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[fbfh]

You have the BIGGEST, SMARTEST, JUICIEST thoughts about tristin

OOMPH-

BABES. I am so glad you sent in a tristin ask bc I have been meaning to talk about this for a minute.

Yk that one scene where he's all "I wake up in the middle of the night calling your name" then starts fucking moaning in public??? (3:02) well he's not exaggerating!!! he does in fact wake up at night calling out your name because he has started having... dreams about you. the first one changed his fucking brain chemistry. in his dream, you were going on some field trip or something, and you were sitting on his lap. he could feel you, he could smell your hair. he kept his hands tight on your hips, his fingertips digging into your skin through the fabric of your uniform skirt, he could feel you squirming and bouncing against him with every bump in the road and he could barely wrap his mind around it. he wants you so bad and the first time you're really in reach is on a crowded schoolbus. he keeps telling himself in the dream "as soon as we get there, as soon as we get there" praying the affirmation will be enough to keep him from busting a nut in the most inconvenient setting possible.

he woke up hard as a fucking rock and with a burning pit in his chest. he couldn't catch his breath. his mind kept replaying each delicious scene over and over and over and he realizes there's no chance his morning wood is going to go away on its own. a flush of lustful guilt twists through him as he realizes the reality of the situation. he never thought he'd have to sink this low, jerking off to a classmate, but here he is, fisting his achy cock as he relives the dream again and again, praying for more just like it. they don't even have to be sex dreams - not that he's complaining - he just wants to experience being close to you. his breathing gets all heavy and ragged as he squeeze his eyes shut, mind wandering to... intimate places. his gray sweats are pushed down past his hips, and he doesn't even think of grabbing laptop because he knows porn won't work. he swallows thickly, thinking about the time a few weeks ago when he could see the outline of your bra through your uniform shirt. he tried not to stare (with pretty good success) and kept an eye out to make sure no other guys were staring at you like that. a few tried to, and were met with glares so intense they practically ran off with their tails between their legs. he wonders what kind of bras you wear, what you'd look like in different little matching sets. he lets out a strangled moan, the image of you in some cute little lacy thing making his cock throb. he thinks about your hips, how your panties probably make that cute little dent in your soft skin. his breath hitches. he squeezes himself tighter, pumps faster, tilts his head back. he thinks about you straddling him, with your soft hips firmly against his, the only thing keeping you apart is that cute little lacy thing that looks like it'd fall off at the slightest breeze.

"f-fuck, mary!"

so you see, he's really not exaggerating at all.

[fbfh]

Tristin Dugray lore hcs

wc: 1k

warnings: mentions of broken/dysfunctional families, tristin's siblings both have drug problems, mentions of sexism and abortion (v briefly), mentions of cheating (also v briefly), tristin is not super close with his siblings, brief mention of DUIs (not tristin), I think that's it??

summary: lore on Tristin's family whipped up in my little plastic play kitchen by yours truly lol

a/n: I MISS HIM!!!! I SAW SOME GIFS THAT MADE ME SALIVATE!!!!! also!! in case it wasn't obvious the Dugray family is based on the real life Dupont family, just like how the Huntzbergers are based on the Sulzbergers

song recs: family jewels - Marina (ouch!), be here - palaye royale, everything is romantic - charli xcx

The Dugray family have made their fortune as far back as the American revolution, starting with immigrating to America and manufacturing gunpowder for the American soldiers

This eventually led to the Dugray family owning one of the largest and most established chemical manufacturing corporations in America, DuGray

They invented a number of household names like pyrex, teflon, styrofoam, and even superglue, and also make ppe for people who work with or around chemicals

A while back, they also acquired two bank chains on the east coast, one of which is for east coast businesses, and the other is expanding slowly across america. 

The Dugray family’s net worth is roughly 18.6 billion. I know. 

Also, the Huntzberger family’s net worth is roughly 21.7 billion. I know.

Tristin mentions at one point that he has a “matching set” of baggage with Paris, and we know Paris’s parents are not at all close to her, or each other

We also know that her father is the head of a pharmaceutical company, and when her parents divorced it was in the newspaper

So yikes!

Anyway the only family mentioned by name is Janlon Dugrey, his paternal grandfather (I’m assuming if Janlon was his mom’s dad he would have a different last name yk)

So OBVIOUSLY I had to flesh things out a little 

Looking at this family tree I made a while ago, Tristin has two older siblings: his oldest brother Royce, and his older sister and middle sibling Sutton

They’re both a bit older than Tristin, since his mom is their dad’s second wife

Truett DuGrey married Helena Holshire and had Royce, then Sutton

They divorced when Royce was around 7 and Sutton was almost 5 because Helena suspected Truett of cheating, and Truett suspected Helena of being a gold digger

Both were true

A couple years later, Truett is introduced to Blythe Ross while working on publicity for the banks his family as acquired 

Blythe and Truett didn’t necessarily get along, but she could handle him better than most other women he’s met 

They were actually introduced through Mitchum Huntzberger and his wife Shira, because Shira and Blythe are sisters

Surprise!

