* 𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒂 ᵒᶠ 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 .

( . . . ) an 𝚊 𝚞 𝚛 𝚊 of 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 .

[wascoy]

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#WASCOY : highly private and selective writing blog for jane of d.isney's d.escendants . heavily affiliated with washook , wasmal , wasrot , wasfawn & washeir . endeared by evangeline : she / her, est, 21+.

A STUDY IN ...

usefulness,   desperation   to   be   beautiful,   healing   through   tenderness,   being   nothing   like   your   mother,   being   everything   like   your   mother,   the   strength   in   softness,   only   the   pure   of   heart,   and   coping   with   abandonment.

[wandheiir-a]

song: middle of nowhere - frawley

location: jane’s bedroom

time: afternoon

opento: jane | @wascoy​

“i knew that it was stupid, but i needed a change.”

[wascoy]

soft   blue   eyes   watery   with   concern,   fingers   softly   tracing   at   her   twin's   wrist.   ❝   i've   been   so   worried   about   you   —   i   wish   you   could   just   understand   that.   ❞

[washeir]

the   chuckle   which   falls   past   upturned   lips   could   be   called   naught   but   fond   —   ben   wonders   ,      oftentimes   ,      whether   jane   is      at   all aware   of   just   how   she   excels   .      he   wonders   whether   she's   been   told   enough   :      whether   he's   told   her   enough   ,      or   whether   she   might   be   right   to   presume   that   she's   slipped   under   the   radar   .      the   thought   is   almost   enough   to   cause   a   crack   in   the   gentle   smile   he   wears   ,      tugs   at   him   in   a   way   that   coils   something   ugly   in   his   stomach   .

he's   prepared   for   a   hundred   situations   .      prepared   speeches   to   convince   her   ,      each   of   them   laced   with   flowery   prose   &   talk   of   kingly   duty   .      dripping   with   enchantment   and   weighted   language   ;      ben   had   been   prepared   for   every   scenario   except   this   one   .      except   the   one   in   which   jane   agrees   with   precious   little   pushing   .      brows   furrow   unbidden   ,      and   to   match   them   ,      a   frown   at   gently   grazed   lips   .

❛   ...   are   you   sure   ?   ❜         there   is   some   humour   in   it   ,      ben   thinks   ,      that   he   would   come   here   so   prepared   ,      only   to   try   and   talk   jane   into   thinking   it   over   when   he   deigns   she   agrees   too   quickly.         ❛   i   just   mean   —   i   don't   expect   an   answer   right   now   .      you   can      —      you   can   take   all   the   time   you   need   .   ❜

her   dulcet   words   wrap   themselves   'round   ben's   throat   —   emotions   rising   with   bile   —   almost   suffocating   him   in   equal   parts   affection   and   disappointment   .      that   she   thinks   him   brave   is   a   comfort   to   sink   into   ,      so   long   as   ben   does   not   hold   a   magnifying   glass   too   close   to   himself   .      he   wishes   he   could   assure   her   he   thinks   the   same   of   her   :      how   brave   she   must   be   to   cling   to   herself   in   these   past   few   turbulent   years   that   have   so   changed   everyone   else   .      he   almost   does   :      the   words   saccharine   where   they   sit   atop   his   tongue   ,      waiting   at   the   floodgates   to   spill   .      he   doesn't   —   she   wouldn't   believe   him   .     

❛   hey   ,      you   wanna   know   a   secret   ?   ❜      is   what   he   says   instead   ,      leaning   just   a   mite   closer   to   jane   :      the   smile   adorning   his   lips   not   one   befitting   of   a   king   ,      but   every   inch   that   of   a   boyish   mischief   ,      ❛   i'm   not   that   brave   . you just ... keep trying to do the next right thing . and then if you fail , you try again . or you get transformed into a beast and you just have to hope there's someone smart enough nearby to shoot water in your face .   ❜ the giggle which escapes him at the recollection makes him feel altogether too young .

it   paves   way   for   a   more   grievous   expression   after   but   a   moment   .      (   and   isn't   there   something   poetic   there   ,      that   these   moments   of   stolen   youth   must   always   make   way   for   duty   ;      a   boyhood   in   exchange   for   a   kinghood   .   )         ❛   you'll   be   okay   .      i'll   be   here   to   help   you   ,      and   —   and   you're   really   very   smart   on   your   own   ,      jane   .      i   wouldn't   ask   you   if   i   didn't   know   you   could   do   it   .   ❜

such   a   statement   isn't   intended   to   PRESSURE   ,      it's   the   truth   ,      a   statement   torn   raw   and   honest   straight   from   ben's   chest   :      i   have   faith   in   you   .  

