#if William was not in this situation and going slightly (very) insane from fear his favorite critter would be Bubba.

[thatruerealmwalker]

"Sometimes... When I look at the other kids playing around, unaware if what's happening here... My Stomach Hurts..."

"When one of those Toys is Near... My legs Scream at me to RUN..."

"When night comes... and the Workers look over me while I try and sleep... My eyes threaten to Cry..."

"BUT I CAN'T... I can't show that anything is wrong, That I know..."

"I'll change my chosen toy all the time, be average on every test they give me, speak nothing of what I know..."

"I'll stall for as long as I can, buy myself as much time as possible. I'll learn every weakness, every flaw, of both this factory and those horrible Toys. I'll get stronger, faster, smarter, as much as possible without anyone catching on. I'll prepare as much as I can, for every fight, every route, every danger..." "So when the time comes..."

"I'll GET OUT OF HERE"

Hello there! This is William, a young orphan within the walls of Playcare, a new OC I made for Poppy Playtime! Specifically William was inspired by and somewhat considered an OC of the blog @realizinau and their wonderful work over there! (Hello!)

William is a kid who knows far, FAR to much then he should. Aware of what the toys really are, aware of what their doing to children like him, and aware that he is not safe within Playcare.

If someone were to ask him about something in the factory, he would most likely know, but would never dare even entertain answering those questions. He knows that one wrong step, one target on his back is enough to get him selected next... so he stays as average as he can, shows himself to be not soon-to-be toy material. He has it down to a science at this point, and he won't risk his life, not yet, not for a damn question.

He considers every toy in the Factory to be both horrifying and the highest threat to his survival and chances at leaving one day. He avoids and dances around them when he can, and recites literal self made mantras of every weakness and every way to harm or escape the toy in question he knows about within his head while around them if he can't (due to not being able to write anything incriminating down). Several times in a panicked state because he doesn't have the tools and weapons on him to follow any plan he has.

He is afraid of the Smiling Critters the most for the fact that he sees them and interacts with them every day, thus being the highest risk to him. After every interaction there is a chance he may genuinely puke in the nearest bathroom from his fear getting hold of him. He silently prays that they never take notice of him, or god forbid take interest in him and spend more time then normal around him. He would wear the most perfect mask while interacting with them but be screaming his Mantras internally while mentally holding a cross, especially around Catnap (due to his red smoke) (not sure if the Realizing Au has Catnap with his red smoke still, so if not he would most likely consider Bubba the most dangerous of the critters).

William's core desire is to leave the factory and never look back. He, when he is at least 80% sure he can get away with it (it used to be higher but he's getting desperate) gathers as much information as he can, about the layout, systems, patrols, anything to give him an edge when the time of his escape comes. He has also been able to make very small stashes of makeshift tools, weapons, and items around Playcare, all either to help him escape or fight back against a Toy should he need to. The most dangerous is a Flare hand he smuggled off of a GrabPack once, which almost got him caught.

William is at the point where he genuinely does not value any life inside the Factory other then his own, and would not hesitate to kill a staff worker or Toy should he have to. Again, nothing matters to William other then getting out... but that could change depending on events to come.

I'll be throwing some more stuff of William up later, but I absolutely tore my hand up drawing all this today. Hope you enjoyed!

[sketchraptor]

TW: mentions of abuse, sexual assault, and fighting after the cut.

———

The situation that gave Riley said offer had been very mundane, which had made it all the more bizarre. She had been driving when she spotted a slightly older gentleman, maybe 10 or 15 years older than herself, on the side of the road cursing out his phone. He seemed panicked.

She didn’t know what made her pull over, but she had the tools in her car to help and figured it couldn’t hurt. The man seemed suspicious at first, then rather embarrassed when he admitted to not knowing how to change it, though he did have the spare. So, Riley helped him.

He was littered with scars. He’d taken off his nice jacket and rolled up his sleeves, insisting on at least helping, and she couldn’t not see them. His whole vibe had been vastly different from his personality. Though she later found out why she got these mixed signals.

When the change was finished, he’d revealed who he was: William Balthasar. The William Balthasar. The one who lead the local mob and controlled a lot of the economy and social welfare in the area from underground.

But, he gave an offer to her instead of threatening or killing her like she’d expected. Told her that he owed her, one favor. One favor that she could call in whenever and gave her the number to a burner phone that he kept on him personally.

It took all of two months for Riley to feel like she was going insane with the weight of the offer, and she decided to just call it in and get it over with. She had a big move that she couldn’t quite afford, moving across the country for a job. And when she *did* call William, he’d laughed.

“This wasn’t what I mean’t.” He’d hummed, amused by the easy task she was giving him. Nonetheless, he’d arrived with a team of strong men and women alike and even personally drove her to her new home. They even stayed to help unpack, and Riley felt she at least should buy them some beer and pizza for the trouble.

As the group left, though, William hung back, a soft and amused smile on his face.

“I’m happy to help, but this isn’t your favor. Save it for when you really need it. I’ll see you around, Sweetheart.” And that was that. She still had her favor, but the weight felt less heavy having spent some time with him and some of his members. They’d all been kind, and seemed rather happy for the mundane, three-day job across the country.

