#@ ALAN WAKE IN THIS FIC.

[ilkkawhat]

I'm haunted By the hallways in this tiny room The echoes there of me and you The voices that are carrying this tune

[sparkchemy]

They were supposed to be hunting a serial killer, or a murder cult in the woods, something human, not-

-whatever this thing was.

The Beast of Cauldron Lake was real and it was staring straight at Casey.

Saga would never believe this.

[johnslittlespoon]

– when the coyote come, i'll be your watchman.

[taniushka12]

how it started:

how its going:

[alderaanplacesss]

“If you wanted to make things more interesting, you could have just asked.” His eyes flickered to the tent in my pants, and back up to my gaze.

“I-I need to write. You’re distracting me!” I sputtered.

He shook his head slowly in response, “Always crying wolf.”

There was a yank, and Scratch began to tug my pants from my waist. I held the gun - the power to end this - all I had to do was hold steady and pull the trigger. I’d done it a thousand times out in the wilds of The Dark Place, destroying Taken left and right.

So why couldn’t I do it now?

[skylitcreations]

There was a loud crash and a burst of light. Suddenly, Saga was jolted back into the real world. Jack wrapped on the door. “Saga, we need to go. Now!” For a moment, an eerie silence fell over the apartment. Saga unlocked the door and peeked her head outside. Jack was standing in the middle of the living room breathing heavily, her gun in his hand still smoking. A half dozen bodies in tactical gear were strewn across the floor. He turned to face her. There was an intensity in him now. Saga got the sense that the gun was just a pleasantry. 

This is an illustration for @residentvampp's Remedyverse fic Initiation: Director's Cut, specifically chapter 7. The fic is really fun so far and I think you all should check it out!

[florallychaotic]

Okay so we know Alice's photography is primarily done in black and white. My guess as to why? Black and white photography can be developed in a dark room under red light. Red lit rooms are creepy, sure, but they are very much lit. Colored photography, meanwhile, needs near total darkness to do so.

Alice has had to adapt her art, her livelihood, her passion, around her biggest fear.

[ilkkawhat]

[veikkoalen]

fuck marry kill but it's alex and casey and aleksi

[lesbianalanwake]

I'm using this as an opening nightmare loop for the Alice fic, so it's on the brain, but..... see, Alice is also bad at communication. using a vacation as pretext to trick her partner into therapy is kind of a wild thing to do. Alan isn't an asshole for having a normal upset reaction to that, and he regrets storming out as soon as he's outside. he doesn't stay mad, because he's a normal person who loves his wife. he's very eager to put the blame on himself and also on Hartman. (me 🤝 Alan: Alice has never done anything wrong. even when she's wrong.)

it's not about who's "at fault," it's the quiet tragedy of people having relatively normal people issues, and the fact that Alan is struggling but trying, and Alice means well but does something kinda dumb, and that gets preyed upon by extraordinary forces and also the world's worst therapist.

the fact that those very same issues are enabling them to slowly navigate the Dark Place in Game The 2nd is VERY good and delightful. I'm obsessed with the fact that Alice is kind of doing the same thing, only in an extreme paranatural context, and that it works. I LOVE that for them. we can't communicate outside of our art like normal people but we WILL use that to our advantage. <3

and if, for some reason, the giant cosmic jaws of the not-cabin had not snapped shut at that moment in Game The 1st, Alan would have turned around after a few minutes and gone back and apologized, and he would have felt bad enough about it that he would have agreed to see Hartman, and a similar rotten situation would have happened in a very different way because Hartman sucks just so bad. and I think about that a lot.

[rangerzath]

I always found it ironic...

@wondrouswendy and I collaborated on a Fictional CaseyWake short comic titled Baby Looks Good in the Neon Night. It's too spicy for tumblr, so here's a teaser featuring the first panel!

I am still surprised I drew this honestly. This comic started with one panel and grew into a longer story. I've always loved comics because they blend writing and art together. I am thrilled to have created a comic inspired by Wendy's Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart fic. CaseyWake is such a great pairing with so much angst but passion too. A writer and his creation, what more could you ask for?

Wendy wrote an accompanying fic to go along with the comic which you can check out in the link below! We hope you enjoy! Let us know what you think!

Read the entire comic and fic here on AO3.