So Blythe gets pregnant and Truett can feel another Helena gold digger situation coming

That’s when Blythe tells him she can’t go to his work event because she has to go to a clinic

Truett stops in his tracks and realizes three things at the same time

Blythe is not in fact using a pregnancy to try and get access to his money

He loves his son Royce as much as he’s able to, but he’s already becoming apathetic and Truett can’t pass over the family business to someone with no drive or ambition

Royce is 10 by the way

Lastly, he realizes that this might actually be beneficial to him

So he convinces Blythe not to get an abortion and to elope instead

Once she gets her body back after the baby they’ll stage some wedding photos and claim it was from a little over a year ago so no one knows he had the baby out of wedlock

When she’s 18 weeks along, he schedules a private ultrasound to find out the baby’s gender

He tells her that if it’s a boy, everything will be fine

If it’s a girl, he’ll serve her annulment papers and nice fat alimony and child support checks to keep both of them out of his life

Blythe isn’t sure if she’s relieved or not when the doctors announce they’re going to be having a healthy baby boy, but Truett sure is

So he grows up watching his burnt out older brother and back bone of the family older sister navigate middle school and high school when he’s barely starting kindergarten

They don’t have any harsh feelings toward Tristin

Not really

They were just never that close yk

It’s like the pilot of umbrella academy, “we only see each other at weddings and funerals”

Except really, they only see each other when Truett forces them into whatever is going on with the family business, or to bail each other out of trouble

Royce is just waiting for his trust fund to kick in so he can fuck off and smoke weed in peace

Sutton is desperately trying to keep her image and life together while hiding her nicotine dependency and steadily growing pill problem from the public eye

And Tristin just wants to fucking feel something

His mom has been in and out of “med spas” and “wellness retreats” for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t recognize him, and the only time he and his dad talk is when he’s making charges go away

Sutton is engaged to this guy Clint

And he’s fine or whatever, Tristin hasn’t really talked to him much before

But he’s keeping his ear to the ground to make sure he treats his sister right

Sure Sutton can be condescending and a total control freak and act more like a mom than his actual mom

But she’s still his sister

So Sutton’s been off planning this huge wedding and trying to start some lifestyle brand for luxury dog beds and organic phone cases or something

Royce barely managed to keep his latest DUI for driving stoned under wraps but Truett still found out and sent him off to rehab

So Tristin starts high school at Chilton feeling almost lonelier than ever

Tristin aches for consistency, for stability

Thanks to Duncan and Bowman he sort of has that

And people like Paris that he’s literally been in school with since he can remember

It’s not that they’re particularly close, but he just likes that she’s always around when he’s going to and from class

There’s a few other people like that too, loose acquaintances that haven’t dropped out or transferred

They make him feel like even if everything else has gone to shit, he still has his winning personality

And he still has Chilton

[fbfh]

leo valdez with a breeding kink… i’d literally give that man anything he wants 😫

OHHHHHH FUCK ME. I WANNA KISS YOU ON BOTH CHEEKS FOR THIS ONE. Leo does not realize he has a breeding kink until it hits him like a fucking semitruck. you're with some family and friends at a little get together, and you end up looking after a baby cousin to give their parents a break. you have the kiddo on your lap while you chat with your friend, and when Leo gets back with drinks he nearly drops them. Boom. Light switch on, breeding kink in full force. He doesn't even realize what's happening, not quite yet, but all he knows is that it's going to take every ounce of self control he has to wait until the party's over. after a physically painful eternity that he suspects is his eternal punishment from the gods worse than pushing a boulder or being strapped to a boulder or holding up a planet sized boulder (it's maybe an hour and a half max) you're finally on your way home. He nearly pulls an irish goodbye just to get his beautiful beautiful hands on you sooner, and Leo is NOT the type to leave without at least a dozen hugs and cheek kisses and leftovers and plans to meet up next time, so you know something must be going on with him. the only reason he doesn't fuck you in the car (and he is this fucking close) is because he knows that he wants to take his time with you. Also, he can get pretty vocal. Also so can you. (anyone would with him jfc) so he keeps his hand on your thigh while he drives. He rubs it, inches it up higher and higher, higher than he ever has outside the bedroom until he's practically fingering you in the passenger seat. Honestly you wouldn't complain if he did. The sound of your flustered, surprised giggle when he pick you up and carries you into your house over his shoulder, all unga bunga like something primal has woken up inside him. And it has. When he lays you down on your bed which is still descheveled from the fun you'd had that morning, when he kisses you like he's hungry and strips you down like he's unwrapping a christmas present, neither of you know what's gotten into him yet. But he knows one thing for damn sure.

