#descendants fic

[lilacs-stars]

moon + tides

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) SUMMARY: you, ariel's daughter, find yourself in a strange relationship with the one and only infamous pirate captain, who's absolutely obsessed with you GENRE: yandere, a bit of angst, some comforting fluff here and there, especially at the end CW: a few mentions of violence, someone walking a plank, mentions of drowning, some suggestive material, nothing too graphic though WC: 4.2k

A/N: this req was really fun to write! I might have gotten a bit carried away, heh...this part includes the backstory of how you two got together and the first part of the req, and the second part will include the rest of it. hope you guys enjoy reading this cause I definitely put some hard work into it lol. also please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd really like to know your thoughts!

If you could go back, would you change what happened?

This is something that you often ask yourself. 

You think about that fateful day frequently. It was the summer before your first year at Merlin Academy. You had finally convinced your parents, the famed mermaid Ariel and her Prince Eric, to let you go for a swim unsupervised. Being half-mermaid, half-human allowed you to transform back and forth at will. And although life on land was pretty good, your heart always ached to go back to the sea, to feel the cold, salty water as it engulfs you. To race along the reefs, tail swishing back and forth, allowing you to reach speeds far past what your human form can do. To leisurely swim amongst the many species of fish and plants that created the world of the ocean. To go back home.

Your parents had already gone over the rules with you hundreds of time, to the point where you could recite each one of them word for word: “Don’t go past the boundaries,” “Don’t approach any animals you don’t know,” “Don’t go so deep where you can’t see any light,” “Come out at the first sign of bad weather,” and, most importantly, “Do not, under any circumstances, interact with any humans.”

Your mother may be renowned for rescuing a stranger from the unrelenting grasps of the sea—if she hadn’t, you wouldn’t even be here right now—but that was a very rare case. Far more often than not, mermaid interactions with humans out on the waters ended up in the mermaid being tortured, held hostage, or even killed.

You knew the rules by heart, and yet, maybe it was because of your young age, you still broke them. You weren’t really aware of your actions in the moment; one second, you were swimming alongside a pod of dolphins, racing against the currents. The next, you heard loud voices and realized that almost directly above you, yet still a good few dozen meters away, was some sort of ship.

You had ducked down next to a big sponge, peering up apprehensively. It was at that moment you realized that you were far outside of the boundaries set for you by your parents. You should have turned back, should have swam back home, but there was something about the ship, something that intrigued you so much it forced you to stay in place.

A few moments passed, and seeing as there was no commotion, you let your curiosity get the better of you. After all, that ship shouldn’t even have been out there. Slowly, you crept closer and closer to the surface, making sure to remain in the shadows. The noises were becoming clearer; you could make out people’s voices now. But they still weren’t sharp enough for you to understand what they were saying.

Finally, you took the risk and poked your head out of the water near the rear of the ship. The sight before you elicited a sharp gasp, and made you wish you had just gone back when you still had the chance. 

Extended from the side of the ship was a long, wooden plank. Standing on one side of it (the safe end), was a man, gagged, blindfolded, and bound. He looked to be no older than forty, with a scraggly beard and ripped clothes.

A pirate.

Another figure emerged, walking to the edge of the deck. Your reflexes caused you to duck down quickly, so only your eyes were barely above the water. This figure was much younger, with dark brown hair parted neatly and angular features twisted into a wicked smile. He donned a maroon blazer that covered a white shirt with an upturned collar. Something in his left hand shined brilliantly under the sun’s bright rays.

The younger figure laughed, but not in the way one would laugh at a funny joke. He unsheathed a cutlass from his side, using it to poke the back of the man on the plank. 

“You see, Mr. Jones? This is what happens when you cross the most feared pirate captain in all the lands!” the young figure roared as he yanked off the older man’s blindfold, revealing to him his fate. The fear and panic that spread across the man’s face has been forever etched into your mind, even to this day.

You heard the man beg and plea for mercy, watched as every move he made caused the plank to sway even more violently. The pirate captain simply laughed, his crew along with him. Finally, when you suppose he tired of hearing the man grovel, you watched in terror as the captain gave the man a good kick in the back, finally sending him over the edge.

Suddenly, it was like the world was spinning in slow motion. The man plummeting off the wooden platform, falling, falling, falling. His screams muffled by the cloth around his mouth. Then, all too soon, he made contact with the water with a loud splash. 

He sank quickly, devoured by the ocean’s waters within the blink of an eye. Your young, distraught face watched as a few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing. All that remained of the man’s existence, all there was to give proof that he had ever even been there, were a few ripples in the water.

That was it.

You were frozen in shock. How–what–why? Your brain could barely string together a comprehensive sentence. All you were sure of was the feeling inside you. You couldn’t quite put it into words, could barely even understand it. But it made your tail ache to move, made you feel as if you simply couldn’t stay in one place any longer.

You dove beneath the surface, frantically swimming towards the direction where you saw the man go under. You kept looking around, searching, but to no avail. You decided to dive deeper, swimming lower and lower until the water around you was near pitch-black. You were growing more and more panicked by the second, because every second you wasted was another second the man grew closer to death.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hope flaring, you darted towards it, the figure becoming clearer the closer you got.

It was him.

You reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to prevent him from sinking farther. His eyes were shut and he wasn’t breathing, but you could still hear a heartbeat. There was still time left.

Wrapping your arms around him, you started the difficult journey back to land. Thankfully, you knew of a small island not too far from here. Swimming with the added weight of a fully grown man was incredibly difficult, especially for a young mermaid, but you persisted. After all, this was his life on the line.

You swam as hard as fast as you could, and thankfully, by some blessing from the heavens, found a warm water current going the direction you were. You let it carry you, the rushing stream multiplying your efforts. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have only been a couple of minutes, you reached the island.

Letting the wave wash you up on shore, you settled the man down on the soft sand the first chance you got. You rolled him to his front, which was quite the endeavor itself. His heartbeat had grown more shallow, but it was still there. There was still hope.

Using the skills your mother had taught you, you started to nurse the man back to health using your melodic voice. Ever since you were young, she had explained to you the gift bestowed upon mermaids, the power of healing through song. She taught you to sing before you could walk, and it was the one thing that you were sure you could do right.

As you sang your strange and melodious tune, it finally occurred to you that you were breaking the most sacred of rules. Not only were you interacting with a stranger, you were coaxing him back to life. Like mother, like daughter, you thought. I suppose healing strangers who were drowning at sea runs in my blood.

The only caveat to your healing powers is that it takes quite some time to have its full effects. You don’t know how long you sat on the beach, but it had been quite some time. You probably would have been there for much longer had it not been for the boom voice that sounded behind you, waking you from your trance of song.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t a mermaid.”

You practically jumped out of your fins as you turned around, startled beyond words. There, towering above you, was the evil pirate captain you saw earlier. He was even younger than you had previously thought. In fact, he couldn’t be much older than you. You wondered for a fleeting moment how a kid like that could command an entire ship full of grown—and scary-looking—men, but decided you have bigger matters at hand to worry about.

A few members of his crew lurked behind the captain, and you could see a small lifeboat docked to the ground near the coastline. Further beyond that, his ship swayed in the ocean waves, dark against the bright horizon.

You followed the pirate’s gaze down to your tail, which was still out. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting to transform back into your human form, being too distracted by saving the man to pay attention to your own safety.

You wanted to yell at the cruel pirate for trying to kill this man. No matter who he was, what he had done, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not like that. But the words got caught in your throat, so while a war raged inside your mind, you were completely quiet on the outside, simply staring up at the man with wide doe eyes.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said, with a tone that you wouldn’t quite imagine a killer using. He must have overheard me sing earlier, you thought to yourself. “Tell me, little mermaid, who taught you to sing?”

“M-my mother,” you replied weakly, your voice far more meager and small than you wanted it to be. You were still staring up at him, afraid of what he’d do to you.

“Your mother? Well, that’s quite interesting.” The captain raised his left hand to scratch at his chin, which is when you realized that it wasn’t a hand at all. Instead of a hand was a curved metal hook, with a sharp point gleaming at the end. So that must be the shiny thing I saw earlier, you thought.

“Oh, where are my manners?” laughed the pirate abruptly. “My name is Captain James Hook, leader of the Jolly Roger. And you are?”

You blinked, almost forgetting your own name. If it were a less tense moment than this, you would have laughed at the fact that his name is rather befitting for him. “Y/N,” you respond.

“Y/N…Now, where have I heard that name before?” He tapped his chin with his hook again.

“Sir, that’s the name of Princess Ariel’s daughter,” one of the big, meaty pirates behind him answered in a gruff voice.

“That’s right!” Hook exclaimed. “You’re the mermaid’s daughter. You know, rumor has it you’ll be joining me at Merlin’s Academy in the fall, is that right?”

For some reason, your voice seemed to not work anymore, so you settled for nodding. Join him? you pondered. You didn’t know that he was also a student at the school you were planning to attend.

Hook started pacing along the beach, arms crossed with his hooked hand extended, deep in thought. You watched him, fear growing by the second. A sly smirk spread across his face, which only served to fuel the flames of your worry. 

“You know, you directly defied my command by saving that man,” he started. Slowly. Deliberately. Choosing every word precisely and carefully, like a shark circling its prey. “Do you even know why I made him walk the plank?” You shook your head no, the panic in you reaching record heights.

“That man”—he vaguely gestures towards the unconscious body laying on the beach with his hook—“stole an entire week’s worth of rations from my ship. An entire week’s worth of food and rum for an entire crew. Had he gotten away with it, we likely would have starved to death out at sea. Does he seem so innocent now, little mermaid? So worth saving?”

Again, you shook your head no. Although you agreed he definitely wasn’t an innocent man, you still didn’t see making him walk the plank a justifiable punishment. Despite your thoughts, you kept your mouth shut. Angering the captain further was not going to do you any good.

“Now, if anyone else had done something like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut their head right off,” Hook said menacingly, and with a swish, unsheathed his sword once again. You flinched—hard—and scrambled to back away from him. 

Hook took note of this, and, sheathing his sword, crouched down to get on the same level as you. “But don’t worry, little mermaid. I won’t hurt you. You see, you’ve piqued my interest. Plus, it would do me no favors to have a little girl’s blood on my hands.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. So he’s not going to kill me, right?

“But, alas, you can’t leave unpunished, now, can you?” he added. Your eyes grew impossibly wider, your entire body shaking in fear. This was it. He was going to kill you, or do something equally worse.

“I demand”—you already felt a tear slip down your cheek—“that you write to me for the remainder of the summer.”

Wait, what?

“W-write?” you asked in disbelief. “As in…”

“Letters,” Hook finished for you. “Write me letters. I’ll give you the mailing address of the Jolly Roger. Write me everyday, and I’ll promise I’ll write you back whenever we dock. How does that sound?”

“O-okay,” you reply, still taken aback by the peculiar, and far more lenient than you’d expected, request. That was all you had to do? Write letters? As punishment for saving the life of someone he’d ordered to die? You must be dreaming.

“Oh, and,” Hook said, voice lowered as he leaned in close to you, until he was just a hair’s breadth away from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his alluring scent of salty winds and something richer, deeper, filling your lungs. “I look forward to seeing you in the fall. Don’t forget me, my little mermaid.”

With that, he stood up, smoothing out the lines on his pants. “You wouldn’t happen to need a ride back home, would you, love?”

You shook your head no, too terrified of him changing his mind to spend another moment in his presence. You glanced back at the man lying behind you, still unconscious. “W-what about him? What will you do with him?” you managed to choke out, somehow finding your voice again.

Hook pondered this for a long minute, before finally answering, “He can live.” You let out a shaky breath. “But only because of you, little mermaid. And only this time. You go against my wishes again, and trust me, your punishment will be far more severe.”

And with that, he went back to his ship and sailed away.

You still muse about that day, thinking how different things would have been if you had changed just one little thing.

You kept your promise of writing him letters, too afraid to know what would happen when you had to inevitably face him in the fall to break it. At first, they started out simple. Ordinary recounts of your day, your favorite things, what you liked to do. As the weeks passed, you started writing more personal letters. How you felt about certain things or certain people, including your parents. You never spoke a word of that fateful day to them, knowing that you’d be grounded for life and forbidden from swimming ever again if they caught even a whiff of the danger you had put yourself in. 

Hook kept his promise, too. He wrote you back, although it was far less frequent than your letters. Even though he kept his responses short and concise, you always ended up hearing his voice in your head as you read his notes. You soon found yourself checking your mailbox daily, even getting to know the mailman rather well. The rush of dopamine you got every time you opened it to find a letter awaiting you was unmatched; you would always run upstairs to your room, lock the door, and pour over the note. Reading every line, every word over and over again, committing them to memory. 

You don’t know why you enjoyed these little letters so much. Maybe it was the thrill of having a secret that no one else knew of, or the absence of your usual loneliness every time you were reminded that somewhere out there, across the seas, was someone awaiting your letters, reading them, and writing back to you. Whatever it was, your heart started to form an emotional attachment to him without you even realizing it. 

Unbeknownst to you, that had been his exact plan all along.

