#american mcgee's alice fanfiction

[a-m-pyra]

Council of VVhispers

I'M TRYING. Prologue will release before the end of the week.

[turnupswritessometimes]

Butterflies - Ch1 - Lies of P/Alice Madness Returns

Relationship: P/Alice Liddell

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53898544/chapters/136426825

Next Chapter

Chapter One: How Alice Came to Krat

Wonderland had taken Alice the majority of her life to figure out the mechanics of. Whilst the asylum had been the catalyst for her visits, it had also been just as much a hindrance; it made her believe what everyone else told her; Wonderland wasn’t real. It was a figment of her imagination; her broken mind keeping her safe from reality, and she was mad.

That part had always made her want to laugh – Wonderland had never been safe; often times it was more dangerous than London.

The truth was, as truth generally is, more complicated than that. Instead, her experiments over the years, led her to conclude reality was, in fact, like a Matryoshka doll; there were layers to it. Wonderland was a layer on top of London, like a pair of spectacles over the regular world – thus, Londerland had occurred until she’d been able to separate the lenses from London. Alice had discovered a way of putting on those spectacles, thus encountering Wonderland.

It complicated further, because not everything in the two worlds had a direct correlation. Alice certainly did: most moves she made in London moved her in Wonderland too; a bar in London was the Carpenter’s lair in Wonderland. However, creatures like the Cheshire Cat certainly weren’t in England. (Unless he had been Dinah, and had, in Wonderland, been a boy, instead, but she couldn’t conclude that either way.) This aspect was a mystery, and Alice was left to conclude that some people just left bigger marks than others; like bruises running through an apple; only some reached through to the core.

These metaphors weren’t working.

Alice paused over her journal, her fountain pen wavering. First, she had compared Wonderland to glasses – something layered over the top, and now she was talking about bruises – something that went internally. That was contradictory.

Did it hugely matter? This journal was for her. Anyone else would conclude it the ramblings of a mad girl. The important point was Wonderland did not just exist in her mind. Wonderland was a different reality.

Therefore, it stood to reason, that there were more of these other realities. She had, through bumbling along odd jobs and meeting interesting people, discovered this to be true. On the way, she had also discovered how to slip entirely through to these worlds, instead of just partially through. This was extremely helpful in not finding her way back into an asylum. No more wandering in two worlds at once for Alice, thank you very much.

She decided to abandon the metaphors altogether, and packed her journal in her satchel. She would head down to the docks early. The theatre wasn't running shows for a good month; they had chosen February to make refurbishments to the building, and no one wanted to see shows now the festive season was over.

It gave Alice the time away from work to truly explore. That was what she planned: she was going to search for new worlds.

And, luckily, she'd made a few friends who were happy to take her on as a passenger on their next trip. It was ‘luckily,’ because good things generally didn't happen to Alice Liddell. At least, they hadn't, for a good decade. Now, it seemed that things were starting to change.

She wasn't the first to reach the handsome steamship she was due to sail on. A boy sat on the crates that were waiting to be loaded on, panpipes between his lips. He waved when he saw her, but didn't take the pipes away from his mouth.

She'd met Peter when he'd tried to sneak into the back of the theatre. He'd heard that people truly flew in the latest show, and he had to see it for himself.

Alice had known immediately there was something different about Peter. It was in the brightness of his blue eyes; the ruffle of his hair when there was no wind; the glint in his smile that was so unlike any London urchin. He wasn't a London urchin.

That much had become clear when she'd told him to buy a ticket like everyone else, and then inexplicably found him at her bedroom window the next evening. Her window, on the third floor of the boarding house.

Peter lived like her, between realities.

And currently he was working for Captain Nemo as a cabin boy. That was how he'd persuaded the Captain to let Alice join them as a free passenger.

Alice perched next to Peter on the crates, waiting for the rest of the crew to arrive. His pipes played a soft, haunting tune. This early in the morning, with the sun still rising, London was beautiful. Yellow lights flickered in the windows, and the smog was not so prevalent.

The men arrived. Captain Nemo was like all ship captains; gruff and growly with a good heart – and certainly had a better track record with his ships than the mock turtle, Alice thought. He chided Peter for slacking off, but ruffled his hair all the same.

Alice slipped off the crate to dip a joking half-curtsey. "Thank you again for letting me accompany you."

"None of that, now, Miss." He waved a beefy hand at her. "You can help us get loaded up, and all."

She had no qualms about that, so she did. She assisted in heaving the crates onto the ship. They were heavy, and left her sweating, but at least it felt as though she’d done something to earn her way.

It was nearly midday by the time they were setting sail. Of course, that was a figure of speech now. Instead of releasing sails, an engine was started up. The boat puffed out clouds of great smoke from a chimney, chugging them down the Thames.

Peter and Alice sat on the deck. It was drizzling, but not enough to be a true bother.

"So, why're you headed to France?" Peter asked. He sat on the rail, swinging his legs.

Alice leant her back against the metal rail, fiddling with the ends of her hair. It needed a good cut. "Charles Perrault."

"Who?"

"He was a writer. He wrote fairy tales. It stands to reason that he could do what we did. I'm hoping that if I follow his footsteps, I'll be able to discover them too."

Peter tilted his head to one side. Even in the gray day, his green eyes gleamed. "But why go looking for them when there's no guarantee you'll pass through?"

After all, Alice had not yet visited Neverland, despite Peter’s urging.

"Because it’s an experiment, and I jolly well won't learn anything more about all this unless I try."

Peter smiled, as though he was about to laugh at her. She narrowed her eyes at him. It didn’t quell the smile completely, but he didn’t tease her further. He stretched, almost overbalancing on the rail.

"I don't see why you can't be content with London and Wonderland."

