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pupuseriazag · 1 year ago

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Blue Tarantula - 1/??

(Guess who is finally posting this thing LASFHASFJSAH I've been writing this one + other 2 since June and after doing some light editing before exams I think i feel confident enough to share this little thing of my Spidersona Rox :3. Just one thing: I made the mistake of starting it in english but I didnt like so much the idea of Rox and Miguel speaking english between them (him being mexican and Rox being salvadorean) so I apologize for that if you only speak one or the other 😅)

My name… is Roxana Reyes. Years ago I was bitten by a weird spider in the woods while on a trip with some friends, it gave me amazing and unbelievable powers I had to keep as a secret from everyone else.

I could climb walls and ceilings, my senses sharped drastically and some of my teeth changed, becoming more fang-like. I almost felt like this was some type of blessing given to me by the gods themselves…

And so I became the Blue Tarantula, and accidentally joined the fight with the rebellion in my city.

You see my city… and country, has been subjected to a regime ever since I became an adult, one funded by the Alchemax industries in an effort to keep control of both the people and to take advantage of the (few) resources we have.

I had heard about the rebellion when it first started as rumors, I heard how the police had raided some neighborhoods and made them move away since they needed the land to house wealthy individuals, and to set a barrier between “low class” and “high class” with the excuse of progress. And since police would not care about those tagged as “low class” I guess it became my duty to influence people into helping each other.

I was able to help people around during these hard times, I saved countless people so they began to see a ray of light at the end of the tunnel… And I also became a target for the regime. It's incredible the kind of chambres and smear campaigns a corporation can fund because they are scared of your influence.

And I was alone in this. Other than the occasional old lady sharing some pupusas and tamales with me or little kids wanting me to show them some cool tricks… I had no one but myself.

My parents don't live here in the capital, my mom moved out after the divorce and I managed to get her a decent house with my savings from doing tattoos. My dad managed to be considered a “high class” individual and lives over there so I almost never see him… Not like I would love to see him anyways.

Friends? I have a few, but we’re…not so close… not since the "accident", where I had to choose between saving my then boyfriend… and my best friend.

…and I made the wrong choice thinking I could save both.

An accident happened in one of Alchemax’s laboratories, the last one to remain in not a wealthy zone. My best friend… Gwen, she was there to visit her boyfriend. A daddy’s son with an ego bigger than the Lempa.

I told her many times that he was not going to help us, I tried telling her so. Many. Times. That he was not to be trusted, but letting your heart guide your actions sometimes leads to the stupidest things.

In our case, it made her boyfriend try to chase her down with the prototype of a machinery with octopus-like arms… and in my case, it made me save the wrong person.

She fell down a platform, straight to the floor.

And you know the “funniest” part? He dumped me a day later. He said the near death experience made him realize he didn't want to be with me… and I couldn't tell him the reason he was still alive was thanks to me.

I was broken, devastated and severely depressed…I let my best friend, the only closest friend I ever had, to die just so this ingrateful asshole would ditch me… I was so, so stupid.

There's no day I don't regret my decisions, if I could go back in time I would save her. I would not choose him but her… and maybe, just maybe… I could’ve asked her out.

The whole incident was covered afterwards, no investigations were done aside from hunting down those who dare to speak about what happened there… Gwen’s parents did not even get to see their daughter… or know what happened to her. To this day, they still believe she was kidnapped.

After that day, I was relentlessly asked by people to uncover the truth and reveal to them what happened, so the weight of knowing what happened and not being able to speak about it was put on my shoulders, along with the trust of the majority of people expecting me to be the leader of the rebellion…. I refused to be the leader, and that did not stop them from seeing me as one.

So, Blue Tarantula spends their days and nights with heavy eye bags. Watching the hacked cameras and having to rescue people around. They have to escape easily as they are a target of cops… with no one to greet them on their own in a small apartment, no one waiting for them with a meal or a hug.

Just them, and themselves.

That was, of course, until some months ago, when the weirdest shit happened and my life again did a 180. It all started when something appeared on the Flor Blanca Stadium. Something that was not from this world.

So I did as I usually did with the couple of assholes that make my life worse from week to week, kept the civilians away from the scene and dealt with it myself.

And there I was… face to face with a big cyborg that somehow resembled the green goblin… its red eye with a laser pointing at my forehead constantly as I tried to take it down

But no matter what I did, it was way stronger than me, it pinned me to the ground as it pointed its robotic arm at me, charging up a laser that would instantly blow my head.

It was going to end up this way. No more Blue Tarantula, no more fighting, no more suffering.

No more Rox.

As I closed my eyes to accept my death, I felt some strange lights coming from my right. Both the cyborg and I turned around to an impossible sight.

What looked like floating blue hexagons began to spin slowly, and the unmistakable sound of reverb waves increased quickly until they turned orange, revealing the true nature of that almost biblical sight.

It was a portal, there was no other word for it. And something came out of it, like a projectile coming straight for the cyborg and taking it off from me.

Rain began to fall as I watched with heavy eyes how a beast almost obliterated the cyborg, then trapped the robot in what looked like one of those baskets covered with cellophane that people give out in christmas.

The masked beast approached me showing me his humanoid figure, was he an alien? His clothes (or skin, who knows) bearing the symbol of a red holographic spider, or was it a skull? I cannot truly tell as my eyes are begging me to let go of my consciousness.

I also felt fear for a moment, not understanding this impossible situation and not being able to speak as my mouth was full of blood.

His mask disappeared when I slowly blinked, revealing what looked like the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life.. Or at least this week.

He kneeled beside me, putting a hand behind my head to lift it carefully

"I cannot leave you here, not like this.” His eyes were a deep red, something inhuman and another thing to write just about how fucked up this situation was. “You’re coming with me” His demanding voice said as he lifted me from the ground in his arms, I almost felt bad for his pretty suit getting covered in so much blood.

I don't know where he is taking me, but one thing’s for sure, it has been a hell of a long time since someone held me in their arms… but I was so tired, I knocked out before knowing where he was taking me, hopefully to heaven I wished.

This had to be a bad dream, I probably was having a fever and that's why this dream was so weird… it was that or my dying consciousness giving me delusions before I gave my last breath.

I woke up hours later, no longer feeling the synthetic grass on my skin nor the big arms of that guy, but the soft touch of cotton and comfiness of a bed. The soft electric hum of a nearby ac and the mumbling of some people lullabying me, telling me to sleep a little more… just 5 more minutes…

"Oh, she woke up," A feminine voice coming from behind me said.

"She needs to rest more. Her body has not recovered fully yet." The man from before replied.

I opened my eyes slowly, staying still in the bed while my eyes tried to adjust to the white light of the room.

I heard steps coming closer, stopping right where I could feel the person behind me, probably already noticing I was trying to ignore them.

"I know you’re awake." He said in a serious voice.

I turned my head softly, meeting the same red eyes that greeted me after I almost died.

The serious expression in his face softened when we locked eyes. Almost in relief to see me still alive.

"She is awake." He turned to the other person in the room. "I'll take it from here, Layla."

"Got it." But I heard no footsteps or person coming out of the room.

"Glad to see you're alive." He said while still holding eye contact. "Can you sit?"

I lifted my body carefully, sitting down on the bed but closing one eye. These damn lights are too bright for my liking.

"Great." He dragged a very funky looking chair closer, sitting beside me "You may be wondering what you're doing here."

"I'm also wondering who the hell are you… or where the fuck I am" I let out unconsciously.

The situation began to fall on me as I realized that was no dream. I was somewhere I don't know, worst case I’m trapped in Alchemax and this is one of their traps.

The man frowned. "You are in the infirmary of the HQ.” He continued. “My name is Miguel O’Hara.”

"Ah, Miguel te llamás ¿Y me hablas en inglés?." I replied mockingly. “No se quien seas, Miguelito. Pero yo no le contesto a los imbéciles de Alchemax.”

He sighed. “I do not work for Alchemax, at least not the one in your universe-”

“Universe? ¡¿Qué putas estás diciendo?!”

“Si te callas por lo menos 5 minutos.” He raised his hand. “Te puedo explicar qué “putas” está pasando.” Yeah I figured he would cave in.

I crossed my arms, still holding a stern look on him.

“¿Sabes lo que son los universos alternos?”

“¿Lo de que “existe” posibilidad de que una supuesta versión mía tenga una mejor vida? Aja.”

“Ok, eso ya hace más fácil las cosas.” From his right hand, an orange light came out, displaying itself like a holographic and translucent screen that he touched around. “Tu nombre es Roxana-”

“Rox.” I corrected him.

“...Rox Reyes.” He continued reading. “Eres la spiderwoman de la tierra 503-B, nombre en clave: Tarántula Azu-”

“Perate perate.” How does he have so much info on me? “Primeramente que es esa madre, segundo ¿Como tenes mi información?”

“Es una pantalla, y ya casi llego a esa parte así que si no te molesta, déjame terminar.”

“Man, ¡¿Cómo queres que reaccione?! ¡No se donde putas estoy! ¡No se que esta pasando! ¡No entiendo NADA!”

“Eso INTENTO.” His tone went up as well. “Estoy intentando explicarte de la pinche mejor manera. Asique callate y trata de escuchar por lo menos.”

“¡Ah claro! Porque claramente que me empeces a gritar ¡Hará que me calme!”

"Ay coño." He mumbled under his breath bringing his hands to his face. "LYLA." He commanded and a little floating hologram came out of nowhere.

"Mhm?" The little image of a woman with big heart shaped sunglasses and a white fur coat shaping her nails addressed him.

"Help me explain to her-"

"Them." I corrected him again.

"Explain it to them."

"Explain what?" The hologram replied.

"Everything, maybe they will listen to you." He got up from his seat, visibly mad.

"Ok ok." The hologram came closer to me. "Sooo Spiderperson from earth-503. This man you see it's actually the spiderman of this universe.” She pointed at him. “You are the spiderperson of your universe" She pointed at me almost touching my nose. “And big guy saved you from an anomaly becaaaaause that's our job! We’re fixing the maaany anomalies that appeared on the multiverse.”

"In other words," He stood up. "We are working on fixing this mess, so accidents like the one you suffered don't happen anymore."

"So you are like a crusader? Like, beating the shit out of those… things? Ese cyborg era de otro lugar?”

"No, kinda and yes." His angered expression turned into seriousness.

"¿Y qué pasa si no logras atraparlo?"

“¿No notaste nada raro mientras peleabas con él? ¿No lo viste glitchearse?”

“...Osea que no era el cansancio ganándome.”

“Esos errores que viste suceden ya que él no era de tu universo” He took a glance at my hand. “Estarías sufriendo lo mismo, si no fuera por el brazalete que te puse.”

I looked at my hand, just now noticing the weird thing on me.

“Todavía es un prototipo, no lo pierdas por favor.”

“A ver, perate que la cabeza me da vuelta.” I said, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to tie and connect the infodump I just received. “Me estas diciendo que uno, sos de otro universo, dos, estuve a punto de morir por un pendejo que no era de mi universo, tres, que es importante regresarlos por que si no se glitchea…” I opened my eyes, confused by one of the things. “¿Por qué?”

"Porque la presencia de estos en universos donde no pertenecen genera más anomalías, hasta que el mundo colapsa."

"Y esa es teoría o-"

"Sucedió."

This is starting to sound ridiculous, multiverses, anomalies, apocalypses. This has to be a fucking joke.

I leaned in close to Miguel. "¿Y cómo sé que puedo confiar en vos?"

"Tienes mi pa-"

"¿Cómo sé que no me estás mintiendo? Porque después de todo” His eyes focused on mine. “Para mí seguís siendo un extraño que me raptó a un lugar desconocido."

