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carsonnieve · 11 months

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masterpost of my fics on ao3

Just doing this because I want to have something pinned on my page here but well, a reminder of my old fics from different fandoms because kudos and comments are appreciated as well so it motivates me to keep on writing. Hopefully there's new ones updated soon as long as my inspiration kicks in.

Currenly working on two mevie fics so let's see how that goes!

username: carsonnieve

Let's start with the ones that are completed and I'm really proud of.

it's always about fate pairing: beca and chloe (pitch perfect) rating: T

Summary: Chloe sighed and walked in the coffee shop with the phone in her hands. She didn’t want to have this conversation today and yet there she was, talking about it when she just wanted a coffee and have a relaxing afternoon writing down new ideas for her stories and not pining over her online friend. Then the moment she looked up she saw someone she really wanted to see too and the reason why her heart was so divided and yet confusing. Beca.

2. unsay these spoken words pairing: regina mills and emma swan (once upon a time) rating: T

Summary: Because maybe, after all, she could take the pain and continue with her life. But maybe she thought she could, when actually her heart was already broken and the scattered pieces all over her chest were not enough to make her realize that she was alone, and hurt. She had hope... until she saw the ring on her finger.

3. fool for you pairing: harry hook x evie grimhilde (descendants) rating: T

Summary: Her smile forever gone after the images came back to her mind, sending chills all over her body and a strange feeling going slowly up her spine. And in that instant, she closed her eyes. Right when it hit her. Right when Harry stood up and placed a hand on her arm. “It reminds ye o’ that night, eh?"

4. let me pairing: mal and evie (descendants) rating: T

Summary: "Mal?" "I'm fine. Let's change and go dance, okay?" The girl tried to slip away from her arms but Evie kept holding her because she knew something was off. And it was right there, in that hug, when she felt a sting of pain way worse than the last. Her hand immediately went to her skin to keep it hidden. But Evie's eyes were already on the injury. And Mal was so ready to hear her complain about the dress she just destroyed because she wasn't careful enough with it. And to be honest, she just couldn't deal with that in that exact moment.

5. watch me ride the beat pairing: mal and evie (descendants) rating: E

Summary: “Oh! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking.” Wow, she’s even prettier in front of me. Evie thought with both of her hands on her shoulders for support, as the blonde’s hands kept a hold on her hips, keeping her still. “I’m really sorry.” The brunette ran her fingers through her hair and her other hand touched the girl’s nape, without her even noticing it. She seemed to be too busy holding Evie by her waist. Her fingers slightly touching her bare back. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. I wasn’t paying attention either.” or the smutty club!au fic no one asked for but i needed to write

and here comes the unfinished ones but that will be finished one day, trust me.

some things are meant to be pairing: mal and evie (descendants) rating: M

Summary: Everyone knew what a soulmate was back in Auradon, where princes and princesses lived their own happily ever after. Where their parents taught them what true love was without fear. Needless to say they believed in their own destiny but the idea of having a soulmate was so exciting for all of them. But back on The Isle… Descendants of pure evil weren’t fond of the idea, especially considering what their parents taught them; "love is not for us, love is weakness, we’re villains and you are our next generation to take over the world and finally get the revenge we so desire." But everything changed when four of them were sent to Auradon. And it all started when two girls were 6 years old... or the Soulmate!AU nobody asked for but I really wanted to write.

2. to find the light even in the darkest places pairing: mal and evie (descendants + shadowhunters universe) rating: E

Summary: Evie and Harry are two of the best shadowhunters of their generation. They never get in trouble and they always get the job perfectly done… until they go on a mission and everything starts to change and leads them into an unexpected path. Should they continue their normal lives or live as they want to without thinking of the consequences? Is it more important to find and follow love than their duties as shadowhunters and working for the Clave? Even when a new source of evil arises and things start to get more serious… is everything worth fighting for? It all starts with a simple order from the Clave… or the shadowhunters!au no one asked for but we needed to write

There's also two in Spanish in case I have followers who actually speaks the language and not just me and the last one is one of my favorites from my favorite couple so please check it out, thanksssss!!

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sparrowmoth · 1 year

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Siúil a Rún • [AO3]

Teen | 3.1K | Malvie | Em. Hurt/Comfort, Angst (Happy Ending)

A/N: Much love and thanks @villainsnest and @finitevoid! <3 Detailed story notes can be found on AO3, if you want them.

CW: Heavy themes (trauma, mental illness, death of a parent, implied suicidal ideation)

Maleficent’s name had been erased from the history books—with a sharpie. It isn’t enough, though. It isn’t enough. Not when Mal still sees the name so clearly in her mind’s eye. The name that… should have been hers—one day—when she impressed her mother, maybe took her throne. Could she have done that? Would she have been permitted? If she had stolen the wand, given it to her mother—

Given her such power, she could live forever. To not need an heir…

Mal tightens her grip on the sharpie, as ever struggling to remember her own strength—and the strength of her feelings, at that. There’s an audible “snap” as the sharpie breaks and a splash of ink splats across Mal’s face and falls in blotches on her textbook—

She doesn’t even react; or, at least, it’s delayed.

Evie’s there before the curses form on Mal’s lips. Evie’s there, with one hand on her arm and the other tugging at the textbook. She says nothing except with her body, her actions—the way she looks down at the ink sprayed over the history of the Moors, once Maleficent’s kingdom and what should be Mal’s home, but isn’t—never will be, probably; the way she looks at Mal, brushes her hair back gently behind her ear, then cups her chin until their eyes meet—

Evie doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t not.

She sets the book on the nightstand next to where Mal’s been laying stomach-down on the bed, her usual position. Evie doesn’t close the book, or try to clean the pages, and especially does not comment on the many streaks of sharpie that will make the book unsellable at the end of their semester.

Evie slips out of her heels and onto the bed, not needing to ask Mal to make space for her. They maneuver up toward the pillows against the headboard, where they settle with Mal half in Evie’s lap, a sigh escaping to tickle Evie’s skin above the cut of her blouse.

Still saying nothing, Evie reaches up and runs her fingers through Mal’s hair, attentive to her body. She’s stiff as a bow string ready to snap, so Evie looks to the lights with a silent command—

The lamps fade quickly from yellow to black. The numbers on their clocks fall away, one by one, like a short line of dominos. The exit sign above the door gives a stubborn flicker, but extinguishes, as well, and finally even the TV, the router, and a night light set to glow in the bathroom are decisively darkened by Evie’s will.

Mal doesn’t thank her. She doesn’t have to. Evie knows.

Things like that are still difficult for them both—not just to say it, but to hear it: thank you, I love you, I don’t know what I’d do without…

Evie takes a slow, deep breath and continues stroking Mal’s hair, eyes wide open in the darkness, ears attentive to Mal’s breathing.

Minutes pass, then an hour, but neither speak—

Until Mal does.

“I used to dream about it,” she whispers, and Evie knows she means the Moors. “I didn’t think it was really… anything. I mean, it didn’t look real. It was—” She shifts against Evie, tilting her head up. Evie knows this from the soft glow stirring up around Mal’s pupils—the only light in the room now. “Beautiful,” says Mal, echoing Evie’s own thoughts as she looks into Mal’s eyes. “I wanted to hate it.”

“You were supposed to,” Evie answers, hand stilling on Mal’s neck.

