#cryptid alice

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicmas23 Day 2: In the Dark of the Night 2 (Eye of the Storm)

Good evening everyone! I hope your December is going well and slightly more organized than mine! I am also exhausted, so please excuse any ridiculous errors.

Tonight, we have a section from the sequel to In the Dark of the Night; Cryptid Alice-verse is a favorite of mine - the world is bonkers, Alice is nuts, and Jasper is just here for a good time. This was requested by an anon early in the year, and I was happy to add it to the list. (Heads up, for 2024, I am changing how ficmas requests work for my own sanity.)

This is a very early first draft of this fic, so everything and anything is liable to be retconned but we're here for vibes above all else. I highly recommend reading the first story or this is going to be extra weird.

tw: allusions to rape & abuse; generalized descriptions of body horror.

eye of the storm.

The coloured lights flash over the room at random - hundreds of sweaty, reeking human bodies and the kind of music that rattles its way through your bones. It’s loud and dark and has become one of Alice’s favourite places in a very long time. The raves in Berlin - and most of Europe - are the easiest places to hunt.

The music is good, too. And she loves to dance. 

She blends in well enough, with the skin-tight skirt and the top that only covers up the bare minimum, and the artfully smudged makeup. Enticing enough to catch attention, but not memorable enough that she’s at risk. Not that it would matter that much, but she prefers to be just another face in the crowd. 

It allows her to hunt for longer in one place, when she’s utterly forgettable. 

She orders a drink, and then another, because human alcohol makes her feel warm and her limbs feel looser. It makes dancing better, and the people easier with her - some of them can sense that she is not like them, that she is something old and complex and terrible. The alcohol makes her more likeable, more human, even when it’s her imbibing it. 

But her head is still clear when she finds a mark, when he sidles up to her with undeserved confidence. He’s the kind of smug that comes from money and a lack of consequences. She doesn’t miss the pill in her next drink or the way his smile widens when she tosses the drink back like water. The effect of the pill is minimal on her; it manifests several moments later, when they’re sneaking upstairs to the store rooms, past the velvet rope blocking the narrow steps. She stumbles on her high heels and he chuckles low; unfriendly and the kind of laugh that would chill anyone else. 

And then her dizziness passes, and she almost pities him. 

It goes the same way as always - he thinks he’s got the upper hand; she acts enthusiastic to his ministrations and she knows he almost feels bad - mostly that he wasted whatever tranquilliser he slipped into her drink, not about the harm he planned for her.

Her venom tingles on his lips and tongue, and he blames the drink or five he’s had and settles in. 

She thinks about asking him some questions once her venom addles him, questions she shouldn’t know to ask. About girls and pills, about hurting and pain, about the haunted little sister he’s not allowed to see anymore. 

But that’s not why she’s here, and would just agitate him. It always gets messy when they get agitated; she hates it when they panic. 

Luckily, he’s easily subdued because she’s absolutely starving. Probably the alcohol. Her venom does funny things when alcohol is in the mix.

She’s not in the mood to take her time and be neat about this; she tears into him like an animal - first is that ephemeral part of him that humans have no word for him. The sacred part, similar to a soul. The pain of that defies understanding; she remembers hers being flayed from her being, once. Punishment for poor judgement. Humans’ are delicious and she savours it. 

It’s all over too quickly, and she leaves him behind without looking back - lying in the middle of that dark, dirty room with the music ponding through the floor. His throat ripped out and ragged, and his chest cavity open, gleaming wet and red but hollowed out for her hunger. His left femur is broken; a rather pitiful attempt at a protest. 

The blood on her skin and in her hair sinks in, pulled through to other hungry parts of her in different points of time and space. She’s nothing and nobody, and no one pays attention as she slips back to the bar for one last drink; sugar sweet enough to make her teeth ache but with that hot dry burn she enjoys more than she should. 