There's no way in hell he's pulling out tonight. Or ever again, if he's being honest.

So really, you'll both find out what's gotten into him (and you) in about nine months

[fbfh]

tristin lore hcs are up now on my patreon and dropping here 9/19 at 5pm!!!!! we were fucking ROBBED and I intend to singlehandedly fix that!!!!!!

[fbfh]

I've literally only seen the pilot of game of thrones and I already wanna fuck Jon Snow so fuckin bad. "oooh but his oath, but his vows" I DON'T CARE. COCK IN MOUTH RN. fucking look at this

WHY DOES GOD KEEP SENDING ME THESE MISERABLE WET LITTLE BRUNET MEN WITH BIG OLD COW EYES AND EMPATHIC DOGMATICALLY LOYAL SENSABILITIES. STOP RIGHT NOW send more. bc I'll be so astronomically for real with you. this man pulls up on a horse with a fuckin direwolf puppy following him along fully believing he's its mama???? fold. instantly fold. no one can not fold at that. he's channeling all his yearning and desires into being loyal and noble and it fucking HURTS to look at him and know he's never had the sloppiest most earth shattering fucking top of all time. I'm thinking about a lot of things right now, mostly how good the tension of "I shouldn't do this I shouldn't do this I shouldn't do this" running through his mind while his heart betrays him and he moves closer to you is. the kicker is, he hasn't even done anything yet. he's maybe knelt and kissed your hand at most, but good GOD did it get you wet. because you can tell how much he's holding back. you can tell how badly he's aching for more, and the self control he's exercising makes you want to see him fucking snap. but you know he won't somehow it just makes it better and better. like you breathe in his direction and he's trying to get rid of impure thoughts unbecoming of a brother of the night's watch. and it's all self inflicted.

thinking also about Jon being assigned as your bodyguard for some reason. maybe you're of nobility, maybe you were requested to be delivered to some king or other, but now it's Jon's job to take you through the snowy wastelands of the north and deliver you safely to your destination. he quickly realizes that there is no way he'll be able to maintain his professionalism (he does, he just feels like he's throwing caution to the wind cause you make him blush). sitting you in front of him on his horse? you keep resting your head against his chest and speaking so sweetly to him to pass the time!!! sitting you behind him? your arms are around his waist!!!!!!!! he's losing it girlfriend!!!!! don't even get me started on making camp in some cave for the night to wait out a particularly bad snowstorm. you stay close to him at his insistance, knowing it's the only way for you both to stay warm. You're snuggled up in his arms under his cloak looking so sweet in the firelight. something howls in the distance, and you jump, moving closer to him. he realizes you feel protected by him. not in a professional guide-through-the-north way, in a way that you choose. you feel so deeply in your subconsious that if anything were to happen, you'd be safe in Jon's arms. you look up to him, feel protected and safe with him. you feel safe with him. and motherfucker if that doesn't stir something uncontrollable and irreversable in his chest. he knows he shouldn't, but his heart betrays him, and his arms wrap firmly around you, holding you close.

"It's alright," he murmurs so gently, "it's only the wind."

[fbfh]

Had to take this to the professional 🫡

We need more dad tony stark content (literally anything you got)

Literally starving

Thank you 😌

thank you for giving me more excuses to talk about this. Tony is such a good fucking dad in general, but he's especially great when you get sick. if you're in new york, he probably notices cause you're not up as early as usual. idk where this came from, but I can hear him clear as day walking into your room and smoothing your hair to wake you up, saying

"Hey pumpkin, sun's out." you only grunt in response, but it's not your usual sassy I don't wanna wake up grunt. It sounds softer, like you actually can't get up yet.

"You feeling okay?" before you can answer, he's totally on it. "jarvis, run a vital scan."

He rolls you over onto your back so he can look at you. you look... pale. you don't have the usual vibrance to your skin, it's gray and faded. you look like if you weren't lying down, you'd pass out. Your eyes are puffy and watery, your lips are chapped. You're not yourself. While Jarvis runs a diagnostic scan on your vitals, Tony also gets to work. he carefully sticks a microneedling patch on your arm to check your blood - something Strange helped him whip up, among many other ways to monitor your health without all that clunky invasive hospital equipment - as Jarvis gives him the low down.