His eyebrows drew closer “Esperaba que te tomaras esto mas enserio.”

“¿Cómo esperas que me tome todo esto en serio? Literal me estas hablando que disque sos de otra dimensión e inventándote mas mamadas.” I launched my hand to his throat, taking him by surprise as he fell to his back and I pinned him to the ground, knocking his chair over as well. He grabbed my hand and I noticed his talons come out. “¿Acaso me queres ver la cara de pendejo? Vas a tener que intentar mejor que inventarte una película.”

He tried to get up and I kept him in place with all my force, but I still haven't recovered completely so he overpowered me and turned me around, now having him pinning me against the cold floor roughly and causing me to cough.

“Me estoy empezando a aburrir de tu maldita actitud.” He growled while showing some of his teeth. “Ni siquiera sabes el peligro en el que estás. Ni siquiera quieres entender que SIMPLEMENTE quiero ayudar a que tu maldito universo no colapse y puedas seguir viviendo tranquilo.”

“¡¿PUES ADIVINA QUE, PENDEJO?! ¡SI ME HUBIERAS DEJADO MORIR ME HUBIERAS SALVADO DE VERDAD! ¡MORIR IBA A SER LO MEJOR QUE ME IBA A PASAR EN LA VIDA!” I yelled at him trying to fight back tears. “¡YA ESTABA LISTO PARA MORIR!”

His expression changed to surprise, I guess he wasn't expecting me to admit that.

“¡Y SI ME VAS A MATAR POR NO ESCUCHARTE, PUES APURATE!”

He let go of me, getting up from the floor and turning around while putting his hands on his hips. Fucking asshole cant even help me get up.

I rolled on the ground, to try to get up on my own, but both my back and stomach hurt like hell and I let out several coughs and held a hand to my stomach. He turned around and immediately went on to help me get up.

“Suéltame, pendejo.” I whispered in pain.

“Todavía no te recuperas.”

“Pero bien que te pusiste a pelear.” I turned my head to him.

“¿Y quien se tiró hacia mí primero?”

I rolled my eyes, letting him sit me on the bed again.

“Discutiremos esto cuando hayas descansado y te sientas mejor.” He crossed his arms.

I was about to speak and he lifted a finger, shushing me off.

“Si vas a decir otro de tus comentarios sarcásticos mejor ahorratelo.”

I closed my mouth, pissed off and looked elsewhere.

“Bien, voy a mandar a que alguien venga a revisar cómo sigues.” He began to walk off to the door. “Cuando estés dispuesto a hablar, decidiré qué hacer contigo.”

“Que mierdas se supone que significa eso”

“Tu vas a elegir si quedarte o irte.” The door opened sideways automatically, showing me a glimpse of the outside hallway before he left without saying more.

If he thought that would make me feel less angry, then he is fucking wrong. He is lucky I’m still not ok, or I would’ve paralyzed his ass.

What am I even supposed to do? Does he expect me to just wait here? Bullshit.

I took a look at the room from the bed, this place felt unreal. Like if I was put in one of those sci-fi movie sets with stereotypical futuristic equipment.. but as much as I tried to find the sound of people outside or someone that confirmed this was just an elaborate joke I couldn't, I could only hear the humming of the ac and my own thoughts.

I refuse to believe he is being serious, theres just no fucking way, even for someone like me who has some faith in the gods and believes in paranormal shit, this is all just too dumb and stupid.

He may think I will cave in and fall for his lies, Pfft, pobre pendejo.

....But why did he leave me alone here? Is he too stupid to believe I will stay here? Nah, as soon as I am capable of walking without pain I will get the fuck out of here and go home. Soon enough I’ll be home and-

…And I’ll keep living my sad life.

…

Ugh, if there's something that I hate more than myself is having to be alone with my thoughts. So I got up from the bed while holding a hand to my stomach, to try and distract me from thinking.

I approached a cabinet sluggishly, putting my free hand on where the outlines of an opening were, but no handles to be seen. And it opened automatically, letting me see that inside was my ripped and bloody mask.

“Puta…” I let out in a whisper, taking a look at it. “Justo le había cosido eso…”

No sight of more of my things though, so no phone to check if I could receive any signal to confirm I was still “in my universe”, even saying that makes me cringe.

I couldn't see a clock either, or at least one that made better sense than one on the wall near the bed… so either way I’m fucked unless I actually go outside and check the place myself. Worst case scenario I’m inside one of Alchemax’s labs…. Even worse case scenario, that man is right.

What am I even thinking?! He is NOT telling the truth. No man that pretty ever tells the truth.

But his suit… The way he knows “classified” stuff, the floating screen, the little holo lady…

Am I inside one of those vr games? I immediately moved my hands to my face. If this is one of those games I will be able to “clip” through my head and see the empty inside of my arm… But my hands touched my face, neither clipping nor letting me feel any headset attached to my head.

No, there has to be a trick, it's always a mirror trick or strings attached to something, I REFUSE to accept that bitch is right.

I walked up to a panel nearby the bed, finally something that I recognized, a touchscreen. The screen lit up showing all the options it had: “Assistance, Options, Lights, Info”. I touched Info and one of those screens appeared. Now’s my chance to confirm this is just layers of glas- My… MY FINGER WENT THROUGH IT?! IT'S LITERALLY LIGHT?! BUT IT’S NOT BEING REFLECTED ON ANYTHING!

Calm down Rox, calm the fuck down. There has to be a pretty clear and believable explanation for this, one that we may not understand completely, but believable nonetheless.

My eyes turned to the holo screen again, it had an orange color similar to the other one that guy pulled out and held my information. “Subject name - Rox Reyes, “Blue Tarantula”, from Earth 503B, Age 27, One anomaly reported in universe, Status: Injured, Recovering in HQ’s infirmary. Not a member of the spider society”

I'm even more confused… No, I shouldn't allow them to get to my head, that's how he will win and I. Won't. Let. Him.

I took a step back and turned to the door. I've seen enough bullshit in one day, or night. I'm getting the fuck out of here.

There were no handles on the door, and even though I was literally touching it, it did not open. Great, he trapped me in here.

I let out the most stressed out sigh I ever had in my life and brought both hands to my face. This is just the worst.

And on top of that, I'm starving. And there was no food around.

This must be one of his tactics, he is trying to starve me so I end up caving in just for the taste of some food in my mouth. WELL GUESS WHAT, DUMBASS?? I'M ACCUSTOMED TO NOT EATING IN A WHOLE DAY!

…but truth be told, I didn't eat last night because of the emergency. So my stomach is hurting like crazy asking me to give it anything.

My only option now is either stare at the ceiling…or try to sleep some more.

But if I fall asleep they may come for me and take me elsewhere.

So I laid down again on the bed, looking at the white ceiling for a while… My eyes began to close themselves… Ugh, I'll just sleep for a moment.. I'll be alerted easily if someone tries to come inside… And I will teach them a lesson…

#zagreusfics #RoxReyes #Im not gonna tag it with Miguel because I dont feel comfy yet of people I dont know finding this xd #these are like 10 pages so enjoy #well 9 and a half but you get me #lots of salvadorean slang with Rox btw #this was a good practice of going between voseo and more neutral spanish #plus some help from some of my mexican friends with Miguel's speech xd

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laurenairay · 7 months ago

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I got a secret, I’m telling everyone - Q. Hughes

Summary: Quinn doesn’t think he’s good enough for Gianna. Gianna doesn’t think Quinn would ever like her as more than a friend. Jack has had enough of the pining.

This is my entry for Rox’s birthday bingo! I couldn’t make it a true bingo @offside-the-lines (sorry!) but I included only one bed, dancing, mutual pining, and truth or dare in this Quinn fic! I hope you like it!

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: some bad language, angst, self-doubt, idiots to lovers

Title from Truth or Dare, by Emily Osment

“Hey Quinn, truth or dare.”

“Jack, we’re not 8 years old,” Quinn snorted.

“I mean, if you’re too chicken…”

Quinn rolled his eyes as Jack, Trevor, and Cole all started making chicken squawks, Turcs and Luke just giggling.

“I’m not chicken!”

“So…truth or dare?” Jack grinned.

“Fine, dare.”

“I dare you to finally tell Gianna how you feel about her. By the end of next summer.”

As the group burst into laughter, Quinn just groaned. “You can fuck right off.”

“Are you going to forfeit?”

Quinn wished more than anything else that he hadn’t let Jack bait him at the end of last summer. There was just something about his brother and his friends that got under his skin though, especially around Luke, and the last thing he wanted was for any of those younger guys to think he was a ‘wimp’. And he sure as hell wasn’t stupid enough to do any of their forfeits. But that dare?

It had been the bane of his year.

It was hard enough trying to drag his team into the playoffs (and thankfully succeeding, despite ultimately falling in the second round), but having any thoughts in his downtime consumed by Gianna? It was almost too much to handle.

He’d known her for years – a friend of a friend in Michigan – and right from the start he’d been head over heels. He knew he’d been obvious about it to everyone other than her, as much as he hated to admit it. Jack had caught on the quickest, happily gossiping to his NTDP buddies who always hung around in the summers, but thankfully Gianna didn’t seem to have a clue. And for the past three years, that’s exactly how he’d wanted it to stay.

To him, she was perfect. The sweetest, most golden-hearted, prettiest girl he’d ever met; any smile she sent his way never failed to fill his stomach with butterflies. Sometimes it felt like torture watching the sun shine off of her straight honey blonde hair, as it cascaded down to her waist, her baby blue eyes sparkling with laughter. Despite his Jack and Co.’s teasing, she never teased him too, even when he made an ass of himself. To him, Gianna was perfect.

And that’s exactly why he’d never been able to tell her how he felt. Why would someone like her, so far out of his league, ever be interested in him? This stupid dare from Jack had been tormenting him for 10 long months, and he hated how much it was consuming him but he couldn’t help it. And if he didn’t tell her? He’d never hear the end of it – and his pride wouldn’t handle it either. All he could hope was that his brother wouldn’t meddle. That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

When Jack Hughes reached out to her last month to check on her summer plans, Gianna had been more than confused. It wasn’t that they weren’t friendly, but if she was going to talk to any of the Hughes brothers, it was always Quinn. Mostly because they were the same age, but also because while Jack usually had a bunch of his old hockey buddies visiting and Luke was doing his own thing, Quinn always made the effort to include her. What started as just being a friend of one of his local friends had developed into a genuine friendship of their own – something she treasured – and him being back from Vancouver was genuinely one of the highlights of her summers.

How could it not be? He was funny and sweet, and yet serious and caring, all at once. It was an intoxicating combination that she’d never seen in a guy her age before, let alone in one that genuinely seemed to like talking to her. It didn’t help that he was one of the most handsome guys she’d ever met either. Maybe not classically handsome, but there was just something about the way his smile lit up his whole expression that sent her heart fluttering. That, and the way he always took the time to talk to her, even when there were a lot of other people hanging around.

So Jack reaching out? Strange.

Still, she sent her commiserations for his season (gently of course) and responded to his own questions about how her job was going, before he got to the point. He was organising a welcome back/start of the summer long weekend at their cabin – Friday evening to Monday morning – and he wanted to know if she wanted to join them in the group.

For Jack to ask this specifically? Even stranger than him just reaching out.

The temptation of spending time with Quinn in a smaller group setting though? It was too good to resist, and she’d happily agreed. Jack had told her to just pack a bag of clothes and leave everything else up to him (including her transport up to the cabin), which she knew in her bones felt hinky but ultimately decided to ignore. Whatever Jack was up to, she knew he wasn’t cruel in the slightest, so for now she was happy to go along with whatever his plans were – even if one of the ‘instructions’ had been to keep it a ‘surprise’ that she was going, whatever that meant. She could only hope Quinn wouldn’t hate the surprise. That, and the hope that she wouldn’t make an ass of herself. Quinn didn’t think of her as any more than a friend, she knew that, so she had to keep her feelings under wraps.