Mal makes a noise of agreement, looking away. “My mother loved the Moors,” she said quietly, laying her head back against Evie’s chest, “but the place she told me about was so, so different. It was burnt and ugly and good-forsaken. I could see myself there. I…”

Evie waits, listening, knowing there’s more.

“I felt like… one day, I’d belong there.” Mal pauses again on a shaky inhale. “But that place isn’t real, E. It’s not… without my mother. If she’s gone—” And she is. She is gone and has been gone and Mal is struggling not to accept it, but to believe that this time—THIS TIME—she will rot. She will rot and not return. They won’t fucking resurrect her, won’t let her live to make a daughter—

“I shouldn’t even exist. I don’t belong anywhere. I never have. I—”

“Hey,” says Evie, gently, stroking Mal’s arm as she starts to tremble.

“Sorry,” Mal chokes out, that word so big in her throat, it almost never makes it past her lips, but when it does… always for Evie.

Evie shushes her and pulls her closer, entangling their limbs. She rocks them back and forth on the bed so that the mattress faintly creaks from the movement; then, when Mal has calmed enough, Evie tells her in a low voice, “She couldn’t take it all with her.”

“What d’you mean?” Mal mumbles, sounding exhausted.

“The Moors,” says Evie. “Who you are, Máel Breith na Móinteán.”

Mal shivers at the sound of her true name on Evie’s lips. Now, with her mother gone, she’s the only soul in the world it’s been entrusted to. And the only one who’s ever spoken it without asking anything.

Without demanding anything.

Though she could ask and Mal would give it—give her everything. She wonders if she knows that. She wants her to know that—

“We are not our parents,” Evie tells her, taking Mal’s hand in hers and tightly lacing their fingers. “You told us that, remember? I think now you need to hear it, so listen to me… you are not your mother.”

“I know,” Mal replies in a small, shaky voice. “I know, but…”

Evie wants to quiet her, but she doesn’t. She needs to hear this as much as Mal needs to say it, so Evie squeezes her hand and waits.

“Sometimes, I think I… still want to be,” Mal admits in a breathless whisper. “Sometimes, I hate myself more than I ever hated her.” She fists at Evie’s dress with her free hand, starting to speak even faster now, but still in a whisper: “My mother knew who she was—where she belonged. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t need me. But I—I don’t know who I am without her, E. I don’t know… how to belong somewhere beautiful when I—I can’t trust that I won’t become…”

My mother goes unspoken, but Evie hears it all the same.

She thinks her heart might spill right out from her mouth if she tries to speak, so instead, she pulls Mal impossibly closer, constricting like a snake and refusing to let go. She holds her and holds her.

There is no sound in the room but the both of them breathing.

“Sorry,” says Mal, after a long while, just above a whisper. “I’m such a mess. I’m such a fucking mess. I didn’t mean to drag you into—”

Evie does quiet her this time, finding Mal’s lips in the dark.

They’re startled out of the kiss by a light rap on the door. Jane’s little voice, with quavering authority, calls to them, “Lights out!” before she’s scurrying away, her sensible shoes tap-tapping into nothing.

“She only says that to us,” grumbles Mal, not for the first time.

“I know,” says Evie with a small sigh, leaning in to kiss Mal’s cheek. She lets her head fall back on the pillow, then, and squeezes their hands still held between them. Mal squeezes back and Evie smiles into the darkness, slowly letting her eyes shut and waiting for sleep.

An hour passes. It doesn’t come.

She can feel Mal is restless, lost in her thoughts; as still as she lays there, trying not to let it show, trying not to bother Evie, her body is rigid and her fingers keep twitching and her heart beats so loud—

Evie opens her eyes and places a hand there on the centre of Mal’s chest, drawing Mal’s own eyes to her, aglow like verdant embers.

“Talk to me,” says Evie, too gently to be demanding it.

Mal is quiet for a moment, but then she relents, asking in a tired voice, “Did you ever… dream of Weiss, before we left the Isle?”

Weiss—Snow White’s village; the former seat of the Evil Queen’s throne. Evie’s mother spoke about it often, but in spite of that—

“Not really,” Evie tells her honestly, “but I dreamt about Auradon, about castles and… princes.” Her mother’s dreams, yet her own—for a while, at least. Now, she dreams of dragons and a little stone cottage, the life she hopes to build with the girl here beside her…

Again, Mal is quiet.

“I used to dream of this place burning,” she whispers, at last, and she sounds distant from herself. She blinks and the distance is gone from her voice when she speaks again, asking, “E, would you ever go to Weiss, if you had the chance? Like, if there was a field trip…”

“You’re going to the Moors,” Evie realizes with a soft gasp.

“No,” Mal says immediately, almost defensive. “I don’t know,” she adds a moment later, letting go of Evie’s hand so she can roll onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. “There’s a stupid field school,” she explains, voice muffled by a mouthful of cotton. “It’s this summer. I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t even want to go.”

Evie sighs and moves her hand up, rubbing circles at the small of Mal’s back. “You’re afraid they won’t let you go,” she murmurs.

Mal flinches, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Have you applied yet?”

“No,” Mal mumbles, still not lifting her head from the pillow.

Evie hums in answer, moving her hand to trace up and down Mal’s spine, feeling the inhuman points of her vertebrae, near to piercing through her soft flesh. “You said you used to dream about it…”

“Yeah, the Moors, not field school.” Mal huffs out a sigh.

Evie says nothing, but continues her ministrations—up and down, up and down—feeling the tension lessen, feeling the walls start to crumble, feeling Mal’s breaths deepen and her heartbeat slow…

She isn’t asleep, though.

“What if the right thing to do is stay away?” Mal asks in a small voice, head flopping to one side so her cheek rests on the pillow.

“Right for who?” asks Evie, stilling her hand.

“I don’t know. Everyone.”

“You’re someone.”

“I’m her daughter—I don’t get to be her victim,” Mal spits out, eyes flashing. “She could have smothered me in the cradle and they still—” She takes a stuttering breath. “They still wouldn’t have put my name on one of their stupid memorials for all the people she’s…”

“I know, I know,” says Evie, gathering Mal to her chest as the light in her eyes fades. “Hey, it’s okay, just breathe… you’re with me, you’re somewhere safe. Just breathe. Just breathe. Just…”

Evie’s voice fades out into a soothing ambient melody.

Mal inhales deeply—the scent of Evie, the spice of her magic, and something more: deep green woodland, rain-soaked roots, animal musk, and thick, sweet pollen—like a dream of summer—

She pulls back slightly from Evie’s embrace, just enough to tilt her head up toward the speckles of light appearing above them, where the dark ceiling was.

“E,” she says, a little breathless. “Look.”

Evie looks up with her, smiling, and Mal is not even looking at her to know it, but she knows. She knows that Evie sees it, too—not a ceiling, but a sky—a sky full of stars, blinking faintly blue and purple, just around their rough-hewn edges—

An owl hoots and swoops above them, close enough that the breeze washes over their faces. Mal sits up in surprise, steadying herself with her hands, but—the blanket feels different, more like…

“Moss,” she murmurs, fingers closing around a chunk and tearing it up from the earth. She has the strangest, dizzying feeling that the ground has just sunk like a deflating balloon and, all of a sudden—

She reaches behind her, but there aren’t any pillows.