It had been nearly five years since then, and Riley truly didn’t need anything from William in that time. She was beginning to doubt he even remembered her. The few opportunities she had to go back and visit her home town, though, she’s spot some of the members who helped her move, and they always smiled and waved. But things were good, and she had no need for such a serious favor.

Then it happened.

She had moved about six months ago, back home to be closer to family with a well-paying remote job, and with a boyfriend of three years. 

She convinced herself that he wasn’t all that bad, Jackson, that he was just kind of a dick in the way that many family cops were. Riley was blind to it, never noticing the fear he struck into her heart, never wanting to admit how much she hated how aggressive he got. She ignored the dread when he’d ask for sex or tell her she wasn’t allowed to wear something or go out.

She didn’t want to believe it. Thought she could fix him.

One night, though, he came home pissed. Riley had been sitting on the couch reading, wrapped up in a blanket and half asleep. The front door slammed open and Jackson stormed in, immediately screaming at her.

She didn’t even catch why, exactly, he was upset. She smelled the alcohol wafting off of him and caught the gist. He’d said ‘cheating whore’, ‘don’t deserve me’, and ‘I’ll show you, bitch’.

She just sat and took the verbal assault until his hand met her cheek with a loud, hard slap. Riley had gasped, and it felt like time froze as her head whipped to the side. And that was only the start.

Jackson only hesitated for a moment before his tirade continued, this time more violent. He tore her up by her hair and threw her across the room, beginning to beat her for the mere perception of her cheating on him.

Riley didn’t know how she got away, but she had. She was stuck in a closet, sobbing and nursing several bleeding wounds and maybe a broken arm as Jackson pounded on the door, screaming. But she had her phone.

She couldn’t go to the police. He was the police for fucks sake. She didn’t want her family to come and get hurt or see her like this. And that left her with one option.

She called William.

It took three rings, being 2am, but he picked up. His voice was clear and sleepless. Clearly, he’d been up already for one reason or another. There was worry in his voice as Jackson’s screaming came through the phone.

“Riley?” She couldn’t get the words out yet, still sobbing.

“Sweetheart, talk to me. What’s going on.”

“He’s gonna kill me.” She managed, her voice no stronger than a whisper. She could hear the breath William took in on the other side.

“Address.” Was all he said, and she gave it to him without a second thought. He told her to stay in the closet and to cover her ears, that he’d find her when it was safe. Then the line clicked off, and Riley was alone again. She cried, but obeyed William’s instructions. She tightly covered her ears and couldn’t hear Jackson as much. She tried to control her breathing as she waited.

Riley didn’t notice when Jackson’s screaming and pounding had abruptly cut off, and that muffled threats came through. She couldn’t hear the silenced gun go off as it killed Jackson, nor the sound of her apartment being scrubbed clean of the evidence.

She did, however, flinch hard when the locked door quietly clicked open and light poured into the closet she’d been hiding in. Her eyes slowly trailed up, but didn’t have to go far to meet Williams worried gaze. He looked older, the five years looked like they’d been a bit harsh on him. A few new scars littered his neck, and she could see a nasty one still healing over his eye.

He was crouching to her level, his eyes scanning her injuries. He hadn’t said anything, didn’t need to, to have Riley lunging for him, burying herself into his chest as she sobbed in relief. He sighed, and returned the hug.

“He’s gone, Sweetheart. You’re safe.”

Years ago, you accidently helped a mob boss change a flat while transporting a corpse, being promised a “Favour” in return. Now, desperate, you seek them out to cash in your favour.

[gay-spaghetti]

Evil Celine | Who Killed Markiplier? AU

evil celine evil celine evil celine evil celine evil celine evi-!!! ----

This is something I’ve been thinking about for a LONNNNG time, way back when WKM came out in 2017. I remember being so sure that Celine was bad. When DAMIEN came out though, I realized she wasn’t heartless, just stoic and strong!

Buuuuuut~~ this gives me the perfect opportunity me to go crazy with an AU! So what if Celine was the dastardly villain in all of this?

Here’s a summary of the AU under the cut! I’m planning to do a MAP in the near future, so keep an eye out! :D

In this AU, Mark is still a famous and wealthy actor, but he is widely beloved and rather charitable. He occasionally gets a big head, and isn’t always very modest, but he’s by no means a wicked or selfish person. He cherishes his career as an actor, and loves bringing joy to his fans. Mark is also head-over-heels for his wife Celine, a mysterious, and seemingly-magical seer. They met through her twin brother Damien, Mark’s good friend and town mayor.

Celine prides herself in her supernatural work, but unlike her husband, she views power and wealth as what’s most important. Manipulative, greedy, narcissistic, power-hungry---all accurate ways to describe her. Being extremely intelligent, she dropped out of college, viewing it as a waste of time. When her, slightly-younger, brother Damien became mayor, he introduced her to his friend Mark, a well-known celebrity. With Mark’s gorgeous looks, wealth, status, and sweet, flirtatious attitude, the two of them hit it off instantly, and got married a few years later.