That shouldn’t be too hard, right?

“Jack, what did you do?” Quinn hissed.

“Thanks for organising the welcome back start of the summer party, Jack. Thanks for inviting all the guests, Jack. Thanks for making sure that I didn’t have anything to stress about, Jack.”

Quinn just pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow, making Jack snicker.

“Look, man, you can take the floor if you’re that beat up about it. It’s one weekend – you can handle sharing a room with Gianna for three nights.”

That’s what Quinn was mad about. Jack had taken it upon himself to sort out ‘room assignments’ for the long weekend in the cabin – clearly having gotten Trevor and Cole in on it because they were refusing to help him fix it – leaving Gianna stuck in sharing a room with him. He genuinely couldn’t believe that Jack was forcing Gianna into this, giving her little choice on what to do, and didn’t know what else to do himself as the embarrassment flooded through his veins.

What the hell was Jack up to? Why was he meddling so much?

Quinn knew his brother was up to something when instead of just bringing Trevor, Turcs, and Cole with him, Gianna was sitting blissfully ignorant in the front seat of the car too. It wasn’t that Gianna was the only girl, but she was the only girl sharing a room/sofa/pull-out bed with a guy she wasn’t dating, and he hated that Jack had created this awkward situation in the first place.

How could he fix it?

“Uh, Quinn?”

Quinn snapped his head up at the sound of Gianna’s voice calling to him down the stairs, ignoring Jack and Trevor’s stupid grins (other than to punch Jack in the arm on his way past) to jog upstairs to find out what was wrong. He found her in the doorway of the room they were ‘assigned’ and it wasn’t until he poked his head over her shoulder that he remembered the one detail he really shouldn’t have forgotten.

This was his usual bedroom. With only one bed.

True, it was a queen-size bed, but it was still only one bed. No wonder Jack looked so pleased with himself. Fuck.

“Um, I am so sorry about Jack. I should’ve kicked his ass harder while we were growing up,” Quinn sighed.

Gianna let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I can sleep on that bench at the foot of the bed. There’s more than enough room for me there.”

She was petite…but no, no way.

“Definitely not, I can,” Quinn said.

“Your legs will hang over the end of it,” she pointed out, smiling wryly.

He tried not to wince. That was a good point. He didn’t know what was showing on his face but it made Gianna put her hands on her hips.

“We’ll figure it out later. This is an after-bonfire-tonight Gianna-and-Quinn problem,” she said firmly.

Quinn found himself nodding in agreement, too dazed by her words to say anything useful. Giana-and-Quinn. He liked the sound of that.

“There’s only one bed.”

“There’s only one bed?! Gi, you have to make a move!”

“And have him completely freak out? Absolutely not.”

“Quinn will not freak out. Everyone knows that he likes you.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Then why hasn’t he ever said anything?”

“I think Jack is trying to kick his ass into motion.”

“Oh. Oh!”

This was his own personal circle of hell. Even without looking at him or hearing him, he knew Jack was laughing at him somewhere. Luke had already given up on his pathetic nature, passing him a cold beer before walking off to literally anywhere else. What was wrong? It should be a picture-perfect night – the bonfire was roaring, drinks were flowing, music was playing…and Gianna was dancing.

Not by herself of course, with the other girls. But still – she was dancing, and he was in torment.

While the other girls were trying to act all cute and coquettish (which, more power to them, it was clearly working on the other guys, whatever they intended), Gianna was just flowing to the music, eyes closed and clearly in her own world. She was mesmerising, captivating, all of the synonyms. He was completely and utterly screwed, and not in a fun way.

Jack was definitely laughing at him.

He was so lost in a trance in fact, that he missed her walking over to him, only breaking out of his thoughts when she thumped down in the chair next to him.

“Hey Quinn, you look lonely over here,” she grinned.

He felt his cheeks heat with a tell-tale blush, making her laugh. It was almost musical, totally unfair, and as usual she was leaving him tongue tied.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just getting some peace and quiet,” he managed to blurt out.

Her smile dimmed slightly before returning in full force. “I won’t disturb you any more then.”

Fuck, damn it, no!

“You’re not disturbing me,” he said quickly, shaking his head, “Adding to the peace, if anything.”

Was that desperate? It sounded desperate.

But Gianna just laughed again, settling back into her chair. He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light but the relief that flooded his body seemed to be reflected in her face. She was glad she wasn’t disturbing him?

“Your brother sure knows how to throw a party,” Gianna murmured.

“That’s Jack, life and soul of the party,” Quinn mused.

He hated the pang that rang through his chest. She admired Jack. She admired Jack’s joie de vivre, something he’d never had and would never had. How could he compete with that?

“Yeah Chelsea’s all over that, she loves it,” Gianna grinned, jerking her chin to their right.

What?

Quinn turned his head to see a pretty little brunette (not as pretty as Gianna, of course) leaning up against Jack’s chest, giggling at something that could in no way be that funny.

Gianna was happy for Chelsea?

Oh.

Oh!

“Should I give Trevor a heads up to find somewhere else to sleep?” he smirked.

“Trevor Zegras can figure himself out,” Gianna snorted, smirking slightly back.

If he didn’t adore her before, he was sold hook, line, and sinker now. He had to say something. He had to tell her how he felt. He couldn’t go on any longer with all of this pressure sitting on his chest, weighing him down. He needed to know, either way, how she felt about him too.

“Hey Gi?”

“Yeah Quinn?” she said, turning her head to face him with a smile.

“I’m sorry if this sounds stupid, or unwanted, or just completely out of the blue. It’s just that, well, I can’t get this out of my head and now I’m rambling and-”

Gianna cut him off with a giggle, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Start again,” she prompted, dropping her hand back into her lap.

But her eyes were filled with something he hadn’t expected. Hope. That was everything he needed to steel himself.

“I like you, Gianna. Really like you. And when Jack dared me-”

“Wait, Jack dared you?”

The hurt in her face immediately sent a cold wave through his body.

“No, no, not like that. He dared me to confess my feelings to you. That’s literally it, I swear. He knows that I like you – all the guys do. I’ve just been too much of a coward to say anything,” he explained.

The hurt in her expression melted away, and she nodded, her smile turning shy. Thank fuck for that.

“That does explain why Jack reached out a month ago to find out if I could join you guys this weekend,” she mused.

A month ago? That meddling little rat.

Still, if he hadn’t meddled…

“So you’re not mad or upset that I like you?” Quinn asked hopefully.

Gianna huffed out a laugh, shaking her head, making his whole body feel like it was bursting into fireworks.

“The opposite, actually,” she admitted, “I just…I didn’t think you’d ever see me as more than a friend.”

She didn’t think…?

Without caring about their audience, their setting, or even their drinks, Quinn leant forward and kissed her. He barely heard the surprised soft moan she let out over the cheering of his idiot brother and idiot friends, choosing to flip them off before cupping her face with that same hand. He’d wasted so much time. But now, they had the whole summer to make up for it.

#my writing #quinn hughes fic #rox's birthday bingo #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x oc #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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fbfh · 4 months ago

Text

Curiosity is a Wonderful thing ch. 11

wc: 13.2k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, mal x ben (allegedly), platonic reader + mom!alice

warnings: severe mommy issues, brief touch on food scarcity and trauma, COMPHET, reader scratches her arm and bleeds a little, one use of the word purge in a non food related sense, ben has a gnarly panic attack, very mild dubcon bc mal used mind control on ben without him knowing (she didn't do anything physical with him it was just ethically questionable at the very best and the important thing is ben feels gross about it), ben very briefly contemplates involuntary manslaughter, one use of the phrase "being [someone's] bitch", comfort from reader's mom

summary: Ben and Mal go on a date. You follow a rabbit. All three of you begin to realize things of critical importance.

song recs: dream girl evil - florance and the machine, girls against god - florance and the machine, tell me I'm okay patrick - rachel bloom/crazy ex girlfriend cast, hovering - miley cyrus ft trace cyrus, when you wish upon a star ethereal remix - a.krishna, nothing is every anyone's fault - crazy ex girlfriend cast, when you wish upon a star (music box) - the by8nd, silly lullaby - natasha richardson

a/n: your outfit, your mom's outfit, optional face/voiceclaim for adult alice (it's natasha richardson)

THANK YOU GUYS SO MOTHERFUCKING MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT??????? LIKE WHAT THE FUCK. also as per ush (how do we phonetically spell the first part of usual????) fangz 2 cici 4 betaing lulz mcr rox. btwTHERE IS WONDERLAND TERMINOLOGY USED IN THIS CHAPTER!!!!!!! HERE IS THE GLOSSARY!!!!!!!!!! the tldr from memory is as follows:

brillig = late afternoon around when you would start cooking dinner

nunz = don't go (with a sense of urgancy/immediate importance)

gyre = to spin around and around like a gyroscope

mimsy = flimsy/miserable hybrid word (think sad wet pathetic little mewmew)

gallymoggers = cuckoo bananas crazy

so yeah!!! I think I got everyone from my asks and replies (LOVE YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH EVEN YOU SILENT READERS YES I LOVE YOU TOO LURKERS AND LIKERS AND SILENT REBLOGGERS <333 YOU SPECIFICALLY READING THIS RIGHT NOW) so if you wanna be added or I missed you just hoot and holler in the notes!! (or if you wanna be more anon you can message me too I don't mind in the slightest uwu)

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain @yokolesbianism @ma1dita @casey1-2007 @roseidol @eaterof-concrete @enhacatalog @inejghafawifesblog @jjmaybankisawesome @leovergurl @formulas-bitch @starsdotalk @tulipmagnoliaisme @inejsknifes @ficslutt @bwormie @urmomlikeslinotoo @jazhandzzz

Mal has a lot of reasons to hate herself. She’s weak, sensitive, and incompetent at best on a good day, as her mother likes to say. She has no grit, no spite. She knows this, because she grew up hearing it. One of the last things her mother told her before shipping her off that god forsaken rock was don’t blow it. Mal knew from her words, from the frightening pleasantness in her voice and tension in her eyes what she really meant. The way she clamped her sharp nails down painfully into Mal’s shoulder - from a distance, a maternal and supportive gesture - the weight that this opportunity held.

If you asked Maleficent for a list of all the things wrong with her daughter, she could easily fill a book. Probably several, but Mal doesn’t think she actually cares enough about her daughter to pay close enough attention to do so. If she found out her mother put that much effort into listing her flaws, she thinks that would be the most mother daughter bonding she’s ever received. She might try becoming worse somehow, just to disappoint her mother further and give her more to work with.

Many of the things her mother thought of her, she had started to believe over time. But now, Mal finds herself in an unusual, almost funny position of being able to add a new failure, a new flaw to that eternally winding, growing list.

Mal is getting attention from a boy. And worse, she likes it.

So really, it’s two for one.

Being around Ben felt weird at first. He kept trying to kiss her, which was… gross. Mal justified it as being above all that, being too wicked and rotten for mushy gushy matters of the heart. Maybe it’s really because it’s just… too much. It’s all so much, happening so fast. A week or two ago she couldn’t be alone with anyone without trying to figure out who was going to shank who first.

She knows that’s not how Auradon works, she knows the crime rate here is basically zero, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to shake that feeling. Like being safe is somehow worse than being in danger. At least danger is familiar. That’s probably why she’s able to strut playfully across the rickety old rope bridge the way she is. Behind her, Ben chuckles nervously, holding tight onto the sides.