What she finds is Evie’s hand, searching hers out in the dark.

“Look,” says Evie, pointing out where the window should be, and where it is, except that it’s changing—like the curtains are moving, billowing out, unthreading themselves and sprouting green leaves; they’re willow branches now and instead of street lights shining in to the dorm room, there is violet white moonlight and and and—

They are somehow, suddenly, in the middle of a forest.

They are somehow, suddenly, somewhere… else.

And the trees are parting like a crowd of nobles; and where the door used to be, there is a path lit by fireflies, or… a creature quite similar. They aren’t bugs, Mal realizes, but very, very small people—ghostly in their shine—blue and purple, pink and white—

Mal moves to stand, pulling Evie up with her, because she can’t—she won’t let go. She needs to feel Evie’s thin, smooth hand and the coolness of her skin and that squeeze of assurance. I’m here, I’m here.

I see it, too.

Slow and a little shaky, like a newborn deer just finding its footing, Mal takes a step across the mossy clearing. Her feet are bare, but there is nothing sharp here. The moss gives to her weight, softly squelching. She holds her breath, holds Evie’s hand—

At the start of the path, she turns to look at Evie.

Mal had been about to speak, but the words have all withered. She can only stare, taking in the sight of—flowers, white as moonlight, braided into a crown on Evie’s head, her long blue hair cascading in elegantly undone curls—embroidered vines and bluebells running down from her shoulders onto her chest, dripping down past her waist to layers of fine blue fabric in every shade of sky, sea, and sadness—every blue bird, berry, eggshell, gemstone, and iris—

“How are you real?” Mal lets slip from her mind.

Evie just smiles, lips red as ripe strawberry.

“Come,” whisper the fireflies, speaking over each other in a hundred thousand echoes of, “Come, come, come,” like tinkling wind chimes.

Mal looks ahead, down the path, then at Evie, who nods—

It’s a simple gesture, but it gives Mal permission.

Take the lead. I’ll follow.

So, she does—stepping lightly onto packed earth, edged by flowers that bloom in the moonlight, giving way to luminescent mushrooms; they go deep into the shadows of the strange wood, where branches are heavy with draped moss, ferns grow thick, and night birds cry—

A stream runs beside them and, on its other side, a deer-like thing…

Mal almost thinks she knows it.

She isn’t sure until the end of the path, when the woods start to thin and the world opens up onto wide swaths of… moorland. Hills and swamps—stirring grasses—tracts of mud—and the mist aglow…

And oh, she knows it. She knows it. She’s dreamt it.

But she just shakes her head, turning to Evie. “How are we here?”

Evie looks a little sheepish, chewing at her lip. It’s good, Mal thinks. It makes her more… human, less something ethereal. “It’s… where you wanted to go,” Evie tells her softly. “I just opened the door…”

“To—where I wanted to go?” Mal’s voice is faint, almost inaudible. She stares out at the Moors, unsure what she’s feeling. It feels like home, but is it just familiar? How could it even be that, just from a dream—even many dreams over? This isn’t her home. She doesn’t, she’ll never, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t—

No.

She’s something invasive. She’s something hated.

But there’s a hare just ahead, stepping out from the shrubs, and it’s fixed her with its black eye and it doesn’t look afraid. It… wants her to follow. She hears that whispered from the grasses. Go—go on now.

Evie squeezes her hand. I’m with you.

Mal’s heartbeat thumps in time with the hare’s feet as it leads across the Moors, up a hill, to a rocky place. There were walls here once—now just crumbling stone—and in the centre of it all…

Maleficent’s throne.

Not even thinking, Mal starts to bow—or her knees are just buckling—she isn’t really sure. But she knows that Evie catches her, stops her from kneeling, pulls her back to her feet and steadies her there—

Mal doesn’t pull away, even when she’s sure it’s safe to.

“Do you want to leave?” asks Evie, her voice as gentle as ever.

Slowly, at first, and then with more conviction, Mal shakes her head, staring the throne down. “My mother was supposed to protect this place.” Her voice is quiet, but so are the Moors now—like they’re straining to listen. “Instead, it needed to be protected from her.”

Mal pauses, thoughtful, and looks at Evie. “I don’t want to be her.” She’s said it before, but never like this: “I don’t have to be her.” It’s the first time she believes it, saying it like that, and she’s surprised that she does; she’s surprised that she can say—what she wants is—

Mal stops again, glancing back over her shoulder.

There’s eyes on her. She can feel them. So many eyes, but she can’t see a soul. Not even the hare who led them here to the throne…

Evie takes both her hands, causing Mal to meet her gaze.

“What do you want, M?”

Mal stands a little straighter. “I want to be what she wasn’t.”

All the sounds of the Moors fade back in with a rush, and the wind, like a cat, winds in circles between them, whispering affections that have both of them smiling. They hear it from the grass, too, and the birds and the insects, and the thump-thump of hare’s feet, and the chatter of vole teeth—the queen is dead, long live her daughter—

There’s an audible crack, drawing Mal’s attention.

Evie looks toward it, too, and sees it with her—a jagged line through the throne back, splitting down through the seat, and—the two sides come apart and fall away from each other, crumbling to nothing—

Stones left to inherit, and Mal’s never felt lighter.

She wakes in the morning, entangled with Evie and her memories of the Moors. She can feel the bed beneath her, hear the voices in the hall. They are back in the dorm room, like they never left, but…

Mal opens her eyes and looks at Evie, still with flowers in her hair, but completely dishevelled. She’s beautiful always, even like this—no, especially like this—exhausted from her magic, drained of all her defences, trusting everything to Mal as she’s resting close beside her.

This, thinks Mal—this love, alone, is enough, and she sees it now.

She will never be her mother.

She loves too much.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated. If you’d like to leave a kudos or comment on AO3, I’d really love that, as well! ♥

#descendants #malvie #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #descendants fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #descendants fandom #this fic brought to you by divine visions #really though the Images just struck me like lightning #I wrote this like a person possessed #and I have not read it #so hopefully it makes sense and there aren't any typos #honestly I feel proud of it so I'm just going to bask in that #djaskjgkdsjkg #ENJOY <3

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malovesev · 9 months

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writing a piece of fanfiction for a ship that is so unpopular it hurts me physically but instead of a fluffy one shot it's a deep psychological horror where the main character tries to kill her enemy but falls in love in the process

#its a malvie fic btw #descendants #i cried

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fenrishel · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Descendants (Disney Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evie/Mal (Disney), Past Ben/Mal - Relationship Characters: Evie (Disney), Mal (Disney) Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Longing, Song Lyrics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

After they saved King Ben from Uma and her crew Mal decided to stay at the isle of lost. She didn’t fit in Auradon, and she never would. There were too many rules and customs to adhere to. She and Ben were too different for their relationship to work out as well, she needed to go home.

#made the fic i was thinkng about #decendants #fanfic #evie/mal #malvie

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comebackbehere23 · 2 years

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Not me fully prepared to rewrite Purple Heart into a Malvie fic...Sofia Carson completely bodied that role.

