I've just been re-visiting some of your disney posts and was just imagining Male son of Chernabog Reader x Audrey from Descendants where the Reader looks fairly normal most of the time but can shift into a more monstrous, demonic looking form at will, so whenever anyone does anything to upset Audrey, suddenly there's a 20 ft tall dark-blue skinned devil-figure looming over them with curling horns, huge leathery bat-like wings and wickedly sharp claws bellowing in their face like, "SHE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES YOU LOATHSOME WHELP!"
pairing: bridget x fem!reader (requested)
(note: reader is charming's sister)
SUMMARY: you and your pink-haired best friend have your own ways of showing affection. but what will happen if you take things to the next level?
GENRE: tooth-rotting fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining
CW: nothing really, reader is down bad, thoughts of loneliness and worries she's not good enough, mouth-watering descriptions of food
WC: 7k
A/N: this one was heavily based off of the five love languages! I personally think that bridget shows love by gift giving and quality time (although I am willing to hear people out on this), and reader is words of affirmation and physical touch, with maybe a dash of acts of service. hope you guys enjoy, and thank you to the anon who requested this! please give me feedback and suggestions, I’d love to know your thoughts!
You fidget nervously, skittishly glancing up at the girl in front of you.
You were so afraid to do it, to maybe ruin what you two already have.
But if you don’t, you’ll be trapped in a life overshadowed by regret, yearning for a love that will forever linger in your heart like a forgotten memory just out of reach, a devotion that has taken root in you so deep you know it is impossible to abandon or ignore.
And with that thought, you gently lean in towards her soft, pink lips.
“So? How is it?”
The pink-haired girl in front of you stands with her arms hugged to her chest, hands curled in fists that sit right below her chin. She looks at you with an anticipation so potent it's practically overflowing, rocking back and forth in a way that makes you think she’ll combust at any second. Her kind eyes are stretched wide open, staring down your every move as she eagerly awaits your answer.
You take a bite into the freshly baked fruit tart in your hand, the perfectly golden crust and masterful arrangement of strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi slices on top making it look almost too good to eat.
As soon as the flavors make contact with your tongue, you practically melt away at the sweet, delicious taste that graces your tastebuds. The pastry base is like a crisp and delightfully buttery embrace that unifies all the elements, a shell that cradles the flavors with care. The fruits on top are delectable and juicy, the natural sweetness and burst of tang adding a refreshing balance to the sugary taste of the pastry, like little fireworks on your tongue.
Your favorite part, however, is the heavenly vanilla custard filling. It’s smooth and decadent, like diving into a saccharine river of vanilla that glides across your tongue. It’s as if the very essence of pure bliss itself was captured and transformed into a rich, sweet nectar. The cool, silky filling and fresh fruits are delightful in how they contrast the warm, flaky crust, all the ingredients coming together in a harmonious composition of textures and flavors.
Your eyes, which had fluttered closed in sheer ecstasy, open again to see a Bridget that is buzzing with excitement.
Your mouth, still stuffed and chewing, manages to mumble out, “It-it’s incredible," as you cover it with your spare hand—proper etiquette being second nature to you by now—trying to get out the partially coherent words.
Bridget still looks at you with a zealous sparkle in her eyes, expression unchanged and expectant, relentlessly teetering on the balls of her feet like a hummingbird rapidly flapping its wings as it hovers by a flower. Most people would have stopped at the compliment, but you, being a near-professional taste tester from the number of Bridget’s creations that you’ve tried since you met her, have a full evaluation prepared as you swallow.
“The crust is very buttery and just the right amount of crispiness, perfectly balancing out the smooth creaminess of the custard. The fruits add a bit of tartness and a fresh, juicy taste that evens out the sweetness of the rest of the pastry, that could be a bit overwhelming otherwise. As for aesthetics”—you shift around slightly from your position on the edge of her bed, the fluffy pink comforter beneath you practically swallowing you whole—“your placement is very well-done. I would recommend adding a glaze to the fruits, both to make them glossy and to enrich the taste.”
Bridget nods her head fervently, absorbing your every word like your suggestions are an indisputable truth. “I feel like the crust is a bit soggy, too,” she adds, face wrinkled in a frown as she stares at the dessert in your hand.
