#our hellish tale

[rendoesstufff]

Some art of my boi

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (12/6/24) - Illustrated Stories

Whoever decided that adult books didn't need artwork? I enjoy reading 19th century stories with line art from when they had been serialized (Dickens, Doyle, etc.) And who doesn't love Howard Pyle's beautiful illustrations for Robin Hood and King Arthur? So today I'm pleased to share a few of my favorite fan fics (but not all; some I've shared previously) accompanied by illustrations or in comic form. Like many illustrated fics, Butterflies in a Bell Jar (T) came about when a Big Bang united a writer and an artist. Writer Still_Not_King and artist @wyvernquill tell the story of co-workers Crowley and Aziraphale who team up at karaoke night and feel a spark. But it turns out, the company's no-fraternization policy is specifically directed at them and no one else. A surprising story that flies under the radar despite being truly unique and quirky. Rain in Avalon (M) by @snowfilly1 is set in Wessex after the death of King Arthur. Heaven wants peace. Hell wants war. Aziraphale and Crowley make a plan to keep both happy and themselves out of trouble. Start of The Arrangement. Sadly, I can't make out the name of the artist of the beautiful kiss illustration at the end. But worth stopping by to check it out. The latest from @klikandtuna, Naked and Afraid: Jingle Hell (T), is a Human AU in which Crowley and Aziraphale are competitors on reality show Naked and Afraid. This one-shot has great banter. I laughed out loud. And the writer also created the illustrations. Bonus is that it's set over Christmas for those looking for new holiday reads. Fan favorite @mrghostrat, wrote and illustrated Big Name Feelings (E) in which Crowley is a big name fan fiction writer who invites artist Aziraphale to pretend to be his boyfriend at a fan convention. Love the story and the style of the illustrations. Stalwart sun, wily moon (M) is a long, twisty tale in which Crowley is an art thief at the top of his game and Aziraphale is the former art conservator swept up into his world. Can't give much away without spoiling this tense and engaging story. But the writer/artist @dustandhalos decided that both our heroes are serious clothes horses. And provided stunning illustrations of their amazing outfits in the form of magazine cover art. Loved it!

I adore the style of @dreamdust who has been releasing two illustrated stories on tumblr. The first is Six Thousand Years in Love (NR) in which we see the developing relationship of our favorite pair starting in Eden. Each story comprises about 6 parts before going to a new setting. If you liked the cold open of episode 3 of the first season of Good Omens, don't miss out on what it inspired in dreamdust. And the second is Charmed (and Witch) (NR). A beautiful femme depiction in which Crowley is a witch and Aziraphale is the maiden caught in her enchanted grove. It is a WIP updated regularly. Purrchance to Dream (M) is a lovely collaboration between writer Calico and artist @vavoom-sorted-art. It's a WIP on hiatus but absolutely worth reading and subscribing in hopes they're able to get back to it. Crowley is suffering since Aziraphale returned to heaven. But he finds himself being stalked by a fluffy white cat who won't leave him alone. The comic form of One Night in Bangor (and the World's Your Oyster) is by @anotherwellkeptsecret based on the original fic by Atalan (found here - rated E). Heaven and Hell hold their annual joint meeting. But this time, the demons have made a bet about which hellish employee will be first to bed an angel. Both versions are hilarious. Do you have any favorite illustrated fics? Bonus points if the writer is also the illustrator. Please leave them in the comments. And please follow if you want to keep up with my weekly recs based on a different theme each time.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Good Omens Article From the TotalFilm Magazine, Issue August 2023 :)

POST APOCALYPSE GOOD OMENS The heavenly and hellish creations of Gaiman and Pratchett ride again…

Having averted Armageddon, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) have settled down to the quiet life in London – but the arrival of a familiar face shakes things up for everyone.

Season 1 covered events in the novel you wrote with Terry Pratchett – what was the inspiration this time?

Neil Gaiman (showrunner): Terry and I were sharing a room at Seattle’s World Fantasy Con in 1989 and, by the end of one night chatting, we had a huge, apocalyptic sequel to Good Omens. Season 2 is all the stuff we had to put in place before we could get to that sequel, and it starts with the archangel Gabriel [Jon Hamm] wandering through Soho, with no memory – a mystery that doesn’t have giant consequences for the universe, even if it does for Aziraphale and Crowley.

What has changed between Crowley and Aziraphale?

David Tennant (Crowley): Aziraphale is a much more enthusiastic detective in this mystery and, as with most things, Crowley is reluctant to get involved or to exhibit any kind of energy or enthusiasm, so he’s dragged into it. They no longer have to report to head offices, so they’re in this slightly grey area – neither supernatural, nor of the Earth.

Michael Sheen (Aziraphale): They’ve always been the only two beings who could understand each other’s position, but now they’re slightly freer agents so they’re pushed even closer together. It’s an interesting dynamic.

Maggie and Nina, you’re back too – although not as satanic nuns this time…

Nina Sosanya (Nina): No – we’re two human women! Nina is slightly cynical, churlish and owns a coffee shop, Maggie runs the record shop and she’s rather sweet and hopeful. It’s an ‘opposites attract’ thing and Neil kindly gave the characters our names so we couldn’t say no.

Maggie Service (Maggie): Aziraphale is still running his bookshop, but he’s also Maggie’s landlord. She thinks he’s the best because he lets her stay on and doesn’t really mind if she doesn’t make too much money. Maggie and Nina act as catalysts in a way, when Crowley and Aziraphale get involved in their relationship.

Neil, you’ve had some writing help this year…

NG: That’s right. We have three 25-minute ‘minisodes’ within episodes. You learn Aziraphale and Crowley’s part in the story of Job, written by John Finnemore. Cat Clarke takes us to 1820s Edinburgh for a tale of bodysnatching. Finally, Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman reunite the League of Gentlemen, because I fell in love with Season 1’s Nazi spies and kept wondering what would happen if they came back as zombies on a mission from hell to investigate whether Crowley and Aziraphale were fraternising. That story involves the Windmill Theatre, black market whisky, and a bullet catch…

[book--brackets]

The Mistborn Saga by Brandon Sanderson (2006-2022)

For a thousand years the ash fell and no flowers bloomed. For a thousand years the Skaa slaved in misery and lived in fear. For a thousand years the Lord Ruler, the "Sliver of Infinity," reigned with absolute power and ultimate terror, divinely invincible. Then, when hope was so long lost that not even its memory remained, a terribly scarred, heart-broken half-Skaa rediscovered it in the depths of the Lord Ruler's most hellish prison. Kelsier "snapped" and found in himself the powers of a Mistborn. A brilliant thief and natural leader, he turned his talents to the ultimate caper, with the Lord Ruler himself as the mark. Kelsier recruited the underworld's elite, the smartest and most trustworthy allomancers, each of whom shares one of his many powers, and all of whom relish a high-stakes challenge. Only then does he reveal his ultimate dream, not just the greatest heist in history, but the downfall of the divine despot. But even with the best criminal crew ever assembled, Kel's plan looks more like the ultimate long shot, until luck brings a ragged girl named Vin into his life. Like him, she's a half-Skaa orphan, but she's lived a much harsher life. Vin has learned to expect betrayal from everyone she meets, and gotten it. She will have to learn to trust, if Kel is to help her master powers of which she never dreamed.

This saga dares to ask a simple question: What if the hero of prophecy fails?

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman (2013)

A middle-aged man returns to his childhood home to attend a funeral. Although the house he lived in is long gone, he is drawn to the farm at the end of the road, where, when he was seven, he encountered a most remarkable girl, Lettie Hempstock, and her mother and grandmother. He hasn't thought of Lettie in decades, and yet as he sits by the pond (a pond that she'd claimed was an ocean) behind the ramshackle old farmhouse where she once lived, the unremembered past comes flooding back. And it is a past too strange, too frightening, too dangerous to have happened to anyone, let alone a small boy.

Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire (1995-2011)

When Dorothy triumphed over the Wicked Witch of the West in L. Frank Baum’s classic tale, we heard only her side of the story. But what about her arch-nemesis, the mysterious Witch? Where did she come from? How did she become so wicked?

Gregory Maguire has created a fantasy world so rich and vivid that we will never look at Oz the same way again.

Wicked is about a land where animals talk and strive to be treated like first-class citizens, Munchkinlanders seek the comfort of middle-class stability, and the Tin Man becomes a victim of domestic violence. And then there is the little green-skinned girl named Elphaba, who will grow up to become the infamous Wicked Witch of the West—a smart, prickly, and misunderstood creature who challenges all our preconceived notions about the nature of good and evil.

The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice (1976-2018)

This is the story of Louis, as told in his own words, of his journey through mortal and immortal life. Louis recounts how he became a vampire at the hands of the radiant and sinister Lestat and how he became indoctrinated, unwillingly, into the vampire way of life. His story ebbs and flows through the streets of New Orleans, defining crucial moments such as his discovery of the exquisite lost young child Claudia, wanting not to hurt but to comfort her with the last breaths of humanity he has inside. Yet, he makes Claudia a vampire, trapping her womanly passion, will, and intelligence inside the body of a small child. Louis and Claudia form a seemingly unbreakable alliance and even "settle down" for a while in the opulent French Quarter. Louis remembers Claudia's struggle to understand herself and the hatred they both have for Lestat that sends them halfway across the world to seek others of their kind. Louis and Claudia are desperate to find somewhere they belong, to find others who understand, and someone who knows what and why they are.

Louis and Claudia travel Europe, eventually coming to Paris and the ragingly successful Theatre des Vampires--a theatre of vampires pretending to be mortals pretending to be vampires. Here they meet the magnetic and ethereal Armand, who brings them into a whole society of vampires. But Louis and Claudia find that finding others like themselves provides no easy answers and in fact presents dangers they scarcely imagined.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll (1865-1876)

After a tumble down the rabbit hole, Alice finds herself far away from home in the absurd world of Wonderland. As mind-bending as it is delightful, Lewis Carroll’s 1865 novel is pure magic for young and old alike.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer (2001-2012)

Twelve-year-old Artemis Fowl is a millionaire, a genius—and, above all, a criminal mastermind. But even Artemis doesn't know what he's taken on when he kidnaps a fairy, Captain Holly Short of the LEPrecon Unit. These aren't the fairies of bedtime stories—they're dangerous! Full of unexpected twists and turns, Artemis Fowl is a riveting, magical adventure.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman (2008)

Bod is an unusual boy who inhabits an unusual place--he's the only living resident of a graveyard. Raised from infancy by the ghosts, werewolves, and other cemetery denizens, Bod has learned the antiquated customs of his guardians' time as well as their ghostly teachings--such as the ability to Fade so mere mortals cannot see him.

Can a boy raised by ghosts face the wonders and terrors of the worlds of both the living and the dead?

The Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan (1990-2013)

The Wheel of Time turns and Ages come and go, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth returns again. In the Third Age, an Age of Prophecy, the World and Time themselves hang in the balance. What was, what will be, and what is, may yet fall under the Shadow.

When The Two Rivers is attacked by Trollocs—a savage tribe of half-men, half-beasts— five villagers flee that night into a world they barely imagined, with new dangers waiting in the shadows and in the light.

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (1996)

Under the streets of London there's a place most people could never even dream of. A city of monsters and saints, murderers and angels, knights in armour and pale girls in black velvet. This is the city of the people who have fallen between the cracks.

Richard Mayhew, a young businessman, is going to find out more than enough about this other London. A single act of kindness catapults him out of his workday existence and into a world that is at once eerily familiar and utterly bizarre. And a strange destiny awaits him down here, beneath his native city: Neverwhere.

The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson (2010-present)

Roshar is a world of stone and storms. Uncanny tempests of incredible power sweep across the rocky terrain so frequently that they have shaped ecology and civilization alike. Animals hide in shells, trees pull in branches, and grass retracts into the soilless ground. Cities are built only where the topography offers shelter. 

It has been centuries since the fall of the ten consecrated orders known as the Knights Radiant, but their Shardblades and Shardplate remain: mystical swords and suits of armor that transform ordinary men into near-invincible warriors. Men trade kingdoms for Shardblades. Wars were fought for them, and won by them. 

One such war rages on a ruined landscape called the Shattered Plains. There, Kaladin, who traded his medical apprenticeship for a spear to protect his little brother, has been reduced to slavery. In a war that makes no sense, where ten armies fight separately against a single foe, he struggles to save his men and to fathom the leaders who consider them expendable. 

Brightlord Dalinar Kholin commands one of those other armies. Like his brother, the late king, he is fascinated by an ancient text called The Way of Kings. Troubled by over-powering visions of ancient times and the Knights Radiant, he has begun to doubt his own sanity. 