After a couple of short years into their marriage, Celine realizes she’s unhappy and rather annoyed, knowing that she doesn’t really love Mark. Originally, she was going to divorce him, but she realized she didn’t want to lose all the wealth she shared with Mark---which technically all belonged to him. So to solve this problem, she resorts to killing her husband to collect the insurance money.

Celine figured this would be easy enough, but something rather bizarre and unexpected happens. After killing him, Mark just comes back to life within a few hours! The next few weeks, Celine does everything she can to end his life. She stabs him, drowns him, chokes him, poisons him, shoots him, and much more, but nothing is successful. He just wont stay dead.

During these attempted murders, Mark is scared and extremely confused, having no idea that Celine is the one doing this. He doesn’t even realize that he’s actually dying and repeatedly coming back. He goes to his dear friend and butler, Ben, to vent his fears and frustrations, going to Celine for comfort too, but she just tells him that these are all simple nightmares. Of course, that doesn’t convince him. Cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds, occasionally choking up water, and other sorts of horrible things are not typically symptoms of bad dreams.

Finally, Mark somewhat realizes what’s happening here. At the very least, he recognizes that his beloved wife is the cause. Celine attempts to kill him yet again, but this time, he was expecting it. After a fight and a loud argument, Mark forces her to leave his home. She happily leaves, finally revealing how she truly feels about Mark. Not only that, but just a week or so later, she gets together with Mark’s friend Colonel William, who thinks Celine and Mark just divorced.

Stricken with agonizing grief, anger, horror, and anguish, Mark soon devises a plan to get back at his sickeningly evil wife. This plan....is the poker party plan.... but with a few differences. 

Being corrupted by heartbreak and the dark influences of the manor, Mark’s scheme is cold and twisted. Not wanting an actual officer or detective to be involved in this, he hires a good friend he met in college, a fellow drama student and actor named Abe, to pretend to be a detective. Their plan was to expose Celine's horrid actions to her brother, and all of Mark’s friends. Ultimately, Mark was going to make sure that Celine “died” in that house, so she could feel exactly what he went through.

Things... don’t exactly go the way they were intended though.

Celine, Damien, William, and the DA are all invited to the poker party, with Chef and Butler Ben attending as well (Obviously). The plan kicks off with DA finding Mark’s dead body. Most of the same things occur; tensions rise, accusations are made, weird happenings from the house, and more, but this time, Celine is there from the start, and Abe is in on it. Also, the scene in the wine cellar does not happen. 

When Celine starts getting rightfully accused, William throws a wrench into things by repeatedly standing up for her, to the point where he and Abe start shouting and pointing guns at each other.

After hours of intensity, high tensions, and strange evil from the house, Celine attempts to put a stop to this. She goes into that small room with her brother, finally being able to recognize the dark powers lying within the mansion. She figures out what Mark is trying to do, and she tries to end it with her dark magic. Damien is scared, confused, and beyond worried.

Meanwhile, Abe hurries to the room to prevent Celine from stopping Mark’s plan, but William blocks him, wholeheartedly believing that his love is innocent. A loud and angry argument ensues, which leaves both men dead. William, a soldier of war, shoots Abe in the chest. Abe, a simple actor with not as much experience with guns as the Colonel, shoots William in reaction to being shot, getting him right in the head. Of course, he dies instantly, and Abe dies just a few minutes after, completely horrified by his actions and the overall situation. The DA is just as, if not more, horrified, having just seen two people kill each other.

While that happens, Celine is performing her wicked magic, her goal being to end Mark for good. She realizes though that for this particular spell to work, she needs a sacrifice. So, being the cold-hearted person that she is, she kills Damien---someone who loved and trusted her. This backfires, and the manor’s evil is proven to be more powerful than Celine. She, along with her brother, turn into the entity called Dark (Dark’s appearance more resembles Celine in this AU). In a confrontation between Dark and Mark in a black, endless void, Mark uses Celine’s life energy to heal his broken body, although scars still cover his form. He shames and condemns Celine for what she’s done, expressing his sorrow for Damien, and the rest of his friends, as he only intended for Celine to suffer. With that, Mark escapes his mansion for good.

The dust settles.... and the manor is quiet. The groundskeeper, butler, and chef, are all long gone, and death overcomes the building. Panicked, confused, and traumatized, DA leaves the manor, but is surprised to find Mark outside! Seeing the pain the DA went through, Mark is shocked, and even feels guilty. He apologizes, and comforts and reassures them, offering his friendship. Still wildly baffled, and a little hesitant, DA accepts.

Back inside the manor, around 15 hours after Mark and the DA leave, Abe and William awaken from their death. They are BEYOND puzzled and definitely traumatized. Stricken with uncertainty and insanity, the two leave together. Dark leaves too, but she makes sure she is not seen. Her quest to successfully kill Mark is nowhere near over.

Over the decades, Mark continues his acting career, but also starts directing! DA is along for the ride, and the two of them, now close friends, get into all sorts of shenanigans and strange adventures.

Abe and Will do as well, but this time, as friends, not enemies. They both lean into their insanity in their own way. They both suffer through it, but Will eventually starts to embrace is, and Abe is stuck feeling traumatized and helpless. As shown above, they become performers together to find purpose. Will becomes a joyful clown, and Abe becomes an anxious and sorrowful mime.

