Author's Rambling:
SO here I am again, writing some fanfiction to avoid doing anything productive and/ or school related. I have approximately 20 different ideas for Laby fanfic hanging around but, as it rarely goes anywhere, there is very little to show for my favourite pairing. This was written for the LiveJournal community "64_damn_prompts" (multi-fandom and any type of media, if you're interested). I plan on doing all 64 prompts as Labyrinth vignettes within the same timeline/ universe but they're not necessarily going to be in order or have any sort of over-arching plot other than: 'See Sarah. See Sarah run. See Jareth running after her." so if you're looking for a multi-chapter epic, you probably won't find it in this fic. This is really much more of a character study gone terribly awry. Well, if you've read all of this, enjoy the fic and please REVIEW!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to this work of fanfiction. If I did the original sources would have a lot more adult-type touching.
By-the-by: The poem (which I also do not own) is "Detroit Annie Hitchhiking" by Judy Grahn.
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"Time; Out of Mind"
Chapter One: Parallels (and an out-of-order poem).
Prompt: #14 chess
When she is cruel, she is very very cool
and when she is kind she is lavish
Sarah often mused on how strange her life was, how wondrous and extraordinary. Usually, such thoughts were secret things that she hid even from the mirror and examined only during the darkest hours of night. However, there were odd times in large crowds in which she was overcome by the urge to grab the nearest stranger and cry to them: "I abandoned my dreams! I have seen magic - been entranced and repulsed by it in equal parts - and ultimately overcame it! But oh," she would pause dramatically, "how spectacular my dreams!" Thankfully, she possessed enough social dignity to refrain, but the temptation was there.
And so it went that the only people in Sarah's life who knew anything of Her Story - and small parts of it at best - were the two people closest to her: Toby and her best friend, Sean. There were other stories - other men - after the events of the Labyrinth, of course, but all seemed one-dimensional in comparison to the rich landscape of the first fairy-tale.
She knew it was unfair of her to compare mortal men to the Goblin King - what with his magic and tight pants and all - but even so he haunted her in the most tranquil of moments. 'This could be better,' her traitorous heart whispered, 'this could be more.' She would turn away from him then - be he Steve or John or Bryan - and stare blankly at the wall praying for a heart cruel enough to prolong the lie her life had become.
'You could be a queen,' her dreams taunted while she tossed and turned recklessly, 'you could be his queen. Just swallow your pride, Sarah. Say The Words and everything you've ever wanted could be yours.' When she woke she was never sure if it was his voice or hers that echoed these dreadful prophesies, but under the harsh light of day it was easier to hold her head high and pretend, "Yes, of course everything is alright."
However, everything was so far from alright it was completely wrong and everyday the chasm between Sarah and what she thought of as "the rest of the Aboveground" widened. Somehow, instinctively, she knew that her strange shifting emotions would be accepted, perhaps welcomed, in the ever-changing hedge-mazes and oubliettes. Even now she could hear every creature and stone calling to her, begging her to come home, but pride would not allow Jareth to rule even one inch of her and so she half-lived both on and off stage until she could bear the burden of it no longer. There was no magic to be found in-between acts that held no meaning for her and so she took very few roles and none that were anything above some silly avant-garde protest piece.
Sarah found that she ultimately did not regret denying Jareth - she was cruel, after all and what he had been offering was not truly what she desired. That was the rub: he did everything she asked in every wrong way. Fear and submission were not the way to win a girl's heart, and certainly not a woman's love, and yet he demanded them of her, as though she owed him that much, at least. There were other emotions though - half-formed and fragile to the touch - that were harder to shake and so Sarah did not try to name them. She wondered, though, how the story would have played out years later on equal footing.
And because Sarah wondered she secretly wished: she wished to see Jareth again. She wished to either overcome or be overcome by him. And because Sarah wished she dreamed.
Her words pour out as though her throat were a broken artery
and her mind were cut glass carelessly handled
Her dreams were what initially attracted Jareth to Sarah, their varied shapes and colours giving them substance even in the Aboveground. In a world so dull and deprived of magic she shone like a beacon, the power of The Words thick and crackling in the strange summer air in which he found her. She had been wearing a green dress - different than the won she wore the day she wished her brother away - and it set her pale skin and dark features off in such a way he was sure for a moment a fae creature had lost her way between worlds. Then she turned laughing to the shaggy dog slumbering a few yards away and was suddenly nothing more than a human girl in costume with flowers in her hair.
