miswaken

[miswaken]

Alice Wake is bisexual

[miswaken]

It's strange, being here again. Her last foray into the Oldest House was a fraught experience -- a few sleepless, nightmarish nights had frayed every last one of her nerves, and the agents she'd spoken to had been politely dismissive at best. We'll follow up, they'd said, in a tone that indicated she might get a voicemail in a few weeks if she was lucky. The experience left a sour taste on her tongue and a numbing sense of unease prickling under her skin, and so after one attempted follow up from her side yielded nothing but a dial tone, Alice had given up.

But something had shifted recently. She hadn't thought of the FBC since that middling interview, and then suddenly she woke from a restless night and thought she might as well give it one last shot.

Alice is surprised when the Director herself takes a personal interest in speaking with her. The photographer's first reaction is one of tentative distrust. There's a hardness to Alice now that had never been quite so apparent, the shell she'd grown to ward off paparazzi attention galvanized into something far less wavering. But at the end of the day, she's coming from a place born more of determination than desperation.

After all, she's here for answers.

"I thought your job was to figure this kind of thing out," she counters, a slight edge to her tone. If they can't make heads or tails of their own building, it's no wonder they haven't been able to offer her any real help.

Her fingers curl gingerly around the cord. There's nothing strange about it, no paranormal temperature anomalies or weird electrical feelings. She doesn't pull it though, not yet. Her eyes shift towards Faden, but her hand stays on the cord.

"What happens if I pull it?" Alice figures it isn't anything life threatening -- Director Faden has been nice enough to her, different from the agents she interacted with after Bright Falls who seemed more interested in random particulars of the case than how it was impacting her. "I don't want to... I don't know, turn the whole building off, or something." Her relationship with the dark has changed over the years, but the thought of being stuck here in the pitch black is hardly an appealing one.

imagine her goddamn surprise when arish called the phone in her office and told her alice wake was in the bureau lobby. she knew the name of course, recalling it from the files she'd found in the investigations sector when tracking down not-hartman. even if she didn't, jesse could have put two and two together from surname alone. nothing is ever completely up to chance at the federal bureau of control.

it was one of the few times then that she, as the director, escorted a civilian through the oldest house. no extra security, just the two of them. the bureau wasn't exactly a secret to alice and this felt... more hospitable. jesse remembers her own experiences wandering through the empty halls of the house for the first time, stumbling her way through until she found trench. she also couldn't forget the future AWE in bright falls that was still yet to come. ideally, if alice let her guard down, maybe she'd be able to glean more information that the bureau could use to prepare.

jesse equally wasn't expecting a motel cord to appear. she'd never actually seen a brand new one, only pathways previously charted. her focus stays pointed on alice as the woman considers the cord. polaris is sitting right on the edge of her vision, like leaning forward in a chair, waiting for a reaction. ❛ to tell you the truth, if anyone understood the house, it'd make our jobs a hell of a lot easier.  ❜ her thoughts momentarily wander to the foundation, to ash's logs of that first fated expedition.

❛ do what your gut tells you to.  ❜ in a way, it's a test for both of them. how much more is there that what meets the eye?

[miswaken]

*coughs wetly* ......... ALICE WAKE SAVE ME

[miswaken]

another heartbreaking ghost banger for the alice playlist

[miswaken]

6 - The Lovers: Alice Wake

[ID: Alice Wake from Alan Wake 2, in her bathroom-turned-dark-room revealing photos. She looks behind her, seeing a shadowy figure in a suit.]

Loving is caring, loving is hurting, loving is persevering, among so many other things. The photos are her way of showcasing her love.

[miswaken]

@narrated asked: ❛ It’s just silent, no sound at all. It’s like something’s waiting. ❜ (from jesse!) house of leaves starters || accepting

It's as though they've entered a bubble. Like the House itself is holding its breath -- a scene out of a movie, the score paused for emphasis, for tension.

Alice holds her breath, too, just for a moment. Breathes in, sharp, catches it between her teeth. It's an innocuous thing, the light switch. Plain handle, nondescript cord. The only notable thing about it is that it's here in the middle of a hallway, attached to... Her eyes follow it up, towards the ceiling, where it connects-but-doesn't to the plain plaster above.

She exhales at the same moment Director Faden speaks. She'd been kind enough to offer to walk Alice out after their interview -- or maybe she didn't trust the photographer to find her way unaccompanied without trouble. Or maybe she didn't trust the House to maintain the way forward. The building really does seem to have a mind of its own, and there's an energy Alice feels here, the faint hum that precedes a lightning strike. Which could just be that old, familiar anxiety spiking in her gut just as easily as it could be some less definable phenomenon.

But then something like this happens, and she has to wonder if there's ever been such a thing as coincidence.

"Does it not normally do that?" she asks, still fixated on the pull switch -- as though looking away would prompt it to disappear. The Director has told her a bit about the motel, how it might relate to everything. This feels like a gifted opportunity that Alice doesn't want to lose just yet. "Are you supposed to report it, or just..." the temptation to reach out is all but making her hands itch, a siren song amplified by her own curiosity, "pull it?"

