Hey! Hailey here with some new writing. This is my first fic for the Descendants fandom, so please be nice :) I would like this to be a collection of one-shots based on life on the Isle of the Lost (and maybe a few on Auradon). I will be doing requests, so please put a request in your review and I'll write it as soon as possible. Please make your requests based on the living conditions I established in the first chapter, so it will be like a series of vignettes as opposed to a long story.

Trigger Warning: In this chapter there will be child abuse, rape, and some minor swearing. If any of this bothers you, avoid this fic!

Disclaimer: If I owned Descendants... It would suck because I have no talent or creative ability. But since it doesn't suck, I don't own it! I own nothing you recognize from the movies or anything else Disney (there will be references).

I really appreciate reviews! I get massive writer's block if I feel like no one cares about the fic (which has led to the discontinuation of many, which I'm not proud of). Hope you enjoy!


"Brat, go get me some food!" Maleficent called from the other room. Mal jumped out of bed in a hurry, not even taking the time to change out of her pajamas. Her head had practically just hit a pillow, but when Mom wanted her midnight snack, it was unwise to deny it to her.

Thoughts used to flood her head when she went on these nightly errands, bitter resentments. If her mother wanted food so badly at these ungodly hours of the night, then she could go get it herself. Even the defiant thoughts had quickly quelled however, after she stupidly brought it up. That had earned a painful beating.

She climbed out her window and sprinted to the center of the Isle, since all of the street markets were long closed. In the central Isle, there were sometimes clubs open. It was a little harder to sneak into kitchens than grab stuff of a cart, but she'd gotten pretty good at it.

In her run, she'd crashed into someone, and prayed they weren't important. She couldn't afford to be late with her mother's food. To her relief, it was Jay walking with Evie. "Hey, why are you out so late?" she asked them.

Evie replied, "Mom woke up because she had a dream where I was too fat. She immediately woke me up and told me to go for a run and not come home until morning."

Jay nodded, "I was sitting on the roof when she ran by. Just thought she might want company."

"Midnight snack again?" Evie asked sympathetically, as if her mother hadn't just forced her to run until dawn.

"Every night, like clockwork."

Jay rolled his eyes. "You'd think she'd learn to keep a little extra food in the fridge.

"What's the fun in that when she can wake me up to do it?" Mal gave a half smile. "I gotta go; I can't be late again."

"We'll see you tomorrow, then. Try my idea!" Evie waved, picking up a walking-speed jog as Jay walked next to her.

She sprinted the last five minutes into the central Isle. There, she wandered into a pub, ignoring an old pirate's whistle as she passed. She fluttered her eyelashes at the guy behind the counter, and had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes as he practically melted. "May I have a grilled cheese?" she asked with a sweet lilt to her tone.

"Of course, my darling." He drawled, passing a note to the cook. Within a few minutes, a grilled cheese was placed in front of her. "That'll be five dollars, missy." She nodded, pretending to reach into her pockets as her elbow bumped the grilled cheese on the counter, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Oh my god, I'm so clumsy!" she whined, picking up the sandwich. "I can't eat this now."

The guy behind the counter was so smitten with her that he seemed to forget that a villain kid would willingly eat that grilled cheese had they found it in a dumpster out back, as he told her, "That one's on the house. Let me get you another."

She clutched the sandwich and as he turned to put in another order, she bolted. She ran as fast as she could, almost skipping with joy had she not been going so fast. Evie had suggested this tip as opposed to sitting and waiting for one of the workers to get distracted. She hadn't been too comfortable with the flirting bit, but Evie was a good teacher.

She looked at the watch she'd stolen last week, and this time was faster than last night's by forty seconds. She felt a sense of triumph, as she walked through the front door and announced her presence.

"No need to shout! I'm right here." Maleficent barked, contradicting the lecture she'd given last night about sneaking around.

"Sorry," she lowered her voice quickly. "I brought your food."

Maleficent snatched the bag from her and peered inside. She halted her hand reaching in to grab her meal as looked up to glare at her daughter. "You brought me grilled cheese two nights ago." she said slowly.

Mal lost eye contact with her mother not even two seconds after it started. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to respond with. She didn't see what was wrong with that, but couldn't think of a way to phrase the question without Maleficent feeling the need to reprimand her daughter for having an attitude.

"My bad?"

Apparently that wasn't good enough, because Maleficent was up in an instant, yanking Mal to the ground by her hair and kicking her. "Worthless brat! You don't get to give me attitude! You should be grateful for everything I've done for you!"

Mal whimpered as her mother used her boots to create new bruises and darken old, all the while screaming hurtful comments. She wanted to yell that she was right there, she didn't have to yell, and let her teenage sarcasm show. However she was paralyzed in fear, and couldn't get her body to respond to her brain. After Maleficent left, taking the offending sandwich with her she noted, she still lay on the ground.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but it gave a temporary relief from the pain and she welcomed it with open arms. She didn't know what she dreamt of, but she'd almost smiled when she woke. At least until the forgotten pain crashed over her in a tidal wave.

She gasped, holding her breath as she hauled herself to her feet. She made her way to her room on unsteady legs. She sat on her bed for a few minutes until Evie tapped on her window. She motioned for her to come in, and her best friend climbed in quietly and sat next to her.

"How was last night?" Evie broke the silence, pretending she didn't see her sister struggling to breathe.

"It went easily. Your plan was brilliant - it shaved off forty seconds." Mal nodded in thanks.

Evie hummed in approval, but turned her head towards her friend. "Then why do you look like a zombie?"

Mal gave a weak laugh, groaning as it jostled her bruised ribs. "I brought grilled cheese. Apparently every other night is too much for grilled cheese." She sighed, the hopes that she could please her mother once again diminished.

"I'm sorry." Evie said, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be. You helped." Mal reassured her friend. They sat on her bed for a little while longer in silence. "I don't know how I'm going to get my chores done today."

Evie shook her head. "I'll help you."

Mal waved off the offer. "I couldn't. Your mom would kill you."

Her friend jumped off the bed. "I don't have many chores at home, remember? I'll just tell her I've been out jogging. Or practicing flirting. We'll figure out which later. But first, I'm going to go get you some ice."

"You're the best, Eve." Mal said as her friend climbed back out the window. She slowly leaned back on her old mattress, looking at the cobwebbed ceiling and wondering if the kids over in Auradon had to go through the same tortures. Would Belle beat her child? Probably not.

She shook her head, regretting letting the thoughts even cross her mind. It's not like she ever had a way off the Isle. It was just her lot in life, apparently. She could never become anything more than the poor girl stuck on the Isle because her mother was a shitty person.


He took an apple from a street cart, and bit into it. Mother had been particularly horrible today. First, he'd earned a swift punch to the gut for not making breakfast exactly how she liked it, then she had gotten her hands on the liquor cabinet and drunk herself silly. She'd spent the past hour mumbling about stupid mutts and giving him an enthusiastic lecture on the evils of dog-kind.

Of course he only pretended to listen to her tirade - he'd heard it a million times. Evil dogs, blah blah blah, beautiful fur coats, blah blah blah, sharp teeth, worthless beasts. Thank goodness there weren't many dogs on the Isle of the Lost. She'd probably lead a fox hunt or something.

As he turned down an alley, he heard a sound that chilled his bones. From around the corner, there was a loud barking. He froze as a big, mean bulldog wearing a red collar with spikes came barreling at him, slobber spraying from his lips and tail high as he growled. Carlos couldn't help the little scream as he jumped onto the dumpster next to him. The dog angrily looked up at him, still barking and slobbering.

He ignored the lingering pain in his abs as he hoisted himself off the dumpster and onto the roof of Jafar's market. He was supposed to meet Jay here, but his friend was clearly running late. He hoped everything was fine.

His worries were diminished when his friend jumped up next to him, off the same dumpster. "Dude! Did you not see the dog down there? You could've been eaten!" Carlos scolded, looking over the edge for any signs of the dog.

Jay just laughed. "You met Butch, huh? He's a customer's dog."

"He's evil! Did you see the size of his fangs?!" Carlos was still worked up over the encounter, while unknowing that his friend was smirking behind him.

"Chill. He's a tiny bulldog-"

"My mom told me a story about a bulldog that once started eating someone's ankles and worked their way up until all that was left was a hat and a dog twice the size it was before." Jay was trying not to laugh, but the look of sheer terror on his face at such a cheesy story was too much.

"Not all dogs are evil, Carlos." He said. "Let's go."

He got back later in the day, to his mom sitting on their Dalmatian fur couch. She always whined about it being imitation - they'd taken her fur coats before exiling her. They lived in a smaller shack, in the dumpier part of the Isle. No doubt Cruella de Vil was evil, but she didn't have much say over what happened in the Isle. Compared to murder, skinning a couple puppies didn't earn you much power over the villain community.

"Child, clean up the living room." Cruella demanded, putting her feet up on the coffee table.

He looked around, taking in the shattered glass and empty beer bottles that had been significantly less than when he left. There were also cigarette butts on the floor, none of them in the ashtray he'd made her when he was little. He kicked an empty bottle and mentally cursed his mother's drinking problem for the hundredth time. It seemed when she could no longer collect furs, she'd turned to a new addiction. He kinda wished they'd give her back her coats so she would stop.

He started picking up the whole glasses and the larger shards, throwing them in a trash bag. He grabbed the broom and started on the cigarettes, ashes, and little shards littering the floor. When he was finished, he turned to his mother, but she gestured to some ashy marks on the couch.

He ran his finger over one of the burns, but it wasn't just a layer of ash on top. She'd burnt the upholstery. "I can't clean this," he stated.

"You will!" She suddenly spat. Her black and white wig tilted sideways as she turned her head.

"You've burned the couch."

She grabbed him by the ear and yanked his face close to hers. "You useless, idiot boy! Clean the couch, dammit!"

She then got up, and he pretended not to see her sway a little bit before stomping into the bedroom. He muttered something she wouldn't approve of under his breath, grabbing a brush and removing at least the ashes from the spots.

Cruella de Vil was constantly intoxicated. She loved her beer, she loved her vodka, and she loved her cigarettes. How she could use all of them at once was beyond him. She never left the house, either. She sent Carlos on trips to "buy" food, liquor, and cigarettes for her. It was at the point where when liquor store owners even saw him they would grab their brooms and chase him down.

He always smelled like his house did, unfortunately. He hated the stench that he carried with him everywhere. His friends had stopped commenting on it, because they understood. They all told each other everything that went on at home.

When he was done trying to "clean" the ruined upholstery, he snuck to his room, which was almost more of a walk-in closet, with the bed taking up half of it and two piles of clothes (one clean and the other not) making a maze of the other. He reached under his pillow for the one possession he really owned. It was a bottle of crushed lavender perfume Evie had crushed for him one Christmas, and spritzed himself a few times before stashing it back under his pillow. She'd promised him another one if it could last until next Christmas.

On the way out of his house, he stopped to look at the one painting in the gloomy house. It was of a Dalmatian, one that he'd found in Jay's father's market. He'd gotten it for a good trade, because "Any friend of Jay's is welcome here." He found it ironic he'd said that, since half the time Jay himself wasn't welcome there. But he was grateful for it.

The dog looked regal in the painting, standing tall with his tail held high. He was ten when he'd brought it home, wanting to make his mother happy. He didn't understand why she taught him to despise dogs but she craved their fur all day. He'd brought it home anyways, hoping it would make her smile when she looked at it. Boy, he had been wrong.

Little Carlos had sure gotten a beating for bringing the devil into their home. He'd traded his last toy for it though, so he was determined to put it to some use. She didn't even comment on it when he'd hung it in their living room.

He grimaced at the painting and it's memories before leaving the house to grab some dinner.


"That was fun," she said as her and Jay were walking back to her mother's castle. She always enjoyed getting to leave the confines of her room, because when she was home her mother was constantly fussing about her appearance. It also gave her the opportunity to steal more food than her mother would've let her have.

"Yeah, it was." Jay nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?" He knew she was perfectly capable of walking herself home, but the road to the castle was shady with lots of thugs. Her friends just felt better sending one of the guys with her. It was normally Carlos since Jay had work to do, but Jafar's Market was closed today so it wasn't necessary.

"I think so," she replied. The Evil Queen sometimes decided to randomly force her to stay home and work on her posture, but usually allowed her to go out if she said she was going for a run. A six hour run.

They made it to her castle, but Evie froze at the sight of a motorcycle on their lawn. "No, not again," she whispered.

He looked where she was staring, and clenched his jaw. "I'll go meet you in your room. Good luck." he touched her shoulder before grabbing the vines on the side of the castle and starting to climb to her open window.

She slowly walked inside, and hoped she could quickly make it to her staircase. Unfortunately, her mother and a big, burly guy were sitting on their couch. "Evie, dear, I'm glad you're home." The Evil Queen stood, with the guy right behind her. "I brought another one for you to practice with."

She felt fear crawl up her insides. Her mother was so obsessed with making her into a whore that could marry into royalty was terrifying. Just the appearance wasn't enough; she brought guys from the pub to help her practicing kissing and… other stuff. "I'm tired, tonight, Mom. Maybe some other time?"

"No, Evie! You will do it now, you ungrateful bitch! I can't believe you! It's like you don't even appreciate all I'm doing for you. Do you even want to be royalty someday?" She launched into her rant, started to swing her fists and hitting her a few times.

"Ok. Ok!" she conceded, knowing it was a lost cause in the beginning. Her mother left the room and the guy shoved her roughly against a wall, where she was sure a bruise would appear the next day.

Supposedly they were the practice dummy, where Evie got to be the dominant one and work on "kissing." That was rarely how it panned out. She was usually the dummy for these testosterone-filled guys her mom picked up.

He started kissing her hard, biting her lip until it bled, and she cried out. He must've taken it as a sign of pleasure, because he started to grope her in places she'd rather he not, his nails digging into her chest far enough to draw blood and leave bruises.

It was when he reached under her skirt that she panicked. She tried to kick him, do anything to make it stop. It didn't. He stomped on her foot, then he kept going, and he raped her right there, up against the walls in her house, with her mother listening in the other room.

When he was done, her mother came back in. Evie collapsed to the floor as she pretended she didn't see the man giving her mother money. The Evil Queen went up to her daughter and said, "Go to your room. Practice bigger eyeliner wings until they're perfect. Then do something about your hair." she scolded, walking back to the couch.

Evie lifted herself off the ground and trudged up the stairs until she reached her room.

Sitting on her bed were a concerned Carlos and Jay, and she knew Mal was on the way.

She slowly walked to them and sat between them. They both wrapped their arms around her as she began to sob.

Heavy sobs wracked her body as she clutched Carlos' shirt tighter. She cried for the things she couldn't control, for the things she was too scared to, and everything in between.

Later, she was sitting in Mal's cross-legged lap with her friend braiding her hair. Her injured foot was in Carlos' lap as he held ice to it, and Jay was pacing around the room.

"Again, Evie?" he ranted, waving his arms around. "This can't keep happening. She can't keep doing this to you! You're basically a sex slave!"

She nodded, knowing that this had to be stopped.

Mal tied the braid with a hair tie. "Did he go all the way this time, Eve?"

She didn't feel embarrassed when she nodded her head. These were her friends - she'd told them the first time it happened.

"Damn!" Carlos cursed.

"Are you alright?" Mal asked.

Evie just shrugged. She didn't know what she felt. "I feel dirty."

"Don't." Mal told her firmly. "It's not your fault. Not this time, not ever."

She shook her head. "I should've fought harder. I should've stopped him."

"You couldn't have." Jay reminded her. "If anything, it's our fault. We should've gone down to stop him and this could've been avoided. We're all just too afraid of our parents to do anything."

"It's your mom's fault, Evie. Not yours. Not ours. She's the one doing this." Carlos said.


He wandered through the streets on the Isle of the Lost, recalling his morning. It was no different from every other morning in his life, but it still sucked to say the least.

He woke up in his room, well, the garage. It consisted of a camping mat, an old beach towel as a blanket (seriously, as a trader, his father couldn't even manage to get him a real blanket?), an old gas lamp, and some storage shelves he used to organize his clothes and few belongings.

The door to the garage was violently flung open, almost smacking him in the head where he lay. His watch told him it was only six a.m. Still his father was up and yelling. "Boy! Get up and get to work. I want the shop sweeped before we open and then I want you out."

Jay groaned in response, and the door was slammed shut, encasing him in darkness. He reached for his lighter and lit the lamp, getting up and changing into his street clothes. Sweeping the shop went quickly, but it was a tedious task as you had to maneuver the broom around the objects on the floor. He finished it in record time and was soon out on the streets.

As he walked, he kept his eye out for anything that would be an easy steal. When he got home in the evenings, long after Jafar's Market closed, his father expected him to bring home items for the shop.

He absentmindedly walked towards Carlos' house, hoping he would be available. He walked up to the side of the house and chucked a pebble at his window. The boy's face appeared in the glass and donned a smile, mouthing "One second," before disappearing.

A moment later, he was crawling through the window and jumping, landing on his feet. Jay watched as he closed the window with a soft 'click' and walked over to him. "Hey, dude," he said.

"What's up?" Jay asked, clapping him on the back as they started walking. He stopped as his friend practically jumped out of his skin. "Woah, what's wrong?"

Carlos sighed, resigned. They had promised to never lie to each other about what happened at home. "She threw a bottle at me."

Jay pulled back the smaller boy's shirt and got a look at the angry red welt that stood out against his pasty skin. There were a few small cuts from where the glass had broken, but other than that it wasn't too bad. "Well, it's not that bad this time." he spoke, his voice hard. He hated this. He hated what their parents did to them.

"You think Auradon kids ever have to go through this kind of stuff?" Carlos asked him, a wistful look in his eyes.

Jay shook his head. "Definitely not. Auradon kids are probably all preppy and frilly, and they've never felt an ounce of pain in their lives. 'Oh, look at me, I chipped a nail! It's a fatal injury!'" he imitated this imaginary person with a silly voice, making his friend laugh.

Carlos nodded. "I bet they're all cheerful, pink-wearing, fashion-obsessed, cookie-baking divas."

Jay hummed in agreement. He couldn't have said it better himself. It was easier, too, to imagine that Auradon kids were all suckers who couldn't handle life on the Isle for five seconds. It made them feel stronger, tougher. "Let's go find the girls," he said.

Later that night, when he returned home, his father was waiting, broom in hand. "Did you bring anything home?"

"Yes, father," he reached into his satchel for the compass, necklace, horseshoe, and inkpot he'd collected today.

"Good boy," Jafar praised. "Only six today."

Jafar expected his son to bring home at least time items per day, which was a little unreasonable. Especially considering every shop went into lockdown if he so much as glanced at it. It was well-known that Jay was a thief. It wasn't by choice; his father made him. Which made it all the more unfair that his father kicked him out of the shop to avoid him being seen and potentially angering his customers. If he failed to bring home ten items, he would get as many smacks over the back with the broom handle as the items he didn't bring.

He turned around and started counting. "One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six…"