She was beautiful, of course, in a way that no girl her age had any right to be and few mortal women could boast, but her pretty features were secondary to the strange magic she wove using only dreams and words to guide her. Dreams were a powerful source of magic but that power came at a terrible price for those without the will to control it. There were many gruesome tales of those who attempted to harness such power only to be consumed by it and among the few that successfully mastered the dreamscape it was understood that a dream was a wild vicious thing that would just as soon devour its dreamer as answer his desires. Yet this young mortal commanded her dreams artfully, shaping them as easily as she breathed. With a simple word or gesture they whirled about her like leaves of every colour imagined and unimagined, little fragments of glitter and glass that cut through the air at her every whim.
Jareth would be the first to say that he was a selfish man and he coveted Sarah like a worshiper at an idol, admiring her silently from the obelisk and leaving offerings in the mores between night and dawn. Soon, she loved the labyrinth fiercely and Her Words breathed new life into land that had been stagnant for time out of mind. He watched, astounded, as his kingdom blossomed around him, encouraged by the attentions of a young girl, and he knew then he wanted that attention focused on himself. He had never imagined she would turn his own power and gifts against him, using Words to bind his heart and her damned innocent eyes his soul. He sometimes wondered if he had tried to resist the force of her call if she would have allowed it.
Fishermen think perhaps she is a fish
but they're all fools. She figured out the only way
to keep from being frozen was to stay in motion.
Sarah dated many different men but she couldn't find the courage to fall in love or bring them home. If any of her boyfriends thought it strange that they had never seen the inside of her bedroom - let alone the unassuming vanity her mother had given her when she was young and the days were better - none commented on it. The fact was: she didn't keep any around long enough to comment on much and soon she became known as a bit of a heartbreaker but even more so as untamable.
She, of course, conveniently forgot to warn them she had been tamed - once upon a time - long before they had set their sights on her because she was cruel enough to use their adoration until she was tired of expectations. When she grew weary of the game altogether she began refusing all offers of dates and dinner and, especially, dancing because she had realized it could never compare to mornings of gold and valentine evenings.
Sarah sat broken before the old mirror and wanted to smash it with her fists and chair until all that was left was blood and splitters and little bits of dreams and glass. However, she had grown out of such tantrums long ago - in a distant land - so instead she wept bitterly before it, a devotee at her shrine, mumbling incoherent "I wish"es into the empty air.
The common woman is as common
as the reddest wine.
Jareth often mused on what a pity it was Sarah rejected the initial role he offered her. He knew she understood it even then - had mouthed the lines of seduction and practiced the soft glances of a woman when she thought no one was looking - but ultimately she had been too young to truly play the part. Instead she had cast herself as the plucky heroine and he as her dark antagonist; an unyielding tormentor, a symbol for her terror and fascination toward adulthood and her own blossoming sensuality . The true irony of her victory was the price she paid in innocence in order to overcome both him and her fears.
Despite, or perhaps because of, this Jareth couldn't resist reminding her at every opportunity that there were much more interesting prizes to be wagered than baby brothers and kingdoms. Her youthful cruelty brought the latter crashing down at her feet, but he had seen the subtle widening of her eyes and felt her rapid pulse quickening with his own and knew with a smug certainty she was not wholly unaffected by him.
Jareth was entirely unashamed of his desire for her - after all, time was relative to a creature that only vaguely remembered a beginning and could scarcely imagine an end - and had she fallen for his charms he would have gladly taken everything she had to give until the was nothing left for her to offer. Eventually, having grown bored of his broken toy, he would have disregarded her like so many previous playthings.
However, the fierce light in her eyes when she cocked her head - just so- and stubbornly set her jaw drew him, moth to flame, north to south, until his fascination gave way to obsession, burning inside him like a living thing. What began as a distraction all too soon became the axis on which his entire world tipped, precariously balanced between agony and bliss. The more she resisted - the defiant curve between cheek and neck, soft lips parted in anger - the more he yearned to dominate her. Assured of his victory as she chased him through the crystal ballroom - the delicate curve between cheek and neck, soft lips parted in wonder - his heart had sang at the pleasure of it. When she tore herself from his embrace he felt the the sudden shattering as clearly as the broken dreams left in her wake.