It’ll be at least a day, if not two, before they find him. A horrific death, the work of a psychopath. A little sister will hide in her bed to muffle her relief that he’s gone and never, ever coming home. Almost a dozen girls will smile at the knowledge that he might not face a judge and jury, but something took their pound of flesh. 

But her messiness means that she’ll only have another night or two before she has to move on. She’ll eat again, and that should last her for a while. 

A pity. She liked Berlin. 

—

The next night - her grand finale before she leaves for Norway - is a grown-ass man who shouldn’t be offering her the things he whispers in her ear, shouldn’t be sliding his hands up her stocking-clad leg - shouldn’t have even approached her and brazenly taken a seat at her booth. 

This time, it’s in an all-night coffee shop with dim lighting and a faint haze that comes from carelessly bold patrons lighting up at the late hour. She demurs and gives the old pervert every opportunity to leave, but he laughs at her and boxes her into the booth, and the look in his eyes is hard and absolute. 

She’s never been fixed in time and space, so she can see exactly the path that this old bastard has planned for her - either she consents or he takes it by force. He will hurt her if he needs to, like he has to other young girls before, some of them his students. 

The shadow he casts has his wife, his daughter, his mother cowering from rage and violence. He won’t be missed. So she pretends to be afraid, to be cowed by his aggression, allows him to drag her out of the booth by her elbow. She lets the flesh mottle and bruise, lets him feel like the predator. 

She lets it last as long as it takes for him to find a place where no one will hear her scream. She even lets him push her out of her shoes, but that’s no loss - she wishes she’d gotten the purple. 

And then when he’s staring down at her, his eyes greedy and violent, she smiles and she takes her prize. 

He dies in that alley, his eyes wide in terror as he faces down the kind of demon that are only meant to be found in books. Disappointingly, the honour of the killing blow goes to the dumpster he fell again, slamming his neck against the edge hard enough to break bones. She always likes the sound and the flavour when their deaths are her own. 

He’s gone before she even tastes him; she’d wish him a speedy trip to hell, but some say that’s where she was born. And the parts of his essence and soul she’s going to tear into… there won’t be anything but shreds of him left to dissolve into the air.  

“Alice.”

The call is soft and so far away and blows away the dust of an open path in her mind, a singing thread, that she had not forgotten but had long since made peace with its silence. It had been a shrine to something sacred, and she almost gasps out loud at its echo in her mind. She wants to call back, to holler down that open path, but she pauses, blood running down her face, as she listens. 

The words are faint, but heartfelt and it hurts her own head to widen that path. It’s been a while and, unlike her others, she’s only ever opened one path to one soul. One person. She’s out of practice, and it’s like untrained muscles screaming at a sudden lurch into a run. 

“Alice, I always hoped we’d cross paths again.”

The regret is heavy in his thoughts, and she presses closer, trying to see through his eyes. It’s blurry and white and green. 

“I’m sorry.”

Oh, he tastes like forest and sunshine and leather on the back of her tongue, and she missed him. He was supposed to call for her decades ago. 

But why now?

“You could have helped us. Hell, you probably could have saved us.”

That’s when he touches the ribbon in his pocket. Her ribbon, the one she left him with. A talisman, a physical anchor, a key that reinforces the path; she’s relieved he kept it. Oddly touched that he’s carrying it, but it makes everything easier for her. Clever boy; his hand on the ribbon is enough for her to grasp onto, to pull a fragment of herself into the scene in his mind. 

“I wish you were here.”

The scene sharpens as if she is standing there in the snow, barefoot, facing…

Facing down the thrice-cursed Volturi and their entire court.  

What has happened?

Aro’s smile is wide and that of a crocodile about to close its maw around the thing it wants the most. And that thing includes Jasper.

The entire city of Berlin shudders for a moment, something that will later be uneasily explained away as an earthquake, but is her rage that shakes the city at its core because she can reel it back inside of herself.

A shiver, not a storm. 

Not yet, at least. 

Aro, who has made himself untouchable over the centuries, and still manages to strike wildly at them, her and her kin. His blows rarely kill but they do cut and wound; her own scars are still fresh enough in her mind. One of the downsides of being outside of time; the memories never age right. 

