#universesofcheska

[kingofthegxblins]

Trepidation was too hasty a word to describe his emotional state.

A king could never be as such, especially not a king of his magical caliber, pedigree, and Fae ancestry.  

A more fitting word might be discomfort, or better yet, ennui. He quite liked the word ennui. It was deliciously slanted, a sordid little word with just the right undertone of languishing. That word was certainly befitting of a king.

If he were to be honest with himself, he was erring towards something like trepidation. He had come to his mentor’s home riddled with questions, and were that not preposterous enough, he had walked in practically arm-in-arm with his one true love nemesis Champion. There would surely about questions about that, and pointed ones. His teacher was never one to mince words, and especially enjoyed dragging Jareth across the coals when it came to his love life.

One particular conversation came to mind regarding Niamh. It was several years ago, but Jareth could remember it as though it were yesterday…

“You’re still set on this match, then?” his teacher had asked. He had been sitting upright in a beautifully furnished, overstuffed chair the color of ripe plums, with nary a trace of goblin filth upon it. An ever rare circumstance as any in his castle.

“And if I am?” he had answered. His tone had held all the haughty indifference he was capable of producing.

Of course, Nilrem had seen through that. He saw through Jareth at all times, to the monarch’s chagrin. He was the only person in all the realms who could peel away the golden skin of Jareth’s showy pageantry to see the vulnerable man beneath.

“You would be making a mistake.”

Jareth hardly reacted. He rotated his wrist at the silky white cuff, examining a crystal in his other hand. Like his teacher, he was seated in an overstuffed chair. The difference was that Jareth approached sitting like an insect approached water – limbs spread out to their limits, covering the greatest amount of surface area possible.

“You may keep your opinion,” he answered drolly. “It matters not. The result will be the same.”

Nilrem leaned forward in his chair. His patience was limited when it came to his willful pupil, but it seemed that in this particular instance, the old man was willing to stretch it to unconscionable limits. “Jareth,” he started, unafraid to use his student’s given name, king or no, “Be reasonable. You know what she is. She has made no pretense of concealing her prejudices from you. Do you truly believe her to be the best candidate to fit the role of Goblin Queen?”

Jareth laughed, mostly without humor. “Is there, in any realm, such a woman that would fit the role? I myself am not fit,” he said, gesturing to himself, “And yet here I am!”

Nilrem lowered his head and looked at him down his nose. “A Goblin Queen must be able to abide all manner of calamity. She must have strength of character, this much is true…but more than that, she must have imagination.”

Jareth smirked. “Oh, that woman has imagination, believe me.”

Nilrem, familiar with Jareth’s habitual attempt to disarm with innuendo, did not react. He continued. “I haven’t seen any indication that that woman has ever had an original thought in her head. The earth trolls have imagination in spades compared to that shrew.”

The royal’s gaze finally sobered. He directed his sharpened stare towards his teacher, as well as one glove-covered finger. “Listen well, old man,” he began menacingly, “I allow you your liberties, but you’ll do well to keep a civil tongue in your head regarding my future bride.”

The old man rolled his eyes. “I’ll say what I wish, boy, and you’ll do nothing about it.”

Jareth huffed, but did not refute this. He broke eye contact to return to contemplating the crystal in his hand.

After some minutes, Jareth spoke again. “And what else should a Goblin Queen be, in your expert, ancient opinion?”

Nilrem leaned back, steepling his hands over his chest. “Well, let me see,” he started. “Brave, surely. Clever. It would not hurt if she also had a penchant for mischief-making.”

“Those cretins do so enjoy my mercurial ways,” Jareth agreed with a toothy grin.

Nilrem nodded, smiling a little, too. “A streak of heroism would not go amiss, to balance out your rather dastardly disposition.”

Jareth clutched at his chest. “Now, really. You cut me to the quick.”

The older man barked a laugh. He pointed in Jareth’s direction. “You know it to be true. A good queen will have a tolerance for your subjects, not to mention yourself. The best will relish the opportunity to meet you straight on and go toe-to-toe with you.”

Jareth was silent for a time. At length, he chuckled darkly, shaking his head back and forth. “Such a woman does not exist,” he murmured, his tone derisive. “Surely you would not begrudge me whatever companionship I may find in this lonely, tiresome existence?”

 Nilrem sighed. “I would not begrudge you that, Your Majesty.” He gave Jareth a sad smile. “But for all your responsibilities, all the power you hold in the palm of your hands, and your worth as a king besides, let your choice be a careful one. You marry to be king to your future queen, yes, but also, to be husband to your future wife.” He folded his hands, peering down his nose at Jareth with nothing short of respect and fondness. “For your own sake, and the sake of your subjects, let your choice be a woman who deserves you.”

He warmed at the memory, one of many that overtook Jareth’s reverie during his most introspective, quiet moments. He was further warmed by the presence of Sarah at his side, a seeming manifestation of Nilrem’s idea of the perfect Goblin Queen. It was as if Nilrem had, in his insufferable wisdom, poked through Jareth’s psyche and led him to impart all of his hopes and dreams on this frustratingly brilliant and beautiful mortal girl.

Were it not for Nilrem, perhaps Jareth would not have imagined what his future could be. He had been so ready to settle at that time, so ready to grasp whatever pittance of pleasure he could that he had been unable to imagine what true happiness looked like.

This, perhaps, was what he was most afraid of. That Nilrem would meet Sarah and know immediately that Jareth was a lost cause. If he were not very, very careful, with one look, he might convey to his teacher how desperate he was to keep her, the Labyrinth and the Underground be damned.

As if aware of this stream of consciousness, Sarah interrupted his worried thoughts with a knowing, teasing question. “Where’s the brandy?”

Jareth parted his lips to speak, but was prevented from replying by the opening of Nilrem’s front door, mere seconds after Jareth’s crystal had hailed its’ recipient.

His teacher looked just as he had when he had seen him last. Age only grazed the appearance of their kind every few hundred years, and Jareth had last seen Nilrem sooner than that. He remained as he ever was: slightly shorter than Jareth and nearly twice as broad, with a strong forehead, high cheeks, and a proud, Greek nose. There was no hair on his head, aside from two thick eyebrows and a charcoal gray, short, trimmed beard. He met Jareth’s gaze with his piercing orange eyes, a fire roaring, born of intelligence and determination.