[alittlesliceofcucumber]

if i had a nickel for everytime i fell in love with a quirky, older, ethically-dubious scientist character who was changed after exposing themselves to a mysterious higher power in pursuit of knowledge and who also happens to be absolutely jacked for no reason, i'd have 2 nickels

which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice

[tanis-drawings-2point0]

a very small jesse & zane interaction loosely inspired by @lostinthewoodsomewhere's post about them!! (go read it its fascinating!!)

what if your favorite poet-turned-filmmaker-? came back wrong and wanted you to star in a movie? in a dark dimension? but also hes a weirdo and a bit of a creep and you dont trust him :/ (originally the last panel had dialogue, but I couldn't decide on it and eventually thought it was funnier like that, lmfao)

[ilkkawhat]

[a snippet of a fic in progress from my tags on this gifset]

There’s a part of him that knows he’s still trapped in that room in the depths of the ocean. His escape is just another fantasy he’s desperately playing out, hoping the dream doesn’t turn into another crumpled nightmare he rips out of the carriage and tosses into the never-empty garbage can in his writer’s room. 

There’s the other part of him that’s happy to indulge in the reality that sits in front of him; an old friend transformed into an almost unrecognizable fair-framed man with now baggy clothes that reminds him of their college days in the nineties. Some things never change, and for Barry Wheeler he’ll always have his outlandish shirts, even tucked into baggy cargo shorts. He’ll always have the faith and confidence in Alan that Alan doesn’t have in himself. He’ll always have an ear to listen, a hand to pat his back, a mouth to make Alan’s crack a smile, eyes to keep him in check. 

And perhaps it’s the fact that it’s just too good to be true, that he’s sitting on a couch, drinking beers with his long-lost friend, that makes him worry he never got out. He convinced himself very early on that Barry was a darling he’d have to kill to survive, so the idea of him being here still confuses him, both making him constantly reach a hand to grip his friend, make sure he’s real, but also treading carefully, afraid that the man will just snap and vanish like the shadows on the streets. 

“So, these old coots, you should have seen them, Al. They’d get up on stage and I’d argue it was more of a magic act than a concert! It’s like they would lose fifty years, their voices became so…youthful, and I swear to you the effects team they got claim it wasn’t them, but their singing seems to match the projection of those younger selves that they sound like!”

Alan laughs, more to himself than to Barry at the thought, less at the absurdity and more at the reality of their powers. 

“Funny, that’s how they were in my musical.”

“Your…what? You know what, quid pro quo it’s your turn to tell me a story from the past thirteen years and this is it, baby.” 

“I’m not drunk enough to tell you,” Alan whines, waving his half-empty beer bottle. 

“Nah, nah, nah, you’re not getting out of this one that easily. I can just call them up myself you know, maybe those Old Gods remember the time they got zapped into another dimension to play to the whims of a crazy missing’s writer’s words—I gotta write that down, that’s a good idea.”

Alan coughs, at first thinking nothing of it. He clears his throat, takes another swig of his drink. He’s had this cough on and off ever since he returned, figuring it was just a symptom of his body being in a lake for thirteen years.

“Well, since you’re not in a sharing mood and I am, oh brother, you’re gonna love this one, I got involved in this cult called the ‘Bless—’”

Alan sneezes into another cough.

“—you…” Barry interrupts himself. “You alright there, buddy?”

“Yuh-yeah,” Alan beats a fist against his chest. “Got some frog in my throat or something.”

He pleads for the carbonated waterfall to wash whatever it is away, and his stomach seems to threaten impaling Alan’s throat on something to stop the third beer bottle from diving into it. 

He coughs again, an effort his body doesn’t have enough power to give. He heaves over, coughing harder and harder because there is something in his throat and he needs to get it out. 

“Al?” Barry puts a hand on Alan’s back and Alan pushes into it like backing himself against a wall, still coughing and trying to both reign himself in but still…get it out. 

Barry presses a hand to his chest, which triggers another lurch and this time, something wet and sticky comes out of Alan’s mouth and into the palm of his hand.

It’s not blood.

Unless the blood in his body was black.

“Wha-cough-tuh-coughcough-fuck is-cough-that?” Alan continues to cough and Barry is immediately calling the ambulance. 

