Devouring the light.

[DESKTOP ONLY] INDIE PRIVATE LOW ACTIVITY MR. SCRATCH FROM ALAN WAKE. READ RULES.

[malonox]

-This is my story! You are in my story!

Indie, semi-private, low-activity RP blog for Mr. Scratch from Alan Wake. As adored by Corpse

RULES | ABOUT | VERSES Promo graphics by @qxeenofnight ♡

[malonox]

ooc || BLOG ON INDEFINATE HIATUS!

If, for whatever, reason you still want to write with me, find me currently on @eloker ... Apologies for this and anyone who wanted to write with my Scratch. I would stick around, but the last several years felt like utter stagnation. I will come back when the muse does, though. Which is undetermined as far as if or when.

[rubymemes]

Send ❤️ if you want to ship but are too shy to ask

Can be sent on anon or not

[malonox]

@ghxstfrxquxncies | Cont.

❝Ask the writer, he's in charge of the decorating.❞ Scratch smirked, feeling more like himself -- like who he was -- with the girl around. Nosy little... Well, it didn't matter, she was here and Scratch wasn't going to waste this opportunity.

Closing into her had been comically easy, she tries her best, but yet here they were. Almost flush against each other, Scratch breathing down on her smaller frame.

❝Tell me, what are you doing here? Got lost, little red?❞ His grin stretches impossibly, painfully were it a normal flesh suit, a smile that almost reaches his eyes. She's clearing his head, he comes to realize. She's somehow managing to turn him less feral, a memory he's not supposed to hold onto now.

Scratch raises a hand, runs the back of it over her cheek and watches her reaction with amusement. Not hiding it, not masking it at all, actually. Simply let's her see how much he enjoys it.

❝Missed you!❞ He chuckles. ❝Isn't it lovely? You're a remedy to the fog in my brain. I think I'll keep you.❞ With that being said, he grabs at her pressing her closer. ❝Oh, the fun we'll have!❞

[ghxstfrxquxncies]

Merris was lost to the narrative tides of a story, a literal and literary outlier and yet a figure piece to play in The Writer's works, or so when she was required to be. Like a loop spinning amidst a loop, semi-harmless until something unseen, an independent agency forces them together into utter chaos. One could lose oneself along the way, even deeper into the expanse, if there were any thought to entertain what executive functions were her own and which ones had a degree of influence, if not total and utter control over her thoughts and will. To have an awareness of it at all, however insignificant to the overall practical impact of the current's unyielding flow, was fleeting as it were evasive. A means to an end, a distinct splotch of grey against the canvas scenes of vicious white and black, a bleed within the inky page, but even the most minor of details could have the most significant potential to aid in the creation, or its demise, of a grander design.

Like the way fate splices into many fragments, a division, eventually leading back to the beginning in its conclusion, they are brought together once again.

Merris had seen this man before, a face of a face she had glimpsed in passing, perhaps in her dreams or nightmares, but never quite able to commit it to memory, as there was always something that could not stretch beyond the specific point of permissability. Something taken, but always something left behind in its place. Arbitrary, random. A hidden meaning from somewhere behind the curtain, not meant for her eyes or ears, in utterance of those very words that she had long carried on her mind and tongue for what felt like much too long.

"What'er talkin' 'bout?? Wait..Yer'.. him.. righ'?"

[malonox]

She knows him, he knows she knows him. That he knows her, but he also doesn't know her. Can't remember, soon it's an itch he can't scratch. Scratch? Funny, Wake says. Scratch narrows his eyes, frustrated. A tumor he can't cut out, the writer is now engraved. Home is home, and Scratch is growing tired. He wants to let go. To smother him out, till his light is dim.

❝Night Springs?❞ Scratch supplies, feeling it like a frame of a shadow, growing distorted and becoming more unclear of what it is a shadow of. Except if he runs enough laps, he can remember, and does he run? He crosses the overheated thought again, and it clicks into place. ❝Merris.❞

And then in that moment, he regains himself. Enough to grin at her, and enough to push the writer's games away. Enough to stop the writer's breathing and be in the front of the vessel.