It’s safe to say that once you started school at Merlin Academy, Hook’s—or James’s, as he insisted on you calling him—grip on you only grew. Things started out pretty normal: light conversations in class and stolen looks exchanged across the hall, mostly initiated by him. After the first few weeks passed, things between you two only grew. Secret meetings during lunch hours, rendezvous after school, and small gifts exchanged between the two of you. From there, it became brushing your hands together whenever you passed by each other, soft pecks on the cheek or forehead where there were prying eyes, and more passionate kisses when the two of you finally found time to be alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really know what you two are now. Normally, you would consider two people that partake in such actions to be courting, and you kind of assume you are. But James has never said anything about a relationship to you, and in all honesty, you’re too afraid to ask him. You feel terribly confused at his intentions towards you; on the one hand, he approaches you every day without fail, even if you try to ignore him or when your schedules don’t match up. Somehow, he always finds a way. On the other hand, he never asked you to be his lover, never even vaguely mentioned anything of the sorts. So, you decided, with a heavy heart, to not be too confident and consider yourself his partner. And unfortunately, that meant that he wasn’t yours, either.

Really, you never meant to grow so involved with the bastard pirate that threatened to kill you on the beach that day. But for some strange reason, instead of treating you coldly like he did everyone else, especially the other hero kids, he was softer with you. Considerate, even. You had half-expected him to want nothing to do with you after your first few interactions, but he kept seeking you out. You often opened your locker to a note inside, or entered your dorm to find a letter slipped beneath the door.

Today was one of those days. You had gotten a note telling you to wait for him in your usual place in the evening, after classes. So here you are, waiting, staring at the water fountain in the courtyard. You’ve always been transfixed by the way the water spurts out the center and splashes all around. It seems that whenever you’re alone with your thoughts, they always end up back to that fateful day you met James, and everything that’s happened since.

“Wait for me long, my little mermaid?” a deep voice whispers in your ear from behind. You jump only a little, far more used to James sneaking up on you now than you used to be. For some reason, it seems he loves to startle you by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in close from behind, or speaking softly in your ear.

You twirl around, a delighted expression on your face, although you try to mask it with a feigned annoyance. “And if I say I did?”

“Well then, I’d have to find a way to make it up to you then, wouldn’t I, darling?” he purrs, using his hook to spin you around in his arms so you’re face-to-face. His lips make his way to yours, pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to yours, not able to get enough of his touch. 

The feeling of his skin against yours ignites something in you, and you find your mouth opening to give him more access as a soft whimper escapes your lips. One hand reaches into his hair, tugging at it gently from the base of his head, while the other one trails down the front of his shirt.

James leans into you even further, your bodies flush against each other now, as he deepens the kiss. You find yourself leaning against the edge of the water fountain, the cool sprinkles providing a welcomed contrast to your heating-up bodies.

Once you’ve completely lost your breath, you pull away just slightly, a love-drunk smile on your face. “You had a request for me?” you whisper, panting, eyes full of adoration for the man you were interlocked with. 

James breaks into a grin. A genuine one, not one of the smirks he flashes to uphold his patented suave demeanor. “Ah, yes, how could I forget, my love?”

He pulls further away to give you two enough room to breathe, yet keeping his good hand on the small of your back. “I was reminded today that it's been quite some time since I’ve heard your voice, my little mermaid.”

You give a little smile, deciding to mess with him a bit. “Whatever do you mean? You hear my voice every day. I mean, you’re even hearing it right now.”

James cocks his head to the side and raises a single eyebrow, clearly aware of your antics. “Your other voice, love.”

You giggle. “Fine, all right. Only for you,” you say, giving him a peck on the nose. 

You sit down on the ledge of the fountain, turning back to stare at the water again. Although it has been a long time since you stretched your tail and went for a swim, simply seeing the rushing water soothes you. It isn’t quite like being immersed in it, but it still gives you some semblance of comfort. 

You reach into the pool at the bottom, letting the cool water rush along your fingertips as you inhale a deep breath. Through your mermaid abilities, your voice twists into an otherworldly song, filling the space with a mellifluous sound. 

James takes a place on the ledge next to you, reaching into the water to hold your submerged hand. You don’t really feel it, too transfixed on the rushing waves. You don’t see the way James gazes at you, like you’re his entire world. The softness, the tenderness in his eyes, which he reserves for you only. He looks at you not as if you’re his sun, something too bright to ever stare directly at, something violent and explosive and harmful, but as if you’re his moon. 

As if you’re the figure he watches every night before he closes his eyes, and the one he wishes to see again when he wakes up. As if you’re the only thing he notices every time the darkness envelops him, your presence never falling off the pedestal he places it on in his mind. Never losing its worth. He looks at you, your soft glow and mesmerizing shimmer, as if you’re the only thing filling up the night sky. The stars and constellations pale in comparison to you, especially on your best nights, when you shine so magnificently. 

You are the moon, and he is the tide of the ocean, constantly being pulled in by you. Never being able to escape the grasp you have on him, the grasp you are so blissfully unaware of. He stares at you in awe and wonder, bathing in your gorgeous light, so close yet always so far away. Sitting all alone against the dark backdrop of the evening sky, waiting for him to come back to you. And without reason, you always disappear. Always leaving him wanting more, waiting till the moment he can bathe in your presence again. 

As you sing, the tide gets pulled in by the gravity of the moon. Your lyrical voice bounces off the stone walls, surrounding you both, just as the moonlight surrounds the waves on that mystical night. 

But the moonlight is only a reflection of the sun’s glow, is it not? When daylight comes, the moon will pull away from the waves, its absence in the sky all but forgotten in the sun’s presence. And as dawn breaks, so too will the pull between the moon and ocean. 

on to part 2! ->

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[marigoldwriter]

I'm going to post something that anyone who's reading 'Where are the Stars? I'll Sing them Lullabies' will like.

Glassheart's daughters' appearances.

They were drawn by @werewolfvanillapotato, right at the beginning of the fanfic's development, therefore, they're just initial appearances.

(The first one is Letty, the middle one is Rosa, and the last one is Cherise)

[thebluestbluewords]

remedial goodness

is a never ending font of potentially disastrous lesson plans.

here’s one way it could go:

“Welcome!” Fairy Godmother says brightly. “Good afternoon, class.” 

Silence. 

“I said, good afternoon, class!” 

Stony silence. Noncompliant silence, even. 

They’re villains, not heroes. They’re not going to beg for approval. 

Finally, she clues in to the fact that they’re not going to respond to her perky overture. A little late, but the potential for learning is boundless at Auradon Prep. Or so the flyers that Carlos has been collecting say. 

Fairy Godmother claps her hands together, like they’re a bunch of babies, and they need a visual cue as well as the verbal ones they’ve been ignoring. “Ah, here in Auradon it is polite to respond when one is being greeted! You say, ‘Good afternoon, Fairy Godmother.’” 

She nods into the resulting silence, like she’s imparting valuable knowledge and then agreeing on their behalf, not talking to herself like every other teacher who’s started right in on the lecture regardless of how many delinquent princes and princesses are blatantly not listening. 

Or maybe Mal’s just projecting, and she’s been the only one ignoring her teachers all day. 

Whatever. It amounts to the same thing, which is that Auradon teachers are a bunch of pompous try-hards. And teenagers here are the same as teenagers back home, which is to say, they’re all terrible people in their own special, unique, beautiful ways. 

“Good afternoon, Fairy Godmother!” Evie chirps after a moment. 

“Oh. Thank you, Genevieve.” Fairy Godmother says, in a small sort of voice. The sort that’s a precursor to the guilt trip, where the adults sit you down and tell you how much they care about your future and how they want you to do your wickedest work for them, because if they don’t see your worst, how will they ever be able to trust you with eviler tasks in the future? “We’ll work on it.” 

Evie flashes her a smile. “It’s just Evie, actually. Genevieve is what my mom calls me.”

Fairy Godmother winks at them.  Like she’s their friend. 

Disgusting. 

“Alright, just Evie. A lady is never just anything, you know. When Cinderella called me up on that fateful night, all covered in ashes, she was still a princess. She just didn’t know it yet.”

“Of course, Fairy Godmother.” Evie says sweetly. 

“Never undervalue yourself, girls. After all, here at Auradon Prep, we made goodness even better!” 

She beams. 

Mal chances a look at the boys. Jay is spinning a pencil around his fingers like it’s a knife, and Carlos is staring directly ahead at Fairy Godmother, face completely blank. 

Evie’s pocket mirror is already out on the desk. 

Yeah, they’re gonna have a great class period. 

Fairy Godmother lets her words hang for a moment, and then claps her hands again. “Er. We’re here today to teach you about goodness, so you can start on the path to a better life here in Auradon!” 

“Better living through pastel uniforms,” Mal snarks under her breath to Evie. 

FG’s head shoots up. “What was that, dearest?” 

Fairy hearing. Right. 

“I said, I can’t wait to start learning. I’m just so excited to hear all about the goodness lessons that you have set up for us!” Mal says, pushing all the false cheer she can manage into her voice. It’s a lot. She’s had plenty of practice skirting the line between lying and just manipulating the truth, and her tone of voice doesn’t count as lying. It’s the actual words that matter. “I just love learning!” 

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, dear one.  Now, I have some textbooks I’ve placed just up here for you. If you would each take one of these, we’re going to start with a little quiz, and then if we have time left over, we’ll jump right in at chapter one!” 

Mal– 

Mal should pay attention. She has a textbook in front of her, passed along by Evie, who got up to grab the whole stack of them to pass out, because she’s a teacher’s pet even in princess-land. She’s got a pencil in her hand, because she’s not stupid, and after a whole day of this shit she’s picked up on the idea that she’s supposed to sit quietly and pretend to take notes in class, 

She’s even got paper in front of her, but every time she puts the pencil to the paper, she just– 

Her brain skitters away from the shape of it. 

She wants the wand. 

She needs it. 

The wand is their ticket out, and now that she’s seen the accursed thing in person, her fingers  are itching just thinking about it. Her mother’s spellbook is one thing, but the wand–

Mal flexes her fingers around the slim weight of her pencil, which is too thin, too sharp, not magical, not heavy and buzzing with the weight of the power inside it. She needs that wand. She’s never needed anything as much as she needs the wand, and her whole body feels strange and fizzy with the feeling. 

The spellbook is fine. It’s  magic too, but it’s old. Worn out. Her mother’s captivity under the barrier has drained the magic out of it, and besides that, Mal’s young. She needs the power of the wand, not a moldy old book. Wands are the tool of the modern magic user. She can practically taste the magic, the buzzing, humming warmth of last night flowing through her again, a little bit sharp, making her mouth water like the canned pineapple they’d saved back home until they could heat it up on their purloined bunsen burner until the syrup went sticky-sweet and the fruit burst hot and sharp on their tongues. 

Fairy Godmother’s magic tastes special. Like nothing Mal’s ever had before. 

She needs it. 

Somebody stomps on her foot. 

Shit. Okay. Magic cravings later, class now. She’s got this shit. 

“I said, does anyone know what to do if you find a bottle of poison!” Fairy Godmother says, with the tone of somebody who’s been repeating herself for a while. She sounds a lot like the younger teachers at Dragon Hall, the minor villains who teach things like mis-spelling and wicked grammar. Sort of impatient, and on the verge of shouting at them about it. 

Just like home. 

Mal scans the board, and immediately identifies the answer Fairy Godmother is fishing for. She doesn’t– 

She doesn’t even want to know what her crew has been doing while she’s been zoned out. 

“C, turn it over to the proper authorities.” Mal says, without raising her hand.  It’s not like they don’t understand the laws governing Auradon, it’s more that the laws are always boring and usually archaic too, and it’s way more fun to ignore them. Being truly evil isn’t about not understanding how to be good, it’s about understanding, and choosing the wrong path on purpose. 

“Correct,” Fairy Godmother says, beaming at Mal. She can’t risk a look at the boy’s desk, not while FG is looking right at her, but if answering one stupid question gets her this kind of praise, Mal cannot fucking imagine what they’ve been doing while she’s been spaced out. Stabbing each other with pencils again, probably. They’re going to get an infection from it, and she’s going to laugh at them both. “Very good, dear. You have quite a bit of promise. Now, in this day and age it’s not very likely that folks will leave their poisons out in the open anymore, not with the advent of digital media. Ignorance is the poison of the mind, after all. If you see someone spreading misinformation on the internet, what should you do to help stop the problem?” 

“Kill them.” Evie chirps. “Cut the problem off at the source, right?” 

Fairy Godmother’s sappy-sweet smile slides right back off her face. “Oh. No, dear. We don’t kill people.” 

“Oh,” Evie echoes, saccharine-sweet, just like Fairy Godmother. “I see. I just think it would be best if we stop the problem right away. Before the information reaches anybody else.”

“And you can. Look, here.” She taps the board, which ripples into a screen. There’s a royal media post pulled up, from an account called RoyalAuradonAcademyUnofficial, which reads– 

‘The sky is green,” Evie reads aloud. “The sun is purple, and the enchanted lake is made of strawberry jell-o.” 

“On royal media, there is a button just here–” she taps the board. “For reporting misinformation. That’s what we do to stop it from spreading. We tell an adult.”

Fairy Godmother beams out at them, confident in the perfection of her lesson plan. Surely, this will teach the awful villain kids how to behave responsibly. Surely, they won’t take this opportunity as inspiration to, oh, set up royal media accounts dedicated to posting an automated feed of bullshit information to anybody unlucky enough to accept their buddy request. 

It’s like she’s never met a teenager before. 

Jay raises a fist. “What’s a jell-o?” 

“Ah–” 

“It’s ground cow’s foot. You can suspend hot dogs inside it,” Evie says helpfully. “I’ve never heard of strawberry jello before, though. It’s probably an Auradon thing.” 

“You’re an Auradon thing.” 