The Old Ones have warned them all not to go after Aro; they are allowed only defence, never offence. They say that creatures like the Volturi, full of avarice and wrath, will pave their own downfall. They have seen it so many times before; Aro and his kin will burn themselves out, and another will take their place. 

The Old Ones and the Eternal Sleeping will not rise for anything short of war, and it will not be a war of their own making. That is the first law, and one she has obeyed. 

But this… Jasper is hers. Marked and strung together, crudely but holding fast. He is hers to defend above all else, and no one can do anything about that. She just wants to know why Aro has come after Jasper and the Cullens. What she knows about the Cullens is vague; mostly gleaned from other fragments of herself, other lives they lived. They are peaceful people with too much money and little concern for those outside themselves, no matter what they tell themselves. They are human, it is their nature. But she is certain that they are not a danger. Not to Aro, not to the human population, not to anyone. What flimsy excuse is Aro using now? A desire for more gifted bodyguards? More power and land and wealth? 

Whatever he wants, it’s nothing good. 

The words are muffled, and she takes a moment to look over at Jasper. He’s standing there beside her, stoic and staring, not flinching. The anger streaming off him is palpable and she wishes she’d seen him before now. 

You could have called me at any time, Jasper. Just to talk, just to see how I am. I would have come in a second. I wondered if you’d forgot about me, truly. I supposed I am flattered by the fact I am your last regret, your longing thought, though. 

She shudders and looks around, her senses stretching. He’s right where he’s supposed to be, and that’s a long, long way from Berlin. It’s been a long time since she had to take herself apart this way, and there’s a risk. A price that has to be paid, and she’s not unwilling to pay it, if he’s amendable. 

“Jasper?”

//

Of all the ways that Jasper thought he would die, this is not it. Not standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his closest people, staring down the army - there is no other word for what Aro has brought, larger than the biggest Southern army Jasper both faced and wielded - of Volterra, trying to defend the life of a half-breed child with ribbons in her hair and pompoms on her coat. 

This is not a trial. This is an execution, a public one as a reminder that they were here by the grace of Aro’s will and that no one is safe if the King of Volterra is displeased. 

He’s sorry he brought Peter and Charlotte into this mess. He should have known better than to trust that the Volturi would play by the rules, especially when the Volturi wrote the rulebook. 

No, this is not how he thought his death would go. 

But to be fair, he thought that once back in Texas when he was faced with three red-eyed women with smiles full of promises. So perhaps he should be more surprised that he didn’t see this coming. 

Edward gives him a pinched smile that is more of a grimace. Aro is still talking, still taking this opportunity to remind everyone who he is, that he should be considered a wise and compassionate leader. 

He wonders if Marcus considers him that; the man looks like a shadow, like the death of all things. Jasper has heard rumours about Didyme’s demise; some of them are farfetched, ridiculous even. But others… the way Aro smiles at the Cullens and their friends, Jasper cannot doubt that he is capable of terrible things. 

“Of course, there is the hidden crime, one that I’m not even certain that you yourself are aware of, dear Carlisle,” Aro smiles benevolently, but there is no kindness in his emotions. He’s angry and jealous and greedy; his gaze is flickering over all that have gathered here, for the Cullens, as if 

“You have seen my thoughts, you know of all our doings,” Carlisle intoned stoically.

“Of course, my friend! And I am delighted to discover the joy and miracle that is young Renesmee,” Aro beamed at the child, clutching tightly to Bella. “I trust that you have no comprehension about what is going on, and that loyalty to our long friendship is cherished, Carlisle.

