❛ THE LIGHT BEARER.

nothing moved in the darkness beyond. for the moment, bathed in the cold light, i was safe.  

[drilgames]

[larmoyante]

She was starting to think that she understood him—how sensitive he was, how easily he could be wounded—and that made her feel closer to him, and also powerful, because once she knew how to hurt him she also knew how he could be soothed.

Kristen Roupenian, “Cat Person” (via larmoyante)

[mansionbasement]

Silent Hills Playable Teaser (2014 / PlayStation 4)

[flashwrite]

Barry:  [holding a cardboard cutout of Alan]  hey, i think ‘Alan Wake’ here has something to say!  oh, uh-- what’s that, Al?  ‘ ooh, i’m Alan Wake!  i’m always right about everything!  and if i don’t get my way, i’ll sulk all day long!  i’m always intense and moody!  it makes me very attractive and mysterious!  right now, i’m just standing here because i need my best friend Barry to carry me, but that’s okay!  i can just take him for granted! ’ Alan:  i think i see what you did there.   Barry:  yeah?  it was pretty good. Alan:  you want me to do my imitation of Barry Wheeler?  no?  thought so.

i swear to god these two never grew up 

[flashwrite]

❛ am i the sinner or the saint? ❜

‘ ritual ’  starters. 

            he often asks himself the same question, albeit in more simplistic terms.  hero or villain?  good or evil?  light or dark?  it’s all become so jumbled in his head as of late, the remnants of Dr. Hartman’s claws still digging painfully into his shoulders, words still whispered into his ear.  there are times when he feels like the darkness’ influence has become less of a lingering touch and more of a gripping vise with each moment of self - doubt he allows himself, like it’s waiting to grow every time he shuts his eyes, seep through his teeth at every smile.  he can barely stand himself ;  how can he be expected to offer advice to others?  

       ‘  it’s hard to say.  the dividing line’s a little foggy these days.  ’  

[dogboyism]

[livedieburn-deactivated20181220]

“Stephen King once wrote that “Nightmares exist outside of logic, and there’s little fun to be had in explanations; they’re antithetical to the poetry of fear.” In a horror story, the victim keeps asking "Why?” But there can be no explanation, and there shouldn’t be one. The unanswered mystery is what stays with us the longest, and it’s what we’ll remember in the end. My name is Alan Wake. I’m a writer.“

[bloodofelves]

The unanswered mystery is what stays with us the longest, and it’s what we’ll remember in the end.

[flashwrite]

me:  i really need to sleep for work me, in bed:  the saddest thing to me is that Alan has never been fully satisfied with his life.  he was unhappy as a child because he was lonely, never knew his father and spent most of his time daydreaming.  he was miserable writing for a tv drama because he wanted to publish novels.  when he finally got the chance, his quick rise to fame became more of a detriment and stressor than something to enjoy.  the only thing in his life that brought him any joy was Alice, and even then, he wasn’t even truly happy because he felt like he didn’t deserve her.

[flashwrite]

monstricidal:

That one stings in a pretty deep place. It makes her blink in surprise like she’s been physically stricken instead of just emotionally. She breathes out for a moment and stares at him as he speaks, doesn’t quite hear the words but does. And then the weakness occurs– that little for me– and she finds she has to look at the floor. Her eyes flit down so fast she practically feels them flick.

“Fine.”

The one word is the shutdown word, because there it goes. All of it, effectively, pun intended, out the window. She lets it be, lets her hand flatten in his touch. Her knuckle stings when she does so.

         he knows he’s hurt her.  it’s the one thing he’s never wanted to do, but as with all things, he’s found a way to mess it up.  he leaves long enough to retrieve the medical kit from beneath the bathroom sink  ( has it ever been used? )  and guides her to a chair upon his return, taking her hand in his once more.  antiseptic, alcohol swabs  --  nothing seems to elicit a reaction from her, and only then does he realize how deeply his words have impacted her, what power they held.  ( isn’t that why Hartman had wanted him? )  

        his tongue feels thick, mouth painfully dry as he speaks to fill the silence that’s fallen between them.    ‘  a few years ago, there was, uh... this one night when i came home, a bit worse off than usual.  i must’ve hit every bar in a ten - block radius.  anyway, i get home, and i see Alice’s face, and all i can think is... why am i here?  why do i put her through this?  why does she let me?  ’ 

      as gently as possible, he starts dotting at the blood around her knuckles.   ‘  we didn’t even fight.  i just... cried and apologized, and told her how bad, how--  how fucking worthless i felt, and how angry i was with myself--  and she just sat there and held me.  she hadn’t seen me cry.  ever.  but she was there for me, even when i didn’t want to be there at all.  and i told myself, if a day ever came when she needed me the way i needed her, i’d be there.  i’d save her the way she saved me.  ’  

      his voice is quieter now, nearly inaudible, fingers shaking ever so slightly as he fastens the bandage around her hand.  he can’t meet her eyes.   ‘  well, that time came.  and i didn’t.  ’  

[flashwrite]

monstricidal:

“If you think this is the first time in forty-five years of life I have ever punched something that has been damaging, you are grievously wrong.”

Yes, she does have an attitude when someone tries to help her– and maybe she’s sharper than she needs to be, harsher than she needs to be, cuts more, cuts deeper, but that’s what feels natural to her. She doesn’t need his help and she doesn’t want it. The concept makes her feel like she can’t do anything by herself, and she doesn’t– like that.