[wascoy]

ben   florian   was   warm   and   safe   and   good,   a   trifecta   of   characteristics   that   made   all   that   flowed   from   him   —   all   mannerisms,   behaviors,   words,   actions,   attributes   —   be   laced   with   such   a   remarkably   enchanting   quality,   and   not   simply   one   of   a   juvenile   reference   to   all   of   their   fantastical   origins.   that   would   be   silly   !   but   oh,   oh,   he's   so   gentle,   so   soft   in   a   way   jane   can   hardly   fathom,   in   a   way   that   seems   like   second   nature   for   him   and   perhaps   eleventh   or   twelfth   for   her.

she   feels   an   inkling   that,   for   a   transient   moment,   she   has   said   the   wrong   thing,   chosen   the   wrong   answer   on   her   test,   so   awkward   and   improper   in   this   position   being   imposed   upon   her.   but   ben,   oh   ben   florian,   he   eases   such   a   concern   with   his   following   sentences,   pulling   jane's   pinked   lips   out   of   the   pout   they   had   formed   into,   and   into   something   offering   some   semblance   of   a   smile.

okay,   it   was   a   bit   more   than   some   semblance   of   a   smile.   it   was   a   wide   -   faced   and   ethereal   grin,   ivories   on   full   display,   nestled   in   the   dimpling   and   wrinkling   of   her   cheeks.   even   his   giggle   .   .   .   seemed   so   aristocratic,   and   yet   sophomoric   in   a   way   that   did   not   take   away   from   his   prestige   and   owed   respect,   but   added   to   it.

jane's   always   been   one   to   hear   only   what   she   wanted   to,   anyway   (   or,   at   least,   outwardly   display   that   she   hears   selectively   ).   ❝   you   really   think   i'm   smart   ?   ❞   the   question   seemed   more   befitting   asked   by   an   insecure   ten   -   year   -   old,   but   in   jane's   heart   of   hearts,   that   was   all   she   was,   and   all   she   ever   would   be.   even   on   ben's   court,   she   would   always   be   playing   dress   -   up   in   her   mother's   clothes,   knowing   that   poofy   dresses   and   wands   did   not   a   proper   fae   make.

❝   but   why   me   ?   ❞   asks   jane,   as   though   ben's   answer   would   change.   ❝   it's   not   like   i'm   the   only   one   that   knows   magic.   and   i'm   such   a   beginner   .   .   .   you   know   how   my   mom   was   with   it   all.   what   if   i'm   not   good   enough   ?   ❞

[wandheiir-a]

❛ 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄 ? 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 . 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈'𝐌 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 …   𝒔𝒐 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 …❜ independent. private. selective. heavily divergent jane of d.isney’s d.escendants. ©

[flowerytale]

James Baldwin, from If Beale Street Could Talk Florence and the Machine, from Various Storms & Saints Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet

Heart imagery by Andrea Zanatelli Eye with Tear (oil paint and resin tear on canvas) by Nancy Fouts Douleur d'amour (detail) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

[rottentothecoreee]

[wizmischief]

pretty,    pretty    princesses    everywhere.    with    their    pretty    perfect    hair    and    their    pretty    perfect    dresses,    with    their    awful    fake    smiles    embedded    on    their    features.    can    you    notice    the    boiling    resentment?    deep    rooted    in    her    nature,    after    being    a    prisoner    on    the    isle    of    the    lost    despite    having    not    hurt    a    single    soul.    and    could    you    blame    her?    all    she    knew    were    mere    myths,    legends    from    a    far    past.    her    dad’s    mistake    that    justin,    max    and    her    had    to    pay.    thin    was    the    line    between    forgiveness    and    revenge.