“However, the crimes that are occurring under your nose are ones that risk not only our world, but the human one also - they are toying with things that should never be disturbed. It is an act of violence, of terrorism, unspeakable evil…

“The oldest creatures that roamed this earth, they were dangerous. Monstrous in a way that we cannot comprehend. Ungovernable. Very, very powerful in ways that have been lost to us before the first vampire walked the earth,” Aro spread his arms out, as if he is performing for a crowd. And perhaps he is. “Many of those creatures are long gone, but there are a small few that still exist amongst us. We have tried to protect our kind from them, to exterminate them to protect our secret and to protect our kind from them. They cannot be reasoned with. They are dangerous to everything we hold dear.”

Aro has everyone’s attention with that little speak, but all he can think of is a kiss that stole his mind and his will. Of limbs snapping and cracking around too-many joints, and those big eyes, with that knowing smirk. Of blood that was too hot, and the puff of a heartbeat in the back of his mind. 

Of something that lasted a night, however warped and strange it turned out, that marked his memories indelibly. 

The ribbons twists through his fingers. 

“…And yet, as I stand here, one of your friends, Carlisle, has summoned one, called one here. Is that not an act of war in itself, dear Carlisle?”

Carlisle splutters, the denial genuine and frustrated. “Aro, you’re being ridiculous!”

“I’ve been tracking this particular one for many years. She possesses a skillset that is very… dangerous if left unmonitored. Her anchor lies here, we’ve traced it. And, dear Carlisle, I believe you when you say you are ignorant of all of this. But someone here has betrayed you, and they alone should pay the price."

Aro stares at them, all good humour gone, and not a single one of them understands what he asks. Except him. 

He knows exactly what - exactly who - Aro is searching for.

Alice. 

It’s been a long time. Since he saw her. Not since he thought of her - she is one of those people who lingers in the memory; it seems impossible that it was just one night, all those years ago. Her presence always lingered; like she fundamentally changed him, changed everything, the second she hitched a ride in that truck. 

“I was… in hiding. Then I was exposed. Then I made a choice.”

“There are so many names for us, Jasper. I’d prefer if you just used mine.”

And he doesn’t understand this at all. That Aro has dragged the entire court here, across the fucking world, under the guise of a trial because of Renesmee’s existence and now, suddenly, Renesmee doesn’t matter. 

It was no secret that Aro was looking for an excuse. Of course she doesn’t matter. He knows that there are much more terrible, unseen things out there than a little half-breed girl.

(He had been prepared for that, had waited curiously to see if Renesmee came out a monstrosity, an abomination that had too long limbs and a void where her eyes should be. He had been oddly disappointed how utterly mundane she was, as if she was the key to something, to better understanding of things that were probably best left alone. Edward have been confused but annoyed at his reaction and Jasper hadn’t bothered to explain.) 

Aro knows as well as Jasper himself that Carlisle would never allow Renesmee to become something dangerous. He would sooner build her a gilded cage somewhere far away than allow Renesmee to do harm to human beings. 

Carlisle knows it as well as Jasper; that it wouldn’t be Jasper’s hands left to break Renesmee if she’s too strong, too dangerous, too unreasonable. It will be Carlisle’s, with a tender kiss and a prayer for her redemption. Aro sees Carlisle as weak and easily manipulated, and the rest of the family sees Carlisle as a pacifist, as a champion of life beyond all else. 

And Jasper sees him as a father who will protect his family from anything, even their own poor choices. As a doctor who recognises that to save a life, sometimes you must amputate, and Jasper is surprised no one else sees that in him. That they call him ‘doctor’, but they only see the man of faith. 

But he digresses. Aro has come here and it is not solely for Bella or Edward or Renesmee. It is for Alice, and she isn’t here. The Cullens have never met her, and he’s never told them about her. What would he say - “I met a demon-god-monster on a highway, and she was beautiful? We talked and argued and fucked, and then we parted ways. And I’ve never forgotten her”? They’d think he was crazier than ever. 

He’s always tasted arsenic on everything, since that terrible kiss. Always heard that faint heartbeat in his mind. Kept a ragged ribbon to worry at, looped around his keys, in his pocket for fifty something years. 

