AN: And here we go—resolution. More like brief vignettes of their life 'together.' *yup, 'together' is in quotations*
WARNING: Fairly dark and twisted themes. Beware ye Bessie Mays.
AN: erm…was supposed to write this on Sunday but got a mani / pedi instead. Have Halloween themed nails so was worth it! Happy Halloween!
A Prison of Glass and Crystal: Epilogue
Master and Slave, Slave and Master
(An indeterminate amount of time later, the Goblin King's Masquerade Ball)…
"I heard she lives in a forest, deep within the Labyrinth. Sleeps on the dirt and bathes in the stream—completely barbaric."
"I heard she lives in a glass box."
"If she lives in the middle of the forest, where did she get that dress?"
"Him, of course—he's in love with her."
"The King? With his mortal slave? Impossible."
Laughter follows.
"He hasn't given her a title, he hasn't allotted her any lands or even a household—that glass box she lives in doesn't count—she can only leave when he allows her to leave."
"I heard he's given her unfettered access to the Labyrinth—he lets her run wild. She may be his slave in social standing, but he doesn't treat her like one—some say he may as well be hers."
Sarah Williams smiles as she walks past the chattering courtiers, completely at ease with their conversation. She wears a brilliant white dress made of the finest spider silk, and on her neck, wrists, and ankles, she wears a set of thin, delicate silver chains—so intricately crafted that they look like fine jewelry. She laughs at the thought—however fine, her chains are most definitely not jewelry. Instead, they showcase his ownership over her very being.
Walking slowly enough that all eyes turn towards her, she flashes them a dazzling smile—one that grows wider as they take a step back. "My Lords and Ladies," she says, her voice low and melodic as she curtseys deeply before turning back and making her way towards a highly entertained Goblin King.
"Sa-rah," he says, an amused twist to his bow-shaped lips. "You've made quite an entrance."
She curtsies even lower. "Did you expect any less, Your Majesty?" Her voice is low and teasing as she says his title.
He replies with deep, rumbling laughter. "Rise," he says after a sufficient amount of time has passed. His pulse quickens as his cruel eyes rake up and down her form—he sighs, the effect she has on him is deliciously exhausting. "Come, sit," he commands, indicating his lap.
Raising her brows, she does as he asks. In his world, a mortal slave sitting on her owner's lap is unheard of, a mortal slave sitting on her King's lap may as well be blasphemous. She ignores the gasps and whispers that spread through the ballroom, choosing to focus on the mercurial King instead. "You're scandalizing your guests, Your Majesty."
He doesn't answer—instead he locks his dual gaze onto hers as a leather clad hand caresses her naked leg—one that peeks out of the slit on her dress. He runs the palm of his hand across her flesh in slow strokes, his fingers curl into her upper thigh. His lips hover against the throbbing pulse on her neck as his other hand teases a nipple through the fabric of her dress.
She rests her head against his chest, breathing growing shallower by the second. It doesn't matter to her that they're in a ballroom full of nobles and courtiers. She may be his mortal possession, but she's also his obsession—and she knows it. Who holds power over whom, Goblin King, she thinks, gasping as he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
A loud cough interrupts their public display. "Goblin King…"
Annoyed at the interruption, Jareth turns to look at a neighboring prince who bows before him. "Rise," he commands, voice jaded.
The much younger prince coughs some more and gazes at the mortal woman sitting on the Goblin King's lap, utter dislike written blatantly across his features. "I have something of importance to share, perhaps your mortal can be deposited elsewhere for the moment…"
She laughs at his hostility. "I apologize for being an inconvenience, Prince…what's your name again? Something with a T, isn't it?"
"The punishment for a mortal slave speaking out of turn is quite severe. Do not address me again."
The Goblin King raises a bemused brow. "I'm afraid that's not enough to warrant a punishment in my Kingdom, Prince…what is your name?" He lifts her off of his lap, indicating that she should stand. "With so many neighboring kingdoms, it's difficult keeping track sometimes."
She doesn't pay attention when the Prince declares his name and recites his various titles through gritted teeth. Bowing her head low, she decides to play with him just a little more. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn—I'm fairly new to the place and don't quite know all the rules." Her tone is anything but apologetic—neither is the smirk on her face.
The Prince snarls, "Be grateful that the Goblin King thinks your atrocious behavior is not enough to warrant a punishment, mortal…if it were up to me, I would-"
-the Prince's tirade is cut off as a resounding slap is heard across the ballroom - a red palm print is clearly visible across his pale face-
"Is that enough to warrant a punishment, Your Majesty?" Sarah asks, eyes sparkling with wicked humor. "I do so hate to disappoint."
Throwing his head back, the Goblin King laughs with abandon. "Yes."
The Eternal Game
(An indeterminate amount of time later, the Goblin King's chambers)…
She lies on her stomach, sighing softly as he runs his healing fingers across her back. Turning her head she looks at the ornate mirror that's located above his bed and relishes the sight. Her entire back has crisscrossing blue and purple marks—angry red cuts run along her upper arms and thighs. He'd been particularly brutal with the dagger tonight…and she'd loved him for it. In her mind, she looks like a work of art.
