Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Student Files 

Isle of the Lost

Name: Carlos Oscar de Vil

Age: 13-14

DOB: ???

Parent(s): Cruella de Vil

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include broken arms, legs, and ribs.  Severely malnourished.

Name: Evelyn “Evie” von Hannen

Age: 16

DOB: 4/12

Parent(s): Grimhilde von Hannen (Evil Queen)

Additional info: Allergic to fish.  No known past injuries.  Malnourished.

Name: Jarin “Jay” Asghar

Age: 16-17

DOB: Believed to be sometime in January

Parent(s): Jafar Asghar

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include broken ankle and wrist.  Malnourished.

Name: Mal Bertha Faery

Age: 16

DOB: 12/31

Parent(s): Maleficent Faery

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include broken ankle and ribs.  Malnourished.  Needs a mentor to help with magical abilities.

Student Files

Auradon

Name: Aksel Iduna Dammen

Age: 16

DOB: 12/3

Parent(s): Anna and Kristoff Dammen 

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include sprained ankle and dislocated arm. 

Name: Audrey Rose

Age: 16

DOB: 2/14

Parent(s): Philip and Aurora Rose

Additional info: No known allergies.  No known past injuries.

Name: Benjamin “Ben” Florian de la Cour

Age: 16

DOB: 5/14

Parent(s): Adam and Belle de la Cour

Additional info: Allergic to pecans.  Past injuries include sprained ankle and minor concussion.

Name: Chadwick “Chad” Charming

Age: 16

DOB: 7/3

Parent(s): Cinderella and Christopher “Kit” Charming

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include sprained wrist and ankle.

Name: Douglas “Doug” Bergmann

Age: 16

DOB: 5/4

Parent(s): Dopey and Anneliese Bergmann 

Additional info: Allergic to kiwis and mangoes.  No known past injuries.

Name: Emir Rafiq

Age: 16

DOB: 9/10

Parent(s): Aladdin and Jasmine Rafiq

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include broken leg.

Name: Kaivar Nedakh

Age: 16

DOB: 7/9

Parent(s): Kidagakash “Kida” Nedakh and Milo Thatch

Additional info: No known allergies.  Past injuries include broken ankle and arm.

Name: River Fitzherbert

Age: 15

DOB: 1/28

Parent(s): Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert

Additional info: No known allergies.  No known past injuries.

Chapter Text

Melinoe does not need the protection of a gang to get around.

It’s not because she’s powerful, or terrifying, or anything like that.  Her mother is, though, and that gives Melinoe a wide berth when she strides through the streets, her head held high.

Lesser people cower and shrink back as she stomps to a stand, staring intensely at the owner, who gives and hands her one of his wares with trembling hands.  He doesn’t seem to want to get too close.

She snatches it out of his hand, pivoting sharply on her heel without so much as a second glance and continues on her way.  People rush to get out of her path.

She’s not as powerful or as terrifying as her mother, she knows, but she’s not as cowardly as her dad at least.  That’s something she prides herself in.

(Seriously.  He’s a god, for fucks sake.  Why leave an infant with Maleficent of all people when he could so easily take her away?)

He’d named her, for some unknown reason she’ll never fathom.  He’d named her before ditching her and her mother to go fuck off onto the other side of the Isle.

Her mother refuses to call her by her name, for the sole reason that, “her father had given it to her.”  Melinoe has been, instead, referred to as “Mal” by her mother and everyone else in the Isle.

(The only people who know her real name are her, her mother, and her dad.  Her dad won’t acknowledge her, and her mother simply ignores any connection to him, finding her own way around them.  Melinoe is left in the middle, to decide her path.)

(She decides to trail behind her mother.  At least she stuck around, even if she rages and hisses and fixes her with a harsh, disappointed glare.)

Mal swallows, pushing back memories threatening to flood her mind, as she hurries through the streets, almost as if she were running from something she could never escape.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The quota needs to be finished.

Jarin knows this; he’s no fool.  The quota needs to be finished.  Otherwise he won’t have anything to eat tonight, nothing to soothe the aches of hunger.

(It’s not anything he’s not used to.  But he likes to avoid it when he can.)

How much of the quota is left?   He runs through the list as he leaps between the rooftops, landing nimbly before darting off again.  Not much, he’s certain.  But he’s never sure with his dad.

His pockets jingle with stolen goods that threaten to slip out.  He quickly shoves them back in before dashing off again.  You’re only in trouble if you’re caught, he thinks, and you’re only caught if you stop running.

His feet pound rhythmically against the concrete rooftops, hardly thinking about where he’s going.  He’s run through this path many times; it’s engraved deeply into his mind.

He wonders what his dad will do if he doesn’t make the quota.  Deprive him of food?  Lock him out of the house?  Beat him?  None of these things are anything he’s not used to.

That’s just how the Isle is.  It hardens you, puts you through unspeakable horrors.  You don’t complain about it, though.  You don’t cry.  You don’t apologize.  You don’t say thank you or please or pardon me because those are things that would get you killed on the Isle.

Jarin lands gracefully on the ground, before slinking through the shadows to his dad’s pawn shop.  He holds himself arrogantly, head held high and chest puffed out. 

Never let them know they got to you.  Never let your guard down.  Mess with them before they mess with you.  If you want it, take it.  If you can’t take it, break it.

The rules kept him alive.  They’re the only rules he ever really follows because he has to, not because he wants to.

The Isle is a dangerous place, especially if you’re caught unawares.  Jarin knows this.  He’s no fool.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Her hands tremble on the sink as she grips it tightly, her knuckles turning white.  Her reflection stares at her, almost mockingly, and she stares right back, picking out every imperfection in it.

Everything is wrong. Everything is so fucking wrong about her .

She sucks in a rattling breath, her grasp on the chipped porcelain tightening.  She swallows, a bitter taste in her mouth, and she blinks away unshed tears.

Her mother’s voice sings out everything wrong with her appearance; her mascara is crooked, her lipstick smudged, her brows too thick. . . 

Her fingers twitch with the urge to punch the mirror, to shatter it into a thousand pieces that will split her skin and draw little red lines on her knuckles.

Evelyn takes another deep breath.  She can’t destroy the mirror, no matter how badly she wants to.  Even if its surface is cracked and chipped, dirtied and cloudy, it was still useful, and it was the only decent one they had.  If she got rid of it, if she fucking shattered it, her mother would be furious with her.  And she can’t bear to face the disappointment again.

(Her stomach won’t be able to handle it either.  The last time she made a mistake was at the price of a week’s worth of food.  She still remembers the pain from it.)

So Evelyn sucks in a sharp breath, releasing the porcelain from her ever tensing hands, and stares long and hard into the mirror.  Her reflection dances across the thread-thin cracks, matching her gaze with an equally distressed one.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Bubbles lather underneath his fingers, bursting as the worn sponge is dragged against the scuffed floor.

Carlos stays silent as he does this.  He’s not to make a sound; his mother had told him so.  And he never disobeyed his mother.  Disobeying meant punishment, and his mother’s punishments were things he was all too keen to avoid.  His chest still aches from the last time.

He dunks the sponge into the bucket of dirtied water next to him, hardly wincing at the coolness of it.  Air bubbles rise to the surface, creating a foamy layer just above the water.  He lets his arm rest there for a moment, before pulling it out and dropping the sponge on the floor with a splat .

His fingers curl into its soft surface as he slowly drags it along, leaving a trail of suds in its wake.  He wipes them away soon after.

“I want the floor spotless.  Spotless!  You hear me?”

Yes, mother.  He continues his chore, his mind wandering to his mother.  She’s upstairs, probably smoking her life away in her bedroom.  Carlos makes a disgruntled sound at the thought of having to wash the sheets again.

I really should hurry up, he thinks, casting a brief, cautious glance at the stairway, before she comes down.  There are still several areas he has yet to get to, and he quickens his pace.  Though his scars have long since healed, the thought of his mother makes them burn again.

It’s silent in Hell Hall, except for the sound of swishing water and his quiet breathing.  His mother is as unpredictable as her mood swings, meaning she could come down any minute, and the last thing he needs is another beating on top of the previous one.