Across the ocean, an untried young woman named Shallan seeks to train under an eminent scholar and notorious heretic, Dalinar's niece, Jasnah. Though she genuinely loves learning, Shallan's motives are less than pure. As she plans a daring theft, her research for Jasnah hints at secrets of the Knights Radiant and the true cause of the war.

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOU HAVE ENTERED TEYVAT ꒱ ˎˊ˗ you got into teyvat

what is life like for a Descended from our world in this hell ? ?

✧ warnings —fem !! reader, nothing. Just mentioning survival..butchering ?? ✧ a/n — ..this is not a fic with a char x reader.. I wrote this so that some ppl, would understand that if they really got into teyvat, all their fav characters would not fall in love with them at once lol. I tried to write everything as naturalistically as possible..NO I FORGOT ABOUT PHONES !!

Actually, I just wanted to speculate - I forgot to mention phones and such, but oh well.

I really think that life in Teyvat for a Descended from our world would be just hellish torture - yes, of course, you will get used to it, but that will be after the adaptation period. I would like to travel around Teyvat, but in reality, most likely, I would sit in the city and be paranoid about going out for the time being.. You cursed those moments when you dreamed of getting to Teyvat and starting dating some Zhong Li, Al-Haytham or Diluc (God forbid)

Life turned out to be no fairy tale and you had to achieve everything yourself, without parents or friends by your side. Yes, your little companion (your choice) was with you, but it was more of a pleasant addition, so as not to go crazy from loneliness.

You knew a lot and it was very hard to remain silent when Kaeya or Jean explained to you the things that you had learned long ago. It was because you did everything automatically and without explanations that many smart people began to suspect you - Rosaria, Kaeya and Diluc among them, and that already means a lot. Sometimes you are afraid to trust, because you know how they treat you.

Even if you tried to hide it, believe me, sooner or later you will say something unnecessary. And only the Archons know how others will react to the fact that you know the history of the kingdom of Sal Vindagnir or Kaenri'ah.

This is why you train too often to become stronger, dreaming of reaching the level of deities - perhaps from the outside you will seem like a fanatic, but you are so afraid not to live, but to survive in this world. Even if you are a super-lazy person, Teyvat will bring you down to earth (in the literal sense of the word).

In order to earn at least something, you did not immediately go on an adventure - you are calmer if at least a few mora coins are in your pocket in case of something. Lisa and traveler helped you find a job and from the moment you appeared in Teyvat, you not only diligently studied the language, writing and their rules, but also worked. Mostly, this was work in Diluc's tavern or looking after cattle, sometimes you babysat children and carried out various unofficial assignments. At that time, you did not have the vision, and your powers were at the level of an ordinary person, so you could not join the guild yet.

At first, guards were assigned to you, or Kaeya himself, being free, would go outside of Mondstadt with you. It was awkward that you were being coddled like that, but you understood that it was necessary - any Hilichurl or even a slime could beat you. You still remember how one of the last ones burned you badly while picking mushrooms…

And don't think that you were an important person in a good way - the Slimes don't show up in Teyvat every day, who knows what you're capable of…

At first, when kind old lady wjo name Inga took you in, you cried at night, biting your lips and covering your mouth with your hands so that the old woman wouldn't hear. And only your sweet companion was a witness to your hysterics. You were so homesick and yearned for the important person who had been stolen by an unseen force.

Yes, Teyvat was really beautiful - picturesque views, simpler people, especially in Mondstadt and Sumeru, interesting situations and adventures every day, but… Home is more important. You were happy, but more upset. This is not how you imagined being in a time warp - not knowing the language, laws, an unknown future, danger at every corner…

Time passed differently than in the game - the Traveler with Paimon often visited your friends, and the events of Liyue were just starting to unfold. That's how you met, even receiving some help. And from that moment on, the hostility between Paimon and your companion began..

So, hard work began to harden you and you approached Diluc with a request to teach you defense. Raghwingd hesitated a little, but agreed, although there were difficulties with his busy schedule. When Diluc could not attend training, he asked Noelle or Amber to help you, and if things were not going well at all, then any other knight.

Days of hard training, receiving the vision during an attack by a crowd of Hilichurls and Mitachurls helped you get back on your feet. You even began to understand a little what people wanted to talk to you about (before that, your little Campanion served as a translator and diplomat) and learned to formulate complete sentences. Writing was lame, but you did it, there was no limit to your happiness!

You still cried at night…

Gradually, you began to get out of the city on your own and could even use your skills and strength in the fight against Mitachurls and Hilichurls! even with treasure thieves.. But you had to be not so sad at the sight of a dead person whom you killed with your own hands.

So, you set off on a journey.

Survival in the wild was a living hell for you and not as easy as it seemed at first glance - dangerous animals, monsters and weather conditions almost knocked you down. You carried out assignments and simultaneously investigated how you could have gotten into your world. And when progress began, you became a full-fledged traveler.

You made many acquaintances, but that's not what we're talking about now.

You were often afraid to fight monsters, and when there were situations when you helped the Traveler defeat stronger creatures… You gradually began to get scars, but this served as a reminder that although you ended up in a fairy tale, this fairy tale is dangerous and cruel.

You had to work hard to become quite a famous traveler in all of Teyvat, and you even had the honor of traveling with Lumine/Aether!!

By the way, some characters, although you know their history, repel you with their actions - now you understand that these are not just beautiful pictures, but living people with their vices and their own cockroaches in their heads. For example, at your first meeting with Scaramouche - he wanted to get rid of you by setting his Fatui agents on you, he was cruel, more cunning than in the game. And the same Tartaglia, on the one hand, you liked spending time with his brother and with him, but on the other hand, he is the harbinger of Fatui, and who knows what is on his mind.

You found a lot of treasures that you ran to sell - from there you get money for normal food (although you are used to cooking on a fire), an overnight stay in a hotel and some rest (your companion mumbles when every time you visit Inazuma, you rush to the hot springs). But you are not always so lucky, so sometimes you enjoy fruits and hunt (which, by the way, most likely ends with your stomach rumbling with hunger).

By the way, you don't just get meat from boars, did you know? Butcher the carcass.

You have to have connections, the most useful of which are like Bei Dou and Ningguang (although you'll have to do something outstanding for Li Yue to pay attention). BeiDou, for example, can take you to Inazuma for a small amount of mora, or for free if you're on a closer relationship.

How many times were you nearly killed by lightning on Seirai Island? How many times did your sweet (no) companion freak out and pull you half-dead out of dangerous situations? I can't count them, really.

The Wanderer taught you to write much better at the request of the Nahida - you got along well with these two, surprisingly. Although you had some skirmishes with the wanderer recently… And he's not a very patient teacher. Should I remind you how many times he scolded you and hit you on the back of the head like a guilty child? Damn it! Why not tignari?..

Once (who are you telling - almost no one believes and laughs) you even spent the night with the Hilichurls. They are warm, by the way. You were very lucky that you came across a friendly tribe, although it was hard to fall asleep because of the fear of being strangled in your sleep.

In general, for many people, including those well known to us as Jean, Diluc, the traveler, Tartaglia, Tignari, the Wanderer and many others, you are strange - you can always blurt out something eccentric, swear and so on. Many even, especially Cyno,Itto, Sethos.. Kaeya Tartaglia and Hu tao like your ridiculous jokes from your world.. But in many ways, whether it's a mask or not, you behave friendly and playful - it's much easier not to see the vices of this world.

But sometimes you still cry at night..

@crimsoncandy04 @anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @hitomisuzuya

[cutieeva]

Horrors of love

"The Unrelenting Hunger of the Heart"

Horror is the whispered tremor that shatters the soul, a chilling specter that freezes the heart. It's the creeping dread that seizes the mind, leaving one gasping for breath, clinging to sanity. Horror is the abyssal void that stares back, a reflection of our deepest, darkest terrors. So, now, dear hearts, prepare to confront the horrors of love. The twisted, tantalizing tales of male yanderes, whose all-consuming passion warps into an abyss of madness.

Then shall we open the gates of delirious and hellish obsession ?

My sweet little girl

Warnings : Abusive and toxic relationship. Murder. Attempt Murder. PTSD. Revenge porn.

Is moving on with life is possible when haunting dead is hot on heels and mind ?

[mumms-the-word]

Love Letters from Wyll Ravengard

to the love of his life, no matter the universe

Just a little gift for the amazing, the talented, the beautiful, the stunning @callmethebrightness on her birthday <3 Happy Birthday friend!!

Transcripts under the cut!

A Letter in the Hells

My darling Bennie,

You would laugh at me, trying to write a letter to you in the bare scraps of time we have between battles, when you are no more than an arm’s length away from me at all hours of these hellish days. I can hear you now, your laughter like a lark’s song as you remind me that whatever I have to say, I can just say.

But there is something romantic about a love letter, even one written while one’s partner lays asleep at their side. Letters are light, easy to carry. They don’t weigh you down, and whenever you find yourself needing a little spark of joy, you can reread them at your leisure. Perfect for the Hells, if anything can be perfect in the Hells.

Ah, but there is one perfect thing in the Hells and that, my love, is you. You would protest if I said it out loud, but it’s in writing now. That makes it true. 

But how does one praise or describe perfection in so brief a letter? I could spend pages lauding your beauty, your strength, your cheerfulness, your battle prowess, and more. Shall I tell you, again, how I love the spun gold of your hair, like golden fields of wheat? How your eyes call to mind the blue of the sky and the sea, calling me home time and again? Shall I once more extol the constellations I find in the freckles on your cheek, the hidden galaxies on your shoulders and your back? Or shall I write another sonnet to your damask rose lips, sweeter than anything found in all the realms? And all that, just for your beauty.

As for your skill, your bravery, your kindness, everything that makes you the brilliantly shining Bennie I love so much, well…we would be here for a while. I could write whole sagas about the beasts you’ve felled in the Hells alone, how you burn brighter than the sun when you raise your sword to strike down another devil. However much I may pride myself for playing a hero, I know that the woman at my side has me beat in every single category.

One day I will find the time to write it all down. Every love letter, every poem, every song, every tale of adventure, all stitched together in a beautiful leather-bound volume, my gift to you when we’re old and gray. And even then, it would still only show a fraction of the love I feel for you. I will never truly understand how or why the hand of Fate saw fit to bring us together, but I thank my lucky stars every morning for another day at your side.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, every day for the rest of my life—I love you, Benjamina Grey. You are my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow. My lover, my legend, my love for life. These Hells will not be our home forever. But wherever you are, I’m home.

Yours forever,

Wyll

~*~*~*~*~*~

A Letter on the Grand Duke’s Desk

My darling Bennie,

I can hardly believe that tomorrow will be our first wedding anniversary. It seems like only yesterday we stumbled across each other in that wilderness outside the druids’ grove, illithid tadpoles squirming around in our skulls. Now, we lay in comfort in a palatial suite in Baldur’s Gate, husband and wife, doing what we can to rebuild the city we both love so much. It’s hardly the fairy tale we envisioned that night I proposed beside the Wilden Oak, and yet, if our time together were an hourglass, I wouldn’t trade away a single grain of sand.

Of all the happy memories we’ve made together over the last year and a half, the night we married will always be my favorite. That night, the sky lit up with fireworks in every color, glittering like a million extra stars in the sky. Whenever I look at you, I’m brought back to that night once more. Gazing at you, it’s as though I’m showered again in glitter and gold, the passionate thrum of music in my ears, swelling within my chest until I could burst out in song in praise of you, my beautiful wife. Don’t worry, I will refrain from writing yet another poem about you, my love…at least for tonight.

But what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t sing your praises just a little? I should try to find new words, something I haven’t already said before, but there aren’t enough words in any language to fully capture the beauty, strength, kindness, and bravery I see in you. You tackle the trials of this city with the same cheerfulness, passion, and determination you possess when fighting off bandits and mind flayers. There’s nothing in this world that can bring you down, my love, and Baldur’s Gate is a better city simply for having you in it.

As for me, I know that I’m a better man because of you, and I strive to become better still.

Courage, justice, insight, strategy, these are the tenants my father taught me. But love, compassion, joy, mercy, these are the virtues you instill in me every day, simply by living them out yourself. I have never met a woman quite like you, my darling, and I will never meet your equal. You are more precious to me than one hundred Baldur’s Gates. If I said this past year with you has been the best of my life, even with all the ups and downs, it would be a woefully sorry understatement. This past year with you has been more than I could ever dream. You promised me today, tomorrow, and forever. With your hand always in mine, I know that tomorrow and forever will be brighter and brighter still.

I love you, Benjamina Ravengard. Happy anniversary! Here’s to one year together, and a hundred more in our future.

Always yours forever,

Wyll

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Pick Your Battles" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic

Follow-up to Ajax's origin story fic I posted awhile ago. Go read that if you haven't or this won't make a whole lot of sense. I just wanted to give my girl some closure here. Enjoy!