It was a good point. Why wasn’t Alice content? Why must she search for more? Wonderland was twisted and dangerous enough – other places might be even worse.

She let go of the frayed ends of her hair. "I'm curious."

That was a lie. The real reason was that she had no reason to stay. Not in London, and not particularly in Wonderland.

Peter stopped stretching. His smile was even wider, his teeth very white. "Didn't curiosity kill the cat?"

Alice rolled her eyes. But she couldn't help her own mouth twitching. Just a little.

*

The had journey started smoothly. Most disastrous journeys did start smoothly, Alice supposed. The steamboat moved at a good pace. By the evening, they could see the line of the continent. They were easing their way around the coastline of Spain; threading the needle to reach France, and then onto Italy.

It was a relatively peaceful night, but the rain got heavier. What started as a pitter on the tin roof became a furious drumbeat. Became heavier and heavier, until it was as loud as hail. The wind howled at the tiny porthole in Alice's cabin.

She dreamt about the Mockturtle, and it was only when she woke in her own bed that she wondered if it really had been a dream. Either way, she was still stuck on a boat, in a storm. There was a distant roll of thunder. Yellow light flashed through the room so quickly that she wasn't sure it had even happened.

Alice knew the worst thing to do would be to fight her way onto the deck. But she still grasped the door handle, fighting to stay upright. The boat rocked on the waves.

Another flash of lightning.

She couldn't stay here. She couldn't stay in this tiny cabin and be thrown around like a sardine. It would kill her. Already she could feel a desperate, clawing panic in her chest. If she stayed, she'd be trapped in a tin can. If the boat sank, she'd sink with it.

She'd rather get thrown overboard. At the worst, she could fall back into Wonderland, and no doubt land on her feet, there.

There was shouting on the deck. Alice slipped, banging her knee on the floor, and fought her way upwards. The ship lurched drunkenly, the deck illuminated by another flash of lightning and the silver moonlight. Rain flew down in silvery sheets, competing with the roar of the waves.

The stairs seemed determined to attack her at every step, but Alice struggled on. Her breath came in great gasps, and she fought to keep hold of herself. She needed to keep hold of herself, or she would slip into Wonderland.

It seemed like years before she finally reached the deck. The men were just dark shapes, darting to and fro. Peter saw her, his boots sliding over the planks as he tried to reach her.

"Get back downstairs!"

"Not a chance!" she replied. The ship lurched again, sending them both slipping to the rail at the port side of the boat. Alice gripped it so tightly that the cold metal stung her skin. Her hair hung in her face. Her nightdress was soaked through already; the rain plastering the fabric to her skin.

The storm continued.

She clung to the rail as the ship moved the other way. Her feet slipped, and she nearly went head over heels. She hooked her elbow through the rail, hauling herself upright.

Peter had caught himself too. He looked like a seal; his hair plastered to his scalp. The silvery light made his eyes flash like a cat's. For a moment, he didn't look like anything from this world.

Then he was rushing to help a fallen sailor.

Alice clung to the rail and tried to catch her breath. The freezing rain stung her cheeks like ice. She looked up, through the silver and black, to try and see how far away from land they were. It didn't seem too far. They must be parallel to France, now, maybe even close to Italy.

There was something out there. Something bright, and blue. Something with wings, fighting against the wind.

It was a butterfly.

Yells sounded behind her. Rail pelted her on the back. Alice didn't move. The butterfly came closer. It was beautiful; seemed to be leaving a trail of glittering dust in its wake.

"Alice!" Peter yelled.

Alice lifted her hand from the rail. She reached for the butterfly.

And the whole ship lurched again.

*

The sea was cold and dark. Alice remembered little; she likely slipped through realities whilst underwater, to survive for any amount of time in that storm. When she regained consciousness, she found that she was still half in the water. It lapped against her legs.

Her front half was in something hard and bumpy. Her hands sunk into it when she pulled herself up to sit.

Shingles. And it was waves hitting her boots.

Alice coughed. Seawater didn't come up. Logically, she should be at least half-drowned, if not dead as a dodo. But here she was, on a shingle beach. Curious. She pushed her dark hair from her face, pulling her legs from the water, until she sat perched like a mermaid.

It was still night, with not even a streak of light on the horizon to signal dawn. At least the clouds had cleared enough that a strong moon shone down. The beach was abandoned. There were craggy rocks down the shore, and, more pressingly, there was a sea wall about ten feet from her. Like the kind the children said Brighton had.  If Alice squinted, she could see a chain rail, cornering off stone steps. Beyond the wall, she could make out the dark shapes of a city. A city, she suspected, that did not exist in France, or Italy, or anywhere in Europe. She suspected this was another reality altogether.

Not least because the blue butterfly was back. It fluttered down from the stairs, still heading towards her.

Alice's heart raced, but not from being thrown around by the waves. In fact, she felt none the worse for wear considering her sea trip. Her heart raced with anticipation. With excitement. Where was she? What wonders awaited her in that city?

"I sensed your power nearing us." A voice came, presumably from the butterfly. It was a soft, female voice. A voice Alice felt she could trust, from the outset – and that was a rarity. "Though, I must confess, I didn't believe I would be able to bring you here."

"I likely helped you," Alice said. “I have a few skills, like that.”

"Yes." The butterfly fluttered in place. "Your ergo is – different."

"Thank you." It seemed good manners, even if she didn’t understand that. Alice lifted her hand, and the butterfly landed on her fingers. It didn't weigh anything. In fact, she barely felt it at all. "I suppose we must ask the obvious questions. Who are you, and who am I, and do you need my help?"

"My name is Sophia," the butterfly said.

"And my name is Alice."

"I'm not sure you can help us, Alice." The butterfly's wings moved slowly. "Our city is in a dire situation, and I cannot ask you to put yourself in danger for a world that is clearly not yours."

