#interaction: ash williams

[its-kinda-snowy]

and they were roommates

[edains]

If you speak to Samesh without Ashley present but Kaidan in your party, he suggests to bring her to meet him. Later, they have this alternate interaction

Cute fact: Ashley and Samesh (which suggests Nirali and the rest of her squad did this) pronounce it "two twelve" while Kaidan pronounces it as "the two one two"

[ask-ash-williams]

“I don’t ask others for much, but god it would be so satisfying if you could do this for me. After all he’s done to fuck my life over, this is the very least he has coming.“ - @ask-yunjin-lee

23. The Trickster

Gee, that sounds rough. I guess it doesn’t hurt to help out a little... But I’m doing this just for you, lady.’

‘Hey.’

@idol-trickster

[fizzyorange-v2]

HELLO???????? OH MY GOD. WILLIAM REPRESSED HIS WISP FORM OUT OF FEAR OF BECOMING LIKE THE TRICKSTER AND THE TRAUMA OF LOSING ASHE. OH MY GODDDDD

[elfcollector]

“Despite all this, it's good seeing you, Ash.  I'll come by when you're better.”

[emberphantom]

Ash Williams -- THEE Babygirl in Call of Duty?!?!?!? I fcking WON today. As soon as his gameplay/bundle trailer drops I will be INSUFFERABLE.

[mr-e-nigma]

SPEAKING of Spider-Saw (ship name for Spider-Man and Ash Williams that I came up with) (no one was talking about them)

Playlist about them‼️‼️😈

[bizlybebo]

anyways hey girl. omoris your prime defenders

explanation of this au below cut cause i actually put a lot of thought into it (HUGE SPOILERS FOR OMORI, PRIME DEFENDERS SEASON 1, AND VAGUELY FOR PRIME DEFENDERS SEASON 2)

—-

this is a pretty different take on the omori dynamic, because it strays pretty far from it obviously. i didn’t really give the party any direct parallels to any of the characters characters (except ashe, because this au is meant to take place in her brain).

gist of it: “headspace” is where ashe went when the trickster took her brain over. it’s where she spends most of her days, but that doesn’t mean she’s not haunted by her past and the glimpses of the real world she gets.

instead of collecting keys for the hangman puzzle, she collects pages, like from her book. each page summons a boss battle against/interaction with the entity on it. sometimes it’s benign stuff like the healing angel or duck, and sometimes it’s not. when ashe levels up to like. level 5 or something she unlocks the giant spectral hand which she used for a lot of combat in season 1.

in a lot of points during an omori playthrough, collecting a key for hangman would trigger a memory. when ashe interacts with a benign spirit from a page, she gets a happy memory, like getting pizza with everyone. when she fights off a malicious spirit, she gets an occasional glimpse into the real world— and sees the destruction the trickster has done and the effect it’s had on everybody.

instead of making ashe’s sprite entirely black and white, i chose to keep her colors pretty dull but also still rather close to her real world colors. this is cause of the symbolism of the other pd boys, and the fact that they all have very vibrant monochrome designs. before they showed up in ashe’s life, her days were very dull, spent cooped up in her room, and when they barged into her house on some random tuesday, they brought color back into her life.

and, obviously, ashe’s “something” would be her mother.

in combat, ashe gets to use moves from the pages she collected. vyncent does knife-based attacks but every couple turns can “charge up” for a small magic one (like how he can light small fires). william does ghost-based attacks, and so he does best when team attacking with ashe. dakota has martial arts-based attacks (basically pretty similar to kel’s skill set from the game). he also has the most hp and is usually the tank of the party.

i’ll probably add some more to this later but this ideas been sitting in my brain for like two days now i needed to get it out

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 7

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, dealer!ellie, LOSER!ELLIE, cursing, ANGST, use of marijuana and alcohol, brief mention of death, descriptions of a weapon (it's just ellie's switchblade), sexual speech and content, brief mention of violence, brief description of homophobia, ellie's POV, minors do not interact

word count: 3.5k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

“Ellie, seriously, calm down. Also, can you hand me the fucking joint already?” 

Dina watches as Ellie paces back and forth across the living room of the apartment Ellie shared with Jesse. She’d come back early from her Electrical Engineering Design class after silently storming out a mere 15 minutes into the lecture. She had her Particle Physics class in less than an hour, but she had very little intention of attending. 

She’d even bailed on making a quick stop at Ruston Coffee in order to reclaim the jacket she’d lent to Daniela. She had four unread texts from her, but she ignored them. 

“Dude, I just—” Ellie starts. 

“I know,” Dina replies. “But can you blame her?” 

Ellie doesn’t reply, instead angrily groaning as she plops down next to Dina on the couch. She hands Dina the joint, which was already half-burnt. 

“God, at least ash it first,” Dina complains, taking it from her and flicking the dusty remains into an ashtray on the coffee table. “Anyway, what the fuck is she supposed to do? Not move on from you?” 

“No, but—” 

“You’re only this mad because Abby Anderson’s the one she was seeing before you,” Dina says before taking a hit of the joint. “I mean, you’d still be irritated if it was someone else. But now, your ego is a little bruised.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Ellie scoffs. “And she and I weren’t seeing each other, we—” 

“It’s been two fucking years. You need to stop saying that shit.” Dina interrupts, getting exasperated. 

“We literally weren’t—” 

“Who the fuck cares, Ellie?”

“D—” Ellie attempts, but Dina continues. 

“She was in love with you, and you were so fucking in love with her. And don’t try to pull that shit with me, saying that you weren’t in love with her.” Dina adds, seeing that Ellie was about to interrupt once more. “Everyone saw it, and everyone knew it. Fuck, even Joel saw it, and it’s Joel.” 

Ellie says nothing, choosing to stare intensely at her fists. They were turning white from how hard she was clenching them in agitation. 

It had been so long since she’d seen your smile, the honest and genuine kind that you used to flash at her countless times. She hadn’t seen it since before your cousin Rafael passed away. The way it’d adorned your face so naturally just now, it broke something in her today the moment she glanced your way. Something that she’d hastily patched up after you cut her off completely. And for Abby Anderson to be the reason for that smile… 

Dina purposely blowing smoke in Ellie’s face wakes her up from her reverie. 

“The fuck, D…” Ellie complains, coughing and fanning a hand in her face to clear the smoke. 

“Jesse and I love you very much,” Dina continues, ignoring her curses. “But to be honest, we’ve kind of been pissed with you for a while now.” 

Ellie’s eyes shoot up to frown at her. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Dina sighs. 

“We love her a lot too, you know. And we miss her. The past year, she’s pulled away from us because of you. And we would have pushed, but she asked us not to. She asked us not to choose and to just keep being friends with you like normal.” 

“I—“ Ellie stutters. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Because she told us not to tell you.” Dina sighs. “Even after you hurt her, she still thought about you. She knew how much we mean to each other, and she didn’t want to get in the way of that. And that’s why she hasn’t told either me or Jesse what happened between you two when you took her home at the end of that summer.” 

