jal (in timeline order - fics are all standalone however!)
whatās there to be faithful to? (i am faithful to you, darling): jay and mal give each other tattoos
you feel your heart taking root in your body (like youāve discovered something you didnāt even have a name for): itās a cold night on the isle, and jay doesnāt want to go home
a flash in the sky: jay and mal get caught in the rain
even when i look away i am still looking: jay is hurt and mal tends to his wounds
hold me tight (itās getting cold): jay looks after mal when sheās on deathās door (an old unfinished wip from 2023)
your body told me in a dream it's never been afraid of anything: mal has a nightmare, and jay is there to comfort her
the black sky and all those lights: jay and mal spar (valentineās day fic)
eventually the birds must land: jay, mal, and vulnerability
the place where we weren't stitched up quite right: jay is ill, and mal gets him to eat
core four
take the light inside you like a blessing (like a knee in the chest): there is a storm on the isle
you were burned, about to burn, or still on fire: jay finds it hard to stop stealing in auradon
misc
youād break your heart to make it bigger: uma cares too much
you find yourself down the hall again (the lights gone dim): coach invites jay round for dinner, and jay begins to learn what family is
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it took a month but i did in fact write a new within these walls fic!!
Ruby Red Wishes and Impenetrable Shields
But Jay remembers his mama as honeyed lullabies, like the first bite of syrup soaked baklava, the most loving thing heās ever known. Her fingers, always dancing through his hair, gently detangling the knots. Her arms, always holding him close and hugging him tight. Jayās ear pressed against her sternum, even now he can hear her rushing pulse, irregular and panicked and in sync with his own.
Coach lifts his hand, palm out. "Stop right there. You can't run on my field with those."
Jay stops. He doesn't actually give a shit about authority, or whatever, but Coach is a big guy, and he's not dumb. He's not gonna risk aggravating one of the few teachers who doesn't actively hate them yet.Ā
Coach points at his shoes.
"Go get your cleats on, kid. You can't be on the field in those. It's the rules. No street shoes on the field."Ā
Jay looks down at his feet. He hasn't actually read the rulebook. He has a copy now, sitting on his shiny new school desk along with the textbooks he got from math class and science class (Biological Sciences, whateverĀ thatĀ means), and the packet of papers that Fairy Godmother gave each of them after their first Remedial Goodness class.Ā
He's looked at the rulebook. He's looked at it a lot, actually. It's got a black cover, with white writing on the front, and the whole thing has diagrams inside, along with all of the rules for Tourney written out in a long list with things likeĀ iĀ andĀ ilĀ andĀ iuĀ at the start of them.Ā
It's not like he doesn't want to read it. He's just been busy with other stuff.Ā
"I, uh."Ā Jay tells his boots, before wrenching his eyes up. He's from the Isle. He's not scared of some boring Auradon guy. Coach can't actually kick him off the field for wearing the wrong shoes, that's stupid. "I forgot 'em."
Coach looks at him.Ā
Jay glares back.Ā
Coach breaks first. He jerks his head towards the locker room. "Okay, kid. There's a bucket of spares in the shed. Go take whatever fits for now, and let Sammy here know what size you need after practice. If you wanna stay, that is."
A round-faced kid waves at them. Jay files this away as the mysterious Sammy, who probably stole his first pair of cleats out of his fucking bag in the first place. There's no other logical reason for him to have a spare, but what-the-fuck ever. He's not gonna stir up any shit about it.Ā
He pops off a messy two-finger salute to Coach, the kind that his father fucking hates. Adults here are weird though, so he might get results from being a smartass. "Yessir! Will do, sir!"