Time’s running out for Carlos.  It’s running out and he doesn’t know what he’ll do when the imaginary timer reaches zero.

0-0-0-0-0-0 

Ben fights to keep himself still as the tailor stretches a measuring tape along the length of his leg, to not twitch.  It’s hard though; he’s antsy, and he itches to move. 

“Head.”

Ben cranes his away from the window to match the direction his body is facing.  The tailor hums, wrapping a measuring tape around his head.  After a moment or two he releases the young prince, scribbling down the measurements.

He turns his head once again to look out the window, staring at the island in the distance.  He takes it all in, eyes tracing over every detail.

The island is surrounded by a magical barrier, which shimmers gold in the little sunlight that reaches it.  The island itself is as gray as the clouds that constantly brew over it, with buildings that even he can see are worn and sagging from this distance.

The Isle of the Lost, he muses.  Something that’s been ignored for far too long.

Ben knows why it was created: to imprison all the villains, as death was “too good for them”.  And though Ben can’t deny that they do deserve to be there, their children don’t.  Children whose only crime was to be born.

Ben swallows, his heart aching at the thought of kids his age—kids younger than him—being trapped there, on an island with no sun, crumbling buildings, and no way out.  He continues to stare out the pristine window, and he knows he should look away before he works himself up, but he can’t.  His eyes are glued on the dying island.

“How is it possible that you’re going to be crowned king in a month?  You’re just a baby!”

Ben chuckles, finally prying his gaze away from the window and to the two people how have just entered the room.

His dad beams proudly at him, one hand on his wife’s, who has looped her arm through his.  She’s smiling at him too.

“He’s 16, dear,” she says to her husband, her smile never wavering.

“That’s far too young to be crowned king!”  Dad places his free hand dramatically over his chest.  “I didn’t make a good decision until I was 42.”

Mom gives him a look.  “You decided to marry me at 28.”

“Well, it was either you or a teapot.  Kidding!” Dad adds on quickly at mom’s look.

Ben shakes his head at his parents’ antics, a smile working its way onto his face.  The tailor makes a disgruntled sound, and Ben sighs as he corrects his posture.

“Oh!”  The young prince’s mind catches up with him, and he twists his body around to face his parents.  The tailor sighs, gathering up his stuff and following, attempting to get the measurements.  “Mom, dad, I have an idea for my first proclamation.”

Dad hums, nodding for him to continue.  Mom flashes him an encouraging smile.

Ben swallows, steeling his nerve.  “I’ve decided that—that the children of the Isle of the Lost deserve to have a chance to live in Auradon with us.”  He turns to the window, exhaling at the sight of the island.  “Every time—every time I look at the Isle, I can’t help but feel that they’ve been abandoned.”

“The children of our sworn enemies?”  Ben winces at his dad’s tone; he can hear the slight snarl.  “Here?  With us?”

“We’ll start off with a few,” he continues, keeping his voice steady.  He doesn’t turn to face his parents.  “Only the ones who need our help the most.  I’ve already chosen them.”

“Have you now?”

“I have you a chance,” Mom chides quietly.  And then to Ben, “Who are their parents?”

“Cruella de Vil,” he says.  He pauses before continuing, “Jafar, Evil Queen, and. . . Maleficent.”

The tailor gasps loudly at that, and Ben hears the clatter of the measuring tape drop to the ground.  It’s quickly scooped up as the tailor rushes out of the room, arms filled with his tools.

“Maleficent?!” his father bursts out, fury evident in his voice.  “She’s the worst villain in the land!”

Whirling around towards his parents, his eyes wide, he pleads, “Dad, just hear me out!”

“I won’t hear of it!”  This time his dad turns away from him.  “They’re guilty of unspeakable crimes!”

“But their children aren’t!”  Ben takes a step closer as he cries this.  “Don’t you think they deserve a chance?  To live a normal life?”

His dad stops in his tracks, craning his head around to give him a long, long look.  His eyes glance to his mom’s face, her lips pursed, her eyes staring at him with something along the lines of disappointment.

“I—I suppose their children are innocent,” Dad admits begrudgingly after a moment.  Ben relaxes, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Belle smiles gently, and Ben returns it, albeit strained.  Hie attempts to convey a silent thank you through his eyes.

“When will they arrive?” she asks, her voice calm and steady and yet oh so gentle.

“The end of this week,” he replies, “on Friday.  The idea was to give them time to adjust to Auradon before they begin school.”

Mom nods in agreement.  His dad, meanwhile, sucks in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.  His hands are clenched tightly at his side.

“I suppose you’ve already sent the invitations?” he asks in a bit of a gruff voice, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah.”  Ben nods, clasping his hands in front of him nervously.  “I sent them just, uh, just this morning.”

“Very well then.”  His dad sighs again, his tense hands relaxing just a fraction.  “We’ll leave you to it.”  And with that he sweeps out of the room, mom’s arm slipping out of his.  She casts a brief look that he can’t quite interpret, before following dad, her soft footsteps fading away.

Ben exhales, his heart racing.  His hands relax, and he drops them to his side.

His eyes wander to the Isle once again.  As he takes in its appearance, he can’t help but pray that things will go as smoothly as he hopes they will.

Chapter Text

Mal trails along behind her mother, taking care to keep her distance but not be so far behind.  She knows the others are not too far behind; they’re kept in check by the goons that loyally follow Maleficent.

The air is thick and charged and so so uncomfortable.  And yet Mal keeps her head high, her shoulders back and strides confidently as her mother leads them back to her lair.

(She’d be a fool if she said she wasn’t the least bit scared.  Her mother isn’t known for friendly gatherings; to be summoned by her meant that she either wanted something from you, or. . .)

Mal shakes her head to clear her mind as they approach  Maleficent’s lair, its sharp towers spiraling into the gray sky.  Its entrance—which resembles a mouth with long, sharp fangs—gapes at her, and she inhales through her nose and continues on in.  The air carries the faintest trace of magic.

Maleficent marches to the front and center of the foyer, and Mal notes that the parents of the other three stand off to the side.

When Mother stops in her tracks, so does Mal, and she stands firmly, her feet planted on the ground.  She does not need to turn around to know that the others have stopped too.  The room is silent, everyone waiting for Maleficent to say something, anything.

“You four,” her mother says at last, turning around to face them, a grin stretching across her face, “have been chosen to go to a different school. . . In Auradon.”

“What?!”  Mal is taken aback at the statement, and her posture becomes stiff and tense.  “I—I’m not going to a school filled to the brim with prissy pink princesses!”

“And perfect princes,” she catches Evie muttering under her breath.  Mal growls under her breath, her gaze never straying from her mother.  She’ll get back at Evie later; turning away from her mother never meant any good.

“Oh, you’re thinking small, pumpkin,” Mother coos in a sickly sweet voice.  Her grin does not match her tone; it’s wide and sharp and drips with venom.  “It's all about world domination!”

Mal continues to glare, her nails digging into her palm despite being so short.  Her jaw is clenched almost painfully.

“You will go,” Mother continues, twirling her staff between her fingers.  “You will find Fairy Godmother and bring back her wand.  Easy-peasy!”

Of course there’s a catch, Mal thinks bitterly.  She was stupid to think that her mother would send them to Auradon to continue on with their lives.

“And if you don’t,” Mother’s faux cheerful tone drops, as does her smile, and she looks down her nose at the four kids, “you’re grounded for the rest of your lives.”

“Mother!” Mal protests.  She stares right into her mother’s eyes, holding her gaze as their eyes glow vibrant green.   But her mother has always been stronger, and Mal breaks eye contact after a moment.  The air has become uncomfortably charged.

“When do we leave?” she asks after a moment.  She turns her gaze back to her mother’s face, her nose wrinkling at the thought of having to go anywhere with the other three.

(Jay isn’t so bad.  She’s not too sure about Carlos yet, and Evie makes her want to rip her hair out and claw at her skin.)

“Today.”  Mother pretends to look at a watch on her wrist.  “Right about. . . Now.”

0-0-0-0-0-0

The limo is black and sleek, shining oh so brightly in the Isle’s little sunlight.  It can not be clearer that it hails from Auradon (except for maybe the hood ornament, which is a teeny tiny statue of King Adam.  Honestly, how narcissistic can you get?)