This Dark is very similar to canon Dark, but is way more evil and harsh. She’ll occasionally stick around with William (now Wilford), but is more often than not trying to sabotage Mark and DA’s adventures and shows.

-----

@itsjustkyss @smiledog15578 @huffle-puff-ego

So that’s my AU!! I know that’s a LOT of information.... oof :3 I really hope y’all like it! Feel free to ask me questions about it, draw art, and even suggest ideas for it!

Again, I plan to host an animated MAP for this AU, so keep a lookout for that!

[words-writ-in-starlight]

'For reasons wretched and divine', Sarah and Jareth?

Between you and me I wrote three whole pages of a Wild Huntscene, read two romance novels of questionable quality but with a GREATconcept, scrapped the lot, and wrote this AU instead.

For this ask meme!

Some things about archangels just don’t come through overthe TV.

Everyone says as much, but it’s not until Sarah’s standingsix feet from one that she really gets it.  Sarah prides herself onher unflappability—flappable vampire hunters don’t live too long, and Sarah is immaculateas vampire hunters go—but just seeing the Archangel of New York touch downon the roof knocks the air from her lungs. He’s slim, dressed in a loose white shirt that looks like it belongs ona stage, a black vest so tight it’s almost a corset, and his trademark painted-on pants, with wild blond hair,and for a split second Sarah helplessly remembers how many people she knows whowould kill to be this close to him. 

Then he starts walking toward her, eggshell-white and palegold wings mantled behind him and his trademark slim smirk on his lips, andSarah feels her lizard brain sit up straight and inform her that if he wantedto kill her, there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do about it.  It’snot fear, not really.  Sarah is intimately familiar with fear.  It’sjust inevitability, and for an alarming moment Sarah feels herself lockup like a rabbit in headlights.

“You must be Miss Williams,” he says as he drawsclose to her.  He sounds amused—he always sounds amused, it’s part of whyhe can hold his territory so effortlessly.  It’s hard to contest someonewho won’t even give you the dignity of sounding displeased while he turns thefull brunt of his power on you.  Jareth never sounds more than mildlyinconvenienced, and as a result he’s held North America more or lessuncontested for a long, long time.  

Three years ago, some vampire under Jareth’s command triedto rebel, betrayed him to Maeve, the archangel who holds most of Europe. Unfortunately for the vampire, Maeve told Jareth.  The vampire lived—butjust barely.  Jareth had laughed outright at the one and only reporterwith the brass balls to ask him about it.  Sarah does not want tobe the next cautionary tale about crossing an archangel, and if she’d had anysay in the matter at all, she wouldn’t be here right now.  Angels arepretty to watch and necessary to control vampires, and Sarah is perfectlycomfortable seeing them at a distance, thank you kindly.

But Jareth and the rest of the Cadre want a vampire hunter,and saying no when invited to the Tower isn’t a good way to keep adistance either.  Even the most easygoing archangel is used to beingobeyed, quickly and without a fight, and while there are crueler archangels outthere, Jareth isn’t exactly known for being easygoing.

Sarah realizes abruptly, after solidly ten seconds ofwatching Jareth like a snake about to strike at her, that he’s expecting aresponse, the angle of his smirk going sharper and more amused with each momentof silence.

“Yes,” she says.  “I’m SarahWilliams.”

“Sarah,” he says, consideringly.  He hasn’tever adjusted to the American accent, much less New York, and retains somethingthat sounds most fundamentally British, with a trace of the same exotic,nameless drawl that every angel seems to learn at birth.  It makes hername sound like something rare and strange, rather than one of the most commonnames in history.  Sah-rah.  God, Sarah wants to be out ofhere.  “I’veheard of you.”

That gets her attention.  Normally, vampire huntersoperate in relative obscurity—only someone paying close attention to reports ofescaped vampires or to the Guild’s rare public announcements would have pickedup on her name.  Even though everyone agrees that Sarah is thebest–that’s why she’s here—her childhood dreams of being famous diedwhen she realized she had the gift for tracking vampires.

“I’m flattered,” Sarah says carefully. There’s something about his expression that says you should be withoutthe slightest flicker of change.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the tidy table setwith something between a tea service and an elaborate breakfast.  Thechina looks like it might cost as much as Sarah’s apartment, and the neat towerof scones bears the sort of perfect uniformity that only skilled professionalscan manage.  She’s been scrupulously ignoring the table since she reachedthe roof, for fear of more or less this exact situation.  “Eatsomething.  My chefs are the finest in the world, you’ll taste nothinglike their food elsewhere.  Even on a Guild hunter’s paycheck.”

Sarah hesitates, and his gaze sharpens, just slightly.

“Sit,” he repeats.

Sarah sits.  But she doesn’t take any food, nor touchthe numerous pots of tea and coffee.  Something about the way he givesorders, like the world will rush to bend itself to his word, makes herbristle–he’ll get civility from her, but he needs her.  Sarah doesn’tknow for what, not yet, but until such a time as she’s served that purpose,she’s reasonably sure that he won’t cut out her heart and leave it in her handsjust yet.