[miswaken]

      BOOK STARTERS VOL.23     HOUSE OF LEAVES     MARK Z. DANIELEWSKI

❛ It may be the wrong decision, but fuck it, it’s mine. ❜

❛ Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer. ❜

❛ No one ever really gets used to nightmares. ❜

❛ I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I’m not. ❜

❛ Sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila. ❜

❛ Some people reflect light, some deflect it, you by some miracle, seem to collect it. ❜

❛ Beautiful women are always drawn to men they think will keep them beautiful. ❜

❛ The ruminations are mine, let the world be yours. ❜

❛ You will fulfil a promise I made years ago but failed to keep. ❜

❛ Darkness never satisfies. Especially if it takes something away which it almost always invariably does. ❜

❛ I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore. ❜

❛ What can I say, I’m a sucker for abandoned stuff, misplaced stuff, forgotten stuff, any old stuff. ❜

❛ Is it possible to love something so much, you imagine it wants to destroy you only because it has denied you? ❜

❛ It’s just silent, no sound at all. It’s like something’s waiting. ❜

❛ I guess I’m hoping the weapons will make me feel better, grant me some kind of fucking control. ❜

❛ Oh and something else: – Fuck you. ❜

❛ God I’ve never been afraid like this. ❜

❛ I miss you. I love you. There’s no second I’ve lived that you can’t call your own. ❜

❛ I’m so tired. Sleep’s been stalking me for too long to remember. Inevitable I suppose. ❜

❛ Not seeing the rip doesn’t mean you automatically get to keep clear of the Hey-I’m-Bleeding part. ❜

❛ These days fantasies flourish and die like summer flies. ❜

❛ Yeah I know, I know. This shit’s getting ridiculous. ❜

❛ ‘Fuck’ and ‘fall for’ have very different meanings. The first one you do as much as you can. The second one you never ever, ever do. ❜

❛ It’s a nice idea but it reeks of hope. False hope. ❜

❛ It’s, well…one thing in two words: fucked up…very fucked up. Okay three words, four words, who the hell cares…very very fucked up. ❜

❛ Do you think I could spend the night at your place?  ❜

❛ Any fool can pray. ❜

❛ I feel like I haven’t slept in months. My neighbours are scared of me. ❜

❛ I’ve lost my mind? Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I’m just really drunk. ❜

❛ Perhaps by cleaning out my system I’ll come to a clearing where I can ease myself into peace. ❜

❛ I should be dead. Why am I still here? ❜

❛ Fuck if I know. Your guess is as good as mine. ❜

❛ You are my flesh. You are my bones. I know you too well. I read you too perfectly. ❜

❛ Not all complex problems have easy solutions. ❜

❛ Do you believe in God? I don’t think I ever asked you that one. ❜

❛ We all create stories to protect ourselves. ❜

❛ Are you kidding me? This place is scary. ❜

❛ These days the only thing that gets me outside is when I say: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. ❜

❛ You like that crap because it reminds you of you. ❜

❛ You may suddenly realise things are not how you perceived them to be at all. ❜

[miswaken]

girls who are doomed by the narrative!! girls who have been dead since the beginning. girls who are dragged into death not kicking and screaming but clinging on to the brink until their fingers ache with the weight of the years they’ve stolen. girls who’s every last words are already etched on the stone of an open and waiting grave.

[miswaken]

listen I try to be chill about non rp blogs reblogging my posts bc it’s such a small fandom and I don’t mind Human Interaction but. if you’re going to say rude things about alice when you do it I’m throwing rocks at you w my mind

[miswaken]

is this a safe space to talk about how I don’t think alice’s issues w barry were solely a “haha my best friend and my wife don’t get along! typical!” trope situation but largely stemmed from the fact that she viewed barry as an enabler of alan’s substance abuse at minimum and as someone who contributed to the public/creative pressure that crushed him at worst

[miswaken]

SEVERANCE | Season 2, Episode 7, “Chikhai Bardo”

[miswaken]

(alan wake voice) i could kill for you. ask me to kill for you

[miswaken]

@demcnsinmymind asked: when were you going to tell me the truth? angst starters || accepting

"I'm surprised you didn't hear about it in the tabloids first."

They've been keeping it to themselves for now, their own little bubble of bliss before the press inevitably comes along and pops it. She knows Barry is chomping at the proverbial bit to get an official statement out there -- something nice and curated instead of some blurry retelling. Alan's been keeping him dutifully at bay, the happy couple thankfully on the same page where this particular privacy is concerned.

It's news that's on a need to know basis for now, friends and family only. Lance qualifies in the former category. Not that Alice is completely hiding it, either -- the ring on her finger is hard to ignore, especially as she finds herself fixating on it in her moments of idle daydreaming, flexing her hand just to see the way the stone catches the light. It could've been some junk piece of costume jewelry and she would have adored it all the same, but Alan had chosen well.

"This isn't about me, though," she counters. "I'm not the bigshot celebrity." There's a teasing air in the statement but no hint of jealousy. She's happy for Lance, truly, and the success of his latest creative endeavor -- even if it means they haven't kept in touch as much as of late. But that's why they're here, a rare moment to catch up where their paths have crossed. "Are you going to tell me all about your next filming location, or is that knowledge too exclusive for the likes of a mere fan?"