Ellie puts her head in her hands, recalling that drive. That day rattled in her mind constantly over the past year or so. She’d tried consistently to repress it at first, but it was all cemented in her mind: your nervous twitching and fidgeting, the way your lips trembled when you spoke, the redness of your eyes as you fought not to cry. Eventually, she gave up trying to forget it all; deep down, she knew she deserved to live with the guilt. 

“Fuck.” Ellie sighs. 

“Yeah.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments as Dina finished the rest of the joint, eventually putting it out on the ashtray. 

“So,” Dina finally speaks. “You gonna tell me what made her break up with you?” 

Ellie sighs. 

“I don’t think you really wanna know, D.” She mutters. 

“You know,” Dina says. “It’s not really fair that you’ve had me and Jesse update you nonstop the past year on what’s been going on with her, but then you won’t tell either of us what went down.” 

“It’s just…” Ellie continues, thinking. “I know you both think I was real shitty for what I did to her. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t think that. But I don’t want you both to think that I’m a complete and total asshole.” 

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You are a complete and total asshole.” Dina shrugs. 

“Oh, you dick.” Ellie says, smacking Dina’s arm a little too hard. 

“Ow!” Dina complains, rubbing the spot where Ellie hit her. “We don’t all go to the gym religiously, you know. Some of us are delicate!” 

“Pussy.” Ellie chuckles. 

Dina rolls her eyes before getting up from the couch. 

“Anyway, get your shit together, Williams. I gotta go.” She says. “Got class in about 20 minutes.” 

“Skip it.” 

“No. Go to your next class, Els.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Ellie says dismissively, brushing her off. 

Dina said her goodbyes and waved before leaving the apartment, locking the door behind her. 

Ellie sat with her thoughts for a moment before getting up to walk to the kitchen. She grabs a mug from the cabinets, one decorated with a red-winged blackbird on one side and a sandhill crane on the other. After she nearly fills it to the brim with whiskey, she begins drinking it impatiently as she makes her way into her bedroom. 

She places her now half-empty mug on her bedside table before plopping down onto her bed. Not bothering to remove her dirty Converse, she stares up at the prickly, white ceiling. 

Abby Anderson? Why her? 

Her tattooed arm was positioned above her forehead while the other laid on her side, her old, trusty switchblade suddenly in her hand. She starts playing with it mindlessly as thoughts of you swim inside her head. 

When the fuck did she start seeing her again? She didn’t even like Anderson that much… 

Ellie’s mind was a battlefield. She begins recalling memories of you when you’d talk about Abby Anderson, trying to discern the level of attraction you had for her from the bashful looks on your face and the dreaminess in your voice. At the same time, she was trying to push away her own emotion from those memories: the forced smile she’d give you when you brought Anderson up, the way she bit her tongue from unleashing nasty, sarcastic retorts about her, the seething rage she felt as she stormed away from you the first night she dropped you off at Anderson’s dorm. 

She didn’t even… She only slept with her once…  

Ellie thinks about that evening, when she watched you getting ready. She tried desperately to shut out the images of your tender eyes begging for her approval, your messy hair cascading down as you’d taken it out of its bun, every curve of your body that she was allowed a glimpse of when she’d helped you dress, your lips…

Anderson was just some fucking hook-up, I know she was… 

Ellie remembers miserably how she waited until you’d completely turned away to watch how mesmerizing you looked as you ascended the steps to Anderson’s dorm. Ellie remembers the disappointed look you had on your face, crest-fallen that she’d kept you at arms-length the rest of the evening. She remembers wanting desperately to call out your name, stop you from walking through the door, and claim you for herself. She remembers nearly doing so, but her courage had not moved swiftly enough. 

I fucked her hundreds more times… There’s no way Anderson is pleasing her like I did… I’m the one who knows how to… 

Ellie begins speculating on what you’ve been doing hanging around Anderson again. There’s no way that you were just friends. She sees the way Anderson swaggers when they occupy the gym together, her flirty smirk as she greets people as she walks down hallways. Ellie recognizes another lesbian player when she sees one, and she knew for a fact how popular Anderson was with other girls. And more than anything, Ellie knows how beautiful you are. She knows that anyone within five feet of you would be delusional not to want a chance. 

Anderson’s not her type… Anderson is not her fucking type… What the hell is she doing? She can do a whole lot fucking better… 

Ellie’s thoughts unravel as she wonders about what Anderson was saying that was making you laugh so much. She obsesses over the way you were touching her arm, how your fingers brushed over her muscled bicep. She torments herself about what you were letting her do to you at this very moment. 

I just… I just fucking saw her a couple of days ago… She’s single, she looked fucking single… 

Were you spending the night at her place this evening? Were you all dolled up today just to see her? Is Anderson taking you out on a date tonight or is she bringing you straight to her bedroom? Has she touched you already today? Has she kissed those cherry-flavoured lips of yours once more yet? Is she lifting your dress over your head or are you doing it for her? Is she kissing your neck as her fingers make their way down into your underwear to— 

Ellie sits up all of a sudden, yelling in frustration and hurling her switchblade across the room. She breathes heavily as she stares at her knife now fastened securely into the drywall, halfway stuck resulting from a throw a little too vigorous. 

“Fuck me.” Ellie huffs, disgruntled, not by the damaged wall, but by the jealousy smoldering within her. 

Why? 

Ellie picks up her half-empty mug of booze and chugs it. As droplets of whiskey dribble down her chin, she glances at the painted birds on her now-empty mug. 

Joel had bought it during a trip to a thrift store when she was 14 after she’d begged him to get it for her. Every time before the school year started, she’d always be sure to pack it to take with her, a piece of home. It was her favourite mug and it reminded her of her father. 

She missed him. She wished she was back home in Jackson with him right now, away from these problems. Life felt so much more simple when it was just her and Joel, just the two of them against the rest of the world. But she was no longer 14 and no longer an innocent. 

Ellie sighs. She deliberates for a moment or two. Maybe she could call Joel, tell him what was going on. He knew her best, besides Dina and Jesse. He usually steered her in the right direction, whether it was in a way she initially agreed with or not. 

In the end, Ellie decides against it. Explaining lesbianism to a well-meaning but clueless 60-something-year-old man was hard enough. Having to illustrate the current state of her love life? Ellie didn’t have the time or patience to describe to her father how lesbian situationships worked, much less what a “situationship” was. She’d give him a brain aneurysm within thirty seconds of her explanation. 

She also thinks back to the last conversation she had with Joel about you. He’d given her yet another caring but stern lecture before she headed back to campus for this school year. She knows deep down exactly how her father felt about you. Is that what she wanted to hear right now? 