Mal clutches her bag in her hands tightly.  It holds what little valuables she has; her mother’s spellbook is buried at the very bottom, lest somewhere were to search through it and happen upon it.

Mal catches her mother’s eye as she stares her down from the balcony.  Her staff is gripped tightly in one hand, her lips pressed into a thin, warning line.

Don’t mess this up.

Mal gives a short, curt nod, before turning her attention back to the vehicle.  Though it’s sleek and shiny and looks brand new, it doesn’t sit right with her.  Maybe it’s because it’s from Bore-adon, a one way ticket to place that had not cared for them for twenty years. 

The crowd murmurs and casts wary glances at it, rippling apprehensively.  Mal doesn’t blame them; she’s getting on the damn thing, which is all the more reason to distrust it.

(She can not deny that the thought of living in Auradon is. . . Appealing.  Even if they abandoned the Isle for twenty years.  Anything would be better than this hellhole they call home.)

Loud clamoring catches her attention, and she just barely manages to catch Carlos’ head duck under the roof of the vehicle, his mother turning sharply around the corner.  A snarl is etched onto her face, and she barks out, “Get back here!  Ingrate!”  But she’s too late; her son has already crammed into the vehicle.

Cruella growls, pivoting sharply on her heel and storming off towards the other parents, and people scurry out of her way, fear evident on their faces.

Mal inhales deeply, and begins to stride towards the limo, acting more confident than she feels.  Her footsteps are loud and nonchalant, and the crowd parts for her.  The whispering fades away as they stare after her, and she flashes a fanged grin in return.

She slips into the limo, simultaneously dropping her bag at her feet.  She observes her new surroundings, looking up, and down, and right, and lef—

Fuck.

Mal’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the blue haired girl next to her.  Of fucking course she’d be in the seat next to her.  Of course.

Before Mal has the chance to look away, Evie catches her eye.  Her mouth curls up at the corners sweetly, and she nods slightly.

Mal snarls at her, baring fanged teeth, before turning her head away.  Evie doesn’t say anything as she does this.

The silence between them is tense as the limo begins to peel into the streets.  The crowd ripples and parts for it.  Mal can feel eyes bore into her, and her jaw clenches.  They look away when they meet her gaze.

For a while none of the four say anything.  The silence between them is thick and tense, and nobody seems willing to break it.

Mal picks at her nails.  Jay’s arms are slung over the top of the seats, his legs spread out and a bored expression on his face.  Carlos’ hands are clenched tightly into the seat, and he stares intently at the ground, his body tense.  Evie’s posture is straight, her legs crossed nearly and her hands clasped in her lap.

(There’s something unspoken between them.  No matter how much they don’t know each other, how much they hate each other’s guts, they’re in this together.  It’s them against the world, whether they like it or not.)

After a long moment, Jay hesitantly reaches a hand into one of the glass jars next to the windows.  They’re filled with colorful objects that smell oh so sweet and good.  They’re very much unlike the rotting food the Isle has.

He bites it half, and his eyes pop out wide immediately.  He quickly shoves the rest of it in his mouth; Evie makes a face at that, but only for the briefest of seconds.

“That—“ He speaks through a mouth full of food, gesturing to the jar he’d taken from— “it’s salty like nuts, but sweet like—like—I dunno what!”

“Huh.”  Mal continues to give the jar—and now Jay—an apprehensive look anyways.  No matter how good it looks and smells, it’s still from Auradon, a place that was more than willing to let the Isle fall to pieces without so much as a second thought.

It’s tempting to take one.  She can’t deny that.  But she sinks her nails into her thighs to keep herself from taking one.  She won’t forget, nor will she forgive.  Auradon didn’t care about them earlier, so she won’t care about them ever .

She breaks her stare after a while, instead choosing to look elsewhere.  If she can’t see it, she thinks, she won’t be tempted by it.

There’s an array of buttons, she notices, and not one of them is labeled.  How the fuck do they know what each one does?

Curiosity gets the better of her, and Mal pushes a random button.  It seemingly does nothing, and she frowns at it.

“Look!” Evie cries shrilly.  Mal startles, snapping her head around to see what had scared Evie.  At the sight of it, Mal blanches and she swears her heart has stopped.

The road breaks off in jagged clumps.  Below it is the vast sea, dark and still and taunting.

“It’s a trap!”

Mal scrambles towards the back of the limo, panic coursing through her veins.  She was so fucking stupid to think that Auradon would give them a chance.  And now here they are, trapped within a black coffin, heading off to certain death with the ruse of being given a chance.

Someone—perhaps multiple people, even—is screaming, and she braces herself for the drop as she claws at the window.  Get the fuck out get the fuck out get the fuck out get the fuck out—

The limo continues on, long after they should have plummeted to the depths.  There still remains no road; a golden bridge shimmers in its place instead.

Mal’s plastered against the side of the limo, her heart racing and her chest heaving.  Her eyes are wide and frenzied, and her stomach feels as though it dropped through the floor.

Carlos is perched strangely, with one foot pressed against the seat and the other bent on the rear deck.  He seems paler, if that were even possible, and he shakes ever so slightly.  Jay appears to be in no better shape from his spot against the window.  He looks as though he’d smelled something foul.

Evie somehow manages to still look as prim and proper as ever, despite her having half-climbed onto the seat and her eyes wide with fear.  Mal’s loathing for her only increases at that.

She inhaled deeply, attempting to regain control of herself.  After a moment, she leans forward, craning her head to face the driver.  “Hey!  Did that button just open the barrier?” she asks breathlessly.

“No, this one opens the barrier.”  He lifts a remote control without so much as a glance towards her.  “That one opens my garage.  And this one. . .”  He turns around to face her, his face neutral as the window between them rolls up, separating them.

Jay snickers from behind his hand, finally relaxed enough to sit normally in the seat.  Evie too has recomposed herself, looking a tad sheepish at her previous behavior.  Carlos is still half-in and half-out of his spot awkwardly, one leg pulled up towards his chest, and the other hanging limply.

“Nasty,” she says as she pulls away from the window.  Ignoring Jay’s snickering and the way Evie suppresses her smile, she turns around and nestles back into her seat, grinning sharply.  “I like that guy.”

Carlos’ lip twitches up for the briefest of seconds, before falling flat.  Evie giggles from beside her, before stifling herself when Mal turns to her.  The rest of the ride is as silent as snow, not a single person daring to break whatever peace they’d found themselves in.

(They’re in this together.   Might as well learn to tolerate each other for the time being.)

(It won’t be for long though, Mal promises herself.  Just until we get the wand.  Then we can go back to hating each other.)

Chapter Text

Ben waits in anticipation for the limo with the four Isle kids to pull up.  He fights the urge to fidget; he needs to keep up appearances, after all, and a prince does not fidget.  He mentally runs through the files of the Isle kids, making sure he at least knows their names.

Audrey has her arm looped through his, clutching his arm tightly.  It’s possessive, almost, the way she’s holding into him.  He doesn’t have the heart to pry her off.

(He supposes she’s there to keep up her appearance as his girlfriend, though he’s not entirely sure he loves her the same way.  But it’d benefit the both of them in the long run, so he sucks it up.)

(He does love her.  He really does.  But over the past few years, she’d changed so much to the point where Ben feels like he’s dating a stranger.)

The sun warms his back as he stands near the circle drive, waiting for the limo with the Isle kids to arrive.  He’s growing antsy though; his fingers twitch nervously, and he sucks in a breath to calm himself.

The band is set up in an open area nearby, their uniforms clean and ironed and pristine.  Their instruments are down, and they’re milling about, muttering to each other.  Ben can't quite catch what they’re saying from this distance.

Audrey’s grip on him tightens, and Ben turns his gaze back to the streets.  He perks up as the limo comes into view, its sleek surface shining in the sunlight. 

The drum major waves her hand, and the band springs into action, raising their instruments and blaring out music for the whole world to hear.

The limo rolls to a stop in the circle drive, and Ben musters up all the courage he has, and smiles.  Best to make a good first impression after all.

