly begun to catch up to her, standing to her feet like a rushing whirlwind only made doctor Lector's analyzation on her stronger, of course, he had known for her to lash out on  themes that he might have mentioned in their sessions, but nothing to the point that it made her end their discussion so early, 

"I really should head back to work.." she mumbled, walking out the door, "Same time next week?" she asked as he only nodded back in response. Her office, however, was only a door down from his, a bleak walk that felt like death row with the gloomy winter skies painting the background of her office she only felt more alone and swallowed whole by her own guilt and shame of her past, something that felt like an anchor on her life still she refused to tell her own therapist about these things, for example, her reoccurring nightmares, flashbacks, or how she secretly fell that she would never be enough and therefore became a lawyer in a country where no one knew who she was, 

"Ms. Mahone, are you okay?"

"Just another bad day, any calls Carlos," she asked, her breathing still shaky as if she had finished running a mile. Carlos was an intern of the Mahone law firm which dealt with sexually, heinous crimes and was more so a cover-up business for what she really did, but that was only a secret shared between her and Hannibal, 

"Not that I know of, but Will dropped off the files for the Hobbs case," he shrugged handing her the files her curled up hair pressed to her forehead, taking the yellowish envelope she rushed into her office, slamming the door behind her making it her sanctuary, one that tended to either blare 80's music and or classical operatic melodies, grew silent the only thing that she could hear was the robotic ringing of her office phone, in which she refused to answer until it rang for the tenth time, 

"Hello," she answered listening to the crisp silence of the call,

" la mia piccola puttana," 

"I.. I don't understand..." she began trembling and shaking under her desk as she repeated to herself that what she had just heard was unreal,  "The.. letters and.. the gifts.. you," 

"I wanted you to forgive me, to trust me... ya know ever since I treated you bad I wanted to make it up to you," a condescending tone in his voice, this, however, was the same man who had taken the wrongful liberties of turning her into what she was today a closed-in private life woman who didn't know what love was nor did she understand the purpose of trusting someone let alone think about it, this was the man who hurt her so badly she killed him, or so she thought,

 "I don't want anything from you," her voice gave out wavering, like a candle in the wind alone by itself. 

"I thought that maybe we could talk, go on a ride as we used to when you were 12, just me and my little puttana," he could feel the way she had nearly shrunk into herself every time he had even uttered the letters to the name that he used to call her, it still reminded him of the power that kept her down enough for him to use her again like old times, Shanel put the phone back on the hook hoping that it would be the end to his scheme, but like most, she was dead wrong, the side of her suit had vibrated, indicating that she had just received a text which read, 

"I see you," 

Peaking her head out from under her desk she could only see what looked like ebony black hair and an olive skin man standing in the parking lot next to her pink sports car, trying to steady herself using her office chair, keeping her head held low, walking down the hallways made her feel as if she were heading towards death row with a bag over her face and two prosecutors carrying her down towards the sweet electric chair which she could hear it buzzing like a song in her ear, 

" Lack of trust in other people increases the need for religion. If you can't rely on others, you'll have to rely on god,"  

She heard the voice of Hannibal say, looking around herself it was almost as if she had transported herself to a museum of  some sort where every picture was everything that she was able to remember some that were good and some that weren't, 

"Where am I... where are we?"  she asked turning to the blonde hair psychiatrist who was dressed in something completely different than what she had remembered from earlier, she too was also dressed differently, wearing red as he wore white,  

"Your mind palace, and as I see, you've built quite the wall around it... tell me Shanel will you let yours fall eventually.."  he asked her watching the way her features fell soft when she was around him, letting him see the sides of her that she wanted him to, nothing less and nothing more to it, besides what was a monster if you loved it she had always figured,  walking alongside him sitting down to admire the "art" around them,

 "About earlier I-" 

"Good you're up.." a hand caress her cheek as she was bent over what felt to be a couch underneath her, a knife was pressed against her leg as it slowly began to peel away her brown skin revealing what was under her skin the beautiful red of O positive blood rushed down her leg staining her tan heels, as he began digging the knife deeper into her skin as if she were a pig and he was checking for fat, 

 "Scream, and I'll kill ya," he grabbed her cheeks pushing her head further down onto the couch, she could hear him unzip his pants, and his satisfied breathing in her ear, silent tears fell from her face her body frozen just like it used to be when Christopher attacked her, though most times his buddies in the mob would join along with him, 

"Now be a good princess and let father Christoph-"  she took her heel gouging out his eyeballs blooding up her suit, 