"That's true, this isn't my world. But I'm not powerless, and I would like to help."

Because there was another sliver of silver on the beach; something else had washed up with Alice. She reached for it, careful not to jog the butterfly on her other hand, and her fingers found a familiar handle.

The vorpal blade.

It still snicker-snacked perfectly when she tested it in the air.

The butterfly fluttered, as though it was excited by this development too. Alice stood, carefully, her legs tingling. She'd noticed, as soon as she realised, she was wearing boots, that she wasn't in her nightgown any longer. Her outfit had become something familiar and dear. Her blue Wonderland gown, with her striped stockings and practical boots. Her omega pendant flashed on her chest.

It felt as good as chainmail.

"I will lead you to hotel Krat," Sophia continued, lifting herself from Alice and fluttering through the air. "It is a safe space, and we can talk face to face there."

"Thank you." It wouldn't do for Alice to forget manners. She followed the butterfly across the beach, her boots crunching in the shingles. It was easy enough to tug the chain to the steps free, and to make her way up them.

The moon and stars bathed everything in soft, white light, and Alice fell in love with it from first sight. It was patchworked together; it was buildings with gargoyles on the edges; was crooked chimney pots; was warm stones and cobblestones; was a fantasy from a gothic novel.

This was the city of Krat.

Sophia explained to Alice, as they continued down the streets, that Krat had once been very different. Was not the ghost town it was now, but a thriving seaside city. But then the puppets had – frenzied – and thrown the city into chaos. Puppets had been created to help humans; they were created to obey, and serve, and make life easier.

Alice could see why they might get tired of such a life.

She met one of these puppets, on their journey. A policeman lurched out at her from an alleyway. She raised her knife on instinct, slashing against its forearm.

The vorpal blade cut through the metal as though it was butter. Black spurted out, too shiny for blood.

The puppet lurched forward, and Alice got her first real look. A mechanical man, eyes empty, jaw gaping. It reminded her of those ridiculous puppet shows in Covent Garden.

She hated those puppet shows.

She drove the blade into its chest. When it didn't still, she plunged it in again.

It fell backwards, and clattered onto the cobblestones in defeat, making an almighty noise.

Sophia fluttered by Alice's cheek, as though she touched her face. She appreciated that.  She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. It wasn't blood, or tar, it was oil.

They continued.

Hotel Krat was beautiful too. The flickering halogen light was beautiful; the wide windowsills were beautiful; the abandoned tram line coming out of it was beautiful. It was beautiful because this building had dim, yellow light in some of its windows which winked like eyes.

Alice loved Krat. Krat was just as dangerous and broken as Wonderland.

It suited her, perfectly.

[story-telling]

can you do some more Alice madness returns scenarios please

Thank you for your request!!

Since there wasn’t anything specified I thought I would take my own creativity and create a short POV story! I hope you enjoy it 🌸

♥️♠️♦️♣️♥️♠️♦️♣️♥️♠️♦️♣️♥️♠️♦️♣️

Alice Liddells realisation

Through Alice’s time in wonderland, she had spent the majority of it figuring out her past, the poor girl was haunted by her memories of the fire. She was adamant it was all her fault and tried to plead guilty the first few months at Rutledge asylum but in the end. She was just another patient for them to feed off financially.

Alice awoke once more from her sweat ridden bed in a state of panic and despair, another nightmare, she put her feet on the cold wooden floor and closed her eyes. “Centaurs in Oxford, lizzie’s sleep talking, the library’s fire, Dinah, centaurs centaurs cENTAURS CENTAURS” Alice’s eyes shot open as she gritted her teeth. Her memories cleared and she remembered her nightmare. Clear as day, there stood Lizzie. Draped in a red gown, surrounded by oozing tentacles and a variety of human remains. The stench was potently retched and she stood before her once inviting and sweet older sister. Now displayed a foul Queen of hearts, Alice felt inferior to her sister, a feeling she had never felt before.

One quote from Lizzie stuck with Alice as she spoke “Centaurs don’t live in Oxford, and that wasn’t Lizzie talking in her sleep”. Alice thought and thought about that quote for a moment before her head started spinning and she felt nauseated, she took some deep breaths and slowly sat up from her bed. She looked over to the corner of her room towards her mirror, her nightgown draped over her malnourished and pale body, her hair swept to one side and placed neatly on her shoulder. Alice walked towards her wardrobe and set out her daily work wear, her black skirt, black and white striped long sleeved top, her black tights and lastly her apron. Everything was either ripped or stained but she didn’t mind because in her dreams she can wear beautiful gowns and dresses all she pleases. Alice was a fan of daydreaming, until the fire. Now it seems all of her daydreams turn into nightmares or hallucinations.

Once dressed and her hair was brushed Alice walked out of her bedroom and across the hall, the children mocking her as she walked. It was a daily routine for the children to be rude and disrespectful towards Alice, despite all her hard work to look after them and keep them from getting hurt. Somewhere deep inside Alice she enjoyed seeing the children happy, sometimes on a Sunday she would sit with them and make toys and drawings with them. Until one of them gets taken away by him.

Angus Bumby. A therapist and father figure to many of the children in this dump they call an orphanage. She hated him, she didn’t know why. But she knew something wasn’t right, however she still continued to get help and run errands for him.