The door opens, and a worn boot strikes the ground confidently, soon followed by another.  The owner, a slender purple-haired teen with crocodile green eyes, slides out of the vehicle, grimacing.  She holds a hand up to shield her face from the sunlight.

Ben blinks.

And blinks again.

It—it can’t be.  His smile falters ever so slightly.  There’s no way.  It’s just—just coincidence is all.  She just happens to look like the girl from my dreams; no need to think too much into that.

He shakes his head lightly, clearing his mind, as Fairy Godmother beams, “Welcome to Auradon prep!  I’m Fairy Godmother, the headmistress.”

(The other three have slipped out of the limo silently.  Ben notices that the tallest of them bears a worn duffel bag over his shoulder.  The blue-haired girl carries what he supposes what was once a fancy bag of some sort on her arm.  The smallest of them has nothing at all.) 

The girl—who Ben is certain is Maleficent’s daughter—blinks.  “Fairy Godmother?  As in, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo’?”  She waves a finger to accentuate her point, still staring at the other fairy.

The older woman chuckles.  “Bibbidi-bobbidi, you know it.”

“Yeah.”  The teen’s—Mal’s—eyes shine.  “Y’know, I always wondered what it was like for Cinderella when you appeared, out of nowhere, with that sparkling wand and warm smile.”

“Oh.  That old thing?”  The headmistress hums.  “I haven’t used it in a while.  I’ve pretty much retired from magic, except for a few occasions where it’s necessary, of course.  I’ve found that people clamoring for you to grant them their wishes can get tiring.”

“Oh.”  Mal seems to deflate a bit, but still holds herself confidently.  In all honesty, Ben’s a little impressed.  She’s good at keeping up a façade.

“It’s nice to finally meet you all,” Ben says hurriedly to avoid an awkward silence.  He smiles warmly at the four Isle kids.  “I’m Ben.”

“Prince Benjamin,” Audrey corrects.  She giggles breathlessly.  “Soon-to-be-king!”

“You had me at ‘prince’.”  Evelyn’s voice is graceful and smooth, and she smiles flirtatiously at him.  She curtsies, and it’s almost as if she were just another Auradon girl.  “My mother’s a queen, which makes me a princess.”

Through a smile and clenched teeth, Audrey says coolly, “The Evil Queen has no status here, and neither do you.”

“Audrey,” Ben hisses through his teeth.  And before the situation can get any more tense and awkward, “This is Audrey.”

“Princess Audrey.  His girlfriend.  Right, Bennyboo?”

Ben fights back a wince at the nickname, and Mal seems almost amused by this.  Good for her, he guesses.

“Ben and Audrey will show you around.”  Fairy Godmother beams warmly.  “I’ve got some matters I need to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me.  It really is very nice to meet you all.”  And with that, she hurries off, disappearing into the school.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all,” he says again once the headmistress is out of sight.  “This—this is a momentous occasion, one I hope will go down in history as the day our two peoples began to heal.”

“Orrr—“ Mal gestures vaguely—“it will be the day you showed four people where the bathrooms are.”

The young prince shakes his head lightly, chuckling.  “Too much?”

She shrugs, holding up two fingers just barely apart.  “Just a bit.”

“So much for my first impression.”

“Hey,” Audrey interjects suddenly, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.  “You’re Maleficent’s daughter, right?  Yeah, I totally don’t blame your mom for trying to, you know, kill my parents and stuff.  Oh, I’m Aurora’s daughter.  Sleeping—“

“Beauty.”  A large, fake smile stretches across Mal’s face.  “Yeah, I’ve heard the name thrown around a couple of times.  And I definitely don’t blame your parents for inviting literally everyone in the land except for my mother to their stupid christening.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“Totes!”

The two girls laugh, loud and fake and oh so tense.  Ben chuckles uncomfortably himself, his fingers curling into his palm slightly.

“Okay!”  He clasps his hands together, desperate to move along.  “How about a tour?  Yeah?”

Mal shrugs as the other Isle kids nod in agreement.  Before long, the group begins to travel towards the school in silence.  As they reach a statue of his dad, he says, “Auradon Prep was originally built 300 years ago, before it was converted into a highschool by my father when he became king.”

He claps his hands lightly, and the statue ripples and shifts into the Beast—

Ben’s head snaps around at the shrill screaming behind him, and he catches the sight of Jay grappling Carlos’ arm as the smaller of the two shoots back so fast he was practically a blur.  His eyes are wide and terrified, and he looks just about ready to bolt out of here.

“Oh, for evil’s sake, de Vil.”  Jarin groans.  His grasp on Carlos’ arm is firm, Ben notices, but gentle in a way.  “Get a grip.”

Ben’s smile falls a bit as it softens.  “Carlos, it’s okay.  My dad—“ he gestures to the statue— “he wanted the statue to be able to morph from beast to man to show that anything is possible.”

“Does he shed much?” Mal snarks.

“Yeah, mom doesn’t let him on the couch,” he deadpans in a flat voice.  The corners of his mouth twitches up, and he hurriedly continues on, not missing the amused smirk on the purple-haired teen’s face.

“So. . . Do you guys, like, have a lot of experience with magic?  Like—like wands and stuff?”

Ben hums as he walks through the hallway.  “In a way, yes.  Though it’s pretty much. . . How do I put it?  Retired I suppose.  Many magic folk reserve their magic for special occasions; most of us are just regular mortals after all.”

“Who just happen to be kings and queens,” Jarin mutters under his breath.

“That’s true!” Audrey quips; the smile is still on her face.  “Our royal blood goes back hundreds of years!”

Not all of ours, Ben thinks, his mind wandering to mom, and Sultan Aladdin, and Queen Cinderella, and King Eugene. . . They aren’t descended from royalty.

Just as he opens his mouth to correct his girlfriend, he spots Doug descending a nearby staircase.  He perks up, waving a hand to signal the other teen to join them.

“Doug!  Come down, come join us!”  Ben smiles again (this time it’s more genuine and warm), and as he nears the group, the young prince says, “Guys, this is Doug.   He’ll be able to help with your schedules and answer any questions should I not be available.  If you ever need anything—“

“Ask Doug,” Audrey cuts in.

“Or me.”  Ben gives Audrey a look, before turning back to the group.  “I’m sure anyone would be willing to assist you in any way, should you need it.  My office is just down the hall to the left.”

Mal hums in acknowledgment, and Ben has just enough time to give her a small smile before he’s dragged off by Audrey, off to do gods know what.

As he’s pulled down the hall, Ben can’t help but glance over his shoulder, trying to catch any last glimpse of the girl who so badly resembles the one from his dreams.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Clingy much?  Mal snorts as the two royals disappear down the hall.  Honestly, how insecure do you have to be to latch onto your partner like a leech?

She shakes her head slightly, pulling herself out of her thoughts as Doug explains, “I’ve put in all your required classes already, so all you need to do is pick your electives.” 

“What about dorms?”  Evie smiles sickly sweet at him, and Mal’s nose wrinkles at the interaction.  Disgusting.  “Are we rooming alone, or. . .?”

“I—Uh, n-no.”  Doug swallows, looking away from Evie.  His cheeks flush pink.  “Jay and—and Carlos are sharing a dorm, and you and Mal—“

“Excuse me?”  Mal flares up, and the half-dwarf flinches at her furious tone.  Evie stiffens.  “I’m rooming with—with her—?”

“She’s just nervous.”  Jay quickly places a hand over her mouth.  His voice is cool and smooth, like dark chocolate.  “New school and all, y’know?”

The half-dwarf nods, his smile straining.  His hands are clasped nervously in front of him, and he shuffles his feet nervously.

“Why don’t you show us where the dorms are?”  Jay smiles, his lips curling up to show his teeth.  “We should get situated before dinner.”

“Oh, uh.  Sure.”  He nods.  “Of—of course.  Just follow me.”

Jay and Mal hang back as the others head off.  Doug babbles on about something , Evie has her head held high and she strides forward confidently (Mal knows it’s an act.  She’s seen the other girl fret over the stupidest things in her appearance), and Carlos’ eyes remain on the ground, and he seems so small compared to everything else.

“What the hell was that?”  Jay removes his hand from her mouth, and glares at her.  “Do you want us to get sent back to the Isle?”