It was annoying at first, all the attention. She laughed about it with Evie. Or she tried to, at least. But the more time they spend in this frilly princess infested hellhole, the more Mal notices Evie seeming… different. Their banter and mean spirited jokes that flowed so easily seem to have evaporated overnight.

She can tell Evie’s not as into it anymore. No one else could, but Mal can. She wonders if this means Evie isn’t as into her anymore. Mal wouldn’t call them friends. She wouldn’t call any of her friends friends. But no one would ever deny the bond, the loyalty between the four of them. The thought of Evie drifting away, pulling back from her like this hurts. It would be so much better if she just full on betrayed Mal, stabbing her in the back and sabotaging her. At least that way, they’d still be speaking the same language.

She thought if anyone would be excited about getting some idiotic prince in her clutches, a figurehead to manipulate and make dance like a puppet, it would be Evie. But now, for the first time in her life, Mal feels like she cares more about boys, about bagging a prince than Evie does. It’s strange. It’s unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. How to make things normal again.

It’s not like she could even call Evie out on it, either. She’s being normal enough. Mal could see her beaming ear to ear with that dazzling, blinding smile before she even got the question out of her mouth - will you help me get ready for my… date? She gagged a little when she said that, but Evie was too busy hugging her and talking about what to do with her hair to even notice. When they talked about dresses and blush undertones - something she’s still not sure she fully understands - things were great. They were better than normal, she felt like she and Evie were more in sync than they have been in years. It felt good.

It’s when she brought up Ben that she noticed Evie’s light dim a little. Her heart just wasn’t in it. So Mal did what she does best. She deflected. She started talking about split ends, and kibbe types, and other stuff Evie has encyclopedic knowledge about that Mal has never even heard of, and just like that - boom. The sparkle was back in Evie’s eyes, the sincerity back in her smile. So Mal swore to herself that she just wouldn’t bring him up. Unfortunately, that’s proving to be easier said than done.

Ben isn’t making things any easier for her, either. He’s been so nice, so disgustingly kind and considerate that it makes Mal sick. The worst part, the thing that really fills her with dread and sickening disgust is that he’s been like this the whole time. Before this stupid spell and the stupid cookie, before the stupid tourney game. He’s been thoughtful and considerate and kind, and good since the moment they stepped foot out of the limo. If limos don’t normally come filled with candy, that means he was good and kind even before they got to Auradon.

She feels giddy around him. Sick, and giddy. Despite everything, despite a lifetime of training for this, she can’t stop leaning into it, indulging herself. It’s so fucking stupid, she barates herself even as she turns and smiles at Ben, lets him guide her through the forest.

“Tell me something about yourself you’ve never told anyone,” Ben requests gently, so gently it makes her flinch. For a moment, she’s pulled out of her spiraling maelstrom of self loathing.

“Um…” She hums out loud, silently letting herself revel in this feeling of captivating someone. Not scaring them, not grabbing them by the jaw and locking eyes while hers flare green, imposing her will, but actually having someone want to listen to her. Voluntarily, and not under threat of bodily harm.

“My middle name is Bertha.”

Ben chuckles behind her, and she turns back around away from him quickly so she doesn’t have to look at him. She’s not even sure if that’s true, and for the first time, she feels a dull pang of guilt for lying. It sounds stupid, the kind of thing no one would lie about, but Mal doesn’t even know if she has a middle name. She doesn’t know if she has a last name, other than Young Mistress of Evil, but having an embarrassing middle name sounds like something that other normal people her age would experience.

So she goes with Bertha.

She makes some little comment about her mom, and it gets a laugh out of Ben, one she tries to laugh along with.

“Mine’s Florian.” Ben says in understanding. “Ben Florian Lemaitre-Alarie Leroy de le Lumme-Mont.”

Mal turns her head away, but she can still feel his eyes on her.

“Wow. How princely.” She quips.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, trying to look at her. She starts walking again. “It’s- it’s a mouthful…”

He follows her closely, and soon they reach the end of the bridge.

“Okay, close your eyes.” He instructs, placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

Her stomach drops. Her brow furrows, and she shifts away from him on instinct.

“Why…?” She asks skeptically.

He pauses for a moment, then laughs sweetly at her reaction.

“It’s okay, it’s just a surprise.” He says, his voice so earnest she can almost bring herself to believe him. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

Sixteen years of muscle memory force her to dig in her heels, to throw his allegedly good word out the window. But against her better judgment, her mind clouded with that squishy sappy dizzy feeling, that contact high she’s been getting from being around him too much, she reluctantly agrees. She knows that Ben won’t harm her because he can’t - not as long as she’s in his head.

She thinks back to the relief that flooded her when she finally pieced the plan together. She had two obvious choices; a love spell, or some sort of mind control. Mind control would have been ideal, she thought. It’s more predictable, plus it will score her some major points with her mother.

She thought about how great it would be, following in her footsteps and hypnotizing Ben with incorporeal hypnosis, just like her mother had hypnotized Audrey’s to touch the spinning wheel.

She tried her hardest, she really had. But it turns out that hypnosis with eye contact or an artifact is already hard enough to begin with. Incorporeal hypnosis is about a thousand times harder. Worse off, Mal had never been able to practice magic a day in her life. All she knew until recently was theoretical second hand knowledge, gleaned from her mother’s drunken recollections of the good old days after a few too many absinth martinis.

Mal never knew how her mom could drink that stuff. She once tried a pinky dip of the poison ivy infused gin her mother made to use in her drinks, and quickly realized it was a terrible mistake. It tasted like bitter greens and itchy, fiery spice. Her mouth was burned for a week, but her mother could easily down two or three over dinner, insisting the poison ivy gives it just the kick it needs. She asked her mother about it once, and shocked Mal when she actually answered her question instead of glaring or going off on another delusional tangent.

“Oh, it’s a dragon thing.” She sighed. “Once you’ve had fire in your mouth, nothing tastes strong enough.”

For a moment, Mal could pretend this was what things were always like. They were always a normal mother and normal daughter. She always got advice and anecdotes from her mom. She’d get scolded if she came home scraped up or too late because her mother always cared enough to notice. Then Maleficent grabbed her shoulder, bringing Mal to look out the window at Auradon with her.

“Someday you’ll know what I mean. After your first time transforming, you’ll understand.” She had chuckled. For a moment, just one moment, Mal dared to see the faintest glimmer of hope on the horizon. Maybe things will get better, her mother will care about her, be proud of her already.

“Because one day, Mal, we’re going to get out of this dump… and onto the throne. Right where we belong…”

That was the day she’d been forced to let go of that hope. Her mother doesn’t care about her, just that she can have an extra pair of hands, a faster set of reflexes and a sharper pair of eyes. But she never quite let go of making her mother proud. That still seemed like something she could try for.

That’s how she came up with the whole cookie angle. She found a simple amplification and extension spell, and managed to bake it into a cookie. Once Ben ate it, the spell would be absorbed into his system longer, making it easier to control him. After days and days of research, she came to two conclusions - one shocking, the other terrifying. Shocking was that love spells don’t actually exist. The only ones she could find word of were gimmicky ads in gossip magazines, and even those were few and far between. That’s when the second realization hit. She has to figure out how to make hypnosis work. That’s her only hope, her only chance.

Ben’s hands are strong on her waist, strong enough to make her jump and pull her from the memory that seemed to envelop her out of nowhere, hiding her from the world. She lets him guide her through the unfamiliar terrain. She tries to shake the memories, tries to get rid of that sinking, disorienting, cold feeling. Right now, she has a part to play. She has to be a good girlfriend, she has to get the wand and make her mother proud.

It’s all part of the plan. It’s part of the evil scheme, that’s why she’s acting so coy and flirtatious, that’s why she’s letting Ben keep his hands on her waist and guide her gently through the forest, his voice soothing in her ear as he instructs her on where to turn and where any rocks and branches might block her path. She keeps telling herself, reminding herself of this because maybe if she tells herself enough, she’ll be able to ignore the fact that she’s enjoying it, leaning into the attention and safe presence of Ben’s big hands and strong chest behind her.

“Oh, watch your foot… there you go.” He coaxes, guiding her past an overgrown shrub, careful to make sure she doesn’t get scratched up. “You good?”

He asks so gently, so sincerely, that Mal feels herself almost shrinking back a little.

“Yeah,” she says lightly, with a forced chuckle.

“Good,” he breathes, and she can hear the smile in his voice. He moves her so easily, positioning her so she stands just in front of him, his chest to her back. She doesn’t like how small and… dainty, and pretty, and fragile she feels around him. It’s intoxicating and terrifying.

“Okay,” he says, gentle voice spiking with anticipation. He rubs his hands up and down her arms softly, struggling to stifle his excitement.

“Ready? Open.” She hesitates, then complies. She sucks in a breath, eyes widening at the most breathtaking thing she’s ever seen.

Covered in ivy, and vines blooming with morning glory and lilac, an open air greek pavilion sits in the middle of an enticing, crystal clear lake. Even though only half of the pillars and colonnades remain, the circular stone base is solid. Buttery golden sunlight dapples peacefully through the lush flora and plant life all around them, hiding it from sight.

The lake itself - calm and so blue it’s almost green - is surrounded by rocky, grassy bluffs, just high enough to dive off of. To Mal’s shock, nothing around her looks… menacing. The cliffs aren’t jagged and ominous, the water isn’t murky and threatening. The rocks are smooth. Inviting, even. The crumbling pavilion itself seems like it’s been worn away from time, not from neglect or destruction. There’s no litter or trash, there’s no graffiti, no broken beer bottles or cigarette butts.

It all seems so… welcoming. Safe, and friendly. Peaceful. After a moment of basking in the haven of tranquility before her, she notices a blanket spread out on the middle of the stone floor. It’s a bright, vibrant blue, and is free of any stains or patches or holes. Laid out on top of the blanket like something from a magazine is a spread of the freshest, juiciest, most wonderful looking food she’s ever seen.

She gasps softly, turning to look at him, and sees he’s been looking at her the whole time. She studies his face for a moment, trying to figure out if this really is all for her. His smile tells her everything she needs to know. She lets out another breathy gasp as she turns back to the pavilion, feeling like it’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to do in this situation.

She knows it’s all pretend, playing the part of the pretty damsel like this. The type of girl who’s wanted, who strong, influential people like Ben always protect. Somehow, knowing that it’s pretend doesn’t get rid of the way it feels - the good feelings, or the sickening ones.

When the rocks have magically moved themselves to form a footpath onto the pavilion, Mal lets Ben guide her some more, and sit her down for their thing. Even thinking the word date still feels strange and uncomfortable. She’s quickly distracted from the uncomfortable knowledge that she’s on a date by how good the food is.

Good doesn’t even begin to cut it, it’s delicious. Better than that, but she can’t think of anything better than delicious. It’s the kind of food she used to dream about, the kind that would show up in lavish spreads and banquets. She would always stuff her face as much as she possibly could, wanting to get enough before she woke up. Before it could disappear.

“Is this your first time?” Ben asks softly, a knowing smile on his face. She startles slightly, forgetting he was there for a moment.

“Um…” She starts, licking the powdery sugar off her fingers. “We don’t really date on the Isle. It’s more like gang activity.”

Ben chuckles, but it’s really not an exaggeration.

“I meant your first time trying a jelly donut.” He clarifies sweetly. She pauses. She’s rudely awakened by that contextualizing feeling of abnormality. No, everyone doesn’t grow up not knowing their fruits and vegetables. No, everyone isn’t used to living off scraps and whatever can be scrounged together. It’s not a common, shared experience to have soggy boxes stacked up with nutraloaf bars shipped in on rat infested barges as an after school snack.