“Fuck if I know!” Barry cries out. “Shit shit shit shit! This is worse than that time I dragged your sorry ass outta the club while you were OD’ing on some shit you got into. You're worse than a goddamn toddler sometimes, Al—Hi, yes, my best friend is-is having…I don’t know what but we need an ambulance now!” 

Alan remembers the incident Barry’s referring to, not one of his finest moments. Fighting with Alice, ignoring Barry, putting substances in his body because he didn’t want to be himself. Alcohol, cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, tobacco…he’s done it all. 

“I don’t know! All we’ve done is had some beers!” Barry continues to berate the poor operator on the other end of the line because the ambulance hasn’t come fast enough.

It’s not alcohol poisoning, he thinks to himself as the blacknees begins to spread in the palm of his hand. His eyes cross and start to roll up. He feels lightheaded and shaky, but sinks heavily into the couch like a stone. 

“Stay with me, Al,” Barry reminds him, and Alan falls back in exhaustion. 

Barry bailed him out both physically and mentally from the last overdose. Maybe he can save him from whatever this is. 

Barry presses his hand to Alan’s throat, taking his pulse but he seems to fumble over the math when he tells the phone operator that “he’s fucking breathing, okay?” 

Alan’s arm feels melted into the cushion beneath him but he wants to hold Barry’s hand, hold on to something as he feels himself fading faster and faster away into oblivion. The lights in the room are dimming. He sees a shadow growing larger, approaching closer. Edges illuminated like the echoes he would see as inspiration. Shitty time for an idea but he’ll hear it out, maybe it has a clue to what is going on…

Unable to move closer, he holds his hand up to the shadow, and his fingers brush up against something solid, but viscous. It grips onto him, draining all of the color out of his body. He tries to pull his hand back but slimy tendrils spread and form a copy of himself right before his eyes.

“Ew gnoleb rehtegot, nalA…” 

It sounded backwards, wrong, but it sounded familiar. Scratch. Coming back to haunt him. He may have left The Dark Place but The Dark Place never left him. 

“Alan!” Barry’s voice cut through the darkness, his thick form of light inflating and bursting through the black goo-Scratch. He’s not sure if it’s real but he feels a splatter of goo on his face. 

He’s dimly reminded of his thick friend dressed in an oversized parka wrapped in Christmas lights, burning away the Taken in front of him and saving Alan’s life. The blurry thin man in front of him now is almost unrecognizable, unarmed, unprepared for this. 

“Barry…” Alan groans. “Don’t…don’t leave…” 

“I got you, Al, I got you,” Barry comforts him, the phone falling out of his hands and cupping Alan’s cheeks. “Help is coming.”

There are so many people helping you, armies of people. 

There’s no army strong enough to come close to the power of Scratch. And there was no ending in sight he could write to escape it. 

His final thoughts before passing out, pangs of guilt tugging at every pore in his body because he was taking Barry down with him into the darkness.

[wondrouswendy]

Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart, Chapter 20 Fandom: Alan Wake (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alex Casey/Alan Wake, Alan Wake/Alice Wake, Fictional Alex Casey/Alan Wake, Alan Wake & Barry Wheeler Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Romance, Humor, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Miscommunication, Bisexual Disaster Alan Wake, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Character Study, Depression, Not Everything Will Be Warned For To Avoid Story Spoilers

This is a bittersweet feeling, but all good things come to an end. This may be the final chapter, but it's not the last you'll be seeing of this story with Alan and Fictional Casey! The next part of the story will loosely follow the events of the first Alan Wake game set in Bright Falls.

I am so proud of this story, and I'm pleased to have a finished long-fic under my Ao3 account. This story was a labor of love, with so much editing and planning involved. I experiment with storytelling, discovered an appreciation for first person POV, and stepped outside my comfort zone multiple times throughout this creative process.

Thank you to everyone who has followed this story since I started posting it back in January. I can't wait to share more about the sequel soon!

Read from the beginning here!

[kiyrian]

Me after playing Alan Wake II: yeah so I like Casey and I love Sam Lake but it's okay I guess

After seeing all the awesome art on this site: I feel physical need to create something for my favorite girl failure detective. My tired rotten soldier. My comfort character that turned out to be real and not like their creator very much (after all they aren't a character, they are real and even if they brought comfort who gave Alan the right to make their life a spectacle for the masses)