Alice went on about her day, sweeping the children’s rooms and whistling to herself all while thinking of her nightmare. “ALICE” a voice boomed around the room towards her ears in a sharp tone. She whipped her head around with an annoyed look on her face and realised the tall skinny figure in the doorway was in fact Dr. Angus Bumby. “Yes? Sir”. She put her head down in fear. She may of hated him but she was terrified. “Follow me to my office. Please.” He waved his hand gesturing for Alice to follow him. She did as he asked and walked behind him like a lost puppy. As they stepped into his office, the smell of stale books and smoke from outside hit her. She let out a small cough and sat down in the chair. “Sir, i don’t believe i have to forget today” she looked up to lanky man leaning against his desk. He looked down “no no. None of that today Alice, I merely require an errand for you to run”. Alice let out an annoyed huff and crossed her arms “and what, prey tell would you like me to do?” Dr. Bumby put one hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a variety of different keys on one ring. He sorted through them and Alice studied them very carefully up until she noticed one, one that stood out to her. One that she had seen before.

“Lizzie…” she breathed out and looked at Dr. Bumby with a face that could only be described as disgusted with fear. “What nonsense are you mumbling about this time Alice?” He was taken back a bit when Alice stood up and snatched the keys out of his hand, quickly rummaging them to get to her sisters bedroom door key. “THIS IS LIZZIES KEY” she held it up in front of his face. All in a flash, the memories came back. “…the centuars. Lizzie was right. Oxford doesn’t have… centaurs… she wasn’t sleep talking. The shadow. The key. YOU” she looked towards Bumby and stood up. She may of been shorter than him but in the moment of pure anger and disbelief she didn’t bare that in mind much.

Alice clutched her stomach as her breathing got heavier and quicker. Tears filled her eyes. “You did it. I TRUSTED YOU. AND YOU DID IT…”. She stood there. Mindlessly while her thoughts raced through her mind.

I lived with him

I took advice from him

I was under the same roof with my sisters attacker

The children. Oh the children.

“You monster”

To be continued….

Thank you so much for this request! I had a lot of fun writing it!! If anyone wants a continued version of my little story please let me know!

[hysteriamodes]

>make a post about how Bumby x Alice shippers write Alice wildly OOC and understanding her character.

>watch them miss the point of the post.

Just tell me you guys didn't read anything I said.

You can ship anything you want but that doesn't make you exempt from me criticizing your writing and portrayal. I'm old school, kiddos, I'm not gonna scream at you how you're a degenerate, I'm just going to tell you that your writing is OOC and you may as well make your own material for how badly you veer away from the canon material. If you can't handle constructive criticism to your writing, then this isn't the hobby for you.

Come on, guys, I'm dyslexic and I have better reading comprehension.

[n0stalg1a404]

How would y'all feel if I wrote a crossover fanfic of Ruin and Alice Madness returns?

[thelightofwhitechapel]

All right. Enjoy these mood boards. My spine is going to break itself and I'm just absolutely tired.

[pyrka-oficjalnie]

O klątwie Westcote mówiło się od wieków: hiszpańscy inkwizytorzy mieli zwrócić na siebie uwagę przedwiecznego zła, które miało zawładnąć ich czynami, uczuciami i myślami. Przeciwstawili się złemu duchowi i, zakląwszy go w ołowianej urnie, ukryli go głęboko pod wyspą Westcote. Do ukrytego skarbu miała prowadzić tajemnicza kostka, której sześć części ukryto w różnych miejscach, u różnych osób, a Jorge Martinez wraz z załogą miał niedługo potem zaginąć w niewyjaśnionych okolicznościach.

Przez następne dziesięciolecia fragmentów kostki szukały dziesiątki ludzi, których, wedle wierzeń, miało połączyć przedwieczne zło. Braterstwo Uroborosa, Bractwo Uroborosa, a potem kolejne pokolenia Domu Uroborosa. Nikomu nie udało się znaleźć wszystkich fragmentów, w którymś momencie każde z ugrupowań znikało bez śladu tak jak inkwizytorzy.

Do czasu.

------------------------------------

Dom Uroborosa, czyli moje dziecko, które wyszło z połączenia inspiracji moimi ulubionymi horrorami i Mystery Inc. Start mam zaplanowany na 15 maja. Więcej info i rzeczy na dniach :3

[hypermo0n]

calling this rn

Eclipse plays Animal Crossing and Among us. Probably even the Alice Games

Scourge plays a lot of horror games like DBD, Friday the 13th, OutLast, zombie games etc.

[miaqc1]

Cheveux bruns ou noirs? Podfic : Mia Blais-Côté : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Podfic Francaise. Je les mets sur Internet Archive avant de les poster sur Ao3. Avant j'utilisais SoundCloud mais j'ai arrêté à cause de la "limite gratuite". Bonne écoute.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Author Reader: I have published a new book, inspired by American McGee's Alice. Since it more fantasy horror, the rouges shouldn't be as interested in it as the others! Joker/Scarecrow: Have you ever met Hatter before? Reader: Excuse me, what?

Horror!Author!Reader: Finally, something that may get you deranged so-called fans of mine to give me some space; an Alice in Wonderland inspired horror-fantasy-thriller.

Yandere Joker/Scarecrow: Oh, boy….we wouldn’t do that if we were you. Like, we don’t doubt it’ll be absolutely amazing but Hatter is going to be all over this one and then we’ll have to deal with him trying to take part in book club back at Arkham.

Horror!Author!Reader: I’m sorry but who now?

Mad Hatter bursting through the door: DID SOMEONE SAY ALICE IN WONDERLAND?!?!?!?!?!??

If the Reader were to write something inspired by American McGee’s Alice, Mad Hatter would break into the Reader’s home just to tell them everything they got wrong with it. He is completely devoted to the original Alice in Wonderland story so even though it’s not based on that he still has gripes about it and will make them very known. At the very least he would compromise and tolerate the story better if the Reader changed Alice’s hair to the original’s look. But he would totally want the Reader to write another Alice in Wonderland story based on the original and he will give all his thoughts and ideas for, whether the Reader is willing to hear him out or not.