She blinks, trying to pull herself back to the present.

“Is it bad?” She asks cutely. Ben doesn’t chuckle like she expects. It doesn’t seem to land as endearing with him, but as a genuine question.

“Not-”

Her eyes flare green before he can finish. Once they do, Ben chuckles. He leans closer to her, smiling softly.

Wipe the sugar off her cheek. Caress her. Act like you mean it.

No sooner does she transmute the orders into his mind that he complies. He leans in as he does, more invested in the sticky powdered sugar dusting her lips, and has her mirror his gestures.

“Go like this…?” He says, licking the sides of his own lips where sugar sits on hers. She does, and he giggles again before reaching over to brush the rest off. Mal smiles, looking away coyly.

“Can’t take me anywhere, I guess…” She looks away and bats her eyes like she’s seen Evie do before. Even though it’s familiar, it feels staged and contrived. It doesn’t feel natural, but like something that anyone in her position should do, so she does it. She glances down at her hands to look for any remaining sugar, and for the first time she can ever recall, she finds herself bothered by the jagged edges of her bitten nails, the chips in her worn down purple polish.

Across from her, Ben is looking at the ground near a big old elm tree. Mal adjusts in her seat, but he doesn’t notice. She stares at him more intently, but he’s still looking off into the distance, transfixed by the place where the gnarled roots and lumpy trunk meet the grass. The illusion around Mal begins to crack. The immersion of playing princess to his doting prince starts to slip as she realizes that for the first time since casting the spell, she doesn’t have his full attention. Her expression grows stony with a cold, sick feeling as she watches his distant, almost melancholic gaze fixed on the tree.

“A tumtum what?” He had asked you one day with a chuckle.

“A tumtum tree!” You’d exclaimed back with a smile, as though you were having to explain to him something as common as clouds or air or tea. You had sighed playfully, gesturing with your hands as you explained.

“Tumtum trees have only ever been found in Wonderland. They’re quite large, even their seeds are around the size of your fist. They look like…”

You trail off, trying to think of a suitable comparison. Ben waits. He’s used to this, these pauses in your descriptions of Wonderland. The problem that you’ve found when trying to tell him about your home down there is that not everything is always like something else. It can be quite hard to describe something out of nothing, or nothing out of something. No sooner had the perfect thing popped into your mind.

“An elm tree.” You exclaim with a resolute snap of your fingers. You nod in satisfaction as you clarify, “Like a wych elm tree. A bit, at least.”

“Like which elm tree?” Ben asks, unsure if he had heard you correctly.

“Exactly.” You nod confidently, drawing a confused, familiar smile from him. Ben watches you in fascination as you continue to describe the trees in question.

“Tumtum trees are usually quite friendly. Good at watching over one when one should find oneself in need of a cat nap.” You state, nodding surely. “Good conversationalists, too.”

Ben lets out a laugh, free and organic from his chest.

“I forgot trees can talk down there,” he says.

“Some of them,” you say, then nod solemnly. “Some prefer other methods of communication, like pelting those they dislike with acorns, or pollen.”

He laughs again, contagiously, and it begins to spread to you as you continue.

“The most notable thing about tumtum trees is their roots and their bases. They’re usually quite big and tangled, curling in and out in lumpy little nests and sprawling through themselves-”

Ask about her.

It grabs him by the neck, roughly yanking him from his thoughts. He’s pulled from the pleasant memory of you, the voice destructively ripping through his train of thought.

Look at her. Look at her. You have to know everything about her right now. You’re dying to know everything about her.

The orders repeat over and over in his mind, his eyes glassy and green for the shortest moment as he’s locked into Mal’s toxic glower. The words begin to ring true. He finds himself burning with an almost painful need to know every possible detail about her. He leans closer to her.

“Tell me everything about yourself.” He asks, only hearing the question for the first time as it leaves his lips.

Mal smiles, acting surprised and flattered by the question she made him ask.

“Well,” she starts with a soft sigh, as if trying to find where to begin, “I’m sixteen. I’m an only child, and… I’ve only ever lived in one place.”

The poisonous light glows from her eyes for a moment, casting strange shadows around them. Ben responds quickly, as if he were waiting for a cue.

“So am I! We have so much in common already,” he laughs, leaning closer. Mal laughs too, leaning away.

“No, not as much as you might think.” She glances away, then back up at him. “Anyway, you’re going to be king soon, huh?”

Ben’s laughter grows stale, and he begins to get that distant look again, the same one he had when looking at the elm tree.

“A crown doesn’t make you a king.” He says softly, more to himself than to Mal.

“Well… it kind of does, yeah.” Mal says dryly. She waits for another laugh, but no laughter comes.

“Your mother is the mistress of evil, my parents are the poster for goodness, but-” he hesitates, searching for the right words. “That doesn’t mean we’re automatically like them.”

He finishes quietly, eyes falling down to his signet ring. Even with his mind a blank slate, weaved around Mal’s fingers like an obedient snake, he can still feel all the pressure, all that he has to live up to. Everything he wants to be is still right on the horizon.

“We choose who we’re going to be.” He finishes softly.

Across from him, Mal’s heart pounds. She didn’t make him say any of that. She didn’t tell him to, he did it himself. He said that she’s not like her mom. He said that. Her heart pounds, and she wants so badly for him to say it again. His words ring in her mind like a bell, over and over. We choose who we’re going to be. No one had ever said that, or anything remotely like that to her before. No one had ever made her believe it.

Those strange shadows dance across Ben’s face again, and Mal squeezes her trembling hands, trying to calm herself.

Say it again, Ben. Tell her. Say she’s not evil. Say it. Tell her right now. Tell her she’s not evil. You don’t think she’s evil.

He leans in even closer. He moves his hand onto her cheek. He locks eyes with her, oblivious to the shared glowing green light between them.

“I can look into your eyes and… tell you’re not evil.” He says with certainty. “I can see it.”

He moves closer, letting his eyes drift shut softly, tilting his head to the side-

Mal jerks away, letting go of the active control with a sudden drop. She lets out an uncomfortable laugh, scooting away from him. The pressure on his chest eases, and it almost feels like he can think again. Having a modicum of control over his thoughts and actions again, he stands up. He nods his head, gesturing for Mal to join him.

“Come on. Let’s go for a swim.”

“Uh-” Mal falters, eyes darting between Ben and the water. “Um, no. I think I’m okay.”

“It’ll be fun,” Ben coaxes with a smile.

“I- I think I’m gonna stay behind and try a strawberry. I’ve literally never had a strawberry before.”

She grabs a nice juicy berry and bites in, humming performatively for Ben. It takes a moment for the flavors to explode in her mouth. She can’t believe something so delicious could come from a plant. It’s so sweet, and a little bit tangy, but in a good way. It’s a different sort of sweet than sugar, though. She can’t put her finger on exactly what it is, but there’s a light twist, a depth and complexity to the taste that she never could have imagined. It somehow tastes like a bright clear morning and a darkening rich sunset all at the same time.

“Mmmh…” She hums, for real this time, taking another bite. She eats the whole berry - stem and leaves included - and Ben chuckles softly. He says something she doesn’t catch, then goes off to swim. The moment he leaves, Mal has only two things on her mind.

Strawberries are fucking delicious, and Evie is going to love this. All of this. Picnics, strawberries, pagodas or pavilions or whatever the hell they’re called. She can see it clear as day; taking Evie out here with Carlos and Jay, the two of them can sit and talk while the boys are off splashing in the water. Evie will be so excited that she makes her and Mal matching sundresses in their colors - blue and gold, and purple and green.

They can eat strawberries and laugh when the juice gets everywhere. They can throw shells and tourney balls into the lake for Carlos and Jay to get to keep them busy while she and Evie talk. Mal will scoff and laugh and roll her eyes when Evie reminds them all to wear sunscreen. She and Carlos will agree, but Jay will insist he doesn’t need any, and they’ll spend the following week treating his sunburn. Evie will insist on braiding Jay’s hair or twisting it up into some kind of bun or ponytail so it doesn’t get tangled.

She’ll make Mal hold all the bobby pins and hair ties, and she’s sure Evie will have some sort of goop to put in Carlos’s hair so the water doesn’t turn it green. What’s that called again? Evie had been going on and on to Mal before they left for Auradon about how some water can turn blonde hair green. Cholera? Fluorine? Chlor… chlorine maybe? Yeah, that sounds right. There’s no chlorine in the water in the Isle, but since it can affect your hair, Mal’s not surprised that Evie knows everything about it. She doesn’t know if lake water has chlorine, but she’s sure if hair is on the line that Evie will be cautious.

She’s only pulled from her hazy strawberry high when the berries have run out. She catches a remaining drop of strawberry juice on her finger from the edge of the bowl, and brings it to her lips. She looks around and sees Ben on top of one of the taller grassy bluffs. He waves at her, and after a moment she waves back hesitantly. She looks at his swim trunks, then yells across the lake.

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?”

Ben smiles a little, remembering when you had helped him pick them out.

“Maybe,” he calls back.

He lets out a loud, animalistic roar, then jumps.

She looks away before he hits the water. Her eyes fall down to the empty bowl of strawberries, the ones Evie would love. The ones Ben provided her with. She starts to relax a little now that he’s not watching her. Her facade, her perfect princessy persona starts to slip. She relaxes - her shoulders, her jaw, her posture, the grip she keeps on Ben.

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to reorient herself, to figure out how she feels. She’s so confused, unused to acting sweet - at all, but especially around other people. She has to keep it together. She needs to use these few minutes of Ben swimming to make sure she has her head on straight and her eyes on the prize. She has to stay focused, stay grounded.

She clenches her fists so tightly that her nails, bitten short and chipped with a deep plum polish, dig into her palms.

She hopes the slight sting will get her head back where she needs it. The pain is good. A reminder of where she came from, what she’s here to do. She tries, but this time, it’s not enough. Not anymore. She shakes her head a little, hoping it will clear her mind, make her feel like herself again. Her hair is fried under all the purple dye, and she can tell it’s growing frizzy from the humidity and movement. She lets out an annoyed huff, and reaches up, trying to fuss with it until it looks like Evie made it look before.

Are you kidding? The thought shows up suddenly as she catches herself worrying about her hair of all things. Realization sets in that not even that is enough to snap her back to herself. A sense of shame washes over her as she realizes how deep in all this she’s getting. In the moments after that realization, her mind begins to wander. It goes further and further from anything she had ever let herself think before.

Maybe she could… make this work. Maybe there’s a shot at pulling it off. If she could keep Ben under her spell a little longer than necessary, she could make him fall in love with her for real. She can implant so many thoughts and repeating orders until it scrambles his brain and… makes it real somehow. Then he’ll want to look after Mal on purpose, not on principle. He can get her and her friends into witness protection or something, get some guard gargoyles and knights to watch over them.

She can talk Ben into giving her a little cottage deep in the woods - it will be safest for them there anyway. And that’s what he wants, for them to be safe. He wants that because Mal wants that, and when a prince like Ben loves someone, he makes sure they have whatever they want most. And what Mal wants most is a safe, secure, roomy cottage in the woods for her and Evie, Jay and Carlos. They’ll have a little lake just like this one, and maybe like, some ducks or something. Cats, or snakes, or whatever makes a good pet.

Jay can chop the firewood, and Carlos can fix the computers whenever they get weird. Mal still barely understands how to use smartphones and dropbox, but Carlos has taken to all that stuff like… well, like his mom takes to furs. She’ll make sure there’s a nice big room for Evie to sew, and she won’t complain as much when Evie uses her as a dress form. They’ll have more delicious, fresh food than they can eat, and they won’t need to worry about any of this anymore.