❝Oh. My clever little girl,❞ He mutters. ❝Thorn in my side,❞ Scratch adds, the shadow like watercolor smearing from his face, distorted and containing multitudes. ❝Can't leave well enough alone.❞

He tightens, closing his grip on her, pinning her. ❝Are you mine to play with again?❞

[drxmxtispersonxe]

Zane didn't like leaving his room for a reason, but when the restlessness got overbearing and no one came to break up the long stretches of nothing, sometimes roaming was necessary. He passed the shadows like they didn't matter, all wearing funhouse reflections of his face Alan's face and whispering as they dissolved into the dark halls. His grip tightened on his camera, knife tucked away into his clothes in case one of them didn't disappear and turned instead. The hallway he turned down didn't lead where it was supposed to this time, warped by something other than his influence. That's when the filmmaker felt the first twinge of fear. Dead end. He turned back, planning a new route when something much more solid came into his line of sight. He thought it was Alan, at first, and a bright smile lit up his features as he moved closer and that Thing didn't. His own fingers twitched in response-- towards the knife-- and his smile faded just a little.

"How can I be?" Zane asked, playing dumb as the devil stared him down. "There's nowhere to go." He gestured back towards the hallway, now back in its place. The fear only grew. Zane's attention back on Scratch, he kept up the act knowing damn well that he was really only buying himself a little time. "Oops. Looks like I got lost. You know, it's been awhile."

[malonox]

It was ridiculous, the pretense of a jester when he was anything but that. Scratch kept his practically unblinking eyes on the filmmaker and grimaced. Dead end, just like this story. Of course, a lull between the end of the trilogy... or so Scratch figured. Zane was confusing, and Scratch couldn't begin to guess whether he was afraid or simply putting on an act for a grand joke.

❝You keep Wake busy. He should be writing... You waste our time.❞ Scratch wasn't a jealous lover, nor was he a lover at all. He simply wanted the writer writing. Wake was his prisoner, knowing he kept sneaking off to the two men parties with Zane was infuriating.

The darkness had to take over, and it's difficult to gauge how long they've been there. A decade, or maybe less... perhaps even more. Scratch never cared for time, but he was growing impatient.

Scratch moved forward in quick strides, eyeing the other with contempt. He could snap his neck, see if the filmmaker awoke again. If he looped as well. Raising his hand, he stopped himself an inch from his throat, all the willpower he had.

❝Useless.❞ A solid conclusion, Scratch must admit. A failed attempt that was Zane was it's own issue he had to deal with. Except, Scratch wasn't certain where one ends and the other two begin. The certainty tells him only one thing... he was just a mirror. Something he could recognize even in his clouded mind.

[emilesmuseassembly]

"No," he shut the writer down bluntly as he continued pouring himself a cup of coffee, regarding Wake with a certain contempt that he did not have the energy to hide.

It had been a long day for Alex Casey.

And it would be a longer day, still, if their only witness to this mess decided to stay as uncooperative as he had been.

"My life would be a lot easier if you'd tell me how you ended up back on that beach, Wake," Casey started, sitting opposite him at the long breakfast table once his coffee was ready.

His life would have been even more easy if Wake had never fucked with it to begin with, but the writer never had shown much regret for using Casey's life as his own little playground to do with what he wished.

[malonox]

The vision straightens for a brief moment and Scratch can't hide the grin. Contempt, malice, darkness, all of it... Leaking through his simple expression. Casey. Different, suddenly, then the tide rolls over. Same again. Scratch is losing touch of who the man is over and over again. Impossible to differentiate.

At least the two had one thing in common: Coffee in a skin suit.

❝I was summoned,❞ Scratch spoke, clear. His brain in a tangent with Wake's, both fighting for who is in charge. But the summoning? They miscalculated, really. The Andersons were calling for the writer, but forgot Scratch always trails behind. The darkness never leaves, it's always there with the light. ❝The lake carried us out. The darkness was cruel, you should know, agent Casey.❞

It's funny. Casey and Casey. Scratch and Wake. All of it loops, a pattern so deeply sown into the fabric of it all. Impossible to differentiate.