Jareth had spoken the truth when he finally admitted she was his equal, well-matched in both cruelty and desire. And even though Sarah understood what he offered her - his fear, his love, his will - she always left with the glitter of his dreams under her nails. It was such a pity he couldn't have just seduced her and been done with it all, because loving Sarah Wlliams was driving him insane.
And now when she smells danger she spills herself all over
like gasoline and lights it.
Sarah sometimes wondered if she had ever truly won at all. Surely victory shouldn't have left such a dull ache in her chest where she was sure her heart once rested. Perhaps he had stolen it as a final trophy, a testament to his power that she denied. One more thing to lord over her head.
She leaves the taste of salt and sulfur under your tongue
but you don't mind.
Sometimes Jareth hated Sarah for reminding him of the heart he never knew he had. What use was giving him something she was only going to break? Immediately after he would feel guilt over his venom toward the only creature he had ever truly loved and then anger over the guilt. It was a vicious cycle.
But she shaves her head instead
and goes for three-day midnight walks.
One day Sarah looked into the mirror and didn't recognize the woman looking back at her. What had once been smooth cheek with only the promise of a woman's angles now cast a subtle shadow over her stubborn jaw and long throat. Wide innocent eyes morphed to a predator's cool calculating gaze. Her skin itched with the discomfort of denial, pulled too taunt over slim frame and delicate limbs. Sarah carefully brushed her dark hair over her shoulders and leaned forward carefully to breathe against the glass's still surface until fog made her appear hazy and ghost-like in the reflection. She couldn't stand to even look herself in the eye as she finally gave one inch. "I need you, Jareth."
You imagine her in a huge velvet hat
with great dangling black feathers.
"What are you looking for?" his voice was so achingly familiar her heart nearly twisted from her breast in an attempt to get to him. Sarah carefully held her composure, glad for the darkness to hide her expression - equal parts surprise and longing. She turned slowly to find him in the threshold of her room, leaning on the door-frame imperiously, the harsh back-light giving him a wicked air. She idly wondered if he had been there all along, waiting on baited breath for her to find the courage to call on him.
"Why, I was looking for Sarah-Through-the-Looking-Glass," she tilted her head as though she found him curious, "of course."
Jareth smiled, all sharp teeth and good humor. "Were you trying to find a chess partner, perhaps?" With four quick strides he was suddenly deep within her territory, crowding her with his body against the harsh plains of the vanity at her back.
"Perhaps," her chin tilted just slightly in invitation of its own violation, "I must admit I've never been very good at chess: too brash, no strategy." Sarah could feel his grin at her throat and she gasped wordlessly for a long moment before recovering. "I'm much better at mazes." His playful nip sent delicious chills coursing along her spine.
"Chess is such a fascinating game," he drawled quietly, as though he wasn't in the middle of thoroughly seducing her, "the king is confined to only move one small step at a time, while his queen," he pulled back suddenly and the intensity of his gaze in that moment was forever burned into her, "can move as far away from him as she likes." His lips brushed hers as he spoke, the long promise of a blistering summer day, hazy and languid.
"Everything she does," Sarah replied, the sleepy murmur of late mornings, twisted sheets, and tangled hair, "every move she makes, with each pawn she conquers," her hands came up to rest along the hard lines of his back and he seemed to press into every curve of her, "she thinks only of her king."
As they stumbled toward the mattress, a mess of writhing limbs and hungry lips, Sarah vaguely realized Jareth was the first man she was taking to her bed - in some ways her previous lovers had always taken her, never given - and her heart sang with pleasure.
"I love you." Jareth could only groan as he finally filled -fulfilled - her.
"I love you." Sarah could only sob incoherently into his shoulder as she finally broke apart around him like little bits of crystal and glass.
He didn't disappear under the first rays of morning that peaked through her sheer curtains and cast the scene in a hazy ethereal light. Instead he folded her carefully in his arms and silently told her about forever.
Sometimes she goes down to the dock and dances off the end of it
to prove her belief that people who cannot walk on water are phonies
or dead.
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