She’ll reluctantly let Evie teach her how to use blush, and style hair.

They’ll sit in the nice sunshine in the fresh clean air all day. She’ll make Evie crowns from all the pretty flowers that grow here so she can have as many crowns and tiaras as she wants, and Jay and Carlos can play tourney and climb trees and do whatever else they’re always doing. She can see it clear as day; Evie’s head resting in Mal’s lap while Mal uses her spellbook to weave together flowers, enchanting them to make them sparkle while Jay and Carlos laugh and roughhouse nearby.

They’ll still share bedrooms. That’s the one thing Mal has actually kind of liked since moving to Auradon, sleeping in the same room as Evie. Getting to be close to her. She’s sure Jay and Carlos sleep better knowing they’re not by themselves, too. Maybe if the cottage is kind of small she and Evie can share a bed. She’d be fine with that. They’ll bake non magic cookies and eat strawberries, Evie will have all the ingredients she needs to make every kind of face mask and hair mask and lotion she could dream of.

Ben will come and check in on them sometimes. Not very often, just once in a while. He’ll stop by and make sure they’re safe and protected and left alone all the time, because that’s what princes do when they’re in love with someone. They’ll never leave unless they want to, and they’ll have VIP tickets to all the balls and galas and sporting events in Auradon. Mal will go with them, because she knows things wouldn’t be the same if she stayed behind. Even though parties are boring and sports are dumb. But as long as Evie’s having a good time, she’s sure she can handle it.

If only… if only she could figure out that it’s a sure thing. Then she’d be all the way in.

You can’t recall a time your heart pounded in your chest like a jackrabbit as it does now, as you tread through roots and bushes and grassy forest terrain to the enchanted lake. You’ve been following the white rabbit who had alerted you to Ben’s whereabouts until you arrived at the lake. You find a little hidey-hole in the brush and gnarled roots of an old elm tree within eyeshot of the pavilion, and crouch down. You can almost make out what he’s saying, but not quite.

You fumble for your teapot bag, digging around for something you’re sure must still be in there.

“Come on, come on…” you murmur frantically. You let out a gasp as your fingers close around the monocle, and you pull it out quickly. You’d pawned it off a ring of ring-a-ding worms in Wonderland several months ago. You weren’t sure how trustworthy they were - which usually means not very trustworthy at all if you’re doubting it in the first place - but you simply couldn’t help yourself. The monocle was a very old sort of subtitling spectacle, a kind of eyewear that lets you see what people are saying. They’re not always right, nor are they always perfect, but right now you’re desperate.

“Please please work,” you ask the glass silently before holding it up to your left eye. You squint at Ben and Mal, and between the fragments of conversation reaching your ears and the monocle, you’re able to understand things a bit better.

“...You’re not evil. I can see it.” Ben says to Mal, as you watch and listen to his words intently. The sun is closer to setting and brillig draws nearer, basking everything in that not quite sunset glow. You try to crawl closer to see and hear better, not even noticing when you nearly lose one of your shoes in your efforts. You rub your eyes in disbelief, waiting to see what they say next. An elm leaf falls, tangling itself in your hair, and you find yourself unable to believe what you’re seeing. If you were using two monocles, you would surely dismiss it as the subtitle spectacles breaking. Unfortunately, there’s no disguising the truth you see before you.

Ben leans in to kiss Mal, and you recoil backwards, suddenly and in shock. Your stomach twists in that terrible way, and you’re sure you’re going to be sick. You grip the grass tightly, hoping it will stop your head from spinning. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense, or nonsense at all. The world around you makes positively nothing. You can deal with chaos, with spontaneity, but this? This is just cruel. The world is… mean for making you live through this.

You summon a rabbit hole back down to Wonderland faster than you can blink. You tumble down, dirt sprinkling down on you as you fall. Right before you’re swallowed by the earth, you scratch your arm on a rough patch of bark and roots. You catch a glimpse of your blood and tears falling in beads before you’re shrouded in darkness, blurry and delicate. They dance together like pained flurries of your heart and mind’s shared turmoil. You let yourself fall carelessly, the stuffy air disturbed by your stifled sobs slipping out where you don’t want them to.

You don’t plan on staying long at all. You just need a few moments to collect yourself, to gather your thoughts. You take in a few deep, heavy breaths, your brow furrowing with determination. You must overcome this. You must stay focused. You have to if you’re going to have any chance at helping Ben. You let out a sharp breath with a sharp little noise attached to it, and you can feel your head coming back in place. There will be time to deal with all of this, there will be time to cry, but that time is not now.

The second Mal turns away and pulls her face from his gentle embrace, Ben takes in a deep, panting breath, feeling like his chest is suddenly less tight than it had been. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he feels the absence of his contracting muscles and shallow breaths now that they’re gone. He immediately looks back over to that elm tree, the one he was looking at before. For a moment, just a moment, he could swear he saw your fingertips, the ends of your hair, the dark glint of your silky blackberry bow falling into the earth. But he blinks, and whatever might have been there or not is gone too quickly to tell.

He shakes his head a little, hoping to reorient himself, but a breeze blows by and he could swear on anything there’s a trace of your scent carried in the air. The faintest hint of something so quintessentially you - your perfume, your smell, your blood. His chest squeezes again, this time with longing.

He’s about to realize how long it’s been since he saw you, about to realize this is the longest he’s gone without even speaking a word to you, but something drags him back, keeping his thoughts here and now. He turns back to Mal, with that dull, throbbing headache he hasn’t been able to shake since the tourney game.

“Let’s go swimming.”

The enchanted lake is one of Auradon’s hidden gems. It was a gift to the newly united front of Auradon as a whole from the gods of Olympus; a thank you, an offering of goodwill for assisting in the containment of Hades. Hercules and Megara had gone through many lengthy strategy sessions and battle plans with Adam and Belle, trying to figure out how to prevent Hades from another attempt to overthrow Olympus. Adam and Belle knew that Hades was dangerous - he is a god after all - but they had no idea the extent and reach of his power.

The First Villain Uprising was a dark time that spread over many years. Most people know the events of VU1; the poison apples, the sleeping curses and dark magic. They’re familiar enough with the coups and the curses, the unregulated dark magic running rampant through the land, wielded by power hungry loonatics. Villains. Brave leaders and heroes in countries from down near the Southern Isles to way up north in Winter’s Keep refused to cower in the face of evil. They did everything they could to stop it, and for many years the villains were presumed dead.

The problem came from all the different countries not having a united front, not communicating with each other. There was no teamwork, no global council, so no one knew that the moment Maleficent was pierced through the heart by the sword of truth was the same moment Hades had managed to claw his way out of the river styx. The first thing he did once he got his bearings was drag Maleficent down to the underworld. She wasn’t dead, not quite yet, and they both saw the opportunity before them. A combination of Maleficent’s dark fairy magic and Hades’ rule over the souls of the dead meant they could drag the worst villains back from the depths.

That was the start of the Second Villain Uprising.

When the rulers figured out what was happening, they knew they had to band together, be stronger as a whole. That’s when Adam gathered up as many kings and queens as he could to start planning the first crusades. Fairy Godmother sent word out to the most powerful wizards and fairies and sorcerers she could, pleading for them to join the fight against evil.

It didn’t take long to start rounding up villains, but they needed somewhere to put them. Eventually, Fairy Godmother devised a plan. With the help of Merlin of Camelot, Yensid of Schwartzvald, the Great Genie of Agrabah, and the Three Good Fairies of the Moors, they were able to create a magic barrier around an abandoned isle off the southern coast of Belle and Adam’s kingdom. This became known as the Isle of the Lost, the only secure place where villains and all the evil they bring with them can’t escape.

As a thank you to the mortals down below, the gods gifted them with the enchanted lake, right in the heart of Auradon. Each god added a blessing or a gift of some kind, which is how it got such steadfast healing properties and good magic. The lake itself is magical, which is something that Belle and Adam decided not to advertise during the aftermath of the expulsion of evil.

There was so much terror and fear in the land, people afraid of something going wrong, of some new villain popping up right when they let their guard down. Adam and Belle decided to keep the lake’s properties under wraps for the most part, preemptively stopping any attempts to stockpile or weaponize magic purely to get the upper hand in a magic cold war that has long since ended.

The cleansing and healing properties of the enchanted lake are simplistic, but effective. Ben remembers a time when he was young, there was a brief few weeks when Adam seemed to lose control over shifting his form from man to beast. His condition was ultimately traced back to stress, a comorbid symptom of some nasty migraines, and high cholesterol.

Rumors of his condition began to circulate, and Adam found himself splashed across the covers of gossip rags on newsstands and store checkouts. Fairy Godmother was able to fix him right up, and instructed him to fully submerge himself in the enchanted lake once a week for about a month or so. He followed her instructions to the letter, and was soon back to rights.

As he stands on the small cliffside overlooking the serene, enticing water, Ben’s not sure what jogged that memory, or why it’s at the front of his mind right now. He shakes his head a little, but it keeps coming back, tugging at him like a child vying for their fathers attention.

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?”

Ben glances over at the pavilion where Mal sits. He looks down, then chuckles.

“Maybe,” he calls back. Their eyes lock as Mal gathers her thoughts. Ben can feel it, the tightness coming back in his chest. Before it reaches all the way up to his head, his instincts kick in. He lets out a loud roar, then he jumps.

The water hits his skin. Instead of cool and refreshing, just the way he remembers it, it feels like a freezing cold burn. The world goes quiet as he sinks deeper and deeper into the lake, eyes widening in shock at the unpleasant, almost painful feeling. His skin burns, and he scratches at his arms and legs and chest. His hands move, frantic and sluggish in the water as he itches his neck, then his cheeks, then his head…

He freezes, muscles relaxing, limbs falling still as the water soothes him and purges the last of the fizzing magic out of him. He had no clue what was happening until it was over, and now, hovering underwater, it’s over. He knows he can’t have been down there for too long, but it’s when his instincts scream at him to hyperventilate that he realizes he’s still underwater. His eyes widen, and he fumbles, swimming to a rock hidden from the shore.

He drags himself out of the water, chest heaving, body shaking. The surface of the rock is smooth, but he struggles to maintain his balance. He manages to flip over and lean back on the rock, praying for some stability. His free will, his mind, his cognizance is all coming back to him at once. He feels like a computer flashing a blue screen from too many programs running and downloading at the same time.

He clutches his chest, unable to control his breathing. The disorientation starts to fade and his eyes widen with horror as the reality of the situation starts to set in, cutting through the painful panic gripping him. Mal… drugged him. Or worse, cursed him. His stomach drops, twisting sickeningly, his hands trembling out of control. He’s not normally like this. He never lets himself get like this. He heard stories about extremely powerful villains being able to use mind control or hypnosis on rare occasions, but he never expected it to feel so… violating.

His gaze drifts downward to the rippling water. No one can know about this. This can never get out. If even a whisper of this gets out, the consequences and aftermath would suffocate him. She just jeopardized the entire future of the United Republic of Auradon. She could very well have just pounded nail after nail into the coffin containing the lives and futures of all those poor kids stuck on the Isle, the ones she claimed to care so much about. She may have destroyed lives, futures, an entire nation, for… what?

He tries to figure out why. Why would she do this? She has to have some sort of motivation for reaching into his brain and jerking him around like a puppet, making a fool of himself in front of the public. Oh god- he thinks, remembering the tourney game. He never acts like that. He never acts erratic or impulsive. What must his parents think of him? What must you be thinking of him right now? Or the entire country?

His throat tightens up as he starts to panic again, mind already clouded by the doom of plummeting in the polls. He’s unopposed for king, but after a disaster like this, who would want him? Someone else will run and win, because no one in their right mind would trust someone who voluntarily lets themself become a villain’s personal sock puppet to run a goddamn country! He breathes harder, flexing his fists open and closed until his knuckles go white. Why would she do something like this? What does she want from him, a second date?