Ellie lets herself fall back onto the bed, pulling her phone out of her pocket once her head hit her pillow. She swipes away yet another text from Daniela without bothering to skim it and opens up Instagram. Almost instinctively, she switches over from her main account to a separate one.  

For the first three months after you and Ellie fell out, you had her number and all her socials blocked. She hadn’t exactly tried to reach out to you during that time, but she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to lurk. She’d treated it like she was defusing a bomb: she’d delicately open up social media, hastily type in your name, only to be abruptly greeted with blank screens. She wasn’t surprised. But whether out of pure curiosity or masochism, she’d continued this routine of searching your username on different platforms just to stare at nothing for a couple of minutes. 

Ellie wasn’t sure what had suddenly prompted you to one day unblock her from everything. For a while, she waited to see if this meant anything, if you were going to reach out to her in some kind of way. But after a few days of nothing, she accepted the continued, albeit unblocked, silence. She wasn’t naive; she never expected you to come back to her. At least she could still snoop in peace. 

Though not exactly adept with social media, Ellie wasn’t stupid. When she wanted to look at your Instagram page, she did so through a fake, secret account that she’d made solely for that purpose. It felt pitiful to do so, at least at first. But she’d known you had no intention of speaking to her again, and therefore no longer needed to impress you; so she swallowed the feelings of shame and self-disgust every time. 

Switching over to a blank account with the user name “br!ck_master2013” that has 2 followers (both of which were bot profiles) and was following 0 accounts, Ellie types in your username by heart in the search bar. She scans your Instagram page for any changes. You don’t update it often; your last post is from early the previous summer and is just pictures of your family cat Clementine who had passed away. 

A purple and orange circle dances around your icon, indicating you’ve posted something on your story within the last 24 hours. She let out an agitated breath before pressing her thumb onto the mirror selfie you’d set as your profile picture. 

There are four stories: the first is from 22 hours ago and was a fan art post of a video game she knew you liked, the second is from 18 hours ago and was a picture of the mocha frappe Dina had gotten you the day prior with a caption thanking and tagging Dina, the third is from 15 hours ago of a post that read, “Don’t Want To See Trans People? Gouge Out Your Eyes” (prompting her to chuckle to herself), and the fourth is from this morning. Ellie’s breathing hitches. 

It was a selfie you’d taken in your bathroom before you left for class. You’d captioned it with “fuck mondays but at least i’m cute,” an understatement in Ellie’s eyes. She was only permitted a minute to gaze at you in person earlier today, and it was from several feet away. A picture doesn’t amount to the real thing, but at least she can fully drink you in with her ocean green eyes this time, completely at her leisure. 

You were wearing that same pretty, floral sundress, the sweater you were wearing earlier missing from your ensemble in the photograph. She doesn't recognize the dress, so she figures it must be new. Ellie thinks it looked like it was made for you, the way it fits you so perfectly. 

She then dares to stare at your face. Even after all these years, she revels in how flawlessly you were always able to have your makeup complement your appearance. It was a gift, really, how you used colours to, not create your beauty, but accentuate it. And you seemed to have gotten even better at it now. 

Ellie keeps taking in your image for what feels like a hundred years until your Instagram story closes out on her. She blinks and then sighs. 

There’s no way Anderson hasn’t made a move on her already. 

Ellie reaches underneath her bed and grabs her laptop. She knows what she was about to do pushed her even further into loser lesbian territory, but she had passed the point of caring long, long ago. She opens up her laptop and clicks on the Spotify application on her desktop. 

The window pops up to display a few recommended albums and playlists. Scrolling past her most recently listened to song (“Novacane” by Frank Ocean), she clicks on the little icon on the top right that says “Friend Activity.” A sidebar opens up to reveal icons of a handful of Ellie’s friends. And of you. 

When you’d blocked Ellie from everything, she guessed correctly that you wouldn’t think of blocking her on something as trivial as a music app. Most people in your generation didn’t really pay much attention to these stupid little details. But Ellie did. And she was thankful you didn’t. 

Ignoring what songs the rest of her friends were listening to at the moment, she looked for your icon to see what you were playing. According to the tiny grey letters next to your picture, you were listening to “decode” by some artist named Sabrina Carpenter. 

Ellie chuckles quietly. You had a rather wide variety in music taste, always having been musically inclined. But you weren’t immune to enjoying and fixating on what she would call “generic, top 40 pop straight girl music.” She’d tease you about this relentlessly, to which you would respond by turning the song up even louder and belting your heart out to it. Even though it was in the act of defying her, Ellie always noted internally what a pretty voice you had when you sang. 

She figures that this artist was your current new fixation. She grabs her spare earphones from the drawer of her bedside table, plugging them into her laptop. She clicks on the song you're still listening to and lets it play. As the song progresses, Ellie feels her heart sink. 

♫ You're good at the fallin', not the stayin' there / You're good at the givin' too much, then gettin' scared

You're good at impersonating someone who cares / And you had me for a minute there ♫

Ellie shifts her laptop to one side and rolls to the other, allowing the music to continue in her ears. 

♫ But now I wonder why / I let your confusion keep me up at night 

I'm so tired / Reread every single undertone ♫ 

Ellie sighs, hooking an arm underneath her pillow, clutching it tightly as she clenches her jaw. 

♫ There's a weight off my shoulders now that I don't chase you / Bein' myself, did that emasculate you? 

Learnin' from you that I can walk away too / And you had me for a minute too ♫

Ellie frowns, closing her eyes, allowing the song to envelop her in shame. 

♫ Now I wonder why / I let your confusion keep me up at night 

I'm so tired / Reread every single undertone and I—♫ 

“Yo, Williams—” A voice interrupts with a knock on her bedroom door. 

Ellie shoots up from her bed, earphones tearing out from her ears. 

“What?” Ellie answers, irritated. 

Jesse’s head pokes itself through the doorway. His expression turned into amusement once he saw hers of annoyance.  

“Oh, sorry, dude. Did I wake you?” 

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Ellie lies, relaxing a little and tapping the spacebar to pause the song. “What’s up?” 

Jesse scans her features further. He took a step in, leaning against the doorframe. 

“You alright?” 

“All good, dude,” She says, closing her laptop and hopping off her bed. “Was just having a bad dream.” 

Jesse considers this when his eyes wander to Ellie’s knife sticking out of the wall. 

“Bro.” He says, pointing to it. 

“It was a really bad dream, alright?” She shrugs. 

“Els,” He groans. “If we don’t get our security deposit back—“ 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix it.” She says, crossing her arms. “What did you want?” 

“You got a second? Got someone here who wants to buy.” 

Ellie sighs. 

“Yeah, okay. They good?” 

“Should be.” Jesse confirms. 

“Fine.” Ellie replies, standing up straighter and rolling up the sleeves to her flannel. 

“Cool. You might have actually met him the other night.” Jesse jabs his thumb towards the living room, beckoning her to follow him. 

“The other night?” Ellie questions, trailing after. 