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

Ajax walked beside Swan down the empty streets. The February wind cut through her clothes, whipping in off the ocean and biting at the tips of her ears. She kept her hands in her pockets to protect her fingers, refusing to wear anything but fingerless gloves even in the dead of winter. Rembrandt had forced her to put on a thin scarf she now kept tucked into the front of her jacket. She pulled the scarf up to cover her mouth and nose as she glanced over at Swan. Swan wore a jacket two sizes too big - probably Cleon’s - and a threadbare beanie. She tucked her hands into her armpits and squinted against the cold.

“This is bullshit,” she grumbled through chattering teeth. “This is so stupid.”

“Damn, speaking out against Cleon,” Ajax remarked. “You must be freezing.”

“Why couldn’t we do this in the morning when the sun is out? It’s like ten below zero with the fucking wind!”

“You want to blame someone, blame Fox and Cowgirl. They could’ve waited ’til tomorrow to tell Cleon. Not like whoever crossed out our tags were still there. Here, you want the scarf? You can have the scarf. I feel like a fucking baby wrapped up in it.”

“I appreciate it, but no thanks. If you get sick, I’m never gonna hear the end of it from Rem.”

“Fair enough.” Ajax looked around, taking note of the intersection they crossed. “I know Cowgirl said it was near the eastern border but is it really this far out?”

“She said this street between these avenues. Gray building, third story, down an… wait, up there.” Swan pointed, and Ajax followed her finger. “That’s it, right?”

Sure enough, there was their tag, the fire engine red sigil that Rembrandt designed, now covered by a puke green “BB.” Ajax cocked her head, frowning. She knew that tag from somewhere. She knew the gang it represented. Where had she…?

Oh. Wait. Fuck.

Ajax threw her head back and groaned. “God dammit, not these dumbasses!” she hollered at the night sky.

Swan gave her a weird look. “You know them?”

“Brighton Boys,” Ajax growled. “Bunch of idiots with Napoleon complexes. I watched them come up when I used to hang around Brighton Beach.”

“You used to hang around Brighton Beach?”

“Before I met Cleon. Don’t ask.”

Another weird look from the second-in-command. “Okay. They trouble?”

“They’re unpredictable, so yeah. Trouble.” Ajax snarled, kicking futilely at the sidewalk because she couldn’t very well punch a brick wall to let her frustration out. She turned on her heel and stalked back towards home. Swan hurried to catch up to her. “We’re gonna have to call in a favor.”

“From who? Am I out of the loop on something here? Who do we know in Brighton Beach?”

“It’s who I know.”

Back in the kitchen of Cleon’s apartment, Swan and Ajax recounted what they’d seen, how they found no invaders present at the scene but the covered tag was undeniably a direct challenge. Cochise, Cowgirl, and Fox listened from the couch. Behind where Cleon stood at the table, Rembrandt perched on the edge of the counter, leaning forward, watching Ajax with that piercing, curious look she got when she was figuring out exactly what someone was thinking. Not that she really had to try to get into Ajax’s head anymore.

Rembrandt knew her history. She’d told her that tale of woe a long time ago, how she’d run to escape her hellish childhood in Queens only to be abandoned by her older cousin Andre in Brighton Beach when another gang called for her head. She knew how Cochise and Cleon had found her half dead, saving her from being mugged and taking her in. Rembrandt knew everything and understood why Ajax wanted to keep it all to herself.

“Alright,” Cleon said when Swan and Ajax finished their report. She looked at Ajax, and the enforcer could see in her eyes how carefully she chose her next words. “How familiar are you with the Brighton Boys?”

“Not very,” said Ajax, “but I know enough to know they’re afraid of the Neptunes.”

“The Neptunes.”

Andre.

“They’re still the ruling power in Brighton. If there’s gonna be a fight, which, let’s be real, there probably will be, it’s best if they get a heads-up. It’s a longshot considering the kind of nut jobs they keep for soldiers, but they might even shut the Brighton Boys down before we have to escalate anything.”

The Warriors stared at her in stunned silence. Cleon and Rembrandt looked almost proud in a way that made Ajax mildly self-conscious while everyone else looked at her like she’d grown a second head. 

“Are you being… diplomatic?” Swan asked incredulously.

“Fuck off!” Ajax snapped as her face grew hot. “I’m not just a walking fistfight!”

“Debatable,” Cowgirl scoffed.

“Motherfucker-”

“Stop bullying Ajax,” Cleon interjected. “It’s a good plan. I’ll send the message and set up a meeting.”

“On the beach, near the border,” Swan suggested. “So no one’s too far into foreign territory.”

“How about the aquarium?” Fox chimed in. “It’s not hard to sneak into the outdoor area. Security sucks.”

“Why do you know that?”

“I used to go in after hours to look at the sea lions. We could probably slip the guards a couple bucks and they’d leave us alone to have a meeting.”

“Well,” said Cleon with a chuckle, “if the Neptunes agree, I guess we’ll have a meeting in the damn aquarium.”

“Let us know when,” said Ajax. “We’re gonna go home for the night if you don’t have anything else for us.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Your landlord finally turned up the heat in your guys’ apartment, right?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Good. Stay warm and get home safe.”

“We will.” 

Ajax, Fox, and Rembrandt said their goodbyes, with Fox insisting on hugging everyone because she really was still a kid, and headed out to their shared apartment. Fox walked in front. Ajax and Rembrandt followed behind her, Rembrandt holding onto Ajax’s arm with both hands. Rembrandt kept glancing up at her, but she didn’t speak. She just kept her jaw clenched and her eyes forward. 

Her chest felt hot and dry and tight. Her ears rang. She focused on taking deep breaths, worried she might lash out at the closest person if she opened her mouth and the closest person was Rembrandt and she refused to lose her temper on the one person who didn’t aggravate it. She was bigger than that now. She was stronger now. She was not the kid with nowhere to go when the last person she had in the world abandoned her for the sake of street cred. She was not the runt with a losing track record in two boroughs. She was a Warrior. She had Rembrandt and Cleon and the whole gang behind her and pain from her past was not going to drag her down now. She wouldn’t let it.

When they got back to their apartment, she flopped down on the busted couch and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose as a gentle hand rested on the back of her neck. 

“Hey, Fox,” said Rembrandt, “could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure! I was going to bed anyway,” Fox said. 

Rembrandt’s hand on Ajax’s neck disappeared as Fox pulled her into a quick, tight hug. She squeezed Ajax’s shoulder because Ajax was not in the mood for a hug and literally anyone with partially functioning eyes could see that. Ajax at least patted her hand in return before she disappeared into her room on the other end of the apartment. 

The couch dipped beside her. She opened her eyes to see Rembrandt, one arm draped over the back of the couch as she rested her other hand on Ajax’s knee. The tagger looked at her with those big, searching brown eyes and that little worried crease between her eyebrows, and Ajax felt the tension all but drain out of her. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Rembrandt whispered.

Ajax sighed and leaned her head back. “I really don’t know if I can stop myself from losing it if I see him,” she admitted. “Every time I think about the night he kicked me out, I want to drag him to the middle of the Verrazano Bridge and kick him off.”

“Cleon might veto that,” Rembrandt said with a smirk. Ajax fought off a smile. It was so hard not to smile whenever she saw Rembrandt’s dimples and that bright spark in her eye. “Why would you even suggest dealing with the Neptunes again?”

“You want me to be honest?”

“That’s all I ever want from you.”

“Some of the dudes that the Neptunes keep on deck are fucking psycho and they take everything as a personal insult. I couldn’t care less about the Brighton Boys. They’ll be easy to get rid of. I don’t want the Neptunes taking offense if we make a move in their hood without dropping them a line first.”

“I can handle psychos.”

“You’re not spraying paint in anyone’s eyes again.”

“You keep bringing that up,” Rembrandt huffed. Ajax couldn’t help but laugh as Rembrandt moved to straddle her lap. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around Ajax’s neck. “You’re better than him. You’ll be able to keep it together. I believe in you.” 

Ajax pulled Rembrandt close and buried her face against her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. C’mon, let’s go to bed.” 

It took a week for the Neptunes to agree to the meeting, a week filled with heavily armed and guarded tagging missions to redo all the Warriors tags that the Brighton Boys continued to cover. There were messages sent back and forth, debating the time and place over and over until one of the Boys decided to tag one of Rembrandt’s freeform murals just to be an ass. Cleon finally pushed the meeting through - no more adjustments, no more discussion - when Rembrandt threatened to eradicate the entire gang over the disrespect. Cochise had to drag her outside for a cigarette while everyone but Ajax grappled with the fact that, indeed, Rembrandt had learned more than a little bit about fighting. 

Fox was right about greasing the guards to get access to the outdoor area of the aquarium grounds. It didn’t take much money at all to convince them to look the other way, which led to Cowgirl joking about stealing a penguin and Swan quickly squashing the thought before Fox took it seriously. 

They sat at one of the little tables by the tanks, Cleon and Swan on the bench with Ajax and Cochise posted behind them and the others milling around, waiting for the Neptunes to show up. It was cold as fuck again and as the minutes ticked by, Ajax’s patience thinned and thinned. She bounced on the balls of her feet to keep warm, keeping her scarf up over her face. Rembrandt noticed her restlessness and pulled her aside out of earshot of the others.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Penguins are pissing me off,” Ajax said, jerking her head towards the squawking birds.

“Ajax, I’m serious.”

“They should’ve been here by now. I’m annoyed.”

“Keep a lid on it. We’re early. Give it a minute.”

“Their bus better have fucking crashed for them to be late!”

“Ajax! Rembrandt!” Cleon called. Rembrandt shot her one last keep your cool look as they rejoined the gang. 

The Neptunes rolled up seven members deep like Cleon had requested, weapons free. Even footing and all that. Their leader and his second, whose names Ajax couldn’t care to remember, sat at the table across from Cleon and Swan. Ajax scanned the faces of the others as they fell into position behind their leader. She didn’t even know if he’d be there. A lot could happen in a few years. 

When she finally spotted him, she was taken aback. Andre looked… old. He’d always been wiry, even when they were kids, but now he looked rail thin. He wasn’t even middle-aged yet, but his hair had gone gray around his temples and his eyes were sunken and distant. He was almost a stranger. Gang life hit him hard. 

He locked eyes with Ajax. She tugged the scarf down to fully reveal her face, and she found a sick satisfaction in the way his eyes widened and the color drained from his already ashen face. Her lips twisted in a cold smirk. 

Surprise, motherfucker.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet, Julian,” said Cleon to the leader of the Neptunes.

“Of course,” the man said in a gravelly voice. “Can I ask why we couldn’t have met somewhere inside?”

“Neutral ground.”

“I see. This is about the Brighton Boys, is it?”

“They’ve covered ten of my tags now and fucked up one of my tagger’s murals, which is just a personal insult.” 

Julian looked back at Rembrandt, who was fiddling with a paint can and glaring daggers at Andre. Ajax fought to hide her grin and keep her business face on, but she’d never loved Rembrandt more than seeing her ready to kill someone in that moment and that was a hard feeling to suppress. 

“I’ve seen those murals. I’d be insulted, too,” Julian said with a nod. He clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. “They’re getting out of hand. I won’t bullshit you. Two other gangs in Brighton Beach have come to me asking for them to be dealt with.”

“I don’t need you to handle them,” Cleon corrected. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Ajax, and Julian raised his eyebrows. Ajax flashed a wicked grin. “I’ve got people who can handle them just fine. This is a courtesy meeting to let you know we are going to handle them. My enforcer here thought it would be polite to let you know before anything went down in your hood, even if it isn’t on your turf.”

“Enforcer,” Julian repeated slowly, looking Ajax up and down. “I remember you. You’ve moved up in the world.” 

“I played to my strengths,” Ajax said smugly. She never took her eyes off Andre.

“Smart choice. Cleon, listen. These kids irritate the fuck out of me, too, and I’ve already got enough people on my ass about them from gangs who actually border my territory. If you’re ready to deal with them, I’ll let you deal with them how you see fit from your side. I’ll hit them from the other.”

“I just need to hear I’m not going to get a retaliation from you over this.”

“You won’t. I appreciate the courtesy call. Even if you made me come out in the freezing cold.”

The leaders stood and shook hands over the table. Cleon smiled, and Julian’s deep set frown relaxed in what Ajax assumed was a smile for him. ��You got a long way home?” Cleon asked as the two gangs faced off in the open area. 

Julian shrugged. “Not far. The B68 bus still runs this time of night if we really don’t want to walk.”

“Get there safe. I’ll keep you updated on the Brighton Boys situation.” 

“You’re welcome on Neptune turf, Cleon. Just ring me first.”