and    thin    was    the    line    of    pretending    she’ll    ever    be    accepted    and    integrated    among    the    auradon    peers.    at    least,    where    her    home    once    was,    she    was    accepted    for    who    she    really    was.    unmistakably,    undeniably,    unapologetically    herself.    alex    notices    an    ebony    clay    of    hair    and    a    pretty    colorful    dress,    so    she    approaches.    like    a    predator,    who’s    about    to    strike.    her    back    leaned    over    the    lockers,    in    close    proximity    with    the    other,    eyelashes    batted    in    a    mockery    manner.

“    what    would    it    take    for    you    to    bibbidi    -    bobbidi    -    help    me?    ”    mockery    laced    in    her    tone    as    soon    as    she    managed    to    make    eye    contact    with    jane.    of    course    alex    knew    who    she    was.    it    wasn’t    exactly    hard    to    remember    other    individuals    just    by    their    appearance    ;    vain,    vain,    vain.    it    ran    through    her    bloodstream    and,    truth    be    told,    she    didn’t    really    bother    remembering    their    names,    but    who    their    parents    were,    that’s    another    story.

mischievous    in    nature    (    or    better    yet,    taught    that    mischief    is    the    only    way    through    hell    )    ,    alex    had    one    thing    in    mind    and    one    only.    she    had    to    prove    those    auradon    residents    that    they    weren’t    as    nice    and    incorruptible    as    they    put    on    the    show    whenever    the    camera    was    on.    no,    she    had    to    prove    they    were    as    vile    as    those    villains    thrown    on    the    isle,    on    the    isle    she    was    born    and    raised.    and,    if    she    manages    to    get    some    perks    from    fairy    godmother’s    daughter,    wouldn’t    it    be    even    better?    a    smile    tugs    at    her    pout,    head    slanted    to    the    side.    “    this    is    a    serioussss    offer    …    so?    ”

@wascoy ♡'d for a starter | * & . jane ;

[wascoy]

useful,    useful,    useful.    the    words    rattled    through    her    skull,    a    perpetual    reminder    of    her    unloveliness    in    stark    contrast    to    all    those    of    her    peers.    so,    perhaps    it    leads    her    to    the    more    unsavory    of    decisions,    decisions    leaving    her    scorned    and    derided    from    her    mother,    decisions    that    make    her    look    immature    and    juvenile    to    her    auradon    classmates,    decisions    that    ultimately    don't    leave    her    feeling    any    better,    but    offer    a    temporary    fix    to    the    aching    in    her    soul    that    fills    her,    completely,    wholly,    utterly,    with    desperation    to    give    people    a    reason    not    to    leave.

jane    remains    as    she    is    and    as    she    always    has    been    —    meek,    quiet,    unassuming    —    not    too    quick    to    pass    a    judgement    on    others    beyond    a    tad    frightening    or    someone    to    compare    herself    to    in    the    worst    of    ways.    and    perhaps    that    extends    to    alex,    whom    she    notices    reclined    against    the    ultramarine    of    the    lockers.

the    first    unsettling    thing    is    the    derision    laced    in    her    words,    something    that    jane    can,    for    once,    pick    up    on,    perhaps    a    testament    to    how    thick    alex    laid    it    on.    her    plump    lips    shifted    into    a    pout.    next,    however,    was    the    eye    contact.    jesus,    the    eye    contact.    just    as    quickly    as    the    gazes    met,    jane    withdrew    hers    and    instead    shot    it    to    the    combination    lock    at    alex's    side.

❛    .    .    .    i    guess    it    depends    what    you    need    help    with.    ❜    and    still,    yet,    jane    remained    unassuming,    polite,    figuring    that    with    the    incessant    bibbidi    -    bobbidi    that    it    would    have    something    to    do    with    magic.    magic    that    jane    wasn't    too    permitted    to    utilize,    but    magic    that    jane,    as    a    fae,    nonetheless    utilized    for    the    sake    of    bring    liked.

as    scary    as    this    girl    could    be,    you    can    never    have    too    many    people    that    like    you,    right ?    ❛    i    understand.    what    were    you    thinking    ?    ❜

[dozydawn]

Fantasia (1940) concept art from Heritage Auctions.