“Yeah, he was with us at the diner after the party.” 

“Wait, what?” 

Before Jesse can answer, Ellie’s eyes fall on who Jesse had brought into their apartment. Wearing a backwards cap, a plain navy blue t-shirt & khakis, their visitor looks like every other standard, forgettable college frat boy. 

But Ellie didn’t forget. In fact, Ellie remembers exactly who he was quite well. 

“You remember Adam?” Jesse asks.

“Man, really? Didn’t clock you as a queer.” 

“Yeah,” Ellie answers, eyes seeing red and hands balling up in fists. “Yeah, I remember you.”

author’s notes:

okay so part of why this took me so long to write and why it also took a lot of convincing on my own part to post is cause i was writing it from ellie's perspective and that was a lot harder than i thought!! didn't plan it to be this way tbh but that's what flowed and well, here it is!

i hope all the college descriptions i’ve been writing have been realistic enough! i had a messy collegiate experience myself and i ended up dropping out after a few years, so i’m just trying to write from experiences from so many years ago (i legit researched what kind of classes aspiring astronauts need to take cause we know our girl wants to go up in space).

the birds on ellie's mug are just references to a couple of my gf's favourite birds (she's an avid bird watcher and she loves birds hehe)!

also idk why i know ellie's a whiskey drinker, but god i just know she is. what butch lesbian is not a whiskey drinker (just from personal experience, don't kill me).

you get a gold star if you got that "brick master" reference ♡︎

i also don't know why i know ellie would listen to frank ocean, but god her loser ass would be LISTENINGGGG to frank ocean. thank you also to everyone for bearing with me and my current sabrina carpenter phase rn ♡︎

does anyone else still look at their friends activity on spotify or is that just me. i love seeing what my friends are up to! i use the airbuds app too, i feel so involved. yeah, that is a pic of me from many years ago as reader's tiny little icon the spotify pic, that's the most y'all get as a pic of me rn sdklfjsd

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp

[ravelqueen]

One thing that is actually super interesting - character wise is how stark the difference between Angel and Angelus is when compared to Spike and be-souled Spike.

Angelus and Angel might as well be two completely different people - the way they act, react and conceptualise the world around them is honestly completely opposite.

Meanwhile, besouled Spike is a lot more aware of his past actions and isn't interested in killing humans for sport etc, but in the way he interacts with the world around him, he's actually still very similar - he's snarky and sarcastic, romantic yet cynical etc.

It's extra funny when you consider that probably this was never supposed to be a Deep Philosophical Ponderance Of The Nature Of A Soul

In my opinion this came out of happenstance: a writing choice forced on the Buffy team, based on when in the narrative it happened.

Angelus was always set up to be this enormous threat, this absolute monster tormenting Buffy, while Angel was supposed to be this fairytale first romance of a wonderful older boyfriend - the dichotomy was probably decided upon before /in season 1.

Spike on the other hand was never planned to get a soul - he wasn't even supposed to stick around longer than the 2nd season! However, the ensoulment made sense with the progression of the story/character if the writers wanted to adhere to the rules of the universe they set up namely:

Vampires are Evil Demons, inhabiting the body of the human before them, and most importantly they are irredeemable and incapable of true human affection. This is extremely important lore in that universe, because Buffy kills a lot of vampires - in the later seasons they aren't even really a major threat and more background ash. If you suddenly introduce the idea that Actually vampires can be fully redeemed, your main characters has been just murdering Possibly Good People willy-nilly for several seasons

Unfortunately, at this point in the narrative, Spike might as well have been ensouled already - he was acting altruistically, out of love (self-reported) and was mostly just helping our heroes, with motivations unrelated to villainous impulses

So really the writers had to give him a motivation to go and get his soul (the writing choices on how he gets there Being Bad notwithstanding).

HOWEVER, they really really couldn't pull the same move with Spike that they did with Angel re: his 180 degree personality switch simply because the audience liked non-soul Spike. They enjoyed the personality and character that had been crafted for the last 5 seasons, so changing him too much would have with almost complete certainty been met with negative reactions .

Which is why I assume they decided to simply soften parts of his personality, make him stop wanting to kill humans and called it a day on his other less-than-cuddly personality traits.

Which leads us to question on why two people in the same circumstances turned out so wildly different ESPECIALLY since William seemed Basically Alright when he's human.

Does that mean that Angel is fundamentally a worse person, only held back by the morality of his soul? Or that he was fundamentally a much more virtuous man and therefore the loss of his goodness had a larger impact, as removing those parts took away more of what he used to be?

That William was a lot more acerbic and mean deep down and therefore not too different? Or that actually William lost way less of his morality/capacity for empathy when he turned because Something and that led him to doing less awful things that would lead to a personality change??

Those are such interesting questions that somehow the show never addresses (as far as I know? comics people?) aside from Angel Being Mad that Spike got over his angst so quickly and it's just hilarious to me that if I'm right this basically was never meant to be that deep and simply just a byproduct of What The Fuck To Do With Spike

[itspetrovichworld]

I think it's really ineteresting to think about survivors interact in dbd bc by this point we have so many different characters and their perspectives. it's really funny to think about Alan Wake and Ash Williams talking about their survival experience and damn... I really like the idea of teachable perks -> just characters teaching other skills and knoweledge. SO because Alan is my fav character and my main, I decided to make a series of drawings, where Alan Wake gets teachable perks from others in a nutshell basically. ENJOY it's part 1

[oftenwantedafton]

A Consolation Prize - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Word count 4K

CW - sexual content

Also available on AO3

There’s a birthday party being celebrated at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria this evening.

One of your female classmates is the guest of honor. Most of the seniors have been invited. The restaurant is full of teenagers. Swarming around the arcade games and occupying the tables. You’re one of the attendees tonight, wearing a lilac dress, something fluttery, filled with the promise of the upcoming summer, with a hem that barely kisses your knees.

William Afton watches you. On the security cameras from the privacy of his office. He notices you tend to hover on the edges of the crowded gathering. Not really participating in any of the festivities. Looking a little lost and out of place. Then he decides to watch you in person. While he mingles with the other adults. Inconsequential dialogue. Noncommittal answers. Small talk. Hawk eyes, hunter’s gaze. Tracking your movements throughout the evening. Your party outfit making him hungry. His fingers toy with the cigarette lighter in his pants pocket. The crinkle of the too rapidly emptying plastic pack rustling. Temptation calling. He makes up some necessary excuse to be away and slips outdoors. Fresh air. Silence. That first deep drag soothes him.

The nearby door opens. You’re standing there beside him now. Watching him. Waiting. Expecting something to happen. He feels the weight of those intense feelings draping over him.

Afton’s surprised you’ve followed him. Mulls that idea over in his mind, lets the chemical laced smoke roll in his mouth, considering the flavor, contemplating your sudden interest. “What are your intentions, coming out here, like this?” A brisk flick of his thumb sends a rain of ash and dying cinders to the pavement. He finally challenges your stare.