#sofia carson #malvie #mal descendants #evie descendants #fanfic #i should but im not gonna...#...yes i am

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telli1206 · 2 years

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Telli, hello!! I love youuu 💖 For the ask game: C-A-R-L-O-S our beloved! 😘💕 (impossible to resist with an alphabet for choices jdkagjksdg)

Shut uuuuup why are you so cute?? As if I could love you anymore and then you do cute shit like this and make me anyway 💞

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

Ugh, Harry/Jay. 100% with my whole heart. They just don't sit right with me. It's like a good twin/evil twin hooking up with each other, if that makes sense? They're too much alike that it makes it weird. I can't even handle them as exes. They're just antagonists to each other, and not in a flirty/sexy way. They give me the icks together 🤢

A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

Jaylos/Malvie always, but I answered that for @moorsgrimhilde so I'll add a few new ones here. Platonic: Carvie are the most precious babies ever together, so I obviously love them. Romantic: The Core Four. Their dynamic together is unbeatable.

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

I still say Jal for this one. I love how well they play off of each other with their tough exteriors and soft, gooey insides. They care about and want to protect each other but go to hell and back trying to hide it from the other. And their banter is so fun to write. I love them.

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.)

There's no one I really hate, per se, but I'm pretty meh about Chad. I have to say though, he was a great physical comedian in the movie, with his actions and facial expressions, so he's very entertaining to throw into fics just to torment. There's something about messing with Chad that's just too fun to ignore.

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

I was just listening to Matilda by Harry Styles, and I've never actually thought about this before, but it's very accurate in describing the Core Four. You can't blame them for leaving and growing up, and for them creating their own family that always shows them love. They left their family and found love with each other. And now I'll think of that every time I listen to it 😿💖

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

I'll forever believe that Mal loves little self-pampering beauty activities like painting her nails and styling her hair, but she hides behind the idea that she does it for Evie. So of course she ALWAYS suggests it when Evie needs cheering up. And Evie eventually catches on and begs Mal regularly to have spa nights in their room, to which Mal *reluctantly* agrees to every. single. time. 😉

SEND ME A LETTER

#ask game #hersilentlanguage #descendants #evie grimhilde #carlos de vil #jay son of jafar #mal bertha #jaylos #malvie

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lsleofthelost · 2 years

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i got tagged by @infiniteecosmos to search my writing for the words FOLLOW, DIG, BRIGHT, PEACE and NEED and post the excerpts!!! ahhh thank u bestie this is so funn <333

FOLLOW: Poison Blood

Mal curls a hand around Evie’s wrist, touching feather light but even so she feels the sharp ends of her claws grazing the thin skin right over her pulsepoint. If Mal pressed her hand a little firmer, she’d feel the rabbit-fast pace of her heart. Evie follows her weaving through the crowds because what choice does she have?

DIG: An unpublished Malvie fic, except this part is about Mal’s many parental issues

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

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

BRIGHT: Personal project, Down on the Ground (Soo is a water creature if it makes this more understandable)

Soo’s room is dark. Curtains, ridiculously expensive heavy velvet curtains, drawn tightly shut against the bright afternoon sun. The sun which they desired so much when they lived in the constant twilight under layers of muddy water is too abrasive now.

They’re lying, curled up in the middle of the four poster bed, under layers and layers of swan feather duvets and silk pyjamas. Lush heavy duvets and wrinkly sweaty pyjamas. They can’t even feel satisfied at the luxury, instead they feel pathetic.

PEACE: I don’t have it??? i’m actually surprised?? but i tbf i do most of my writing for personal projects by hand (because i’m insane (like annotating and bookmarks and doodles))

NEED: lost boys, lost girls

“Why do you think so? Maybe all I was born to do was rot here.”

Carlos doesn’t know why he said that. He doesn’t know if he believes it or if he is testing Jay or what kind of answer he wants.

Jay’s laugh startles him. “You can’t seriously believe that! You are capable of being so terrible, it’s amazing! You just need to stop hiding, Carlos.”

p.s. i have this word like 100000 times. brain worms

#this was so fun!! brought up some older projects that i totally forgot about lol #tag games #laila.txt

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1dont-really-know · 14 days

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Anyways guess who's back. Will finish my fics soon buut I'll tell you guys the premises now

Baby Dragon Malvie (fluff) (Will be working on this slower)

What happened between Maleanor's death and Malva's (bad timeline) (angst lol. hurt/mild comfort but the hurt is stronger. Lots of Sunmallow moments, both comfort and hurt, but strictly hurt for Lilva moments)

#malva draconia #twst oc #altair gerbera

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sunnydaleherald · 2 years

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, September 24th

SPIKE: We're close now. No one leaves the lair till we're in. I don't want the slayer tracking anyone to the tunnel. And that means you too Harmony. You're an indoor kitty now. HARMONY: But Spike, you said you'd take me places. You said we'd go to France and now I can't even leave the lair. SPIKE: Listen to me, you stupid bint. This gem is everything I came back to Sunnydale for, which has witnessed some truly spectacular kickings of my ass. Now, when I have the gem, they'll all die, don't worry. But until then, stay inside. And by the way, I would be insanely happy if I heard bugger all, about sodding France. HARMONY: (upset) I don't know why I let you be so mean to me. SPIKE: Love hurts baby.

~~The Harsh Light of Day~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Pool and Wings by forsaken2003 (Xander/Spike, PG)

A Bloody Good Scrap by apachefirecat (Spike/Buffy, Dawn, PG-13/T)

Dogs They Make Up the Dark by wolfbatling (Buffy/Faith, T)

A twist of Faith by R4ik3n (Buffy/Faith, E)

Pool and Wings by forsaken2003 (Xander/Spike, not rated)

Divellent by JayeMaru (Spike, G)

Learning To Be Love's Bitch by desicat (Buffy/Spike, T)

A Fluffy Fic by Dru (Spike/Drusilla, G)

Spike and Dru Kill Sunnydale by Dru (Spike/Drusilla, T)

Untitled by butifeelcelestial (Spike/reader, 18+)

[Chaptered Fiction]

what you make, Chapter 32 by The_Eclectic_Bookworm (Giles/Jenny, T)

He used to be Mine, Chapter 6 by DeamonQueen (Buffy/Spike, not rated)

Sunset Valley, Chapter 24 by dwinchester (Buffy/ Dean Winchester, Supernatural and Teen Wolf crossover, T)

A New Big Bad, Chapter 17 by tinfoil_paint (Willow/Tara, T)

The Time We Had, Chapter 6 by Dusty87 (Buffy/Spike, M)

I don't care about the presents, Chapter 5 by watcherless (Buffy/Faith, E)

Bound, Chapter 23 by RavenLove12 (Buffy/Spike, E)

Sweet Surrender, Chapter 53 by Crossbows_and_moonshine (Spike/OC, E)

Echoes of You and Me, Chapter 10 by Gefionne (Buffy/Spike, E)

Charmed and Chosen, Chapter 3 by QuillBard (Buffy/Faith, M)

Underground, Chapter 7 by RavenLove12 (Buffy/Spike, E)

Road Rules, Chapter 4 by dwinchester (Willow/Kannedy, T)

Extra Ordinary, Chapter 4 by wolf_shadoe (Buffy/Spike, not rated)

Dawn the Power Ranger, Chapter 4 by BrennaLynn (Dawn/OC, Power Rangers crossover, T)

Leaning on the Edge of E, Chapters 1-11 (complete) by Cornerofmadness (Buffy/Angel, T)