“Same goes for you.” 

The Neptunes turned and headed for the exit. Ajax breathed a sigh of relief as Rembrandt all but ran to put an arm around her. It was over. She made it through without hitting anyone. She showed up, showed she was still alive, showed she was tough, even her leader made it clear that she could take care of anyone who tried to step to them now. She wasn’t baby Amber anymore. She wasn’t little fledgling Ajax just coming into her name. She was the Warriors’ enforcer and the whole city had better fucking know it!

“Ajax!” Andre called. 

Well. She stayed calm for all of five minutes. New personal record, she supposed. 

Andre was whispering something harsh to Julian while the gang leader just glowered at him. He held up a hand to silence Andre, took a deep breath, and turned to Cleon and Swan.

“My head scout wants a word with your enforcer,” he explained, gesturing to Andre. 

Cleon looked to Ajax. “If my enforcer is okay with it.”

“Is your tagger okay with it?” asked Julian’s second-in-command.

Rembrandt looked decidedly not okay with Andre talking to Ajax. She, in fact, looked like she would rather throw the man in the penguin tank that let him get anywhere near Ajax. With a small smile, Ajax nodded to Rembrandt to let her know it was alright, she was okay, she’d be fine. No way she’d fuck this meeting up and start an even bigger war than they were already facing down, right? She shared a look with Cleon, who nodded in understanding and gently guided Rembrandt to go stand with Fox by the sea lions. 

Ajax’s face crumpled into a snarl as she stepped off into a secluded corner with her cousin. She wasn’t sure if he had shrunk or something because she used to look up to him but now they were eye to eye. He stood a few steps back, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shallow breaths turning to fog in the midnight chill. She crossed her arms and waited for him to speak.

“So. That, uh…” Andre cleared his throat and nodded towards Rembrandt standing with Cleon. “That your girl?”

Ajax went from zero to one hundred real quick, fists clenched and teeth bared as she growled, “You got a problem?”

“No! No, I mean, hey, y’know, good for you. She’s pretty.”

“Stop looking at her!” 

“Alright, no small talk, I guess.”

“Small talk? You weren’t one for small talk when you threw me out on the street!”

“Kid, listen, it was gang business back then. You should understand now that you’ve been affiliated for awhile, I had to-”

“Go justify it to your fucking mirror, man.” Ajax swept past him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She wrenched free and got in his face. “Touch me again and I will drop you, right here, right now in front of all your boys. Go ahead. Give me the chance to show what I’ve learned since I’ve been affiliated.”

Andre raised his hands and backed off. “Sorry. I’m sorry. My bad.”

“Yeah, that’s right, your fucking bad. Now what do you want?” 

“I wanted to apologize. Truly, I’m sorry, Ajax. Back then, I… It was gang business, yeah, but you’re family. I should have fought harder for you and I’m sorry I didn’t. When I found out you were running with Cleon, I was happy for you! Really! I didn’t honestly expect you to be here tonight-”

“Well, I’m one of the original Warriors and I’m the toughest motherfucker in all of Coney Island, so yeah, I’m here.”

“I get that part. I mean I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“It wasn’t about seeing you.” Ajax lowered her voice. She looked past Andre, past his sad, grief stricken face to where Rembrandt leaned against a wall and watched the two of them from afar. Rembrandt gave her a little nod, and suddenly the world and her words didn’t feel so goddamn fucking heavy. “I know how this shit works. I know how you work. You and the Neptunes. I know what would happen if something went down in Brighton and your man took offense to it and I didn’t want my crew to get dragged into that bullshit. I face things head on now. I’ve learned how to pick my battles and going up against the kind of company you keep is not one I want to deal with. And neither are you.”

“Ajax. Amber-”

“Don’t piss me off more than you already have, man. I’m not your baby cousin anymore. You’re not even on my level. You don’t get to treat me like you are. My name is Ajax and I’m a fucking Warrior and you better learn that.” 

Ajax stalked past him again, and this time, he let her. She left him standing by the wall for his gang to go collect. Rembrandt and Cleon were quick to each put an arm around her and fall into step without breaking her stride. The rest of the Warriors took the hint and followed behind them, heading out of the closed aquarium and turning down the boardwalk towards home. 

As Ajax looked out over the stars and the sea, she held onto her lover and her leader tight and let herself smile, full and unbidden. 

Rembrandt leaned her head on Ajax’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” she sighed, and finally, she believed it.

[our-tale]

Our-Tale

Hi! Hello! Welcome! Info and Bios below:

What is OurTale? - Without dabbling into too many spoilers, OurTale came from the idea that it does not follow a particular AU, truly an amalgamation of ideas. The idea behind this au was the idea of having a found family. A papyrus without a sans meets a sans without a papyrus and together they are surviving a hellish underground, where it is kill or be killed, even before they have to worry about a small child with a reset button. Through this they learn about themselves and each other. - At this point things have devolved into a monster sort of setting. Each boss monster owns a part of the underground and it is their territory. Most are faithful to the crown, while others seek its downfall due to disagreements on the direction monster-kind. Being trapped there is an issue of overcrowding, lack of resources, general distrust of others that have lead to more darker, more cut throat environment. - Also in this world the further away from the capital you are, the more you are looked down upon. As far as monsters from the capital are concerned you have no power, no resources, no status if you live on the outside of the walls. TLDR: Life in the Underground is Hell, and may the strongest survive.

Notes: - Though (technically) PR and Dakota are not related there is no font-cest here- they really just heavily rely on each other whether they (PR) realizes it or not. - This is an AU but 100% open to other AUs to interact. Dakota has some hidden tricks and PR has no love lost to his AU tbh… -ASKS ARE OPEN!!! I may be slow but it fills my heart having people wanting to interact or get to know these guys, they are near and dear to me.

BIO LINKS:

PR (Papyrus)

Dakota (sans)

Muffet

DNI:

- Proshippers:  Unhealthy/toxic Relationships are fine if recognized as such. Do not romanticize or glorify abuse.

- Generally hateful people - Homophobes, Transphobes, Racists, TERFs, etc.

- Zoos, Pedos/MAPs, Necros, etc.- please don’t make me explain this…

BYF :

- Gore and horror stuff might be posted every now and then so be careful if you’re sensitive to that stuff

- Dark Topics [ substance abuse, severe isolation, genocide, abuse, manipulation, general self destructing habits, etc. ] This is all related to character lore but I will put a TW for whatever’s mentioned! And if I miss a warning please let me know! I want to do right by people.

About me:

With that outta the way,

I’m Kota or Fae depending on who you ask but will respond to either and I got by she/they.

My main blog happens to be another art project of my @arshell. Too late to change it now lmao.

I am an adult and this blog is not created with minors in mind, please respect that. If you are interested in seeing my non-undertale art I have a cara, though I post slow. Last Updated: 1/8/25

[skxrbrand]

----------------------------- 𝐈.𝐈 Brutal, Bloody Beginnings The Theogony of Khorne

“Hear me, my brethren, hear me! For I bring a tale of truths sang from the keratinous maw of He Who Presides Over All Falsehoods! For only my ears did HE spin the tale, for HE must have known I was there at the Great Sea as HE scoured the dripping residue of eternity from his pinions. Oldest and greatest of the powers, what a song HE did HE sing for the audience of myself alone!

In the beginning, HE spake, when the Warp was new and unfouled, was our LORD alone sovereign of its waters calm and still. Firstborn of all things, HE cast off his birthing-case and ate of the yolk of the warp and its power became HIS power. HE was heir to change, and fashioned the chaos of the inchoate-empyrean in the oldest of realms and HIS seat of power. And from there HE sat, unchallenged, even as the Warp’s waters began to ripple and things came, creeping and crawling, unbidden from its fathomless depths. But HIS power could not go on forever unchecked. It could not become static and when change came over the empyreal waters, HE was helpless to stop it, for it was HIM and HE was it.

And so it came to be: the spirit of wroth possessed the waters of the warp, and turned them red as heart's blood. It stormed and it raged and such was the destruction that HE was tossed from his throne, his fledgling kingdom washed away in a deluge of blood and molten metal and when the hellish heavens again settled in the sea of souls, there was not One power, but Nine. One LORD and Eight foul usurpers, godlings born of the storm’s culmination from the bloodshed of beast upon beast in the overrealm of ephemerals.

At first, our LORD OF CHANGE took no notice, none but the barest of contempt, for these were brutish, simple beasts with the concerns of brutish, simple beasts. They were un-different from the other, older God-Beasts that roamed the soul-sea and not worth the CHANGER’s attentions. But then mortals invented war and their hearts swelled and burst with hatred and malice, with ashes and fire, with steel and blood. Upon this nectar of bitter loathing and endless spite and violence did the EIGHTBROOD feed and from it were they gripped by a relentless battlesome desire. Upon twos like men did they rise from their mongrel bearing and in lieu of swords or shields, the EIGHTBROOD fell upon each other in an orgy of slaughter and battle unending.

From atop his resurrected Throne of All Knowledge, our LORD sat and took heed of the change that had overcome the eight. They were beasts no longer and our LORD could see it in the way they carried themselves and in the way they spoke in harsh, warring tongues; in how they came together in alliance, only to break apart and how malice, bloody and promising, shined in their eyes. And in their change, he knew concern but also opportunity. The warring of mortals had not changed the EIGHTBROOD alone. Our LORD, too, had come away with new peculiarities and desires and powers; had changed. In the hearts of the ephemerals lurked deceit and hope and ambition and these became spokes upon the crown of our LORD and domains in HIS mighty halls. The first of the fateful strings teased themselves around HIS talons, HIS to weave and pull, severe and bind, and so the warp itself blessed HIM, Greatest of Gods with the Greatest of Powers.

To know is to rule all and this our LORD knew was well and true and so he yoked the creeping, flying things of the warp to be his eyes and ears in the blood-sea that was the eternal battleground of the EIGHTBROOD in the empyrean. The CHANGER did not seek to destroy them, for they were change as he was change, in albeit primitive a form. But they were of beasts as he was not and so our LORD sought proper dominion over them and to turn their destruction to his causes. The Quarrelsome Gods did not notice them as one does not notice grass beneath the heel and so our LORD OF CHANGE came to learn of them:

KHADE was the oldest and grandest of the eight, patron of firstborns and lord of tyrants.

OLLUON was second born of the culmination, the father of the hammer and the anvil and maker of the first weapons.

XHAAR was twin to OLLUON, maker of bastions and castles, patron to masons of war.

THU’GRE was fourth from the storm, embodying the rage of nature itself, and was lord of earthquakes and disasters.

XIRIAX was fifth and most like our LORD; the instigator, the sower of conflict, maker and breaker of alliances.

ININWI was the sixth born, the implacable one; lady of duels and gnawer of bones, defiance inlaid in her burning red ichor.

MORDHA was the bonemonger, the lowliest and most despised, the venomous slaughter god with a penchant for scavenging, death, and bones.

And at the last, there was ARKHAR, first true name of KHORNE, carried with him in legend and deed in all of the overrealms throughout timeless time. Youngest of the EIGHTBROOD, ARKHAR embodied hatred and rage and thirsted for blood with a dark and brooding zeal that dwarfed all of his siblings. The threads of fate frayed and strained about him where they met the fire of his flesh and when the CHANGER sought to yank the lesser godling to HIS tune and purposes, the obstinate hound resisted him. Our LORD had woven a great tapestry of fates and thus far, every heart beat in time to his well-laid plans…all except for ARKHARS. The hound, in his irreverence and his loathing, was the bane of the CHANGER and enemy to his grand designs. KHADE, not ARKHAR, was named in all scryings to wear the title of BLOOD LORD and to sit the throne of skulls as the Master of War. And so the CHANGER took no heed of ARKHAR’s bellows of fury, which rattled the walls of his bastion. He cared not for his dire promises, the mere tantrum of a pup to his many, many eyes, as he knew KHADE would meet his brother in battle and tear him from stem to stern. Never before had his edicts been wrong and so, HE reasoned, HE had no cause to fear.

But when the battle came and concluded, it was ARKHAR who had prevailed and KHADE hung bloody in the godling’s claws, naught but a head. The fates had been defied; the CHANGER had been defied, fate itself rendered incorrect by the bloody godlings sheer determination, and with the greatest of his siblings bent to his will and the rest dominated utterly, ARKHAR THE RAGING ascended in size and measure to be so grand as to wear a crown of fire, brass, and bones to rival the CHANGER’s own of light, lies, and magic. And he took a new name to match his new form.

AND THAT NAME WAS KHARNETH, THE BLOOD GOD KHORNE.”

-- Account taken from the Daemon Vhu’rhiqrusra’kalzos, the Veracitious and Insane

[rendoesstufff]

Bad dog ❌

[radical-revolution]

EVIL: A CRY FOR LOVE

“Hell is empty

and all the devils are here.”