Also:

Horror!Author!Reader, on the phone: Hey, Batman? Um, yeah I kinda have a problem. The Mad Hatter’s in my house again and he won’t stop talking about his Alice in Wonderland horror fanfiction ideas. Would you please come get hi-Wait a minute. Something’s happening….

*camera pans over as Joker, Scarecrow, Harley, Poison Ivy, Deathstroke, Killer Croc, Talia, and Two Face all busting in with a variety of weapons*

Horror!Author!Reader, still on the phone: You still there, Batman? Yeah, I’m going to need you even more now. It looks like some of the other inmates have broken out of Arkham again and are here to kick Hatter’s ass…or worse.

Yandere Joker, getting ready to fuck Hatter’s shit up: It was just a one time story, Hatter~ First you weasel your way into our book club and now you’re trying to pathetically worm your way into making a series out of it, taking up all of Y/n’s time and attention for your Alice in Wonderland obsession?? Not on our watch, Hattsy!~

[a-m-pyra]

Whispers Heard At Nightfall: main characters moodboards

I almost lost my miiiiiiind.

I'll try to write and post the Prologue tomorrow — and then you can count down

And songs belooooow

[turnupswritessometimes]

Butterflies - Ch2 - Lies of P/Alice Madness Returns

Relationship: P/Alice Liddell

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53898544/chapters/136426825

Previous (First) | Next

Summary: "But why go looking for other realities, when there's no guarantee you'll pass through to them?" "Because it’s an experiment, and I jolly well won't learn anything more about all this unless I try," Alice replied.

Having figured out how to slip in and out of Wonderland entirely, Alice Liddell sets off on a journey to find more realities around her own. When she follows a blue butterfly to Hotel Krat, she meets P. The more time they spend together, the more they feel as though there's someone else out there, just like them.

Chapter Two: How Alice had Afternoon Tea at Four in the Morning

Alice stepped into Hotel Krat, and came properly face to face with Sophia.

Sophia, who was as beautiful as her city. From her lacy skirts to her peacoat to her sky-blue hair, the same delicacy and elegance of her butterflies was in every part of her. She smiled at Alice, in welcome, and it made her feel as warm through as hot milk.

"I'm so glad you made it in one piece," she said, though she didn't step forward to greet Alice properly. She stayed by the great machine in the hotel lobby. At first, Alice thought it was a fountain, but she realised it was something else entirely. Something that still glowed with that blue hue she’d seen everywhere in the city.

The butterfly, Sophia’s messenger, at her side had dissolved.

"I have some past experience of dangerous places," Alice replied.

"Indeed." The smile widened. Her blue eyes were just as glittering as the butterfly’s wings. "I have a feeling you could help us, very much."

"Oh my, forgive me." There was another voice. A jerky, reverberating voice. It came from the front desk of the hotel.

A puppet manned the desk.

Alice's fingers tightened on the handle of her blade, but Sophia shook her head. Just slightly. She forced herself to relax. It was rather hasty to lump all puppets in the same category.

"We didn't believe there was anyone left in the city. No stalkers, at least." The puppet came around the desk, taller and wider than her. "My name is Polendina; I am the receptionist of Hotel Krat. All who seek refuge are welcome here."

Alice glanced to Sophia again. The puppet hadn't acknowledged her in the slightest. So, not everything was as it seemed. Even now, Sophia was stepping away. Retreating. Leaving her with this stranger.

In that case, she’d better remember good manners. "Thank you. My name is Alice. I've been told I'm here to lend a hand."

"Then, it is doubly fortunate you have found the hotel." There was a tick-tock from somewhere inside of the puppet – inside Polendina. "Consider this the base of the resistance. The last stand against the chaos Krat has fallen into."

Alice examined him. "You don't believe it's too dangerous a job for a girl?"

The puppet looked serious. His default was serious, Alice supposed, but he looked more serious. "You arrived her in one piece. That is proof that you are capable."

He may have been alarming at first glance, but Alice found that she was warming up to this puppet.

"I am afraid the residents of the hotel are currently asleep," Polendina continued. "However, I can show you to a room, and you can make your introductions in the morning – oh—"

The puppet broke off. Not everyone was asleep: a figure came down the lobby stairs, boots clucking, a greatcoat trailing in their wake. They moved like a storm of elephants, clearly not worrying about waking of the inhabitants.

The figure stopped, when it reached the great fountain-like machine, and Alice got her first good look at the newcomer.

It was a young man. He was perhaps her age, or maybe a year older, and there was a certain – muchness – about him, Alice thought. It was easier to start at the floor; at the aforementioned clunking boots, the long legs – then, better not to think at all about his waist, or his hips – the shape of his trousers and waistcoat and all that entailed. Even his coat made his shoulders look all the broader. He was a good head taller than Alice. She needed to tilt her head back to see his face.

A face framed by dark, curling hair, shining like polished mahogany. Without sounding too dramatic, he had the face of a prince from a storybook; both feminine and masculine at once, with freckles across his cheeks and eyes like sapphires.

Alice had never been one to care about boys. (Then, when had she chance? Asylums didn't leave much time for socialising.) She did know they were certainly not the alien beings other girls said they were, and most quite agreeable as friends. But she was very aware this boy was very handsome, and it felt like missing a step on the stairs.

And she was also aware her dress was caked with shingles and sea salt. That she was splattered with oil, and holding a very sharp knife. That her hair was damp from the rain and wild. And she'd never been one to care about looking ladylike, but she would have preferred to look somewhat more presentable, when meeting such a boy.

"Sir, this young lady has just arrived to seek refuge with us. That is alright, is it not?"

The boy's eyes glanced from her to the puppet. His face was quietly impassive. He nodded. Alice took advantage of his distraction to try wiping the vorpal blade on her dress, just to get the worst of the oil off. She tucked it in her waistband, just above the bow at the back.