He pauses. That must be it. A new wave of rage overcomes him as he realizes - unless he’s given a miraculously better explanation for this - that Mal pressed a self-destruct button for the entirety of Auradon because she has a crush on him. A stupid, goddamn teenage crush. And now his political career will be over before it could ever start because of it. He’s going to be the first king to be impeached before he’s crowned. He can’t stop spiraling, can’t stop the racing thoughts drowning him above the water.

A loud, animalistic roar tears from his chest. It’s much more primal, more beast-like than he ever allows himself to be, but he supposes that it’s understandable for something like that to slip out given the circumstances he finds himself in.

“Breath,” he tells himself, swallowing thickly. “Breathe.”

If he can’t get his head right, if he can’t be smart about this, it… well, that’s not even an option. He has to collect himself. He has to live up to the person his parents think he is, his country thinks he is, that you think he is. He has to be that person. He only has a few moments of this realization to reorient himself before he hears Mal’s voice.

Instead of enticing and distracting like it had been before, now it feels like the lure of an angler fish’s light in the murky depths, it feels jarring. He shudders, recoiling like she just threw glass at him. She calls out for him again. This time, he can hear the spike of fear carried along in her voice as it echoes across the lake. Is she hurt? In trouble? He starts to go check on her, then for a moment, he hesitates.

All the thoughts racing through his mind like the piston cup find their way to the forefront of his head again. His chest aches as he relentlessly beats himself up over this. How could he let this happen? This is exactly what his parents warned him about, what he promised them - gave them his word - that he would not let come to fruition. And yet, here he is, sitting on a rock with the livelihoods of innocent people at risk because of him and his naive, stupid optimism.

This, the wellbeing of all innocent people of Auradon, is what he’s devoted all of his time and power and care and focus and everything else he’s got within him into. All that work, all that potential for good, and now he lays paralyzed below the sword of Damocles. He can only stand there, watching the ropes fray one after another.

“I can’t…” he pants, chest squeezing in terror again. “I can’t let this happen.”

He swallows hard, muttering to himself.

“Can’t let them win.”

He can’t let Mal achieve whatever the hell her endgame is here. He has to stop this before it gets worse. And above all, this cannot become known to the public. He can see the faces of disappointment and fear on the members of the council, on the senate. He was never ready to be king, they’d say in hushed, justified tones, the boy is a fool! How could we let him bring evil into our homes on purpose?!

The voices in his head go on and on, painting the worst outcome possible in vibrant colors. The nation will lose any trust or faith they might have had in him. More painfully, he realizes how deeply disappointed his parents will be in him. The kind so irreparable that they can never even speak of it. His father will go silent, his mother will try to smile at him, but her tears will give her away. Disappointing his parents, disappointing you…

Oh god, you. Where are you? Where have you been during all of this? You and Ben are usually joint at the hip, but he hasn’t seen you in days. The realization makes him feel sick, like he’s just come to the realization that he hasn’t had air to breathe. What have you been doing without him? Have you been in Wonderland, or at the Wonderland Embassy with your mother? Why haven’t you texted him? Or at least called? Worse fears attack him relentlessly from the inside out, worse than ruining innocent lives or his political career because these fears are about you.

A scream, followed by a large splash, then another more fearful scream pierce his senses, pulling his attention out of the momentary panic over you and your wellbeing. It must be Mal, he thinks, it has to be. She’s the only other person out here. She must have gotten into the water to look for him, but why does she sound like she’s struggling? He listens intently for a moment. She definitely sounds like she’s struggling. He stands up to jump into the water and find her, but before he can, something unusual happens.

He hesitates.

After everything she’s done to him, and to the people of Auradon, after she stabbed him in the back and violated his free will for days, should he even bother trying to help her? What if this is part of some elaborate ruse, luring him into a trap by pretending to drown. Maybe she’s going to turn him into a bug and trap him in a jar, letting him suffocate slowly while she shakes it and laughs.

What if she just… had an accident? Anyone could drown in a lake if they weren’t being careful, and he’s sure children of villains aren’t raised to be super cautious. Maybe it would be better that way. It would certainly give Ben one less problem to worry about, one less moving part to constantly keep track of.

He dives back into the lake, swimming towards her. He bites his cheek, dismissing the fleeting, impulsive thought as quickly as it could intrude into his stream of mind. He’s not even going to waste time considering it or letting it argue his case. He knows who he is, and he knows who he chooses to be. He is never going to choose to be the kind of person who lets someone else get hurt when they can do something about it.

If he can help anyone - regardless of who they are or what they’ve done to him - he’s going to. Even if it’s from a distance, he can’t knowingly be complicit in tragedy befalling anyone. That’s why he’s bringing over the kids from the Isle in the first place. He can’t sleep at night knowing that there are people struggling and suffering while he has the power to do something about it.

He has to give his parents credit for raising him to have such strong moral character. That’s why, against his better judgment, he swims as fast as he can back to the pavilion. It only takes a moment for him to see her, kicking and flailing mere feet from the pavilion.

He dives as deep down as he can. He hopes that the longer he’s under the water, the more submerged he is, the less likely any more magic she tries on him will succeed. Or at the very least, she’ll have less time to try and pull something on him. His hand skims the bottom of the lake, brushing against something uncharacteristically sharp. He sees a cluster of glowy crystal like geodes - a wishing stone, he realizes. He grabs it, and shoves the rock into the pocket of his swim trunks.

It’s not much, it’s barely anything really. But he’s sure any mildly sharp object is infinitely better than nothing when facing off against an unpredictable dark fairy. Trying to use a wishing geode to defend himself from dark fairy magic - either as a magic shield or a physical weapon - is like trying to use an umbrella in a hurricane. He’s really going into this blind, but at least he’s aware of the disadvantage he’s working against. In spite of all the massive errors and failures he seems to have accumulated out of nowhere, he can at least say he’s not stupid enough to be entirely unarmed at a time like this.

He can see Mal, splashing and thrashing about, slipping below the surface as she loses her footing. He rushes closer and grabs her, scooping her up and confidently walking them both out of the lake. He catches his breath, focusing everything he’s got on one thing - he cannot let Mal know that he knows. He has to keep his face neutral, act sweet and normal, not say or do anything that could possibly tip her off. He’s in the lion’s den, and one wrong move could ruin everything beyond repair.

He silently thanks his parents for years and years of diplomatic training, for teaching him how to maintain his composure no matter how overwhelming his emotions are, no matter how much pressure and scrutiny he finds himself under. He reaches the pavilion in just a few steps, and sets Mal down gently. She doesn’t seem to notice anything about his behavior is different, so he keeps doing what he’s been doing. It seems to be working so far, which provides him with the briefest sense of relief.

“Ugh!” She shrieks. He shakes the water out of his hair, trying to clear his head, and she swats at his chest, “You scared me!”

Ben falters for a moment, nearly letting a grimace loose at the nauseating feeling of disgust permeating him from this, from having to be so close and sweet to her after she violated his mind, his free will. And she did it on purpose.

“Uh,” he starts, trying with everything he’s got to sound so light and casual, like she made him sound before. “You… you can’t swim?”

It’s really not that important to either of them right now, but it’s the first thing he can think of that doesn’t start with why the hell or how the hell or jail.

“No!” She yells indignantly, like it should be obvious.

“But you live on an island.” He notes. He never would have been able to challenge her under the curse she cast on him, not even something as small as asking why she can’t swim. He watches her expression closely, wondering if she’ll notice.

“Yeah, with a magic barrier around it, remember?” She demands incredulously. There’s a shrill tone to her voice with a venomous sting, like Ben was the one who cast her out and put up the barrier himself. He flinches at the sound of her voice.

She can’t swim. She nearly drowned looking for him, and he let himself consider allowing it to happen. A stab of unwelcome but justified guilt catches him off guard for a moment, causing him to falter.

“And… you still tried to save me.” He murmurs solemnly, mostly to himself.

He hates this. He hates that she did something so horrible and so kind to him right after each other. It’s tempting to dismiss her searching for him in the lake, to let himself focus only on the pain and damage she’s caused in such a short time, and he tries desperately to cling to his moral values. Values that he’s always sworn to himself he will never abandon, no matter how hard or complicated things get.

Now here he stands, looking hard and complicated square in the purple framed face.

People are nuanced, he tells himself, trying to remember it. Nobody is all good or all bad. People… people are complicated. It’s a hard philosophy to hold onto, and an even harder one when you’re the one that’s been made a fool of, made to dance around in public and cater to her every whim. It’s hard to remember that people are nuanced, not all bad when you’ve been made into someone’s bitch.

“Yeah, and do you thank me?” Mal demands rhetorically, “No!”

He struggles to follow her. Her voice makes him flinch, buzzing around his head like an angry hornets nest. It makes his ears ring. He feels that strange, painful headache stirring up again - the one that got worse and worse every time she forced her voice into his mind.

“All I get is soaking wet!”

She looks at him expectantly, then huffs. It sounds exactly like the noise Audrey would make when she wanted something that wasn’t handed to her instantly. A new wave of indignant rage begins to bubble and boil up inside him as he realizes what she wants. She wants him to grovel. She wants him to apologize, and kiss her hands, and beg for everything to be smoothed right over. He swallows hard, managing to contain it. Just barely.

In a split second, he realizes he has to do something. The more time they spend together, the sooner Mal will realize she doesn’t have control over him again. If she finds out, that will open up more trouble than Ben would care to count. He has to pacify her, just enough to get them both home as fast as possible. Before she can do anything else to him.

He reaches into his pocket, handing her the geode.

“And this, uh… this fancy rock.”

His stomach twists, spiking with anxiety as he offers it to her. Wishing stones - also called wish geodes - are a natural and common byproduct of fairy magic. They can vary in strength and appearance based on what fairy they came from, and since they usually form underground or by bodies of water, they can be hard to find. They’ve become even harder to source in recent years as less and less people use magic - fairies included.

The ones near Auradon are from Fairy Godmother’s magic. The ones way up north in Schwartzvald are from the mainland forest fairies deep in the Fantasia Woods, the ones out west are from the Blue Fairy, and any wish geode you find on the northeastern coast will always be from Flora, Fauna, or Merriweather. Since wish geodes are essentially nature’s way of recycling magic leftovers, they’re usually not too strong. Unless they were charged up with something, like a blessing, or a falling star, or enchanted spring water from Olympus.

Ben, however, is painfully unaware of this. He hasn’t studied magic and magic theory as extensively as you have. He suspects sometimes that you may know more about magic than the good fairy herself. He does know some introductory magic theory, and a few little facts from you that he’s remembered over the years.

What he does know is that wishes and hypnosis or mind control or whatever the hell Mal did to him are two completely different kinds of magic. He knows that if he gives Mal the stone, even if she did wish for something, it couldn’t possibly do more damage than she’s already done. At this point, it’s the lesser of two evils. Really, it’s the only viable option he’s got. The geode shimmers and glitters, glowing softly against her skin in a luminous pearly hue. She glares up at him, and he plasters on a smile. Hopefully, a convincing one. He gestures back behind him.

“Make a wish, and throw it back in the lake.”

Unless her goal of hypnotizing him was to somehow end up with a good grade on the next test, or a really good hair day, this rock will do nothing for her. It’s just not strong enough on its own, which makes it the perfect placebo. Mal scowles up at him, and winds up to throw the rock bitterly into the lake.