“Easy for you to say!  You don’t have to room with Blueberry!”

“Yeah, well, newsflash, life ain’t fucking fair.”  He snarls lightly.  “Suck it up, because if we fail, it’ll be our heads.  And I think that’s a whole lot worse than rooming with her.”

Mal’s nails dig painfully into her palm, and she bites her tongue to keep herself from lashing out.  Every inch of her wants to argue, to fight back, but Jay has a point, even if she hates to admit it.

“I make no promises that I’ll play nice,” she says at last, her voice low and dangerous.  “And this is not forever.  The moment we get the wand this alliance is off.”

“Is it really an alliance if we didn’t have a say in it?” Jay says dryly.

“You want me to end it early?  That’s what I thought.”  And with that she stalks off, heading to catch up with the others.  Her footsteps are loud and confident and echo through the empty hallway.

As the rest of the group comes into view, Mal can’t help but think of what will happen in the unlikely case that they failed.

(Evie probably would get the lightest punishment, Isle-wise at least.  Jay may get beat for it, but not be injured enough for him to be unable to walk; Jafar still needs his shelves to be stocked, after all.  As for her and Carlos. . . They’d be lucky to see the light of day again.)

Chapter Text

Doug scurries off as soon as he shows the two girls their dorm with a hurried goodbye.  Mal smirks at how clearly intimidated the Auradon kid is.

(There is a possibility that he’d only hurried away because of Evie and how stupidly head-over-heels he is for her, but Mal chooses not to think of that.  She’s the highest ranking villain kid here, so she’s the most terrifying.)

Whatever the case, the half-dwarf is gone, and he’s left the two VKs to their own devices.  Evie cracks a small, soft smile at her, and Mal rolls her eyes before shoving the door open.

Oh, ew.  

The room is light and airy, with frilled curtains and sheets.  The walls are a pastel pink, and the comforters are white.  The wood of the bed frame and the two desks on opposites of the room are a deep chocolate brown.  It’s truly a beautiful room.  There appears to be some kind of package on each of the beds.

And it’s awful.  It’s too pretty and too pink and too unlike the Isle.  Her home.

“Woah.  This place is—“

“Disgusting,” Mal says flatly, cutting the other teen off.  “Absolutely disgusting.”  Evie falls silent at that.

And it’s too bright too.  Mal can’t help the grimace on her face as she walks towards one of the windows.  Grabbing a fistful of the soft curtains in her hands, she pulls them together, none too harshly.

The room dims somewhat, but it’s still far brighter than the Isle has ever been.  Her eyes ache slightly.

She turns towards the nearest hee, and picks up the package on it.  It’s a bag full of aesthetic bottles and some kind of cloth.

Hello.

Though you may have your own, I’d thought I’d give you a welcoming gift to help you settle in.  There’s shampoo, conditioner, a gentle cleanser, soap, and a towel.  I hope these things can be of some use to you.

I hope you enjoy your stay here.  Welcome to Auradon!  Feel free to contact me if you have any questions.

-Ben de la Cour

Huh.  That’s certainly. . . Friendly to say the least.  Perhaps de la Cour could be a useful ally. . .

She shakes her head lightly, clearing her thoughts.  She observes the items with mild interest for a moment, before tossing them aside and flopping down into the bed (holy shit, it’s soft.  It feels like a cloud!).  Exhaling, she plots her next move.  Now that they’re in Auradon, getting Fairy Godmother’s wand is more important than ever.  They’ve only got so long, after all.

Fairy Godmother is a no go.  She’d get suspicious if we asked about her wand and where it’s kept.  Ben, maybe?  But he might tell an adult. . . I don’t trust the Leech as far as I can throw her.

. . . .

She has to talk with the others, doesn’t she?

Mal rolls over onto her side, sighing.  If she wants to get anywhere, she’ll have to put up with the others.  And between de Vil’s timidness, Asghar’s ego, and von Hannen’s narcissism, it would take all Mal had to control herself from lashing out.

She stays on her side for a moment more, before sighing once again and heaves herself to her feet.

“You,” she says, pointing to Evie, “come with me.”

The blue-haired teen springs to her feet gracefully (Mal’s nose scrunches at that, though she quickly smoothens it out) and the pair silently slips out of their dorm, leaving no trace that they were there.  

Thank evil the boys’ were shown their dorm first, Mal thinks as she strides down the corridor, Evie scurrying behind her.  I don’t want to talk to Boreadon people any more than I have to, not to mention asking them for directions.

(She is Maleficent’s daughter.  She doesn’t need help.  From anyone.)

Stopping in front of what she believes is the boys’ door, she begins pounding on it, and says, “Hey, dipshits! Open up!”  And without waiting for too long, she twists the door knob and opens it.

“Could’ve tried that before yelling at us.”  Jay gives Mal an amused look from his perch on his bed.  He’s already surrounded by various different shiny items.

“Could’ve tried keeping your hands to yourself,” she shoots back.  “What if you were caught?  Can’t imagine Jafar would be the most pleased with that, especially if you got your ass booted back to the Isle.” 

Jay shrugs, though his expression hardens.  “Doesn’t matter.  Boreadon folks are dumb as hell anyways.”

“Whatever.”  Mal flops down next to Jay, bouncing ever so slightly.  “That’s not why I came here anyways.”

Jay hums, though, wisely, does not say anything.

“We need to plan,” she states, “if we’re going to get our hands on Fairy Godmother’s wand, especially since it’s probably the most protected thing here.”

“If we want to get our hands on it, we need to find out where it is, first.”

Mal casts a glare at the Arabian teen in response, and he shrugs slightly.

“My—my mother gave me her magic mirror before we left,” says Evie, her voice soft.  She swallows as three pairs of eyes fix themselves onto her.  “I could—I could use that to search for the wand.”

“Huh.”  Mal raises an eyebrow, nodding slightly.  Sounding almost pained, in a way, she adds, “Not half-bad.”

Evie beams at the slight compliment.  “I can try now, if you’d like?”

“. . . Food first?  Maybe?”  Carlos’ voice is just barely above a whisper, and Mal swears she might have to stop breathing to hear him.  “Umm.  I dunno about you guys but. . . I’d—I’d like to see what the food situation is.”

(There’s more to that, they all know.  Most, if not all of them, probably hadn’t eaten since at least the day before; if they were lucky, it would have been yesterday afternoon.  If they weren’t. . .)

“Yeah,” Jay agrees.  He absently fingers one of his stolen trinkets.  “Good idea.”

Mal sighs, absently picking at her nails.  While she’d like to get things done as efficiently as possible, she can not deny that the sound of having food in her stomach is. . . Tempting.  It may make plotting easier.

“Fine,” she concedes.  “Let’s go then.”

She stands up, the others following suit.  She rips the door open, and pivots sharply on her heel, heading in the direction she believes the caféteria is at.

And if it isn’t there?  Well, she’s a villain kid.  They find their own way to things.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Students mill in and out of the room, often in small groups, and they grin and laugh and gesture happily.  A tangle of scents waft lazily into the hallway, filling the air with a fragrant aroma.

The four Isle kids linger in the hallway, eyeing the crowd warily.  Not one of them makes a move towards the caféteria, standing tense and alert by the lockers.

Though Mal’s hands are stuffed firmly in her pockets, they’re tense and ready to lash out should the need arise.

(It probably won’t.  It’s Auradon , for fucks sake, but one can never be too sure.  Everyone is a danger.  The Isle has proven that time and time again.  Not to mention that crowds hold the potential of being trampled if you’re not quick or careful enough. . .)

“Do we—do we go in?”  Jay frowns slightly, eyeing groups passing by.  “There’s a lot of people here.”

Mal sighs.  “Probably.  I mean,” she gestures vaguely to the room, “it looks like there’s at least something edible in there.  We should at least check it out.”  Despite all the risks, is left unsaid.

Jay exhales, still looking rather unsure, but says nothing.  And before Mal can doubt herself anymore, she strides into the caféteria, her head held high.

She nearly stumbles back by the sheer amount of scents in the room.  It’s so good and so fragrant and she can’t help but take in another breath.

“Holy hell.”  Jay’s eyes are wide as he blinks.  “That’s—there’s no way that’s all food.”