“Brandy?” he mentor parroted in his deep voice, the accent reminiscent of Jareth’s, only less aristocratic.

Jareth produced another crystal, and the brandy appeared in his hand. The orange eyes moved towards the bottle, his expression unchanged. He gave a single nod before turning on his heel to head back into the house.

Jareth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His teacher had a penchant for keeping others on their toes. He would decide what to do with you when he was good and ready, and not a moment prior. “After you, precious,” he said to Sarah, following her into the home.

The space, too, was just as he remembered. The fireplace on the left was dark and cold, the bookshelves on either side too-stuffed with books and loose papers alike. The kitchen on the right was whistling, the kettle atop the stove steaming with gusto. Jareth smirked. Nilrem acted as though he were indifferent to Jareth’s arrival, but he had planned for it nevertheless. The man might not have any reaction to Jareth’s visit, but he had certainly been expecting it.

“Did you fire the brownies again?” Jareth asked airily, skating the tip of one gloved fingertip across a nearby stack of books that laid on the huge, wooden, cylindrical table at the center of the room that took up a great portion of the space. He surveyed the accumulated dust with feigned interest.

He heard, rather than saw, Nilrem snort, his back towards both him and Sarah as he poured hot water into three pewter cups. “You know as well as I, boy, that brownies only clean what they deign needs cleaning, and listen to nary a word from any other.”

Jareth stiffened at being called ‘boy’. He knew Nilrem did it to level the playing field between them. Had he known Nilrem would attempt such antics, he might have left Sarah back at the castle.

He sniffed, pretending as though he hadn’t noticed the slight. “Why you keep the useless creatures around has always been a mystery to me.” He moved further into the room, circumnavigating the table. There were several objects atop it, such as a miscellany of potion-making items, scrolls, stones, feathers, and strangely enough, a very small, sleeping dragon puffing gentle plumes of smoke out of his tiny nostrils. It was no wonder to see such things; Nilrem was always at his research, oftentimes working on several projects at once. Jareth didn’t dare conjecture what the old man was up to these days.

Two of the steaming mugs approached, and Jareth plucked them from the air with clever fingers. He handed one to Sarah with a gentle gesture, and held the other under his nose. A spicy aroma that was all too familiar wafted into the air around them, and a sense of comfort and peace overtook him.

“What is truly mysterious, I think,” Nilrem said, “Is that you can live in a place infested with chickens as well as goblins, and yet you question the integrity of my housekeeping.”

Jareth harrumphed into his cup of tea, cradling the mug between both hands.

Nilrem poured a healthy dose of the brandy into his own mug before walking towards the idle fireplace. With a flourish of his pointer finger and thumb, he summoned a wand from behind his ear, then pointed it at the hearth. A fire immediately kindled, and three chairs appeared. Nilrem gestured to the two that sat side by side, and took the single one that faced them.

“So,” Nilrem said, appraising Jareth over the rim of his mug, “Are you going to introduce me to this young woman, or am I to start guessing her identity?”

“I have no doubt that you already know who she is,” Jareth muttered. He cleared his throat. “May I present Sarah Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth. Sarah, this is Nilrem of Monmouth, High Sorcerer of the Traq’iate Order, Supreme Wizard of the Fae court, esteemed by their Royal Majesties, King Oberon and Queen Titania.”

Nilrem’s face cracked at last. “Your aunt and uncle would be very glad to hear you speak so magnanimously of their court, given your penchant of breaking social convention at every given opportunity.”

Jareth merely waved him away, hoping that Nilrem would provide enough distraction to prevent Sarah from keying in on Jareth’s famous relations.

Nilrem, reading Jareth’s expression, inclined his head at the king before turning to face Sarah. “It is an honor to have the Champion of the Labyrinth at my hearth,” he stated, before gifting her the first smile of the visit. “I think I would be correct in assuming that your visit to this realm, and thus your presence in my home, was not on purpose. Is that right?”

He listened as both Sarah and Jareth filled him in on all the events that led up to their visit. When they had summarized things to his content, he stroked his beard, looking at the fire in contemplation.

“It is as I thought,” he murmured. “The Labyrinth is unhappy.”

Understatement of the century, Jareth thought sardonically.

The sage looked to Jareth, his eyes narrowed. “What have been your efforts thus far to appease it?”

Jareth examined the back of his glove with feigned nonchalance. “The usual. Communed with the behemoth. Made certain it was none of the typical sorts of nonsense that can occur in the Underground. That sort of thing.”

Nilrem clucked his tongue. “That is not enough, not nearly enough.”

Jareth only shrugged, looking around the cottage as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Nilrem shook his head. “There is only one possible explanation that I can think of for why the Labyrinth is so unhappy that it felt the need to bring the Champion back.”

Jareth waited for several heavy seconds, certain that Nilrem, pompous as he was, could not wait to divulge the information he held. It seemed, however, that he was all too content to lord it over them and wait for the moment Jareth would break. He was rewarded when, after those painstaking seconds, Jareth could not take it anymore, and barked a single, “Well?”

The expression on his teacher’s face did not change, but Jareth knew him well enough to know that he was satisfied. Fiery eyes dimmed with gentle compassion as they turned towards Sarah. “Can you explain your state of mind prior to returning to the Labyrinth, Miss Williams?”

The two men listened with even patience as Sarah recounted her experience. Jareth did his best to remain expressionless, but it was difficult. He hadn’t anticipated that Sarah’s life would be so complicated. In days past, he would have secretly enjoyed knowing that things were difficult for her at home, but hearing those things now filled him with nothing less than sympathy. Her will had always been strong, that much was certain. Mettle such as hers had enabled her to beat him all those years ago, and despite everything, he could not have been prouder.

Nilrem nodded slowly. “I see.” He reached out to pat the back of her hand, but did not comment any further. “Well, this is how I see it.” He clasped his hands and laid them on his lap. “The Labyrinth has recognized Miss Williams as Champion of the Labyrinth, and as such, has decided that it has a claim upon the young lady.” He faced her once again, his expression resembling something like pity. “I cannot say if I am sorry to tell you this or not, Miss Williams, but according to the law of the Underground, through your victory, you have a claim to the throne of the Goblin Kingdom.”