“Not hungry?” Jareth asks, almost silken, as hesettles across from her, wings flared neatly behind him and one eyebrow cockedas he arranges himself in a casual slouch that is doubtless completelyintentional, right down to the careless drape of his hand on the table.

“Ate before I came,” Sarah lies.

Jareth smiles at her.  It's not news thatarchangels are beautiful, every one of them.  Having every inch ofJareth’s beauty directed at her feels like a revelation, like Sarah’s neverseen beauty before, and it makes her frantic cocktail of nerves and awe andfear settle into a much more comfortable status quo ofslow-burning anger.  

“No,” he says, still smiling.  “Youdidn’t.”

It’s been—a long time, since someone called her out thateffortlessly.  Vampire hunters live and die on their poker faces, andSarah—well, Sarah’s the best.

“Why am I here?” she asks, throwing caution to thewind.  If he wanted her dead, nothing and no one could stop Jareth fromtossing her off the edge of the roof, to drop a hundred and forty-fourstories.  She’s seen how fast archangels can move when they want to, andhonestly, if he wanted to, she probably wouldn’t even have time to reach forher hidden knife before her head parted company with her shoulders.  

That’s very gruesome, Jareth’svoice says in her mind, still threaded with laughter, as if her mental image ofhis long elegant hands neatly ripping her head off is high comedy.  I’mdisappointed.  I’d have expected something more creative from you, Sarah.

“Get out of my head,” Sarah says, forcing hervoice to remain level, “and tell me why I’m here.  The down paymentfor this job was–"  Ludicrous, she wants to say.  Insane. Enough zeroes to fill a textbook.  Instead she opts for somethingapproaching diplomacy and finishes, "Impressive.  Why did you want meso bad?”

Does it matter?  I am prepared to pay you anunfathomable sum of money.

His gaze is fixed on her face, a riveted attention thatdoesn’t match the pose of laconic good humor he’s affected.  His eyes aremismatched, and Sarah used to believe that one was dark.  Now she can see,at such hazardous close range, that they’re both the same shade of impossiblemetallic blue, but that one is all but consumed by pupil, endless black staringback at her with only the thinnest rim of blue around it.  It makes theskin of Sarah’s throat prickle, her heart racing in her chest and her breathingpicking up the pace just enough to make her a little dizzy.  Shedecides immediately that she doesn’t care for the feeling.

Sarah can smell snow—no, frost, she can smell frost andstone, too strongly to be imagining it, but it’s a warm June day and there’snothing near her but concrete.  None of the vampires she met in the Towersmelled of frost and stone, and it’s not a vampire sort of scent anyway. They smell tempting, enticing, like wine or chocolate or even paper, but she’snever met one yet with a scent as unfriendly as frost.  Maybe she’sfinally losing her mind.

Sarah takes a breath, does her best to set the scent aside,and says, "I don’t work for people who won’t tell me what I’m doing,I don’t care what you’re paying me.“

Are you sure?  I could pay you in more thanmoney.  His humor takes on a harder edge inher mind, and a memory surfaces unbidden, of herself as a child dressed up incostume jewelry and dancing around her room, in a young teenager’s bestimpression of a waltz.  The memory is shadowed with her younger self’simaginings, an ornate ballroom and beautiful music, dancers all around not quiteas beautiful as she, and an indistinct prince, looking nowhere but atSarah.  

In the memory, the prince blinks mismatched eyes and says,"I could pay you with your dreams, if you would prefer.”

The air leaves Sarah’s lungs in a rush, and for a moment,she’s herself as a teenager, dressed in a white and silver ballgown out of somebygone era, staring up at Jareth, too much in shock to even answer.

Then she shoves his dream-self away from her, hard,and closes her hand around the blade of the knife hidden at the waistband ofher jeans.

“Stay the fuck out of my memories, Jareth,”Sarah hisses as blood seeps through her fingers.  The pain helps, itclears her head just a little, and the vision of them dancing evaporates likemist under sunlight.  “And tell me what the job is, or I’m goinghome.”

Something in Jareth’s expression cools.  “You lackrespect,” he observes.  Sarah can still feel him, pushing at theouter edge of her mind.  Not trying to break in, just nudging the wholething slightly off kilter, like taping a penny to a gyroscope.  She’spretty sure the penny is labelled obedience, and she sets her jaw.

“Get.  Out."  The words come out groundfine through her teeth, against the sudden pressing urge to agree, agree,agree.  "Fuck off.  Either you hire me as is, or you tossme off this roof.”

“You seem very ready to entertain the latterpossibility."  Jareth’s wings flare around him, idly, and Sarahthinks semi-hysterically that they’re patterned like a barn owl.  Thisisn’t the first time she’s noticed it, but no one ever says it aloud—eventhough his wings look crafted out of barely off-white bone china and palestgold, it’s just too common a bird to safely associate with the Archangelof New York, who holds all their lives in his easily-bored hands. "Do tell, why should I hire someone who clearly has such a death wish asto tell an archangel to fuck off?”

Well, to hell with it, Sarah decides.  Might as well behanged for a sheep as for a lamb.