"I can't see! " he shouted as Shanel then searched into the couch cushion finding a pistol in which she loaded and cocked the gun feeling his hand on her thigh crawling up further under her skirt as her finger found the trigger pointing the barrel at his head, then at his arm blowing a hole right between his shoulder watching him scream in agony, 

"That was how you made me feel, for 13 years !" she shot at him, "13 miserable years, and now it's time to make you pay for it all.." her voice was now a hushed whisper as she watched him beg an plead to her as if she were God, but unlike him, she was unforgiving, the murderess that killed those who hurt the one's who killed those who hurt in the inside, the judge of wicked the wrong and the unrighteous, 

"May he have mercy on your soul.." she mumbled under her breath, taking the final blow to his head, the FBI had then begun to bust into the room watching before them the renowned and loved lawyer covered in blood staggering back and forth as she in a blurry panic saw what looked to be Hannibal falling into his arms,  Will only sighed seeing the shoe that was lodged deep into his eye cavity and the other that seemed to show the deep scalping of his head, the crime was far worse than anything he had seen so far in his profiling classes, 

"I'll take her to paramedics.." Jack tapped Will on the back as he shook his head, 

Shanel laid there in the hospital hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor as well as a few other machines to check her breathing and her vital signs, as Hannibal sat there waiting for her spring to life he contemplated on looking at the wonderful spread of parts near him, but also the beauty of getting to know her true soul, thinking back go the night they shared dinner together made him think about how he wanted to keep her around as his and only his for as long of the time he could get the FBI off his scent, roses surrounded her, but still her beauty had out shown them all, Watching  her fingers move around his own chased him out of the scattering waves of thoughts causing him to  break away from the rushing noises around him, 

"You're up I see," he smiled up at the wounded lawyer, who this time didn't remove her hand from his own, turning her head slowly to look towards him she could sense a new aurora around him a gentle one that almost shocked her in a way,

 " I assume you saw everything.." she asked him

" I did," he squeezed her hand reassuring her, watching her turn away from him, 

"I assume you think me a monster then.." she suggested a chuckle leaving her mouth her bringing a new piece of music to be written to his ears, 

" Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?" he asked her, taking her hand up to his lips kissing her knuckles in an adoring fashion, 

"I was nearly raped today, and you think by kissing my knuckles, I'll just fall under your charm .. and yet you won't even talk about our dinner.." she pulled her hand away from his "If I never see you again then clearly I would be -" 

"Lonely .. hurt again, drowning deeper in regret then what you already suffer in, feeling that no one will ever love you," he suggested watching her squirm uncomfortably from how correct he was, 

"I've already made arrangements for you to live with me, think of it a partnership.." he smiled,

"My apartment is fine.." she growled at him, turning away hiding her blush from him, she knew that she belonged next to him like Persephone alongside Hades. He was her match in every plausible way, but she couldn't let her guard down,  

"Not from the notes left there, let alone the state that you're in, and as I am currently  your doctor, I know what's best for you.." he suggested, hearing her become silent,

 "You only know what I allow you to know.."  she snarled at him, " which isn't much... besides, I hunt alone," she glared into his maroon eyes deep down into the very last inch of soul left in him, 

"If you want to catch an Egale you better learn to fly doctor lec-" she felt a quick peck on the lips her eyes wide as the very breath in her lungs was taken away from her eyes flickering, and lips puckering up for more, 

"Say you'll stay.." he asked her, as the taste of him lingered on her lips, he had a taste of honey and oak with the sheer sleek taste of iron on his tongue O negative to be exact, the blood of Christopher himself peppered over    rice,

 "We'll have an old friend of yours for dinner.." he suggested watching her nod in utter bliss, "You'll hunt, and I'll gather," he asked her 

" The wicked the wrong and unrighteous .." she looked at him,

"And the Rude.." He asked

"What?"