Alice…

They are going to fight and they are going to die because no one else here has the answers Aro wants, and Jasper is never going to breathe a word. The Volturi numbers into the forties, with the entire court and their witnesses. There just aren’t enough of them to win this. 

He should have fetched Maria, should have rounded up every stray, every nomad, every disenfranchised asshole this side of Monterrey for this debacle. 

Alice, I always hoped we’d cross paths again. I’m sorry.

“...Jasper?”

“Alice…”

The heartbeat in his head is beating louder, and the taste of her venom is strong on the back of his tongue.

Alice. 

—

If only a reunion could have been one of a time-stopping kiss, of being able to look the other in the eyes and say, “I’m so glad you’re safe, that you’re well. I missed you.”

Instead, it is this. 

[kass-of-the-midlands]

If i were a peasant in king’s landing and saw her you bet your ass I would think she’s the Mother Incarnate

[speedofsunlight]

whats in alice cullen’s bag? (2002)

[angryteapott]

daniels daughter #1: hi

armand: i used to put a bottle in a bra to pretend to breastfeed you

[twilight-skies]

All of my headcanons revolve around the idea that every MC world and server, public and private, singleplayer and multi, of every game mode, rules, and purpose, all exist in an interconnected multiverse that Players can travel between

In this multiverse, Hermitcraft is Wonderland. It’s a private group, so the rest of the Playerbase only know it from reputation, but that reputation is pretty much the characters from Alice in Wonderland

[of-mice-and-idiots]

shout out to alice dyer for being a crypid fucker

[whatsuruning]

“In the hallway…Getting closer.”

[propheka]

Drawlloween 2024 - Pt4 [10.20.24 to 10.26.24]

– - – ~ – - – -

Process:

4H and HB pencils on Scratch Paper.

[h0ll0w-gr0v3]

*still out of breath, walking slightly behind Joanne*

Man it got dark quickly, geez fall really isn’t pulling its punches…

*pats Dog Jester’s head*

.. Yeah.

[lookslikethatsallthetimewehave]

Reminder:

[goldeneyedgirl]

@sonyawix Alas, my exile was self-imposed until I wrote something. Even Whumptober didn't produce anything worthy of seeing (gave me some future ficlet ideas that will be fun though). I do not deserve tumblr-time when I apparently decided to just not write at all during 2024.

So I skipped ahead and started on this year's Ficmas offerings instead (now is the time to make your demands), and I always make sure I have some new Anathema for you! We have a little scene from Ch 3ish, for the second 'official' meeting of the Cullens.

Adding Demon Jasper and Feral Jasper/Mary-Alice to the upcoming list. Honestly, I was not expecting Demon Jasper to make a blip on anyone's radar, I am delighted people enjoyed that verse. And I love that My Nonsense (anything involving Mary-Alice) sparks joy for anyone.

So I offer up this part of Anathema, and hope it sparks joy. One thing I am loving about Anathema is that the first half pretty much outlined itself. We love fics that have direction and aspiration.

I always love hearing from you, Sonya, thank you for the message <3

Notes: This was an experimental scene to fix the pacing of the first meeting vs the Cullens getting involved with the Brandons. I wanted to establish that Edward and Alice will have a rapport in this fic, and to set more of the scene of how the Cullens do end up in cahoots with the rest of the Council. And to lay a lot of groundwork for Alice getting to know the Cullens as individuals.

There's a fairly robust few scenes between the first meeting and this that I'm not happy with yet. Even these parts are extremely rough. I've also been doing a lot of research into supernatural creatures and cryptids around North America to try and work on world-building a little more (some of this is a throwback to the OG draft of Afterglow which was fun). So any details that don't entirely match up have been noted and will be fixed when this gets posted on AO3.

--

The second time we officially run into the Cullens is more than three weeks later. And it goes about as well as anything else in my life does as the unluckiest person to ever live.

This is one excursion that I am allowed out of the house for - other than taking Dulcie's purse to her at the salon, and riding my bike to pick up Chinese food for dinner, I have been house-bound. It's almost as if Freddie - and Sue, for that matter - are certain that if I am not under full supervision, I'll run away to the Cullen house to join them all in whatever debauchery vampires get up to all day.