[wasmal-deactivated20230817]

﹠ @wascoy ﹗

               this   had   better   be   worth   it   .      the   sun   beats   down   a      golden   glow      which   almost   seems   to   set   the   lake   alight   ,      and   the   lush   greenery   which   surrounds   is   the   sort   of   thing   mal   hadn’t   even   known   really   existed   .      it’s   …      well   .      she   supposes   it’s   beautiful   .      pure   ,      untainted   ,      safe   .      something   sick   coils   in   her   stomach   .      her   mind   steels   and   cobwebs   cover   the   brief   flicker   of   the   thought   that   beautiful   might   not   be   so   bad   .

               jane   comes   out   here   the   same   time   every   evening   .      mal’s   watched   like   a   hawk   :      seen   her   slip   away   unnoticed   in   a   flurry   of      soft   blues      and      faded   pinks   .      it’s   that   which   makes   her   perfect      —      nobody   seems   to   bat   an   eyelash   at   her   ,      and   while   being   lonely   is   an   advantage   on   the   isle   ,      well      —      people   seem   to   be   unable   to   cope   with   it   here   .

               it   sparks   something   in   mal   .      a   BITTERNESS   that   sits   on   her   tongue   in   conjunction   with   the   rage   tightening   her   chest   .      the   people   of   auradon   are   free   to   assume   loneliness   is   so   unnatural   ,      so   dark   and   horrid   .      they’re   more   privileged   than   they’ll   ever   know   ,      up   in   their   castles   while   the   rest   are   left   to   rot   for   inherited   sins   .

               it’s   not   a   train   of   thought   she   can   carry   ,      for   the   moment   .      she   permits   herself   a   moment   to   wallow   in   her   rotted   anger   ,      lets   it   consume   her   inside   and   out   ,      then   lets   it   go   with   the   gentle   lapping   of   the   waves   .      jane   will   be   here   any   second   ,      and   mal   hasn’t   the   time   to   waste   .      if   she’s   caught      —      which   she   will   be   ,      without   someone   to   hide   her      —      if   she   has   to   go   home   to   her   mother   with   her   tail   between   her   legs   … some   things   don’t   bear   thinking   about   .

               if   there’s   one   thing   auradonians   love   ,      with   all   their   fairytale   endings   and   old   fashioned   etiquette   ,      it’s   a   damsel   in   distress   .      and   mal   may   be   rotted   to   the   core   :      in   no   way   at   all   a   match   for   the   princesses   who   need   to   be   saved   ,      but   she   can   pretend   .      and   so   ,      when   she   hears   the   telltale   sound   of   soft   flats   upon   the   grass   ,      mal   permits   her   world   to   go   black   —   and   sinks   beneath   the   waves   .

[wascoy]

a    softening    kindness    reflecting    back    into    an    unkind    world    .    a    softening    kindness    reflecting    back    into    an    unkind    world    .    a    softening    kindness    reflecting    back    into    an    unkind    world    .    she    knows    it    ,    even    flitting    about    the    world    of    auradon    ,    wherein    there    are    pretty    princesses    and    handsome    princesses    ,    and    even    all    though    in    between    are    just    as    lovely    and    striking    and    tender    —    but    not    jane.    she    is    not    the    fairest    of    them    all    ,    just    plain    jane,    plain    jane    who    was    not    particularly    beautiful    ,    but    she    thought    ,    maybe    ,    perhaps    ,    she    could    supplement    her    appearance    in    usefulness    .

and    so    she    relinquishes    all    her    agonies    and    fearfulness    ,    down    at    the    only    place    that    offers    her    any    solace    —    eden    .    the    enchanted    lake    ,    the    home    away    from    auradon    ,    deep    within    the    tresses    of    the    forest    .    it    is    there    ,    there    she    soaks    away    and    undoes    any    tinkering    she's    done    with    her    mother's    magic    ,    something    she    knows    is    sorely    forbidden    and    yet    seeks    to    enact    anyways    .    and    it's    not    always    drastic    .    sometimes    it's    hidden    highlights    in    her    hair    ,    a    slightly    -    higher    register    to    her    voice    ,    or    a    different    shirt    out    of    the    unassuming    blues    and    pinks    in    her    closet    .