Before Mal can say anything else, a sweet sounding voice pops up, “Hey, are you lost?”  She snaps her head around to face the unexpected voice, and comes face to face with a girl around her age.  Soft brown hair is braided tightly down her back, and her hazel brown eyes shine sweetly.

“Uh, no,” Mal responds slowly.  “Unless this isn’t the caféteria.”

The girl laughs lightly.  “You’re in the right place then.”  She tilts her head slightly.  “Ohh, you’re the new students, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?”  Mal’s voice is dry and sarcastic as she says this.

The girl appears to be unperturbed by this, and continues with a warm smile, “Welcome to Auradon!  I’m River.”

Oh, she’s one of Rapunzel’s spawns, right?  Mal hums quietly to herself.   She may not care about Boreadon kids, but others do, and Gothel isn’t exactly quiet about her hatred of Rapunzel’s family.

After a long pause, she says in a rather plain voice, “Nice to meet you.”  She hesitates, before flashing a fanged, neutral smile.  It falls after a moment, and she turns to face the numerous tables stacked with all kinds of things and asks, “Do we just— take stuff?”

“Yeah.  It’s kinda overwhelming, isn’t it?”  River’s eyes soften, and her smile takes on a sympathetic tone.  “Mom and dad were never big on having a lot of food at meals—one or two items were enough, they claimed.  Though, dad always insisted it was to leave room for desert.”

She says this as though the Isle kids had the same situation at home.  And maybe she does think that.  But for whatever reason, none of the Isle kids dare correct her, instead choosing to nod with tight-lipped smiles or shrug half-heartedly.

“But yeah,” River continues, not noticing (or perhaps pretending not to) the discomfort of the villain kids, “just take whatever you want.  There’s salad, steak, uh. . . Pizza, pasta, something else I’m forgetting. . .”  She trails off, humming quietly to herself.

Mal balks, her hands itching with the urge to throttle the brunette.  Her eye twitches with something that’s not quite fury but not quite shock; it’s somewhere in the middle, and it fills her completely, swallowing her up in a dark cloud at the newfound information.

“Oh,” she says, gritting her teeth slightly, swallowing back her emotions.  She could always rant about it later, in private, away from prying eyes and ears.  “I see.”

River appears to catch on to their discomfort this time, because she ducks her head and slips away with a soft and sweet goodbye; it rests in the air like a cloudy layer in a clear sky.

“I don’t—I don’t understand.”  A frown is curved sharply on Evie’s lips, and she stares after River for the briefest of moments, before her eyes flicker to the tables.  “They have all this food but. . . They just—they just give us their garbage.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mal hisses to her, not once taking her gaze off of the tables or the crowds.  “They don’t care about us.  Never did.  We’re not here because they realized they fucked up; we’re here because they want to make themselves feel like they’re doing good.” 

Evie falls silent, fixing her eyes onto the ground.  Before the angry feeling can flare up inside of her again, before she can lash out and get her ass booted back to the Isle, Mal stalks off towards one of the tables, her hands clenched painfully right and her shoulders stiff.

She snatches a nearby tray, surveying her choices.  There’s something she supposes is the salad, the pizza, the pasta. . .

She eventually decides to carve out a large portion of the steak, dropping it onto her plate and moving on.  She absently grabs a few other things she doesn’t know the name of and a carton that reads ‘milk’, before observing the area.

Most of the tables appear to be full, she notes.  Or mostly full, at any rate, but she decides not to sit at them.  She won’t enjoy it, and he has the feeling the current residents won’t either.

The gods are merciful, it seems like, because there’s an empty table, close to the doors.  Mal casts another glance around the caféteria, before heading over.  She feels eyes stare after her, for a second, but they just as quickly loom away, trying not to let her catch them.

She slides onto one of the seats, keeping her back to the door, and pays no attention as the others join her silently.  She opts to shovel her meal into her mouth, hardly swallowing before stuffing more in.  She frowns slightly.  Should the steak be this savory and stiff?  And the smell of rotting meat is nonexistent. . . Odd.

“Mind if I slide in?”

Mal glances up to face the voice, which reveals himself to be a teen with unruly strawberry blond hair and pale brown eyes.  A grin stretches across his face, distorting the sea of freckles scattered on his skin.  He kind of smells.

Before any of them can answer, another teen practically crashes into the seat next to the first boy, throwing his head down and splaying his arms across.  This one’s hair is as white as snow, and his skin is a warm honey brown.

The blond snorts.  “Graceful.”

“Shut up, Aksel.”  The second teen groans softly.  “Not all of us have crazy as hell amounts of stamina.”

Aksel shakes his head fondly, casting an apologetic look to the Isle kids.  “Sorry about that.  Coach ran us ragged today.  Mind if we sit here?”

Jay shrugs, his plate half empty despite having sat down just a few minutes.  Aksel appears to take his shrug as a ‘yes’, because he flashes Jay a grin and plops down next to his friend.

“I’m Aksel.”  He nods to them, his grin shifting into something softer, more sweeter.  “This,” he gestures to his companion, who has yet to raise his head, “is Kairav.”  The latter raises a hand, waving it limply, before dropping it.  “Nice to meet you.”

“. . . Thanks.”  The corners of Mal’s mouth twitches up into a sort of half-smile.  It fades after a moment.

Aksel smiles at her again, before digging into his meal at a considerably slow pace.  Wasn’t he worried about people taking his food from him?  It's better to eat it all as fast as you can before anyone else gets to it after all.

Before long her plate is cleared, not a single speck of food to be seen.  She swallows her last bite, savoring the taste dancing across her tongue.  She sighs quietly, her eyes fluttering shut as she chews.

(Sure, Auradon may be boring as hell, and they might not care for the Isle, but, hey, the food’s good.)

“So. . . Are you gonna tell us your names, or are we just gonna sit in silence?” Aksel teases lightly.  His plate is still pretty full.

She contemplates for a moment, before saying reluctantly, “Mal.”

“Evelyn von Hannen.”  She smiles a perfect smile with perfect lips and near perfect teeth.  “Though, you can call me Evie.”

Jay leans on his fist, smirking at the blond.  “I’m Jay.  Pleasure to meet you.”

“. . . Carlos.”  The boy doesn’t make eye contact, and his voice is so quiet that if Mal didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have guessed that he’d been the one to day that.

Kaivar finally—finally!—lifts his head, observing them with tired, crystal blue eyes.  “I fucking hate Tourney.”

“No, you don’t,” Aksel corrects absently, digging into his dinner once again.

Jay blinks, leaning back slightly.  “Tourney?”

“Team sport,” Kaivar offers.  He hums thoughtfully.  “You can try out for the team—the season’s almost over but if you join now, you won’t have to try out next year.”

“I’ll. . . Think about it,” Jay decides after a moment of mulling it over.

Aksel perks up.  “Oohh, if you do, let us know.  We’ll help you out with it!”

Kaivar cranes his head, casting an incredulous look at his peer.  “‘We’?”

“Well, duh.”  Askel says this rather matter-of-factly.  “Emir’s gonna help us too, of course.  Where is he, anyways?”

“Said he needed to finish an essay or something, I think.”

Mal shifts uncomfortably as the two Auradon kids start bickering with each other.  They seem to have forgotten that the Isle kids are there as Aksel throws his head back with a laugh and playfully swats at Kaivar.  She catches Carlos flinching back slightly at the action, out of the corner of her eye.

They seem so comfortable with each other, in a way Mal knows will never be possible for the Isle.  There’s too much violence and death and murders and other things for that.

. . . . .

Whatever.  She’s grown used to the horrors of the Isle.  She wouldn’t have survived, otherwise, and things will change when they get that wand.

(They will get it.  They won’t fail.  They can’t fail.  There’s too much at stake for them to fuck up.)

Chapter Text

Jay is not the smartest VK around.  He knows this.  Just as well as he knows the streets of the Isle and the quickest routes like the back of his hand.  But, despite this, he knows nearly all too well that if they fail their mission (which they certainly will not.  Not if he can help it), they will all be nothing more than a bloody pulp.  Some more than others.

(He supposes he’s lucky his dad needs him around to stock his shelves.  If not, Jay’s not entirely sure he’d be around anymore.)

(He loves him though, right?  His dad cares enough to keep him around at the very least, and that’s more than most VKs can say.)

Jay wonders, for a fleeting moment, if it were better if he were dead as he sits in class, because what the flying fuck are they talking about?  Something about letters and numbers (which should not, in any way go together) that he honestly stopped listening to ages ago.  It’s not like he’ll need to remember any of this when their parents take over.

So Jay simply sits there, zoning in and out and pretending to be interested when he’s really not, and surveying his surroundings for any potential hiding places and AKs that may provide beneficial information.  Those are much more important to know than—what the fuck is a variable?

0-0-0-0-0-0

By the end of the class, Jay’s head is buzzing and he feels lightheaded.  He says nothing as he stands up and picks up his blank notes as he hurries outside of the classroom and into the halls.

Out.

He needs out.

He scans the walls as he plows through the crowd of students that’s beginning to stream out of the classrooms, searching for a door, a window, anything that will get him out of this gods awful place.

“What’s got you in a rush?”

Jay snaps his head around to face the voice, fist raised immediately and ready to throw.

“Woah!”  Aksel raises his hands in a placating gesture, a small grin stretching across his face.  “No need to get violent!”

“Oh.”  Jay drops his hand to his side, side-eying the strawberry-blond.  “Okay.”

Aksel laughs lightly as he falls into step beside Jay, not noticing the way his shoulders remain stiff.  “So?  Have you decided?”

“Huh?  On what?”

“On joining Tourney!”  Aksel gives him a bit of a look as he continues, “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten!”

Jay shrugs in response, remaining silent.  In truth he had sort of forgotten about it in the midst of other things.

“Is that a yes then?  You’re joining?”

“Ehh—”  Jay pointedly does not spare a glance at the shorter boy— “maybe.  What’s it about?”

Aksel seems all too excited to explain things to him.  Jay doesn’t even need to look at him to know this; the sheer energy he’s radiating is enough to let him know.

“So basically it’s a team sport with a team of seven players on each team, and you try to pass around the ball and get it into the other team’s net, and the team with the highest score at the end wins.

“There’s—there’s, uh, two defenders, three forwards, a goalie, and a dragoneer.  The defenders guard the three forwards who try to score, and the dragoneer mans the Dragon Canon.

“There’s a center forward, a right forward, and a left forward.  Right and left are usually the quicker and best scorers, and center is kinda like a defender but they’re the most offensive player usually!”

“Why do they need to be offensive?” Jay interrupts just as Aksel is about to ramble on.  “Isn’t it just, like, a scoring game or whatever?”

“It is but you can get physical!  Like, you can tackle people and shit, it’s pretty fun!  Oohh, and the Dragon Canon shoots projectiles at everyone when they’re in the kill zone.  The projectiles hurt a lot, though.”

“Oh.”  Jay is slightly more interested in it now.  Just a bit.

(In his defense it’d be a decent way of keeping his strength up and ensuring his skills are still in good shape.  And if he gets to beat up some prissy Auradon princes. . . That’s neither here nor there.) 

“So you’re joining then?”

“Yeah, sure.  Whatever.”

“Hell yeah!”  Aksel fists pumps, a wide, shining grin on his face.  “Practice is later today, I can come get you when I head over!  Oohh, and you should bring that other guy too—Carlos, was it?  I think he’d enjoy it!”

“Uh, yeah.”  Jay frowns doubtfully as his mind wanders to de Vil’s scrawny frame.  Yes, de Vil may be quick on his feet (maybe even more so than himself, Jay begrudgingly admits) and can withstand some pretty strong hits, but other than that, he really doesn’t have much to offer.  He’s not strong, and from what he’s hearing, strength is a pretty big part of Tourney.

But, still, he accepts the prince’s offer with a sharp nod, and Akiho beams brightly at him.

(This is just to keep his skills up, he tells himself.  Nothing more.)

(But maybe Aksel can be of some use later down the line.)

0-0-0-0-0-0

A rhythmic knock sounds from the door, and Jay and Carlos’ head snaps up at the sound of it.   For a moment neither move, forgetting where they are, until Jay recalls his earlier conversation with Aksel and lunges towards the door.  He tears it open, revealing a rather startled Auradon prince standing in its doorway.

“Uh, hi?  Someone’s excited,” he mutters under his breath, before shaking his head lightly and smiling at the VK.  “Um, practice is gonna start in a few minutes, so if you wanna go, we need to head out now.”

“Okay.”  Jay turns his head to face De Vil, and makes a sharp gesture to signal him to follow.  Quick as a flash, the younger boy materializes behind him, still keeping his distance warily.  Aksel doesn’t comment on it, either not noticing or choosing to ignore it all together.

“C’mon!”  Aksel begins jogging backwards, beckoning the VKs to follow him.  “We gotta hurry!  Coach’ll kick our asses if we’re late!”

That threat is far too familiar for the both of them, and before they know it they’re right in front of the Arendellian prince, who squeaks in surprise and falls backwards.  He scrambles to his feet almost immediately after, and he turns and books it down the hall.  He looks back once, only to see Carlos and Jay close enough to see the whites of their eyes.  He hadn’t looked back after that.

0-0-0-0-0-0

“You’re late,” a teen with shining brown eyes and a hooked nose hisses through a grin.

“Nuh uh.”  Aksel sticks his tongue out at his companion.  “Coach isn't here yet.  And it’s only 3:29!”

The other teen opens his mouth to say something, before he catches Jay’s eye and falters.

“Oh,” he says after an awkward beat of silence.  He tilts his head.  “You’re, uh, you’re Jay, right?”  His grin returns, but it’s. . . Different, somehow.  Jay can’t put a finger on it.

“Yeah.”  Jay keeps his tone nonchalant as he says this, but his hands are tight fists in his pockets.  “And you are . . . ?”

The teen’s smile brightens, and he gives a mock salute.  “Prince Emir Rafiq, at your service!”

“Oh.”  Jay can’t help the face he makes, and Emir’s grin falters.  The Arabian prince suddenly finds the ground to be particularly interesting.

Aksel shoots Jay an indecipherable look, and the thief holds it steadily.  So he makes one face upon discovering Emir’s heritage.  Big fat hairy deal.

Before Aksel can say anything, Ben appears beside them, a soft smile gracing his face and a kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Hi, Jay.  Are you thinking of trying out for the team?” he asks.  Even in a worn sports uniform, he still manages to look pristine and collected and perfect.  It makes something in Jay’s stomach crawl, and he looks away, staring intently into the distance.

“Yeah,” Aksel answers for him.  Jay’s jaw clenches as he hears how tight the blond’s voice is compared to what it had been moments earlier.  “He’s thinking about it.”

Jay’s nails dig painfully into his palm.

Ben catches onto the tension between them, and he frowns.  He doesn't press Jay, thankfully, but he whispers something to Aksel.  The blond makes a vague gesture in response, and Ben nods and steps back.

“Alright team!” a burly black man barks, and the boys snap to attention, leaving Carlos and Jay to stand there dumbly.  “Our last game of the season is approaching.  I’m counting on you all to win this one, you understand me?!”

“Yes, coach!” the team shouts, breaking out into laughter.

“Now due to some. . . Unusual circumstances—“ the coach eyes Jay and Carlos pointedly, “we’ll be trying out some different teams.”

Jay doesnt pay attention to who’s on his team—he spots a familiar head of white hair somewhere he thinks, and he knows Aksel’s on the other team.  He doesn’t know much beyond that.

He finds himself smack dab in the middle of the group, flanked by the two other forwards and the three defenders.  He inhales deeply, clutching the bat tightly.  It’s time to show these prissy princes the Isle way.

He shoots off—

And he’s gone.

0-0-0-0-0-0

“Yes!”  Jay laughs loudly, freely, and he pumps a fist, kicks his legs, dances around the bodies of the opposing team and yells out taunts he doesn’t know the words of.  He did it!  He won!  Without his stupid team and stupid teammates and—

“Jay.”

The teen startles at the stern voice, and his back straightens and his arms snap to his sides.  He stills himself immediately, eyes darting everywhere—

He meets the coach’s gaze, and suddenly he’s warped back into his body and everything feels too real and yet not real enough.  His ears burn red, and he forces himself to hold the stare.

“Yeah?” he says, forcing a lazy smile on his face.  They are kind enough to not point out the way his shoulders remain tense or the way his hands fist tightly by his side.

The coach exchanges a brief glance with Ben, who frowns but shrugs.  And Jay knows that whatever is about to happen is ultimately up to the authority figure standing before him.

(Jay is not a fearful person, but this—this makes his stomach churn and his skin crawl in a painfully familiar way he hasn’t felt since he was a little kid.)

“Come here.”  The coach beckons him forward, and Jay walks forward, gaze remaining steady.

“What do you call that?”  The coach gestures broadly at the bodies still strewn about the field, groaning.  He doesn’t give Jay a chance to answer before continuing, “I call that raw talent!  Come find me later.  I’ll show you something you haven’t seen before.  It’s called a rule book.”  He grins and claps Jay’s shoulder.  “Welcome to the team, son.”  And then he turns to Carlos, whose helmet hides his eyes, and, with a slight frown, says, “You ever thought about band?”

Jay snorts.  Loudly.  And Carlos curls in on himself, forcing a laugh.  Jay watches as the younger teen attempts to shrink back, to disappear.  But he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll work with him, Coach.”  Ben appears behind the VK, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  Coach’s frown deepens, but doesn’t argue.

Instead he turns to the rest of the team and shouts, “Alright!  Let’s run that again!”  And then to Jay with some indecipherable look in his eyes, “You’re gonna do great things, son.”

And there’s another feeling in his gut.  But it’s different this time.  It’s. . . Unfamiliar.  Warm.  It makes Jay beam.

Chapter Text

For the first time in her life, Evelyn von Hannen can be more than just a pretty face.

Yes, she frets over her appearance more than what she normally would, and yes, the work suddenly thrust upon her is much more difficult than the subjects on the Isle, but she can be more than just a porcelain doll.  Here, she is feared, and it fills her with a giddy feeling that makes her skin prick.

She sits neatly at her desk, absently smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt as her classmates begin to shuffle into the room.  They cast glances at her, emotions flashing in their eyes—distrust, hatred, disgust, fear—and they quickly look away.  She fights back a pleased smile.

A familiar boy with glasses—Doug, she recalls vaguely—seemingly perks up at the sight of her, and he hurries to sit next to her.  He ignores the glares and odd looks cast his way; it’s as if he were used to them.

“Hi.”  His ears are tinged red and a nervous smile is on her face.  She matches it with one of her own, painfully sweet and bordering flirtatious.

“Hello again.”

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”  He smiles bashfully at the VK, and Evie knows she has him wrapped around her finger.  She fights back a grin.

Before she can say anything else, a teen with curly golden blond hair and shining blue eyes walks in.  He laughs at something his companion had said, and Evie blinks, straightens as she stares at him.

He catches her staring at him, and he flashes a smile at her.  Evie ducks her head, feeling her cheeks heat up.  When she looks up again he’s taken a seat at the table in front of her.

“Who’s he?” she murmurs to Doug.  They had said they could ask Doug if they ever needed anything, so she’s making good use of it.

The half dwarf glances at the teen in front of them, and something in his expression shifts.  “Oh.  That’s Chad.  Chad Charming.  Heir to the Charmington throne.”

Evie perks up at his last name.  He’s a Charming, which means he’s a prince.  And if he’s a prince then he’ll have a castle and servants and riches and soft beds and a stable source of food and guaranteed comfort—

“Hey, you’re one of the new kids, right?”

She blinks at the sudden voice (not startles because it’s improper of a princess and a VK) and finds herself meeting Chad’s gaze, and she flashes a smile at him, despite her cheeks heating up.

“Evelyn von Hannen,” she says.  She holds his gaze steadily, despite the butterflies going mad in her stomach.

“Chad Charming.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  He flashes a warm smile, nodding slightly, and it makes her feel all giddy inside.

“Likewise.”

Doug glances between them, something in his expression tightening.  Evie pays him no mind; Chad is more beneficial to her.  She’ll find some use for the half-dwarf. . . Probably.

Before any of them can say anything, their teacher—Mr. Delay—calls them to attention.  Chad turns back around, and Evie can’t help but cup her face in her hands and smile dreamily, gazing at the back of his head.  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Chad?  Uh, no.  And, um, I don’t have one either.”

It’s a really, really, really bad attempt at flirting, but it’s cute, kind of.  She smiles at him, and his cheeks flush and he ducks his head in a futile attempt to hide it.  How precious.

“Miss von Hannen.”

Evie blinks, straightening up immediately.  She’s hyper aware of the many pairs of eyes on her, and she forces herself to remain tall and to not shrink back because of the stated why are they staring at her she’s perfect she’s perfect she’s perfect she’s perfect—

“Perhaps you can answer the question for us, since this appears to just be review for you.”

“O-oh.”  She smiles tightly, internally cursing herself for the stutter.  “Of course.”

Mr. Delay gives her a pointed look (it’s tamer than any look from the Isle but it still makes her skin crawl) and gestures for her to come up to the board.  She obliges, squaring her shoulders and keeping her head high.  She feels like she’s going to be executed.

(Maybe, if they’re found out.)

(The thought makes something in her gut spike.  Some masochistic feeling that almost makes her laugh.) 

She does not look at the teacher, nor does she turn around to face her classmates.  She simply reads over the question, and blanches slightly.  The words ‘What is the average atomic weight of silver?’ stare at her, and her mind begins to scramble for some resemblance of an answer.  But she inhales quietly before she can work herself up anymore, and discretely glances at the magic mirror in her hand.

“Let’s see,” she says, keeping her voice collected despite her nerves going haywire, “how do I find the average atomic weight of silver?”  She waits for the briefest of moments as the answer floats to the mirror’s surface before turning her attention to the chalkboard.  “That would be 106.905 times 0.5200 plus 108.905 times 0.4800, giving us 107.9 amu.”  She finishes off the u with a slight flourish, pleased at how smooth and clean the letters turned out.

Evie turns to the teacher, flashing a sweet smile at him.  His expression makes it sharpen.

“My—my apologies.”  He fixes his tie as he straightens up.  “I should have known better than to underestimate—“

“A villain?”  And at this her smile loses any sweetness in it; she spots Mr. Delay recoiling slightly as if she were going to strike him.  “Don’t make that mistake again.”

And with that she pivots sharply, striding back to her seat.  Her classmates stare at her the entire way, but this time she relishes in the fear and reverence in their eyes.  She’s finally at the top of the hierarchy, even if she had to get to Auradon to do so.

(And once she comes back with Fairy Godmother’s wand. . . Oh, she can only imagine the luxuries she’ll have.)

She catches Chad’s eye, and there’s something. . . Off in his gaze.  It’s different from the rest of the class; there’s a soft shine in his eyes that makes her stomach a jumbled mess.

“Impressive,” the blond says as Evie slides back into her seat.  “I’ve never seen someone answer any of Mr. Delay’s impromptu questions so readily before.”

She giggles.  “Oh, it’s nothing really.  Like he said, it’d been review.”  The lie comes easily, and, hey, Chad doesn’t need to know that.

He gazes at her for a moment, and his smile returns and it takes all she has not to flush under it.  Gods, he’s even more perfect than she’d ever imagined.

“If you’re free later, maybe we can hang out?  It’d be nice to get to know you better.”  His smile turns shy, almost, and the butterflies in Evie’s stomach seem to have increased tenfold and it feels as though she’s dreaming.

“I’d love that.”  She smiles sweetly at him.  Chad perks up at that, and she fights back a giggle.  Oh, he’s just so cute.

“Sounds good.  I’ll meet you after school, yeah?”  His smile brightens at her nod, and he turns back around after that, leaving Evie breathless and all giddy inside.  She’s found a prince, and one that’s first in line for the throne!  Things are going wonderfully, and once she gets Fairy Godmother’s wand everything will be perfect.

(Chad doesn’t see her as just a pretty face either.  He’s seen her use her brain and he hadn’t minded—he’d been impressed by it, and the thought makes her so giddy she feels sick.)