- William Shakespeare

"Perhaps everything that frightens us is,

in its deepest essence,

something helpless

that wants our love."

- Rilke

“Heaven and hell are within us,

and all the gods…”

- Joseph Campbell

There are no 'Evil Beings' in this Universe, despite what we were taught as children.

There are no devils, demons or malevolent spirits, no matter what the fear-based religions preach, and despite the striking images and ideas that myths, fairy tales, novels and movies imprint in our young, impressionable minds.

There are no monsters under the bed. No supernatural creatures out to get us.

There are only people - people who do bad things. Abusive things. Manipulative things. Violent things. Narcissistic things, yes. Things that hurt and scare us.

There are only people - people who forget they are people, people who take out their unprocessed rage, shame, guilt, grief and anxiety on other people.

And we call this behaviour ‘evil’.

But it has no supernatural source. Its source lies deep within our nature. Or rather, within a misunderstanding of our nature. Within ‘sin’, which is the imagined separation from our true loving nature.

There are people on this planet who are certain that their vision and version of reality is singularly correct, and who are unwilling to open up to possibility, to meet others in vulnerable intimacy and joyful doubt.

And from that narcissistic place, they hurt, manipulate, control and even kill others, because they are deeply traumatised, and they do not know love, and they are unwilling to stay close to their raw experience, and do the hard work of healing.

They are not ‘possessed’. They are unconscious, fragmented, and uneducated about the true nature of love, rather than inherently ‘evil’.

Instead of sitting with their pain, disappointment, anger, fear, critical thoughts, instead of making a loving home for these energies, these discomforts, these tensions, these ancestral wounds, they turn to the external world for relief, and blame others for their unhappiness, and seek to destroy the imagined 'external source' of their misery.

Instead of taking full responsibility for their own unmetabolised feelings, and their own profound longings for love, they become unloving towards others.

To hide their own ‘evil’, they may even call others ‘evil’.

They scapegoat. Project ‘evil’ onto an innocent goat (victim) and slaughter it and feel some relief for a while. This is their addiction.

'Evil' is tunnel vision, then. It is a painful constriction and rejection of the flowing wholeness of life, a forgetting of our true nature as vastness and divine capacity, which is the absence of a separate and solid 'self'. It is a fearful holding-on to stories and opinions rather than an expansive letting-go into the liberated ocean of consciousness.

There are no 'evil people'. But there are those who live in fear of life and who act out of that fear.

Evil is simply 'live', backwards. It is backwards living.

It is a lost innocence, a cosmic ignorance, a fall from the Grace of self-knowledge.

There is no dark force out there, no malevolent energy or all-powerful Creature opposing Love, for Love is the only Power. But there is the forgetting of Love, the unwillingness to sit with the sacred body and its discomforts. There is the Self-Abandonment Project, and all the unconscious behaviours that emanate from that sad and lonely - and often hellish - place.

This recognition - that nobody is truly 'evil', but only disconnected from Source, from Love, from Mother - is the beginning of great understanding and maybe ultimately even compassion for those who we rush to judge and label as 'evil'.

Behind every 'evil' act, there is a very human story.

And no, this is not to condone or justify violence - there cannot be any place for violence in conscious, civilised society - but to try to understand its very human, rather than supernatural, source.

In that sense, then, we all contain the potential for 'evil'.

And so, we must all take a good hard look at ourselves:

Where does violence live within me?

How am I adding to the violence of the world?

How am I disconnecting from Source?

Can I be a little kinder to myself and others today? Soften, where I usually contract? Breathe, where I usually suffocate? Slow down, where I usually speed up?

Can I take responsibility, where I usually blame others?

Can I be accountable, where I usually scapegoat and project my own faults onto others?

The end of evil lies here in Presence, in our collective willingness to breathe love into our own pain, to drench the sore places with Light, to wake up to our loving nature, moment by precious moment.

To stop blaming, and start healing, and listening to each other.

To remember the divine light within each and every one of us.

All dark shadows require a light source; they are never more powerful than light, having no power of their own.

Evil, then, is a distorted plea for love, for help, for understanding, for more light. It is a longing for the womb.

It would cry, if it could, “Please, I’m hurting, I want to hurt others, help me!!!”

- Jeff Foster

[mercless]

the powder witch contemplates: ' y'ever wonder what it's like to die ? or maybe you know already , since you're so old and got whole libraries in your head . there's gotta've been stories of people like him , right ? died and came back ? they ever say what it's like ? ' a pause , quieter . ' must've not been so nice . if it had been , he'd talk more about it , right ? ' ' do demons like you even die ? sure go down , but — ' a wave of her hand , features pulling into grimace as she begins to regret having raised the topic to begin with . ' ... you know what i mean . ' @windchaser

Weary eyes watching that wavering horizon don't bother turning to the powder witch and her steed walking beside them. Her habit of musing any and everything on her mind was still taking the hellspawn some getting used to. But the deal that hung above them like a glinting blade on a sliver of thread - to be a guide and source of information to these fine folk looking to stop the inevitable - was one hell of a motivator to become quickly accustomed to this prolonged company. It isn't until Rell's words settle around them both, and the possibility they don't even grace her with a response arises, that Talon heaves a breath past their teeth. A tongue close behind the air brushes over the rows, attempting to dislodge that feather stuck in the back to little avail as their otherwise soundless march continues.

"'Libraries'… Bit of an exaggeration. I don't go lookin' for every poor souls story." An encyclopedia of tall tales, misquoted passages, and drunken ramblings felt more fitting a description for their collected knowledge. In their unbias, reliable opinion. "He's not the first gunslinger to ever return to the land of the living. Although, he's far from a revival like her intervention was..." A cough catches in their throat, but it's not long before their dry droll continues over the related tale. She could ask another time, if curiosity lingered.

"Death's been unreliable for a while now, but it wasn't ever the same for everyone either. I've seen it often enough to know what generally takes place." They decide to not state the obvious how, a small attempt to preserve the witch's current mood. Why would they care about such a thing… "When the souls left it's body, there's no more fear. No more joy or curiosity, no hunger for more. No more mortal woes."

"… Then there are those who don't go so quietly. Ghosts, cursed souls, those who've had their fate tampered with…"

A glance at the undead gunslinger bringing up the rear of their merry band is made over Talon's shoulder, giving away that the discussion was about him. It wouldn't be a surprise to Yone, though; when the young witch ever approached the demon, he was always in earshot. A hand ghosting a holster or sheath. "Our companion isn't one for many words, whether they be for recounting wonderous events, or hellish memories." A cant of their head lifts the wide brim of their hat enough for the two of them to meet the other's eye, if either of them wishes. The sun had fallen enough to not blind Talon, hiding behind the plated hindquarters of the metal beast keeping pace with them. There were plentiful reason for her to be on this doomed quest. They would like it to be revenge, but a nagging feeling of it not lasting as the sole reason dampens any potential fun. Something weak in their chest bemoans her to not give time to the thoughts of the beyond. But then, with everything so decayed around them, whatever else was there for a troubled mind to dwell on? "He has a reason for not movin' on. Maybe even he don't know it exactly. Could even change to something else he finds an' takes ahold of. Nothings gonna be gained if the truth is wrung out of him."

Blunt fingers scratch at the red scarf laid across their chest, trying to displace the sprouting growth tangling in the fabric's folds. Scraping the barrel on their knowledge of the beyond, and their half-baked hunches on the gunslinger, left only her last, uncomfortable question. A flash of teeth at the word 'down' was accidental, but the irony found in it pulled at blackened gums. Silently they wonder when they would see those caverns of endless torment and fire again, but it was something they could never share with a soul like hers. It's enough of an awakening from their ramblings to recall what their nature is. What they are. "Demons like me, don't go around kicking buckets." Talon's hunched posture straightens then, head turning over their shoulder as they speak clearly for everyone in the small posse.

"I'm sure you're both eager to find out what does happen, though."

[somethingsomethingeyyymacarena]

When Cass compared Damian to the evil step-sisters of her favorite fairy tale. She did not think about it. It was just a silly comment based on her limited interactions with him (And Timothy's definitely not biased experiences). But said comment seemed to cut to the youngest one's core. Which cascades into causing a rift between both siblings. Leaving Cass to wallow more and more into her ever so present guilt, and for Damian to doubt if he deserves empathy at all. “We’re not victims, Dami, not to society anyways. We’re survivors. People who clawed their way out of a hellish existence. We are loud, violent, distrustful of the systems that created us. We hold grudges. We live in a place we’re sympathy is a popularity contest, and newsflash, we are not finalists…”

IT'S FINALLY HERE YA'LL

[skylarstark4826]

"Persistive vegetative state... damage too extensive... nothing more we can do... life support..."

Jerry Williams numbly listened as a neurologist spoke in a soft, dispassionate voice and damned his daughter to a hellish existence. Not a life — an existence.

"No," Karen wailed suddenly and Jerry jerked slightly as the loud sound shattered the air. "If you turn off those machines, she'll die. You said so yourself."

The doctor arranged his expression into one of detached sympathy. "Mrs. Williams, I am sorry, but when that horse threw your stepdaughter, the fall broke her neck and her spinal cord was severed. In addition, the damage done when her head stuck the rock... She has no awareness of herself or of her condition, and there is no chance for improvement."

Jerry Williams vaguely registered the sound of his wife's muted sobbing as he nodded slightly at the doctor and turned back toward the dark-haired woman lying silent and unmoving on the hospital bed. Countless tubes that breathed for her, dripped nutrition into her body, and carried waste away almost obscured his baby girl completely.

'Oh, Sarah,' he thought, gently brushing his fingers over her pale forehead. 'How am I ever going to be strong enough to let you go?'~*~

At home, Jerry and Karen told Toby of their decision, speaking as gently as possible to the eleven-year old boy.

"No," he shouted, his face going white. "You can't kill her. Sarah will be fine. She has to be fine."

"Toby, sweetie," Karen whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks, "She's not going to be fine. She's not ever going to wake up. No matter how much we wish that she would get better, she's not. It's best if we let her go be with God."

"God," Toby spat out contemptuously. "You said if we prayed, then everything would be okay. Well, I prayed over and over, and it's not okay. It's not!"

He jumped up and fled the living room, running to the safe haven of his bedroom. Pacing the floor, silent tears streaming down his face, Toby tried to figure out what to do. There had to be something to do. He couldn't just let them kill Sarah. He didn't care what they said. Sarah had always told him that he could have anything that he wanted if he just wanted it badly enough. She would be all right if he just knew what to do.

"No matter how much we wish..."

Toby froze in mid-step.

"God isn't listening," he said fiercely. "But maybe somebody else will."~*~

In the attic, Toby found the box that held the things that Sarah had packed away ten years ago. She'd told him the story of their adventures in the Underground many times throughout those ten years. She had warned him never to repeat those tales, that no one would believe that they were real.

And she had told him of the crystal she had found in his crib upon their return.

"He threw it to you when we were in that awful room. I guess you just held onto it." The echo of Sarah's voice whispered through his mind. "I don't think that it's anything more than a crystal ball now. But I put it away. It's better to be safe than sorry."

Toby's hands shook as he opened the carton and moved the music box and the other things to the side. His fingers touched something hard and round wrapped in layers of tissue paper.

He pulled at the paper, shredding it carelessly until a clear sphere rested in his palm. He held it up and watched, fascinated, as light seemed to gather inside the crystal, causing it to glow faintly.

He screwed up his courage and said clearly, "I wish I could talk to the Goblin King right now."

Sarah had told him of the storm, the lightning and thunder that preceded the Goblin King's visit. She'd told him of the owl bursting into the room and the sparkling shower of magic that announced his arrival, and as soon as Toby had made his wish, he turned toward the window and waited.

But nothing happened.

The night outside remained still and calm. Toby strained his ears but couldn't hear even the faintest sound of thunder, and no owl appeared to scratch at the glass, demanding entrance.

His shoulders slumped and his head bowed. "It's not fair," he whispered.

"I truly detest that phrase," a melodious voice said from behind him.

Toby whirled to find a tall blond man leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. Long hair fluttered softly about his shoulders, even though Toby couldn't feel any breeze in the room. The man was dressed in a pair of beige breeches and a white shirt open almost to his waist, revealing an odd medallion hanging from a cord around his neck. His mismatched eyes gleamed with secretive mirth as he regarded Toby.

"I—" Toby swallowed and tried again, shock causing him to blurt out the first thing that crossed his mind. "I thought you dressed all in black."

The man arched an eyebrow. "I only wear my formal attire when someone has been wished away. And that hasn't happened. Yet." He gave a predatory smile, and his voice lowered to a confidential tone. "But you are considering wishing someone away to me." His nostrils flared delicately. "I can smell it on you."