jane    assumes    she's    alone    —    most    of    those    ,    all    of    those    being    her    peers    occupying    their    days    with    more    menial    of    tasks    ,    a    plethora    of    clubs    and    activities    between    preening    at    their    appearances    and    being    groomed    into    greatness    .    so    she's    satisfied    to    be    alone    .    it    is    easier    that    way    ,    she    assumes    ,    easier    to    have    no    one    to    compare    yourself    to    ,    no    one    to    get    hung    up    over    not    looking    like    .    she    can    eat    her    lunch    in    such    a    comforting    vessel    ,    unpeel    clementines    ,    gingerly    unfurl    her    sandwiches,    crusts    cut    off    and    sliced    diagonally    ,    lovingly    encased    in    a    reusable    beeswax    wrap    ,    and    she    can    reflect    ,    stare    somberly    at    the    crackling    surface    of    the    water    as    it    glistens    at    a    wind    newly    picking    up    .

oh    .    .    .    ?    that    didn't    seem    too    much    like    the    wind    .    jane    ,    in    all    of    her    hesitance    ,    dashes    to    the    grass's    edge    ,    brow    furrowed    in    attempts    to    discern    what    exactly    was    happening    .    there's    a    mess    of    purple    ,    vibrant    against    the    natural    and    ethereal    blues    of    the    lake    ,    and    it's    a    striking    purple    —    striking    and    becoming    in    all    the    ways    jane    is    not    .    but    jane    is    not    a    coward    ,    she    knows    that    much    .    she    is    not    a    coward    in    the    way    in    which    her    trembling    hand    breaks    against    the    waters    surface    ,    body    moving    to    kneel    and    lean    into    the    water's    gaping    maw    .    when    she    makes    contact    with    ,    well    ,    whatever    it    was    ,    she    grasps    ahold    ,    pulling    up    with    all    her    might    .

❛    oh    my    gosh    ,    ❜    coos    jane    ,    frowning    at    the    sight    of    mal    soaked    to    the    bone    .    ❛    are    you    alright    ?    here    ,    dry    off    with    my    cardigan    ,    please    .    ❜

[washook]

no   one   mourns   the   wicked   /   no   one   cries   " they   won't   return ! "   /   no   one   lays   a   lily   on   their   grave .

private & selective rp blog for harry hook of descendants / adored by LIGHTBRINGER !

[angesirene]

— Adonis, from Singular in a Plural Form, tr. by Khaled Mattawa

[hadesheiir]

i’m a pest. a deadly, messed up, cruel, unruly freak. a demon. the whole world knows that’s how i roll! like for real, oh, you’re so screwed. she’s one bad dude. she’ll leave you weak, and screaming. there ain’t a heart here, there’s a hole. I’M A DEEP DARK DAMAGED SOUL!!!

independent. private. selective. au mal raised by hades. crossover verses available. ©

[lonestarboyfriend]

maybe you were put on this earth to be tender and loving during a time when you are expected to be cruel and calloused

[washeir]

——— if   you   need   :      come   build   your   home   in   me   .      you   know   i   won't   complain   .      i   can't   fix   what   was   done   to   you   /   but   i'll   shield   you   from   the   rain   .      and   if   the   walls   they   build   become   too   high   ...      then   step   up   on   my   back   and   climb   .

(      i   never   mind      .      )

#WASHEIR : an   independent      &      heavily   selective   private   blog   for      ben florian   . by kafziel . he / xe , 21 + .

[vanltys]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍       𝐔𝐏       𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑       𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓         like     the     gates     of     hell       [     .  .  .     ]        you          stay          soft          ,        𝐆𝐄𝐓        𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐍          !   

[thequotejournals]

“You have always wanted to caress every monster.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

[roguishnymph]