In that moment, her heart’s unsung desires cry out desperately, begging for something that not even her mind can grasp. I wish what he said was true, her heart cries, that he doesn’t think I’m evil. I wish Ben would keep being nice to me, even after I break the spell. I wish Ben would defend me from all the people who act like they’re afraid of me, I wish he would make me feel like I belong here!

The rock sinks into the water, bubbling and glowing as her desires are realized. A soft whispered voice floats into the air, seeming to speak only to her.

“Malorie Valda Faery, Princess of the Moors and Young mistress of Evil… your wish has been heard, and your wish has been granted. So long as you do not act on the evil inside your heart, and stay trustworthy, honest, and kind, he shall see no evil inside you.”

It’s so faint, so hard to hear that she thinks she must have imagined it. She falters, thrown off guard for a moment, then stands up and shakes off some of the water still clinging to her. The glowing water swirls and pools around Ben. An almost ticklish, tingling feeling floats down onto him. It’s so light and so soft, it’s gone so quickly that he struggles to remember if it really happened.

He takes in a breath, his brow softening as he realizes the panic is retreating. A breeze blows by, carrying the scent of magnolia and the impending night air that quickly makes its way closer to them as the sun sinks. Little goosebumps prickle down Ben’s arms and back as his defenses begin to relax back to normal. He picks up his varsity jacket to wrap around Mal, and grabs a towel for himself. The last thing either of them need right now is to catch a cold.

He takes a few more breaths as she sits down, mildly puzzled at why it’s so easy to breathe now, but so difficult just a few moments before. He searches every crease and crevice of his mind for what was bothering him before. He doesn’t usually struggle to remember what he was thinking about, but this particular thing just seems to evade him, like a child playing hide and seek. He knows it was important, really important, but he just… can’t remember. He looks down at Mal in hopes of jogging his memory, but seeing her sit there, all sad and wet and swallowed up by his jacket, all he feels is a pang of sympathy.

He feels himself relaxing, his reflexes softening from a state of panic to their usual level of low, constant background anxiety. Look at her, he thinks, does she really look like she wants to overthrow an entire country? The question is rhetorical, and the answer clear. No. She just wants a home, somewhere to fit in. She looks so small, so vulnerable and powerless like this. He chastises himself for letting himself lose sight of why he brought her and her friends to Auradon in the first place.

She’s here to grow, to heal - they all are. Of course she’s going to make some silly mistakes like spray painting her locker, or cutting class, or using magic to get Ben to go out with her. Besides, with coronation coming up so fast, it makes sense that she would feel like she couldn’t find an opportunity to ask Ben out without a little extra help. That’s all this is, a silly mistake. It’s nothing to be blown out of proportion, really. He sighs, sitting across from her, feeling a dull nudge of something that could grow into fondness with time.

He reaches over to fix her hair, and she looks up at him. She searches his eyes, desperately looking for any signs of hate or change in how he views her. That’s what this is, he confirms to himself. She just has a crush on him is all. He would never say that to anyone, he wouldn’t run the risk of embarrassing someone dealing with such delicate feelings, but it does make sense. She said herself just a while ago, dating on the Isle is more like gang activity than picnics and drive in movies. Of course she wouldn’t know how to talk to someone she likes, how to find ways to spend more time with them.

Ben almost chuckles at the thought, the idea of her trying to figure out how to enchant her crush into liking her back. It’s sweet, really. Nothing malicious at all. Besides, everybody knows that love magic doesn’t exist, there is no such thing as a love spell. So if she still doesn’t know that yet, could her knowledge of magic really be that dangerous? It can’t possibly be. She just used a harmless little spell to speed things up a little. No one would ever act out like that if it wasn’t for some matter of the heart or other. It’s almost flattering in a strange way.

He decides to test his theory, letting his fingertips linger in her damp, sugar plum hair, twirling it lightly.

“Mal?” He starts, getting her attention.

“I, uh… I told you that I loved you. At the tourney game.” He says, jogging her memory. He looks at her, studying her face. “What about you?”

This is perfect, he thinks, this is the most opportune way to offer her a way to tell him how she feels, get it all off her chest.

“Do you love me?” He prompts.

Normally, he would never be this direct with someone. But he feels it’s warranted, given the circumstances. It’s taken many years for him to learn to trust his gut with things like this, and he’s not going to doubt himself now. Yes, what she did was bad - unforgivable, even - but at the end of the day, she’s just a hormonal teenage girl with a crush. She can’t possibly be faulted for that, for having feelings.

“I…” Mal starts, swallowing thickly and looking away from him again. She clutches the sides of his jacket, pulling it tighter around her. It smells soapy, like it’s too clean. She knows she should probably be feeling something, but she has no goddamn clue what it is - much less how to recognize and articulate it. She feels… queasy. Kind of shaky and sweaty. Are you supposed to feel like that when a boy says I love you? That has to be the feeling that people are always talking about, getting butterflies in your stomach. Mal supposes butterflies just don’t agree with her.

“I don’t think I know what love feels like.” She replies simply, in a rare and impulsive moment of vulnerability. If she’s ever going to be vulnerable, it will be when she can control how the other person reacts to it. She looks down. Instead of looking at Ben, she traces her eyes over the skirt of the dress Evie put her in. It’s calming, relaxing. There’s the faintest trace of Evie’s perfume, and it makes Mal feel a sense of warmth and longing that she desperately needs right now.

Ben’s heart squeezes sympathetically. He feels so bad for her. That tragic compassion reassures him that bringing her to Auradon was the right decision, and this whole thing was just a silly miscommunication. A mistake.

“Maybe I could teach you.” He says softly. He puts his hand on her arm, helping her stand up.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

When you show up to the Wonderland Embassy, the home away from home you share with your mother, you look positively and uncharacteristically ragged. It’s merely a pebble’s throw from campus, so it couldn’t have been a particularly tiring walk - unless you walked your way from Camelot, which is highly improbable. Your blackberry bow is loose and slipping off towards your ear, your skirt is all rumpled, and you haven’t even noticed the run in your favorite pair of knee socks.

Worst of all, worse than your slouching or lethargy or the tear tracks down your cheeks, are your eyes. The vibrancy, the hope and curiosity is all but gone. Your dear mother, Alice - better known as Alice Liddel, Ambassador of Wonderland - notices all of this right away. You answer her usual question, are you ready to embark on your weekly mother daughter dinner, before she can even ask it.

“I’m afraid I can’t make dinner, mother,” you say, babbling around the tea biscuit you grab from the counter and hold in your mouth, keeping your hands free to drop off the useless information you’ve gathered throughout the day and search for a few books in your mother’s collection.

“But I promise I’ll get something more than tea and cakes from the school kitchens tonight.” You assure her half heartedly, more worried about her peace of mind than your dietary habits. The moment the words leave your lips, she knows that something is wrong. Not wrong in the sort of way that a leaf floats down a brook, but deeply wrong, like a subaquatic shrub.

Shrubs are not subaquatic by nature, and if one is found it’s recommended to bring it to the nearest tree surgeon as quickly as possible. She looks at you, her darling daughter, her wonderful little dear, and sees a subaquatic rose garden. You never skip dinners with your mother, not for the tiffletoo flu, or final exams, or anything else regardless of urgency or importance. The only time you’ve skipped dinner in the past was one time, one terrible night where Ben was rushed off the tourney field with a broken wrist and a nasty concussion.

The standard for skipping dinner and tea with your mother is one that’s very rare and quite extreme, so you’re not too terribly surprised when she stops you from leaving the Wonderland Embassy with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Nunz yet, my love,” She says softly, soothingly. She fixes your hair in that comforting motherly way of hers, then moves on to fix your bow how you like it.

“I can’t watch you gyre like an overwrought sulphide marble for a moment longer.” She looks at you softly. “What’s got your mind so snaggled, sweets?”

Your mother, your dear dear mother is your most favorite person in both worlds, right alongside Ben. You’ve always found your inability to lie to her or hide your feelings as a relief, a blessing. Now, however, you find yourself wishing for the first time that you were able to lie to her as easily as Audrey and Lonnie lie to their mothers. Your stomach twists uncomfortably. You don’t like this feeling. You wish it would just go away, but you know you can’t tell your mother everything that’s going on. Not yet, at least.

She’s so close with Ben’s parents - in both business and personal regards - that if you were to make the wrong move, it could mean a world of nasty repercussions and consequences for Ben. The exact ones you’ve been maddening yourself trying to shield him from. You trust your mother implicitly, but you also know she has a duty - not just as a politician, but as a parent - to inform Ben’s parents imminently of any perils regarding Ben that she is made aware of.

You sit down, fussing with the pleats of your dress, tugging at your stockings to buy yourself some time, give yourself a moment to carefully choose the most right, non incriminating words you can muster up.

“Ben has been behaving strangely.” You state. Your voice is soft, but not fragile. This worries your mother. If your voice were fragile, you see, it would mean this was all very new and fresh. But the reluctant acceptance in your tone of voice tells her the severity of the situation in which you’ve found both yourself and Ben. Your voice is quiet, your words simple, and a soft hum of understanding leaves your mother’s lips. She nods empathically, silent in the moment that follows so you can continue.

“And, I… can’t quite seem to figure out the reason why.” You continue, even more quietly - almost shamefully so.

Your mother hums again, this time with a deeper, more resolute understanding of how you’re feeling and why exactly you must be feeling the way that you are. You and Ben have been so terribly close for so awfully long, that if either of you had felt at any point during your numerous years of friendship that you were mildly confused by the behavior or the other - much less left clueless and in the dark, as you currently are - that that in and of itself would be nothing short of anomalous.

So naturally, when something this catastrophically unusual occurs, it should come as no shock at all how deeply distressing it would be to you. The very worst part, you realize, is that your mother has already come to this conclusion with barely a fraction of the information you have. You shudder to think about how distraught she’d be on your behalf if she knew everything you do about your trouble with Ben’s unusualness as of late.

“Lovey…” Your mother says warmly. She reaches over to you, handing you a warm porcelain teacup and saucer of her ever perfect chamomile tea. It’s sweetened with just the right amount of honey, but not so much as to overpower it - a mistake that you’ve seen many people make quite often - and topped off with just a little bit of shaken cream and rose pollen.

You’re never sure how she manages to make it so perfectly with so little effort every single time, but it must be a mother’s touch, you suppose. A gentle hug and a warm cup of her specialty tea always gets you to open right up to your mother, no matter how mimsy and gallymoggers you may be feeling.

Your expression drops, and your mother recognizes it instantly as the look of finally allowing yourself to let in the very best of ideas. Your posture straightens imperceptibly, and your mother disguises her proud smile with a sip from her own teacup. She loves seeing you like this, lighting up as your mind is flooded in a flash brainstorm.

“That’s it…” you mutter again, aloud this time. You stand up, careful not to spill your beverage, and you take a great big sip before setting it down hastily.

“Thank you,” you sigh gratefully to your mother, giving her a squeeze around the middle, and a honey chamomile kiss to the cheek before you depart.

“I really must go now,” you say regrettably, but she’s already waving you off with affection.

“Be safe, dear.” She smiles, then gives you a subtle and humorous look. “And don’t lose your head.”

You let out a laugh from your nose.

“I think you’ve come close enough for the both of us.”

You exit the Embassy in a rush, determination and your mother’s laughter following in your footsteps. For the first time in days, you know what to do next.

#curiosity is a wonderful thing #curiosity #descendants #descendants x reader #ben florian #ben florian x reader #daughter of alice #daughter of alice!reader #alice liddell #liddell!reader #I finally got my adhd meds upped so I'm having a productivity focus let's be normal party #also I bit the bullet and read this chapter to my mom and sister to make sure it hit right because WOW it's a lot. subtext by calvin klien.#anyway yeah they loved it???????? so fucking sweet

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