"When feasible one should always eat the rude.," he smiled petting her curls taking in her scent, 

Feature: Wrong in Different Ways

“An accurate memory of the past would be depressing, probably.” – David Lynch One of the best jokes in the pilot episode of Twin Peaks occurred when Agent Cooper and Sheriff Harry Truman, at the end of a long day of detective work, return to the Sheriff’s Office to find a mounted deer head laying on its side. The odd response from a minor character (“Oh, it fell down”) underlines a lot of the initial appeal of the series: A seemingly innocuous moment executed with comedic pacing and an absurdity designed to relieve the tension built up from a string of traumatic plot revelations. It’s weird, but not “too weird.” It’s, in today’s language, quirky. The first two seasons of Twin Peaks are full of these kinds of moments. We have the legendary “damn fine” cups of coffee. We have Major Briggs’s extraordinary wisdom. We have Cooper’s played-for-laughs lesson on the nation of Tibet and the mystic knowledge he draws from it. And, as the second season burrows into its bizarre middle and late periods, we get super strength, aliens, and Confederate soldier amnesia. It’s a show whose metaphysics hinge on a dwarf who speaks backwards. These bits have lingered on as a 25-years-running set of passwords. How there was “a fish in the percolator” or how the owls are “not what they seem” or how “it is happening again.” These phrases have been passed along, referenced, parodied, remixed, rebuilt, paid forward into other works that have absorbed the show’s legacy. This tone — humorous, mysterious, offbeat — has been perhaps the most visible product of the show’s brief initial run. Nearly every beloved television series of the intervening generation, from Lost to True Detective to even Glee, has at some point been described as “like Twin Peaks.” But, within these sometimes scattered ideas about what the series may or may not represent, there begs another question: What do we mean when we say something is “like Twin Peaks”? --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer Other things that are like Twin Peaks: Wind blowing through a stand of Douglas Fir. A traffic light changing from yellow to red in the darkness. A ceiling fan turning, frighteningly, forever. When Twin Peaks first aired, I was four years old. I remember sneaking into the living room to see my mom watching the show and, on other nights, hearing Angelo Badalamenti’s music lurking outside my bedroom door. I remember catching a glimpse of Cooper in the Sheriff’s station, his eyebrows up in fear, and hearing synthesizer chords hanging in our hallway, moments that made my mom “afraid.” I remember being up later than I should have been. I remember the lights being off. All mundane, average things somehow made wrong by what was on TV. This, for me, is what I think of as being “like” Twin Peaks. Because when you talk about Twin Peaks, you are also talking about much more than its plot. Because when you talk about Twin Peaks, you are also talking about much more than its plot. There is the TV series, its companion movie, and their various release formats throughout the year. There is the fandom that blossomed around these two pieces of media and their various tie-ins (books, cassettes, merchandising). There is the career of one of its creators and how this single storyworld may or may not speak for the entirety of their body of work. There are GIFs, memes, theme parties, Etsy art, and SXSW pop-up events. There is Log Lady cosplay. In all this, it’s easy to lose track of the show’s plot: the murder mystery of teenage Laura Palmer, the small-town homecoming queen whose private life was (like those owls) not what it seemed. Alongside its endearing cast and twilight-Borscht Belt sense of humor, it was this mystery that first lured a large network audience to the series’s first season. And, as the reasons for the killing became more elliptical and less grounded to Earth (though maybe more poetically drawing from the show’s interest in the earth and nature), many of those same fans moved on to other fictional universes. In the immediate clearing wrought by Twin Peaks, we got Northern Exposure — also a show “like Twin Peaks” that my mother watched at night, though one that made her less “afraid.” Offbeat, quirky. Weird, but not too weird. --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer Also like Twin Peaks: A poker chip. The sound of neon crackling through a bar sign. Rope tied around a wrist. I have a screencap on my desktop of James Hurley — the series’s sensitive bad boy, as opposed to its other criminal bad boys or its demon-possessed bad boys — sitting on a hilltop overlooking the breathtaking view of the mountains bordering the town of Twin Peaks, his motorcycle parked next to him. In the context of the show, James and his motorcycle are sort of a duo (a theme explored with great detail in his much-derided road trip in season 2). In another scene from the pilot, when James drives off from his uncle Ed’s “gas farm,” he slips on a pair of sunglasses before riding away, like it’s no big deal. For a series whose aesthetic can feel so unique, so precisely defined, much about Twin Peaks feels like an echo of something else. James prefigures Nicolas Cage’s words from David Lynch’s Peaks-contemporary feature film Wild At Heart, where he declares, wonderfully, that his snakeskin jacket is a “symbol of my individuality and my belief in personal freedom.” Hurley, in his leather jacket, on his hog, wearing these shades, wearing his square jaw handsomeness, speaks just as clearly, and ridiculously, and earnestly, to his belief in personal freedom. For a series whose aesthetic can feel so unique, so precisely