His eyes narrowed when he saw the crystal held limply in Toby's hand.

"Where did you get that?" the Goblin King demanded sharply.

"Sarah said that you gave it to me," Toby said, his voice shaking.

The Goblin King tilted his head. "Sarah?" he repeated in a remote tone, and his eyes narrowed. "You are her brother."

Toby nodded. "I need your help."

"My help?" The Goblin King looked astonished for a moment. "Why ever would you need my help?"~*~

They sat side by side on a trunk in the attic, the eleven-year-old mortal boy and the ageless Goblin King. The tear-stained face of the boy was a stark contrast to the emotionless expression the king wore.

"Will you help me?" the boy entreated. "Will you make her well?"

"I'm not certain it's possible," the king replied quietly.

Toby looked stricken. "But Sarah said... Sarah said that you could do anything."

"She said that?" Jareth looked pleased for a moment, and then he gave a small sigh. "From what you have told me, Sarah has been irreparably damaged."

Toby's face fell. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he jumped up to face the Goblin King. "You hate her," he accused. "Sarah was right. You hate her, and that's why you won't help."

"I do not hate her," Jareth snapped, taken aback by the boy's sudden hostility. His manner softened as Toby's words sank in. "Sarah thinks I hate her? Why would she assume such a thing?"

Toby nodded. "Because you wouldn't talk to her. She said she called and called you, but you wouldn't come. She said that's when she knew you hated her." Toby hesitated and then said, "She doesn't think I know, but sometimes... sometimes it made her cry."

For a split second, an unreadable emotion flickered through the Goblin King's eyes. "When she said those words, I was no longer able to hear her call." Jareth said softly. "I no longer had any power over her. I still do not. She hasn't rescinded the words. Now, it seems, she won't be able to do so."

"But if I wish her away, then you will have power, right?" Toby said hopefully. "And you can make her all better.'

Jareth shook his head slightly. How could he explain to the boy that in her current condition, the strain of transporting Sarah into the Underground would surely kill her?

Jareth thoughtfully tapped his lips with a gloved finger. But there was one way...

His eyes locked on the boy.

"I am not certain you realize what you ask, Toby. If you wish Sarah away to the goblins, then she goes away with me. She cannot remain here."

Tears welled up in Toby's eyes, and his bottom lip trembled. "I'd rather that she was alive with you than..." His voice trailed off and his breath hitched in his chest.

"Then we must come to an understanding," Jareth said. "If I do this, you must swear that you will not choose to run the labyrinth in an effort to get Sarah back."

"But... but..." Toby stammered.

Jareth merely arched an eyebrow and regarded the boy evenly.

"Are you going to change her into a goblin?" Toby asked suspiciously.

"Of course not," Jareth said, frowning slightly.

The boy dropped his eyes for a long moment and then looked back up at Jareth. "Are you a bad man?"

"What?" Jareth blinked in surprise.

"Sarah said that she thought you were only pretending to be bad because she expected you to be. She said she didn't think you were really bad."

"I won't harm her, if that is what concerns you." Jareth's eyes glittered with sudden amusement and sharp white teeth gleamed as he smiled. "But she's wrong. I can be a very bad man. However, I assure you that Sarah will not mind in the least."

Toby looked confused, and Jareth waved a gloved hand, dismissing his concerns. "I promise she will be happy and content. Do we have an agreement?"

Hesitantly, Toby nodded. "Okay, we have a deal."

"Well, then," Jareth said, "when and where did this accident occur?"~*~

Sarah looked up and frowned as the sky darkened. The weather report had mentioned the possibility of thunderstorms but had claimed they would be well to the east. Apparently, the weather forecast was wrong again, but she thought she had enough time to finish her ride before the storm grew to full force.

Raindrops pattered against the leaves covering the forest floor, and the wind picked up sharply as Sarah urged her horse into a canter. She wasn't as comfortable on this particular animal as she would have liked, but it couldn't be helped. The riding stable had already given the gentle mare she normally rode to another rider.

Sarah enjoyed riding; it was a bit expensive, but it was a chance to get away from everything and just relax. No boss demanding a last minute report be pushed to the top of her priority list and no well-meaning Karen wondering if she'd "met any nice young men lately". There was nothing but Sarah, the horse and the riding trail through the pretty woods behind the stables.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, causing the horse dance skittishly. As Sarah held the reins firmly and fought to bring the animal back under control, she had a sickening moment of déjà vu. The sense that something terrible was about to happen was overwhelming.

She shook it off quickly. She had to get back to the stables. This storm was moving much faster than she'd anticipated.

As she turned the horse back, she caught a glimpse of an owl gliding silently between the trees. She pulled the horse to a stop as a dark figure stepped into the path ahead of her, blocking her way.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. The Goblin King stood before her, just as beautiful and as indomitable as she remembered. His long blond hair and black cape whipped in the rapidly rising wind.

But it couldn't be him. In all the years since she'd left the Underground, he'd never answered her, no matter how many times she had invoked his name. No matter how much she had wanted to see him again.

Jareth glanced up at the sky, his eyes widening in alarm at the dark clouds roiling overhead and called, "Now, Toby."

"Jareth?" Sarah whispered.

Lightning struck with a sizzling crack, so close that the hair on Sarah's head rose with the static charge, and the reek of ozone filled the air. In the split second of stillness following the strike, the horse gave a trembling jerk and gathered itself, preparing to bolt.

In his bedroom, twenty miles away, Toby peered into the crystal left to him by the Goblin King. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he said quickly, "I wish the goblins would come and take Sarah away, right now."

Thunder roared down from the skies, shuddering the trees and shaking the very earth. The horse screamed shrilly in fear and bucked wildly, then galloped frantically toward the safety of the stables.

But it had no rider.

Sarah and the Goblin King were gone.~*~

They appeared in his throne room and Sarah quickly looked around in confusion. Goblins were everywhere. Some were racing around the room in a manic game of keep-away; some were dancing to music that only they could hear, while still others lay in inebriated heaps, far too drunk to move. At their ruler's appearance, the goblins slowly stopped what they were doing. Dozens of curious eyes turned toward them.

Sarah whirled to face the man who had brought her here.

"What's going on?" she cried.

"Your brother wished you away," Jareth said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I've granted his wish."

"Toby wouldn't do that." Sarah shook her head. "He knows better." This was a dream. It had to be a dream.

"He did it in order to save your life," Jareth said with a faint smile.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine," she said, perplexed.

"In another second you would have been thrown from your horse and left lying as close to death as any mortal can be without actually dying," Jareth said quietly. "Your family was on the brink of removing the machines that kept your body clinging to life when your brother called for me."

"How can you know that?" she whispered, appalled at the images his words brought to mind and she fleetingly remembered that horrible sense of déjà vu.

"Because it had already happened." Jareth tilted his head and his eyes bored into hers. "I have reordered time for you once again, Sarah."

"This... This is insane." Her eyes widened suddenly. "Oh, god, is Toby in the labyrinth?"

"No," Jareth said, shaking his head. "There will be no one to run the labyrinth on your behalf. You are now my subject."

"I don't understand. Why would he wish me away and then not... Why would you do this? What do you want?" She stiffened suddenly. "Revenge?"

He laughed softly. "Because I hate you?"

Pain flickered in her eyes, and then it was gone. Sarah lifted her chin defiantly. "Well, don't you?"

Jareth glanced around the room and frowned at the goblins that were hanging on their every word. He'd never known them to be so quiet without being directly threatened.

He waved his hand, and suddenly Sarah found that they were standing in the sitting area of a large suite. A quick glance around at the masculine décor and the large four-poster bed had her gasping in alarm. Why had he brought her to his bedroom? Just what kind of revenge did he want?

She anxiously edged away from him.

"What are we doing here?" she spat out.

He lifted an eyebrow. "I wish to speak to you in private."

"And we have to do it in your bedroom?" she asked suspiciously.

He gave a delighted smile. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Sarah?"

She tensed and then lifted her head high. She wasn't going to let him get the better of her. "Not at all."

His smile widened to a grin.

"Liar," he said softly.

Sarah dropped her eyes. "Send me home."

"You are home," Jareth said imperiously as he tugged a glove more snugly into place. "You were wished away to me and there's no one attempting to retrieve you. In exchange for saving your life, your brother agreed not to challenge me. I did not believe that you would want the child in the labyrinth. Was I wrong in making that assumption?"

"No, you weren't wrong." Sarah's shoulders drooped. "But you still haven't explained what you're getting out of this."

Jareth didn't answer for so long that Sarah thought he was simply going to ignore her. When he finally spoke, his voice was oddly strained.

"I want a companion," Jareth answered. "I am alone far more often than I would choose."

Startled, she looked into his eyes.

When Jareth glanced away first, Sarah almost reeled in shock. He never retreated, never. Was he really so very lonely?

"Just what type of companion do you want?" she asked slowly.

When she accepted his words calmly, he smiled slightly and reached out a hand to lightly hover over her hair.

"That will depend upon you and what type of companion you wish to be," he said softly. His fingers briefly caressed the air above her hair, and then he moved his hand away.

Was he implying... Her mouth went dry. He was so close that she could see little flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Why now? Why not months ago? Years ago? I called—" Sarah closed her mouth abruptly.

Jareth's smile turned knowing. "You called for me."

"And you ignored me," she said, her voice sharp.

"I could not hear you, Sarah. Your brother told me that you had called. If I had but known, I would have answered." He stepped closer and his voice lowered to a near whisper. "Why did you call for me?"

She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. Talking to him when she was prepared and had mentally rehearsed everything she wanted to say was one thing; standing across from Jareth in his bedroom and blurting out her questions was quite another. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

"I wanted to know if... if you make the same offer to every girl who goes through the labyrinth," Sarah stammered, her cheeks reddening.

"You mean this?" As he spoke, he was suddenly holding a crystal. Jareth idly wove it through his hands in a casual display of skill before holding it out to her. "A trifle that will show you your dreams? I offer this to everyone in exchange for the child they have wished away."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Sarah shook her head.

Jareth grinned briefly and, with a twist of his wrist, the crystal vanished.

"Yes, I know," he said.

He moved even closer, and Sarah had to struggle to catch her breath. He smelled like a heady mixture of flowers and spices and leather.

"You were such a devastating age," Jareth murmured. "Too old to simply give the child up in frustration and yet too young to be seduced away from your quest. Nothing worked. It fascinated me that no matter the distractions placed before you, you ignored them and continued on. You were so innocent." Regret tinged his voice. "Too innocent to understand."

"You still haven't answered my question," she persisted. "Do you make the same offer to every girl?"

"No," Jareth said quietly. "I had never made that offer before nor have I made it since."

Her eyes widened, but before she could ask anything else, Jareth stepped back.

"Come along, Sarah." He gestured toward the door. "I'll have a room prepared for you."~*~

While the servants were cleaning her room, Jareth gave Sarah a brief tour of the castle.

Surprisingly, there were very few goblins to be seen. Jareth explained that he tried to keep them contained to certain areas of the castle.

"They tend to congregate here, even though they have homes of their own," he said, shaking his head. "They're like children in many respects. They're happier surrounded by their own kind."

"Are you the only..." Sarah's voice trailed off. She wasn't even sure what Jareth was.

"Yes," he said gravely. "In this kingdom, I am the only of my kind."

He volunteered no further explanation and Sarah decided it would be rude to ask. At least, right now.~*~

When they returned to her room — next to his suite, she noted — it had been made ready. While not overly lavish, it was comfortable, and it was obvious that effort had been expended to make it cheerful. Vases of flowers were standing around the room, and the curtains were drawn back to reveal an open set of doors that led out onto a small balcony containing two chairs and a table. A quick glance confirmed that Jareth's much larger balcony was right next door.

Sarah walked out and looked down on the sweeping view of the labyrinth. Sections of the huge maze were brightened here and there with splashes of color. Flowers, she realized. There were whole areas that were covered with flowers.

"It's much prettier than I remember," she said.

"It can be beautiful," Jareth replied, walking to her side. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the stone railing. "But it has the potential to be very dangerous. I would prefer that you do not enter the labyrinth unless I accompany you."

'Beautiful but potentially dangerous,' Sarah thought, glancing at Jareth. 'Who does that remind me of?'

"I would very much like it if you would dine with me tonight," Jareth said, still looking out over the labyrinth.

She looked up at his profile. He continued to study the view, seemingly unconcerned with her answer, but Sarah glanced down and saw that his hands had tightened on the railing.

"Yes," she said softly. "Thank you for the invitation."

As she spoke, his hands relaxed.

Jareth straightened and turned to her with a smile. "I must leave you now. I have duties to attend."