“Here’s what I’ve figured out,” Sarah says. “You and the Cadre need a hunter—not just any hunter, the best hunter,because Didymus is my friend and he admitted outright to me that you personallycontacted him looking for someone on those terms.  You’re anarchangel–”

“Well spotted,” Jareth says in his mostcoldly entertained tone.  Sarah ignores him and silently hopes thatDidymus will remember to send her bank account details to her brother, alongwith the announcement that, unfortunately, Sarah got mouthy and got herselfkilled by an archangel. 

“—so obviously you don’t need a soldier. Anything youcan’t take out would turn me into a smear on the pavement in under a second.That means you need a bloodhound, and I’m hunter-born, the strongest tracker inNorth America.  So you have an old, powerful vampire who’s managed toelude you—maybe a couple of them.  The most I’ve tracked on a normal jobwas five, so it would need to be quite a few. The only thing I can’tfigure out,” she adds, musing almost to herself, “is why you paid somuch.  You don’t manage your own finances, I assume you have people forthat, so it’s not that you’re unaware of the usual fee per head.  Evenaccounting for hazard pay, it’s way too much.  So all I can think is thatyou wanted to be sure I’d be here, even though only an idiot would meet anarchangel on terms like these, and expected me to say no right away.  Youeven had a table set up, like this was going to be a nice chat rather than ajob interview.  You’ve been trying to make me want to agree, soobviously you think I’m going to say no.  Which would mean…”

For the first time, Sarah follows that thought all the wayto its conclusion and she does not like it.

For the first time, she’s seeing Jareth unamused, and shedoesn’t like that either.  His angular face is harsh without humor, themismatched blue of his eyes sharp enough to slice her to ribbons, and insteadof a smirk, his thin expressive lips are twisted into something alarminglyclose to a snarl.

She wonders if this is the last thing that traitor vampiresaw, before Jareth’s hands broke open his chest and lifted out his heart, stillbeating.

Do continue, precious, hisvoice says in her mind.  It’s not laughing now.  It’s as quick andfrigid as a snowmelt river, and infinitely more lethal, and it tastes likefrost and stone.  Tell me your conclusions.

“You’re desperate,” Sarah says, almost awhisper.  Her voice picks up strength as she goes on.  “Youthink that, whatever this is, it’s so bad that it’ll affect the whole Cadre ofTen.  Something that could hurt archangels.  You want to make sureI’ll work for you, and do it fast and quiet, before anyone can realize there’ssomething wrong.  You’re–” oh God Toby, she’s sorry she’s about todie like a moron “–you’re scared.”

“And tell me, Sarah,” Jareth says aloud, leaningforward.  He doesn’t look casual or careless anymore.  He looks likea falcon in mid-dive, every fiber of him focused on his target.  “Wasthat a difficult conclusion to reach?”

“It was a piece of cake,” Sarah says, numb to thebone with the knowledge that she’s absolutely not going to live throughthis.  Live through this meeting, maybe, if she’s right.  Livethrough the job, increasingly unlikely.  But afterward?  She’s rightthat they’re scared—that something, somehow, has frightened the Cadre, the mostpowerful beings that have ever lived—and that information is an undeniablethreat to them.  

“You’re clever, precious,” Jareth says.  Heleans back and rises to his feet, pacing slowly around the table until he’sstanding next to her, wings mantled around him as he bends down to speak intoher ear.  She can feel his breath on her skin, stirring her hair. The smell of frost rises so sharply that Sarah has to repress a shiver. “You were only wrong about one thing,” he says.

“What was it?"  Sarah does not turn herhead.  She keeps her eyes fixed directly ahead, not allowing them to evenflicker toward him—he’s trying to get a rise out of her, and goddamn him, it’sworking.  She unsettled him and now he’s unsettling her right back.

"I don’t need you to hunt a vampire,” he says, andreaches down to pull her bloodied knife out of the hidden sheath at herwaist.  She shivers properly this time, as he tosses the little knife ontothe table, where the blood still clinging to the ceramic blade stains the whitetablecloth.  Some security guy is going to have a very unpleasantconversation with an archangel, unless she’s mistaken, for letting her get thatpast the front door.

Jareth brushes her hair back behind her ear and murmurs, lowand sweet and lethal, “I need you to hunt an archangel.”

[lawofavgs]

The Sacrifices We Make - Chapter 2

A/N: Holy cow, the responses to the first chapter put such a smile on my face! Enjoy the latest chapter!

Chapter 1

“You’re Brian Fraser.”

He offered up a small smile, kind and reassuring. “Aye, that’s me. And who might you be?”

My first time through the stones, once I realized what had happened, I had done my level best not to reveal my secret. I found out information on my own and relied on things I had learned from Frank and Uncle Lamb to blend in as best I could. I had known what the consequences would be should I tell anybody the truth of my circumstances. The one time I tried to get too creative, trying to bluff Black Jack Randall by saying I was also a spy of Sandringham’s, I had gotten myself into a much deeper mess.

Perhaps it was the overwhelming fatigue, or the hormones from my pregnancy. Most likely, it was a result of seeing Brian Fraser, the grandfather and namesake of my future child, the person who had raised my lost husband to be the great man he became. Whatever the reason, careless words bubbled up in my throat and tumbled out past my lips before I had a chance to think it through.

“What year is this?”