defined, much about Twin Peaks feels like an echo of something else. Twin Peaks often feels like it is either making fun of something or being deadly sincere about that same thing, oftentimes both at once. Even from the beginning, the dialogue is corny (“Quit worryin’ and start screwin’, Mr. Touchdown”) and many of the jokes don’t “work” in the way one might like them to. This, of course, is also much of what is “like” Twin Peaks: the gap, similar to irony but something much weirder, between what we expect and what we get. It’s disarming. It makes one pause and wonder. It messes deeply with one’s bearing for what, if anything, we’re supposed to be taking seriously here — and why some of these things might be taken more seriously than others. Why do we allow some of this to resonate and not the rest? What does it say about us if we can’t totally “go there”? What will people think of me if I don’t get it? --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer Another example from Lynch’s pilot that is “like Twin Peaks”: the scene when Laura’s friends first learn of her death in the middle of class. When this discovery comes — illustrated, crushingly, by Laura’s empty desk — her best friend and confidant, Donna, is moved to an explosion of grief. This meme-ready image, of actress Lara Flynn Boyle’s head tilted back in despair, openly weeping, has become an icon of something core to the identity of the Twin Peaks universe: the intrusion of a deep sadness into “normal life.” Maybe more than any violence or supernatural evil, it is this quality — the stuff that brings us to tears — that both disrupts and defines life in Twin Peaks. There are few other television shows or films that allow its characters more frequent and intense displays of things so easily repressed, of actual crying, of more opportunities to react to trauma with not just inner pain but a pandemonium of feelings: terror, rage, screaming. How does James react in this same scene? James, stone-faced, snaps his pencil in half. It’s quirky, and it’s somehow placed at exactly the wrong moment, the timing completely off. Also in this scene, which feels equally “like Twin Peaks” despite its seemingly frivolous nature: a poster on the back wall of Abraham Lincoln. --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer A lot of what we remember about Twin Peaks now is environmental. The red curtains of the Black Lodge and the roadhouse stage, the zig-zag of black and white, tall trees filtered through fog. All of its objects. Rewatching the series, I tried to make a list of every “object” that felt important. Three episodes in, this list began to feel psychotic: ashtrays, gas pumps, jukeboxes (plural). I wrote the word “lumber” a dozen times. Everything — every “thing” — seemed to carry another meaning. Even the most basic details, after a few hours, vibrated differently. Each lamp felt ominous. Twin Peaks has hung around for almost three decades partially for this reason. The lasting mystery of the show is less in the question it was marketed under — “Who killed Laura Palmer?” — but in that question of what, exactly, we’re even seeing. Its audience returns to these episodes again and again, because something about them feels unfinished. That creeping feeling that something is not right here, that things have gone terribly, cosmically wrong — and that it still (as James puts it) “makes some kind of terrible sense.” The lasting mystery of the show is less in the question it was marketed under — “Who killed Laura Palmer?” — but in that question of what, exactly, we’re even seeing. That the series often asks you to largely throw away logic and to be swept up in its senses, “terrible” or otherwise, is also what has given the show its long life. Lynch and creative partner Mark Frost don’t seem interested in telling the story of Laura Palmer’s murder to “say” anything about her death, or about death in general. They tell this story because it feels a certain way. The haze of American upper-middle-class suburbia — caught temporally between the era of the show’s premiere, the 80s, and that of Lynch’s own childhood, the 50s — is used for a texture of banality, the “normal world” terrorized by the show’s supernatural forces. Like much of Lynch’s work, this resonates the deepest as a kind of dream place, perhaps his attempt to rebuild and remake the specifics of his own youth in order to reveal the sensations he felt buried in there. And yet: while Twin Peaks may not be the real world, it’s also not only fantasy. And it’s certainly not universal. It is a specific vision with precise references to an era its creators grew up in: neon diner signs, girls in sweater sets, sleazy rock & roll, wall-to-wall carpeting, cassette tapes, the highly stylized signifiers of a mid-century middle-class American culture. These references don’t belong to everybody, but they do belong to the person who dropped a teenager’s murder into the middle of them. They resonate not because they’re ours, but because we can tell they are somebody’s. Many of us might like the chance to revisit and rebuild our childhoods; Lynch just has the privilege of giving us his childhood back to us. Twin Peaks might not always ask you to think, but it always asks that you feel — deeply, confusingly, uncontrollably. Fitting for a story about spirit possession and a community unprepared to deal with it, when Twin Peaks works, it can seem like a thing that is being done to us, intruding in our own normal spaces, flipping them. Creeping down the hallway. Driving us to host costume parties. Still making us “afraid.” Twin Peaks’s power is that it makes things wrong, but it never makes them right again. The show just continues making them wrong in different ways. http://j.mp/2rc7ghY