Jareth’s stomach leapt. He schooled his expression quickly, and gave an almost-nervous laugh in response. “Surely you are not suggesting that I have lost my crown to a mortal girl?”

Nilrem shook his head. “You and I both know that the Labyrinth has no intention of ever letting you go. No. I hypothesize that the Labyrinth has seen the vacant position of the Goblin Queen, and has deemed Miss Williams to be the proper candidate. In thus selecting her as such, it brought her back.” He stroked his beard once again, looking deep into the flames before them. “In terms of timing,” he murmured thoughtfully, “I would warrant that the statute of limitations for Sarah’s voluntary return ran out.”

“Meaning?” Jareth asked, archly.

Nilrem shrugged. “In essence, you did not bring her back, and she did not come back of her own volition. So, the Labyrinth took things into its’ own hands. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Jareth did not dare to look at Sarah. His heart was beating faster than it had, perhaps ever, beat before. “I see,” he said slowly. “And what, pray tell, do you propose we do about this?”

The older man blinked. “Besides the obvious…?”

Nilrem read the twin blank faces that peered back at him, and he sighed. “Perhaps the simplest solution, then. You must officially make the Champion a member of the Goblin Court. This will enable you to officially recognize her as a Champion of the Labyrinth, and reward her duly. This will satisfy the imbalance and will hopefully allow Sarah to come and go as she pleases, thereby releasing the binding the Labyrinth has placed upon her and allowing you to send her home.”  

Jareth, too, clasped his hands. He sat up, overly-cheerful, his eyes remaining anywhere except upon Sarah. “Of course. Yes. Well, that is easily done! We shall return posthaste and make preparations. A ball will suit for such an occasion, do you not think so?” He did not wait for either of their responses before standing and making for the door. “Come, Sarah. We shall need ample time to prepare a ball in your honor, and we cannot let another minute go to waste.”

Return to

°•●LABYRINTH●•°

The new environment around Sarah enthralled her. She marvelled at the architecture of the village, at its population, at the object of this new adventure, and yet... none of it was enough to shake her keen awareness of Jareth's presence and proximity.

More than ever, her attention was leashed to him. And when she thought hard about why that was, she couldn't (or wouldn't) entirely pinpoint it.

Since they'd met, Jareth had claimed for himself a central role in Sarah's imagination. Before, it had been an obsession with winning, with being better than this handsome villain, proving to him that she could do all the things he taunted she could not, had tried to stop her from doing. It had been about snatching victory from underneath his perfect nose.

But it wasn't like that now. Now, the champion and the king were on the same team, and it was a dynamic neither of them were navigating with much grace.

Loathe as she was to admit any such thing, however, Jareth WAS doing a much better job at it than she. All the little (and sometimes even gentlemanly) gestures that he had begun since they'd "made up" were quickly teaching her that getting along was much more rewarding than fighting.

Flies, honey, etc.

Especially when he looked at her like that, when he stood too close, towering; the way he moved around her, gently guiding and minding her; and when he - well, he couldn't be flirting ? - when he said those unexpected, wild things that made the blood rush to her cheeks, knocked her off balance and made her uncomfortable in a way she found she might enjoy.

Before she knew it, she found herself walking closer to him, feeling safer, wanting more kernels of this strange new brand of his attention.

Her mind told her that all these must be more tactics to mess with her; more distractions she shouldnt be trusting. But the feelings in her chest begged to disagree. It was a decade later, and things were different. For better or for worse, they had been reunited in his strange home. Sarah did believe, deep down, that the reason for it was to solve this common and dire purpose.

~

The scowl Jareth had put on her face with his teasing softened when she learned that "grown-ups", too, could be wished away; not just by petulant, unthinking, selfish kids but by other, grown adults who had the capacity to mean it.

She felt a fracture in her heart with every new face they came across, and wondered what rules applied to adults who had done such a thing; who had had such little empathy or control of their words that they'd banished another human being to the unknown. It made her sick, thinking of her cynical, ignorant younger self and innocent Toby.

She knew Jareth could make the Labyrinth more difficult or easier for the runners. What governed the flow of his mercury and mercy? Could he weigh souls against Egyptian feathers?

She couldn't temper this craving, this unending lust for magical knowledge and he seemed to anticipate it because he held a leather-clad finger to her lips just as she was about to open them.

She made a helpless, funny picture: her mouth pressed to his fingers as she pouted up at him, the embers in her eyes striking to life at the show of such impolite dominance. A more sheltered eye might have found the picture obscene.

And that comment about the hayloft before he knocked on the door? It was herculean effort to school her expression into polite greeting as though he had not just made her think about the two of them in bed together, much different from the time he had nursed her back from the Taisteale's effects.

This man was driving her madder than a goblin's chicken.

And he knew it.

~

Gallagher was as much of a Virhaven gentleman as Kingsley had been, that same respect and reverence shining in his eyes as he bent over her hands.

The fact that Sarah was the champion, so respected here more than any other place... made her realize her own symbolism: That a wisher could be so sorry, so full of regret and love that she could be victorious, that that love was strong enough- not just against some awful villain who had stolen a loved one- but against the steadfast guardian of the wished-aways, who asked runners to prove their worth and sorrow, to earn back the precious thing they'd lost...

...Sarah blinked up at Jareth.

He was their protector.

It was SHE who was the villain, reformed.

~

The brewery smelled mouthwatering; bright with a hint of earthy spice, like the last days of summer.

She followed the men, side stepping the adorable piglet fulfilling his duties with zeal.

As Jareth held out the apple toward her, Sarah went wide-eyed. Her mortal manners had her reach out to take it, but she realized half way through that there was much, much more meaning in this.

She met his intense gaze and knew exactly what he was doing.

For a moment, they were standing in the ruins of his tower, him in that white feather cloak she had so often dreamed of, and her in that wrinkled, baggy, poet's shirt she couldn't bring herself to put in the donation box.

A girl, not entirely understanding his offer.

His eyes, back then, had frightened her. Immature dreams swirled in his crystal.

Jareth hadn't wanted her to win, and it had nothing to do with whether she deserved Toby back or how much she had meant those first words to the goblins.

Jareth hadn't wanted her to leave at all. Jareth didn't want her to leave now.

And Sarah wasn't afraid.