His hazel eyes widened slightly, a flash of shock showing on his face before he schooled his features into that blasted Fraser mask his son had clearly inherited. “The year? Why, it’s Seventeen Hundred and Forty. Are ye well, lass?”

1740. I swayed on my feet slightly as the year registered in my mind. The year of Brian Fraser’s death. The year Black Jack Randall came into Jamie’s life and did all in his power to destroy it. The small amount of bannocks sitting in my stomach nearly made a reappearance. My heart broke again as I thought of all that Jamie had sacrificed for me and our child. His whole life, he gave every part of himself for the people he loved, and where did it get him? An early grave on a Godforsaken moor in a doomed war.

In that instant, I knew what I had to do. The risks, the consequences, all of it made little difference to me. For all that he had done for me; I was going to repay the debt.

And damn my heart and soul in the process.

In that moment, all the sadness and grief washed away in a soothing ebb of warmth. Perhaps I would never get back to the 20th century. Perhaps I would never raise my child with a loving father in a safe environment, but all that mattered in the situation I found myself in was saving Jamie, sparing him a shortened life of torment and loss.

My voice came out stronger than I thought it would as I met Brian’s gaze. “I know this is going to sound mad, and I don’t know how I can make you believe me, but I need you to listen to me. Every word. I’m a close friend of your family. Or rather, I will be. You see, I’m from the future.”

There was a beat of bewilderment before his tone turned sympathetic. “Ach, lass, I fear ye’ve been out in the elements too long. Ye’re tired, hungry. Come, we’ll fetch ye something to eat from the main house. My daughter is a few years younger than you, she may be able to find you something clean to wear.”

“Your daughter Jenny, yes, I know her. Will know her. Damn it, please, listen,” I started with a slight panic. I needed him to believe me, to trust my story and heed my words. If I couldn’t get him to take that leap of faith, this would all be for naught. “You also have a son, Jamie, who’s two years younger than her. You met your wife Ellen at a Gathering at Castle Leoch. She was supposed to marry Malcolm Grant but she chose you instead. You both ran away, came here, and built Lallybroch.

“There-there’s a blade under your bed – 10th century Viking, five-lobbed pommel. Jamie has a carved wooden snake named Sawny, made for him by your eldest child, Willie. Willie passed away from small pox when he was eleven.”

Brian still didn’t seem convinced as I rambled on, not that I blamed him. Everything I told him so far were facts I could have gleaned from others. Nothing pointed to the conclusion that I was anything other than a raving lunatic, or perhaps a conman. Still, I pressed forward.

“What matters most is that you listen to what I have to say now. In October of this year, you will leave Lallybroch to attend a funeral. While you’re away, Redcoats will come for food and supplies. Two will try to attack Jenny, but Jamie will stop them. It’s that moment that will forever change your son’s life.”

Despite what sounded like the rantings of a mad woman, I still had Brian’s attention, so I continued the story. I told him how Randall will string Jamie up and beat him, how he’ll coerce Jenny to escort him inside in order to stop the assault on her brother (though, after a few blows, she would come to no further assault from Black Jack). I explained how Jamie would be charged with obstruction and held at Fort William, only to attempt escape with a bit of food and be sentenced to two hundred lashes.

Here, I got to the point in the tale where Brian would witness his son’s second round of flogging. Once, years ago, I told Randall the date of his death, and experienced a sense of dark pleasure at the shock and fear that lit across his face. The emotion I felt now, foretelling my father-in-law’s untimely demise, was the polar opposite. Even with his obvious doubts, Brian’s face paled slightly at my words, at hearing he would die witnessing his son being flogged near to death.”

“He will manage to escape Fort William after that, with the help of kin, but he’ll be forced to live as an outlaw. He will not be able to come back to Lallybroch, take his place as Laird, see his sister, or even live as a Fraser. The Mackenzies will give him shelter, but he’ll be forced to answer to a false name to protect himself from the price on his head – for a murder he didn’t commit.”

“Please,” the once-strong voice shook slightly, “I dinna want to hear any more of this.”

“I’m sorry, but I must tell you.  If you know what is to come, you can try to change it.” It wasn’t lost on me that simply knowing the future was not enough to fix the wrongs that would someday come to pass – a lesson I had learned the hard way several times. Still, this was my only chance to save both Jamie and his father. As difficult as the words were to say, I told him about Wentworth, the black mark Randall would make on Jamie’s soul. The rest was explained quickly and vaguely, always leaving my role in Jamie’s life out of the story.

“You’ve raised an amazing man, Mr. Fraser. I know this is difficult to comprehend, but you can save him from the pain he is going to endure. You can save your own life, as well.”

The man remained silent, searching my face for any hint of dishonesty, perhaps a sign of insanity. “How? How is this possible? How could ye have come here from the future? Are ye a witch?”

“No,” I sighed, so used to that question by now. “I still don’t know how this works, to be honest. I was just a normal person who accidentally touched a standing stone at Craigh Na Dun, which led me to this time. I’m not a witch, or a fairy, though some have taken to calling me a White Lady.”

“I…I dinna ken what to make of all of this.”