What Happened To Spike's Mom, Chapters 1-2 (complete) by Dru (Spike/Drusilla, T)

The Slayer and the Vampire, Chapter 84 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Anything You Can Do, Chapter 6 by Daxeah (Buffy/Spike, R)

where the shadow ends, Chapter 3 by disco-tea (Buffy/Spike, R)

Fangs Out- Transfer of Control, Chapter 4 by Dynamite (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Tales From Sunnydale, Chapter 172 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

The Worst Day Since Yesterday, Chapter 7 by Dynamite (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Buffy movie poster by leavingubehind (worksafe)

Artwork: Tara and Faith in cute Fall outfits by Malvy Mary (worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy Summers by morrigansravens (worksafe)

Sims 4: Buffy & Spike by SimpleSIMS (worksafe)

Sims 4: Buffy in Double Meat Palace uniform by SimpleSIMS (worksafe)

Artwork process video: Spike (part 1) by Nick F.N.I

Artwork process video: Spike (part 2) by Nik F.N.I (worksafe)

Fanvid: Buffy Summers - Echo by Shannon Rey

Fanvid: Angel - Gallows by Slayervid

Fanvid: Spike | The Way by LeahEdits

Fanvid: Buffy and Spike (Spuffy)- Beggin' by Bobblehead89

Fanvid: Angel and Spike - We Were Men by T

[Reviews & Recaps]

4.19 New Moon Rising by handsofabitterman

Thoughts on the Buffy tie-in book "Visitors" by oveliagirlhaditright

Video: In Every Generation (2022) Book Review by Interpreting the Stars

[Recs]

Fic Recs: Spuffy style Reading Challenge - #10: Lifetime of Reading by mcgnagallsarmy

[Fandom Discussions]

Willow Rosenberg and her relationship with consent by girl4music

Something that I love about BTVS and its portrayal of misogyny by southsidestory

Thessaly Rosenberg by takaraphoenix

'Billy', misogyny and Joss Whedon by LWP

Robin Wood, Cordelia and Other Missing Characters by PuckRobin

Rivals to the Watchers: Wannabe Knockoff Slayers by PuckRobin

What’s the thing attacking Joyce in CWDP? by rapbarf

The ADR (added dialogue) in season 6 makes me irrationally irritated by socialpronk

I found something I actually like about Riley! by RealLifeLizLemon

why did soulless spike make buffy feel alive? by Glass_Ad_8774

Do you agree with Sarah Michelle Gellar saying Angel was Buffy's true love? by Almighty_Push91

What’s your interpretation on the flapjack line? What does it mean? by chemeli888

Video: Trauma and Depression in Buffy The Vampire Slayer by Minutebyminute

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Join the editor team :)

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #ats #angel the series

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thebluestbluewords · 11 months

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Welcome to the ool (please keep the p out of it)

“I’m right and you know it,” Mal crows, pushing her way through the crowd of kids and tourists in the shallows of the wave pool. “I’ll get the boys to back me up on this one! Everyone does it!”

“Just because everyone does it doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do, babe.” Evie says, but she’s laughing and letting Mal pull her along easily by the hand, and there’s warm sun and the promise of cotton candy in Mal’s immediate future, and things are….not the worst right now.

Mal kicks a spray of water at a toddler’s face on her way by, just because she can. “I think everyone does it,” she says loudly, reveling in the dirty look the kid’s adult gives her. “And the only difference between honest people like me and cowards like you is that I’m not afraid to admit it.”

Evie hums, and taps her finger twice against Mal’s wrist. Two taps means dodge left, so Mal throws herself sideways practically before the instruction registers. She clamps down hard on Evie’s hand, hopefully pulling them both out of harm’s way, away from whatever danger Evie saw while Mal was distracted with her correct opinions about pissing in swimming pools.

Unfortunately, the impossible weight of having all of the correct opinions is too heavy for one teenage to bear, and Mal’s dodge throws her directly into one of the water geysers.

Evie cackles.

Mal comes up sputtering with a face full of water. There’s water in her nose, which burns, and in her mouth, which is probably gross.

She could make it grosser.

Evie bats away the halfhearted mouthful of water Mal spits at her. “Rude. Don’t be a brat.”

“I’ll be whatever I want.” Mal says, and scoops her face back into the geyser for another mouthful.

“Don’t spit piss water at me!” Evie shrieks, batting the second, much more forest up stream out of her face. “I don’t know where that’s been!”

“You’re the one who pushed me into it!”

“Because I’m right and it’s disgusting and you need to suffer for your crimes!”

Ouch. “I’ve never done a crime in my life,” Mal says, swallowing the remainder of her mouthful before she can consider the potential consequences of her actions. “And I’m hurt that you would imply such a thing. I’m actually an innocent child, and you dragged me into a fountain like a common criminal.”

“Technically, you dragged me.” Evie points out, waving her arm, where there are indeed droplets of water clinging to her warm, sun-kissed skin.

“Point,” Mal agrees. “But only because you took advantage of my survival instincts to make me do it. So really it’s not my fault, and we should steal a bucket to dump the disgusting baby piss water on the boys, right?”

“This is why I love you, babe.” Evie says. “You come up with all the best evil plans.”

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #malvie #this is more of the road trip fic!! The water park is not an adventure they’re going to repeat for a multitude of reasons #one of which is the pee-to-water ratio #another of which is the inevitable heatstroke that will come later #i also think it would be very funny for Mal to get horrifying sunburn from this incident so maybe I’ll add that in later

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truth-from-lies-in-fiction · 2 years

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Crush (Descendants, Mal/Evie)

Summary: Evie blames it on the strawberries. They're plump. And juicy. And red, so very red. And Mal eats entirely too many, turning what might be an innocent friendship into an unstoppable crush.

Notes: Written for @addisonwells as part of the @descendantsgiftexchange Secret Santa challenge. You mentioned that you were into wlw relationships with Evie, so I hope you enjoy this one. I did throw in Doug, but I think he’s less annoying in this fic than he is in the movies. *fingers crossed* Happy Holidays!!!

crush [krəsh, v.]: A usually temporary infatuation.

Sharing a room with Mal has been…interesting. In the last six months, from Isle to Auradon, they’ve gone from enemies to frenemies to best friends to… Well, Evie blames any other changes on the strawberries.

Mal eats a lot of strawberries.

And strawberries are plump. And juicy. And red, so very red.

Mal is eating them again tonight. She sits on the edge of her bed in their shared dorm, sinking her teeth into the plump fruit. Fruit so juicy that Mal is forced to slide her tongue over her lips to collect the juices. Juices which stain her plush mouth a deep, strawberry red.

The color holds Evie captive.

It’s one of Evie’s signatures. Not so much as blue, but…

Red is the color of seduction.

She wears it on her gloves. Sometimes on her nails. Almost always on her lips. Because seduction is the first step toward earning a prince.

But Mal is no prince. Mal is a wicked dragon, whose lips cast their own charm. And suddenly, Evie isn’t so sure she actually wants a prince.

Evie’s convinced Mal’s lips are infused with some innate spellcasting ability. And the strawberry juice acts as some crazy kind of incantation.

Evie stares at her best friend’s mouth and slides toward Mal on the wheels of her sewing chair. The chair bumps along the carpeted floor, but Evie doesn’t notice; she’s too spellbound by Mal’s lips.