She deliberately took the apple from his hand as Gallagher continued the conversation before heading off.

A few quiet moments went by.

“I should warn you, Sarah,” Jareth said to her, raising his head from the vat and glancing in her direction, “The man we are about to visit is a supercilious, cantankerous old podge, but he is the foremost expert in the Labyrinth. Excepting myself, of course.”

He took the final bite of his own apple with unhurried grace, and was about to let it fall from his fingers onto the floor when, after considering for another moment, he wrapped it within a handkerchief and placed it carefully in his pocket.

Sarah took note.

“He may ask you questions that are uncomfortable, but you are not beholden to answer them.” He walked a little closer, his expression no longer quite so teasing. He considered her.

“It would, of course, help if you did. This situation goes beyond anything we have experienced before. I would say that I am worried, but that would be an impossible notion.” He smiled a bit for her, in his teasing way, but it did not reach his eyes. He gestured to the apple in her hand.

“You do know that I would never truly hurt you, don’t you, Precious?” he asked quietly.

There was no questioning his sincerity and concern for the whole predicament. With a new perspective, she was realizing how lost in all this he seemed. She was beginning to understand how much he must care- about her, too. The way he watched out for her, gave her her freedom at every turn, and asked so little of her, that they might work together to heal this home.

Sarah hadn't spent the last decade trying to get back to the Labyrinth just to shy away from uncomfortable questions in it's hour of need.

"However I can help... you can count on me."

With that, she met his eyes, and took a loud, juicy, trust-filled bite of the fruit the Goblin King offered.

~

Sarah imagined that they would find Nilrem in a tall tower, weeding his guests through the use of riddles and charms.

She had been prepared to perform a ritual, to prove herself somehow... or at least look through the hollow of a hag stone. But Jareth lead her up a simple gravel path toward an unassuming, but very well kept cottage at the top of a rocky mountain they had just winnowed to.

The landscaping surrounding the facade was familiar. Tall, decorative hedges framed the home in the corners, shrinking the closer they came to the entrance and framing the driveway in a characteristic, linear manner. Small gnomes sheared the bushes with the help of giant, free-floating rulers, unhurried in their thorough work. There wasn't one fairy in sight.

Aside from the strange angle of the window and door frames, as well as the various beasties at work in the yard, it could have been a human dwelling.

They halted in front of the door. Jareth summoned a crystal bubble and blew it from his fingers. Instead of popping upon contact, it went through the door unharmed, a quiet herald of their presence.

She watched the King bounce on his heels, his arms behind his back; perhaps the most unnkingly she had ever seen him. Almost apprehensive, as he shot her a smile like she was the one that needed reassurance. A far cry from the normal apathetic, unworried confidence he usually exuded.

Noting his shift in energy, she asked, a little smugly (because Sarah knew what it was like to be nervous in front of a teacher) "Where's the brandy?"

Before Jareth could reply, the front door ceased to exist.

In it's place stood a male figure smaller than Sarah.

"Brandy?" A soft, grumbly voice replied.

@kingofthegxblins

[in-carcerem-inferni]

No Stranger In Your Dreams (Dracula RP)

I know that my face Is only too familiar to your sleep I can see it in your eyes And I can tell by your body heatWhy are you taking so long? You need to come and find me, honey To set your mind at rest And let your dreams run free....

It was an ordinary day in a long line of eternally ordinary days.

He awoke (still strange to do, waking with the sun), performed his morning ablutions, dressed, ate (or drank, as it were), and left his home for the day.

It was the weekend, thankfully, which meant a reprieve from the university. It was currently summertime, and while he was not teaching a class, his work on prepping for the the fall semester, as well as work on his latest book, kept him preoccupied.

And bored.

He hated thinking so, but it was glaringly obvious that he was bored. Not to mention horrendously lonely.

Of course, there were many things to enjoy about living the eternal life.

For centuries, he had watched as humanity destroyed itself again and again. And not just by war. (Although those were pretty spectacular. As a man of war, he never could have dreamt the scale that mankind could conduct war on. Or the sophistication of it.)

On an evolutionary scale, humankind was good at trying to filter itself out. With the advent of technology came a host of new ways in which to suffer and die. It was horrifying and fascinating, and like a driver stuck in traffic, he was unable to look away.

But he did have an appreciation for the dawning of the technological era. He enjoyed many of the modern marvels the world had to offer in the twenty-first century. Information at the touch of your fingers. Instant access to any and all music ever written. Transportation back to his home country that did not involve weeks of grueling travel. The re-heating of fresh blood in two swift minutes.

But for all the conveniences life now offered the citizens of the world, Vlad still knew himself to be a relic. And amusing himself with the peoples of the world who died in eighty years had long ago grown tiresome.

He had stopped caring about caring about people long ago. It hurt too much to lose them. It was better to find his amusements, and his pleasures, then let go before they passed out of his life.

Of course, it was easier said than done. He seemed to reinvent himself with every new century (the Victorian period had been particularly entertaining), but if he was being truthful, he hadn’t had a real friend in many years.

The closest friend he had now was a man by the name of Dr. Abraham Van Helsing, a fellow professor at the university. Vlad had made his acquaintance one day when he had sought out medical expertise relating to some mention of a poet that had once studied medicine. From that moment on, for whatever reason, it had been difficult to shake the persistent man.

He liked the chap, but he kept his distance. It was better for all involved, after all, to have no friends.

Besides, Van Helsing tended to show a little too much interest. It was wise to stay aloof.

After all, history had shown that there was no love lost among humankind for the Undead.

The sky was perfectly overcast that Saturday, the ideal weather for one such as him to walk the streets. Though it was early yet in the day, the light was so dim, you’d think it was close to the twilight hour. Several people were out, making the most of their day off by shopping, running errands, and entertaining their young. Normally, Vlad would find himself grateful for the dark skies and the concealment of the sun, but today he found the weather to be grim.

He had no real destination in mind, other than to get out of his home and to roam the streets. He had a thought to go by the farmer’s market. It was the start of the season, and he liked to collect fresh plants and herbs to keep around his home. It was ironic, perhaps, to keep living things nearby that required sun, but over the centuries, he found delight in tempting fate.