"Elevated body temperature of 101.3 degrees fahrenheit, swelling of the sinuses, elevated white blood count..." Jarvis rambles on and on while describing your simptoms, only interrupted by an agressive coughing fit.

"And a rather nasty productive cough."

You look up at him and try not to get teary, you know crying will just make you feel more dehydrated and achy.

"Dad... I don't feel good..."

He looks down at you so warmly, and with so much love.

"I know, kid."

He stands up, determined to do everything he can to kick this cold in record time.

"Alright, your schedule for the week is cleared." He cuts you off as you object. "Ah-bup-bup-bup. I don't want to hear it. You are officially on bedrest until further notice. Jarvis, order out for some of that soup we like, some cough drops, and popsicles."

He looks down at you.

"You want ice cream? What am I saying, of course you want ice cream. Jarvis, throw in a few pints of Stark raving hazelnuts and bunny tracks."

He grabs the remote for your tv, putting on your favorite movie and has dum-e wheel you in a box of tissues. He grabs some vaseline and cold medicine, along with a fresh cold water and your favorite flavor of sports drink.

"Now. I want you to lay back, I want you to stay cool, and I want you to get some rest. And you're a Stark, so staying cool should be no problem." He gives you a kiss on the forehead, then stands up to move all his work to stuff he can do at home, and tell Pepper to cancel or reschedule the rest so he can spend the rest of the day watching movies and tv shows with you between naps. You can hear him muttering to himself as he calls Steven over to come check on you. If you weren't so tired, you'd find it funny that the only person your dad trusts to be your family doctor is also a wizard.

"Can stop aliens from invading earth, I can make an arc reactor that can fit in the palm of my hand, how have we not cracked this cold and flu season thing yet?" he mutters, making a mental note to discuss it with the rest of the Avengers at the next team meeting. you drift off to sleep feeling a lot better than you did when you woke up, and thinking about debrief folders titled Avengers v. Rhinovirus.

[fbfh]

omg u wrote for simp eddie again <333 my life is complete

SO IS EDDIE'S FROM THE MOMENT HE LAID EYES ON YOU. I can't decide which is better, your first time with Eddie after years and years and YEARS of pining and build up or the way he fucks you after you elope (it's somehow better than it was before which you did not realize was an option to want or even possible to achieve). I simply cannot resist the temptation of starting to touch on your first time just a little. I've been putting it off cause I wanna do it right but fuck that I will not stop yapping about Eddie and yall love to hear it so this is not something I plan on only discussing once.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, when this ball of sexual tension and longing finally gets rolling, it fucking ROLLS. Eddie had a hunch that might be the case because he's a manifestation king and is never wrong about anything ever. You however, you had no idea what was coming or how hard and fast and intensely it would hit, not until the Eddie dream. The one where he was holding you and kissing you and being so tender and loving and gentle with you, so emotionally intimate with you that you woke up to heart palpitations and sticky soaked through panties. That alone was enough to send you spiraling, but the very last part of the dream was the worst. You had grabbed Eddie's hand, and you put it between your legs, and you woke up right before you could feel it. And NOTHING got rid of the ache all day. You tried everything you could think of, but you couldn't get your mind off of him, you couldn't make any space in your brain for anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie. It started off small, touching yourself in the school bathroom and desperately trying to convince yourself that you probably just need to fuck him. You're sure that's it, just a one night stand, and the throbbing pulsating ache between your legs will be gone and you can move on with your life. You lied to yourself for most of the day, and were almost able to believe it. Until lunch. Eddie was feeling particularly feisty that day, and no longer able to restrain himself from the glaring injustice of how the athletes are treated like gods while everyone else gets cast off to the side by the teachers and faculty and society at large, he jumped up onto his usual table for another long speech. Or as long as he can make it before catching another detention. He's facing away from you at first, and good god you cannot keep your eyes off him. He's backlit, and the hazy late autumn light makes his legs look so... good. Have they always looked that good? Has he always had the kind of thighs you'd want squeezing tighter and tighter around your head while you suck him off? And his hands... GOD his hands. They're even better than you remember, so big and veiny and just... masculine. Your thighs squeeze together seemingly on their own as you watch the way his chunky rings glint when his hands move. You can almost feel the way they'd bite into the skin on your thighs, send cool shivers down your spine as the slowly warm up to your skin, shoot little jolts of pleasure when they graze your most intimate spots. You notice his belt buckle last, which is so much worse for your pounding heart and throbbing cunt. Handcuffs. Of course he would have handcuffs... you freeze in place, eyes going wide and throat going dry as a thought crosses your mind.

Could... could there be another meaning behind his nickname? Your mind wanders to dangerous places as you start to fantasize about why they really call him the freak.