He heals her like he normally does, so that she won't have any permanent scars…but the pain. God, the pain had been excruciating—and how she longs for more. She studies the purple bruises around her wrists—a low hiss emanating from her lips as she traces a sharp cut along the inside of her arm. The sting is enough to reawaken her desire and her skin tingles in anticipation. She's reminded of the time he'd almost…well…she grins maniacally…he'd almost killed her, hadn't he? Her fingers dig into the cut and she moans in pain.
"Do not reopen the cuts I healed, little fox."
She peers into his dual gaze questioningly. "Why not?" she enquires, the grin still on her face. She touches the cut again, this time, raking her fingernails across her skin until she bleeds. "I know how much you enjoy healing me, Your Majesty. Wrecking me…tearing me apart…slicing me open and putting me back together again. You're so very… ironic…that way."
In one swift motion, he grabs her arm and runs his tongue along the cut—healing it. As much as he loves tearing her apart, her self-destructive tendencies disturb him far more than he lets on. "Behave yourself, precious thing," he rumbles, kneeling to focus on healing the cuts along her thighs.
She laughs, "Where's the fun in that?" Flipping onto her freshly healed back, she looks up at him—her arms are spread wide across the bed and her sable locks flow smoothly against her body. "Wouldn't want to make it too easy for you, Your Majesty," she teases.
He drinks in her naked form—spread before him as an offering of sorts. "You remember what happened the last time you tried pushing me, precious thing?"
She gives him a playful wink. "Of course—wouldn't mind a repeat, actually."
And just like that, the lines on his face are hard as his expression turns deadly serious. "You were in deep sleep for four full days, Sarah. My healers were not sure you'd survive." His deep voice resonates with anger and something else…something akin to fear. He hates to admit it, but the reality of losing her had frightened him to the point of madness. He's never forgotten her fragility as a mortal since.
Closing her eyes, she sighs—trapped in her lust ridden memories. "But the moment right before…?" her voice takes on a dreamlike quality as she recollects the exact moment before she'd lost consciousness. "Your hands holding my neck, whip curled around my torso—the smell of leather and blood" she closes her eyes, voice hitching as her blood runs hot with need. "…Your teeth breaking my skin and your cock inside me…" her body moves, sliding against his—she throws her head back and releases an anguished moan. "I came so hard you had to hold down my hips. Death may have been worth it."
His eyes flash dangerously. "Do not joke." He'd crushed her windpipe—the force of the whip had broken more than a few ribs. Her body had gone cold as her pulse had slowly diminished…almost.
Opening her eyes, she gazes at him—amused to see him so serious. "I haven't shattered yet, have I?" She runs her fingers against the faint white scar on his ribcage. "I branded you with iron afterwards…wouldn't you say we're even?"
He doesn't answer—but the memory of the searing hot pain that had threated to consume him only ignites his desire.
She smiles knowingly—rising up so that their faces are inches apart. "I remain your mortal slave, Your Majesty—as touching as I find your concern, I must leave for my glass prison."
A harsh laugh. "Not yet, little fox. You will leave when I allow it." Saying that he flips their position so that she straddles him—groaning as he feels her warm, wet center rub against his erection. "Let's play another game."
"Goblin King, Goblin King," she whispers, leaning into him so that her nipples brush against his chest. She reaches for her silver lighter, placed at the far edge of his bed and flips it open. "Will you burn for me?"
And they lived happily ever after…
Haha.
More like: and they lived dysfunctionally ever after—had lots of hot monkey (and sometimes scary) sex—but not all the time because he is a king, and that's a demanding job.
It's been 'all quiet on the troll front' –I've gotten used to the pearl clutching that goes on in Laby fandom and/or my ANs—no one was shocked with this piece? I am le sad.
Tropes included:
Teacher and Student: I know some people find this hot and think teachers exude dominance but as an adult you're like 'they make 30K a year to herd children and wear khakis. Where's the dominance, yo?' So I took the trope and twisted it.
The Nurturing Woman: People tend to write Sarah as this selfless, nurturing woman who wants to either 'save' Jareth or 'take care of' Jareth or 'be the light to his darkness' or some other clichéd bullshit. Free advice, young peeps: people who martyr themselves on a 'selfless' pedestal usually end up embittered doormats. So yea, I turned Sarah into another extreme entirely, but we definitely need more sociopathic women in stories, don't we? Why should men get to have all the fun?
Dominant Jareth: is he, always? People with normal life spans get bored of the same old sex routine – a being who lives that long would probably want to try everything he can think of. Including a reversal of roles.
The Good Pure Heroine VS the Dark Villain (but-not-quite): I don't hate this trope per se (hell, I've used it more than once), but I hate the way it's done most of the time. Aren't we so fucking sick as being given the 'redeemer of wayward men' role? This is the kind of dangerous belief that drives *that one friend* into dating the same loser-asshole again and again, because 'omg, he's so damaged and needs help.' Never saw the appeal in damaged and unsuccessful and low self-esteemed– dark and cunning and highly successful and self-assured—now that is way more appealing combination.
As for the heroine—pure is overrated—'smart' overrides good any day. 'Brainy is the new sexy.' Sarah's more of a mental, sociopathic, brunette version of Dawn and Stacey (maybe with a dash of Claudia) and nothing like Mary Anne or worse, Mallory (yee-ikes, who'd wanna be Mallory?). Cookies for those who got both references.
Ta.
Would love to hear your thoughts. Even if you're a Mallory.