He recognized some of the faces, having come to the market for so many years. He felt much like Shelley’s creature from her book, standing back and observing the innocent masses, wholly unaware of the monster in their midst. He recognized the butcher (one of the only people with whom he had a long-term relationship, and a man he suspected knew his true nature), the florist (an elderly, frail thing who doted on him), and her granddaughter, with whom Doris (the florist) was always trying to set him up. She was a sweet thing, but young, and a little too wide-eyed for his tastes-

He stopped suddenly. He smelled something strange. Unbidden, he turned his head, eyes searching for the source of the scent in the air. It was so familiar, but he couldn’t place it…

And, for what felt like the first time in centuries, he felt utter, crippling shock.

The profile of a face more dear to him than any in his lifetime revealed itself, like the flashing of a card through a deck.

It wasn’t possible…

That face. That scent….

It all came rushing back.

Mirena.

No. It was not possible. She was dead. He had held her in his arms. He had felt the life drain away. He had been the one to seize it.

His throat bobbed, working convulsively to swallow down the pain that constricted in the vessels there.

She turned again, and he felt equal measures relieved and disappointment. She only resembled Mirena, but it was not her. Her stature, the color of her skin, eyes and hair. All the same. But her hair was shorter, and she wore clothing of this time. It was not Mirena. Of course it wasn’t.

He was almost complete in convincing himself as much. But she smelled like Mirena!

He remembered that smell so well. It was the smell of home. Not the castle where the lived, or her perfume, or even the scent of her blood that wafted to his nose, as all blood did.

No, it was simply her. His beloved. His Mirena. He would swear by it.

But how?

“Beautiful…” he breathed, hardly aware of the word leaving his lips. Hardly aware of the fact that in his daze, he had approached the ghost of his wife.

She turned to him sharply, bewilderment filling her gaze. She was even lovelier than he remembered. His heart felt heavy and sick with long-carried love for the woman she resembled (No, was!). Was it some cruel trick of the Darkness to reanimate this particular arrangement of features to torture him?

For a heartbeat, he did not recognize how odd it might be that a man would speak so frankly to a woman he did not know. He couldn’t help himself. It was Mirena.

But she did not recognize him. Not Mirena, then. But something in his soul clicked when he looked into her eyes. He could not deceive himself.

Perhaps...perhaps she simply did not know him, then. It was probably for the best.

He shook himself of his reverie, drawing his eyes away from her lovely face and towards the flowers she had been studying. “The flowers, my lady.”

Her expression shifted, as did her frame, as though she sensed there was no immediate danger posed from the gentleman before her. Ah, if only you knew, wife….

“My lady?” she asked, her voice reflecting her bewilderment, as well as a hint of amusement. She squared herself towards him. A subtle gesture, but bold, and full of intent. It read of interest. The beast in him read this so easily. The man he once was would not have noticed such a thing. But the predator did. He bit back a smirk of knowing.

“Where are you from?”

The question sent a jolt of pain through him.

Home….

So far away, now.

He smiled a little, self-evasive. “A long way from here,” he answered simply.

They shared a look. A pleasant shiver ran through him. It was a look she had give him once before, many moons ago, when they had first courted. It was a meeting of souls, of love created in an instant that demanded to be fulfilled. He thought he had her then, but she wavered, and shifted her eyes from his.

“Well, good night,” she said, walking away.

He thought he would panic, but he was was unafraid. His Mirena had found him. Or he had found her. It mattered not. They were destined to be together, he knew that. So he let his words call out after her to draw her back again.

"Why think separately of this life and the next When one is born from the last?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw her pause. The words of Rumi caught her, as he knew they would. As they had caught them both, once, when everything had changed forever.

“That's my favorite poem,” she said, a little breathless.

He approached her slowly, feeling excitement course through his body.

“It speaks to you of yearning,” he said softly, trying to entice her. “Of one soul pleading for another.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of something heavy, and old as time. “I’m Mina,” she breathed.

Her words filled him up. A name. It was so like the name of his wife, that this could not be coincidence. He would not doubt it. She had been returned to him.

“Vlad,” he returned, taking her hand in his and bestowing upon her knuckles a sweet kiss. He felt that she was taken aback by that too, but rather than discouraging him, it only emboldened him.

She tilted her head at him. “You speak rather confidently on the matter.”

“Well, I should,” he said around a smile. “I teach poetry at UCL. Amongst other things.”

He looked to the distance, thinking quickly on his toes. He wanted to continue their conversation, but needed an avenue in which to do so. “I was thinking that I might stop into a cafe and have a coffee. Forgive me, if I presume, but might I ask for the pleasure of your company?” He did not know what he would do if she refused.

[alittleillumination]

True friendship is when they don't really get your ship but they're super happy for you anyways.

[kingofthegxblins]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Labyrinth (1986) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams Characters: Jareth (Labyrinth), Sarah Williams (Labyrinth) Additional Tags: One Shot, Prompt Fic, Kidnapping Summary:

I’m a super villain and you’re a hero, throughout our fights I’ve realized I actually love you and now I’ve kidnapped you because I have no idea how to flirt. Now what?

[alittleillumination]

@universesofcheska I love how this is getting around 😂😂😂

so i’m watching an interview with john aND SUDDENLY I NOTICED THE SIGN IN THE BACKGROUND

[xnightmaredressedlikeadaydreamx]

Testing testing

[cheskaledisko]

Is this even working what is tumblr

[in-carcerem-inferni]

i have a new muse shhhhh

[alittleillumination]

@universesofcheska !!!!!

Mood. :)

#StarWarsCelebration2019

[kingofthegxblins]

Check out this playlist on @8tracks: Goblin Fruit by moonrabbits.

[cheskaledisko]

testing, 1 2 3

[kingofthegxblins]

The concern with which Sarah spoke about the Labyrinth warmed the cockles of Jareth’s mangy, unkempt heart. The novelty of hearing a woman speak so candidly about how she cared for the Labyrinth and its denizens was not easily lost on him.

He could feel Bristen’s gaze on him once again at Sarah’s profession, but ignored him. The man knew him better than any other, and it was as much a comfort as it was a nuisance. He could not afford to let his emotions run loose at such a vulnerable time as this.

“By all means, do not wait up, Hovington,” he said blithely, taking this opportunity to further bastardize the dwarf’s name. “I am sure you have pressing business to attend to. Perhaps some new drapes for your abode by the Bog.” He felt a thrill of amusement at the antagonism, but it was quickly dampened by the reminder of Sarah’s presence and her likely disapproval. “But then again,” he added soberly, “Should you wish to stay and wait for our return, I wouldn’t know the difference.”

Hoggle bristled, as Jareth knew he would, and the king shot the creature a cheeky wink.

He led Sarah a few steps away from the dwarf and centered himself, calling on his powers to transport them across the realm. He turned to Bristen, Sarah’s hand remaining in his. “You know the protocols until I return?”

Bristen gave a single, firm nod. “Danu grant you strength, my Liege.”

Jareth nodded in return, then gave his attention to Sarah. Another thrill ran down his spine as he locked eyes with her, relishing the proximity they shared. He released her momentarily to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, drawing her nearer to him. “If you are ready, precious,” he murmured, his barely-there words more of a question than a statement. He drew his free hand away to summon a crystal, and without breaking eye contact, he threw the simmering orb up into the air, and they were gone.

xXx

His teacher had retired to the mountains some distance from the Goblin Kingdom well over two hundred years ago. Jareth hadn’t blamed him for this move, of course - the man was ancient, and had earned his retirement many times over by services rendered to the crown, not to mention his personal tutelage of Jareth.

Jareth had not been an easy student, by any means. His magic knew no bounds, and because of that, his arrogance exceeded it. He had been headstrong, impetuous, defiant and rash, and yet despite all of this, Nilrem had managed to mold Jareth into a sorcerer worthy of his own abilities, and adept enough to rule and protect a realm. Of course, it had taken many years for Jareth’s ungrateful self to realize the hard work that went into his education, but once he had become a man by Fae standards, he had been in Nilrem’s eternal debt.

But Nilrem was uninterested in the favors of kings. What he was interested in, however, was peace and quiet.

And, of course, apple brandy from the mortal village.

Jareth was interested in seeing what Sarah’s reaction would be to their little pit stop. While the existence of the safe haven for the adult wished-aways wasn’t exactly a secret, it wasn’t common knowledge, either. Jareth preferred to keep Virhaven as much a secret as was possible. The last thing the mortal denizens of the small hamlet needed was any other magical interference in their lives.

He did not visit very frequently. He had very few excuses to do so, one such being the excuse he used now to drop in on the humans. Each trip was bittersweet for the fae ruler, and a risk in and of itself. More than ever, he could not afford to spend time away from the Labyrinth. She was a deeply demanding mistress, and if it weren’t for the toll it would take on him, he would try and break the bond altogether, if only to be free.

When they set down at the gates just outside Virhaven, Jareth released Sarah. He brushed the magical debris from their travel off of his clothes, smoothing out any wrinkles that may have formed. “Now Sarah,” he began, “Some explanation may be in order. My old teacher, Nilrem, is a cantankerous fellow at the best of times, and will not thank us for interrupting his retirement. He lives in the mountains just beyond,” he said, gesturing to the range in the background, “So we will be stopping here to procure an offering that may make him more amenable to our questions.”

He took off towards the gates, continuing on with his explanation, confident to the point of arrogance that Sarah was hanging onto his every word, as well as keeping pace. “Mind you, he’s unlikely to be interested in anything these days. But,” he stopped short, turning to Sarah with a wicked gleam in his eye, “I consider myself to be rather convincing when I choose to be.” He gave her a smirk before continuing on.

“Your Majesty!” a voice rang out.

Jareth turned towards the hail, a genuine smile washing away the remnants of his devilish smirk. “Kingston!” He strode forward towards a dark-skinned man, raising a hand in greeting. Kingston quickly bowed his head in return, to which Jareth immediately tutted. “None of that, if you please. Sarah,” he called in dulcet tones, luring the girl to him, “I’d like you to meet this young man, the finest mortal chef whose fare I’ve ever had the pleasure of patronizing.”

Kingston shook his head modestly. “You flatter me unnecessarily, Your Majesty.”

“I do no such thing,” Jareth replied with a sniff. “If it serves your ego any, I’ll say that I’ve dined on very few mortal-made meals in my time, so the compliment is narrowly won.”

Kingston laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, that does even out my ego, thank you. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sarah,” Kingston added shyly, bowing to her as well. “You grace us with your presence. Tales of your victory in the Labyrinth have traveled here, and we are all impressed.” A shadow crossed over Kingston’s face. Jareth felt something akin to discomfort rise in his chest.

“Yes, yes, Sarah’s victory over my riddle-ridden homestead is a fine thing, tra la la,” Jareth said impishly. “I am sure she can regale you with her brave feats some other time, but I am afraid we are on a mission. I trust that Gallagher's wares are in fine form these days?”

Kingston smiled brightly. “The finest, Your Majesty. And as always, with our compliments, you must take whatever you wish.”

Jareth gave a single nod. “Your offer is a kind one, but I will, as always, pay as any one would.” He tipped his head to the man. “A pleasure, as always, Kingston.” He hooked his two fingers towards Sarah. “Come, Precious, time is of the essence.”

Labyrinth 2

    The rain pattered against the window in large splattering drops, drowning out the noise of the family gathering. Sarah Williams sat on the window seat in an uncomfortable position, trying not to forget her posture lest some aunt or grandmother reprimand her again. She wore a cream colored, long sleeved, fitted blouse that extenuated her figure in a way suitable for a college girl. She also wore black slacks and black, flat, mary-jane shoes. Her make up was light, but noticeable; a bit of eyeliner, mascara and red-tinted lip gloss, and she thought herself presentable.     Her gray-green eyes followed the swaying of the pine trees against the inky sky, their image contorted by the rivulets of water coming down the window. A brilliant flash of lightening broke her out of her reverie and she blinked a few times, coming back into the present. Glancing around the room anxiously, she saw almost her entire extended family mingling amongst themselves, some drink or another in hand. Her stepmother was busy clearing plates from the Easter table, just then catching the eye of the young woman.     “Oh Sarah, won’t you snap out of your newest day dream and come help with the dishes?” Irene asked impatiently. A question she had posed numerous times before.     “Yeah, of course. Sorry.” Sarah shook her head, sincerely frustrated with herself for not being more of a help that night. While the relationship between her and her stepmother had considerably softened over the last couple of years, she knew there was an impending string of complaints she would hear about her behavior that night.     Sarah had been withdrawn and unhappy the last few days, in a sensitive mood, and noticing the most depressing details; especially as she tried socializing with her relatives. Somehow, they never ceased to remind her of her own silliness or inadequacies, furthering how self conscious she really was. Other than that, she knew she could mostly blame the new stressors of college life, but there was something else bothering the girl entirely.     Lately she had been resenting the adult identity she was trying so hard to get comfortable with, finding herself disappointed with the realities of independent life. She was second-guessing herself in everything and feeling terribly lonely among her group of geeky friends and their handsy boyfriends. And to tack on to that, she had this dark, ugly butterfly flitting about her stomach, causing her to feel very high-strung; an omen of some future turmoil, she was sure, though she could not put her finger on what that could be.     And something about this night reminded her of the past. Another nerve-wracking day in history when a dangerous storm raged outside, when she was feeling similarly stressed and misunderstood just before finding her baby brother missing… No. She shoved the frequently-visited memory back with ease, having gotten so much practice with that already. It wasn’t real. That dream, that stupid play she had morphed into her own creation four years ago, was the last thing she needed to be thinking about right then.  That’s all it was, she had convinced herself, after all the pressure to grow up and be normal. A ridiculously intricate and vivid waking dream.  She always did have a wonderful imagination…     She rose and joined the other woman in cleaning up while the children of her cousins weaved between all the adults and furniture in the room, never not being in the way. She rolled her eyes as she reached across the table. For the past few years, Sarah had been trying valiantly to “grow up” and detach herself from her childish ways which garnered her so much ridicule from her peers and guardians alike. Especially when she had started implying that she had seen things, achieved things, been places that no one else had. It had been a difficult task to let those fierce beliefs of hers go, but she had done it; at least, mostly. Being a mature, normal woman truly was a goal of hers, and that goal demanded that she quit believing in things like the supernatural.     At the moment, though, she was almost jealous of her younger family members and their freedom to indulge in their imaginations- and their innocent nature. But she was nineteen now- basically an adult. And she was almost convinced that there was nothing she could possibly have in common with children or preteens. All the stories she used to read and write, all her comforting toys, all of her glorious costumes had either been given up or hidden away (except for the select few closest to her heart). Her room was now much emptier, decorated with tasteful furnishings and laden with school supplies. It made her feel like she was pretending even more than before. But if she wanted to be just like her other ordinary nineteen year old friends, she had to start acting like it, right?     The thunder following the lightening bolt shook the house, causing the children to scatter and squeal louder, chasing one another even faster. Hands full of tableware, Sarah blew her dark bangs from her eyes, shaking her head so the rest of the long strands would fall neatly behind her. She couldn’t bring herself to cut her hair, even now. The other girls in her freshman class at University all had stylish, edgy cuts, but she just couldn’t part with her natural, historical look. She had gotten it a little layered since it was ungodly thick and she didn’t want to look like a total outcast, but the pleas of her friends to get it highlighted always fell on deaf ears.     She pushed through the door into the kitchen, hoping no one would come out the other way, and found Toby sitting on the counter next to the sink, talking to their father.     “I told you I‘d win!”     “Yeah, yeah Toby, you won alright.“ Robert kindly responded, tousling his sons hair before picking up a stack of dishes to put away.     “I don’t know if it’s healthy for a five year old to be that good at video games.” Sarah interjected with her usual superior tone, placing her own pile of dishes next to the sink and starting to scrub them down.     “Sarah you should have seen it! I beat him in like 40 seconds, I just went Pow! Bam! Slam and then my special combos, and he was dead!” Toby’s eyes shone with excitement as he recounted the riveting experience. Nowadays, his expressions hardly ever failed in softening his big sister’s attitude. The corners of her mouth lifted a little bit as she “uhuh”-ed along to her kid brother’s story.     “Yeah, right. Go get me another washcloth.” She lifted her chin to indicate the drawer she meant and tried not to smile as Toby slid off the counter and immediately began helping her. They loved one another indescribably, and she was no where near resisting his demonic sweetness the way she was when she was fifteen. They dried the silverware together, bantering like siblings should. Then the doorbell rang.       Sarah knew who it was immediately. The storm might have been raging outside, but inside the house it had just been the calm before; her mother’s entrance brought the tempest inside. Robert stopped what he was doing and tensely made his way to the front door to greet her. The house went silent for a moment, aside from Merlin‘s barking; then the rest of the family began awkwardly greeting the estranged ex-Mrs. Williams. The situation was especially weird, as more than half of the people in the house were on Irene’s side of the family. Jeremy, her new husband, was with her of course. A bemused expression graced his face as his slightly drunk wife hugged everyone.     “See, Grandma Williams? I tooold you we’d make it tonight before it got too late. You doubted me but here we are. What’d we miss? Where’s Sarah?” The thunder boomed again. Sarah closed her eyes, now understanding her doom-and-gloom feeling from before. Toby looked up at her with concern.     Linda had always been Sarah’s favorite person, her role-model in all aspects of life. She had always wanted nothing more than to move in with her and be an actress, just like her and Jeremy. But Irene had been right, no matter how many times Sarah had fiercely denied it. Linda had chosen her career over being there for her daughter. And Sarah had finally come to understand that.     She wasn’t one of those bitter, divorced kids- well, she was a little, but perhaps her maturity had shone through most in this aspect of her life. She understood that her mother had made the best choice for herself. That she wasn’t meant to be a stay-at-home mom, that she had big dreams and a big… man to chase. A life outside her family. And as a result, Sarah had simply grown closer to her father. Irene would never be any sort of replacement, of course, but Linda wasn’t that reliable of a mother to begin with, so there was no tension there.     Now that Sarah was older, Linda had the knack for showing up at the house randomly to take Sarah out shopping or to other girly activities, with the intention of sprucing her up. ‘Modernizing’ her, as she called it. This was uncomfortable enough for Sarah, but Linda’s uninvited presence was what usually set Irene off, and more often than not the two women got very catty with one another. Sarah had hoped this particular family function could go smoothly, without that volatile situation since she had already been feeling awful, but Linda and Jeremy had been invited. And here they were. Two hours late, loud, and a little under the influence. Maybe they would get tired soon and leave.     “Is that Linda?“ Came Toby’s little voice. Sarah looked down at Toby and nodded, taking his hand and silently walking toward the door.  Pasting a strained smile on her face, she pushed through and took in the sight of her aunt pouring her mother a glass of wine.     “Hi mom! I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.” Sarah began. Linda enthusiastically replied just like she had to her ex-mother-in-law, defending her past actions as usual. The crowd quietly went back to socializing. Mother and daughter sat down together, and Toby took a seat on Sarah’s lap. The two caught up for a few minutes before Irene saw fit to call Toby over to her, looking none to happy about the situation. The boy reluctantly did as he was told. Sarah pushed her long tresses behind her ears and continued talking, but Irene’s action had caught Linda’s attention immediately. It was only seconds before the opening comments began.     “What’s wrong, Irene? I thought you were happy that the kids were finally bonding.” Came Linda’s argumentative tone.     “Linda. I’m not starting with you tonight.”     “YOU’RE not starting with ME? As though I’ve said anything deliberately rude? I was just saying, Toby looked perfectly happy with Sarah just now.”     Irene scoffed. Another flash of lightening lit up the yard, followed by the noise.     “Mommy?” Came Toby’s unsure voice. As a child, he was especially sensitive to the unease of everyone in the room as the women’s voices began to grow hostile. Robert and Jeremy were already making their way over to the women.     “It’s alright sweetie,” Irene began with an exaggeratedly coddling tone. “Linda’s just in that awful mood she always gets in when she’s been drinking.”     “Oh my Gooodddd…” Sarah rubbed her temples.     “I know you did not just accuse me of being a drunk. Listen, Irene, are you TRYING to ruin Easter for our children?” Linda retorted.     “Ladies…” Robert interjected. The room was silent again as all the cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents waited for the imminent, traditional explosion.     “No, Robert, no. Everyone’s wondering the same thing. Let your wife answer for her bitchiness.” Linda pointed at Irene before bringing her wine glass to her lips. Irene just stared, mouth agape before suddenly moving toward the other woman as though she was about to strike her. Then, she remembered Toby next to her and took a step back, her expression all rage.     “I am not dealing with this anymore. Linda, this is the last time you come to my house and disrespect me like that.” Irene said as calmly as she could manage.     “Oh, so now its YOUR house?” Linda replied.     Sarah slowly rose out of her chair, her cheeks turning red, her eyes filling with hot tears. Robert looked sympathetically at his daughter, searching for the right words to stop the fight before it got any worse. Unfortunately it was far too late.     An explosion of sentences laced with profanities spilled from Linda’s lips, in harmony with the thunder from outside. Irene began yelling back and Toby covered his ears and began to cry. The husbands did their best to diffuse the situation, as did the rest of the family present. Some jumped into the conversation to defend either woman, others tried to follow Sarah up the stairs only to be politely asked to please NOT. And so another, even more public war broke out in the Williams household.     It was the bane of Sarah’s existence. Why, oh why couldn’t they just act like a normal loving family for once? They had always wanted Sarah to assimilate instead of hide inside her fantasies, so why couldn’t they give her some kind of incentive? The farther away she got from the shouting the faster Sarah went, running up the stairs, breathing hard. It was all so embarrassing and awful. She felt like a kid, like a failure, with a dysfunctional, shameful family. This was supposed to be spring break, a time for fun and relaxing, a time to indulge in more grown up pleasures. Intellectual conversation, reading, cooking, concert-going, dancing. And this is what she had to deal with instead.     She groaned as she heard Toby start to wail from downstairs, accompanied by a “See what you’ve done? Again?!” from Irene. It was Sarah’s habit now to calm him down and solve his problems, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about his confusion and discomfort at that moment.     The thunder crashed outside again loudly and a new torrent of rain splashed against the windows of the upper floor. Lightening lit up the white-carpeted rooms with blue flashes, casting crazy shadows on the walls as Sarah made her way down the hall to her room. She expertly ignored the tricks her mind began to play on her using the dark forms dancing around the furniture.     “This is insanity. Always the same thing, always this crap! And I’m stuck in the middle of it! …It‘s not fair!” She exclaimed, running a hand through her hair and trying not to cry. She hadn’t said those words or felt this way in so long, having been told just how immature it sounded by a multitude of influential people. But right now she didn’t care how she sounded or how she looked. She’d rather be anywhere besides that cruel and unusual battlefield.     Another thunder clap shook the house and she gave another frustrated shout, hitting the wall with her fist as she passed Toby’s door. Her warpath was abruptly halted when she saw that the balcony doors in her brother’s room were wide open, the curtains flying about and the rain freely pouring onto the furniture. Her first instinct was irritation and she quickly wiped her eyes and marched in, reaching out for the doors and shutting them angrily, thoughtlessly. Then, she paused, being hit with a sort of dejavu. She glanced at her hand clutching the window lock, then past the glass at the torrential rain outside. Why was this so familiar?     Oh. That’s right. The open balcony doors, the violent storm… This was where it had begun, where, four years ago, the frightening but beautiful Goblin King came to pay her a visit, where he stole her brother and issued her an impossible challenge. It was just past these doors that she set out on her big adventure in the Labyrinth.

Sarah let go of the lock slowly and sighed, shaking her head, her expression venomous. Quit thinking of that crap  and don’t be ridiculous, she thought. I dreamed that entire thing. None of them- none of it was real. Just a damn play. It always was.     She turned from the window, only to be hit with another wall of angry sound coming from downstairs. She sighed exasperatedly again, her face cinching with frustration; at her family, at her own naivety, at Toby’s crying. Another roll of thunder had Sarah clutching her head, breathing deeply again, trying her very mature method of getting a grip.      Then, the balcony doors burst open once more, and she was hit with cold rain and harsh wind. She screamed in time with the women downstairs. This was real life. This frustration, imperfection, discomfort, unhappiness. This was what grownups knew. There was no such thing as magic, or happy endings, or mysterious kings who fell in love with special girls and granted them wonderful powers. She smiled bitterly and opened her mouth with the intention of cementing these thoughts in her brain once and for all. She spoke calmly, surely.

“I wish I was anywhere but here.” With that, Sarah Williams disappeared into thin air.