“I don’t think I’d look very pretty suspended in jell-o, actually. My hair wouldn’t set properly. Although I suppose if the whole lake is made of it, maybe it’s a magical thing, and I should be open-minded about giving it a try.” Evie finishes, beaming. “That’s what goodness is about, I think. Staying open minded.” 

“Ah, dear ones–” 

[anonymouscheeses]

I just wantdd to share my fic. Its becoming way longer than i orginaky intendded for it to be but thats the work of writing i guess 😭

This is an angsty one, exprct absolute HURT. And then the comfort cz im not a monster 😎

(I LOVE GLASSHEART SMM RAHHH 🫶🫶)

[perebima]

So I watched Rise of Red this week.

I know there are some god awful plot holes, but I enjoyed it. But that ending is annoying me. So much I have began to write a fic to raise the steaks and make the villians more cruel. It starts just after perfect revenge. It’s a heavy Focus on the VKs, and some chapters on Red and Chloe. I think I will also get to castle coming but I want to fix the whole Merin’s office and trouble maker stuff first. If anyone would like to be my beta reader that would be wonderful. If there is enough interest, I’ll post it on AO3.

I would also like to delve a little into Morgie x Hook and Hades x Maleficent, but it would be in the back ground I’m not the best at romance and ships.

Update!

I posted it, chapters 1 and 2 are up!

[lsleofthelost]

shades of being lovable

[read on AO3]

T | 5.2k | Chapter 1/3 | Mal/Evie | angst, AU - they don’t leave the Isle, introspection, aged-up characters

Content warning for implied/reference child abuse, off-screen animal death

Summary: It’s the most open secret on the Isle: Evil Queen’s brat is in love with Maleficent’s spawn.

It is whispered behind her back when Grimhilde leaves the salon, it is laughed about roaringly in pubs, and it is scribbled on the desks in the back of Dragon Hall classrooms. Grimhilde loves to pretend that the whole Isle doesn’t know because Genevieve’s … thing is more humiliating than any of her other failures. More humiliating than being caught, more humiliating than failing to kill Snow White, more humiliating even than not being as beautiful anymore. But everyone knows it, everyone knows Genevieve is in this gooey, soft, crippling kind of love.

Including Mal.

Mal swears that knowing doesn’t affect her. She is still the leader of the most powerful gang on the whole Isle. She takes what she wants and breaks what she can’t take. She knows how to keep distance between herself and her underlings. Mal is civil and talks to Evie with enough courtesy that makes it clear that they are not friends and that Mal’s words are orders to be followed, not friendly suggestions.

Sometimes, when Mal barks a command with too much force, too much venom, she notices that Jay and Carlos share a glance. It’s probably worry, it may even be sadness, Mal can never truly tell. The glances weigh on her, make her feel something a villain never should because guilt has never gotten anyone far. She shakes these emotions out of her head, what kind of poisoner wouldn’t be able to take some venom?

(She lies. It affects her. Some days she can not bear to look at Evie. She tells herself it’s disgust. In more vulnerable moments, she tells herself it’s not knowing what to do with these misplaced feelings Evie has.

In the past, whenever some poor unfortunate soul would try to make things romantic between them, it was either a weak attempt at manipulation or inappropriate worship. First never worked because Mal doesn’t need love, never has and never will, so the promise of it was unappealing. The second was more pitiful. These people had an image of Maleficent the Second, the new Mistress of Darkness in their heads that would shatter if they got too close. She knows that once they discover who she really is, once they look into her heart, they would find nothing to love there. By her mother’s design, Mal is impossible to love.)

Feelings aren’t a thing they talk about on the Isle. Any feelings, but especially those. There are few moments for tender-heartedness, deep under the velvet cover of night, where no one can overhear, but Mal is above that. She is the destruction of the free world, there are more important things she can focus on.

So, Mal knows, but she never does anything about it. She doesn’t say anything and neither does Evie and it allows things to feel almost normal. Up until Evie gets too flustered or too greedy or tries to be too close to her and Mal gets images of blood-red smiles and yearning eyes burned into her eyelids.

***

Now that her gang is indisputably on top, Mal has a lot of free time. It’s confusing. She has spent her entire life fighting, nineteen long years a constant battle. It would be a disgusting lie to say that her life is peaceful now (Mal will never know peace, it’s preordained, she is revenge personified) but she finds herself with nothing to do for a few hours every two weeks or so.

‘Fight or die’ is the law of the Isle but what is she to do when there is no fight?

All the borders are checked, pirates are staying within their own territory for once, even the Huns are pacified under a new agreement, her own are fed and fine. Mal gets too wired to sleep and too burnt out to draw, so she turns her eyes up.

She likes getting as close to the barrier as she can, without being stuck wrestling the crowd near the bridge. Or trying the sharp teeth of the sea. She scales the side of the only church on the Isle (it’s always empty, save for the old priest and his quiet daughter) and climbs to the very top of the central spire. Perched there, she can reach up and touch the shimmering air of the barrier. Being this close to active magic is calming in a way she can’t describe.

Sometimes, Mal notices the priest’s daughter peeking up through an open window. She’s tempted, then, to wave at her, to invite someone else to bathe in the warmth of magic. But every time she’s about to open her mouth, a gravelly voice yells to do some chore or the other and the girl disappears inside with a squeak.

***

Evie fell in love hard and fast.

Her very first day out of banishment, the day after her sixteenth birthday, she caught Mal’s attention. She didn’t know yet that it was a bad thing, fascinated still with life in relative freedom.

Mal had been cruel then, she knows. She’d never hide it, there was nothing to be ashamed of. Fight or die is the only law of the Isle. Genevieve was highly possible competition, bright and dazzling, so Mal did the pragmatic thing and enacted a scheme.

The plan was simple, she’d even thought it elegant at the time: play nice with Evie, invite her to the full moon howler at de Vil’s place and when Blueberry makes herself the centre of attention, as she certainly will, drop a bucket of animal blood on her. She toyed with the idea of locking her in that bear trap of a closet Cruella has, but it would be too quiet, too easy to miss over the chaos of the howler. She needed a signal, something that let not only Evie but the rest of them remember who the top dog around here was.

Something to knock her down before she could attempt to stand up.

At least that’s what it was supposed to go like. In no world did Mal imagine that instead of running out covered in tears and blood, Evie would activate her magic. The shield was weak and peppered with holes, but still, the majority of the blood ended up on the floor around Blueberry.

Mal grabbed her arm then and dragged her outside past the crowd. People made way for the pair, sure that she was going to beat Evie up. Hell, even Mal was sure of it.

Yet, when they got to the rickety porch and Mal finally turned face to face with Evie, for some reason, she couldn’t find it in herself to scream and call her names. Looking at her bright eyes, the colour of them indescribably red in the fiery light of Hell Hall, at the drops of blood dotting her face and hair, slowly running down, at the hopeful smile stretching her violet lips, Mal could not bring herself to say what she intended to.

Magic, or the sad grains of it that could be accessed under the barrier, was for the strong. Like Mal herself with her fire.

So instead, she found herself asking how reliable Evie’s hold on magic was. She told Mal about how this was the first time her magic got a physical form, about how she brews potions and poisons, about how even the most potent ones never made her sick.

Mal ordered her to join her gang. Evie’s eyes snapped up then, trembling and wet, so full of unfiltered hope and affection and stared at her. Her whole body leaned in and slackened when she accepted. Something about the brightness of her eyes or the happiness of her voice in that moment terrified Mal into almost taking a step back.

***

It is baffling, sometimes, how much love Genevieve has in her heart.

The fountain of it seems endless, she doesn’t need to ration it into little portions to be consumed. Evie loves sewing and designing, she loves the kids under their protection, and especially that giggly Tremaine girl, she loves how giddy with fear everyone gets when she brings her apple pie (that she made because she loves their crew). She loves and loves and loves.

She even loves this stupid little rabbit.

Mal and she were in the Dark Forest, foraging for ingredients and Evie kneeled by a big oak tree to cut off some mushrooms when she found it. It’s a pitiful thing, small and weak, two more from its litter lying on either side of it with their throats ripped out.

“It’s going to die.” Mal’s voice is cold and too loud in the darkness of the forest. Evie’s eyes are still on the carcasses and all she does is give a tiny nod.

In retrospect, it was probably a twitch at Mal’s tone.

When Mal unsheathes her dagger light must catch on it because, in a second, Evie turns around to face her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill it.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Because it is the most obvious thing in the world. The weak can not fight. They do not survive.

Immediately, Evie scoops up the tiny thing and brings it close to her chest. She’s shielding it.

“What? No!”

“It’s going to die anyways!” Mal angles her dagger toward where the rabbit must be. “Give it to me!”

It makes Evie turn her body away from her, shielding the animal even more.

“No!” Her eyes are scorching when they meet Mal’s.

This defiance makes her recoil physically. How dare she? Over some stupid animal? Mal’s free hand shoots out to grab Evie’s shoulder and shake her. “Let me kill it!”

“No! You can’t!” Her eyes stay as steely as before, even as they begin to water. “You can't!” Even as her voice begins to shake.

Mal brings her dagger even closer. So close, that she can see her own reflection in the cold metal of the blade.

“Why the hell not, Blueberry?”

“I love it, you can’t kill it! You can’t! It’s alive! I love it!”

***

Usually, Mal bites her tongue when Maleficent pushes lessons on her, letting her mother rant, and it’s no different today, even though she is so frustrated, so tired. She doesn’t even know what set her mother off this time, but she doesn’t bother to speak up. Mal can feel her inner temperature go underworld low and dragon fire high, back and forth, all day, she can feel her skull splitting where her horns should be, she can feel her back muscles moving to accommodate for wings that can’t be sprouted, magic produced in her body without an exit, stuck inside her. She feels like half a corpse and half a god.

“Furthermore, Mal, you must not dismiss my advice. I am not saying this out of ill will, I only do this due to your promising nature. I see you have the capability to own this world, to lead the conquering, and to take over after I rule. You are Maleficent Morgana the Second, do you understand?”

It’s funny. She doesn't even have her own name, her mother never gave her one. She made her fight for each letter tooth and nail but the prize is becoming her mother. All she sees when she looks at her daughter is a twisted reflection of herself, a second chance at achieving promised greatness.

Maleficent takes a sip of her coffee, and though Mal knows it is horribly bitter, she does it calmly. A mirthless smile stretches her thin lips.

“I was like you when I was your age. Ignored my mother’s wisdom, thinking I was oh so mature. But the world is cruel and we must be too. We fight or we die. It forced me to cast my heart aside, practically ripped it out of me, and when I started using my head, I finally started yielding results. I only wish to protect you, like I now realise my mother was trying to protect me way back then. You are my daughter, be better than me, cast emotions aside now, and don’t let them cloud your judgement. I truly believe you will be the deliverance of our preordained fate.”

She takes another sip of her coffee and lowers it on the table in a harsh movement. Ceramic hits wood with a boom.

It’s only the training that stops Mal from flinching at the resonance. Her hearing fluctuates between true faery abilities and the constricting human level, and all the sounds are grating her ears. Not that she hasn’t heard this speech many times before. Mal has been a promising child since she was born. She didn’t do anything to deserve it, she didn’t make any vows, her lips did not form words binding her to divine wickedness. No, her mother, and her mother, and hers, they gave the old prophecy of owning the world to her like an inheritance.

“Yes, yes, you will be our deliverance.”

With a content sigh, Maleficent nods once more and leans back into her armchair.

It is as clear a dismissal as she will get, so Mal pulls herself up, feels her bones ready to snap under the weight, and with a small bow turns away from the coffee table. It takes all her willpower to keep her composure. Near the doors, she chances a pause to gather herself once again, and glances at her mother.

She looks frightening. Not like when she would stand over Mal’s barely conscious body after leaving a pattern of black and blue all over, no. Not like when she would suggest plans that would put Jay in grave danger just to watch Mal’s reaction either. No, this is an ultimately frightening sight.

She looks pathetic. Imprisonment has not been kind to any of them but the inaccessibility of magic has hit the inherently magical beings the harshest. To Mal, her mother looks like she might collapse, fade out on here, never get out of that armchair.

That is the fundamental reason she lets her mother lecture her. She fears her, of course, but she patronises her more now. Mal is already a shining example of never letting her emotions cloud her judgement in battle. She stopped herself before she could grow attached. Built walls even between herself and her General, retreated away from his warmth when he got too close.

So she shrinks, hides more and more of herself in order to not appear threatening to Maleficent. It only makes Mal despise her more and in turn, despise herself.

One day, she promises herself as the flash of pain fades and she closes the doors behind herself. One day she will take a butcher’s knife and cut this umbilical cord.

***

Next Thursday, Mal finds Evie crying in one of the smaller rooms of their lair.

It’s obvious she’s crying, even if she’s turned away from the door, cooped up in a dark corner. Her whole body is shaking silently, tiny little movements arrhythmic, like she’s fighting the tears.

Mal turns away. She will ignore this moment of foolish vulnerability, maybe send Carlos or Dizzy this way instead. They can be gentle. Mal appreciates kindness only because it shows that their evil has intent, that they inflict hurt on purpose. Gentleness is inside their bones. Hers are hollow.

It is at that moment, when Mal has made up her mind, that Evie notices her.

She always seems to notice Mal.

Their eyes lock. Mal feels glued to the spot. Evie’s eyes sparkle softly in the dim light, her mascara is running down her face in black and blue streaks, and her lipstick is smudged and half bitten off in the middle. She looks magnetic. Evie is beautiful, not despite her harried state, not because of it, just beautiful. Always so beautiful.