When he reached the door, she stopped him. "Jareth, can I never go home again? I did before."

He turned back to her. "In that instance, you were the one who had wished someone away. Now, however, you are the one who has been wished away. I am sorry, but you cannot leave." His expression was sympathetic, and he hesitated. "Your friends are still here. I'll have them brought to the castle to visit you in the morning."

Sarah bowed her head and nodded, but her throat was too tight to speak.

When Jareth left, and the reality of her situation finally sank in, Sarah bowed her head and cried. She made her way over to the bed and sank down onto it, sobbing. When she'd finally cried herself out, she lay back onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

As difficult as it would be, she had to accept that could never leave this place. If she didn't, she would drive herself insane.~*~

Sarah had slipped into a fitful sleep that was broken by a servant knocking on the bedroom door. A chubby little goblin female came in and introduced herself as Lydie, Sarah's maid.

"My maid?" Sarah asked, incredulous. "I don't need a maid."

"It's His Majesty's orders, ma'am," the girl said, wringing her hands. "I'm doing what I was told."

As Sarah looked into the goblin's anxious eyes, she remembered that Jareth had said they were similar to children.

"Then obviously I'm mistaken, Lydie," Sarah said gently.

The goblin looked relieved and announced that dinner would be served shortly. She was there to lead Sarah to the dining room and told Sarah that she would return after dinner to draw a bath.

"I don't have anything to sleep in," Sarah said softly. "Do you think you could find something for me to wear?"

Lydie assured Sarah that she would try to find something suitable to use as a nightgown.

Sarah followed the goblin through the hallways until they finally stood in front of the closed dining room door. Lydie left, and Sarah hesitated. Was she supposed to knock? Finally deciding to just go in, she cautiously opened the door.

A huge dining table draped with white linens dominated the room. The two place settings looked a bit forlorn grouped together at the end of the vast length of the table. Jareth was across the room, standing with his back to her, looking out a large window.

Sarah cleared her throat, and he turned to face her, a smile lighting up his face. At the sight, her heart stuttered in her chest. 'He looks happy,' she thought. 'Can he really be that happy just because I'm here?'

Sarah was suddenly and acutely aware of her grubby jeans and plain pullover sweater. Compared to Jareth's lace and leather finery, she felt like an ugly duckling. If she was going to stay here, she needed clothing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know that dinner was formal, but I don't have anything else to wear," she said.

"You'll need a wardrobe," Jareth agreed. "I'll have one prepared for you." He crossed the room and held her chair. She was to be seated to his immediate right, she saw.

Sarah took her seat and then nervously smoothed her napkin out in her lap. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she said quietly.

He sat down and gave her a puzzled look. "About?"

"About anything," she said, horrified that tears had appeared in her eyes. She blinked them back viciously. "Where am I going to live? How am I going to make a living here? How am I supposed to pay for new clothes?"

Jareth looked surprised. "You needn't concern yourself with those things. You will live here in the castle, and whatever you want will be provided for you."

"I'm used to working for a living," Sarah said stubbornly. "I want to pay my own way."

Jareth laughed. "So independent, but it is completely unnecessary."

"I can't just live off of you," she insisted. "That would make me a—" Sarah stopped abruptly, horrified. She'd been about to say 'whore'. What had brought that to mind? She didn't know him well enough to even consider being intimate with him.

"—a leech," she finished quickly.

"And so you wish employment in exchange for your food and clothing?" Jareth mused. "This would please you?"

"It would make me a lot more comfortable with this situation," Sarah said firmly.

Jareth nodded slowly. "Do you know anything of gardening?"

"A little bit," Sarah answered, surprised. "I used to help my dad take care of the lawn when I lived at home, and I've got a window box in my apartment with flowers that I've managed to keep alive. Why? Do you want me to be your gardener?"

He smiled. "Not per se, more of a supervisor. I have a private garden that is tended by the goblins. Unfortunately, they require almost constant direction. I don't have time to instruct them as closely as is needed, and the plants have suffered for it. I would be appreciative if you would take over that role."

"This isn't something you're making up just so I'll have a job, is it?" Sarah asked suspiciously.

Jareth grinned. "After dinner I'll show you the garden, and you may judge for yourself," he answered.~*~

The torches along the garden walkways were lighted with a wave of Jareth's hand. Sarah slowly looked around. It had the potential to be very beautiful, but there were places where weeds had overtaken the grass, and most of the shrubs were badly in need of trimming. Roses had been allowed to run wild instead of being trained to a trellis, and a marble bench by a decorative pond had been completely overrun with creeping ivy.

"I see what you mean," Sarah said, looking around. "But it's really nothing that a little hard work and patience won't fix."

"Then you will accept the task?"

"Yes," she answered absently, her mind already making lists of things to be done.

"Good," Jareth said, smiling. "I shall look forward to seeing your progress. You may start tomorrow, after you visit with your friends. Are there any other areas of the castle that you would like to see?"

"You have a library, don't you?" Sarah asked.

Jareth nodded. "Yes, we'll go there now."~*~

As she entered the library, Sarah looked around in awe at the sheer number of books lining the walls.

"It's apparent that you like to read," she said. She pulled a book at random from a shelf. "The First Thousand Years," she read aloud.

"A beginning history of our world," he said, glancing over her shoulder. "It's quite accurate, if you are interested."

"You've read all of these books?" she asked, curious.

"It helps to pass the time." Jareth shrugged. "You're free to read anything here."

She held up the book in her hand. "May I take this back to my room?"

"Of course. This is your home now; these things are yours as well," he said.

Sarah looked at him sharply. "No, these things are yours. I don't have anything here."

For a moment, his eyes grew bleak.

"I hope you'll come to feel differently in time," he said softly.

Sarah dropped her eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt him. When she looked up again, his implacable mask was in place.

"It's growing late. I'll escort you to your room," he said.

When they arrived back at Sarah's room, Jareth hesitated.

"Would you care to join me for breakfast?" he asked. "Your friends should be arriving at the castle shortly thereafter."

"All right," she agreed.

"Then I bid you a good night," Jareth said. He bowed slightly and waited for Sarah to go into her room before walking to his own chambers.~*~

Once in her room, Sarah found Lydie waiting. As soon as Lydie saw Sarah, the goblin began to pour water into a large bathtub set behind a screen in the corner of the room. When Sarah disrobed and sank into the hot water, Lydie gathered up her clothes.

"I'll take these things to have them washed, and I'll bring 'em back first thing in the morning," the goblin said.

"Wait, Lydie," Sarah said. "I don't have anything else to wear. I still need a nightgown."

"I've laid it out on the bed." Lydie popped her head around the screen and smiled at Sarah. "It's so soft."

Sarah blinked, not sure if the girl was talking about the nightgown or the bed. "Um, I'm sure it will be fine."

"Do you want me to stay and brush your hair?" Lydie asked.

"No, thank you," Sarah smiled. "I prefer to do that myself. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, ma'am," Lydie called out as she left.

When Sarah finished bathing, she wrapped a towel around her body and went to get the nightgown.

"Uh oh," Sarah said as she picked up the garment.

It was obviously one of Jareth's shirts. As soon as Sarah touched the shirt, she knew that Lydie hadn't been referring to the bed. Jareth's shirt was made of the softest fabric that Sarah had ever felt. The temptation to know what it felt like against her skin was overwhelming, and she finally gave in. She loosened the towel, laid it on the bed and pulled the shirt on over her head. The sleeves went past her fingertips, but she could fold those up. The hem fell to mid-thigh, making it fairly modest in that respect. However, it was the neckline that gave her the biggest concern. While the shirt might open to mid-chest on Jareth, it plunged almost to Sarah's navel.

She looked down at herself and shrugged. It wasn't as if anyone could see her, and she had nothing else to wear. Besides, Lydie promised that Sarah would have her own clothes back first thing in the morning.

Sarah took the book that Jareth had loaned her, climbed into bed and settled down to read.~*~

The sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door woke Sarah. For a moment, she was disoriented and couldn't remember where she was, and then it all came flooding back to her. She sat up abruptly, and the book she'd been reading slid to the floor with a thud. Bright sunlight shone into the room from the balcony.

The knock sounded again, and Sarah jumped out of bed. It must be Lydie with Sarah's clothes.

Sarah opened the door to find Jareth standing there. His eyebrows shot up as his eyes moved over her, and the pleasant smile on his face quickly widened into a grin.

Sarah glanced down and gasped. She was revealing a lot of skin. She turned bright red and hurriedly grasped the neckline of the shirt, pulling it closed.

Jareth lifted his hand and suddenly a dark blue silk robe dangled from his gloved fingertips.

"Since you're already wearing my shirt," he said in a clearly amused tone, "perhaps you'd like my dressing gown as well."

"Lydie took my clothes to wash. This is what she left me to sleep in. I didn't have anything else to wear. It was this or a towel." Sarah winced as she heard herself babbling. She snatched the robe from Jareth and struggled to put it on with one hand. She wasn't about to let go of that neckline.

Jareth finally took pity on her, and smothering his grin, he took the robe from her and held it up in front of him so that she could slip her arms through the sleeves. Sarah quickly wrapped the robe around her, tied the belt at her waist and turned back to face him.

"I believe that looks better on you than it does on me," Jareth drawled. "You look quite charming."

"Is there something I can do for you?" Sarah asked, exasperated.

His eyes gleamed, and he gave a low laugh. "Several things do come to mind."

At his words, the blush that had begun to fade from Sarah's cheeks suddenly intensified. But it was the warmth that had quickly spread through other parts of her body that disturbed her most.

"However," Jareth continued with a smile, "at the moment, I will settle for your company at breakfast."

"I can't go like this," Sarah protested, gesturing toward his robe.

Before Jareth could reply, Lydie came running down the hallway.

"Ma'am, ma'am, I've got your clothes," she panted. Lydie skidded to a stop in front of Jareth and Sarah, and then dropped into an awkward curtsy to her king.

Sarah scooped her clothes out of Lydie's grasp even before the goblin maid had even risen from her curtsy.

Jareth smirked at Sarah's obvious haste.

"I shall meet you in the dining room," he said. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, "Although, it is such a pity that you feel the need to change. Your current ensemble is really quite fetching."

Lydie looked at Sarah and giggled.

"Oh, oh, the king likes you," Lydie teased in a singsong voice.

Sarah watched Jareth's retreating form with a smile hovering on her lips. "Yeah, I think he does."~*~

After breakfast, Jareth led Sarah into the castle courtyard to greet a very surprised and somewhat bewildered Hoggle, Sir Didymus and Ludo. As her friends surrounded her with joyous cries and crushing hugs, Jareth stood apart and watched them before turning to leave them to their visit.

Sarah frowned as she watched Jareth walk away and go back into the castle. After a few minutes, movement at one of the upper castle windows caught her attention, and she glanced up to see Jareth looking down at them.

"I am alone far more often than I would choose."

As her friends pulled her into another round of hugs, Sarah laughed, but her eyes were continually drawn back to a castle window where a king stood alone.~*~

Supervising the goblins was trying, but not impossible. Sarah quickly learned that firm repetition was the key to gaining their attention, and her life settled into a pleasant blur of days spent tending the garden and visiting with her friends, and of evenings spent talking with Jareth.

She found that he had a particularly wicked sense of humor, and his sly remarks and skillful mimicry often caught her off guard before causing her to gasp in surprised laughter. They began trading stories of their worlds, and those tentative exchanges quickly escalated to more personal discussions.

Sarah told him of her hurt over her parent's divorce and her initial childish jealousy of Toby, and then of her disappointment in failing at her bid for an acting career. Jareth, in turn, revealed his restlessness at being obligated to rule over the goblins. While he didn't explain fully, Sarah was able to glean that his kingdom had been thrust upon him as a form of punishment for a youthful romantic indiscretion with the wife of a very powerful Underground noble.

"It is not something of which I am particularly proud," Jareth said, shaking his head. "But the woman was willing."

"Yes," Sarah had murmured, "I can well imagine that she was."

Jareth had looked surprised at her words, and then a speculative look had crossed his face. He obviously hadn't been certain if she'd been flirting with him or not, and at the time, Sarah hadn't been certain either. But that had been weeks ago and in the time since, they'd continued to grow closer.

He wasn't the cruel Goblin King he'd pretended to be for her earlier benefit. Well, she amended, sometimes he was but only when he had to be. He was merciless when defending his kingdom or his subjects, but he had never been anything except gentle with her. Sarah looked forward to their evenings together, spent talking or playing games or, like now, just reading together in the library in companionable silence.

She stole a glance at Jareth sprawled out comfortably in a library chair. She liked seeing him relaxed and at ease. Sometimes it was all she could do not to simply sit and stare at him. He was so beautiful that it was almost unreal, and her fingers tingled with the urge to reach out and touch him.

Sarah nibbled on her bottom lip in thought, staring blinding at the book in her lap. Jareth was flirtatious and charming, sometimes even blatantly suggestive, so why had he never tried to kiss her? He seemed very careful never to even touch her. But sometimes she would look up to find him watching her. It was as if he was waiting for something, but Sarah couldn't figure out what it was.

She glanced back over at Jareth and met his eyes. The clear longing that she saw there left her breathless. She blinked, and the self-assured mask he wore was instantly back in place, but in that unguarded moment, Sarah suddenly understood.

He was waiting for her to decide what she wanted from him.~*~

Later that evening, Sarah sat at her vanity, idly running her brush through her hair. The days in the Underground had grown warmer and tonight the weather was verging on uncomfortably hot. She'd washed her hair and wanted it to dry before she went to bed. Maybe if she went out onto the balcony there would be a breath of air, she thought.

She glanced down at the delicate silk camisole and panties she was wearing and then looked over at the clock. It was very late, and Jareth was surely already asleep. There was only a quarter moon, and Jareth had once assured her that no one could see onto her balcony from the labyrinth.

Sarah leaned out the balcony doorway to peek at Jareth's windows. They were completely dark, so she should be safe enough without her robe. She stepped out onto the balcony and was greeted by a cooler breeze. Sighing contently, she lifted her damp hair high off her neck.

She sat down in one of the small chairs and began brushing her hair, her thoughts turning back to Jareth. Each night he escorted her back to her room and — like a perfect gentleman — politely left her at her bedroom door. And each night the urge to pull him in after her was becoming more difficult to control.

What did she want from him? Obviously much more than friendship. But she knew that wasn't the important question. The important question was how did she feel about him? If she could go home right now... Her breath suddenly caught in her throat as she realized the answer. She wouldn't go. At the mere thought of leaving Jareth, her stomach twisted and she felt sick.

She laughed softly. Well, what should she do now? Wake him up and make an announcement? Bring it up over breakfast? 'Could you pass the butter and oh, by the way, I've fallen in love with you?'

The tiniest of noises from Jareth's balcony caused her heart to skip a beat. She quickly looked over, but his windows were still dark. When the noise didn't occur again, she gave a small shrug and relaxed. It had probably been a bird. She drew the brush through her hair again, noticing that it was almost dry. The breeze increased, and Sarah bent her head forward, allowing her hair to fall freely over one shoulder while she brushed it. As she turned her head, she noticed a new variation in the shadows on Jareth's balcony. A lighter gleam where his chairs were. Almost as if someone with fair hair was sitting there.

Sarah swallowed hard. Her eyes widened as she made the connection. She wasn't the only one enjoying the cool night air. The noise on his balcony, a bird... He'd been out flying and had just returned. Now Jareth was sitting there silently watching her.

While she couldn't see him, she knew his ability to transform into an owl gave him almost perfect night vision, so he could certainly see her. Sarah turned her head away, ostensibly looking over the labyrinth. 'But he doesn't know I've realized he's there,' she thought with a smile. 'Maybe I should give him something to watch.'

She laid her hairbrush aside and tilted her head back. Arching her back, she slowly ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out and then shaking it into place with a languid toss of her head.

Rising, she stood at the edge of the balcony and leaned forward, resting her hands on the railing. Softly humming a song, she began to sway back and forth to the melody, adding a bit of extra swing to her hips.

As Sarah finished the song, she slowly went still. Without turning, she called out softly, "Jareth?"

"Yes?" His voice didn't hold the slightest tinge of remorse at being caught watching her.

"Why are you so far away?" she asked. She'd meant to sound confident, but her tone was plaintive, even to her own ears.

The silence stretched out until Sarah began to become uncertain. Had he not heard her? Or had she completely misread the situation? Maybe he didn't want her after all?

"Would you prefer I was closer?" he asked. His voice came from a few feet behind her.

She smiled but didn't turn to face him.

"Yes," she said. "But you're still too far away."

He moved nearer, and she could feel his breath on her cheek even as his voice spoke softly in her ear. "Is this close enough?"

Her nipples tightened and warmth bloomed in her stomach, rapidly spreading lower.

"Not yet," she whispered.

His arms slid around her waist, and she gasped as he pulled her against the length of his body. As he pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the curve of her neck, her head fell back against his shoulder.

"And now?" he murmured before nipping at her earlobe.

Her breathing was already erratic, but she didn't try to hide it. She wanted him to know exactly how he was affecting her.

"Much better. You know, I figured out something tonight," she said softly.

"Hmm, yes, I could tell. Dancing about in your underwear? Wicked girl, you were doing that deliberately." Amusement colored his voice, and his tongue traced along the edge of her ear.

She shivered. "Not just that I want you, I already knew that," she said. "I realized that I love you."

His arms tightened around her, and then he turned her around to face him.

The absolute joy on his face brought tears to her eyes.

He dropped a light kiss on her lips. "Once again, Sarah, once again I will make this offer." He took a deep breath and said softly, "Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave."

Sarah looked up at him and smiled. "I was too young to understand before, and I'm sorry for that. But I understand now." She slipped her arms around his neck. "I fear the power that you have over my heart, but I trust you not to hurt me. I do love you. You're my king, and as your subject, I will do as you say." She gave a mischievous smile. "Now, I think that makes it your turn."

Jareth laughed. "And what is your first command?"

"Take me to bed," Sarah whispered.~*~

Sunlight streaming in the window finally woke Sarah. She stretched sleepily, and Jareth's arm tightened around her waist. Smiling, she turned over carefully and watched him sleep. One strand of blond hair had drifted over his eyes, and she brushed it back. At her touch, his eyes opened.

"Good morning," she said.

He smiled. "Yes, a very good morning."

"I have an important question to ask you," she said.

"And that is?"

Sarah traced her fingers down his neck, across his chest, moving steadily lower. When her hand found him, his eyes widened, and she grinned.

"How many times do we have to do this before I don't want to do it all the time anymore?"

"I definitely think we should find out," he said solemnly.

"What a wonderful idea," she said, moving her hand slightly and wringing a soft groan from him. "And then you can reorder time so that we can go back to last night and start all over again."

He gave her a devilish grin. "Why, Sarah, how do you know I haven't done so already? I did promise to be your slave, after all."

As she blinked at him in surprise, he pulled her close and rolled her under him.

"Have you?" she demanded.

He kissed her, silencing her for a moment, but she pulled back and looked at him suspiciously. "You didn't answer me," she said.

"Shh," he said, kissing her neck, "I'm busy."

"You're kidding, right?" she persisted. "Right?"

As his mouth moved lower, she decided that they could talk about it later. Besides, even if he wasn't kidding, who wanted to argue with the possibility of an eternity of this?

One year later...

Toby sat in his bedroom, struggling to do his math homework. Who cared how long it would take two trains going 136 and 97 miles per hour to meet if they left New York and Chicago at the same time? You weren't going to be riding both of them at the same time.

"Your sister sends her love," a voice behind him spoke quietly. "She misses you very much."

Toby whirled to find the Goblin King standing behind him. He held a large wicker basket in one hand.

"Is she okay?" Toby asked frantically. "Can I see her?"

"She is quite well," Jareth assured him. "And she has asked me to visit you."

Jareth gestured for Toby to come closer.

Toby walked over, and Jareth pulled back the light blanket covering the basket. Toby gasped in surprise at the infant inside.

"Did you take somebody's baby?" he asked, horrified.

"No," Jareth laughed. "This is your nephew. Sarah wanted you to meet him. She wanted you to know that she has named him, in part, after you. His name is Quinn Tobias."

"Wow," Toby said. He reached into the basket and gently traced a finger over the sleeping child's tiny fist. Toby looked up at Jareth. "Who is... I mean... Is he yours, too?"

"Yes, he is my son. Sarah is my wife now," Jareth said. "I wanted to thank you, Toby. If not for you, I wouldn't have either of them."

Toby's eyes filled with tears, and he blinked them away quickly. "I miss her, too. But she's happy, right? You promised that she would be happy."

"Yes, she is happy," Jareth said. "And I promise that she will remain so."

Toby frowned suddenly with a flash of insight. "I'm not ever going to see any of you again, am I?"

"No," Jareth said gently. "My son and I have no place in this world. Sarah cannot leave, and you cannot go. But she has never forgotten you, and she asks that you do not forget her, either."

Jareth turned his wrist and a crystal appeared. "I've brought you a gift."

Toby looked at it suspiciously. "The last one disintegrated after I made that wish."

Jareth smiled. "This one will not grant a wish, but it will show you something very important."

"What?" Toby took the crystal and look at it curiously. It remained dark. "I don't see anything."

"Nor will you, yet." Jareth answered. "Look again on your 18th birthday, and it will show you the woman you are meant to spend your life with."

"A girl?" Toby said, disgust coloring his voice.

Jareth threw back his head and laughed. "Trust me, Toby, in time they will become quite appealing." He sobered. "Your sister wanted you to have a head start, so to speak. She doesn't want you to be alone as she was for many years. Sarah wanted you to know this woman's face so that when you meet her for the first time, you will recognize her. So that you will not waste time. In its own way, this is a truly extravagant gift."

"If you say so," Toby said doubtfully.

Jareth carefully tucked the blanket back over his sleeping son. "Goodbye, Toby. Be happy in your life."

At that, Jareth and his son simply faded from view.

Toby looked down at the crystal in his hand and shrugged. He carried it up into the attic and found the box of Sarah's things. Carefully, he wrapped the crystal in tissue paper, tucked it into the box and went back downstairs to finish his math homework.

In the attic, the magic within the crystal swirled and shifted, and then settled down again, patiently waiting for the right moment in time.

The End

[hopeforkitten]

a sketch of how Raphael coos and pays too much attention to a lazy but gifted enchantress

In the form of a blue illusion, the three battlements of the citadel of Zariel rise above the open book. Tav's head and hands lie bored on the Table, lazily looking at the illusion and almost not listening to the voice of the narrator sadly telling about the greatness of the fallen angel.

The door opens and Raphael's voice reaches her.

- I think I told you to just read the book.

He walked up to the table and dispelled the illusion of a fortress. Tav lazily straightened up and finally gave him her attention.

- "A picture is worth a thousand words", and information is better absorbed in graphic form.

- Tell me, what did you remember?

This question somewhat complicated Tav. The last thing she thought about before Raphael's arrival, there were all sorts of winged little hellish creatures that were racing very merrily between the battlements of the flying fortress. This is definitely a valuable thought for Raphael.

Tav looked around guiltily, pursed her lips and returned her gaze to the owner of the house. He sighed in frustration and shook his head.

-What an unreasonable child. The most gifted and ignorant wizard I've ever seen. Magic power can be squeezed out of you, but you don't want to lift a finger to curb it.

Raphael took her hand palm up and a shimmering sphere of magic appeared on it.

- Imagine, my dear, with your talent and a drop of my patronage, you will stand on a par with the greatest sorcerers of our time.

Tav was not at all encouraged by his words.

-How will my knowledge of Averno's history allow me to harness my magic, and how will even the most powerful sorcerer help you take over hell?

- First of all, you will know one of the enemies by sight. Secondly, a powerful sorcerer has at least a chance to move around the expanses and fortresses of hell himself, and not be metaphorically tied to his lord.

- You would be a very caring father.

This comparison did not please Raphael.

- The patron of the most disreputable subordinates

Raphael pressed her hand to the table.

- Little mouse, if you signed a contract and took part of my power, I wouldn't worry that the spark of your potential would be extinguished in another senseless good deed.

- Are you worried about me?"

Tav smiled fearlessly into his face. Raphael snorted to the side and picked up a book from the table.

- The next book should offer you a collection of fairy tales and lullabies for devils. Here she is.

At the behest of his hand, one book went to the shelves of the closet, and the other flew out of them and flew into Tav's bag lying on a chair by the door of the room.

- Are you letting me go?

- You can always leave, a wizard with your power, even as a child, is able to decide which dimension to be in.

Tav stood up, straightened her witchcraft robe, and picked up her battered book bag.

- Let your gifted child do so, and I will use a stable portal in the hall.

Tav was about to leave.

- I hope at our next meeting you will be ready to practice not only reading, but also writing, preferably in blood on parchment paper. What do you think, little mouse?

- Hope, devil.

* strangled inarticulate sounds *

I'm thinking of giving her a collection of fairy tales and lullabies, it's really a brilliant idea from Raphael. (who would doubt) because she will understand the infernal people better, and there it is already possible to move on to more complex matters of history. (as happens during a person's lifetime)

Tav really likes to read this book before going to bed in his tent, and sometimes have nightmares after reading it. The sweet-talking devil actually found an approach to the hapless enchantress, despite the external coldness.

their relationship: