Catch-up: Sarah is Toby's cub scout leader. She'd hoping to reconnect with a increasingly distance Toby before she moves away to another city for work. They are away a camp in Canada, when she (jokingly) wishes away the unruly campers to the Goblin King to try and scare them. Then she refuses to take them back to Jareth's surprise! Jareth returns the favour by sending his goblins as replacement campers. Hijinks ensue. They argue over the situation, with Jareth discovering that Toby is amongst them and could be used as bargaining chip—only to have Toby decide to remain Underground. He feels at home in the Labyrinth, which to everyone's shocks has chosen him and rejected Sarah.

And here we resume our tale... in which, eager to resume their banter, Jareth happens upon Sarah bathing alone at night—fully naked.

"Happiness is having a scratch for every itch."

Ogden Nash

For a moment Jareth simply stood there—comically dumbstruck.

He'd be a liar to say he'd never imagined her naked in recent days. Her bikini had not left much to the imagination, but suggested enough that he'd been helpless not to fill in the blanks. Her hands were buried in the mass of her hair, giving him a completely unfettered view

Limned by moonlight, she was more than he'd envisioned. A sea of tanned skin, broken only by the paler triangles over each breast. They worked like a bullseye to the dusky pink nipples her suit had hidden. The water must be cold despite the warm night, for they were tightly furled.

How they might look under different circumstances, his mind supplied.

He watched with growing interest as the water beaded on them, before sweeping over the generous swells, clinging to the flat expanse of her bare torso to the other fascinating patch of pale skin below. She was neatly trimmed, exposing the smooth folds of her pussy.

Her body was lithely muscled and toned. She led an active lifestyle—a runner maybe. Jareth found he suddenly rather liked the thought of her running. Him chasing.

The soap from the small white bar precariously balanced on the wooden wall, had left every inch of her skin slick and glistening. One hand slid down to smooth away more soap across her chest. She cupped her breasts—perfunctorily and with purpose—but as he watched her fingers sweep away the suds, he envisioned himself doing a far more thorough job.

He shifted uncomfortably and wondered if he was growing soft, to be so easily captivated by a mortal in recent days. Though soft was clearly the wrong word. He adjusted his too-tight pants with a grimace. In truth, he'd not been so easily stirred since he was a green lad. Had she any magic, he'd fear he was ensorcelled.

Sarah's eyes were still closed, and the unguarded, blissful look on her face suggested the crude shower had ensnared all her senses.

In that moment, he vowed to coax that look from her himself. He also decided the game had just changed to keeps. In truth, he'd already accepted it as fate, but now he had no doubts.

Still… he should say definitely something.

Standing there like some pathetic deviant was never his style. He was a far more hands-on fellow, after all. But all the words he could think of were not ones she'd want to hear. And he was fairly certain saying anything all at would make her stop what she was doing, and wouldn't that be a shame?

Luck was against him—as it had been since she'd invited him back into her life—for her eyes opened. Unseeing for a moment under the fall of water, and then widening; pupils blown as they strained to decipher the shadow he must present.

Her arms snapped down protectively and crossed her chest, but he did not think she'd yet realized he could see perfectly over the wall. Nor did he think she'd yet identified it was him. He could retreat and save both his pride and some plausible deniability. She loosed one arm long enough to turn off the shower.

"Fred?" her voice held a telling note of unease and anger, and he decided this Fred deserved a future visit from him.

Jareth closed the distance to bely her fear and replace it with another one. Retreat was not his style, and he'd never miss an opportunity to cross swords with her—his own helpfully pointing the way. He came to rest a few feet from the shower wall, close enough that she'd could make out it was him but not in striking distance.

Recognition shocked her into a rare silence and he could see a faint blush paint her cheeks.

"What are you doing here?!" she demanded, her voice strangely high-pitched and bordering on a rather charming squeal. She was nervous. He liked that.

There were so many things he could answer. All of which would get him in trouble. But he liked trouble too.

"Admiring the tiny mole under your left breast." As his words registered, her eyes sizing up the meagre wooden wall with alacrity, he calmly retrieved her forgotten towel and held it out solicitously. "Though please not on my account."

She snatched it without thanks and wrapped it around herself—unintentionally giving him a brief view of her rear. He'd very much like to sink his teeth into those lush cheeks.

Once safely covered, she recovered some of her mettle. "I had no idea you were so lonely you needed to spy on women bathing to get your jollies."

Ah, there it is.

He'd expected her accusation, though he had no idea what jollies were or how watching her would procure them. "And I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist. Unless mortals have a very different concept of privacy." He raised a brow. "Anyone might have seen, Sarah."

Her blush returned. And now he could say he knew with authority just how far down it stretched.

"Everyone here is asleep. I was alone."

He rather liked her on the defensive. History had proven she was far too dangerous on the other side.

"But were you expecting someone… Fred, was it?" What better place to go fishing than at summer camp? "You called his name." Call mine next. Preferably over and over again.

Her face darkened almost immediately. "Hardly. But I wouldn't put it past the creep to try. Wouldn't be the first time." Jareth decided Fred was most certainly getting a visit from him. Then her eyes swept over him accusingly. "Speaking of creeps. How long were you there?"

The truth was always the deadliest weapon, he'd found. "Long enough to know that I would offer much watch you bathe each and every night if you invited me."

Her lips parted in a silent 'oh'.

He'd knocked her off balance again. And it was far from a lie. He wondered if she understood how much power he'd given her with that admission. Because he was determined it would not be the last time she stood before him naked, clothed only moonlight.

"Don't say that," her voice hitched tellingly. And he could tell she had no idea—at least not yet—how to turn his truth against him.

"Why?" he pressed his advantage. "Would you rather I lie? Pretend I didn't see all of that sun-kissed skin of yours. The bruises and scrapes on your legs that tell me you've recently run through the forest, probably laughing and joyous like a wood nymph. Pretend I didn't see the water roll over your pretty breasts and imagined my hands on them? My mouth on them."

Her breath broke again. He could see a thousands biting responses flash behind her eyes but she remained silent, so he took another step forward—his hands splayed wide like he was harmless. He'd lie a little after all. "Or maybe you'd rather I use my mouth elsewhere, I wonder?"

She exhaled with a noisy little huff he would have liked to steal from her mouth. The door was now between them and there was no way out save past him. He saw the moment she realized the same.

"What are you doing?"

"Doing? So far, I've done nothing." But he let his gloved hands come to rest on the top of the hinged door. "Are you inviting me to do something, Sarah?"

"I am not having this conversation with you right now." Her eyes flicked to her clothes and then back to him. "I need to get dressed."

He clucked his tongue. "That's right. You have such a keen sense of fairness if I recall. That's not fair. It's not fair, et cetera, et cetera. And here you are, bare but for a towel, while I'm fully clothed." When he drew first one glove off and then the other, her eyes widened, fixing on hands, and then flying back to his face as they rose to undo his vest.

"What are you doing?" This time she sounded strangled.

"Making." One button. "Things." Another. "Fair." He shrugged the leather vest off, letting it drop to the grass, and then tugged the tails of his shirt out.

"Stop!"

"Stop making things fair?" His brows rose in mock surprise? His shirt joined his vest and gloves. "Then you'd prefer I retain advantage over you? I accept."

She pulled a face at him—irritation clear—but her eyes swept over the smooth, unblemished planes of his chest nonetheless. She'd seen him on the dock but circumstances were different then. Under the fall of night, he knew he was particularly beautiful to look at. Most dangerous things were.

And yet it was surprisingly gratifying to have her eyes on him. To see them darken with desire. He'd like to sate it if she only knew to ask.

"You know that's not what I meant." Her hands clutched the towel tighter. "Stop getting naked."

He paused, fingers having just flicked his fly open. "Now those are three words I'm certain I've never heard before. I'm not sure I understand your meaning."

"You know exactly what I mean. Let me pass."

"My eyes are up here, Sarah." He was rewarded by another furious blush. He knew that she could see his evidence of his erection in his pants. He was not the kind to feel shame over something so natural. He ate when he was hungry. Slept when he was tired. Fucked when the inclination struck.

He wondered if he should tell her that with his superior hearing, he could tell how fast her heart was beating. His nostrils flared. And know that it was not only from fear. He could play the gentleman though; he headed her words—letting go his pants and kicked his boots off instead. When he unhooked the door, she spooked fully and banged back into the weathered wooden wall. A flash of irritation crossed her face and he suspected it was with herself. Her head turned, eying the wall, and he half-thought she was considering trying to vault over it. He'd enjoy watching her attempt.

Jareth slid the hook back into place behind him, but kept his distance until he'd gauged her next move. When she did nothing but stare at him, outrage and curiosity warring on her face, he reached over her head and turned the water back on.

Ye gods, it was bloody cold.

It must be sourced straight from the lake itself. Or a glacier straight from Hades. He was thankful that he was not mortal, else he might have embarrassed himself.

Still, after the initial shock it became surprisingly refreshing. A balm for the thick, almost cloying humidity of the midsummer night.

Jareth wasn't certain he'd ever showered in pants before, nor that he would recommend it going forward, but he was confident the general effect was still there.

And he'd heeded her words. Surely, that should count for something.

Tipping his face back into the spray, he sensed her eyes slide over him. He kept his closed to encourage her exploration. Let her look. Let her itch to touch. And by Morrigan's tits, let her succumb to the bloody temptation.

Through his fanned lashes, he caught her tracking the rivulets of the water run down his chest to disappear into the opened channel of his pants—slung precariously low on his hips.

Sarah was still pressed to the wall, not unlike a wild animal cornered in a cage—weighing if it should run or bite.

He hoped she bit so he could too.

He ought to feel guilty about interrupting what was no doubt a rare moment of peace for her. No doubt his goblins were keeping things as spectacularly-fucking-awful as her brats were keeping things for him. But there were many things he ought to do—like leave her be—that he didn't.

And objectively speaking, she deserved whatever discomfort he chose to inflict. She'd turned his world upside down and inside out in the last few days. He still wasn't convinced the Not-Toby child wasn't some pint-sized demon from hell she'd summoned with the express purpose of annoying him. There was no way mere mortals had spawned that child and suffered it to live.

He likewise knew she'd regain her footing soon enough and she'd make him suffer for this stunt too. He'd best make the most of the opportunity so long as the magic allowed. She'd not called for him since the first time, and twice in one day was stretching it.

It was draining to remain above with a wish anchoring him—like flying against the wind. If he played his cards right, she'd grab hold.

"Please pass the soap."

"W-what?"

"The soap, Sarah." He cracked one eye open in amusement. He'd pay much to know what she'd been thinking.

"You're really going to-to just bathe in front of me?" Incredulity succeeded her embarrassment. But then she handed the soap over as though daring him.

Never dare a Goblin King.

"Naturally. You bathed in front of me."

"I did not!" Her outrage was hot as the water was cold. "You spied on me like some peeping Tom."

"Tom, Fred… It's hard to keep the many men in your life straight. And if I spied, I am at least inviting you to do the same."

"I don't want to watch you bathe!" Her eyes proved her a liar; tracking his movements as he worked up a lather.

"Ah, you'd like to help then.: His teeth glinted in the moonlight. "I accept." He held the soap back towards her.

She made a wordless sound of irritation. He imagined the Not-Toby heard it rather frequently. "I do NOT want to watch you bathe or help you bathe."

He leaned forward, one hand settling onto the wooden wall next to her. It brought his face out of the spray and close to hers—much like he'd done in the tunnels so many years before. He let his gaze linger long enough that she could feel it. "Then what would you like to do me, Sarah? You seem to speak in riddles."

He saw more possibilities flash behind her eyes. Several involving bloodshed, he had not doubt. She could run, but to get by him she'd have to touch him to do it.

She didn't run, but instead tipped her head up defiantly. He felt like a mirror to the first time she'd shown him that jut of her chin. He'd had wicked thoughts then too, but she'd been too young to keep. Not any longer.

"I suppose you do need to bathe after your bog flooded." Her nose wrinkled dramatically. "I thought I detected something but thought it was the kybos."

She'd surprised him again.

He couldn't stop his bark of laughter, even if the bog was still a sore point. He was trying for seductive—half-naked, soaking wet, and inches from her for the taking—so of course she brought up latrines. It was as irritating as it was intriguing. As intriguing as the faint summer freckles on her face. A constellation of stars on her skin he'd like to memorize.

Damn whatever hold she had over him. He'd pay her in kind.

Eyes never leaving her face, he tugged the overhead tap off by the rusted chain, and kept his arm fixed on the wall. "I suppose I need a towel now to dry off. If we are to keep things fair, of course." His voice was equal parts honey and spice. "Yours looks big enough for two."

"Fat chance," she hissed. But he saw her breath hitch—the sharp, shallow swallow.

Either way the tryst would end soon. Far sooner than he wanted. The magic would snap him back or she'd end the game with violence. Sometimes you have to dive into dark waters. He dipped his head faster than she could react and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse, flicking his tongue out to taste beads of lake water than dried on her skin.

Another fractured breath and a quiver she couldn't hide. She raised a hand to his collarbone to push him off, but he sucked gently on the spot—stilling her. His other hand came to lightly rest on her nape. Like he was gentling her. Nimble fingers carded through the tangled mess of damp hair to better angle her head. He could hear her heart thunder—louder than the mournful birds on the lake. Louder than the crickets chirping in the tall grass.

He licked up to the line of her jaw, and then along it until he caught the corner of her mouth. She exhaled against his face and the hand on his collarbone tightened for a moment. He told himself he'd let her go if she pushed him away. Maybe he even believed he would. That he'd be that noble for a chance. He'd never know, because instead her fingers curled into his neck, sliding against the slickness of his skin to feather into the damp hair against it.

It was invitation enough.

He slanted him mouth over hers, tugging at the plushness of her lower lip just enough to tease. She tasted of the lake there too. And something tart she'd recently eaten. Wild blueberries maybe. He barely had to coax before her lips parted. He shuddered when he felt the tip of her tongue sweep against his boldly. Just as eager to taste.

She made a tiny sound at the back of her throat, so slight she was probably unaware, but it shot straight to his throbbing cock—still painfully confined by his pants.

Her other hand splayed against his chest for a moment—feeling the wild beat of his heart before slipping to his back to tug him closer. Her blunt nails gently scraped along his spine. He obliged, closing the scant distance between them, and seeing the moment she felt him press into her belly through the scant material between them.

For a moment she pulled back, sucking in a reedy breath. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight and he wondered how he'd ever called them cold and cruel. Not when they burned brighter than Greek fire. He wondered if his time had run out and she'd sober. Instead, her hands tightened and she drew his head back to hers—the kiss turning more starved and less refined.

If she felt the damp towel slip, she didn't stop to fix it. She definitely noticed when the hand at her nape dropped and cupped her bare breast. She froze when he swept a thumb across the tightened furl of her nipple and then rewarded him with a tremble that made his cock pulse again. The pink bud sharpened even further beneath his deft fingers, and when he rolled the heavy weight of her breast in his palm greedily, she groaned into his mouth and nipped at his lips.

So lost in the feel of her, it took him a moment to realize he was rocking against her like some untried lad. She didn't seem to mind. He wondered if he should press his luck and take her breast in his mouth. She'd taste like the lake there too, he thought, but sweeter than any blueberry he'd ever suckled.

The towel was still trapped between them at her waist. He released his hold on the wall and settled it with a soothing stroke on her hip. With his long fingers he snagged the edge of the towel and began to hitch it up slowly. Not fast enough to startle.

He imagined having her right there—beneath the stars. Both their bodies smelling of the lake and woods and smoke. And when he'd wrung such exquisite pleasure from her, she'd not deny him when he took her back. She could reunite with her brother once he let her leave his bed. He'd send the rest of the brats home for free.

Fate is a cruel mistress and an even better cockblocker.

The stretch of his magic snapped him back even as he tugged the cursed towel free. He'd been so lost in the feel of her and the taste of her mouth, he'd not even felt the first inklings.

And then he was back in his bedroom. Cock painfully hard and a soggy towel hanging from his hand. He tried to return immediately, throwing all his power against it, but he'd already stretched the rules too thin.

His frustration was tempered only by the image of Sarah bathed in starlight burned into his mind. No matter what else happened, that was one thing she could never take back.

The next morning Sarah wondered if the blush was going to remain stained on her face forever. As would the phantom whisper of hands be etched into her skin. She might have pretended it was nothing but fever dream, save for the fact her towel was missing. That she'd dressed, shakily and confused, before trudging back to her tent.

What the hell had she'd been thinking letting that happen? Surely the correct course of action to catching someone seeing you naked was NOT to let him play with your tits.

Nor stand there and watch him undress—well, mostly—and join you in the shower. That was the plot of a Bleu Nuit program, not something sensible young women did. She wondered if the wild blueberries she'd eaten on the way to the lake had been toxic.

To make it all worse, he'd just left her!

She scratched absently. And she seemed to be developing a rash from all the stress. She'd woken in a sweaty, itchy mess with a mood that matched.

But duty called. And the camp staff were still under the illusion the goblins were children—albeit more hideous and unruly than most—and the program should run as planned. Which was probably a good thing. Idle goblins are the worst kind of goblins, and the bar is pretty low to begin with.

The remaining leaders she passed who were still able-bodied and upright looked shell-shocked, but committed. They should all earn a special badge, she thought. "I survived Goblins at Summer Camp."

Which would be quite the feat in and of itself if archery practice was anything to go by.

"Walk it off, Chris!" she called jokingly—quoting her favourite movie. "'Tis only a flesh wound." Then winced when she saw that it quite literally was. He would definitely need stitches.

Her pack seemed to be slightly more well-behaved and she half-wondered if they were under strict instructions not to cause her bodily harm. Archery was apparently not much of a thing in the Underground. Goblins preferred cannons and chickens for their artillery. The Canada Geese had proven rather violently averse to being used as projectiles, so the goblins were willing to give arrows a shot. Sarah went through the motions of teaching them if only to mitigate as many injuries as possible.

She lined up a shot in demonstration, the fletch of the arrow whispering by her ear as she took aim at the target.

Exhale. One, two, three…

"You're too high." His voice feathered the fine hairs escaping her pony tail at her neck, and she startled—pulling to the right as she released with a thwang. She missed the target entirely by a good few feet and Aurora Anastasia by only a few inches

"Try not to kill my Goblins, Sarah," the Goblin King admonished wryly. "I've thus far show great restraint in not maiming yours."

She scowled up at him for his trick, but felt her face flush again in a way entirely unrelated to the blistering midday sun.

How exactly does one manage a Goblin King who has seen you naked? There was certainly no scout manual covering that. Be Prepared, my ass.

Jareth had clearly clocked her blush too, which made it all the more infuriating. She wondered if he would agree to stand in front of the target for her next shot.

Defiant, she pulled another arrow from the standing quiver and reoriented herself to repeat the missed shot. Whether out of curiosity or self-preservation he fell silent. His attention on her was unnerving, but archery was one skill she seemed to have a knack for. She'd even taken extra classes in the evening over the last year to improve.

She lined up her shot again, paused to see if he'd distract her again, and then exhaled and released. Thwack. Just off dead centre but very solidly in the distant bullseye. She couldn't help the smug grin that followed, nor the rush of pride when her pack of goblins cheered enthusiastically. Even the one she'd almost shish-kabobbed.

Sarah wasn't sure why it mattered that he saw she was capable, only that it was. That despite royally fucking up when it came to her brother, she had skills.

Or perhaps it was to reclaim some lost ground which she'd lost last night.

He clapped. "I can't help but think there was a warning in that, Sarah."

She cocked a brow at him. "Do you need a warning?"

"No." His mouth curled into a calculating grin. "I wouldn't heed it anyway. But I may need another midnight shower this evening."

"Don't."

"Don't what?" he asked, the picture of innocence had you not known better.

"Make this more… complicated than it needs to be." That hadn't been the word she was looking for. Confusing wasn't quite right either. Conflicting. Concerning. Chaotic. Careless. Charged. Clandestine… Contagious. And that was just the Cs.

"I wasn't aware what happened last night was 'complicated'. I wanted you." He inclined his head. "You wanted me."

"And then you left." She hadn't meant to make it sound accusatory. She hadn't meant to say it at all. It might be construed as her being disappointed. And that revealed far more than she had last night.

"Only because the magic yoked me back. Ask me to stay next time." His voice deepened—turned coaxing. Suggestive and enticing. "Call for me. Or better yet come with me."

Sarah stared at him owlishly.

"For a visit," he amended, even if he didn't mean it. Not remotely. "See for yourself that your precious brother remains unharmed. Happy even."

It was the wrong thing to say. She sobered immediately. "He can't stay. I don't care, I won't let him."

"I believe you expressed that view emphatically yesterday. Believe me, I would happily return him. The incessant chattering of his, though far less grating than the Not-Toby one, has already worn thin. But it is not for you or I to decide it. As I said, the Labyrinth chose him and he chose it."

Sarah scratched her arm irritably. "Then make it un-choose him."

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Old magics are notoriously tetchy about being ordered." He gave her a sly grin. "No wonder it doesn't like you."

She felt the sting of his words. She didn't even think he'd meant it as anything but teasing. Still… it hurt not to be wanted. Even by shifting stones, apparently. Moreover, it hurt most to have Toby choose it over her. Even if it made him happy. Incessant chattering? Some days she had to perform miracles to get him to speak.

Sarah ran a hand through her tangled pony tail in frustration, feeling immensely selfish and childish and mad at the entire universe. Like she was 15 all over again. "Why are you here if not to give my brother back?"

"To finish what we started."

That shook her from more maudlin thoughts.

He chuckled. "Not that." His eyes slid over her sweat-stained tank top like he could see right through it. "I'm not adverse to you convincing me though."

"Pervert," she hissed, though it was missing some of its usual venom.

"Nudist."

She threw the bow down and stepped into him. "What do you want?"

He didn't retreat. "What a dangerous question. Are you sure you want the answer?"

Sparing her a response, they were interrupted by the tug of a goblin on the Goblin King's cloak.

"You'd better have a very good reason for interrupting me right now, Hobnail."

The goblin bowed. "Actually sire, it's Whisker Biscuit now. Nice, ain't it?" He beamed up at Sarah. "Got the idea from 'er."

Jareth's lids twitched. "Just what have you been showing my goblins."

"Hardly. He got it from a book." She didn't add that it was her book. The one he'd been reading on the dock to provoke her.

He turned to his goblin. "What is it Hob—er, Whisker Biscuit?"

"Just offering my report while you're here, sire."

Sarah mouthed 'more spying' at him, but he waved the goblin on.

"Let's see… 'wese went on something called a 'hike' yesterday. We pushed Snarffle off a cliff." Jareth nodded like this was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. "Erm, she wondered what you tasted like," Whisker Biscuit rhymed off on fingers that did not match the numbers.

"No, I—"

"That she now has the answer to," Jareth replied with no small amount of relish. "She had no complaints."

"Oh," Whisker Biscuit turned to Sarah. "Did he taste like wieners then? I bet he tasted like wieners."

Now, in the goblin's defence, that was the highest compliment he could think of. Boiled hotdogs were the new gold standard for goblin taste buds. Whisker Biscuit would love to get a juicy wiener in him again. Surely Sarah felt the same. He could have no idea how his comment would be received.

The Goblin King frowned, trying to decipher if he should be insulted or lean into. Sarah was mortified, but trying not to laugh at the more juvenile implications. She felt the day rapidly spinning out of her control once again.

Misconstruing the lull as an expectant one, he hastily added, "And she asked us if you'd hurt 'em. The wee mortals. Worried they wasn't safe er something." Duty discharged, he bowed and gladly excused himself.

A wooden silence descended. The kind that leaves splinters.

"You wondered if I would hurt children?" It was difficult to tell from the inflection in his voice if he was blessedly angry or merely disappointed. It was clear their easy banter was gone when he whirled on her. "Perhaps you should have considered that little slice before you wished your charges—your brother—to me."

Before she could say anything in her defence, he raised a warning finger. "Be mindful what kind of monster you make me, Sarah, lest I decide to become it."

He was gone in the next beat.

It was only later that afternoon she realized that of her list of troubles and stressors—Toby being paramount—one cause was more mundane. The raised welts had presented on Lord Chad Blakely the III first. When Sarah inspected the whinging, furiously scratching and generally miserable goblin, she'd immediately stopped scratching herself—needing no field guide to confirm. The shower had likely help to disperse some of the oil, but there was no mistaking the distinctive rash that was beginning to appear on her own skin.

Both she and Lord Chad left the nurse's station a short while later liberally coated in pink. It had taken some very stern words on her part to stop the other goblins from licking them like a lollipop.

It was even later still that a question—perhaps one that no had ever dared wonder—was also answered.

Goblin Kings get poison ivy too.

AN: The unseasonably warm temperatures for February here made me want to revisit this story again. I'm sorry it's been so long, but I am working through updating my WIPs. Thanks for hanging in there.

I am undeniably playing fast and loose with poison ivy here. (I do not recommend getting it, it is unpleasant). It's highly unlikely that Sarah would have transferred it to Jareth in the shower. Washing away the oil is key. But something, something I can do what I want.

Pink refers to Calamine lotion. A sort of liquid-y cream you put on itchy skin—just in case anyone is unfamiliar. It dries in a very distinct pale pink colour that literally matches NO one's skin tone on the planet.

Credit: The "Try not to kill my goblins" is 100 percent an unrepentant lift from the 1996 'Emma' with Gwyneth Paltrow. Jeremy Northam's 'Knightley' character says "Try not to kill my dogs" to Emma when her arrow flies wide. That movie is a gem.

I've also decided if we ever get another cat (we have three… and a 100lbs dog, a bearded dragon, a turtle and a fish) I will name it Whisker Biscuit. You heard it here first.

Side note: Anyone else watch 'Rings of Power' and are now shipping Galadriel and Halbrand (no spoilers for others) hard core? Sorry Mr. Tolkien, but I have no shame. NONE AT ALL. Celeborn who? We ship *name redacted* now!