[miswaken]

OOPS! ALL ANGST! PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

when were you going to tell me the truth?

so you're telling me everything has been a lie.

i never should have trusted you.

you've done nothing but lie.

i had to make you believe me in order to get you to come.

there's nothing you can do for me now.

go! i'll fight them off! get to safety!

i'm done with this place.

we were never meant to be together.

there's nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.

i put my faith in you, and this is how you repay me?

you should have known better than to trust me.

is that all this is? a ploy? a game? is that what i am to you?

you've been playing with my heart this whole time.

was any of it real?

i'm never coming back here again.

i have a message from your father.

you were a waste of my time.

so that's it then? you're leaving?

we always knew this was a one way trip.

it's been an honor serving with you.

how long have you known?

did you ever love me? i mean really love me?

they made me a better offer.

it's not my fault you fell in love.

i need you to promise me you'll do everything in your power to fight.

what are you talking about? i'm not leaving you here!

there's nothing we can do now.

it's useless to try and fight.

i always thought there was more to you. turns out i was wrong.

you betrayed me for nothing.

you made me a promise.

it's no use. i've tried everything.

i can't believe you fell for that.

everything you've ever known is a lie.

do you want to hear what really happened?

i should have told you this a long time ago.

you're going to want to sit down for this.

i'm not sure you're ready for the honest truth.

i have a message from your mother.

get out of my house!

i'm never speaking to you again.

i'm not going to repeat myself.

i told you to never contact me again.

i warned you this would happen.

you're really good at fucking things up.

don't worry. you'll never hear from me again.

you were wrong about everything.

you already missed your chance.

i never asked for much.

i've loved you since the day we met.

i don't want you to be here when it happens.

you're such a disappointment.

i can't go on without you.

you have ruined my life!

we should run.

[miswaken]

swung by the oldest house yesterday so I was compelled to log in here today

[miswaken]

[miswaken]

Alice envies her the privacy that must go hand in hand with a career played out offline. Most of her adult life has been spent weathering the fickle storms of media both social and professional -- which have only grown more tempestuous in recent years. It must be nice not to have every facet of one's self broadcast to the masses. But that's the razor's edge she thinks all artists must balance on, swaying precariously between the desire to be seen and the desire to create without limitation. Alan had fallen decidedly one way, sacrificing a measure of artistic integrity in favor of public appeal, something he'd lamented in their last years together.

And yet the compulsion to share and promote is all but unavoidable -- Alice wouldn't be here photographing Mary's exhibit otherwise. Her work still needs to be catalogued and displayed somewhere on the gallery's website, though Alice completely understands what the woman means when she says her work is best absorbed in person. Alice's photos, for as carefully as she's trying to make them capture the feeling of seeing Mary's work, are still another layer of distance between the art and the viewer. It's always been one of Alice's creative goals, to really put the viewer into the moment she's photographed, to allow them to see through her eyes. But for something like this, something so... visceral, she has to admit that a reproduction will never convey it entirely. The best she can do, then, is entice people to come and see it for themselves with her photographs.

"I guess I've never thought about it like that," she admits, feeling a bit like an art school student making interpretations again. It's not an unwelcome thing -- preferable, certainly, to the thoughts usually spiraling around in her head. "I see the whole without really considering all the parts, the physicality of it all. The... insides." Because that's what the lurid red looks like to her. Blood and sinew. Viscera.

Mary is about to dismiss her sympathy, ignore it as though it is nothing more than wind, but something in Alice’s tone gives her pause. Her words are genuine - Mary can be certain of that. If there’s anything Mary has learned in these decades of walking between the living and the dead it’s how to listen for subtle shifts in tone, pick out words unspoken and blurred between lines of falsehood, detect a quickened blood flow throbbing at the neck, the wrists, the heart. After all, she is so adept at lying herself. Her very existence is built upon it.  So instead, she settles for an acknowledging nod, hoping the act wouldn’t prompt any further questions about her son. 

Speaking about him after all these years feels wrong, a distinct and almost unnatural pull at her cold heart she hasn’t felt in decades. He is gone and addressing him in this high vaulted room would not bring him back. 

Alice shifts the conversation, bringing it back to the installation that looms above them both, ghastly and daunting. Mary’s attention is not drawn to it, like Alice’s, for she knows every brush stroke, every slice across the canvas, every stretched red-soaked fibre pushing free of two-dimensional space that splayed out like a web of arteries hovering above them. She, instead, traces a sharpened nail along the floor, leaving behind a faint scratch. 

“I prefer to keep my online presence at a minimum,” she says, the motion of her finger mimicking a small wave. “I’ve had issues with replication - theft - in the past. So I prefer my work to only be viewed in person.” 

A faint grin appears at the corner of her mouth before disappearing. 

“The human body is fascinating. It is a maze of possibility, endless threads weaving over and over again to create a tapestry of the self. The red string inside us that tells of our health, our history, our family ties, our desires, our sins, our story. We are all connected in this way... There is beauty in that. And there is horror.”