“I don’t have the car tonight. I need a ride home.” This last part mumbled. He hears the waver in your voice. Nervous. You’re afraid to be alone with him, like this. And yet you’ve sought him out. Perhaps wondering why he’s kept his distance over the past couple of weeks. Minimal interactions. Everything professional. It had not been easy for him. The desire for you is only stronger now that he’s had a proper sample of you. What a taste. Craving you. His own special blend. More addictive that the cigarette he brings back to his mouth. But he’s been waiting for this. Waiting for you to seek him out. He can take you whenever he wants. To have you come to him is something else entirely.

The smoke evacuates his nostrils. “None of your classmates are available? All those people inside, and none can assist you?” His tone is cool. A bit mocking in its condescending skepticism. Internally, he is triumphant. Rejoicing in this idea that you must rely on him. You need him.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t…you don’t want to…” You struggle to utter the words, to comprehend why he isn’t seizing what you’re offering. Puzzled by this seeming lack of greedy desire, perhaps. Disappointed. Yes, that’s the exact expression on your features. Exquisite. How perfectly he’s corrupted you already.

“It’s not about me wanting to or not. It’s about you. Wanting.” The end of the cigarette glows. He lets that notion sink in. Your eyes lingering on that burning cylinder. On the lips trapping it, then releasing, pursing to blow a stream of smoke. Your tongue darts out to moisten your own lips. A subconcious gesture. How shiny that mouth is, even in this evening outdoor lighting. A bit of silver moon captured there. Artificial yellow from one of the parking lot lamps. Little bits of glitter adorning those curves. You’ve got makeup on tonight. Mascara. Eye shadow. Blush. Lipgloss. Soft, neutral colors. Pretty enhancements, but you don’t need them. He prefers you without. Your natural palette.

“I do want…” Your voice trails off.

The restaurant owner clucks his tongue. “We’ve spoken about this. Not answering questions. These indecisive answers. An unacceptable way to respond. Disrespectful. Answer me properly. What do you want?”

“I want you to take me home.”

“Is that all? You want me to just drop you off at your front door?” A touch of amusement. He knows with certainty that is not nearly all you yearn for.

Your cheeks grow pinker. Your own color beneath the highlighted swatches you’ve dusted on. “I did what you asked. I’m not seeing anyone else.”

He scoffs. “Of course you’re not. But you’re deflecting. You still haven’t answered my question. I’ll assist you once again, but next time you’re to find the words on your own.” He leans towards your ear. “Do you want me to kiss you? Put my hands on you? Make you cum?”

A shuddering breath. William moves back, grinning around the paper roll clenched in his mouth again. “Shall I take that as a yes?”

“Yes, Mr. Afton.” You sound a little breathless. Panted words. He imagines your heart must be nearly pounding out of your chest. The anticipation. He feels it too. A slight tremor in the fingers that drop the remains of the cigarette to the asphalt.

“Good girl. Was that really so difficult? I can have the assistant manager close up so I’m free for the rest of the evening. Give me five minutes.”

***

Your kisses are fierce, angry.

Your teeth nip at the older man’s lips. Tongue stroking over the five ‘o clock shadow lining his jaw. Polished nails digging into him through the layers of his dress shirt and the thin cotton undershirt beneath it.

William pushes you away, interrupting the onslaught. As much as he’s enjoying your enthusiasm, he can’t help but be suspicious. He thinks he knows the driving force behind this sudden passion. It’s not merely the release of pent up desire after two weeks of abstinence. This is something else entirely. He can feel it. You’re there with him, but not actually present. And he’s not about to share you. “Your ex is at that party, isn’t he? That’s why you were in such a hurry to leave.”

Your lips part to protest but the unformed words die instantly. Your shoulders sag defeatedly and you look away, worrying your bottom lip.

“Answer me.” His fingers grip your chin and turn your face back to face his own.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

“The new girlfriend there too?” He sees the look of surprise in the soft green glow of the instrument panel. He hadn’t even had a chance to shut the car off before you’d pounced on him. “Creature of habit. I did warn you about that. There was bound to be another waiting in the wings. The one he’d cheated with. Or someone else. Either way, the same result in the end. Undeserving of this devotion you cling to. This loyalty.” His lip curls contemptuously around this last word. “Isn’t he?” He prods, the words nearly growled.

“Yes.” Your voice is tight. “But you’ve been ignoring me.”

He blinks, surprised by this declaration. “Is that what you think? You do not dictate the parameters of this…contract between us, if you will. You are the servant, not the master.”

“Playing games doesn’t sound much more admirable than what he’s done to me.”

“Hmm.” William releases his grip on your chin, sighing. “You’re still defending him. Comparing us. You’re not truly over him yet.”

“It’s a little difficult when it’s thrown in your face every day,” you reply bitterly.

“Well, be that as it may, high school isn’t forever. You’ll both move on. And you’ll wonder why you ever made such a fuss over it.” He kills the engine and cranks the driver’s side window down a little. It was getting too warm inside the vehicle already.

“I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to feel anything right now,” you murmur.

The older man taps the edge of the last package of cigarettes he has against his palm, driving the tobacco down evenly into the filters. He’ll have to replenish his supply soon. “Unfortunately that’s not how life works, sweetheart. There is no quick and easy fix when it comes to these situations.” He cocks his head to one side. “You actually thought using me would help you feel better.”

“You told me to. That day in your office. You said it was okay to get revenge. Anyone could forgive it, being on the rebound.” You squirm in your seat, looking uncomfortable, perhaps feeling a little guilty over your deception.

“Yes, well. I didn’t think you’d take it to heart to quite this extent.”

“What does it matter? You’re just using me, too.”

William stares sightlessly through the windshield. There’s nothing to see in this wooded area past the shoulder of the road he’s pulled the car off into. It irritates him. Earlier he’d been so convinced you’d wanted him, but now it seems you merely want to distract yourself from your feelings for someone else. Settling for whatever you can get. A consolation prize when your first choice is no longer available. He tosses the unopened pack on the dashboard.

“You’re right. I am.” The pizzeria owner leans towards you. “You’re mine to use, remember that.” His tongue forcefully licks your mouth back open. A little moaning sigh escapes you. “You want to forget? I’ll make you forget. You won’t feel anything but the pleasure I gift you.” Aggressive flicks of his tongue now against yours. Fingers knotting in your hair possessively. He feels your body going limp against him. Succumbing. “You understand me?”

“Yes, Mr. Afton,” you reply breathlessly, gasping when his hand moves under the edge of your dress, sliding along the inside of your thigh. Caressing you through the crotch of your panties. You grind against his fingers. So eager. Impatient. But he’s going to make you wait. Beg a little. Earn your reward.