Coach laughs. "Call me Coach, kid. We don't doĀ sirĀ on my field. And go get your cleats on. These warmups aren't going to run themselves."Ā
"Yes, Coach," Jay tries. The words don't feel right, but it's what the other boys shout whenever Coach tells them something. "Will do."Ā
He swallows theĀ sirĀ that tries to come out at the end. This man isn't his dad. He's not some little lost goose, imprinting on the first not-white adult he's seen here. He's sixteen fucking years old. (Probably. Ish. He's not really sure). He doesn't need to pretend he's got a dad again. He's better than that.Ā
He runs.Ā
First to the shed, where sure enough, there's a bucket of cleats. Most of them are scuffed up, but there's no holes in the toes, and the laces aren't broken. It's better than most of what they got back home. There's still numbers on the flaps too, but it's not like Jay's ever had a pair of shoes with the size still on them, so he doesn't actually know what number will fit.Ā
He's a normal size guy. He picks a pair that looks normal-ish. There's one spike broken off on the bottom, but he's already faster than most of the guys he was outrunning yesterday. He can still beat them with a broken shoe.Ā
What heĀ can'tĀ do is lose his boots. According to Fairy Godmother, Auradon Prep is a school full of goodness and rainbows and pretty princesses who would never hurt a fly. He should be able to put anything he owns down, and come back later to find it in exactly the same place, no matter how many people walk by it, no trouble at all.Ā
Which means, obviously, that his last pair of cleats grew legs and walked out of his bag on their own. Because nobody at Auradon Prep would everĀ dareĀ stoop to stealing from another student, not evenĀ them.Ā Because of the goodness and princesses and happy sparkles and shit.Ā
So. Either Jay's magical now, and it's spreading to all his stuff like a virus through a preschool, or Fairy Godmother is wrong and somebody's fucking with his shit when he's not looking.Ā
He's willing to put money (not his own, he doesn't have any of that shit) on the second option.Ā
So.Ā
His boots fit in the bottom of the bucket with the spare cleats. They're the only black ones in the pile, but you've gotta be looking for them to see it, and he'll take those odds. If someone wants to take his shit again, they can grab the first shoe-shaped thing they see out of his bag, which is about to be a second pair of fucked-up spare cleats. Then the pretty princes can have so much fun explaining where they got stolen school property from, and--Ā
who is he fucking kidding. It's not like any teachers give a shit about other kids stealing their stuff. They're villains. They get what they deserve.Ā
Jay runs back to practice.Ā
He spends a lot of time running.Ā
"Kid," Coach calls. "Hey, kiddo. Come over here."
Jay jogs to a stop in front of Coach. He's wearing his cleats. They're a little darker than they were when he started practice, but that's what happens when the hole in your sock lines up with the ripped part of the cleat and the plastic sticks into your heel and fills the shoe lining with blood. It's barely visible from the outside, so that can't be why he's getting singled out again. He's following all the rules he can figure out. He only slammed into one guy today. He's blending in.Ā
"Nice job out there," Coach says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Good hustle. You've got some speed on you."Ā
Jay stands up straighter. "I try."
Coach claps his shoulder again. He's got big hands. Strong. He could probably get one most of the way around Jay's neck if he wanted. "You did good. You read that rulebook yet?"Ā
Jay laughs. He knows how to react to this one. Keep it light, keep complaining, like he's a spoiled princeling who can't be bothered.Ā
"Hah. Not yet, Coach. Too much homework to get through first."Ā
Coach frowns. "Kid. The rules are important. Take some time this week, sit down with the book, and lock in. It's not long. You didn't loose it too, did you?"Ā
Jay must've been pushing too hard with all the running today, because his stomach hurts all of a sudden. Probably from running too hard and stopping too fast. He's gotta do something to wind down, like how he used to spend some time after a hard thieving run doing backflips off his favorite roof for a while, until his heart stopped pounding and he wouldn't drip sweat on the goodies.Ā
Ā "Uh. No, Coach. I have it. Just need the time, y'know."Ā
"Well. Maybe once you've read it, you'll understand why it's so important to remember your cleats," Coach says. "You need to wear them to practice every time, not just when you feel like it. We had the loaners here for you today, but you need to get in the habit of bringing them with you."Ā
Jay really, really needs to cool down. He's too hot and too cold at the same time, and it's making him feel like shit. "I will, Coach. Really. I just didn't have them this time."Ā
one day iāll write my fic where jay is convincing audrey to come to balās announcement. and tho itās abt their engagement everyoneās still expecting them to close the barrier for good right. and audrey is distrustful at first bc this is Malās Guy but jay is like hey we couldāve just left you for dead bc thatās what your parents did to us! and eventually they kind of bond over mal i.e her no1 hater and her no1 supporter kind of reconciling. building those bridges you know. and thatās why audrey is at the engagement speech bc jay convinced her to come :)
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ā” happy 10 years of descendants! ā” a series that is close to my heart and is the reason i've met so many cool people here and discovered so many amazing fics and art and gifs <3
realised i never did anything with a jal fic i started back in 2023 so thought iād post it here!! itās unedited, un-proofread, and unfinished :)
cw: mild depictions of blood; near death experience
hold me tight (itās getting cold)
Jay wakes to Malās boot prodding him in the back. He sits up, blinking in the dingy light, and meets her eyes, where sheās standing over him, arms crossed.
āYour turn,ā she says, barely waiting for Jay to untangle himself from the thin blanket before flopping down on the mattress.
Jay hovers for a moment. Her long sleeves disguise the deep cut on her bicep, and already her face is beginning to bloom into purples and reds.
It must be early morning. Not that anyone ever particularly keeps track of time on the Isle, as the sky is a constant dismal grey and there isnāt particularly much need to know the exact time for anything. Thereās a little clock on the bottom right corner of the UKA News Channel, if youāre really desperate, and if you have a TV.
Usually, Jay would slip out now, and hit the streets for late-night stragglers or early-morning risers, when itās still dark and peopleās defences are down. But Malās in a state and he doesnāt want to leave, which means heās got a couple hours to kill until she wakes up and he can interrogate her on what the hell happened for her to get so beat up like that.
Malās probably going to yell at him to quit staring if he doesnāt look away soon, so he turns his attention to the clouded window behind him. The glass isnāt entirely see-through: itās been coloured and patterned so the image outside it distorts. Which is good for not being seen, but bad for wanting to see out. Grey blobs merge together outside, the image so murky and indistinguishable that itās useless to be straining his eyes like this.
So he glances back to Mal, who isnāt asleep yet, but her eyes are closed. Sheās paler than usual, and itās making Jayās stomach crawl, and heās half tempted to annoy her into staying up just so he can be sure that the life isnāt fading from her body. Not that itād matter much, anyway; sheāll just wake up again after she died, with clouded eyes and ghost-white skin and shivering and shaking with the vigour of a storm, and Jay will have a second chance to staunch the bleeding before she dies all over again. But heād rather not have to do that. They donāt have enough bandages, for starters.
Mal opens her eyes, slightly bleary. āDo you know how creepy it is to watch someone sleep?ā she snaps, but thereās no edge to what she says. āFuck off.ā
āDo you want to bleed out?ā
āI was fine earlier, wasnāt I?ā
Jay had taken first watch, obviously, perching on the edge of the mattress as Malās breathing slowed, not daring to breathe himself. Heād watched her chest rise and fall until it found a steady rhythm, and only then did he let his shoulders drop. And then heād given Mal another hour extra before he woke her up, and he did try to negotiate that he could just stay up, and let her sleep, but she was having none of it, and neither was he, so they agreed that sheād only take a few hours, and so heād lay down on the mattress, near-holding his breath so he could hear Malās. And itās not like he slept well, or deeply, or at all, really, just drifting in and out, making sure he was alert in case anything happened.
āThat doesnāt meanāā
āJay.ā Malās glaring at him, the intensity of her face mirroring her mother. Sheās one more objection away from her eyes glowing that acid green that uneases him to no end.
āItās not like youād do me the mercy of dying quietly anyway,ā Jay mutters, the tension in his chest loosening somewhat when Mal lets out an indignant snort.
āDamn right,ā she agrees, and closes her eyes again.
That means he should be taking his leave, so he grabs the bloodied bandages and cloths heād discarded in the dizzy rush of not letting Mal bleed out and slips out past the curtain that partitions the bedroom, into the larger portion of their hideout. Beat up sofa and wonky coffee table in the middle; boxes and cupboards to create a kitchen to the left; a leaky sink and a bucket to the right. Theyāre yet to fix up a shower, so they make do.
The room isnāt too quiet. Thereās noise from the streets outside as usual, shouting and leering, and the ever-present, muffled white noise of the sea against the shore. Creaking and thrumming of the building, never quite settling. Jayās own heartbeat, far too loud in his chest.
He takes to the sink, praying to no god at all that the water will be working. Thereās no plug, so he jams a ribbon of cloth in the hole to stop the water, and fills up the sink as much as the water supply will allow. The thin and yellow and cracked bar of soap, which they save for precisely this, lathers in his hands, and he begins to scrub at the bandages. Dried brown blood blooming atop the off-white cloth, as stubborn as the girl it came from.
He watches the water gather in the sink, swirling blood and dirt against the splintering ceramic. His split and dirty nails scrape at the fabric, slowly easing out the stains. He pretends that there isnāt a slight tremor to his hands. He pretends that it isnāt Malās blood heās washing away.
Itās not perfect but itāll have to do. He eases a wet hand through his hair, reminds himself to tie it up when he gets a chance. The bandages are draped over the windowsill in the hopes theyāll dry in time for whenever their next use will be. Not soon, hopefully. Not that Jay does much hoping.
And then itās back to the bedroom, footsteps thief-light, and Mal has her eyes closed, and sheās breathing, and Jay is trying to blink out the images of bloodshot eyes and translucent skin and a shuddering form, zombie-like in its horror. Not that anything scares him. Not that Malās tiny body under the blanket will haunt him for the rest of his days, death or no.
The barrage in his chest hasnāt stopped since he came across Mal in the street, her face paler than usual and a hand on her stomach she was trying to pass off as having her arms crossed. Heād led them back across the rooftops, the safest passage to the hideout, all his thoughts just out of reach like a receding tide against the shore.
Once theyād reached the safety of the hideout, he began the interrogation. Sheād insisted she was fine, of course, in that bored drawl she knows he hates, til she finally unclamped her hand from the wound to reveal her palms and fingers, soaked in blood. The sharp smell still lingers in the air.
āI can do it myself,ā sheād grumbled as he secured the bandages; the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
But her speech was already slurred; her face pale; her head beginning to slump. Jayās thiefās fingers made quick work of the bandages. The flesh of her arm was almost translucent in the dim light. She couldāve been a ghost. It couldāve been a dream; a memory. White, like moonlight. Like bone.
Now, Jay just focuses on her slightly-parted lips, raspy inhales shaking through her like a wind tunnel. Body working overtime to keep her alive.
Soon, itāll be morning. He can do the hard work when sheās awake. Heāll prop her up; pump her heart with his own two hands if he has to. Anything at all. They just have to get through the night.
The hours, he wastes away in the bedroom: sharpening knives; patching up clothes; he even manages to do a few rounds of sit-ups. Malās out cold the whole time. Jay keeps checking sheās still breathing.
When the watery light of day begins to seep in through the window, he heads out to the kitchen. The back of the cupboards are fake; he dislodges the panel to reveal their collection of tins. Out of date, by Auradon standards, but cans never really go off and this stuff is more valuable than gold on the Isle.
Thereās a tin of kidney beans, a few tins of soup, and a tin of pineapple chunks. Itās for emergencies only, Mal had said, pointing a finger at him. For when theyāre seconds away from starvation.
As usual, he disregards what Mal says. The soup isnāt too far gone; only a few months. The scratched label is colourful, with a little cartoon drawing of a chicken to signify its flavour.
The beat-up camping stove splutters to life, Jay managing to coax some flame from it. One day heāll figure out how to nick the stove from his dadās shop for the hideout.
The soup sloshes into the dented saucepan well enough. It begins to bubble and Jay tips it into a bowl.
Malās awake when heās back in the bedroom, squinting at the lightening room.
āMorning.ā Jay shoves the bowl into her hands.
She frowns down at it and takes a sniff. āWhat is it?ā
āChicken soup.ā
āFrom the cupboard? Jay, I said thatās for emergencies!ā
āYou nearly dying is an emergency.ā
āI didnāt nearly die.ā
Jay perches on the edge of the mattress. āHow are your bandages looking?ā
āFor evilās sake, I just woke up.ā Mal looks back down at the soup and up again. āWhat about you?ā
āIāve already eaten.ā Jay shrugs when heās met with Malās sceptical look. āIāve been up for a while.ā
She either believes him or is too tired to contest because she lifts the bowl to her lips. Jayās just glad sheās getting something warm inside her. Her hands are so small cupped around the bowl, as if theyāre trying to hold the whole world.
āAre you gonna tell me what happened?ā Jay only asks when the dregs are gone and sheās wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand.
Mal scoffs. āIs that what that was? Bribery?ā
āNothing is free,ā he shrugs. The silence stretches, Mal staring him down. Jay shifts so heās facing her, meeting her gaze. āCāmon, Mal. Let up. You know I wonāt leave it alone.ā
Thereās shouting from outside, a clear sign that the Isle has started to wake up. Jay will have missed the best window for scouting the markets by now. The emptiness of his pockets is as gaping as the mouth of a volcano, swallowing him down in fiery fury. But that wonāt be until later. The old man canāt scream at him if Jay isnāt around to be screamed at.
Mal is in front of him, right now, with pale cheeks and dim eyes. Her breath leaves her mouth in small, ragged puffs. She is here, alive, looking right at him. That is all that matters.
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call me terminally academia-brained but i do think a lot of the fun of character analysis is figuring out how to build a compelling argument for a particular reading using lines of evidence from canon as well as meta/intertextual support
and you could say that what iām saying here is basically āa lot of the fun of doing character analysis is doing character analysisā but letās be real a lot of fandom character analysis is pretty heavily vibes-based. and i think thatās where i really chafe up against the traditional thought-terminating fandom attitude of like, everyoneās opinions hold equal weight and any interrogation of that is inherently hostile. because i think itās fascinating to dig into where others are coming from in terms of their views on characters or dynamics or whatever, especially when they differ significantly from more commonly expressed views, and part of that digging is asking people okay what parts of canon are you drawing from to support your opinion? what parts of canon are you disregarding or downplaying? how does this argument hold up in the light of how race, gender, class, ability, etc. operate both in the pieceās in-fiction and real world contexts?
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This made my brain light up like I am a sleeper agent activated by the potential to traumatize VKs????
anyway in my heart this is a group chat after Mal was invited to do a fancy solo event as a Royal Girlfriend, which is why sheās the first to experience the blasphemy of Blue Cheese Tray
VKS ALL DAY (group mms)Ā
Mal: TERRIBLE TIMES HAVE BEFALLEN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF MAL
Mal: HYPOCRICY RUNS RAMPANT THROUGHOUT THE LAND
Mal: THOSE WE ONCE CALLED COMRADES HAVE BETRAYED OUR TRUST. SACRED BONDS OF RESPECT HAVE BEEN BROKEN. VIOLATED. THROWN AWAY.Ā
Mal: MUCH LIKE THIS BULLSHIT SHOULD BEĀ
[Photo message]Ā
[photo message]Ā
[photo message]Ā
Mal: WHEN WE EAT MOULDY FOOD IT'S ""BAD""" and ""UNSANITARY"" and ""OHHHH YOU DON'T NEED TO DO THAT ANYMOREĀ š„ŗš„ŗš„ŗ"""Ā
Mal: BUT WHEN THESE FUCKING HYPOCRITICAL ASSHOLES (message not sent)
Mal: FUCK (message not sent)
Mal: is there a language filter on the school networkĀ
Evie: YesĀ
Carlos: yesĀ
Mal: disgusting. Much like this so-called food. Itās VILE. When these ungrateful royal morons bother to notice what they put in their own mouthsĀ it's "'FINE"" because THEIR mold is ""CULTURED"" but when I DO IT I AM PATHETIC?????Ā
Mal: I am going to shove their mold cultures so far down their throat that it can touch the stick they all seem to have up their royal behinds.Ā
Carlos: yeah itās grossĀ
Mal: wait when did you get to eat this stuffĀ
Carlos: uhĀ
Carlos: I am invoking my right to remain silent. Iām also invoking my right to a lawyer @ evie??????Ā
Evie: [blocked message]
Evie: [blocked message]
Evie: oh I actually canāt serve in a court of law unless I get my retaining fee of one Hundred William Dollars first.Ā
Jay: Iāll be legal counselĀ
Mal: BETRAYAL ON ALL SIDESĀ
Mal: anyway itās gross and Audrey laughed at me when I tried to send it back even tho I asked the waiter dude SO NICELY to tell the kitchen they messed up
Mal: I think weāre gonna have to kill someone???? About it????Ā