Which, from Dulcie's gossip, seems to be mostly work at the hospital for Dr Cullen, and going to high school for the 'kids'. Very scandalous. But despite me pointing out that I didn't know (precisely, yet) where the Cullen house is and that sneaking around both Forks Hospital and the high school were only going to draw the attention of gossips and probably Charlie Swan in an official capacity, Freddie kept both eyes on me.

I was going a little stir-crazy - not only had I been on house arrest, we'd only had one 'client', and he'd just been placed in cold storage whilst private preparations were made. So when Charlie summoned us all to the backwoods for a meeting, I wasn't complaining. Even tramping through the mud of the woods to have a secret clandestine meeting was better than cleaning or sitting around the apartment.

But no one was expecting Charlie Swan to be standing in our clearing with three figures. Three figures that nearly had me running back to the car. Lamia. Freddie's hand clamped down on my shoulder firmly; not to be cruel, but to protect me - showing any kind of aversion to a lot of the creatures that passed through was dangerous. It provoked some of them to strike. And lamia loved young girls.

"These three were passing through," Charlie Swan said uncomfortably. "Left a mess in Port Angeles."

"Very gracious of Mister Swan to introduce us." The tallest was over six feet, with waist-length dark hair. But like all old Lamia - and there were more than you'd think, honestly - she was unnaturally thin, her skin bleached, like she'd been forgotten in the sun for too long. Her hair looked sharp and brittle, like fine wire. And as she spoke, a serpentine hiss caught on the tails of her words. The only spark of colour was the dried-blood colour of her eyes and sockets - even her lips and tongue were stained black. Her fingernails were unnaturally long and looked more like bone than anything resembling keratin.

"What kind of mess?" Harry Clearwater said flatly. He wasn't subtle; he'd brought a shotgun.

The two younger Lamia looked down, as if regretful.

"We fed." The words are simple but every adult around me visibly recoils. I'm kind of numb to it - maybe it would be more horrific if I was older.

But the way that the Lamia speaks - almost smugly, as if to intentionally upset everyone here - annoys me beyond explanation. Odds are that anyone they fed on was young enough to have a mom and dad waiting at home for them, worried. That they wouldn't even get simple news that they were gone - they'd have to wait weeks for DNA testing to confirm who this bony old bitch had torn into.

"You need to go." Everyone swings around to look at me, and I'm kind of surprised I spoke as well. My words sound polite but firm, and there's a distinct undercurrent there I barely recognize in myself. I don't think I've ever spoken that way to anyone in my life.

"Excuse me, child?" Her eyes narrow.

//

I can see it happening as if it's in slow-motion; Harry lifting the shotgun, one of the younger Lamia reaching out for him with a look that meant someone was going to die; Charlie Swan had his service weapon out and I just… stepped forward and shoved the monster backwards.

It was gross, honestly. Between their age and their powers, their clothing is essentially a second flesh-covered skin that crackles under my hands. Their actual skin is so thin that I could feel, for that split second, all their organs churning. The smell of blood was overpowering, and I just wanted her to break into a million pieces.

Except...

//

"That was the most disgusting thing I have ever lived through," I half-shrieked as I made my way back to the meeting place. Sue followed with the flashlight, offering platitudes. "Why do these creatures always decide to be disgusting around me? I'm not going to be able to salvage any of those clothes."

"She could have killed you, Alice. You should have left her alone." Sue's words aren't convincing; the look on her face when I had stepped forward meant she saw imminent death was coming for both Harry and Charlie before I intervened.

"Well, she succeeded in murdering that pair of jeans," I said crankily, turning into the clearing. "…Oh."

The Cullens had shown up, and none of them looked happy.