“I’m sorry, I-” Evie’s breath stutters as she gulps more air in, “I thought no one would be here.” She looks somewhere behind Mal, not like she’s trying to gauge if there are people behind her, but like she can’t bear to look at her any longer. “You ca- should go. I’m- I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t say sorry.” Mal comes in and closes the door behind her. It plunges the tiny room into more solid darkness. “It’s weak.” She steps a little closer to Evie.

Evie hastily wipes her face and shakes her head a little. “Yes, of course.” She sniffles. It is such a pitiful sound, brittle and barely controlled, Mal wants it to stop. “Really, Mal, you, you don’t need to stay, can, you can go.”

It is the most erratic Evie’s speech has ever been. Usually, her words are so measured, it’s weird to hear her stutter. Mal kneels beside her on the dusty floor. There is not much space in the room, it feels stifling, being so close to Evie. She wants to move back, to come closer, to storm out, to crush her in a hug. She settles for leaning back on the balls of her feet and digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

“Well, I’m here.” What would Carlos do? Shit, what would one of those soft as shit Auradon kids say? Because even though Genevieve is one of the most feared people on the Isle, even though she can dig her nails in wounds just to listen to the screams, she requires this tenderness.

“So tell me what bullshit made you… uh-”

“Cry like a baby?” Evie says with a bitter smile.

Mal just hums. That is exactly what she was thinking but it seemed too harsh to say right then. Mal wouldn’t kick one of her own while they are lying down.

Another stuttering breath. Genevieve keeps shaking, all those emotions too much for her tiny body. She is taller than Mal, but like this, she looks so small and bursting at the seams with everything.

“Remember last week? We found that baby rabbit?” Her voice is still so soft. “I had to kill it.” More tears gather in the corners of her eyes. They twinkle in the darkness like stars in the sky. “I- My mother, she, ah- I guess she wanted a new fur collar.” With a put upon shrug, she continues: “It’s not even the worst part.” Mal watches her swallow heavily, like it pains her to do so, like she is swallowing glass. “We, ah, we can’t afford to be wasteful here. And, you know, that’s fine... Well, it’s not fine, Auradon makes us do this and we haven’t even done anything but be born! And they can definitely afford to get normal food and clothing and water for us. I mean, have you seen the new castle the Beast’s family is building? ‘Secondary summer palace’, what bullshit!”

“Princess, I appreciate anger for those Auradon fuckers as much as the next person but get to the fucking point.” Her tone is always too cold, fuck. Now Evie will think she’s angry at her. Maybe she is, a little. For making her feel so responsible for her sadness.

“Sorry,” she catches herself too late, “Mother made me cook him.”

Mal is silent at that, and Evie tries to fill the silence.

“And, I knew he was going to die. You were right. He was too weak to survive, he couldn’t fight, but, gods above, I never- I didn’t think she’d make me butcher him.” Her voice dissolves into nothingness at the end.

“You really were in love with that thing, huh?”

Evie freezes up at that, so still, she might be made of marble. She shakes her head after a moment. “I loved it, I was not- I was not in love with it.” Her gaze is trained on the toes of her boots, on the tiny stubborn dot of blood that hasn't washed out. “That’s different.”

And that, that is the final nail in her coffin. Fuck! Mal already doesn’t know what to say, what do you say to a person who is crying? There are no memories in her head to use as an example. The last time she cried, her mother had dangled her light body out of a balcony, telling her not to shame the legacy with something as weak and as human as tears. That did make her stop crying but that is not what Mal is going for with Evie. And she was so stupid to bring up love.

“You should’ve let me kill it that day.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t mean it. Evie would not have let her do it.

“You shouldn’t cry so much over it.”

“I’ll be fine. You- you don’t need to worry about me so much.” She smiles a little, the waterworks finally coming to a stop. It makes Mal feel disgustingly soft, like a rotten apple.

“I wasn’t worried. But you’re on my team so it’s my responsibility or whatever.”

“Still.” There’s a tiny smile on Evie’s ruined face.

And in that darkness, surrounded by specks of dust and looking at black and blue tear tracks and smudged lipstick, Mal thinks that maybe it’s not such a horrible thing to be loved by Evie. She loves so much so easily, it can’t be a terribly huge deal to be a part of the long list.

***

No matter how much her mother snarls in distaste, Mal prefers that her gang is less rigid and the atmosphere is more companionable when they are together. Sometimes, though, when they are being particularly annoying, Mal wonders if her mother is right.

Diego de Vil and his band of musical misfits really don’t work hard enough to afford all the distraction and halfway-manic laughter they cause. Fucking freeloaders. Honestly, and she has told them this more than once, they are only here as Carlos’s kin and because their music sets really bring the howlers to the next level.

They’re always jamming or giggling in “their” nook of the lair. That, or harassing the other occupiers of the loft.

They make fun of Dizzy for following Evie around everywhere, like a loyal duckling. When Evie furrows her brows and tells them to cut it out, they snicker behind their hands and Ivy starts singing the silly song they wrote just for Dizzy. They “are just kidding, really, Dizzy, you are our dark magician girl”, after all.

They make fun of Freddie, whenever she decides to come around. Yell something about how matted her hair is, and the twins pop out their perfect clouds of signature de Vil ashen hair to mock her. She just flips them off because they all know that right after she finishes her dealings with Mal, she’s going to be slithering in the nook and plopping herself on a pillow between Maria de Vil’s feet, letting her work her own kind of magic.

Even Mal is not immune. They make fun of her “brooding face”. They make fun of her short stature. They find a lot to laugh about, but they never push too much, and Mal can’t help but think that it’s nice. To be in on a joke.

(She remembers running with Maddy. It’s silly now but then it felt like a sign that they both had purple hair. It seemed so concrete when she was ten-eleven. And Maddy would run around to make fun of her behind her back, would sabotage Mal on purpose, feed her wrong information just to watch her trip up. She’d punch her in the shoulder and say: “Come on, it was just a joke!” and cackle mean-spiritedly.

Maddy never knew the limit. Maddy bleaches her hair obsessively.)

The band joke about a lot of things, and notice every embarrassing reaction, which is why Mal half-expects howling laughter when Evie turns beet red after Mal off-handedly says “Attagirl” during a sparring session. They don’t laugh when Evie rushes to bring Mal some kind of special electro-something water after training. They don’t laugh when Evie asks if she can “move up from her regular loft room? Somewhere closer to you? Not- not in that way, just that rooms get bigger closer to the top and I need space for my brewing!”

They don’t laugh when Evie blanches at the sight of Mal’s mangled fingers after a nasty fight. They don’t laugh when she pulls out some salve and bandages from her thigh holster when she tapes them together ever so carefully and something close to tears shines in her eyes.

They never laugh at her. Mal wishes she didn't know why.

***

Mal’s gang may be far less rigid than Maleficent’s armies used to be but if anyone dared to think that Mal was not a demanding leader or, gods forbid, that Mal was soft, they would be proven wrong fairly quickly.

Perfection is expected, achieving more than asked for is expected, and falling short is punished. The closer you are to Mal, the harsher you get burned by her hellfire rage.

She’s yelling about the botched chloroform, asking Evie how she can be so stupid and incompetent, how dare she not perform her role in the gang, and give her one valid reason she shouldn’t send Evie back into banishment right this moment! And maybe Mal is being harsher than usual but then Evie’s lip stops trembling and her poisonous blood is boiling with anger and she is screaming right back at Mal. Saying that she is “cold-blooded, cruel, a fucking tyrant!”

Mal doesn’t stop herself when she swings a punch.

It doesn’t land properly. Evie moves away and Mal ends up hitting her shoulder, Evie’s hands on her wrist and elbow, and a moment later Mal is on the cement floor, her breath knocked out, with Evie hovering over her. She’s crying. Her mascara is running and her eyes shine brightly and Mal’s heart stops.

It’s like a dam has been broken. Evie tries to calm herself but all her inhales are shaky and all her exhales are ragged, she can’t stop the hot tears from rolling down her cheeks and landing on Mal’s face and neck. She’s still uselessly pounding her fists on Mal’s chest, so she catches the witch’s wrists and brings them down.

Mal doesn’t want to dislodge her even if her instincts tell her that this is how you get your throat slit. Evie is still shaking on top of her. Mal doesn’t know what to say and she can’t bear to look at her. She turns her head to the side. Evie’s wrists are burning against her underworld cold hands.

They stay like that for however long it takes for Evie to calm herself. Far too fast for how hard she was sobbing earlier, probably.

“Why do you do that?” Evie’s voice is hoarse and small but still full of fury.

She feels like she’s about to fall through the floor.

But Mal is still on the floor and she looks at the place where the wall meets the floor and she realises it wasn’t painted very well. “I-” her throat is swollen, “I have to. I need perfection.”

“Don’t be so cruel to me,” Evie exhales unsteadily, “you know, you know that I, you know I-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I wish it counted for something.”

Mal finally turns to look at her. The blue mascara stains on her face look like bruises.

***

Mal climbs the church tower that night.

Her bones creak, weary and tired on the ascent. For a few seconds, she hears the way storm clouds gather under the barrier. The stone is warm under her infernally cold hands.

There are kids on the streets nearby but none of them are hers so she doesn’t care. If they are staying the night at the church square, neither do their parents.

The dim lights of the Isle don’t reach her here, she is illuminated only by the shimmering of the barrier. If she tries, she can probably even find a star or two through the gaps between the stormy clouds that are anchored on top of the barrier.

She wonders, can he see the barrier down there? Is her father reaching out to touch it too? Is he digging through the dirt, like she is? Does he think of her?

Mal does not think of her father often. Sometimes, she forgets she has a father at all. She is her mother’s daughter so thoroughly, she wouldn’t be surprised to find out if even her very bones had “Property of Maleficent” carved into them.

But tonight, she wonders about Hades. She knows so little of the man, of the god. She knows that he sits in his catacombs, that he makes that little Facilier runt run his errands, that he’s merciful with her. Mal has only one memory, though it is spotty like the radio transmissions they get on the Isle, inviting imagination to fill in the blanks.

And, like everything about her, Mal’s imagination is cruel.

She remembers the day her father left. The cold grey light, the dust particles that floated in the air, the back and forth screaming, and the smell of sulphur that filled their house. She was hiding under the staircase, ready to dart into the closet if her mother decided to take out her frustrations on her.

Then, a vase… or a sugar bowl? Something porcelain, anyway, was thrown down and broke into a million tiny sharp pieces at the bottom of the stairs. She remembers having to clean it up later and getting cuts on her chubby fingers.

Her mother screamed something along the lines of “You are not a god anymore! Go back to hell!” and slammed their bedroom door shut. Mal peeked out from under the staircase, just as the thunderous steps made more dust fall out and float in the air.

This is where it gets fuzzy.

Sometimes, she can only remember him opening the front door, daylight outside too bright for Mal’s eyes that were used to the semi-darkness of their house. Hades turned to look at her for a moment, face unreadable, and walked out with a resounding slam of the door.

Sometimes, she remembers more. She remembers that her father noticed her peeking out from under the stairs. He walked up to her, and he doesn’t have a face in these memories but she knows he was looking her in the eyes. He asked her if she wanted to come with him, but before she could answer, he sighed and said: “No, that won’t work. I’d be tired of you. I’d be able to bear that if I loved you but you are too much like your mother already. It’s too late, she taught you well.” And then he turned around and left her life forever.

Sometimes, she entertains the idea of finding him. Marching into the catacombs where he has made a home, holding a knife to his throat, seeing if he bleeds red or golden. The problem is, she will never be able to make him feel her own pain.

And what would that accomplish? He was right.

Mal was an unlovable child and she is an unlovable adult. At least she is rational enough to know it.

Here, in this dark place where no one can hear her, she tips her face to the sky. There is no hope to find the stars but the rain finds her somehow. The droplets are sweet on her lips.

No one sees her cry.

[humaudrey]

Descendants Scene Rewrite - Meeting The VKs (Part 1)

Auradon Prep's marching band played a typical, upbeat and positive song fitting for a student's first day, swaying to the beat of their own drum. From behind the marching band, nearby the school statue, Zephyr's shoulders joined them and were in sync with the band.

Ben nudged Melody with his free arm, and gestured toward Zephyr. The two shared a small laugh, mimicking his movements despite the amused and confused looks from Seth and Audrey. They couldn't blame him, the trio had waited for this day for years. Today was only the beginning.

The black limo had suddenly driven past the school sign and made its way in front of the dormitory building. Students and staff who greeted the newcomers at the front gate had marched behind them, waving blue and yellow flags rapidly and eagerly with smiles before joining their peers by the dorms and the main school building.

The driver parked in front of the drop off area, and hastily opened the door.

Everyone's smiles and happy demeanor had died with the music. Immediately, two boys fell out of the limo door, grunting as they tugged at a blue towel. Despite the size difference, the smaller, white haired boy had managed to put up a fair fight against the tan, long dark brown haired individual in the burgundy beanie.

"You got–everything else, why do you want whatever this is?"

"Because you want it! Give it–"

"No–"

The two continued to roll toward the rear end of the limo before the beanie wearer managed to gain an advantage. He straddled the boy with his knees on the other's waist and they continued their vicious game of tug of war.

The marching band cleared a path for Fairy Godmother and the other five, who cautiously walked a few steps forward.

"Hey, get off of him!" Zephyr yelled.

"Zephyr, sweetie, let's not–"

Fairy Godmother was too late. Zephyr ran and pushed the beanie wearer off, only managing to cause the tug of war over the towel to get even more violent. Zephyr had found himself intertwined in their tussle and the three continued to venture more to the right of the limo, with Fairy Godmother pacing behind the three and pleading for them to stop.

Once the four were a good distance away from the door, the driver beckoned for the others to depart for the limo.

The next person was a girl dressed in blue leather, who stole everyone else's attention away from the scuffle. Save for her fair complexion, and her poison apple red lipstick, most of her was blue, including her softly curled hair. Her brown eyes lit up like fireworks as she spun–no, twirled–around the area a few times. She faced Ben and the others and greeted them with a deep curtsy in her black graphic skirt, and Ben found himself replying back with a charmed smile. Her posture and poise had rivaled that of any princess Auradon had ever produced. Her stance was perfect, almost too perfect, like a mannequin in a dress boutique or an action figure whose ballpoint joints were forcibly pushed to create the perfectly still pose. One of the band members had turned to look back at Seth. His eyes bounced back from the blue haired girl to him. Seth smirked and subtly nodded back in reply, and the eyes behind the trumpet player's glasses widened in horror.

Another girl followed after, but she was much more hesitant. She peaked her head out the door, and covered her eyes with her hand as if someone had shined a flashlight in her face. As she made it out of the limo, Audrey felt a nervous lump forming in her throat. She recognized that specific, unnatural yet beautiful shade of green in the girl's eyes from anywhere. Her purple hair and the purple and green leather ensemble with dragon insignias were dead giveaways as well, and the look of disgust as she surveyed the dorm building only made the resemblance to her that much more apparent. The girl in purple caught the gaze of another band member, a French horn player, staring at her. Though, unlike the others, he looked...interested?

Suddenly, the French horn player flinched as yet another person in the limo shoved the girl in purple forward so they could get out. Catching herself from eating asphalt, she turned to repay the favor. The person responsible cackled manically before winking at the four future monarchs almost in a flirtatious manner.

Yet another boy, who coincidentally also wore a shade of red like the other two boys before him, and the tallest one so far. He was a brunette, with beautiful blue eyes that popped thanks to his black eyeliner. Unlike the other four villain kids, he seemed to be dressed more like a–

"Pirate," Melody murmured to herself. His dingy scarlet leather trench coat that shined under the sun, the truffled white blouse underneath, the tethered pants, the boots, Melody scanned over his entire ensemble several times. He was definitely a pirate. And if he was a pirate–

He had to be the son of Captain Hook, the man who killed Melody's grandmother.

"Woah, pretty!" let out another voice from the limo.

Melody's eyes darted back to the next person, another boy. He had a similar pirate style to the previous; an orange and brown leather steampunk styled shirt, tethered jeans, and black boots. He was much tanner than the other pirate and the combination of his skin complexion and his wavy blonde hair underneath his brown bandana reminded Melody of the surfers back at Seaside, though, most of the surfers weren't as buff. Despite his stature, size, and getup, and the fact he was from the Isle; he glanced at the other people scattered around him and waved at each individual with a welcoming smile that competed with the sun.

"Hello?!" called out an impatient voice.

Both of the pirate boys immediately turned back to the opened limo door, a black leather gloved hand reaching out, as if it–or, she, Melody assumed–was waiting for one of the two to grab it.

The red pirate grabbed the right hand, and the orange and brown pirate grabbed the other she lent, and the two properly escorted her out.

Melody's stomach dropped to her toes. The first thing she noticed were the long turquoise braids underneath a black pirate hat. Her black, turquoise, and purple fishnet and leather dress that complimented her deep brown skin implied she was a pirate too. No, not just a pirate, a captain. Their captain; the looks of pride and admiration on the other pirates' faces as if she were their goddess made that obvious. Her hardened face with such familiar facial features resembled that of a soldier going to war, and the confidence in the few steps she made in her heeled boots suggested she'd be the sole victor. The smoking gun that tipped Melody off about the identity of the pirate captain was the all too familiar gold Nautilus necklace that hung near her chest.

She was Ursula's daughter, and subsequently, Morgana's niece.

Melody thought she was ready for this, but her shivering body disagreed with her. Did she hate Melody for what her parents did? Or for sabotaging her aunt's attempt at opening the barrier and freeing her and the rest of the Isle inhabitants? Did she want revenge? Was that the original necklace?

As if the sea witch pirate captain heard the haunting thoughts in Melody's head, her brown eyes locked with Melody's. Like the rest of her surroundings, she gave Melody a careful and slow look over, examining every molecule that made up Melody's entire being.

A sudden, soft yet high-pitch ringing noise caused Melody to look down at her necklace. The gold seashell pendant was glowing, despite the lack of water needed for it to work, and it floated outward lazily. Melody glanced back at the sea witch pirate captain, only to find that the Nautilus pendant had done the same, glowing and floating outward toward Melody as if their necklaces were magnetic.

This was a first for Melody, but she never had the opportunity to meet others with enchanted jewelry other than her siblings. The sea witch pirate captain silently laughed and winked in Melody's direction while tucking away her pendant necklace under her dress. That answered one of Melody's questions at least.

Both of their necklaces had calmed down but Melody only continued to shiver, clasping her hands together tight like stress balls. Every cell in her brain told Melody to run, while every vein in her heart wanted her to stick it out.

"–and as we always say, leave it like you found it."

Melody looked back at Fairy Godmother making her way back to her group. The two boys from earlier dragged their feet over to the rest of the Isle inhabitants. The shorter boy was quite fashionable, in red, white, and black, with brown freckles like Dalmatian spots covering his unamused face. The taller boy dusted off his burgundy and yellow vest before he slowly made his way to the makeshift welcoming committee.

Zephyr was right on Fairy Godmother's tail, his head hung low with his hands in his pockets, unaware of the beanie wearer's presence.

[quecksilvereyes]

Mother, mother

(toil and-)

Mother.

My horns have grown in. My teeth are needle-razor-curse sharp, and jagged at the edges. I am-

My eyes are glowing.

Dinners and dates and clawing, biting fights. Late-night screaming and early-morning grooming - they won't stop.

Was it like this for you? Did you stand, in the heart of that forest, clutching your staff, did you glow and glow and glow until all that could see you ran from you?

Did your form, too, slip through your fingertips like quecksilver, dripping from your skin and the flesh hiding your steel bones? Did you, too, have no-one to turn to, then?

Mother.

Mistress, what have you made of me? The curve of my horns, the beat of my tongue, the drape of my hair, what shape have you formed of this half-human body? Did you fashion yourself a weapon to be held by the throat, ready to spit fire if only the right trigger is pulled?

You made the fuse so short.

You made the trigger so sensitive.

Or did you once long for a sweet thing, soft and vulnerable as human infants are? Did you swaddle me, and cradle me on your back, pressed against the scars where your wings once lived? If I touched the skin there, would I recognise the shape of your joints and the names writ upon them?

There are bruises on my cheekbones. The skin is too thin, there, and the bone too sharp. If I close my mouth and relax my throat, my tongue comes away bloody. If I breathe, it comes out burning.

Mother, my magic is spilling from me as if from a broken vessel. I am what you made me. I know not how to undo it.

Could you reach into the marrow of me and rethrow the clay? Could you make of me something whole, something alive?

Would you love me, if I was made right?

Mother.

[kybee1497]

my bunny lies over the ocean by kybee1497

The first time he opens his eyes it’s to a smiling baby girl who squeals at the sight, small fingers gripping his fur with surprising strength.

Her name is Audrey, tiny princess that she is. He loves her with every piece of fluff in him.

Or

The Magic in a guardian toy is more powerful than anyone knows.

[lilacs-stars]

burning passion of twilight

this is part 2, recommended you read part 1 first! (to avoid confusion) pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is ariel's daughter and a mermaid) SUMMARY: as an enemy of the infamous pirate captain starts making advances on you, you are caught between the waves of your lover and the beaming rays of light given to you by another. GENRE: yandere, quite a bit of angst, comforting fluff at the end, a touch of spice CW: a bit of cursing, mentions of violence (sword fight, small injuries, threats), mentions of blood (just a few cuts), lots of hurt moments (from arguing), reader gets harassed, jealousy, possessiveness, suggestive material at the end, also uses of the word 'lover' instead of boyfriend or girlfriend because it fit the setting more WC: 5.5k (did I go overboard? ...maybe)

A/N: me? obsessed with this man? yes, yes I am. the things I felt when writing this...ahhh we love ourselves a jealous man. shoutout to everyone who read and supported part 1, I really didn't think people would actually enjoy reading my writing loll. I know this one is kinda long, so please bear with me. also thanks once again to the anon who requested this, this was a super fun idea to do! all feedback and suggestions are highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts!

“…and then, out of nowhere, BAM! The entire thing explodes!” cries a boy not much older than you, with ginger hair and dressed in a simple green button-up shirt. 

Your entire table erupts in laughter, with you sparing a small giggle. It is early morning, and you are sitting with your usual group in the dining hall. You’re only close friends with a few of them, and merely friendly acquaintances with the others. After all, you aren’t really the extroverted, talkative type. Not like the boy retelling the story of how he pranked the headmaster last quarter, somehow with the same enthusiasm as the first ten times he told it. 

Peter Pan is one of the members of your large group that you aren’t really close with. Although he is considered to be on the “good” side of the hero-villain spectrum, he sure has his mischievous side. 

He is also incredibly extroverted, chatting up anyone he lays his eyes on. Which is why you've always chalked up his attempts to start a conversation with you to his gregarious personality, and nothing more. 

Still, you try your best not to get too close to him. Although James has never directly said anything about him to you, you can sense that there’s some…tension between them. Although he tries to act discreet, you’ve still caught on to the way James glowers at Pan whenever you’re with your group—although he doesn’t take much action, as villains and heroes don’t really mix. How he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you in tight whenever he catches sight of Pan, and even the few times he’s used his hook to pull you into a kiss right in front of the person who appears to be his enemy. Not to mention how he always happens to find you with some urgent matter or other that desperately needs your attention whenever you and Pan are having—or trying to have—a conversation. Although, now that you think about it, James does do that quite often whenever you speak to any guy besides him. 

Pan catches your eye from across the table, and you can tell he’s waiting for some sort of reaction for his latest joke. You give a polite smile, not really knowing what they had been talking about anyways, and turn away to chat with one of your friends. Whatever’s going on between those two, you don’t care, and you sure don’t want to ruffle any feathers. 

Your morning class this semester is Potions and Elixirs 101, in which you happen, by some cruel stroke of fate, to be seated next to the one and only Peter Pan. What is especially annoying about this class—or rather, about your table partner—is that you always end up doing most of the work yourself, being the only one out of your duo that actually listens to instructions. 

The teacher explains how today, your class will be making Shanty Serum, an anti-seasickness remedy. After he goes over the requirements a dozen times, you finally set off on the mission of brewing the potion, which is always done in a pair with your table mate. 

Everything is going fine, of course; you crush the siren teeth into a fine powder, and Pan, following your careful instructions, manages to brew the kraken saliva until it comes to a soft boil. Just as you reach the final steps, you crinkle your nose as a strange smoky odor fills your senses. You look up from your textbook to see your potion, which you worked so hard on, bubbling and overflowing from the cauldron. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry professor! I could have sworn I only put in two unicorn hairs!” Pan cries, jumping back to avoid getting purple goo all over himself. You shoot him a glare, and he adds on, “And I’m sorry to you too, Y/N! I really am!”

You sigh and shake your head, flipping through your textbook to find the page where it explains how to counter excess unicorn hair. Through a bit of luck and a decent amount of skill, you manage to save your potion and not get a terrible grade on it, either. 

The last few minutes of class, Pan walks up to you. “Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry about earlier. I know you tried really hard to get the potion right, and I just messed it up. God, I’m such a clutz.” He scratches the back of his head as he looks down at his shoes sheepishly. “Hey, but if you’ll let me, I can make it up to you! Say, you got any plans Friday night?”

His eyes light up as he looks at you with a puppy-dog gaze, and your heart melts a little at his attempt for redemption. But then again, you did promise yourself to keep a good distance from him…

“I-I’m, uhm, well, I was planning to study that night,” you say, which isn’t really much of a lie. “I mean, with midterms coming up and whatnot,” you tack on with a bit of an awkward laugh. 

“Saturday night?” Pan pushes, eyes still alight with hope. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m, uh, I’m going out with friends that night. But maybe some other time?” you flash him an apologetic smile, guilt gnawing at your insides as a result of pushing him away. Honestly, you don’t know why James has it out for the poor guy. He seems like the friendly sort to you. 

You quickly duck away and move to the other side of the classroom, deciding to meet up with some friends to get away from the stifling silence between the two of you. Deep down, you knew you wouldn't be able to resist Pan’s offer if you had stayed behind to see the disappointed, rejected look on his face. Still, you couldn’t help but glance back at his direction, feeling endlessly shameful for your cold actions. 

You thought that would be the end of that, but little did you realize, in that moment, how wrong you were.

School finally lets out and the afternoon rolls around again, which means you stand patiently waiting in the courtyard again for James. You pace around the water fountain, fingers lightly tracing along the rim, humming a tune under your breath. 

This fountain has always reminded you of the sea, the rolling waves of the ocean, how the cold water brushes against your skin while it hugs you in a tight embrace. Just thinking about swimming makes your legs ache to morph back into a tail and take off into the blue depths. The worst part about going to the Academy, in your opinion, is that it’s so far from any bodies of water that the only times you get to finally enjoy yourself in your mermaid form is when you’re off for the holidays.

Just as you make your way halfway around the fountain, you see something move on the other side of the water out of the corner of your eye. “Y/N?” a voice calls out. 

You walk back around the fountain to be met with… “Pan?” you ask, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I saw you come this way after school, and um, I’ve been feeling really bad the whole day for how I screwed up in P&E earlier,” he explains earnestly. “And so, I was thinking, I really want to make sure that I don’t mess up like that again. For both your sake, and my grades’.” He gives a little chuckle at his joke, before straightening his face out again.

“So, uhm, I was wondering, would you be willing to help me out? You don’t have to fully tutor me or anything, but maybe help me study and give me a few tips?”

There it is again. That spark of hope in his eyes. And honestly, how could you turn him down twice? After how sincerely he apologized earlier, and now with how he’s still thinking of you and trying to prevent himself from causing more trouble. You may have your priorities when it comes to relationships, but you still have morals, too. And there is absolutely no way you can reject him again, especially when he’s so desperate to improve. 

“Well…yeah, all right. I’ll help you out,” you say, trying to force a smile on your face. 

Pan beams, excitement lighting up his features. “Wow, really? Thanks so much, Y/N! You won’t regret it, I swea—”

Pan’s eyes quickly dart to a point above your head, perhaps catching a glimpse of something behind you. Whatever the cause, he stops dead in the middle of his sentence, face dropping. He goes pale for a second, before morphing his features into a hard and cold gaze. Shocked, you turn around to see what could have caused such a sudden change in his demeanor. 

And lo and behold, behind you stands a dark, glowering James, still half-concealed by the shadows behind him. He holds Pan’s cold gaze menacingly with a dark, furious, yet somehow misleadingly calm look of his own. Then, with no warning, he stomps towards you, ensnaring your arm within his hook as he drags you away. You barely catch his grumbled “Come on, we’re leaving” as you stumble backwards from his tug, practically running to keep up with his wide strides. 

He leads you down a number of empty corridors and doesn’t let you go until you finally reach a deserted staircase. The second he stops hauling you away from the courtyard, you yank your arm back to your side, panting from the difficulty of keeping up with him. 

James spins sharply on his heel, angry glare locked with your confused, half-mad, half-hurt gaze. 

“Care to tell me what the hell all that was about, love?” he snarls. Darkness swirls around in his vicious eyes, deep and unrelenting like the crashing waves of the ocean, and equally as violent.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” you spit back. 

“What the hell does Peter Pan want to do with you?”

“First of all, he’s my partner in Potions,” you reply heatedly, trying your best to hold back the angry tears you can feel already forming in your eyes. “And he was asking if I could help him study. As an apology for messing up earlier today. What’s so wrong with that?”

James laughs darkly, muttering, “Damn it, that bastard,” under his breath. He rocks his head back and forth, pairing it with a wicked, twisted smile that sends cold chills down your spine.

“I don’t understand what’s so wrong with that!” you cry out, feeling hot tears already start to trickle down your face. 

“Don’t you see?” spits James, taking a step towards you and waving his hook wildly in some form of gesture. “He’s trying to steal you from me!”

At this, you recoil, blinking slowly. You can feel the emotions simmering in you, deep down. The calm before the storm. 

“Steal me? From you? Steal me?” you ask, the emotions and fury building inside you like a rising wave. You take a step back from him, your voice rising. 

“Look, Pan and I may not be mates, but I know him well,” James snaps, clearly pissed. “And I can tell you right now that he doesn’t have any good intentions towards you.”

“Steal me? Like I’m some sort of treasure to be claimed? Like I’m an object?” you cry out, exasperated and relentless.

Something flashes across James’s eyes for a split second, some emotion or thought that is rather undecipherable. His features soften slightly, reminiscent of how he was when you sang for him under the moonlight not so long ago. As if his rational mind is finally catching up to his emotional words, his face falls, furrowed brows loosen a bit, and the cold anger in his eyes gives way to a more tender side of him. Maybe if you looked hard enough, you could also see a hint of regret laced in there. 

“No, I’m sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean it like that,” he calls out after you. But it’s too late; you’re already running down the empty hall, away from James. Away from all your problems. 

You’re half-asleep when you show up to Potions and Elixirs 101 the next morning. After your fight yesterday with James, you simply couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. It’s the first time you two fought like this, and you honestly don’t know what to do or how to feel. Sure, you’re still angry at him for the way he acted, but at the same time, you miss his comforting embrace, his soft laughs, the touch of his skin against yours. 

You sit down at your assigned table, trying your best to ignore the ginger next to you. Today, you’re taking notes on a lecture the teacher is giving, so you thankfully won’t have to do much talking to Pan. 

You make sure to listen as intently as possible to the professor, wanting to fill your mind with something other than thoughts of your argument earlier. You pay attention to taking notes so closely that you nearly forget all about your problems. That is, until you’re reminded again at the end of class, as you’re putting your things away alongside everyone else. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Pan asks from beside you. 

“Yeah?” you reply, feigning nonchalance. You make sure to keep your head down as you stuff your notebook into your bag. Oh, please let this be about the homework we were just assigned and nothing else. 

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”

Well, damn it. 

You think about giving a quick response to end the conversation, but in all honesty, you don’t really know if he expects you to accept his apology, or give one of your own. You aren't quite sure who is in the wrong here, but you are sure of one thing: saying the wrong thing will not do you any favors in solving your problems.

“What about yesterday?” You try to keep your tone light, as if it’s all water under the bridge, but you can’t help the apprehensiveness that leaks into your voice. 

“Well, I wanted to apologize if I was interrupting something between you two back there,” Pan starts.

You give him a small, apologetic smile, “No, don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting anything,”

“In that case…” Pan runs a hand through his hair as he lets out a quick exhale, before locking eyes with you and asking, “Why are you still with him?”

His blunt question startles you, sending your mind reeling for a response. “I-I don’t know…I just am,” you say, wishing this conversation would be over already. You had never been a big fan of difficult questions that made you doubt everything you knew, or thought you knew, about yourself. 

“He treats you terribly. I’ve seen the way he acts. He’s a terrible lover, Y/N.”

You turn to face Pan directly, a defensive glint in your eye at his accusatory tone. “No, he’s not!” You turn away again as you mumble a small, “And he’s not my lover.”

At this, Pan quirks an eyebrow and gives you a look with a very obvious meaning behind it. “Oh please, have you never seen how he is around you? Of course he’s your lover.” Without missing a beat, Pan tacks on, “And a shitty one at that.”

You huff angrily, but you can’t think of anything to shoot back at him besides blatant denials. Pan must have taken this as an offer to continue, because he steps forward and places a gentle hand on your upper arm. 

“I’m saying this because I care about you, Y/N. You deserve someone a lot better than the likes of James Hook. Someone who will treat you right, take you out on dates whenever you want, and proudly walk around in public with your hand in theirs. Not someone who only meets up with you after school so nobody sees and acts like you don’t exist half the time.”

Your anger only grows at his words, knowing that his accusations aren’t true and that James does care about you…right? Because underneath the part of you that is always ready to defend James entirely and completely, is a part of you that doubts it, doubts him. It’s always been there, lingering in the back of your mind ever since your unusual relationship started to blossom. And now, with a new layer of hurt and confusion having been peeled back during your fight last night, that part of you wondered, deep down, if Pan was right. 

“You need a better lover, Y/N,” Pan continues. “Someone who truly cares about you. Someone…someone like me.”

Your eyes blow wide at his revelation as your mouth parts slightly in shock. You take a step backwards, shrugging off Pan’s hand as you stumble away from him. 

“Wait, please, just hear me out,” he pleads. “Just give me one chance. One chance to prove myself to you. You gave Hook a chance when you started trusting him, didn’t you? And he’s a villain. So why can’t you give me a chance? You won’t regret it, I promise.” He moves closer to you and you keep inching away, until your back collides with a wall and you realize that you have nowhere to run. 

Pan continues forward, your fear skyrocketing at his increasing proximity. “Please?” he begs. “I could treat you right. So much better than Hook.”

He finally reaches you, standing far closer than you would have normally let him, or anyone else, for that matter, as he cups your cheek with his left hand. Truth be told, it feels nice to sense warm flesh on your skin instead of the cold, harsh metal of James’s hook. But you shake that thought away almost instantly, chastising yourself for, even for a moment, putting Pan above James. 

Pan places his free hand on the wall next to your head and leans in even closer. “Please?” he whispers, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. 

The feeling of his exhale, paired with his natural scent that you only smell now when he’s this close, takes you back to that day when you first met James. He had leaned in too, whispering in your ear. You had felt his breath on your skin, breathed in his scent.

You feel an odd sense of deja vu, but for some reason, this interaction causes your heart to race out of pure fear, rather than the exhilarating rush you felt when you were with James. The realization causes you to snap out of your trance and go into full-on panic mode. “N-no, I’m sorry, I…”

Pan growls, not backing away. “Come one! How come you gave a villain a chance and you won’t give me one? That’s not fair!”

Your breathing quickens in pace, the panic settling over you and dragging you deep under like a wave at sea. Your palms start sweating profusely, and you can hear your heart racing a thousand miles a minute. You’re pretty sure this is what people mean when they mention one’s fight or flight response. 

“No! Just, just leave me alone!” you cry, ducking under his arm and rushing away from him just as the bell rings. You run into the hallway, trying to put as much distance between you and him as possible. 

You finally make it to the dining hall, plopping down at a table far away from your usual spot. You don’t care if you have to eat alone; anything to get away from Pan. Your mind is already wandering to thoughts of how to convince your Potions and Elixirs teacher to let you switch seats when you notice a lot of commotion next to the entrance of the dining hall. 

People have started crowding around the doors and murmuring to each other. Curious, you get up from your seat, wandering over to see what’s causing the commotion. As you near, you hear distant shouting and the sound of metallic clinking. You move even closer still, and finally catch snippets of people’s conversations.

“...fighting…”

“over…girl…” “Wait, who’s winning?”

“...did you see that?” “Oh my god…he’s gonna kill him!”

You try to stand up straight to get a look at what's causing the commotion, but the large crowd that has amassed blocks everything from view. “What’s going on?” you ask, not really to anyone in particular.

“Didn’t you hear?” a short, round boy, with big glasses to match his wide eyes answers. You recognize him as Smee from some of your classes. “James Hook is fighting a duel against Peter Pan!”

James…fighting…what? You blink in absolute disbelief. There is no way this is happening right now.

You manage to push your way to the front of the crowd, albeit not without many disgruntled mumbles thrown your way, until you get a clear view of the corridor in front of the dining hall.

You stand there, petrified, as you watch. Hell, it is really happening. James and Pan each have their swords unsheathed and are violently swinging them at each other’s heads, parrying the other’s attacks with deafening clashes of steel.

“You bastard!” James yells, taking another swing at Pan.

Pan jumps back, floating a few feet in the air as he does so, with a laugh. “Oh please, all I wanted to do was treat her right. Unlike you.”

James grits his teeth, countering Pan’s blow with one of his own. “You tried to steal my girl!”

Pan rolls his eyes, continuing the back-and-forth between their swords. “Your girl? As she said herself, you’re not even her lover.” James ducks down to avoid Pan’s latest attack. “Ha, how amusing indeed.” A dark glint shines in his eye as he lets out a cold and malicious laugh, before charging forward once again. “Of course I’m her lover, you bilge-sucking scoundrel! She belongs to me!”

Your eyes grow impossibly wider at those words. It shouldn’t come as much of a shock to you as it does; after all, it’s not like you and James haven’t been acting like a couple for the past few months. But still, you had managed to convince yourself that it was nothing serious, since he had never once directly talked about what you were. And hearing him say it out loud…declaring to the whole school that you were his…it made your heart feel unspeakable things.

“Well, you sure as hell don’t act that way,” Pan bites back, nicking James’s cheek. James recoils for a second, raising his hook to his face and wiping at the gash. He looks down at it, and from your front-row seat you can see the blood smeared against the glistening metal. 

James looks back up at Pan, raises his cutlass, and resumes the fight with a new vigor. Every hit more violent than the last, every offensive move aiming at a critical point. “I’m gonna kill you!” James yells as he lands a blow on Pan’s right arm. 

This gash seems rather deep—far deeper than the one previously inflicted on James—the blood already leaking out and staining Pan’s sleeve. He winces and steps back, but continues the fight. 

You stand there, motionless, too afraid to do anything. Maybe a braver person than you would step in, tell them to stop fighting. But your feet remain planted to the floor, your jaw aching from being clenched so hard as you pray for no one to get seriously hurt.

Pan parries one of James’s attacks and does a quick spin, rapidly gaining momentum with his sword as he turns around and aims the blade…

…directly at James’s head.

A small whimper escapes your throat as the roar of metal hitting metal echoes through the hall. You gasp, heart in your hands, as your eyes take a moment to register the scene in front of you.

James has caught Pan’s blade in the curve of his hook, holding it just inches away from his head. Their arms tremble with strain, with Pan trying to break James’s defense and slash through his neck, and James fighting to prevent him from doing so. They lock eyes, an endless, unspoken conversation passing between them in that moment. Pan’s sword inches closer to James’s head, whose back is bent as he struggles to hang on. 

With a sudden swoosh, James yanks his hook in a downward motion, spinning Pan’s sword inside of its arch. A terrible screech sounds at the rubbing of metal against metal as the sword gets wriggled free from Pan's grasp. James jerks his hook backwards, and the sword launches out of his opponent's hands.

The entire audience lets out a collective gasp as Pan’s sword lands with a clang! against the rough marble floors, off to the side. Everyone is dead silent, holding their breaths with anticipation of what’s to come.

You watch as the realization of his defeat dawns upon Pan, the fear blossoming in his eyes as James extends his cutlass to Pan’s throat. He presses the sharp tip into his neck, lightly enough not to break skin, but still firmly so no one, not even Pan, doubts his opponent's defeat.

“Apologize,” James demands, voice booming across the corridor, tone rather befitting for the captain of a ship.

“I-I’m sorry!” Pan pleas, just now aware of what a dangerous predicament he had gotten himself into.

“Not to me, you moron. To her.” James jerks his head backwards to where you’re standing, in the front of the audience, eyes blown wide. 

Pan turns to face you, eyes locking with yours amidst the crowd. “I’m sorry! Truly, I am! Please, forgive me!” he cries.

James snarls, pulling his sword back, poised to strike a lethal blow. He thrusts his hand forward, straight towards Pan’s chest…

…but doesn’t ever reach it.

Everyone watches, confused—James more so than anyone else—as his hand remains suspended in midair. A soft blue force field shimmers around his arm, just as loud footsteps and an old, yet assertive, voice fills the hall.

“Fighting on school grounds is strictly against school policy, you know.” The headmaster, Merlin, walks in from the opposite side of the hall. His steps echo loudly against the high ceilings, filling the otherwise dead-silent area. “Boys, you come with me. The rest of you, get to your classes.”

The crowd slowly disperses as Merlin whisks James and Pan away. You still stand there, feet glued to the floor, watching their backs until they disappear from sight.

You didn’t see neither James nor Pan in your classes for the rest of the day, and you assumed you wouldn’t be seeing them for a while. The headmaster was generally a kind soul, but he was strict when it came to breaking rules. You didn’t know what punishment he had come up with for them, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

Which is why you’re rather surprised when you open your locker at the end of the day to find a note flutter out and land at your feet. Curious, you pick it up and read it. “Meet me at our spot after school. -J.”

A small grin makes its way across your face, although you try your best to help it. You don’t know why, but reading James’s little notes always brings you joy, even if you are in a tight spot with him. 

You make your way to the courtyard, where James is waiting for you by the water fountain once again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice back to being gentle and soft. You open your mouth to respond, but he puts his hook against your lips, quieting you. “I need to get this out first before you yell at me.”

“I wanted to see you to apologize for my actions. After hearing what Pan said…” His eyes wander down to the ground as a grimace spreads across his features. “I’ve come to the realization that he’s right, love.”

You raise your eyebrows at his statement, shocked at the confession. Cocking you head to the side, you wait for him to continue.

“I haven’t been treating you the way I should. And that is going to change, starting today. I also have to ask for your forgiveness for my actions earlier…it was wrong for me to get upset at you for speaking to Pan. But seeing you act so kindly to my enemy…it really struck something inside of me.”

“James,” you breathe, lifting his hook up to your cheek and placing your hand on top of it. “It’s fine, I forgive you.”

“Even for dueling Pan?”

You let out a small giggle. “Yes, that too. Although, I must admit, I did find you fighting for me to be kind of attractive.”

“Oh?” James asks with an intrigued smile dancing on his lips. He uses his free hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. “Then I suppose I’ll have to start more fights then.”

You giggle again, happy to finally be in your lover’s arms. Truth be told, you had mentally forgiven him long ago. Ever since the night of your argument, you had just wished it would all end, that you two would go back to the way things were.

“Why...why did you start that fight with Pan?” you ask, the question having been on your mind for a while.

James slowly lets out a breath before responding. “I heard of how he harassed you in your class earlier. The thought of him putting his hands on you…making you uncomfortable…it was just unbearable, love. I don't care what it cost me; he had to pay for what he did.”

You process this, giving a small nod. Although you don’t quite agree with his methods, you still find his protectiveness endearing.

“I have something to ask you, as well, darling,” James inquires. You meet his gaze, signaling for him to go on. “Did you really say that I wasn’t your lover?”

“I, well, uh…” your voice trails off. You were hoping that he hadn't quite caught that when Pan said it, but apparently he had. Glancing back up at James’s face, you wish you didn’t see the pain etched into his features, all but hidden by the mask he always puts up.

“Well…” you start. “You never said anything about us officially dating, and I didn’t want to presume…” You look down at your shoes, avoiding his burning stare.

James removes his hook from your cheek and slips it under your chin, gently tilting your head upwards towards him. “And here I thought that it was so obvious, I didn’t even need to mention it to you, my little mermaid.”

You give a small grin, finally at peace within your lover’s arms. “You can never be too sure,” you whisper, leaning in and intertwining your lips with his in a passionate kiss, the intensity building around the two of you.

James takes a few steps backwards as you lean into him, still locked in your embrace, his leg hitting the stone of the water fountain you two love to meet at. He maneuvers his way down and sits on the rim, pulling you on his lap. 

You wrap your arms around his torso, straddling his thighs. James puts his good hand on your waist, using his hook to pull you in by the collar of your shirt. You moan softly, the sound melodious as your rampant emotions spark the magical abilities inside you, one hand leaving his back and creeping inside his loose shirt.

You open your mouth as he slips his tongue inside, gently rocking on his legs. A groan escapes his lips as you rub your fingertips along the bare skin of his chest, moving lower to trace his rather well-defined abs. He moves his good hand down to your leg, gripping it tightly as he continues kissing you with a deep fervor. Everywhere he touches, he leaves a trail of fire on your skin. Your body ignites at even the slightest of brushes, a blaze consuming you inside and out.

Which is why when he raises his hook and brushes your cheek with the cold metal, the feeling is all-too welcomed. You nearly melt as your mind completely blanks, your senses overwhelmed. James doesn’t quite understand why his small gesture elicits such a reaction from you—you were now kissing him and moving with much more rigor than before—but he revels in the way you make him feel. You, on the other hand, get lost in the sharp contrast the coolness of his hook provides to your burning cheek, the inferno that swells around you ever-growing as you continue to have a passionate night with your lover.

The moon has its cycles, coming and going. When it disappears at the first rays of dawn, the tides yearn for its alluring and familiar presence yet again. And although it may seem like an eternity away, nightfall always comes, bringing with it the gentle serenity of being with the one you belong with.

You think back to the question you asked yourself not so long ago, If you could go back, would you change what happened, that fateful day you met James? In that moment, you decide, no, you wouldn’t. Because the life you have right now is the only one your heart will ever yearn for.

end x

<- back to part 1

taglist: @maggiecc

just leave a comment if you want to join the taglist!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[marigoldwriter]

Disney's animated film "Cinderella" is set in France, so automatically, in my head, Chloe's first language is French, and she learned English only out of real obligation (that's a headcanon, yes, yes, this is in my fanfic!)

[thebluestbluewords]

god loves you but not enough to save you

Mal's hands shake. They're not her hands. Her hands aren't wrinkled. She's not old, not like this. She was never supposed to grow old. She's a god and a fairy and a dragon pushed down into a mortal shell that's not supposed to crack like this. She was never meant to grow old, and her hands shake not from the shock of it, but from the damage that sparks through her nerves at being forced into a shape that will never fit her right.  "We need--" she croaks, in a voice that doesn't sound like her own. "We need to work with Hades. His ember will give the power I need to restore my body." 

"He'll never do it." Evie says, shaking her head gently as she reaches out for the hands that are not Mal's hands. "He's a bastard, M. He's not going to help us without a price, and we don't have anything worth this sort of help." 

"We have the gate key." Carlos points out, leaning back against the column of the doorway. "We can use freedom as a bargaining chip. Hades wants out."

"We don't want to let him out," Evie says sharply. "He's dangerous. We have a responsibility to the kids we're bringing over to keep Auradon safe for them, and Hades is the opposite of a safe villain to let out. He nearly flooded Olympus with lava during the uprising. He's insane." 

"Not...insane."

Evie spins around, face softening. "Mallie, honestly, my throat hurts just listening to you. Please shut the fuck up until we figure out how to fix you, okay?" 

"Hades." Mal croaks. She knows this. Her father doesn't love her enough to be involved in her life, but he's got to care enough to lend her the power to overcome the spell. "He can loan the power." 

Evie's face softens even further. "Mal, magical transference is insanely dangerous. You can't risk it, not with Hades. I know you want to get back to your usual body, but we can't justify the risk. If your mom was around, it'd be a different story, but--"

"Hades can do it," Mal insists. "Jay-- knows why." 

"I do?" 

She coughs. The words are catching in her throat like dirt. "Dad." 

Jay's face clears. "Right. Yeah. Hades is her dad, so--" 

"WHAT?!" 

Mal flinches back from Evie's screech. "Hades... is my father. He'll do it." 

"And Jay knew." Evie says, flatly. 

"I forgot." Jay says immediately. "Sorry, Eves."

"Sorry isn't going to work this time," Evie snaps, turning towards Jay without letting go of Mal's wrinkled hands. "If you knew, why wouldn't you bring that up? Why hide?" 

"Why don't you talk about your dad?" Jay snaps back. 

Evie recoils. It's not right. Mal shouldn't just be standing here watching her friends hurt each other, but her bones ache, and she can't seem to find the energy to open her mouth and explain why they need to stop sniping at each other and get her on track to the Isle so she can fix this. 

"It's not the same thing--" Evie hisses. 

"It's exactly the fuckin' same," Jay says, matching her tone for tone. "Only Mal's dad is still alive.”

[jiangyanlissidepiece]

I was honestly shocked the Descendants fandom ships are so widely polyamorous but like I’m not mad

[blizzardheart12]

“A Matching Hook” || Descendants short story

Summary: For months, 11-year-old Harry Hook has grown himself a reputation as one of the Isle’s most intimidating youngsters. His secret? Telling everyone the gruesome story of how he had come face-to-face with Tick-Tock the crocodile and lost his hand, just like his father. When he is suddenly exposed as a fraud, Harry becomes the laughingstock of the town. And so he decides that the only way to avoid scrutiny from his father and everyone else… is to turn his lie into the truth.

Genre: angst

W/C: 4,000 (give or take a few)

Warnings: blood, dead animals, slight implied child abuse

A/N: I got the idea for this from a headcanon (I think it was a headcanon) that Harry nearly lost his hand to a crocodile on purpose because he wanted a hooked hand like his father. I thought it would make a cool story, and since I’ve been wanting to write more about the Hook family, especially Harry’s relationship with his dad, I wrote this! It’s my first fic ever and I’m very excited.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The air escaped Harry’s lungs as his back slammed against the wet concrete. His eyes went out of focus, and for a moment he thought that he was seeing double, but no, there were two identical faces laughing down at him. This was the third fight in a row that he’d lost against the Gaston twins this week.

“Some pirate you are!” said one of the Gastons. In all his eleven years, Harry had never bothered to learn how to differentiate between the two— they both had the same stupid faces and wide, slanting grins that practically begged for a good beating.

There was no doubt that these fights had started because of Harry. Lately, his thirst for confrontation had been insatiable, and it only kept growing stronger with his ego. He found it most entertaining to pick on other kids, though it was at times like this where he overstepped his game.

“His old man couldn’t beat a couple of kids, and neither can he,” the other Gaston laughed, elbowing the first. His tattered leather boot was planted firmly on Harry’s chest, preventing him from getting up… or breathing much. He struggled and suddenly became aware of the crowd of children that had gathered around them during the fight. Every single one of them was laughing at him.

With a sudden impulse of anger, he made the foolish mistake of slashing forward with his hooked hand, aiming for the second Gaston’s oversized shins, but the first Gaston caught him abruptly by the wrist. Harry began to panic.

“Hey, wait, this is made of wood,” Gaston said, scoffing down at his hook. He pulled it out of Harry’s grip with ease. He felt the clumsily-whittled wooden grip splinter his fingers. His sleeve wasn’t long enough for him to hide the truth. The other children gasped.

“Dude,” the second Gaston said, staring at Harry’s perfectly intact hand. The first one was still laughing about the toy hook.

“Why would your dad give you a wooden hook? Does he even like you?” he said. His brother elbowed him. He elbowed back even harder. The brother sighed and turned the first one’s head towards Harry, and it was then that he finally noticed.

“He’s a fraud!” some kid in the crowd shouted.

“He’s been lying about his hand the whole time!” shouted another. Villain children loved to point out the obvious.

The entire crowd began to laugh. Even some of the adults had snuck over to watch and now they were laughing, too. Harry felt his face burning, but the damage had already been dealt. His reputation was ruined and he wasn’t even a teenager yet. Months of intimidation and respect that Harry had earned for himself had just gone out the window. The second Gaston’s giant boot slammed into his stomach and knocked the breath out of him once more.

“Yeah, some pirate you are,” the first Gaston repeated as he threw the wooden hook down on the ground in front of Harry.

The twins strutted off, and the crowd trailed behind them (no one ever cared about the loser), and Harry lay on the ground alone, desperately trying to remember what inhaling felt like. Droplets of rain splashed onto his face. He curled his fingers around his phony hook, and after a few minutes, he managed to stand up and run back towards his home— the Jolly Roger.

Fifteen years prior, the King of Auradon had been merciful enough to allow Captain Hook’s beloved ship to rest on the shore of the Isle under the dome before it was sealed, and since then it became more of a lodging than a vessel given its great size. With age and immobility, the ship began to grow riddled with mold, but still it stood tall and sturdy even now.

Harry shoved past his crewmates unapologetically and sprinted on until he had bolted himself inside his cabin. In a fit of pure unbridled rage, he destroyed nearly everything in his sleeping quarters. Glass bottles were thrown against the wall, the boards that made up his bed frame and shelves were kicked in and splintered, and his spare shirts were all but ripped to complete shreds. He took his sword and slashed through the curtains, the quilts, and the plastic figurines on the one shelf that had been out of stomping range.

With a final yell, he threw his fake hook— the one he had so joyfully spent weeks carving, sanding, and spraying with golden paint in secret during the wee hours of the night— at the round window on the far end of his room. It crashed straight through the thin glass pane, shattering it entirely, and fell into the water below, gone forever.

With nothing left to destroy he stood there staring at the broken window, heaving. How could he be so stupid? How could he let himself get humiliated like that? Why did he let his secret get revealed so easily, right there in front of everybody?

Such an idiotic lie, Harry thought now. As if he’d really confronted an enormous crocodile. He’d never even seen the beast. What would his father think of all this? Harry stiffened. His eyes widened as he became aware of the gigantic mess around him.

“Ohh no,” he squeaked. He practically sang it. The demolished room would be the least of his worries. His father would be home from a villain’s council later in the evening, and there was no doubt he’d return knowing exactly what happened earlier.

Harry didn’t know what his father would be more angry about— the fact that he had been wearing a fake hook in public for months on end in an attempt to imitate him, or the fact that he had failed to protect such a lie and instead turned himself into a complete laughingstock. He didn’t want to stick around to find out. There was little time. Captain Hook would find out about the incident before the day’s end. Talk traveled fast on the Isle, and even faster among pirates. That would hurt his father’s reputation too, which scared Harry the most.

As he watched the sun sink into the horizon, he turned his focus towards the thought that had been slowly sparking to life in his mind ever since Gaston’s muddy boot collided with his sternum for a second time.

He had an idea that was so mad he was actually aware of how truly insane it was. That never happened. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he had no choice but to go through with it, and it had to happen today. He was going to earn himself that matching hook.

Sheathing his sword, he unbolted his door as quietly as he could and poked his head out into the corridor. No one was there. No one had followed him. Good, Harry thought. Although he was just a child, he still intimidated the other pirates in his father’s crew. Or perhaps they were just afraid of his father.

With that discomforting thought in mind, he rushed down the hall and turned the corner. There, he disappeared behind the closest door— the back door that led to Captain Hook’s quarters. Only Smee had permission to use this door, but given the situation Harry didn’t think this offense would hold any gravity compared to the rest of ways he had completely screwed up today. This week. Every day of his life. Still, entering his father’s room felt like a crime, and not the entertaining sort.

Even when Captain Hook was out, his room was always dimly lit on either end by an array of candles. A normal person might have noticed how much of a fire hazard this was, but on the Isle all it did was indicate Hook’s level of power. Yet despite being the most well-lit room on the ship, and possibly on this side of the Isle, it was still swathed with shadow. Harry crept over to his desk and took a piece of parchment and a pen. He held it near the light of the singular candle in front of him and scrawled in shaky, barely legible handwriting:

“I know I failed you. I’m going make it up to you right now. I won’t be home tonight. I promise I will be like you.”

He left the note there and took off in a rush, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible. Not wasting a moment, he traveled to the lower decks and into the chicken coop— pirates insisted on raising their own livestock. He opened the small wire gate and hesitated.

Harry clenched his jaw. This was going to be harder than he thought. He remembered that a villain shouldn’t have any remorse and for a brief moment his conscience was locked in a moral quandary. Then his eyes rested on a still form in the corner of the cage.

A dead chicken lay there stiffly, half-hidden within the hay. How it died exactly, Harry didn’t know. He didn’t stop to think about it either. He just grabbed it— grateful that he didn’t have to take out his dagger— and ran.

When he exited the ship, the storm was in full swing. Rain and wind battered against his body as he skirted around the edge of town and ran straight towards the shore on the far side of the island. He trudged up the sand dunes and looked down at the rocky beach. This was where the dreaded Tick-Tock was rumored to be living.

Harry kicked down the wooden “beware of crocodiles” sign that someone had planted in the sand many years ago and made his way towards a tall boulder that jutted out over the mass of sharp rocks dotting the shore. The far end of it hovered above the water. He took a tentative step onto the boulder and figured that it would support his weight, and so he inched his way up to the edge and tried not to slip on the slick surface. The sea crashed restlessly against the shore as thunder rumbled distantly from the sky.

He got down on all fours and raised his left arm, holding the dead chicken by its neck over the surface as far as he could reach. For what seemed like ages nothing happened, and his arm slowly began to ache. And then he heard something.

A very faint tick, tock, tick, tock reached his ears from beneath the water’s surface. The tide seemed to grow stronger, and he could scarcely see anything but the faint reflection of the crescent moon on the rough water that had broken through the thick storm clouds.

The sound of his heart pounding drowned out the roar of the surf colliding with the rocks and the howling wind whipping at his face, but that too became a meaningless ambiance against the repetitive tick, tick, tick that now echoed clearly in his ears. Within moments, it began to rattle through his skull, growing louder as the rain finally subsided. The waves calmed just enough for a brief moment, and then he saw it.

All he could see at first were two soulless blank eyes piercing through the darkness in the near distance, and then the shadowy silhouette of an elongated, scaled face gliding through the water, the smoothness of its movements unabated by the rough waves passing by it. Yet still Harry recognized in an instant the largest crocodile he had ever seen in his life.

The huge creature paused several yards out, as if it were sizing up its prey. For a long, dreadful minute, the two remained still, their eyes locked in a psychological battle. The glow of Tick-Tock’s eyes remained unchanging and cold, and Harry dared not look away. Tick, tock, tick, tock. It was all he could hear. In the midst of his fear, he wondered if the beast recognized him or knew exactly what it was that he wanted.

A drop of sweat fell from Harry’s face— or perhaps a tear— and disappeared into the vast sea of infinite water droplets below him. His feelings were irrelevant, this he knew. This had to happen. His whole body began to shake, and another drop fell, this time from his left hand.

He glanced up and saw that the small chicken corpse he had been holding out as bait was slowly being crushed under his white fingers. His nails had been digging into its neck and its blood had been seeping out over his hand and into the water the entire time. Its lifeless eyes seemed to see straight through into his soul. For the first time, he noticed that the bird was not even fully grown.

He now noticed his left hand drenched in blood up to his forearm— red, warm, and glistening. His eyes widened as and he looked back out at the water, suddenly nauseous and deeply regretting his decision. He squinted. The crocodile was gone. The ticking had ceased.

Relief began to flow through Harry’s veins, but he found himself frozen still, his body unable to move except for the trembling that threatened to overwhelm him. He was still unable to hear anything else through the crash of the tide, or perhaps the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears.

It was as if a muted voice was screaming his name from far deep within his mad conscience. He forced himself to relax, and he lowered his arm slightly and looked down, only to find Tick-Tock’s malice-filled eyes just inches below him.

Harry opened his mouth to scream just as the crocodile launched itself out of the water with the force of a thousand sea monsters, its jaws parted so wide he could see every last one of its dagger-sharp teeth jutting angrily from its maw.

Time slowed down. The ticking sped up. Harry felt his fingers release the chicken’s neck, and he began to pull his arm back, but in that split second he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. Tick-Tock’s enormous mouth had just begun to close around Harry’s hand when an arm wrapped around his waist from behind and dragged him backwards.

The crocodile’s jaws snapped together with a deafening CRACK! The strength of it sent a shockwave through the air. At the same time, Harry’s back slammed brutally against the boulder beneath him, taking his breath away. He could’ve sworn he had felt a tooth brush against his first finger. For a moment his vision went fuzzy, and then it blurred in and out of focus until at last it began to register an infuriated face glaring down at his own— his father’s.

Somehow, despite the vagueness of the note Harry had left that gave no hints of his whereabouts, the Captain had been able to figure out exactly what his son had been planning to do. The ringing in Harry’s ears ceased just in time for him to hear the words exploding from Captain Hook’s mouth.

“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?” His voice had never boomed so intensely. “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? YOU TRYING TO DANCE WITH JACK KETCH, IS THAT IT? BECAUSE YOU NEARLY SUCCEEDED THERE. WHAT THE HELL WAS PASSING THROUGH YOUR MIND, YOU DAMN SWAB? MY SON’S GOT GOOSE-DOWN FOR BRAINS, DOES HE? I’LL KEELHAUL YOU FOR THIS, BOY. I SWEAR I WILL.”

The Captain roared in his face like this for several moments, his face glistening with sweat and his dark eyes wild with fury and terror. His golden hook flashed at his side.

All the while, Harry never moved. His breath came in small gasps and his eyes were stretched wide, his pupils so dilated that the blue of his eyes appeared black. His body was completely rigid and his left arm still stuck out in front of him, his fingers curled and grasping nothing but a singular feather that stuck stubbornly to his palm.

Hook’s voice trailed off and his rage subsided instantly as he realized the boy was in shock. He took his son’s bloodied hand in his own and examined it, his brows furrowing with concern and then unfurrowing with relief at having discovered that the blood was not Harry’s.

The sight of actual care in his father’s eyes was enough to lasso Harry out of his state of shock. His breathing slowed and the reality of the situation finally settled in. Shame washed over him like a wave of boiling water and he began to sob, unable to stop himself.

“I’m sorry, father,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. He couldn’t believe he was crying in front of Captain Hook. What would the other children think now? His crewmates? His sisters?

He turned his head to the left and stared at the deserted beach that stretched out behind them. The rocky ground felt cold beneath his cheek, so different from the tears that burned against his skin. He couldn’t bear to look at his father’s face. At least there was no one else here to witness him in this state.

“I failed you,” was all he could utter. He gritted his teeth, ready to be caught under the fires of his father’s wrath. It’s happened before, but never in response to a situation this bad. He tensed, knowing that he deserved whatever punishment he had coming his way.

But there were no bitter insults, no strikes, nor did the yelling resume. There was just an uncomfortable silence filled only by the deep rumble of the ocean. And then:

“You didn’t… You’re your own man, Harry, and— and that’s all I want you to be. I… I’m proud of you.”

Harry turned to look at his father, unable to mask his surprise. Both of them seemed equally shocked by what he said.

Without another word, Hook pulled Harry up into a sitting position and hugged him tightly against his chest. There was no doubt that this was likely the most confusing moment of their lives, yet neither of them moved for that long minute. Harry stopped shaking.

“We best be going now,” Hook said abruptly, standing up. Using his hook, he dragged Harry up onto his feet by the back of his red leather jacket as if he weighed nothing. As Harry wiped the snot and tears from his face with his clean hand, he glanced to his left and saw Tick-Tock’s face, still peering out from the dark water.

The crocodile’s eyes were trained on him, its bloodstained mouth parted in a rumbling growl. Harry began to back away when a large stone suddenly sailed past his ear and struck the reptile atop its massive head with a loud thwack. The beast hissed and with a violent jerk, it dove underwater with a splash and swam off. Harry laughed hoarsely and turned to look at his father with a newfound sense of admiration.

“Nothin’ but a bloody coward,” muttered Hook at the spot in the sea where the creature disappeared. He lowered his throwing arm around Harry’s shoulder and they began to walk home.

By the time the two rejoined civilization, the grip of Hook’s good hand had gone from Harry’s shoulder to his ear. To everyone else, it seemed that the troublesome Hook boy had finally gotten on his father’s last nerve. Harry knew that his dad was just putting on an act. Neither of them were about to admit to anyone that they had just shared a tender father-son moment half an hour earlier. Still, Harry beamed.

“Wipe that daft grin off your face,” growled Hook as they reached the Jolly Roger. He pinched Harry’s ear tighter.

“Aye, Captain,” Harry said, wincing.

Hook disappeared into his quarters and left Harry on the deck with his own thoughts as Smee rushed over to clean the dried blood from his arm. Harry sat still and stared into space, which was very unlike him.

A few minutes later, he felt something cold and metallic touch his fingers. He snapped out of his trance to find Smee gone and Hook standing in front of him once more— and a shiny, silver hook in his hands.

It shined in the moonlight like a jewel, its point sharper and finer than that of any sword’s. It was a weapon that could strike fear into the hearts of all and pierce them too, for good measure. And it was now Harry’s.

His jaw dropped and he looked up at his father, who leaned down and said, “and if you ever do lose a hand, it had better not be because you offered it up as bait or I’ll give you a good flogging, you damn fool.”

“Aye, Dad!” said Harry, nodding rapidly and slipping the hook onto his hand. His joy was impossible to hide, and Captain Hook shot him a faint smile in return.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Thank you for reading my story! I’d love to hear your feedback :)

[acepheonix]

So this is a little out of the blue and not 911 or teen wolf related so don't judge!

I just watched the new rise of red descendants movie and than obviously turned to tiktok for fan follow up. Okay hear me out it was not a great movie because it's meant for kids (I'm 18 and have grown with the descendants movies) so I get it's cheesy but I need my older fic authors to crack down on this movie and write some VK fics. You do that and my life is yours.

I am obsessed with hook and morgie so much it isn't funny!

[anonymouscheeses]

The long awaited glassheart fic is finished and posted yesterday but forgot to advertise it here cuz im so cool like thatz heh 😎

Apologies for edging yall with the sneak peaks! Heres the finished product, but mind the tags! This fic gets angsty and emotional, especially for Red. Shes got some problems, and it would be best for yall to read with caution! ☹️

Anyways please enjoy and leave a comment, im desperate 😜 peace out, my Jaladdins 😍🫶