"She has clearly come a long way. You will make her welcome, won't you?"

"I was planning to—" The boy gestured at the front door, not looking at her. Now he wasn't looking at her, she continued to examine him. He had a sturdy fencing blade at his side, and not only that, one of his arms was mechanical. Looked primed with its own weapon.

"Now, sir, you cannot be rude to our guest."

"No." Alice stepped back, too. "By all means, don't let me stop you."

He glanced back to her, his expression just as unreadable as before. She tried to school hers into a similar nonchalance.

"What would Lady Antonia say?" Polendina asked, and the boy wavered.

Another voice chirped at his side – at the glowing lantern, at his side. "Come on, pal, the monsters will still wait for us."

There seemed to be an internal struggle going on. Alice looked around for Sophia, but she was nowhere to be seen. When she looked back at the boy, he looked faintly annoyed.

So, she was making a splendid first impression.

"Welcome to Hotel Krat," he said. His voice was soft; it reminded her of lullabies. And, just like a prince, he bowed to her in greeting. Properly, his hand across his stomach, and not taking his eyes away from hers.

So, what could Alice do, but perform her best curtsey in response?

*

Polendina made them to sit in the dining room, whilst he prepared an afternoon tea. Made truly was the correct word – despite both Alice and the boy's protestations that it was unnecessary, he insisted upon it. It was “polite and proper,” he said.

Alice realised that his meant a lot to the puppet; these rules. Perhaps it was the only thing he had left to rely on. She gave in.

Though it was ludicrous. The dining hall was completely empty of other patrons, and felt like a gaping chasm. Of the dozens of white-clothed tables, theirs was the only that was laid. A complete afternoon tea, for the two of them.

Polendina rattled back to the desk, and left the two of them stood in front of the table, both primed to fight monsters, not make polite conversation.

"Well," Alice said, determined to break the silence. "I suppose they never did specify whether to have afternoon tea at four in the A.M, or four in the P.M."

She thought the boy smiled. The tiniest bit. It made her feel a flame-like flicker of pride. She brushed down her skirts – shingle fell to the worn carpet – and held out her hand.

"We might as well go about this properly. My name is Alice Liddell, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

The boy looked at her. He looked at her hand. His smile widened the tiniest bit more. Then he slipped his hand into hers. His right, which was the non-mechanical one. "I call myself P. No one else seems to use that name for me."

He didn't let go of her hand, though he didn’t shake on it, either. They stood there, holding each other's hands, and she wondered why no one called him his name.

"I see,” she said.

"You're meant to shake it." That same voice piped up from the lantern at the boy – at P's –side. "Or, if you truly want to act like a gentleman, you kiss it."

Alice pulled her hand away before he could do either, feeling a flare of panic at the thought. Ridiculous, she told herself, that she could be flustered by the prospect alone. P's hand lingered in the air. She couldn't look at his face; it was too earnest, his eyes too observant.

"Who's your friend?" she asked. It was safer to ask that. Much safer, because P used that lingering hand to unclip the lantern from his belt. He held it up, and Alice would see a small, dark figure inside. The figure of a cricket.

"This is Gemini. He guides my way."

Alice stared. For so long that her eyes stung from the light, but she could make out the tiny parts that built the cricket. Another machine.

"He's wonderful."

A cricket chirp came from inside the lantern that sounded proud of itself.

"Yes," P said. "When he's quiet."

Another chirp, and a, “Hey!”

Alice put her fingers to her mouth, to hide her smile, though she didn't know why. She felt much too aware of herself – felt much too jittery. Tea, she decided. She needed tea. She stepped up to the table. Tea would make her come to her senses.

"And you should offer the lady her chair, before she sits," Gemini continued.

"Oh, you don't need to," Alice said quickly. "I'm hardly a lady."

She fumbled to sit, but this time, P was quicker. He did pull the chair out for her, but then he looked completely lost for the next step. Completely lost to why he should be doing this, and if Alice was honest, she didn't understand all these rules, either.

Though it was easier to give in. "Thank you."

P nodded. It made his dark hair bounce. He didn't tuck the chair in under her, and Gemini didn't prompt him to – perhaps he was despairing at them both. Still, it was a relief. It was simpler to scoot the chair forward herself, whilst P stepped around her and took his own seat.

Alice busied herself with the teapot, pouring them both a cup with both hands. Better to keep her hands busy.

P watched her. She could feel those too-blue eyes examining her, and found herself wishing she'd actually leant this: learnt how to hold a proper tea party. Her only frame of reference was hers and Lizzie's, with her rabbit, and Lizzie's porcelain doll. They’d been light on the proper rules.

"How did you come to be here?" P asked. His hands remained on his lap.

Alice tucked her hair behind her ear. "I followed the blue butterfly."

P's eyes widened. He shifted and, for the first time, he looked interested. "Sophia?"

Alice nodded.

She saw him visibly relax; he looked relieved; and intrigued. He shifted forward again, more rapt on watching her than ever. Alice clenched her fingers on the teapot handle. Attention wasn't something she often received, and she’d always liked it that way. Handsome boys didn’t stare at girls like her, even in Wonderland.

"She said I had different Ergo." She put the pot down, carefully, and heard Gemini give another chirp at P's side. "But I'm afraid I don't know what Ergo is."

If P thought that was strange, he didn't tell her. Instead, he spoke calmly; explained Ergo powered puppets; powered almost everything in Krat; that it was mysterious. It was power – and life. Meanwhile, Alice put milk and small brown sugar cube into her tea, and stirred. Nodded, and sipped, and felt the drink do its work.

P had a nice voice; quiet and lilting. He spoke succinctly, and to the point. He watched the steam curling upwards from the teacups, but didn't move to take his own.