Have Mal’s lips always been that full? That plush? That…Evie knocks back a breath…that kissable?

The pinks and purples and blues of the evening sunset cast shadows through their room. But the setting sun dapples light upon each of Mal’s features. It dusts her cheeks a deepening pink. It sets fire to her hair, turning it into a shimmering inferno of purple. And it brightens her red, seductress lips, which Mal pulls into her mouth, as if searching for more strawberry juice.

Ben gave Mal these strawberries. A gesture of friendship after their breakup. He’s been giving Mal a lot of strawberries lately. But Ben isn’t here. It’s just Mal and Evie and the strawberries. And so much juice, trapped upon Mal’s lips. Without thought, Evie springs from her sewing chair. “Here,” she says, swiping a tissue from a box on her nightstand.

Mal blinks and releases her lip from between her teeth. “Wha–”

“The strawberries are messy. You’re, uh, you’re getting all messy. Let me help.” Evie slides onto the corner of Mal’s bed.

Mal raises an eyebrow. “Okay…”

Evie ignores the glint in Mal’s eyes. Reaching forward, she touches Mal’s lips. But the tissue flutters onto her lap, and she touches Mal’s lips with the tip of her finger instead.

Sharing a room with Mal is interesting. It’s teaching Evie all kinds of things about herself. Like how she hates watching Mal spending so much time with Ben. And how Evie really isn’t a princess-in-search-of-a-prince. And how much she enjoys touching Mal’s lips, which are warm and oh so soft.

Mal sucks back a breath. “What are you doing, E?”

“Just collecting strawberry juice.” Evie’s voice is a whispery thing, touched by the magic of Mal’s lips. “It’s turned your lips all red.”

She really does blame it all on the strawberries.

But Mal seems to think something else entirely.

She catches Evie’s hand. “With your fingertip?” she asks, her voice rising on each word.

Evie blinks. And the world crushes itself into four realities.

Reality One: Mal’s touching her hand. She’s laced their fingers together. She’s thumbing patterns across the sensitive expanse between Evie’s thumb and pointer finger. And clearly, her dragon-fire exists within her touch, because sparks are erupting beneath Evie’s skin.

Reality Two: Evie’s touching Mal. Has touched Mal. First, Mal’s lips. And now, Evie’s fingers have somehow twined themselves within Mal’s hair. It’s a spark of purple fire against her skin. So silky. So smooth. So much like satin.

Reality Three: Mal’s eyes are wide and darkened with intensity. Her lips are parted, drifting closer to Evie’s mouth. “Is there something you want to tell me, best friend?” Her voice is deep and smoky.

Reality Four: Evie wants to kiss her best friend. Her best friend, who isn’t a prince. Her best friend, who is a girl.

What am I doing? Evie’s heartbeat is a crash of thunder in her ears. This is Mal. I’m going to destroy everything. Our entire friendship.

Evie snaps her hand away from Mal’s and jumps from the bed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I…” She stumbles back toward her sewing chair. “It’s been a really long day.”

“Evie, wait.” Mal jumps up, too. Jumps up and advances toward Evie. “You don’t need to apol–”

“Food.” Evie shoves her hands out in front of her, as if blocking Mal with a makeshift shield. “I’m just hungry. Light-headed. I need something to eat.”

With that, she spins on her boot-heel and sprints for the door.

“Evie, we share the same dorm.” Mal’s footsteps hush across the carpet. “You can’t just run –”

But her words are cut off when Evie slams the door, too focused on her own crashing heartbeat to really hear what Mal has said. Because of course Mal doesn’t want this. Of course Mal doesn’t want her.

Even if she might. And really, she shouldn’t want Mal, either. Not as anything more than a best friend. Right?

It’s just a crush. A fleeting fancy. Caused by the magic of strawberry juice and the sorcery of Mal’s lips.

Even if this kind of thing has happened before. The dorm door creaks open. “Evie –”

Evie races down the hall, away from the friendship she almost destroyed.

crush [krəsh, v.]: To put down; subdue Evie conquers the crush of her emotions with dessert. She fills a bowl with mint chocolate chip ice cream, then splashes it with a ladleful of blueberries. Sweet. Almost forbidden. She spoons the concoction into her mouth, and discovers it tangy and sweet upon her tongue. Much better.

So much better, the tension fades from her muscles.

This thing with Mal, the touching and the almost-kissing, really was just an attack of hunger mixed with strawberry sorcery. I don’t want to kiss Mal. Evie samples another spoonful of ice cream. She’s my best friend. Nothing more.

She glances around the cafeteria. And discovers a basket of plump strawberries perched upon the corner of the dessert bar. Memories of Mal’s strawberry-red seductress lips crash through her mind.

Something inside Evie’s chest cracks open with warmth. Something so intense, it makes her tremble.

She narrows her eyes at the strawberries and stalks past, flipping her hair. Minions of witchcraft.

She yanks a chair from beneath the nearest table. I’m petitioning to have strawberries banned from Auradon Prep. She plops into her chair and stuffs another spoonful of tart blueberries into her mouth. She tries not to think about how juicy blueberries are, too.

The dining hall is mostly empty.

A few kids sit at tables, reading books and snacking on sweets. Some play a game, whooping when a lopsided die lands on the number twenty.

Doug sits among the group, clutching a book. “And the elf shall advance to battle with the warlock Zorn,” he says, his voice a rumble of thunder. “And there, he shall meet his doom. Or find his salvation.” His voice melts into laughter meant to be wicked, but far too band-geek to be anything but trumpeted gasps.

Gasps which fade into splutters when he catches Evie’s definitely-wicked grin.

She waves at him with her spoon, which is colored green with ice cream. “Hey.”

Doug’s face burns scarlet. “Um, excuse me,” he says to his friends, and pushes up his glasses with his shaky fingertips. “I’ll just be…” He trips from his chair, sending it capsizing to the floor.

Evie conceals her laughter between a press of her lips. “Smooth,” she says, when Doug has pulled up a chair at her table.

“You should have seen me last week.” Doug’s voice squeaks. He collapses into the chair. “I actually sent it crashing into the desserts. Whipped cream everywhere. The floor. The tables. Audrey’s hair.”

“Smoother.” Evie nudges Doug with her shoulder. “I’m surprised Audrey let you leave the dining hall alive.”

Doug’s lips pucker into a frown. “I think I still have toe marks,” he says, rolling up the leg of his trouser to inspect his shin. “Yup.” He plops his leg onto the table, making Evie’s ice cream bowl wobble. “There. See?”

Sure enough, there’s an indent shaped like the toe of a high-heel embedded in Doug’s skin.

“Wow.” Evie spoons some ice cream into her mouth. “I didn’t think princesses were allowed to get rough in Auradon.”

“Why?” Doug toys with the earpiece of his glasses. “You do.”

The scarlet of his cheeks has faded into pink, but it’s a pink so bright, it makes his eyes gleam.

There he goes again. One of the only people in Auradon to ever treat me like royalty. The warmth in Evie’s chest softens into a glow. She drops her bowl onto the table, making it clatter. “You wanna tell me why it didn’t work with us?”

Almost immediately, the trembling in her muscles fades.

Because this is a conversation she can handle.

This is a conversation she can almost enjoy.

Doug may not be a prince. But at least he’s a boy. A boy who was almost more. Until he broke up with her two days after cotillion, standing in the doorway of her dorm, sheltering his reasons beneath stammers-that-told-her-nothing and guarding his red-rimmed eyes by looking not at Evie, but staring over her shoulder at Mal.

He hides his eyes now, too. Hides them by removing his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt. Hides them by gazing not at Evie, but at her dish of half-melted mint chip ice cream. “How’s Mal?” he asks.

His words are so quiet, they’re almost eclipsed by the cheering of his friends at the other table (“The elf has wonneth another round!”).

But they echo through Evie’s ears like wind through a tunnel, a clang of repetitive sound. Her best friend’s name, on a repetitive loop. Evie pushes her hands to her ears.

Doug tilts his head. “Everything okay?”

“Of course.” She smooths her hands through her hair.

But Mal’s name is still an echo.

And along with it is her voice, smoky and deep. Is there something you want to tell me, best friend?

The shadow memory of Mal’s touch joins her voice. A spark of dragon-fire. Embers of heat flickering across Evie’s skin.

“Evie?” Doug reaches out to touch Evie’s elbow.

Evie flinches away from Doug and almost knocks her ice cream to the floor. She covers by grabbing her bowl and sloshing the spoon through the mint-green sludge.

But Doug’s still staring, his eyebrows sewn together in concern.

And before Evie can stop herself, words are tumbling from her lips. “I may have almost kissed Mal.” Fuck. Did I really just admit that? She takes her renegade mouth hostage by stuffing it with a spoonful of melted ice cream.

Doug just stares at her through the shield of his glasses. Stares at her with such a steady, absolute gaze, she’s forced to stare back.

Her fingers tremble around her spoon. Because Doug’s not just staring at her; he’s looking deeper. Almost as if he’s found a hidden cache of knowledge behind Evie’s eyes.

She drops her spoon into her bowl. “What?”

Doug edges his fingers toward Evie’s hand. Closer and closer, and then, when she doesn’t flinch, when she doesn’t pull away, he covers the back of her hand with his palm. “You’re upset.”

Evie blinks.

What reaction is this?

Definitely not the one she was expecting.

Am I upset? She searches her heart for an emotion. Any kind of emotion.

But the only thing she feels is Doug’s hand rough against her skin.

That, and the shadow of disappointment that it’s nothing like Mal’s touch.

She pulls her hand from Doug’s and folds it in front of her, staring down at the table.

Thoughts flicker through her mind. I need to redo my nails. The blue paint is chipping. And: Why isn’t Doug more upset about this? And: My cuticles need some lotion. And finally, when Doug pushes his chair closer and clears his throat, a thought escapes her mind and catapults from her lips. “I wanted to kiss her, Doug. I really wanted to kiss her. I still do.”

The truth is a leaden weight, sinking through her chest.

Because she wants Mal. She really wants Mal. Has wanted her for a long time. Long before they came to Auradon. And definitely by the time Mal ran from Auradon back to the Isle, where they walked arm-in-arm down the darkened streets; where they cuddled close and sang their song (Even if we’re worlds apart, you’re still in my heart…); where they fell asleep after, curled up in each other and the tangle of their warehouse bedsheets.

She wants to touch Mal. She wants to hold her. She wants to kiss her strawberry-red lips.

So much for finding the perfect prince. She buries her flaming cheeks behind her hands. And so much for not wrecking my very best friendship. “Did you ever think,” Doug says, his voice gentle as a warm wind, “that maybe Mal wants to kiss you, too?”

Yeah, right. Evie groans and slumps against the table, head on arms. “Mal doesn’t want me, Doug. How could she?”

“You might be surprised,” Doug says, scraping his chair legs against the tile floor. “Maybe you should ask her yourself.”

Evie rocks her head from side-to-side. “I can’t just –”

“Ask me what?” comes a very familiar voice. A voice bladed with steel, but soft with warmth.

Evie whips her head from her arms to discover Mal staring at her through eyes so intense, they pierce the hiding places of Evie’s soul. Evie drops her gaze to Mal’s shoulder, hiding the overpowering emotion she’s certain is present within her gaze. “Mal. Hey.”

“I’ll just…Yeah.” Doug bows away, stumbling over his shoelaces to the table where his friends are clattering dice.

Mal settles into his empty chair. She tilts her head this way and that, seeking out Evie’s gaze. “Evie?”

Evie can no longer hide. Mal is too determined. The gravitational pull that exists between them both is too strong. So she breathes in deep, willing the emotion from her eyes. And meets her best friend’s stare. A stare so deep, so knowing, it seizes Evie’s breath. Evie gasps, and then sighs when Mal strokes her finger along Evie’s knuckles. “Mal…”

Mal’s strawberry-red lips curl upward. The suggestion of a smile. “You had something to ask me?”

Evie sloshes her spoon through her ice cream. This is it. This is the moment. She bites her bottom lip.

“E?” Mal’s voice is as soft as spun sugar. Her finger drifts to the corner of Evie’s mouth.

Evie jumps.

“Sorry,” Mal whispers. “Just collecting blueberry juice.”

Evie tries to laugh. Instead, she shivers and licks her lips. She’s never wanted to kiss anyone so badly.

“Why did you run away?” Mal asks. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Evie locks onto Mal’s lips, with their plump promises and their shapes of unspoken emotion. Even now, she swears they’re coated with strawberry juice.

“In our room just now,” Evie says, her voice sticking in her throat. “I…”

“You?” Mal slides her fingertips along Evie’s cheek, and it’s all Evie can do not to jump again.

Mal sighs. “Hey, it’s kinda warm in here.” Her voice has dipped an octave. “You want to go for a walk outside?”

Evie pushes her bowl away. Outside, away from the clatter of dice and the chatter of others is exactly where she wants to be. “Let’s go.”

crush [krəsh, v.]: To overwhelm or suppress severely.

On the Isle, Evie lived a life crushed in three.

She was Evie. Isle Seductress Evie, who followed her mother’s do-it-or-be-punished commands by flirting with all-too-knowing boys, boys who had heard of the Queen’s plans for Evie, who knew Evie had to practice flirting so she could one day lure herself a prince. As Evie flirted, she pretended that it was something she enjoyed, something she wanted. It was never something she wanted. But she was also another kind of Evie. Rotten-to-the-Core Evie, who plotted her suitors’ downfalls, who whispered their names to Mal. Mal, who practiced fighting by punching each of Evie’s would-be suitors in the nose. Together, Evie and Mal fought and schemed and took ownership of the Isle’s rotten treasures. They were rotten to the core.

Evie was Isle Seductress and Isle Bitch. She was Evie, Rotten-to-the-Core.

But with Mal, she was different. She was just E. E, spoken in soft whispers; E, the name a breathless caress on a dragon’s tongue; E, the girl capable of taming the Isle’s wildest beast.

A beast who, in quiet moments with Evie, transformed into a gorgeous Mal-i-fied girl whose touch was whisper-soft across Evie’s skin. Whose eyes, when locked onto Evie’s, were lit a thousand times brighter than the dim glow of the Isle’s stars. Whose silken hair, twined around Evie’s fingers, was as deep purple as the rippling rivers Evie glimpsed in the tattered second-hand books she hid from her mother beneath her floorboards. With Mal, Evie was E. But she wasn’t in love.