“Come outside with me.” He withdraws his hand, vacating your frantic sex, his lips parting from yours. The driver’s side door creaks when he opens it. Again when he slams it shut. You’re standing outside the passenger door now. Waiting. “Kneel down.” A beat of hesitation before you descend. Bare skin in the roadside dust and gravel, the dress too short to offer protection. The faint jingle of his belt being unfastened. Hastily slipping the straps of his suspenders off his shoulders, letting the loops fall against his hips. Leaning back against the car, steel and glass blessedly cool along the curvature of his spine. Cock freed from its encasement. Your fingers reach for him but he bats them away lightly. “Use your mouth.” Another hesitation, longer this time. “That’s right. First time doing this, isn’t it?” A barely perceptible nod in the near complete darkness. Up until this point he hasn’t really had you service him at all. Doing the dirty work for you. Well, not tonight.

You’re giving him so many of your firsts. Doing things with him you’ve never done with that useless ex of yours, with anyone else. He likes that knowledge. Savors it like he savors that first feel of your tentative lips on the head of his erection. Light tap of moist tongue. Tasting. Testing.

Night sounds in the background. Insects. Birds. The occasional passage of a car on the road nearby. The scent of the trees, the soil. The taste of your lip gloss still on his tongue. He’s debating about briefly interrupting you in favor of lighting another cigarette; a quick reach into the car and he’d have it. Your mouth advances and he discards the thought. Later. Right now he wants to focus on this. The opening you’re providing is so narrow. Jaw tight, almost clenched. Edges of your teeth lightly scraping as the bottom of his dick eases along the carpet of your tongue. Ridged firm roof of mouth dragged over the tip. The forceful gag reflex pushing the intruder back out. A little choking sound from you. Afton remains still, even though the impulse is to fuck his way right back inside. He forces himself to wait. He hears you swallowing down a fresh influx of saliva. The air is cool on his damp cock. Warm again when you take him back in. Brave little thing. Trying so hard. His fingers sink blindly into your hair. Caressing. Your body stiffening and then relaxing. Calming you. He’s murmuring things. Praise. Encouragement. Your mouth slackening. It’s working. Your confidence building. Taking him a little further. Another gag and retch. Your tongue dragging along the opening of his turgid member. Tracing curves. Stroking jagged veins. Wet kisses. His grip in your hair tightening. Hips stuttering forward. A little sound of surprise from you. But you’re adapting. Accommodating him. He’s fucking into your mouth. Shallow strokes. Not as deep as he’d like, but anything he’s receiving is more than he’s gotten in a long time. Thrusting more rapidly. Your hand splayed across the crest of his hip, curling tightly for support. His free hand latching onto it, overlaying your own. Air sawing roughly in and out. Matching the rhythm of his cock spearing your lips.

“That’s it, good girl, so perfect, I’m going to cum…” Pulsing onto your tongue. All the air leaves his lungs in a rush, dragging a moan with its departure. You’re tense again. Rigid. His seed sitting there inside your mouth, pooled beneath his prick. He can feel it as he withdraws, the overly sensitized flesh still twitching. Hears you swallow his seed, a loud gulp. Unexpected. Brave of you. What an absolute treat you are. He loves this little touch of depravity interspersed among the purity and innocence.

The older man helps you stand, his hands offering support, pulling you upright. His mouth immediately finds yours. The bitter taste of himself tainting you heavily but he doesn’t mind. If anything, it pleases him further. You’ve drunk from him. Taken his release inside of you. Let him violate your mouth. His cum filling your stomach. Only his. The other has never had this. Would never have this from you. Would never have anything from you ever again. He would make certain of that.

William’s fingers move back underneath your dress. Inside your underwear this time, fondling your sensitive flesh. Drenched. Ready to slake his thirst. He wrenches the passenger door open. “Sit down. Facing me.”

You hastily obey, settling sideways on the edge of the vinyl seat. The bottom of your dress is flipped back. The sound of Afton’s shoes scraping gravel as he descends. Jerking your panties off roughly and tossing them aside. Your hands scrabble to find support. The seat, the console, the dash. Thighs lifted and pressed back and his face now between them. You keen loudly at the first swipe of his tongue. He mercilessly sucks your clit. Thumb teasing your entrance, not entering, just dipping along the slickened divot there. Fingers of the hand curled around your thigh pressing deeply. Maybe he’ll leave behind a bruise. His mark on you where no one but you and he will ever see. Sweet words spilling from your lips. Pleading. Begging him. Releasing your hooded button just when you’re about to climax. Drawing it out a little further. You had been disappointingly still thinking of that boy earlier, after all. Still longing. He wants to obliterate him from your mind completely. A sound very like a sob. How frantic you are. Pushing against his fervent mouth. Nearly sliding off the edge of the seat. Damp skin squeaking on vinyl. You whine when he finally allows you to come undone on his ravenous tongue. A wounded sound, like an animal dying, so loud in the night.

***

William has no idea where your panties ended up.

He’s beside you in the car again, one wrist resting on the steering wheel, a lit cigarette issuing a thin stream of smoke into the air before him. You’re wedged close to the padded console dividing the front seats. His right hand cups the bare knee closest to him, stroking over the dirt and grit still lodged there in a lazy sort of caress. “I imagine it must be nearing your curfew,” he says quietly.

He feels you shrug. “My parents said I could stay out a little longer because of the party. And since I don’t have school tomorrow…”

“Hmm.” He takes another languid pull from the wrapped chemicals between his lips. “So what do you want to do now?”

“I didn’t eat at the party.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“And now you are?”

“Yes.”

Another puff of smoke. “Well, I suppose we could go somewhere to grab something. Though we should probably go through the drive thru. I don’t think it would be quite proper to have you in public like this.” He gently teases the inside of your thigh again, dragging the hem of your dress upward, fingers creeping along in a light graze. He stops halfway, letting his palm drop down onto your skin, pressing more firmly and eliciting a gasp from you. “You are still hungry, aren’t you?” Speaking now of desires of the flesh.

“Yes, Mr. Afton.” So polite. Obedient. Brought back under his spell. Pulling you away from the other. Making you his.

“Maybe, when we’re alone like this, you can call me William. Only when we’re alone,” he advises before taking another drag.

“William.”

A shiver runs through him. As much as he likes the formal address, that sense of control and authority he exerts over you, there’s something enticing about hearing this more informal declaration. Intimate. Your fingers reach for his face. Touch his cheek and curl around the nape of his neck. Your mouth moving against his. Different than earlier. Not urgent. No subterfuge. Just…properly with him. Something in that sudden soft caress of yours unnerves him nearly as much as the distracted aggression you’d unleashed earlier had. Touching without the goal of an eruption of pleasure, merely enjoying the sensation. Discovery. You’ve found the scars beneath his shirt collar. Tracing the twin pairs of curves that rear up like serpent’s heads forever locked in a staring contest. The furrowed line they rest on. His wife had never once complained about the marks after the accident, but he could always tell she did not care for them. Not outright disgust, but something akin to it. Another division between them. An excuse for less intimacy.