[fbfh]

thinking about making eddie munson a daddy. specifically loud simp!eddie, just fuckin living the dream with you after high school. it's the early 90s, corroded coffin just finished their first world tour and are working on their fourth album. Eddie's a little older now, maybe mid/late 20s. His hair is still wild, it's even a little longer now, and he has a little stubble that tickles when he kisses you. or yk. does other stuff. anyway you're running some errands with Eddie and your 2 year old daughter Rose. He has even more sweet ol' tatties now, too. tucked right in next to the demon on his chest, he has a rose for your daughter, and your birth flower right over his heart so he can always keep you close to him. You're nearing your third trimester and your second baby is growing beautifully inside you. Eddie is so obsessed with your bump, always holding it for you, playing metal hits in headphones and kissing it. He tells it stories every night, too, right out of his dnd books. Rosie sits in on all of them, of course. She can't stand normal bedtime stories and only wants to hear about how the tieflings and orcs settled their age old dispute over the kryptgarden forest I don't play dnd don't come for me if this is inacurrate- Baby number two's nursery is almost done, you just need to pick up a few more cans of paint and some last minute decorations and additions. You're wearing a snug little maternity cami that shows off your bump and gorgeous figure, the one that drives Eddie crazy, and a pair of loose overalls with paint smudged on the side and cuffs. Rosie is wearing her favorite sundress, and Eddie has regretably left his leather jacket at home in an attempt to combat the hazy summer heat - but his vest isn't going anywhere. His hair is tied up all messy and a few stray curls have fallen out, brushing the neck of his cut off corrorded coffin shirt. He still can't believe his band actually has shirts, even though he sees you sleep in them every night. Rose wants to look at a music box for the baby, and since you're not allowed to pick up any more than 15 pounds on doctor's orders, Eddie scoops her up to take a look while you flip through paint swatches.

You're rudley interrupted by a grating voice you thought you'd heard the last of at your high school graduation. You look up as your name is called again at one of the bitchy girls you went to school with. You never thought you'd see her or any of her rude, cliquey, mean girl friends again, and you know exactly what you need to do.

You look at her blankly.

She keeps saying your name and introducing herself until finally mentioning you went to school together.

"Oh," you nod, ensuring no lightbulb of recognition goes off in your eyes. "Right."

You've only just started to take the wind out of her sails, and you look through paint swatches as she talks, and you remain completly bored and uninterested.

"You look... different!" She says with a fake kindness that she mircaulously hasn't grown out of yet. You hum in response. Right as you're about to exit as gracefully as possible, Eddie walks up the aisle behind you, Rosie on his hip. He's playing some little game with her, making her giggle like he always does. To this day, it astounds you how good he is with kids. You look back up at your former classmate, and have to bite back a laugh. She is totally checking him out. The irony of the situation - the exact type of girl who made your life hell and absolutely would have terrorized Eddie if they'd known each other back then - is now pushing up her boobs in her shirt and putting on the same pick me flirting face she apparently still uses.

"Hey there, sweetheart." Eddie says, gazing at you so warmly that his love for you is palpable. One look, and anyone can tell how head over heels crazy he is about you. He kisses you in a way that makes your stomach flip - and hers, both with longing and jealousy - then crouches down to your belly.

"And hello to you too, little dragon." Eddie chuckles, kissing your bump. Baby number two had earned the nickname from all your intense cravings for spicy food early on in your pregnancy, along with jokes about how Eddie wouldn't be surprised if the little guy can breathe fire when they pop out. He puts Rose in the baby seat of your shopping cart and reaches down to hold up your belly, swaying and kissing your cheek - and maybe nibbling your ear a little, just enough to make you laugh. He rests his head on your shoulder when he finally notices your former classmate.

"Oh," you say, like you just remembered she was there too. "How rude of me, Eddie, this is..."

You trail off, gesturing to her with the hand not on your cart for Rose to hold. She definitley takes after her dad, her love language has been physical touch since day one. The silence grows awkward as you're unable to recall her name, and after a painfully long wait, she finally relents, introducing herself.

"Right." You nod, chuckling. "Pregnancy brain. Anyway, we went to... high school... together." You say, like you're unsure if that's right. She nods, growing agetated that her status as popular girl and runner up prom queen doesn't extend into the real world.

"And this is Eddie. My husband." You look up at him lovingly as you say it, a warm gaze he returns. He takes your hand and kisses it.

"The luckiest husband in the world." He says sincerely, pressing another kiss to your temple. Her face sinks as she realizes you got married before she did.

"Oh," She nods, then tries to recover quickly. "Okay. Well, let's see the ring."