[creatureshrieks]

Rose wasn't stupid. She knew the woods were a dangerous place. Perhaps more than most, if not all, of Bright Falls was aware of it. She knew exactly who it was that went bump in the night. She recognized her neighbors in them. The lady that always walked her yappy little dog at 6 am. The man that always shouted out his windows at anyone passing by. The man that always took his coffee with two cream, two sugar. He used to get three sugar until he went on a 'diet'. Rose knew what they were, too, at least in the fact they were a threat. She couldn't let them crawl out of the lake unchecked. Even if she wasn't supposed to be the hero, she could still do whatever she could to help her dear writer. She could keep Bright Falls safe.

The voice causes her to jolt, her grip on her shotgun tightening as she whirls around to face the source of it. The light from her flashlight attached to the gun - a girl has to have her accessories, of course - only barely illuminates him.

" You- "

She repeats, though her tone is one of tension. Agitation. Rose knew of this double. She was told about it. She wrote about it.

" I don't know what you're doing here, but you should just turn right back around. "

[malonox]

It was downright charming, really and truly so. The way she put on a brave face, tries to stand her ground. The darkness in him shrieked in near delight to know she would put up a fight, were he moving forward in that direction. For now, he's playing with his little toys. The citizens of Bright Falls were nothing else but pawns. So much fun to be had! All thanks to their naivety and innate desire to be good. Scratch couldn't relate.

❝I'm not going anywhere, we only just got to see each other again,❞ He rasp through a grin. ❝Such a poor overworked girl, big dreams growing in her. You write!❞ Not an astute observation, he got to witness her little story play out. Hated it. She wasn't useful, not in that sense. The writer himself, atoning for his sins couldn't stop himself for running to rescue. Scratch just had to keep her with him for now.

Withstand his own punishment.

Scratch steps closer, the flashlight's projection painful on his skin, a light burn starting. Yet, he is better illuminated like this.

[malonox]

ooc|| all the replies are in the queue. I hope they're all alright, and if anyone has issues-- feel free to reach out and we can adjust.

[malonox]

ooc|| apologies for no replies quite yet (imagine me tapping the low-activity sign despite this)... I shall return shortly, IRL has a silly way of popping up when I decide to have fun. I think in a few days time, I'll get back to it. I promise I saw everyone's replies, I loved them and have them in my drafts, slowly working on them for now.

[malonox]

ooc|| sorry for lack of replies to those waiting, will get to them soon. Just got to handle some stuff first therefore I am a little slow.

[malonox]

@emilesmuseassembly for Casey || Starter Call

The roles blur, same and different. Like the writer was now part of the being that was Scratch, the other was also in double vision. Seeing Casey the FBI and seeing Casey the noir detective. Scratch found it disgruntling nonetheless. He wanted to go for the throat, but had to play nice. Adjust his vision, see it for real, before he made a move.

❝You're wasting time.❞

[malonox]

@drxmxtispersonxe for Zane || starter call

Zane wasn't a clear impression to Scratch, he couldn't place the being for what or who it was despite existing in the same sphere. A part of him? The origins? Maybe just another split from the writer even...? Scratch wasn't certain how to react anyway, almost as if dependent on a flip of a coin, they could go from violent to almost docile. This wasn't different, not any much more. He stared at the filmmaker, not approaching but his bloody hands itching for more violence.

❝You're in the way.❞

[malonox]

@creatureshrieks for Rose || starter call

❝You...❞ He mutters through a hiss, infinite screams locked in that simple word. He saw her, the Lady of the Light, wandering and setting up to help the pathetic writer. Pointless, no... wasteful, aimless even. He disliked her, but the interest was there. Why else would he stalk her through the woods? He had plenty to do, now that he had managed to return. However, this was his own flight of fancy.

[malonox]

@ghxstfrxquxncies || starter call

It loops forever, the never-ending forth of it all, until it goes from something to nothing and then to something again. And that's when he sees her, the girl. A known figure from the past, or a figure from the future. Somebody he met, or will meet. Maybe it's antithetical, maybe it's perfectly logical at that... Scratch didn't care much for this either way. He fixes his eyes, hands pinning the victim to the wall.

❝Who are you?❞ He speaks through static.

[malonox]

I wouldn't call yourself infected/ I'm a parasitic blessing/ I've improved your entire life

[gattobamboom]