Ergo had made the puppets attack, though no one knew why – simply that it seemed to drive them crazy, and soon after, everything in Krat went wrong. Not just the puppets, but an outbreak of a deadly and unexplained disease. All P knew was that the puppets needed to be stopped.

“I am following Geppetto’s plan to save the city.

"And Geppetto is?" Alice reached for a scone. There were finger sandwiches on the platter, and tiny cakes, but scones were always the best part of afternoon tea. There wasn't any cream, which Lizzie would have called a crime, but she'd always preferred the jam and butter combination. Less sweet.

"My father." And P was even more unreadable than usual. He fiddled with his mechanical arm, clenching and unclenching the fingers of it.

Gemini was silent.

Alice knew when to avoid a subject. "Tell me what you've tried, so far?"

First, he'd liberated Krat Central Station, then Venigni ironworks factory, then fought a monster at a cathedral, and finally the King of Puppets himself. It had not solved the problem.

There was more. P seemed bothered by something. It was in the twitch of his fingers, and how he kept testing his arm. Alice knew about that; everyone had their own soothing method in the Asylum.

So, she didn't press further - who was she, to do so? She had plenty of her own secrets that she didn't want to talk about. It would even be ruder than resting her elbows on the table (and she was doing that anyway, so best not to push it further).  

She'd finished half of her scone, when she noticed that P's tea was still untouched, and his plate still empty.

"Are you not eating?" she asked.

P looked at the food. His blue eyes met hers, the lashes long, and dark. "I'd break."

The realisation hit her, then. This wasn't a young man sat opposite her. This was—

She went to stand. Had a hand on table. "You're a..."

Puppet. This boy was a puppet. He wasn't eating because he couldn't eat.

Alice forced herself to stop. He wasn't a threat. Just like the butler wasn’t a threat. Just because some puppets had gone into this frenzy, didn’t mean he would too. It was terrible to lump him in with all the others. And how could she judge him, even for a moment? Especially as he'd been nothing but courteous.

Especially as he didn't seem surprised or annoyed at her reaction. He looked resigned, as he took his own hands off the table, and back into his lap, like a scolded schoolboy.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Truly. It's not – I'm not – you're different, to the others."

"I know," P said. "I can do things other puppets can't. I don't have to obey the creator’s orders, and I can lie."

"Very well." Alice felt desperate to make up for her shock. Desperate to act as though everything was alright. "Tell a lie."

P considered. His eyes were the same vibrant hue as the butterfly’s wings. "You're not beautiful."

"That was your lie?"

"Yes.”

He’d called her beautiful. Alice would have preferred that he go crazy and attack her. It was better than sitting opposite him, frozen. Frozen and feeling heat climb her cheeks. She hated blushing; she was so pale she looked ridiculous, when she did. She ducked her chin, her heart pounding. And suddenly she did need to stand. Needed to step away from the table and take a deep breath.

Alice Liddell was not beautiful. She knew that. Lizzie had been.

P stood too. "I don’t want to upset you."

"No, it's just—" She turned back to him, feeling helpless, and ended up taking another step towards the windows. The curtains hadn't been pulled. It was pitch dark outside. She could see herself reflected in the window. Her side eyes stared back at her, manic. "It's just it's been a very long day. I didn't think I would be shipwrecked and then having afternoon tea in the middle of the night."

P had mirrored her movements. Stood opposite her, just far enough away for comfort. He nodded, not as though he understood, but as though he was trying to. How could he, though, when Alice didn’t understand her reaction herself?

"What I meant was, you look different." It was easier to pretend that last part of conversation hadn't happened. "You don't have the—"

She gestured to her own chin, and, to her mortification, found a smear of jam there. She tried to wipe it off without P noticing. He'd mirrored the movement, and once he understood what she meant, nodded again. He opened his mouth, as though he was going to say something more, but then seemed to think otherwise.

Alice gripped her elbows, so tightly that the points of them stung like daggers into her palms.

She couldn't say it whilst she was looking at him. She had to stare, determinedly, at the table and the barely touched food. Her heart rallied against her ribcage. "But you're very handsome, yourself."

When she dared a peak at P's face, she saw he was looking in the opposite direction too. That he was just chancing a peek back at her, and then away.

Alice squeezed her eyes shut, for a moment. How was it, in a world full of frenzied puppets and phantom butterflies, this was the agonising part?

She'd happily take monsters over this, any day.

[writerofweird]

Wolf reading- An open letter to Alice [Alice American mcgee fanfiction] ...

[potroasttheghostdogrants]

I'm bored on my day off, so, might as well get started.

First, to get it out of the way, might as well talk about the rules I set for myself for roster inclusions. I'm a fan of a lot of things, and if I just add every character I want it'd be insanity, so I set limits for myself, for if anyone sees my ramblings and gets an idea in their head.

The rules for roster inclusion are as follows. If a character violates more than a few of these, they aren't getting considered.

The character must have originated from a video game original franchise. If the video game in question is an adaptation of a given work, it must be originally distinctive enough from the original work to be considered entirely different works (imagine asking a five-year old what The Red Badge of Courage is when talking about Codename: Steam) This discounts things like American McGee's Alice, because it is still loosely adapted from the original novel, and all of the characters are still present and still go through the motions of the novel (the queen of hearts is still Alice's nemesis, the cheshire cat is still an unreliable guide, mysterious, and vaguely threatening, yet nonhostile outright, etc) This also discounts superhero game adaptations, even ones distinct from the film franchises. Spiderman could believably have an adventure like Spiderman PS5 in the Spiderman comics. Spiderman.