She says it playfully, but you know she's committing every detail to memory, looking for anything to scrutinize, and you're sure you'll hear about her gossiping about you from one of the kids you went to school with - you know, the nice, non-shitty ones. You extend your left hand despite the tacky nature of her question, and you wish you could have gotten a picture of the look on her face.

The ring and wedding band you wear are actually the second set of wedding rings from Eddie. The first one, the ring he proposed with, is actually one of his. You still wear it on a chain around your neck - it was always way too big for you, but you never wanted to resize it. When corroded coffin signed their first recording contract six months after you'd eloped, the first thing Eddie did with his signing bonus was buy you the biggest diamond he could find. The way you reacted with such genuine surprise, and still loved the old one too much to stop wearing told Eddie with more certainty than ever that he could not have made a better choice in handing over his heart to someone.

"Wow..." she says, trying to keep her face neutral. "Looks like you're ready to pop any day now too, huh?"

the backhanded comment rolls right off you as Rosie speaks up in her endearing toddler babble.

"I- I'm- mommy's making me a- a baby brother for us!" She says excitedly, "Or- she maybe baking a baby sister. Maybe." She emphasizes, repeating what you and Eddie told her about being surprised if it's going to be a baby brother or baby sister. You chuckle at your daughter, and Eddie looks down at her.

"That's right sweet girl. You're gonna have to teach baby how to fight dragons and be a big strong paladin, just like you!" He pokes her playfully and she starts giggling her head off again. You can't get over how much they look alike, she really could be Eddie's twin. Before you can find a graceful exit out of the conversation, a group of a few people freeze a few feet away. You're used to this sort of reaction by now, you have people from 12 to 45 shaking and crying at the sight of Eddie - dubbed the number one guitarist in the last decade by Rolling Stone - much less getting to meet him and take a picture, which Eddie always loves to do.

Your former classmate watches in shock as the guys walk over nervously, asking if he's really Eddie Munson, like the Eddie Munson. He confirms playfully, and you accept their cameras to take a few pictures for them. He offers to autograph their arms or notebooks and starts patting his pockets down for a pen. You beat him to it, pulling out a perminant marker from your purse. He chuckles sweetly, caressing your face.

"You really are always one step ahead, aren't you sweetheart?"

He signs some pages and shirts and even a forehead before they go, thanking him profusely the whole time.

"I'm sorry-" Your classmate interrupts. "What exactly is it that you do?"

One of the guys, still straggling to get a few more glances at Eddie scoffs, personally offended by her question.

"You don't know who that is?" he demands. Thankfully, you manage to slip away to finish your errands while he lectures her on the genius of corroded coffin. Once out of ear shot, Eddie says softly, intimately close to you, "Was she the one from the prom dress story?"

"Oh yeah," you nod. "She was a real bubhosh." Eddie laughs at your middle earth insult - roughly translating to dung heap - that the two of you used to substitute any words you don't want Rosie picking up yet. Eddie is glad you pulled him away when you did, cause if he was around her much longer, he probably wouldn't have been able to resist roasting her to a crisp. Then again, with someone as incredible as you it's pretty easy to make anyone else look bad in comparison.

[fbfh]

Hey! Could you please do some headcannons of cuddling with Jay from descendants?

Thank you!

oh fuck yes baby boy NEEDS a snuggle so fuckin bad. Jay is SO motherfucking - his full name is Janasheen Lagmani Mufti btw (successor, born at nightfall, one who gives council or legal advice) - Jay is SO motherfuckin touch starved that he'll get injured on purpose just so he can feel you touch him up. After a while you start to catch onto this because you don't have the heart to tell him he's not quite as slick as he thinks he is. So OBVIOUSLY I have a medieval game OBVIOUSLY I have a jousting game the only way you're gonna get him to turn into your snuggly lil bunbun (yes he does insist you call him that after you say it once as a joke and he loses his mind) is to make him think YOU'RE really the one who needs cuddles. like of course you're feeling kinda sad and tired from all your schoolwork so of COURSE you need a big strong tough cool guy star of the tourney team to make you feel all safe and cozy. obviously it's TOTALLY for your benefit. not at all because Jay was not hugged once as a child! that's hilarious and true and totally not the reason at all! I just washed my hands that's why they're wet! no other reason!