But here you are. Curious. Tugging on the bowtie, unfastening the knot. Thumbing open the collar of his shirt. Seeking out more of the marks that mar his skin. And it feels so good. Almost better than your mouth on his cock had been. Soft fingertips tucking into all those old hollowed spaces. Overwhelming. His fingers close over your probing digits, halting their exploration.

“You don’t like to be touched?”

“Let me be clear. This thing between us, it isn’t…that,” he says. “Not romantic, just because I kiss you or offer to take you out. You understand the difference?” Releasing your fingers from the prison of his own. The column of ash building on the end of the neglected cigarette extending further.

“I know. It’s just pretend. To forget.” Your hand drops back to your lap. You look a little sullen. He supposes you comprehend it. At least partially. Enough for now. “Do you ever regret what you’re doing, or feel guilty about it?”

“No. The older you get, the more you’ll come to realize that the only things you regret are the opportunities you don’t take advantage of.” He wasn’t a man that apologized often. He’s certainly not sorry for what he’s done with you thus far.

William grinds the remains of the unfinished cigarette into the ash tray. Maybe he wasn’t craving nicotine as much as he’d thought. He turns the key in the ignition. “Seatbelt on,” he reminds you, waiting until you’re securely restrained before he pulls back onto the road.

***

In the lighting of the parking lot of the fast food restaurant twenty minutes later, it’s become readily apparent just how disheveled you actually appear.

William sacrifices a napkin saturated with ice cubes from the soft drink you’ve ordered to try to scrub away the worst of the stains on your knees. The thin material shreds and he’s forced to use his handkerchief. You’re struggling to stay still at the icy touch. The chips melt against his fingers, water dripping down your shins. He doesn’t know why he’s so devoted to this particular task. As if he needs an excuse to touch you. Finally satisfied, he leans back and frowns when he notices your smudged makeup where your mascara had run. “Well, there’s only so much I can do. You should probably duck into the restroom before we leave.”

You flip the sun visor down and study your reflection in the mirror. “Wow. I look…”

“Completely ravaged. Properly fucked out.” Your gaze sharp on him. He’d forgotten to avoid the profanity. It seems foolish to apologize at this juncture, though. He digs a plastic spoon into the hot fudge sundae he retrieves from its resting spot on the dash and takes a bite, letting the chocolate sweetness dissolve on his tongue. You’ve got a French fry pinched between index and middle finger, hovering too close to his dish of ice cream for his liking. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You said we could share.”

“I didn’t say you could violate this dessert with that.”

“Lots of people do it. It’s good, you should try it.”

“No.”

You pout, dejectedly munching on the fried slice of potato. The windows are getting foggy. Humid from your breathing, the condensation building in the sharp contrast between warmth and the growing cooler temperature as the night progresses. He cranks the driver’s side window down. Watches as you lift the spoon he’d buried in the ice cream and bring it to your lips. There’s nothing sensual in that gesture and yet…it’s that knowledge. Something in his mouth now in yours. There’s another spoon in the paper bag he’d neglected to remove. You don’t seem to mind. His mouth waters. The impulse to kiss you right then surging through him. But he thinks better of it. So exposed. There’s a fair number of cars in the parking lot. Too brightly illuminated. He wishes he’d brought you back to the trees. To the darkness. Maybe let you touch him a little longer before he’d stopped you.

No. He’d had to end that. Nip that right in the bud. Choke it off before it went any further.

The spoon drags from your parted lips slowly. You seem to recognize the change in his features. The desire in the dilating pupils. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll take you home,” he commands, his voice suddenly rough. Not what you were expecting. Disappointment palpable. Your hand drags against the lever for the door. His head knocks back against the padded headrest after you exit. Something’s definitely changed with you tonight. The new informality with his name. Had that been a mistake? The gentle touches. Removing the stain of what he’d made you do to him. Stroking your skin. Your hands on his face, his neck. On his scars. Guilty pleasures. Except he doesn’t feel guilt, isn’t that what he’d told you?

You’re back inside the car again. Studying him. He can feel the weight if it. His eyes flick to your features. You look presentable now. Hair no longer untidy and mussed, face freshly scrubbed. As long as you didn’t dawdle too long once you returned home, they should be none the wiser. A quick goodnight to your parents. Shower. Bed.

“William?”

He’s thinking about what awaits him at home when you say his name. No warmth, no affection, no desire. He doesn’t regret granting you permission to call him that after all, he decides. He starts the engine and hands you the remainder of the dessert. A mischievous grin blooms on your features when you slather a fry with the sweet chilled substance. “Don’t you dare.” Trying and failing to look stern. You’re attempting to reach his face and force him to take a taste. He’s got your wrists trapped, imprisoned in the shackles of his fingers. You struggle. A giggle and a little squeak of alarm. He’s too strong. There’s melted ice cream sliding down your hand. The smile on your face fading. Staring at him. Into him. That’s what it feels like. Too deep. Too much.

Afton abruptly releases you. Hastily occupies his suddenly empty fingers with shifting gears and maneuvering the vehicle out of the parking lot.

Halted now at the last stop sign before reaching your house. Your gaze has been fixed on him the entire time. He turns to face you. Glancing briefly in the rearview mirror to make sure no one else is waiting. The last moments alone with you for the evening. Touching a knee again. Kissing your mouth. Both brief. All he’ll allow himself. Possessive markers, that’s all the gestures are. He knows the difference.

He returns you home safely. Sees you hesitating again before he dismisses you. Perhaps issued a little briskly. It’s effective. You’re gone.

He’s alone.

[desnaa]

Had a great time moderating the Mass Effect reunion panel I organized with @ladytoxie and Tali's VA (Ash Sroka). The cast is such an amazing and fun group of people to interact with, and it was just a very special experience for everyone to be together and talk about a game series we all love so much with some of its characters. As this is the first panel I have moderated EVER, I have also been so moved by the amount of people who have told me they had a wonderful time, including the actors.

Guests from left to right are Courtenay Taylor (Jack), William Salyers (Mordin), me lol, LT, Keythe Farley (Thane), Kimberly Brooks (Ashley but also Jasper yas), Ash Sroka (Tali), and a friend of ours who is cosplaying EDI.

A full video of it will be posted soon!

Photos are also by @catiecat_art on Instagram!

[ask-ash-williams]

Hey Ash! For some reason the entity allows you to use your boomstick against the killers for 24 hours, have fun! (love your style btw :D)

'Groovy.'