She wasn’t in love when Mal decorated a corner in the warehouse by spraypainting Evie’s portrait, or when Mal added comforts like pillows and sheets crafted from each of Evie’s colors. Not when Mal filled that same corner with a crooked bookshelf stolen from Jafar’s store and books-of-knowledge stolen from Auradon’s supply ships. (“Because I know you love to read, E. Even if your mom-the-witch won’t let you. So let’s rebel.”)

Evie wasn’t in love, either, when Mal curled up beside her on the couch, chin tucked atop Evie’s shoulder, gazing at the pages Evie flipped beneath her fingertips.

“We’ll go there one day,” Mal said, pointing to a page printed with a luscious forest where trees were hollow and shadows became friends.

“We can’t, M.” Evie traced the image beneath her finger. “We’re locked up here on the Isle.”

“I’ll find a way.” Mal nuzzled the curve beneath Evie’s ear. “I promise.”

Somehow, Evie’s fingers found their way in between Mal’s. Her thumb found its way to the crook of Mal’s thumb. And her mind found a way to memorize the silken texture of Mal’s hand.

But she wasn’t in love.

She wasn’t in love, either, when Mal painted a wall of redwood trees in a distant corner of their warehouse, using a special kind of paint she’d smuggled from Auradon’s supply ships. And not when Mal spread a moth-eaten blue blanket before the wall, then produced a picnic basket full of food not-quite-rotten.

She definitely wasn’t in love when she sat so close to Mal on that blanket that their knees touched. Or when Mal leaned her cheek on Evie’s shoulder and whispered, “You’re amazing, E,” and slipped her hand inside the basket, pulling out a treat. “I got you something. Smuggled them out of a sailor’s lunch.”

Upon Mal’s palm lay a pile of blueberries so plump and so blue, they appeared painted from one of Evie’s books.

Evie caressed the fruit with just one fingertip. Its skin was smooth and slick, so unlike the rotted fruit she’d eaten all her life. “It’s fresh.”

“It’s yours.” Mal curved her free hand around Evie’s, guiding the fruit into Evie’s palm. “You deserve good things, Evie. This is just a start.”

Evie wasn’t in love.

She wasn’t in love when she split the blueberries with the girl who transformed her from Isle Seductress and Isle Bitch into E. Softly-spoken E.

She wasn’t in love when they sat upon that blanket arm-touching-arm and combined the rest of their food into less-unsavory blends: mildewed sardines on moldy bread (the texture of one disguising the texture of the other) and browned-bananas sandwiched between stale crackers (the taste of one hiding the taste of the other).

She wasn’t in love when their picnics became tradition and the blueberries kept reappearing and the unsavory-blends became games of rebellion-against-the-crown.

She wasn’t in love.

She never felt anything for the boys. Never felt anything when they touched or when they kissed or when they flirted back. As the Isle’s Seductress Bitch, she made a name for herself: A name no one wanted to cross. She broke hearts and clawed skin, a girl as lethal and seductive as her mother before her. Mommy’s Little Evilette, a Princess-in-Training. Three girls – seductress, bitch and E – pressed into one evil little villain.

She wasn’t in love.

crush [krəsh, v.]: To extract or obtain by pressing or squeezing.

She was in love.

She is in love.

Was. Is. Always.

love [ləv, v.]: Needs no definition. It just is.

They walk outside into the night, arms brushing, skin-against-skin, and Evie’s mind repaints the image of Mal’s lips slick with strawberry juice. So plump. So red.

And along with that image; along with the scattering of Evie’s breath, which comes faster with each second she dedicates to the thought of Mal’s lips; is the out-of-body sensation that She Isn’t Who She’s Always Pretended to Be.

She’s someone else.

Someone different.

Evie, but not Evie.

A girl not attracted to boys, but to girls.

A girl who wants to kiss her best friend.

A girl who’s tired of holding it all inside.

Moisture fills the air. It’s almost raining, but not quite. Mal loves it when it rains. So many times, she’s collected Evie’s hand and tugged her out into the splash of a storm. “Dance with me, E,” she’s said, twining her fingers through Evie’s. “Let’s pretend the rain is just for us.”

On those days, laughter has sprung from Evie’s lips, lively and light. “Maybe the rain is just for us.” She’s looped her arm around her best friend’s waist. “Maybe the world created it just so we can dance.”

Mal has grinned a dragon’s grin, wild and wide. “Smart world.” She’s twirled Evie through puddles, kicking up droplets of water. “Smarter rain.”

Tonight, Mal’s smile is slippery. Stained red, it teeters on her face, almost as if she isn’t sure she’s entitled to smile. “Dance with me?” She holds out her hand.

Evie can no longer resist. She cups her hand in Mal’s and pulls her close.

Mal sighs and rests her chin on the crook of Evie’s shoulder. “You smell like blueberries,” she says, nuzzling the skin of Evie’s throat.

Evie shivers. “I bet you taste like strawberries.”

The words are out before she has a chance to pull them back. She stiffens, holding Mal as if she might break her or them or the entire world. So of course, the sky chooses that moment to break open, spilling rain down onto them both.

Evie shudders at the change in temperature. Her knees weaken.

Mal leans back until they are gazing eye-to-eye. There’s a difference in Mal’s bright green eyes. A difference Evie knows so well, it steals her breath.

Evie’s mother taught her many things.

That love is a trick.

That girls do not love other girls.

And that when someone carries a spark in their gaze, a spark that ignites heat in places deep, that person wants a kiss.

Mal’s eyes spark, igniting heat within places deep inside of Evie. Mal wants a kiss. And Evie wants to be the one to kiss her.

Evie moistens her mouth. “I thought it started with the strawberries,” she whispers, sliding her arms around Mal’s waist. “But I was wrong. It started long before. With the blueberry picnics, I think.”

“You’ve been keeping secrets, E.” Mal’s voice is a warmth dancing along Evie’s lips. “Tell me what they are.”

Evie’s heart beats into her throat. She swallows it down. “I think I need to show you this secret.”

“Then show me.” Mal tilts her lips close enough to taste.

Evie closes the distance.

Mal’s lips taste of strawberries, of course.

And salt, because Mal is nothing if not salty.

And a hint of smoke, maybe left over from her dragon-fire.

They kiss as the rain falls down, and somewhere in the crush of their bodies, they begin to dance. Their lips pressed togher, they twirl until the world turns black with night and slick with rain puddles. But even when swirls of wind sweep through the school grounds, Evie is still warm, wrapped in her best friend’s arms.

“Finally,” Mal whispers as they break the kiss.

All kinds of words press themselves onto Evie’s tongue. Finally. And I never want to stop kissing you. And This was always so much more than a crush. Vying for dominance, no words come. Evie rolls her forehead against Mal’s and hums.

In the quiet, they find the space between. There is no crush. There is only them.

“Just so you know,” Mal says, her breath soft upon Evie’s ear, “I’ve wanted this for a really long time. And I blame it all on the blueberries.”

Evie laughs. “Sorcery for sure.”

But just to be certain, Evie spells Mal’s lips with another kiss, this one lasting through another rain-swept dance.

#malvie #mevie #malvie fic #mevie fic #mal/evie #evie/mal #descendants #descendants fic

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