but yeah once you actually start cuddling with him it's going to take approximately less that six seconds for him to become a total and complete velcro boyfriend. it takes longer to watch any vine in existance than it does for Jay to latch onto you like a small baby bird. he did not know that touchy feely stuff could be so... nice. especially when it's with you. he tried giving Carlos and Evie and Mal bear hugs between classes when he's away from you and it was good, but it wasn't the same. Maybe it's because Carlos still thinks he's going to get suplexed whenever Jay grabs him like that or maybe it's because Mal keeps asking if he huffed her spraypaint and that's why he's so huggy out of nowhere (Evie doesn't mind too much as long as he doesn't wrinkle her outfits or mess with her hair and makeup. she actually approves of you two and likes that you're bringing out Jay's more affectionate side. she makes a mental note to give you the friends and family discount on any future designs you order from her.) but shortly after that first time you snuggled up with Jay and had him tell you all about the video games he's been playing and about tourney practice he's full on addicted to your touch and cuddles. Coach sometimes has to pull you off your extra curriculars to give Jay hugs and kisses during practice when he cops an attitude or gets too rowdy. you're known as the Jay whisperer immediately and believe me the nickname sticks. Carlos asks what the hype is once and you give him head scratches and he understands.

[fbfh]

[fbfh]

I want to fuck Daryl Dixon so fucking bad. y'all don't even understand the primal need I have to milk him dry, suck his soul out through his heavy uncut dick. and I KNOW the feeling is mutual because we all know Daryl's the typ to suppress and ignore his emotions, right???? which means OBVIOUSLY he'll be too focused on staying alive and keeping the group safe to even think about sex, too exhausted from fighting walkers and scavanging supplies, just making it through the day to even whack one out. and all of that sexual frustration just builds and builds and builds deep in his subconsious until one day he's out hunting and comes across you. he doesn't expect to see someone alone and without a group, especially not such a hot piece of ass like you. he's older, you know there's an age gap between you, but you are both adults, and only meeting for the first time now. you justify this to yourself, mentally trying to figure out if anything between you would be legally or ethically yucky. you decide that it's fine - especially given the state of the world - to indulge your feelings.

Daryl brushes it off for as long as he can. He ignores the way you look at him, and all the dreams of you sneaking into his tent and riding him until you squirt, he ignores the stray thoughts that leave him a little bricked up happening more and more. He ignores it until one night, you actually do sneak into his tent. He thinks he's dreaming at first, seeming as gruff and chilly as ever, but you don't care. You just crouch next to him and hug him, hiding your face in his bare chest.

"I... I had a bad dream." your words are simple, but they really speak volumes. He knows first hand how bad the nightmares can get, and your skin feels so nice on his. he's so touch starved that he doesn't even realize why he's pulling you into his lap, holding you close and rubbing your back, he just knows it feels... really good. like, really really good. so he tries to calm you down and help you settle back down for sleep, laying you down next to him. you cuddle up to him so painfully close that he doesn't know what to do. You wrap both your legs around one of his thighs, squirming a little as you settle down.

"'m sorry for keeping you up so late," you say, pouting up at him and he is SO close to folding. he has maybe one or two scraps of self control that are fully stripped away when you squirm some more, rocking your core against his thigh, and he feels it. He feels the slimy, slippery wet patch growing wetter and wetter as you "get comfortable".

"Do you think there's something that could... y'know... tire me out a little?"

and he folds. of COURSE he folds, anyone would with you being all cute and sweet to them, ESPECIALLY someone whose heavy, full balls are bluer than the lonliness and pain in his heart. he uses his last ounce of self control to say your name like a warning, but it only serves to make your pussy throb against his leg - something he definitely does not miss.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, kid..." he warns. You inch closer and closer to him, batting your eyes up with a cute little pout.

"'m not a kid," you protest. your eyes flick between his eyes and his lips, and you can't stop your hips from grinding down onto his thigh. "...you want me to prove it?"

but with how fast he flips you over and pins you down and folds you in half, you really don't have time to prove anything.

[fbfh]

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.

[fbfh]

Fellas is it gay to wish the wifey a good day on a the public forum of tumblr dot com

turns out i don’t care lmao happy Tuesday Wednesday platonic wife -c’est moi

Cici my beloved. Don't make me start quoting my immortal from memory

[fbfh]

me when I listen to I bet on losing dogs while therapying, hurt/comforting, un-angstifying billy bots on janitor

[fbfh]

thinking about getting rescued by Connor and Murphy Macmanus. you're making ends meet, living in a shitty apartment in boston when some jackass in the russian mob decides that extorting your landlord isn't enough anymore. you come home to find huge, scary thugs roaming the halls of your building, banging on doors and demanding money. they try to shake you down, but you... you're not going to give up, and you're certainly not going to let them win without a fight. thankfully, god doesn't hate you quite as much as you worried he might, because you live in the same building as Rocco's girl. she sees what's happening out there and makes a call. the russian mob doesn't find your plucky attitude as endearing as you'd hoped, and you're about to pass out when two mysterious figures burst in, shooting up every gangster in the place. they get closer to you, muttering something to each other you can't make out, and one of them gently picks you up before everything goes black.

you wake up hours later just before dawn in... the shittiest, crustiest apartment you've ever seen. you're still a little out of it, and two guys - who you can only assume are the same ones from before - crouch next to you, speaking in gentle voices and comforting irish accents.