EVENT: ‘Time for some payback.’ [ASKS CLOSED]

Ash now gets to have his boomstick and YOU get to decide who his next target is:

1.The Trapper 2.The Wraith 3.The Hillbilly 4.The Nurse 5.The Shape 6.The Hag 7.The Doctor 8.The Huntress 9.The Cannibal 10.The Nightmare 11.The Pig 12.The Clown 13.The Spirit 14.The Legion 15.The Plague 16.The Ghost Face 17.The Demogorgon 18.The Oni 19.The Deathslinger 20.The Executioner 21.The Blight 22.The Twins 23.The Trickster 24.The Onryo 25.The Dredge 26.The Mastermind

[marvelmaniac715]

I’m currently in the process of writing all six chapters of a new Hatchetfield fic (finished chapter three this morning) because I want to upload all six chapters together. It’s called ‘A Little Eldritch’, and it’s a collection of short one shots that are snapshots of the childhoods of Linda Murray/Monroe, Paul Matthews, Theodore Spankoffski, William ‘Bill’ Woodward and Hannah Foster, and how the eldritch abilities of the gods they’re tied to manifested in their childhoods. To give you a taster of this fic, here’s the entirety of the first chapter, the Prologue, straight from the PEIP archives:

Item #1086 from the PEIP Archives

Date of Creation: 1820s

Creator of Item: Willabella Muckwab

Item Retrieved From: The Old Waylon Place

Previous Owners: The Waylon Family/The Church of the Starry Children

Item: Excerpt from the Black Book which reads as follows:

And thus our esteemed gods shalt claim six mortals of powerful blood as their own, to toy with and control. Therefore their will shalt be done by the half eldritch puppets, more apparent in their youth yet masked by the wearisome indifference of their elder years. If not contained in their childhoods, Hatchetfield shall surely be reduced to ash and fire and blood, and lo our gods shalt rejoice! Praise be to our Lords in Black and Webbine Y’Weave, our Lady in White! 

————————————————————

Case File 98

Compiled By: Colonel Schaffer

Subject Matter: The young prophets of the six eldritch gods

Prophet #1 Linda Murray:

Prophet of: Wiggog Y’Wrath and Nibblenephim (it has not been confirmed as the girl shows evidence of both gods as her patron)

Evidence of Eldritch Involvement: Unnatural levels of hunger/greed and witness reports of shadowy tentacles emerging from the child’s sides when she is angered

Temperament: A spoiled, selfish yet clever child prone to fits of rage if she is not appeased, disliked by her widowed father, a lonely childhood starved of love could explain her behaviour

Danger Level: 5/10 (Linda Murray is, thankfully, an easy enough child to appease if you have access to wealth, all studies conclude that she is not much of a threat for our organisation or the world at large)

Prophet #2 Paul Matthews:

Prophet of: Pokotho

Evidence of Eldritch Involvement: Glowing blue eyes when emotions are heightened, a powerful reaction to music of any kind (the boy will stand to attention, tears in his eyes when he hears music, specifically musical theatre, but reportedly finds music of any kind ‘uncomfortable’ to listen to), and an over eagerness from those around him to obey him (particularly when his eyes glow)

Temperament: A calm, level headed child who wishes only for the happiness of those around him, seems to despise the powers and great loves of his patron

Danger Level: 8/10 (As General MacNamara says, the quiet ones are the ones to look out for - according to all studies, the boy is the most likely to be dangerous if he ever does lose his temper)

Prophet #3 Theodore Spankoffski

Prophet of: T’noy Karaxis

Evidence of Eldritch Involvement: The boy evidently possesses the ability to stop and manipulate time (those who spend time with him report to their minds feeling ‘fuzzy’ after they have displeased him, and indicate that they’re struggling to recall the exact amount of time that passed during interactions with the child)

Temperament: Theodore Spankoffski appears to be a kind child (more cruelly referred to as a ‘pushover’) but it has been observed that there is a darker side to his nature that only presents itself if he is threatened or intimidated in any way (the only times when his abilities manifest are during moments of high stress and fear such as bullying)

Danger Level: 1/10 (We have nothing to fear or expect from the Spankoffski child - he is most likely a plaything as opposed to a prophet)

Prophet #4 William ‘Bill’ Woodward 

Prophet of: Bliklotep

Evidence of Eldritch Involvement: A hyper intense focus on anything that he watches and a mild ability to manipulate events to produce a satisfying outcome (rarely used - the boy is mostly ordinary) and a keen attention to detail (explained away as a photographic memory, like with Bliklotep’s other prophets/playthings)

Temperament: An unassuming child who only drew our organisation’s attention due to his photographic memory and (according to teachers) ‘intense, frightening stare’ 

Danger Level: 3/10 (Bliklotep is not a powerful Lord, his chosen human representatives never lead to any major problems for the world at large - keep an eye on the boy but don’t prioritise him)

————————————————————

Case file 98

Compiled By: Colonel Schaffer

Subject Matter: The young prophets of the six eldritch gods

Updated On: 12th July 2009

Prophet #6 Hannah Foster

Prophet of: Webbine Y’Weave

Evidence of Eldritch Involvement: Hannah Foster has the ability to see into other timelines and frequently communicates with the Queen in White Webbine Y’Weave, becoming aware of prophecies (this knowledge was directly provided to us by the goddess who is beginning to work more closely with our organisation to ensure the safety of her young prophet) and to a casual observer the girl appears ‘haunted’ by something that only she can see (the Queen in White appears to her as an ‘imaginary [giant white] spider from space’)

Temperament: A gentle child who appears to be traumatised by her visions but has normalised her supernatural patron as merely a friend - lacks trust for most people and can only be convinced to cooperate by the Queen in White, an older acquaintance named Ethan Green, and her older sister/sole caregiver Alexandra ‘Lex’ Foster

Danger Level: 0/10 (Her patron supports us, so her prophet is not a cause for concern - in fact she may prove useful with her visions in the future)

[burning-sol]

just roll with it fans will NEVER catch me . they spend they time sitting for 2+ hours while i run around like a FERAL animal, my joints are spry and theirs are mending together as they lounge about. i dont listen to the episodes, i compile all the thumbnails of the youtube video into a gif that i interpret with an intellectual capacity unmatched. while you were on that lie and dried, i was on the rise and grind, the wavelengths of my private jrwi patreon rss beamed directly in my head.i have monitised my fixation and as we speak i give spiritual consultations to tiktok individuals seeking guidance from the great lunadeyis. while u were reading ao3 i have printed out over a hundred a4 sheets and stuck them to my walls to construct hit jrwi podcast characters gillion tidestrider, jay ferin, chip, william wisp, dakota cole , vyncent sol, ashe winters, and many other iconic characters, so that we may commune on a face to face basis and rapidly build our team building capabilities. buddy, when you leave your house, im going to have the strength of all the jerwee characters on my side, and what will you have?

all i see are low level character sheets, you arent even CLOSE my strength and prowess. 😂😂😂 dont even think about blogging if you arent ready to be number one ☝️☝️☝️☝️

it goes without saying, fakers, do NOT interact.. or else you might have to face my wrath....

-🎲 the dice guy