Addendum: The game or franchise in question must also not be entirely composed of exploitative practices like gambling, loot boxes, or gacha. They need at least half of the games in its history that does not have even a trace of these elements to qualify. Overwatch doesn't get a peek in, as popular as that is. I have zero interest in promoting corrupt business practices in a game I hold as dear as Smash Bros. Yes I know Nintendo isn't a bastian of customer appreciation either, but let's keep what little we DO have

The character must have a distinctive body type with all of these traits

They must have legs, and be capable of ambulation as a primary means of locomotion (no floaty fellas, no birds, no friend shapes, and yes Mewtwo floats but he's perfectly capable of walking with them gams). If they have multiple legs, they must be capable of standing bipedal at least some of the time without effort or upright in some capacity when idle. No spines to the sky (Sorry Rapidash)

They must have a functioning "arm" that is capable of grabbing and manipulating an object with a mechanism like the Ray Gun or rationally wind up and swing the Home Run Bat. Gotta have tickle sticks or at least have a history of doing this without them being visible, like Animal Crossing villagers (sorry Nosepass)

They must be capable of "falling" in some capacity, amd be affected by gravity (without just being knocked unconscious) even if capable of flight, no floating outright or continued levitation or flying (sorry Magnemite) They must be able to take to the air from being grounded with some effort. If they can move in three dimensions freely (as in, not even like, deliberately activating their floating power thay wasn't active previously) that's a no go.

The character in question must have a degree of physicality in their home game to realistically derive a moveset from without making things up wholesale. The Night Guard from FNAF sits on his fat ass all night, he's not whacking Jiggs with his flashlight. Otherwise this is fanfiction, which I encourage but that's not what *my* ramblings are (or are they? I guess???) Yes, Cap and by extension F-Zero is grandfathered into this rule, because he was around when the rules were fast and loose and not set (he was almost going against James Bond in 64 because Goldeneye was such a success for the Nintendo 64 ffs)

In the event that a character has met all of these criteria, and belong to a franchise with a large (over 50) roster of characters, all of whom are viable by meeting the same criteria, they must be extremely important or otherwise representative to the canon, meta, or fanon of multiple games in the franchise in question, either directly, with multiple appearances, through lore, or in the meta sense of fan recognition (Cloud Strife for Final Fantasy as the fan favorite, Simon Belmont for Castlevania for being the FIRST Belmont, Sub-Zero as one of the mascots and key characters of Mortal Kombat) This rule weighs heavier than preceeding ones. This is to limit franchises like Final Fantasy and Fire Emblem from dominating the roster.

The character in question helps present a "nutshell" of their franchise with their inclusion. This rule weighs stronger than the others, and can supersede not meeting other criteria if this one is met to a satifying enough degree. What this means is that their inclusion in their franchise is noteworthy, but more noteworthy would their absence. That is the qualifier for this rule. Starter pokemon for instance may not be fan favorites or fully bipedal, but adding any grass type starter pokemon would help a newcomer understand what to expect if they were to try out a pokemon game. If a pokemon game didn't have a grass type starter, that would be included under a trivia tab for the game. Someone would make a note of it. What this means is someone like Rowlet has a greater chance of getting in than say Gastly.

And that's it so far. I may have to return to this post and update the list, and this is mostly to justify an exclusion more than anything else.

Honorable mentions, not necessarily a requirement for inclusion, but something that elevates a character's chances of getting in if the above conditions are already met:

The character in question is an iconic, recognizable part of the franchise

The character in question represents either an entirely new gameplay concept or visual aesthetic Smash has seen thus far

The character or franchise is important in some positive capacity to gaming media and gaming history as a whole

So there's the list. I made these rules back in the Smash 4 days when I really started to write this stuff down. However, you may note, that all of those physicality and recognizability requirements I set specifically so that I wouldn't allow myself to just include every pokemon I liked so that I wouldn't unfairly represent the franchises I liked, are specifically violated in recent memory by this mf right here:

..................

So now I guess all mf bets are off huh Sakurai

The rules will stay, solely to limit myself, but a lot of this stuff is still kind of outdated, because it's one game older than current discussion, but I have adapted to make them work as I see it in Smash Ultimate and beyond.

[thecruelsaints]

Victoria stood next to Alice, who leaned against the window. She saw how upset she was, how much she wanted to cry. She breathed and crossed her arms under her chest, leaning sideways against the window. “I heard what happened at the Louvre”, she said quietly. “Eight deaths and two men are injured.” She pinched her eyelids and hit her head slightly against the window shutter. “I am a hopeless commander.” It was quiet again. Victoria sighed and turned forward, hiding her hands behind her back. “You know. I was younger than you are now when the Order gave me my first command. I led my men straight into a massacre. I made every mistake. Fifteen dead, no one but me survived. When I stood before the council, I was so ashamed I wanted to ground swallows me up.” When she saw Alice listening, she continued: “To this day, when I fall asleep, I have all this in my mind, because I know that history has its eyes on me, waiting for me to screw up.” She breathed in and straightened up even more. “Let me tell you what I wish I’d known, and I had to find out for myself. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.” Alice looked at the woman. “I know that greatness lies in you, but you have to remember that history has its eyes on you.” Alice straightened up and hugged Victoria. She put her arms around her and pressed her even harder and stroked her slightly over her back. “The most important thing is that you’re okay, baby. Everything else doesn’t matter.” “The Council will be angry, right?” “Don’t worry, I’ll take it.” ____________

Did I mention that The Cruel Saints is a huge Hamilton reference?

No? Then I do it now :D All credits to amazing dudes:

The Plague rings and Lady Dimitrescu’s pearl necklace by: @mimoto-sims Bracelet by: NataliS on The Sims Resource Dresses by: Sifix of The Sims Resource Hairstyle recolors by: @shimydim Earrings by: @acanthus-sims

[americanmcgees-incorrectquotes]

The trivia i mentioned before keeps on making itself interesting the more I explore it!

To whoever wants to read something made by fans, please indulge yourselves!