And of course, I was now wearing a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms with bleach stains and an oversized Newtons Outfitters hoodie, with my hair scraped off my face from my impromptu water-bottle hair wash. I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed, and the Cullens looked like they'd stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

Jasper lingered just behind the bigger one - Emmett, I think I'd heard someone call him. He nodded at me when I met his gaze, and it was almost like he … relaxed somehow.

I was mostly embarrassed that I looked like this in front of him. He was wearing the softest looking black sweater I had ever seen, and immaculate jeans. My jeans were soaking in a bait bucket full of salt and vinegar, and would still be thrown in the garbage.

Just once, I wanted to look less like a grubby schoolgirl in front of him. Them. Not being swallowed up by thrift store winter coats or rejected clothing stashed in the car for incidents like this.

This absolutely wouldn't be an issue if I went to school. I'd be able to wear all the cute outfits I'd been planning in front of him - them - and look vaguely normal.

"We heard there was a meeting," Dr Cullen began. "We weren't notified."

"You weren't invited," Billy Black shot back firmly. "Your role is to keep us informed if others of your kind are in the area. The rest of our business doesn't involve you."

Freddie looked warily between the Council and the Cullens. "We gather as necessity dictates, and which parties are required," he said neutrally. "This was not a meeting that required your presence."

"Can we know what the meeting was about?" The red-headed boy stepped forward with the kind of confidence that belied his apparent age. "It would be helpful if we knew what was in the area."

Silence.

"We keep the area safe for the residents. We get a lot of things passing through," Charlie Swan said finally.

"But it would be immensely helpful if we knew exactly what we were dealing with - especially if injuries present at the hospital," Dr Cullen said earnestly.

I made a face - I remembered the absolute panic at Forks Hospital when the Nezhit had blown through a few years back. Having someone in the know dealing with the hospitalisations wouldn't be the worst idea…

…Who was I kidding, I was willing to make any argument if it meant I might be able to have a conversation with Jasper where I wasn't wearing glorified pyjamas, probably reeking of vomit. I definitely needed to stash more toiletries in the back of the car from now on.

I slunk towards a nearby boulder to take a seat, Freddie looking over to make sure I didn't stray too far. I knew there would be a lecture about my actions with the Lamia when I got home - even if I was preventing at least two gruesome murders, the rule was that I observed silently.

"Injuries are typically very low," Sue Clearwater said in a no-nonsense tone. "We manage fine."

"But didn't you just say that she was nearly harmed?" Mrs Cullen gestured at me. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

I scowled. "Lamia," I said, and Emmett Cullen let out a chuckle at the sound of loathing in my voice. "Did you know that the young ones don't so much as spit venom, but kind of projectile vomit when startled? And their venom is more along the lines of 'caustic rotting human tissue smoothie'? It was chunky."

"That is disgusting," the blonde girl said sharply.

"It was. And I was covered in it," I said, jumping when I heard a rumble coming from my left. Jasper; he looked pissed. Was he growling again?

"Why were you anywhere near them?" he asked, in that rough voice that sounded like it wasn't used very often, his eyes piercing through me.

"Easy, Jas," Emmett turned to look at his brother.

"She was going for Harry's throat," I said. "I just gave her a shove."

"You shoved a Lamia?" Dr Cullen looked at me with bewilderment.

"I'm not allowed to carry a weapon," I replied. Both Dr and Mrs Cullen looked taken aback.

"We need to be present at these meetings," Jasper said abruptly. "For protection."

"Protection?" Harry Clearwater sneered. "From you?"

"We'd be happy to help," Mrs Cullen tried again, and the blonde girl scoffed.

"We're faster and stronger than most other creatures," the redhead said - Edward? That might have been his name.

"I mean…" Charlie Swan looked at my uncle. "Not many things we come across will try and negotiate with a local coven. It could encourage a lot of them to move on sooner."

"We don't need a voice in these meetings unless they directly involve us," Dr Cullen continued. I was watching the negotiations without drawing attention to the fact that Jasper was moving closer to me, leaning against the other end of the rock I was perched on - and honestly, trying not to giggle at how unsubtle he was being. "We simply want to make sure that none of you come to harm doing your duties."

"I really don't think this is necessary." Sue looked angry and was talking in that short, clipped way she did before she was about to blow - I remembered what happened when Seth and his friends tried to make s'mores with a cut gasline when Seth was, like, eight.

"A Lamia could have killed any of you before anyone could react. You could have been scraping Alice's remains off the rock," Edward shot back.

"Where did they go, anyway?" I asked, forgetting my plan to avoid drawing attention to the fact that Jasper was only three feet away from me - and that was a generous estimate.

"Alice, come over here," Freddie insisted, and I pretended not to hear him.

"They didn't stick around," Charlie Swan said shortly. My gaze fell to the shotgun in Harry's hands.

"We were downwind," Emmett winked at me.

"They won't return - they're heading up to Canada," Edward added before his gaze fell towards Jasper. "No."

"They attacked her," Jasper said, looking at his brother with a flat gaze. "They moved to attack the whole group."

"And they killed some kids in Port Angeles," I volunteered. "Probably teenage girls."

"Someone is going to have to check the bodies to make sure we don't have a fresh Lamia on the rise," Freddie said tiredly. "Charlie, if you put in the request for I.Ding for me tonight, I can drive up tomorrow."

"They're murdering children?" the blonde stepped to the front, her gaze hard.

"There are two parallel species of Lamia," Freddie said, trying to catch my attention. Jasper hadn't attempted to move any closer but was surreptitiously watching me. I wasn't budging; this was the closest I had been to Jasper Cullen since he arrived and I was curious about so many things - and enjoying the fact that he seemed to be just as curious of me. "You can tell the difference based on the presence of scaling surrounding the cheekbones and feet. One hunts men, the other prefers young people, usually girls."

"Three girls, around fourteen," Charlie Swan confirmed grimly. "I.Ding them will be difficult, so we shouldn't have any issue getting that approved, Fred."

"Rose," Edward said warningly and she sneered at him, tucking herself next to Emmett.

I looked over at Jasper then, to find him watching me carefully.

"They didn't hurt you?" he asked softly. I shook my head.

"We'll protect you." He looks away when he says that, back at the group.

It's not an offer now; it's a firm insistence - the kind of tone that doesn't accept arguments or compromise. Who was he before he joined the Cullens? He didn't look that much older than me, really; like… all the Cullens, really, he physically looked young but there was age and time in the way they carried themselves, the way they spoke, the look in their eyes. Every single one of them looked a little bit haunted, honestly.

Edward looked exasperated but was watching me carefully. He was strange in a genuinely interesting way.

Jasper looked back over at me as Dr Cullen tried to soften the new requirement for their continued presence at any public meetings with Sue and Charlie.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked over at my uncle, who didn't look happy.

"Come on, Alice," Freddie said, and he sounded more tired than annoyed. "It's time to go. We'll discuss this with the Cullens later."

[monstershowdowns]

[darling6ixx]

♡ youre in his dm’s, im in the middle of the forest getting possessed by the wendigo to eat his soul

[chaotic-and-mentally-ill]

This was mostly an excuse to draw him as a cat boy if I'm being honest. Anyway, Cheshire Cat Leon. Or Cat Boy Leon. Which ever works for you. -Mod Angel

P.s. Sketch under the cut :3

[babacontainsmultitudes]

@this-is-specifically-for-art Sorry about the ping but you have to know that since seeing your drawings yesterday I’ve been unable to get the thought of butterfly Nick out of my damn head

So it was imperative that I sketch him yes!

[averagehatchetfieldresident]

Hatchetfield Oc Week 7

Tragedy.

Yaaay yipeeeee

@hatchetfieldocweek

I would write something but i dont have motivation. Maybe I will who knows

Wren: Almost sacrificed the Nibbly, her mother ended up dying.

Alex: Usually manages to survive a while. Does end up drowning a few times

Natalia: Goes into Watcherworld at some point, never comes out.