“So don’t talk to me like this is my first time.”

       ‘  right.  i forgot you’re the bionic woman.  ’    it slips out before he can stop it, and he winces in response, glancing at the floor briefly before returning his gaze to her.  he doesn’t mean to be so caustic, so cruel ;  in this, they share another similarity, passing thoughtless words that would never be given a second thought on their better days.  

      ‘  fuck, i didn’t--  i’m sorry.  look, i get that you don’t need help.  i get it.  just... let me take care of this right now, okay?  for me.  ’  

[flashwrite]

❛ --- w-what do you ... want f-from me ... ? ❜

‘ ritual ’  starters. 

              this must be him  –  the boy the latest manuscript pages had mentioned.  aching fingers, caked with dirt and blood, unfold and grip the papers as he stares at the printed words with an intensity comparable only to seeking answers from biblical text.  in a way, they did serve as a guide, paving a path he’d written but had yet to traverse ;  every event was unfamiliar, yet unfolded exactly as he’d described.  written readiness had become his shield, his one saving grace against the darkness waiting to devour him.  

             in a gesture of what he hopes will pacify the shivering boy before him, he holds up his hands, palms forward.     ‘  nothing.  i’m here to set you free.  ’ 

[flashwrite]

@monstricidal    /    x. 

          this martyr attitude grates on his last nerve at times, seeing her shoot daggers in his direction whenever he makes a move to stand and help with some menial task.  he adores her  --  god, he does  --  but his undying adoration has left him heartbroken and alone before, a result of his own weakness and shortcomings, and he’ll be damned if he loses another tether to this life.  it might just kill him.      somewhat gruffly,  ‘  i said, sit still.  you’re fine on your own?  that’s great.  but right now, you’re gonna listen to me, because i’m not gonna sit here and watch you make this worse.  ’  

[flashwrite]

❛ it’s a good thing i’m made of scar tissue. ❜

‘ ritual ’  starters.

          he’s taken her aside, party and its guests be damned.  one thoughtless comment from another patron, and he could see the faintest shift in her smile, the subtle setting of her jaw.  he knows how self - conscious she is about her physicality, in both appearance and ability ;  his own scars provide a similar understanding, but far from the same degree.  countless nights, he’s spent with his roughened fingers tracing the blemishes along her spine and waist, feeling the ever - changing textures of her skin  –  sometimes smooth ;  others, harsh and jagged.  in some morbidly poetic way, its constant unpredictability is rather befitting, but he’d never dare say it aloud.  

        instead, he slowly takes her hands in his own, long fingers nearly enveloping hers completely.  when their eyes meet, he takes a moment to search her baby blues and pray they can still illuminate the murky blue - green lake that pools within his own.  his time with her has been the one blinding light in otherwise encroaching darkness.  against all odds, he intends to make sure she knows.

        ‘  hey.  you wanna get outta here?  ’ 

[flashwrite]

sb:  oh my god you’re alan wake!!  alan, wearily:  thanks for reminding me

[flashwrite]

❛ i’ve seen your face before. ❜

‘ ritual ’  starters. 

          oh, here it comes.  the five to ten seconds between a vague recognition and the realization of his fame.  with Alice’s help, he’d learned to play the part of the humble celebrity, the gracious writer thankful for each and every fan that approached him on the street with an exclamation of his name on their lips.  on his own, however, he often felt cornered  –  unable to fend for himself without knowing there was a buffer to keep his unpredictable temper in check.  

         thin lips tug into a pained grimace that passes well enough as a smile ;  he nods, bowing his head slightly in a show of false humility.            ‘  yeah, those cardboard cut-outs everywhere are kinda hard to miss.  ’ 

[flashwrite]

🎼 SLAMS FULL FORCE INTO YOUR INBOX.

send me 🎼 for a playlist of our muses.  

SLAMS FULL FORCE ONTO YOUR DASH. 

i.  don’t let me down  –  the chainsmokers ft. daya.

i need you right now  /  yeah, i need you right now  /  so don’t let me down  /  i think i’m losing my mind now  /  it’s in my head; darling, i hope  /  that you’ll be here when i need you the most

ii.  sail away  –  ben hazlewood.  

i believe that you wanted to love  /  and you hope that the love is enough  /  i believe that you wanted to run  /  with the light of the fire, the sound of the gun  /  come now, sail away with me  /  now, what do you say?  /  we both know where we’ve been  /  and we won’t go back there again

iii.  all the king’s horses  –  karmina.

run with my hands on my eyes  /  blind, but i’m still alive  /  free to go back on my own  /  but is it still a home when you’re all alone?  /  all the king’s horses and all the king’s men  /  couldn’t put me back together again 

iv.  no light, no light  –  florence + the machine.

would you leave me  /  if i told you what i’ve done?  /  and would you need me  /  if i told you what i’ve become?  /  ‘cause it’s so easy to say it to a crowd  /  but it’s so hard, my love  /  to say it to you out loud

v.  you know where to find me  –  imogen heap. 

you know where to find me  /  if you think it’s all over  /  i can sense it a mile off  /  it’s no friendly hello  /  you could be screaming drunk  /  well, i’ve got my bad days, too  /  i’m gonna be here for you  /  be still with me

alternatively, 

heart, lung, soul, arteries and all  /  shoulder at the ready, vital organs on call  /  don’t mistake my charity for what it is  /  a deep need to be needed, necessary  /  don’t mistake my open arms for what they are