"You're alright sweetheart." the first one says. you think he's the one who carried you out.

"You're safe here." the other adds.

"Those assholes got you pretty good-"

"Put up one hell of a fight though," the second one chuckles, earning a smack on the back of the head from the first.

"Just try to get some more rest, and we'll check on you soon."

you try to agree, but you're exhausted and out like a light before you know it, managing a "hmmmf" in response before you pass back out.

you wake up properly a few hours later, and it takes you a few moments to orient yourself, to realize you're not in this apartment because of a drunken one night stand. you stretch stiffly, still achy and sore from the fight, and stand up to quietly look around. the apartment is empty, but it's worse than you thought it would be. this place is... a dump. a bachelor owned dump, based on the comical lack of furniture or decorations. you don't know what you're supposed to do until those guys get back, but you don't... not trust them. not yet, anyway. so you tidy up a little. you throw out the trash and wipe down the counters and tables. you spray a little lemon cleaner on the windows and make their beds. you find a pile of pillows and blankets on the ground, and realize they slept in the other room so you wouldn't be uncomfortable.

when Connor and Murphy return in their bathrobes pajama pants and work boots, hang their rosaries up on the nails by the door, and set down the breakfast foods and ingredients they just got from the corner store, they pause. something feels... different. there aren't any coffee rings in the kitchen, or tumbled piles of beer caps from their numerous contests seeing who can make the highest stack. things smell fresher, feel... nicer. you walk into the kitchen, hanging up a fresh dish towel over the oven rack when you notice they're back. you startle a little, and they both smile.

"Oh!" you exclaim, "Sorry... I didn't know when you guys would be back, so I just tidied up a little. I hope you don't mind." you say, almost sheepishly. they share a look, then turn their attention back to you.

"You did all this?" asks Connor, then he nudges Murphy. "We got ourselves a regular snow white."

Murphy laughs, looking at your handiwork.

"I didn't know it was possible." He says back to his brother. "The kitchen floor is white. Did you know the kitchen floor was supposed to be white?"

The Macmanus brothers like you. they find you sweet, and charming. they want to protect you and keep you safe from the scum in this city. since your apartment building is still a mess and crawling with members of the russian mob, you let them convince you to stay for a few days. of course it doesn't end up being just a few days, and no matter what a rough day they have cleaning up the city, they're always excited to get home, flop down on the couch (the one you got them, and the only thing tying the interior look of their apartment together) crack open a couple cold beers, and spend the night with their best girl.

[fbfh]

miss missing you was fucking adORABLE please i love domestic percy. our boy getting a break from all the monsters

LITERALLY. percy deserves a rest, a break, and that's exactly what you intend to give him. it doesn't matter if he crashes at your place or you crash at his or you go up to montauk or somewhere completely different. the point is, you're good. you're safe. the only problem now is making sure PERCY knows that. he's great, just like he always is. but you've still caught him doing peremiter sweeps and middle of the night centry duty. he jumps at every noise, every rustling leaf or cracking branch. and you understand why. of course you do. you know it's going to take a long time to help him relax, really relax, but it's always worth it to you. you and Sally and Percy and Paul will be wondering for years to come how you managed to work your magic so quickly, but by the end of the week, Percy feels... relaxed. possibly for the first time ever. he spends his mornings with you, making coffee and pancakes and pretending not to notice as you check out his back and waist. you wear his swim team hoodie because it always looks so much better on you, and he steals kisses every chance he gets. you manage to surprise him with blue coffee one day and he is so completly flabberghasted. he still has no clue how you did it. you doze on the couch or out on the porch in the afternoons, comfortable in each others arms. he can't sleep until you're comfortable snuggled up against him, and every night he can't help but let out a breathy chuckle, smiling in pure admiration of you. one night he lets out a loud groaning sigh as you settle in for the night. he doesn't think he can ever go back to a life that doesn't have you to wake up to, and he doesn't want to.

"when we get back to new york, we're moving in together."

that wakes you right up. you twist around so you can look at him, make sure he's being for real with you right now.

"seriously?" you ask, and he laughs at how cute you are. it's... adorable, frankly, that you're still realizing how deep and dogmatically his feelings for you run.

"yeah," he nods back. he sleeps better than he ever has that night. after some more kisses, of course.

[fbfh]

Literally no one:

Margo when she sees a locked box: