Hello! I’m Blue, she/her, probably Older Than You.
I write fic sometimes! You can find it under my fic tag. My longer fic is also cross posted on my ao3! Find me at TheBluestBluebird over there.
I also reblog a lot of stuff. Mostly Descendants, but sometimes also classic Disney, Twisted Wonderland, and other DCOMS.
I am old. I was on livejournal. I don’t believe in policing what other people read or write. I do write about dicks sometimes, so please mind the tags/notes if that’s something you don’t want to read. I try to warn appropriately, but drop me a line if you think I’ve missed something and I’m happy to add warnings.
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the evil amulet is a classic but have we considered The Good Amulet . villain who switches sides because they put on The Amulet That Makes You Good and fell too deeply under its spell to ever take it back off and the heroes are trying to figure out how they feel about that ethics-wise
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The most important thing to know about being Chloe Charming is that your parents are disgustingly, adorably in love.
Not that it'll matter anymore. Not if Mom is dead.
That's why I'm writing this journal for you. So if things go wrong (again) and the future is horrible (again), you'll know who you were supposed to be.
The annoying girl by your side is Princess Red of Wonderland, by the way. She's the reason we're in this mess. She's cute, though, so somehow you keep getting over it instead of skewering her every time she does something stupid and reckless and against the rules.
Wonderland has a lot of rules. Red's going through a rebellious phase though, so she won't tell us about most of them. She just keeps saying things like "flowers are illegal" and "my mother would have your head for wearing blue socks on Tuesday" and things like that. Rules that don't make any sense. Not like my rules, which keep us safe. I'll write the most important ones in this log, so you'll know about them even if we mess up again and you wind up as reckless as Red is in this timeline.
Under this, in neat, round handwriting, is a list of rules, labelled:
Chloe Charming's Rules for Being A Good Person
1. Always be kind.
2. Protect your kingdom at all costs.
3. Treat other people like you want to be treated.
4. Do your best.
5. If you're good, good things will happen to you.
6. Don't use magic.
Under this, there's a scrap of pink stationary, on which a different, spikier handwriting has added
7. Don't anger the Queen.
8. Stop acting so annoying.
9. Stop stabbing people.
Chloe runs her fingers over the page. "I think we messed up."
"WHAT?"
"I SAID, I THINK WE MESSED UP!" she shouts up the stairs to Red, who is pushing her way through the overgrown weeds they're surrounded by. There's a soft hiss of rain falling all around them, and Chloe is hunched over to shield the diary with her body from the misty spray. "I DON'T KNOW IF MY MOM IS IN LOVE ANYMORE."
"WHO CARES?" Red shouts back. "MY MOM MIGHT NOT BE EVIL ANYMORE."
"YOU--" Chloe shouts, and then realizes that she's only hurting her own throat by shouting more. If she wants to talk to Red about whatever they've done wrong this time around (whatever time they're in this time), she needs to get her butt up the steps before Red leaves her behind. "Wait up, I'm on my way!"
"Hurry up then!" Red shouts back. "I'm not waiting around to see if our moms are alive in this--wherever we are!"
Chloe tucks the book into her bag, shaking the water off the cover as best she can before stowing it away. "I think we're in my castle."
"Your castle," Red scoffs. "Of course you have a castle."
"You're a princess of Wonderland. Don't you?"
"Wonderland isn't that wonderful anymore. At least not in my timeline," Red says, eyes flickering over to Chloe as she pushes her way up the stairs, through the weeds that Red, with her longer legs, managed to step through without a problem. "We have a castle, but it belongs to my mom. Not me."
"My family shares what we have," Chloe says softly. "Or at least, we did. I don't know who I am in this timeline."
"Your hair is shorter."
Chloe's hand flies up to her head. "It's what?"
"Shorter." Red reaches out to tug on the end of one of Chloe's curls. "You had it down to your belt before, and now it's just past your shoulders. I didn't take you as the type to cut your hair while you were hiding from me, so unless you're a lot more of a badass than I thought, it changed when we jumped."
Chloe's chest aches. "I haven't cut my hair since fifth grade." she manages, around a heart that feels like it's stuttering, lungs that don't seem to work right. She hasn't cut her hair since the fifth grade, when she got a really horrible haircut right before her summer at the lake house, and then proceeded to fall off every flat surface in the lake, and get bit by a snapping turtle so deep that she needed three stitches. She hasn't cut her hair since then. It's superstitious and unbecoming for the daughter of a queen, but Chloe can't cut her hair. When she cuts her hair, things go wrong. Her mom might still be in danger, and they're on the most important rescue mission of their lives, and she can't afford for things to go wrong.
Again.
"Woah, it's just hair." Red says, through a sparkly haze. "Don't freak out about it. I'll cut mine too if that's what you want, I'm not attached to this mop--"
"No!"
"Woah."
Chloe sucks in a breath. "Don't cut your hair. You can't. I can't. We don't need any more bad luck. I have a-- a thing, where every time I cut my hair things go wrong, and I need my mom to be alive again, and I just-- we can't afford it. Don't cut your hair."
"You're freaking out about this." Red says. The corner of her mouth is turned up just the slightest bit. Chloe can't tell if it's a good thing or not. "You're like, super freaked about it. I think you're freaking out about your hair more than you did about your mom."
"My mom's never died before!"
"Maybe she has!"
Chloe's chest hurts. Her ribs feel like they did when she fell down the main stairs of the castle after tripping over her first full-size sword. Like all the air's been knocked out of her. "Why would you say that?"
Red lifts one shoulder. "Because it might be true. We don't know what our mom's fate is yet. She could've died before we had a chance to fix things, and then us traveling back in time might have changed history so she didn't. We don't know if she's ever died before, because we don't know what happened before we changed things. This might not be the first time we've tried to fix things, that's all."
Chloe clutches the bag holding the diary to her aching chest. "It's not."
"How would you know?"
There's a half a second where Chloe considers not telling her. A half second where she lies, says that she just knows. Makes up some lie about how she knows it in her heart, because she's tried so long to be good that she can feel when the future they're in is bad, and she wouldn't know what that feels like if they haven't done it before.
It only lasts a second though, and before she can second-guess the thought, Chloe pulls the diary, her diary, out of her bag. "Because I found this."
Red stretches out her hand. "Give it here."
"It's important," Chloe says, holding tight to the cover. It's just a book, and she does trust Red, but it's hard to let go of the reminder that she's here to fix this mess. That she's done it before. That there's a version of her, somewhere else out there, who wrote this down for her. "You can't lose this one, you have to promise."
"I promise."
"Really."
Red rolls her eyes, but she lifts two fingers and brushes them across her throat. "Off my head and hope to die, Chloe, geez. I'll be careful with it."
Okay, yeah. She is called Mother Gothel. She semi-sucessfully raised Rapunzel, didn't she? She is at least semi-human? She must have some idea how children work?
...Yeah, no.
Gothel didn't exactly bother with childcare in the centuries she was alive. If she got pregnant, she probably knew how to get rid of the pregnancy or just left the kid with its father.
Y'know, like Cassandra.
But Rapunzel had magic hair. If it could keep Gothel unaging, it certainly could keep Rapunzel alive.
So, yeah. Gothel doesn't know how to actually take care of non-magic children.
Problem?
Everyone assumes she does.
I mean. It's her name.
So people just come knocking at her doors whenever they please:
At two in the morning, Jafar, dragging baby Jay like a cat: „He won't stop screaming. Why won't he stop screaming?“
(Nasira, right behind her brother, screaming that „It's because you didn't feed him, you idiot!“. She does have idea how bodies work if nothing else.)
Gothel slams the door at them and goes back to her beauty sleep.
At midday, Gaston, complaining that his toddler refuses to eat eggs.
Gothel refuses to help. It's not her fault Gaston can't manipulate his children, is it now?
Ursula comes wondering when her kid will start finally walking. (Uma is like a month old at this point. Greek gods. Don't question it.)
Gothel, who lost her sense of time about five centuries ago, can't answer.
Hook complaints about his children in general and that they make his head hurt.
Gothel asks if he had considered building a tower and locking them here.
(He has. He has come to the decision that his kids would jump from the tower down with no hesitation whatsoever. He considers hooking Gothel for the suggestion anyway.)
Just. Everyone has these stupid questions, you know?
And they keep bothering her!
Now, there are other people who could help:
Lady Tremaine and Yzma.
However, Lady Tremaine refuses to speak with people „below her station“ and is very unpleasant to speak with anyway. She also keeps setting the men up with her daughters, which is a thing they all try to avoid.
And Yzma? Well, Yzma has been successfully pretending she doesn't speak any common language ever since the Isle was founded.
(I checked multiple sources “¡Sapallaña kaq munasani!” allegedly means I want to be alone in Quechua which is the language Yzma would’ve spoken in the Incan Empire where her story takes place)
In the corner of the chip shop, Carlos leans back against the wall, trying to blend in.
One of the waiters comes by with a tray of empty glasses. He's got a blond ponytail hanging out from under his cap. "You need a seat?"
"Nah. Just waiting."
The waiter, whose name tag says Gilligan, looks over to where Uma and Mal are locked in armed combat over the bar. "Oh. Yeah. That happens a lot here. I could get you a drink, if you want."
Carlos considers this for a moment. The odds of getting poisoned at a crowded restaurant are low, but never zero. The odds of getting poisoned now that he's said he's with the magical morons picking a fight with the manager...are going up significantly. Also, the chip shop is a magical establishment, and it's never a great idea to take unknown food, especially unknown food offered freely, from a magical creature. But refusing it might be stupider.
"Yeah, sure."
Gilligan flashes him a bright smile and holds out his tray. "Great! You can take your pick. No charge."
There's even a melted gummy fish floating in the bottom.
"Thanks," Carlos says, taking the tiniest possible sip of the drink. It's decent. Not too sweet. The enchantment on the fish is wearing off, so instead of swimming around in circles like it's supposed to, it's just sort of wiggling its little gummy fins as it tries to avoid his mouth. "You said this happens a lot?"
Gill hands his tray off to a girl walking by with a bus bin. "Yeah. Uma likes fighting people. She says it keeps things interesting for the regulars."
"Huh."
"We used to run sword fight night, but than the ambulance pack said they were gonna stop showing up when they heard our address, so we stopped. Uma says too much bloodshed is bad for business."
Carlos presses himself further into the wall to suppress a shiver. The ambulance packs are fine, objectively speaking. Werewolves have sensitive noses to sniff you out that make them good at smelling the slightest changes in a patient's health. They're stronger than you strong, and faster than you fast, and they can pull you out of hiding rescue victims from almost any situation thanks to their increased reflexes. There's nothing wrong with them. There's something wrong with him.
"Mhm."
"But you're not here for fight night!" Gil says cheerfully. "Uma'll probably finish beating your guy up real soon, and then you can get a table if you want. We usually only throw out whoever's here to fight."
"Usually?"
"If we don't like you, we'll throw your whole party out," Gil says brightly, "But that doesn't happen much. The last party we threw out was some kids from Uma's old school. They were real mean."
Fascinating.
Where did Mal go to high school, again?
There's a cheer from the bar, and above that, a screech.
"I BEAT YOUR ASS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, MAL BERTHA, AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN."
Cool, cool cool cool.
"That's cool," Carlos says, taking another careful sip of his drink. The fish is sort of sad. If he eats it, will that put it out of it's misery? Or does that make him as bad as a dog, eating a corpse before it's even cooled? "Uh, you guys probably see a lot of neat stuff in here."
Gil laughs. There's a cigarette in his mouth somehow, like he's really on break and not just ignoring the table trying to snap their fingers at him. "Yeah. I had one guy come in the other day who wanted to tell me that Atlantis wasn't real. Can you believe that! He said it was all made up by the Beast, and the real Atlantis that people see on vacation is just the coast of Neverland."
"Crazy. Look, have you ever had someone come in here talking about an enchanted amulet that uh, melted their face off?"
The cigarette bobs as Gil considers this. He smells sweet, not like smoke at all. "Uhhhhh. Oh! You mean the guys with the dick charms!"
Carlos inhales at just the wrong moment, and has to cough so hard that the gummy fish he accidently drank flies out his nose. Turns out ingesting the poor thing doesn't kill it, and his sinuses have never been cleaner.
"The-- yeah, yeah. Their faces went all melty, right?"
"Like cheese in the sun," Gil agrees. "They were so proud of them. Said they'd get laid now, cause of the charms. You wanna--?"
He jerks his head at the door.
He--
No.
There's no way this guy is offering to walk out on his job to hook up in the nasty alley behind the place.
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Rewatching the original "The Little Mermaid" animated movie while working on something else... I can't quite recall at the moment (early into it atm) if this movie ever establishes Eric as the heir of the throne of his kingdom.
I think it'd be really funny if Eric was actually a younger brother. So, like, maybe he's a duke, actually, but he still gets the title of Prince. Travels the sea a lot, unlike a more landlocked heir. Hanging out at this summer seaside palace while the rest of the family is elsewhere for some reason.
Like, imagine Eric's parents and older brother and maybe sister-in-law and niblings getting that letter at the end of this movie. Nearly drowned. Miraculously washed ashore. Fell in love with a mysterious voice and then a mute girl. Got enchanted by a shape-shifting sea witch and nearly married her. Killed the sea witch after she turned into a giant. Married the aforementioned girl who turned out to be the beloved youngest daughter of the mythical King Triton instead and have now established a strong alliance with the merpeople. Wild summer! Wish you were here!
Shoutout to Disney’s Descendants for having the most vibes based worldbuilding I’ve ever seen in my life. Legitimately thinking about any of it for more than two seconds makes everything crumble apart logistically and I think there’s an art in that.
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Ben + what would make him walk away? (Or relationship with his body)
"You're still growing," Evie says, making a note on her tablet. "Impressive. I thought we were the only ones who would have last-minute growth spurts. You are...two inches taller than the last time I took your measurements."
Ben ducks his head. The floor is lovely this time of year. A really nice shade of dirty beige. The housekeeping staff is doing a wonderful job.
"I'm sorry?"
"No, no reason to apologize. I didn't mean it as a complaint, just a comment." Evie says, waving a hand. "You're very tall and kingly. It's a feature. I just need to lengthen some sleeves."
Tall is fine. Plenty of people are tall.
"I have a tailor," Ben tries, shoving away the and kingly part. Evie means it as a compliment. He knows that. She's striving to be as perfect and royal as possible, so he will take her words in the spirit that they were intended, and accept the compliment. "You really don't have to take time away from your commissions to work on me."
"Your tailor styles your father," Evie says, landing right on the heart of the matter with the same flawless precision as her needle. "He makes you look about eighty years old. All you need is some extra gray hairs and you'd be the spitting image of your father."
"He's not so bad--"
"I don't like your father."
"You can't say that." Ben says, around the rock that seems to have gotten stuck in his throat. "Not in the castle. It's not safe."
"A people who cannot express displeasure in their government aren't a fairly governed people," Evie says, making another note on the tablet. It's like she doesn't even care that she's skirting the edge of treason. She's never been in a room alone with his father. She doesn't know that it's not his political power that she should be afraid of. "I don't like him. I think he wears unflattering suits to evoke his image as a war hero, and his unwillingness to evolve in his fashion is just a symptom of his larger inflexibility and fascination with a past that won't come back just because he never stopped dressing for it."
Breathe.
In for three, out for three. Let the tingling in his hands recede. Keep breathing. Slow and steady.
"You really shouldn't say things like that," Ben says, once he's got the riptide of anxiety under control. Technically, his father has access to the school security cameras, but the odds that he's checking them, especially with sound, are low. Most of the dorm cameras don't even have sound. The VK dorms probably do, and Ben's own dorm does, but most of them don't. His father might not even remember that sound is an option, if he does check the tapes. "Auradon doesn't like to talk about it."
"You mean your dad doesn't like to talk about it."
"My dad is Auradon."
Evie shrugs, still tapping away. She's looking down, and the fall of her hair is probably obscuring her mouth from the security cameras. "Well, I grew up isolated on a prison island because of the war, so I'm going to keep talking about it. If your dad doesn't want to hear about the consequences of his actions, maybe he should retire about it already."
"Maybe," Ben agrees. His voice feels thin. "But in the meantime, can you make me look better than him?"
She looks up.
"Ben. Babe. Was that even a question?"
"Hey, I had to ask--"
"I am going to make you look so much better than he could ever hope to be," Evie says, "I'm going to tailor the hell out of you, and by the time I'm done, they're going to think you're the original, and he's the crappy knock-off version."
Slow breathing. He's not being hunted for sport. It's okay to look like his dad. It's okay that he's somehow still growing, and that his dad stands head and shoulders above a crowd, and if he passed on his height and his looks, than who knows what else he passed on, and Ben's never allowed himself to get angry but his body is just like his dad, and--
"Ben. Ben!"
Breathe.
"I'm fine," Ben tells Evie's hand, which is about a centimeter in front of his face all of a sudden. "Just zoned out for a second."
Evie frowns. "Right. Well. I'm going to make you look gorgeous, and if you're so tired that you're zoning out--"
Oh, right. The isle doesn't have psychology courses. The VKs never learned about all of the weird things that human brains will do to protect themselves, so they say they're 'just thinking' when they tune their professors out in class, and 'zoning out' is specifically reserved for when one of them needs to tune out so badly that their body takes over and starts dissociating.
Evie pushes him off her fitting stand. "--go sit down and drink something sweet. It's too warm today anyway, and you've been in a suit all morning, you deserve a break."
He's in shirtsleeves. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jacket and tie are both gone, and have been sitting neatly on a chair for the last hour. He's not actually in a full suit anymore, nor is he overheating, but the thought of sitting down is nice. He's allowed to take a break sometimes.