“I’m sure right now it all seems implausible. All I ask is that when October comes and you’re called away to a funeral, don’t go. Send Jamie instead. Keep Jenny out of sight when the Redcoats come, and don’t impede them when they take what is yours.”

He inhaled a deep breath, holding it for a few beats before releasing it slowly. Despite being a bastard, I knew his upbringing at Beaufort Castle afforded him an education. I only prayed he would be learned enough to accept what I had just told him. At the very least, to keep an open mind until he’s told of the funeral several months from now.

“I’m afraid to ask this but…is that all? Is there more to the prophecy ye’re telling me?” There was a vague hint of humour in his tone and I smiled sadly.

“Unfortunately, yes, there’s more. There’s to be a Jacobite uprising in 1745. Don’t join the cause. It’s doomed, and nothing can be done to change that. Believe me, I know. Instead, prepare for the aftermath. Plant potatoes. Store as much food as you can. Hide any valuables you don’t want to see stolen by the English. Sell any unprofitable land and prepare for a stretch of hard years that will see your Highland culture stripped from you. It will be extremely difficult, but I know how strong you Frasers are. And how stubborn.”

“How?” Off my questioning look, he continued. “How do you know my family?”

For what felt like the first time since the conversation began, I paused to choose my words carefully. “I met your son through the Mackenizes, and was later introduced to your daughter. They’ve always been good to me, and if there was anything I could do to help them, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

The silence stretched as Brian digested my words, turned them over in his head and tried to wrap his mind around the impossible. I finally managed a deep enough breath to smell the familiar scent of farmland and heather, so linked in my mind to the place I had called home.

“I’m not sure if I believe you.” I felt my heart sink at his words. “But…but I will not ignore your warning. Should there be a reason to leave Lallybroch in October, I promise to send young Jamie in my stead. And if an army is roused to support the Stuarts in 1745, I will keep my family and my tenants out of the stramash. Ye have my word.”

All at once, I felt the tension drain out of me. This could work. This would work. Brian would use this information to protect his son. Jamie would have the life he had always deserved. The Frasers would survive the Rising, together and strong.

“Come,” Brian said, gesturing to the manor behind him. “We’ll get some food in yer belly and a warm bed to sleep in.”

I remembered Jamie’s words to me as I begged him to come through the stones with me.

Even if I could go back through the stones, it’s not my place.

This was not my place. Not now, not anymore.

“Thank you, but I cannot stay. I must go back to Craigh Na Dun, back to the standing stones.” Brian’s eyebrows shot up. After a moment, he nodded his head once, decidedly.

“Aye, if ye wish. I shall accompany you there.” Before I could protest, he raised his hand. “If all ye said is true, then I owe you my life as well as the soul of my son. This is the least I could do to repay you.”

Too tired and not foolish enough to refuse an escort back, I merely smiled. It felt as though I had been drained of everything; all the pain, fear, and hurt that had taken up residence in my soul. All that was left was a calm, if empty, peace.

The ride back to the fairy hill was mostly quiet, peppered with a few queries from Brian as to the future. I didn’t want to reveal too much, lest my interference change some of the good along with the bad. I assured him that Jenny was - would be - happy and healthy and well-loved, and that despite all Jamie had suffered through, he was still a great man. I reiterated the need to prepare for the aftermath of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s doomed cause, in order to see those who relied on him safe through the hard years of famine and oppression. I also revealed facts about myself, albeit hesitantly. Vague things such as the fact that I was a healer, that my parents had died when I was young and I had been raised by my uncle. I purposefully left out that I was pregnant, and that I had left a husband on the other side of the stones - twice. I didn’t even reveal my name, simply mentioning that someone very dear to me referred to me as “Sassenach”. He barked out a laugh, and I assured him it was said with the utmost affection.

As we crested the hill and were greeted with the sight of the stone circle, I felt a sense of the unknown drape around my shoulders. I had always been relatively sure that laying my hands upon the magical mystery before me would return me to the 20th century. Now, I had no way of knowing where they would take me.

For a long time, I stared at the top of the hill, awaiting some sort of sign as to my fate. So lost in my contemplation, I nearly missed Brian’s question. “Do ye have a place to go?”

A place to go. Like I was boarding a ship and sailing across the ocean to a different country rather than a different time. I had no answer to give, not an honest one at least.

“If ye need shelter, ye’ll come back to Lallybroch.” It was closer to a command than a request or an offer. I looked over the man, and even in the short time I’d spent with him, I saw all the qualities Jamie and Jenny spoke of so fondly. I saw the man who would so largely shape their lives long after he was gone. If this worked, they would be given more time with him. He would hopefully be able to see the birth of his first grandchild.

“Thank you,” I said with no shortage of emotion vibrating through my speech. “Take care of them.”

“Always. Safe journeys to ye, Sassenach.”

I smiled, the tears nearly spilling as I turned to make my way up the fairy hill. With a sort of detachment, I wondered if this was to be the fate of Jamie and me. We could live, we could be safe, but we must be apart. Perhaps the 20th century really did await me on the other side of the stones this time.

The sound of the buzzing and the magnetic pull washed over me as I was guided to the stones by some unseen current. I raised my hands as my steps took me forward slowly but surely until my fingertips felt a recognizable coolness and the world went black.