You look down at your half-bitten treat—its original, untouched beauty now destroyed—in a scrutinizing consideration. “Did you wait for the crust to cool down before adding the filling?”
Bridget tilts her head upwards, eyes deep in thought as she looks to the ceiling. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I don’t think I did.”
"That must be the cause." You are certainly no baker yourself, but you’ve had lots of practice critiquing Bridget’s creations to the point where you are highly knowledgeable in the theory of baking. “Still, it is unbelievably delicious.”
As if hearing those words for the first time, Bridget’s face lights up, her features all but radiating a brilliant glow as she beams. She clasps her hands together, crying, “Aww, thanks!”
You can’t help but laugh a little—Bridget’s limitless joy is truly contagious. At times like this, when you're staring up at her, gaze swirled with pure adoration and awe as if she's an angel that descended from the heavens in front of your eyes, you start to think just how lucky you are. For once in your life, the strings of fate finally pulled in your favor, crossing your paths with the girl clad in a bright pink dress facing you.
Fate is often cruel to you, like an unrelenting winter wind blowing in your face and biting at your skin, like nature laughing at you as you shiver in raw misery, coldness seeping deep into your bones. A cruel trickster that seems to follow you with malevolent intentions, a vicious smirk painted on its face as it sends every misfortune barreling your way.
You might have been born a royal, a princess that has an unfathomable number of gowns stacked in her closet and an equal number of suitors lined up for her hand. But you aren’t like your brother; you don’t approach groups of strangers and introduce yourself with a wink and an alluring demeanor. He is Prince Charming, after all, which causes you to often ruminate over how accurately your parents named him.
Instead of flashing a winsome smile to every guest at a ball, or every visitor invited to your house, and strike up a conversation with them, you often seek refuge in the quiet expanse of your own room. When required to make an appearance, you prefer to loiter around in the shadows or pass by unseen, like a ghost. This has made you quite the anomaly in the royal world; everyone always whispers behind covered hands and in hushed voices, spreading rumors and wildly speculating about why the princess of such a gregarious family never makes a presence of herself publicly.
And it’s the same at school. Bridget, like your brother, will approach absolutely anyone with a smile gracing her features and kind eyes crinkled in the corners, oftentimes with a home-baked treat in hand. She has countless friends, many random people she mentions or smiles at in the hallways that you’ve never even seen before. She’s never had to worry about finding a partner in class, never avoided eye contact in a crowd of people she didn’t know, never sat watching other people’s carefree conversations with the weight of being an outsider, always looking in through the glass of isolation keeping you from them.
Which is why, to this day, in moments like these, you question whether fate has made a mistake of some sort—maybe jumbled up different karmic ties or gotten confused with names when it came time to draw people’s futures. Or, your biggest fear, is that this is all some elaborate plan, a puzzle piece in destiny’s plan to make your life as ill-fortuned as possible.
In times like this one, you peer up at Bridget and wonder, why in the world, out of her multitude of friends, did she decide to spend the most time with you? To dub you her “best friend”, if you will.
Bridget had noticed your solitary manners a long time ago—like a magnet, she’s drawn to the people who are most in need of a friend, the most ostracized of the outcasts. And so, she had patiently sat with you every day, struck up a conversation even when you gave her the shortest answers possible that were still deemed polite, and attempted to make plans with you, although you always tried to cover up your outlandish excuses with gracious thank-yous.
Over time, the girl with the bright eyes and unfaltering smile finally wore you down, until you began sitting next to her yourself, began looking forward to your idle conversations, and even sought to spend as much time with her as possible. In fact, you spend more time at her dorm than you do yours; neither of you have roommates, so the only time you go back to your room is to get into bed. Besides that, you spend every waking moment basking in Bridget’s cheery presence, so much so that half your belongings are scattered on her floor (your doing), or neatly tucked away in a drawer (her tidying up after you leave).
Your relationship grew to a point where you began to know Bridget well enough that you couldn't keep denying the way she seemed to know everyone, and on a rather personal basis as well. How she had a party or event she was invited to every weekend, or how she had an entire roster of people willing to help her at the smallest of notices anytime she needed a favor. Sure, she may not seem like the “popular” sort, which had definitely deceived you as well when you first met her, but she was definitely well-known and especially well-liked.
So you found yourself many a night sitting on her bed—as you are now—looking at the stack of pretentious letters and notes, carefully placed in ostentatious envelopes with cloyingly ornate lettering, wondering what about you made Bridget seek you out. And that’s when you first thought of it. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t actually like you.
And once that thought popped in your mind, once it was planted and dug its roots in your brain, it grew rapidly, spreading uncontrollably like a weed that was left unchecked for a bit too long. Bridget probably only talked to you in the beginning just to be nice, the intrusive, unwanted voice hissed in your mind. She didn’t really like you. And now you keep on leeching onto her, and she’s way too nice to say she finds you annoying.
Fueled by your disbelief that anyone, especially someone with as many options as Bridget, would actively want to spend their time with you, you started to believe that Bridget was only entertaining you out of required courtesy. And so, you tried spending less time with her after that, building up your walls again and shutting her out; suddenly, you didn’t approach her in the hallways anymore, were always too busy “studying” to hang out in her room, and your long rants about various, trivial topics were reduced to simple, curt responses.
But Bridget persisted, always choosing you amidst a myriad of familiar faces beckoning her over. She still wanted to make plans with you, still left you treats outside your door to taste test. And so, with a hesitant uncertainty, only brought out by your crippling fear and burning shame at the possibility of even coming close to hurting Bridget’s feelings from your cold actions, you decided that she might actually want to be with you, of her own free will.
That night, you had thanked her for being such a good friend to you. She replied as sweetly and modestly as ever (“Oh, it’s nothing! Don’t even mention it.”) When you brought up how you wouldn’t have any friends if not for her choosing to persistently break down your walls, as you are undeniably terrible at making friends, she had simply told you that your style of befriending people was to wait for them to approach you first, whilst her style was to approach them first.
She had pointed out, with a compassionate wrinkle in her brow, that with your way, at least you could be certain that whoever cared enough about you to initiate something and work towards befriending you probably had genuine intentions, which was a drawback of becoming friends with just anyone, like she did—you never who truly likes you, and who’s plotting to stab you in the back. You kept your mouth shut that night, but you really couldn’t help but think if that were true, then did that mean that the only person with genuine intentions towards you in the entire school was Bridget herself?
Fate, you decided, is certainly an interesting character.
“Maybe I should make another batch.” Bridget’s musings draw you back to the present, where she now stands with a bitten fruit tart in her hand and two unoccupied cavities in the tray she had baked them in. “I was thinking of handing these out to my History of World Magic class tomorrow, but they aren’t very good…” She frowns again as she looks down at her pastry, as if furrowing her brow and staring intensely at it can miraculously fix it, or at least give her some insight into discerning what to improve.
“Bridget.” You push up off the bed, taking a step towards her and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to make another batch. These ones are already great.”
Abruptly, you swoop in towards her opposite hand, stealing a bite from her already partially-eaten dessert. You chew with a smile on your face as you look at Bridget’s slightly startled expression, commenting, “See? This one is just as good as the other one.”
Bridget remains frozen for a moment, her forehead still puckered, before she relents into a soft grin. “Alright, then. If you say so. I guess they are alright.”
“That’s the spirit.” You let go of her shoulder, now leisurely strolling around the room, eyeing the various objects neatly placed on her furniture. Eyes scanning over each item, your hand subconsciously reaches out, fingertips languidly brushing along her possessions as if soaking up her essence. “About History, I’m so unprepared for that test we have coming up. Ugh, who even assigns that much work? Especially since Mr. Poirier already grades so harshly. Like, last test, he marked me down because I only gave three examples of goblin strikes in the past century out of the five he taught. I mean, you can’t mark someone down if you never said how many examples to give! He’s so unfai—”
Your voice cuts off as your eyes snag on a collection of objects on Bridget's desk that weren’t there before, an assortment of various tools and materials that when combined appear to belong to a crafting set: multicolored beads, tubes of sparkly glitter, delicate metal chains, a set of pliers, and a bright pink vial of glue.
“What are these?” you ask curiously, leaning in closer with a furrowed brow as you inspect the items on the desk, trying to make out what they are, or rather, what they are going to be made into.
“Ah! It’s nothing!” Bridget squeals, rushing over and throwing a spare blanket over the desk before you can take a closer look.
You spin around to face her, a frown etched into your features. “If it’s nothing, then why are you hiding it?”
“It’s not important!”
“You know you’re only making me want to know even more.”
“It’s really nothing! Just don’t think about it.”
You lift your hand, inching it closer to the draped cloth. “I’m thinking about it,” you tease, playfully moving your arm at a gradual, yet deliberate, pace towards the desk. “Still thinking about it. I’m getting closer, closer, closer…”
Just as your fingers are about to make contact with the blanket to pull it off, Bridget lurches forward, taking your troublesome hand in hers as she leads you away, towards the other side of the room with a nervous giggle.
“Come on!” you exclaim with a huff. “What’s so bad about what you’re doing that you don’t want to show me?”
“It’s not bad!” Bridget counters. “It’s just…look, you’ll find out what it is soon. Just give me some time, okay?”
“Hmm…” you hum, glancing upwards with faux consideration. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long.” A small, cheeky grin dances on your face as you try to conceal it with a feigned pout.
Bridget shoots you a look, a small smile finally spreading across her lips. “What were we talking about again? That’s right, History of World Magic. So, what were you saying?”
You notice the sudden—and rather forced—attempt to change the subject, but ultimately decide to brush it off. “Yeah, I was saying how Mr. Poirier is so unfair when it comes to grading! And his tests are always so hard. Like, seriously, he makes up test questions that he never even talked about during class. He just expects us to memorize the whole textbook or something.”
Bridget gives a small, rueful shrug. “Well, I guess he just wants us to learn the information well.” You shoot her a sharp look, one that screams, "Seriously? You’re defending him?"
“Hey, I have an idea!" Bridget exclaims, eyes lighting up again. "How about tomorrow, after school, we go to the library and study for the test? With both our minds put together, we’re a lot less likely to miss something. After all, two heads are better than one. You aren’t busy or anything, right?”
You shake your head no, although it does pass your mind how Bridget must already know that you never have any plans besides the ones she makes with you. “’Kay, study session tomorrow sounds good. Although we’re probably going to be there till midnight. I mean, seriously, who assigns one test on four different chapters?”
Just as you launch into yet another rant about your insensitive teacher whom you practically despise at this point, a deep, low horn sounds from somewhere out in the hallway, reverberating against the walls.
Both you and Bridget glance up at the clock on her wall, which is custom-made in the shape of a pink heart surrounded by a white rim, now with its glittery hands pointing at ten and twelve.
“How is it curfew already?” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Guess I have to head back to my room.” Many times, you’ve contemplated requesting to move in with Bridget, so you two can officially be roommates. After all, you practically are, with the way that people always knock on Bridget’s door first when asking for you (although that seldom happens, and the few rare times it has, it’s always been on a teacher’s behest). But every time you start to consider it, your mind plummets back into that dark place, the belief rooted deep into your consciousness whispering that you’d just burden Bridget with your inescapable presence and occupied space.
“Aw, well, I’ll see you tomorrow in class! And at the library!” Bridget says as she walks you to the door, her constant smiling shining through once again.
You both bid each other goodnight, and as you walk the familiar solitary path back to your room, the absence of Bridget’s cheerful and bright energy is achingly present. It’s as if a piece of you was stripped away, torn from your very being and leaving you numb and hollow, merely a void of fleeting emotions just out of your grasp. Like the sun disappearing during an eclipse, leaving everyone shrouded in darkness as they await its return, you feel as though your very liveliness is missing from you. You glide down the hallways soundlessly like a ghost, your body nothing more than a shell of the exuberance brought out by the girl who’s constantly emanating pure, unbridled positivity.
Despite your feelings of emptiness, a soft ray of warmth settles onto your soul as memories of the evening, and every other moment you spent in Bridget’s company, replay in your mind. You still hear her melodious laugh, still see the bright sparkle in her eyes only displayed in someone who has not yet been dulled by the merciless, unsparing nature of the world.
Even though she’s not there, you still feel as though she is, carrying a piece of her deep in your heart while you reminisce over your memories, as you always do when you’re in the quiet loneliness of your own company. Even though she’s not there, your heart races at the mere thought of her: her gaze as she listens intently to what you have to say, the way her arms wrap around your torso and how her hair tickles your neck as she gives you a tight, enthusiastic hug.
Even though she’s not there, a shadow of her presence forever lingers in your heart and mind, leaving you yearning to bask in her warm glow again.
You step into the library the next day, after the final bell dismisses you from your last lesson. The library is one of your favorite places in the entire school—aside from Bridget’s room, of course. The peaceful retreat of the rows of dusty shelves and worn, rickety tables is unmatched. The tranquility of the gentle silence that always covers the area like a blanket, the smell of weathered books holding untold quantities of knowledge soothing you with the smallest whiff. Whenever you step across that threshold, it’s like being taken into a different dimension, one with fewer heavy burdens weighing down your shoulders and more blissful ease, a feeling one only reaches when in an untroubled state of mind.
No one looks at you as you walk in, not even sparing a single glance or the slightest movement that acknowledges your arrival. Not that that’s an unusual feeling for you.
You make your way down the aisles of books to your usual table, where you and Bridget always sit, standing in a secluded corner. The book bag slung over your shoulder is weighed down with all the books and notes stuffed into it, causing your arm to ache with strain. Grimacing as the hemp strap painfully digs into your shoulder, certainly leaving a mark that you’ll discover later, you mentally hurl a few obscenities at your teacher for his absurd teaching methods that make your bag so heavy.
However, as you move towards the table, you can see that there’s already some foreign object placed on top of it. A shocked, annoyed anger sizzles inside of you, vexation pumping through your veins at the thought of someone stealing your table. Sure, it doesn’t actually belong to you, and everyone has an equal right to choose any seat they desire, but it’s still your preferred spot and any other one would feel disconcerting and out of place.
As you near, now silently directing your colorful words towards the table thief, you begin to notice that no one else is around; nor do you see any materials on the table besides the peculiar item, which appears to be a small plastic container.
You approach the box, noticing that there’s a small, fuchsia-colored note stuck to the top as you get closer. Instantly, you recognize the handwriting, the half-cursive swirls and loops paired with the little hearts topping all the i’s instead of dots engraved into your brain.
“Dear Y/N,
I’m so so sooo sorry, but someone had an emergency and I had to go help them! I feel really bad for leaving you, and I promise I’ll make it up to you!
For now, I made you some treats as an apology (and to help make studying a little more bearable). Sorry again! I hope you enjoy them!
Love always,
Bridget
You smile at the little heart drawn next to her name, a staple of her signature. Opening the lid of the container, you see that sure enough, it’s stocked with plenty of macarons, a multitude of colors and flavors beckoning at you to try them.
You sigh as you grab a chair to sit in, the small wave of relief that washes over you soon overshadowed by the returning feeling of loneliness, rekindling inside of you like a greeting from an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. You reside in its arms with a comfort brought not by the warmth of a tender hug that soothes your pain and fills the hollow void residing in you, but instead by the ease of familiarity, the peace obtained when the outcome is a cruel one, yet one you foresaw. The security granted by basking in the solace of numbing arms wrapped around you, the feeling of being all alone and undesired, unwanted, something you’ve grown all too accustomed to.
Once again, you’re given a painful reminder of how popular Bridget is, how many other friends she has. How at the end of the day, you're simply an option, a choice she chooses to make. One that she can always change in the blink of an eye.
But you know that you can’t really be disappointed or feel so rejected because of this. After all, it's not like you can expect her to not have a life outside of you—ignoring the fact that you don’t really have a life outside of her. It would be selfish of you to want her to yourself all the time, right?
Readjusting your chair closer to the table, you remind yourself that it’s nice enough of her to even remember your plans, much less take the time to stop by here and leave you a note explaining her absence, in addition to a sweet—both figuratively and literally—gift. She could have just forsaken you with no note, no warning. But then again, that’s simply not the type of person Bridget is. If she knew just how much her presence affects you, how she fills your days with a joy, a happiness so pure and unparalleled by everything and everyone else, you’re almost certain she’d never leave your side again.
To her, you’re just another friend, someone she enjoys seeing. To you, she’s your sun, the very being you revolve around and depend on to survive.
She truly is your everything.
The mouthwatering macarons eyeing you through the clear plastic invite you to take a bite, and you indulge yourself as you rip off the lid and relish in the soft crunch of the outer layers and the smooth flavors bursting within, reminding you of something akin to a dessert sandwich.
After munching on quite a few of them—you simply couldn’t help yourself, they were absolutely delicious—you begrudgingly heave your bag onto the table, pulling out the materials you so diligently packed.
You crack open your textbook to the first chapter, then your notebook to the first blank page. Ripping a sheet out from the spine, you place it down next to your notes. Every time you write something in your notebook, you copy it down on the empty page.
After all, you couldn’t let Bridget’s kindhearted nature get in the way of her good grades. Even if it did mean more grueling work on your part.
For her, you are willing to do anything. Just to see her beam at you again with those rosy lips, the sparkle in her eyes twinkling brightly at you. Reminding you that you’re the cause behind her happiness.
No matter the cost for you.
The sea of faces and bodies in front of you is slightly overwhelming, blurred flashes passing you as you struggle to find your way through the crowd. But then, your eyes snatch on a head of pink curls bouncing up and down animatedly, and instantly, you’re washed over with a wave of relief. Slipping through the cracks between the meandering crowd, you make your way over to the table Bridget is sitting at today in the Dining Hall.
“Hey,” you say gingerly, placing a hand on her shoulder to get her attention as you approach her from behind.
Bridget twists her head back, face visibly lighting up at the sight of you. “Y/N!” she exclaims, scooting over and excitedly patting the space next to her.
You take your seat, turning to face her. “Uh, so, about yesterday…”
Your plan was to thank her for the macarons and the thoughtful note, but before you get the chance, her eyes widen at your words as her face erupts in a look of deep penitence. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Fay was trying a new spell and accidentally burned half her hair off…” Her face contorts to a look of serious shock and concern, probably reimagining the scene.
“I know that’s no excuse though! I felt so bad for bailing on you, that I stayed up all last night just to finish this…”
She turns around and bends over her seat, reaching into her bag on the floor. She grabs something, then twists back around to you, clutching the mysterious object tightly in her hand.
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands!” she instructs, vibrant with pulsating enthusiasm. A bit tentatively, you do as she says, putting your cupped palm out in front of you as you shut your eyes.
You feel a small, very solid object get placed in your hands (So not a new dessert to try, you think with only the slightest tinge of disappointment). But that all dissipates as soon as Bridget exclaims, “You can open them now!”
Your eyes flutter open, gaze pointed downwards towards your palms. Immediately, a tender surge of awe floods your heart, making its pace quicken as it beats rapidly. Your heart throbs with such a profound gratitude you worry it’s going to burst any second from how touched you feel.
You pick up the chain placed in your cupped hands, an elated smile breaking through as you take in the bracelet Bridget gave you. Decorated with numerous charms, you take the time to study all of them carefully, running your fingers over the meticulous hand-crafted details as you realize the significance of each one.
They’re not random designs chosen simply for aesthetic purposes; no, each one resembles something, either about you or your relationship with Bridget. A clear-cut gemstone of your favorite color placed next to a small depiction of your favorite animal both hang off the chain. Then there’s a metallic red apple symbolizing the one time you two went apple picking at an orchard; a little set of playing cards with the same design at the deck she used when she first taught you how to play; a small face of a gray kitten with white whiskers, resembling the one you two saved from an incredibly high and strangely twisted tree the first time you visited Wonderland.
Nevertheless, the finest of them all is the pink, glittery heart that sits right in the middle. Embellished on its surface is a fancy cursive B next to your first initial, conjoined with a small plus sign.
An everlasting symbol of your intimate bond.
Your mouth is fully agape, eyes round as saucers and eyebrows arched in a mix of nearly tangible astonishment and disbelief as you turn the bracelet around in your hands over and over, examining each charm with a sharp, precise eye. Bridget sits in quiet anticipation, holding her breath as she awaits any kind of reaction that can give her even a glimmer of an idea as to how you feel.
“Remember when you were asking me about the stuff on my desk the other day and I said I'd show you soon?” she asks, breaking the thick silence that has grown to be unbearable for her. “Well, I was working on this as a surprise for you. And, I mean, I felt so bad for leaving you yesterday that I wanted to give it to you today as a little apology.”
Your gaze finally breaks away from the bracelet, meeting Bridget’s jittery eyes. Before she can even process what’s happening, the next thing she knows you’ve lurched forward, arms wrapping so tightly around her body that she struggles to even breathe.
After she gets over the initial wave of shock, Bridget’s wide eyes melt into a compassionate smile, returning the embrace. You hug her firmly, getting lost in the moment and not letting go until you hear a little, “I can’t breathe,” paired with a soft tap on your back, drawing you out of your daze as you realize you’re practically smothering her.
“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim, drawing back quickly and examining her figure with knitted brows, making sure she’s alright. “I just…I love it so much! It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me!”
Bridget gives a bubbly laugh, eyes matching her grin as she says, “Oh, it really was nothing. I mean, you’re a princess. I’m sure you’ve gotten much nicer things.”
Smiling, you don’t mention how even the most lavish of luxuries, the most exorbitant of material goods only the finest money can buy, all pale into nonexistence when compared to her gift. The thought, the care, the hours of painstaking work and dedicated moments spent carefully crafting, all for you, is simply unfathomable and impossible to match. You may be holding a small bracelet worth not even a tenth of the simplest of rings you normally get gifted by your family, but to you, it’s worth more than every mansion and diamond in the whole world.
You shake your head left and right, tears of joy brimming and threatening to spill as you lean into Bridget for yet another hug (this time making sure not to squeeze her quite so hard). You know that later, you’ll probably lie in bed and wince at your brashness in this moment, hands covering your flustered face as you toss and turn in embarrassment—but for right now, you’re too swept up in your emotions to care.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” you exclaim, pulling away once again to reach into your bag this time. Retrieving a stack of papers neatly stapled, with lines and lines of orderly notes written in meticulous handwriting, you hand them to Bridget. “I figured since you probably wouldn’t have the time to take notes for the test, I took them for you.”
This time, it’s Bridget’s turn to be flustered from your benevolent gesture. “You really didn’t have to!” she cries, a stunned expression painted on her face as she flips through the numerous pages of detailed notes. She peers back up to meet your gaze with a swirl of shock and delight, her gently creased eyes and the lines on her forehead displaying her inner thoughts. Bridget often wears her emotions on her sleeve, and from sharing countless hours with her, you’ve learned to interpret her facial expressions so well you can practically read her mind. And through her gaze, you can see how she’s in disbelief at the thought that, despite your hatred for the subject and assignment—which you made very well-known—you still spent twice the time you had to on it, just for her.
“Well, I guess we’re even now,” you casually add, saving Bridget from having to formulate a response—you can clearly tell she’s having difficulty putting her emotions into words.
She shakes her head ardently from side to side, her springy curls bouncing vibrantly. “No, we still lost the time we were supposed to spend together! And I did promise I’d make it up to you.”
Before you can open your mouth to tell her that she’d made it up plenty, her head swivels to the side. You follow her gaze to a wide window a few meters away, the bright rays of sun poking out through the clouds and casting golden stripes on the table in front of you.
Her head snaps back towards you, the light in her eyes burning bright as she enthusiastically suggests, “I heard the weather is really nice this weekend! How about we go on a picnic?”
“A picnic?” you repeat inquisitively. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this certainly surprised you.
“Yeah!” Bridget’s talking quickens, the glimmer in her eyes shining brighter as she continues while the vague idea solidifies in her mind. “It’ll be a lot more fun than another study session. I can make the food and you can bring the stuff! The fields just south of here are a popular spot. It’s going to be so much fun!”
She squeals as she claps her hands together. You match her smile, her enthusiasm once again infecting you. “Picnic it is, then,” you reply, grinning as she beams at your approval.
A subtle sigh slips past your lips, unnoticed by Bridget. The same way you always wish she didn’t miss how you look at her, pure adoration and devotion mirrored in your gaze, staring at her as if she created the skies and stars with her own two hands. Which she really did—at least in your universe.
A soft breeze blows against your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks as leaves rustle overhead, whispering to the wind of secrets unheard. The sky is a clear, vibrant blue, all but a few clouds lazily drifting by. Sunshine filters through the branches, casting dappled patterns of light over the checkered blanket beneath you. Birds somewhere in the treetops chatter and sing their pleasing songs, weaving a tapestry of notes that paint the horizon with harmonious brushstrokes. The grass sways gently, mirroring the serene breathing of the landscape.
Everything is tranquil, from the fluttering of butterfly wings to the laughter that sounds from pink lips, like the most melodious of music to your ears. The conversation isn’t that important to you; trivial, inconsequential topics that you really couldn’t care less for. But what truly matters is the way her eyes fill with the purest of sparkles, the way she doubles over as she giggles, the breeze brushing her captivatingly gorgeous curls out of her face.
There’s nothing in the world you would trade for this moment, this sliver in time where you are completely at peace. Where not a single care or worry can reach you, not when the only thing on your mind is how much your heart swells with pure affection, how simply perfect the girl in front of you is.
After she manages to catch her breath from laughing, Bridget meets your gaze—one that is directed at her, but isn’t really looking at her. Your eyes are distant, the unwavering smile on your speaking volumes of emotions.
“Those sandwiches were really good, weren’t they?” she asks you, referring to the special-made lunch that you two had just finished.
You nod, still grinning at her with a persistent gaze. “They were great, Bridget. Nothing that you make could ever taste anything less than delicious.”
She blushes, swatting at your arm playfully. “Hey, that’s not true!”
You laugh, sitting up from how you were previously lying on your back. Catching Bridget’s hand in midair, you reply, “Well, it is, because I don’t lie.”
“Oh? Since when?” she asks, mirth dancing on her features.
“Since always.” You feign annoyance at her accusations, your smile still shining through.
“Ah! Speaking of food, I have something special for you.”
You hum in surprise, watching as Bridget reaches over to your woven picnic basket. She shuffles closer to you, to the point where her knees almost brush against your thigh, with how she’s sitting cross-legged and you with your legs outstretched whilst leaning on one arm.
Opening the lid, her hand disappears inside for a moment before reemerging with a singular cupcake, topped with a swirly pastel pink frosting and decorated with small sprinkles in shades of white and red.
“This is a new recipe,” she explains, holding the treat out to you. “I made it with this super rare flower essence, shipped straight from Wonderland. Let’s just say I gave the batter a lick, and I think it’s my best creation yet.”
“You haven’t tried it yet?” you ask, moving to sit in a position similar to Bridget’s as you accept the dessert.
“Nope! I wanted you to have the first bite.”
Your smile only grows wider, now stretching from ear to ear, an undeniable sense of glee emanating from you. You’d normally argue with her, telling her that she really didn’t need to do something like this. But from all those failed attempts you’ve only learned that Bridget never listens, always putting you first time and time again. So, this time, you simply take a bite, nearly melting away again as the flavors hit.
The frosting has a sugary, saccharine taste, the sprinkles adding a delightfully contrasting texture to the creamy richness of the pink swirl. The cake below it is soft and moist, as if eating a fluffy cloud. The vanilla flavor is smooth, an undercurrent that balances out the sweetness. There’s a slight twinge from a distinct flavor as well, something you’ve never tasted and can’t quite put your finger on. The same way that coffee elevates the taste of chocolate, this special ingredient brings out the sweetness of the vanilla, balancing out the sugar of the frosting. Every mouthful is incredibly light and absolutely delectable, making each moment it graces your taste buds feel like an indulgent bite of heaven.
“So? How is it?” Bridget asks as your eyes swiftly open. Her anticipation lingers in the air, along with your awaited response.
But you barely hear her words, too focused on how the color of the frosting perfectly matches her delicate, roseate lips. They’re so gentle, yet lush, almost forming the most endearing of pouts.
Eyes darting from her eyes, to her lips, back up to her wide, doe eyes again, you throw caution to the wind and spring forward. Your hands move in front of you, supporting your weight as you lean in.
Your lips make contact with her velvety ones, which are even smoother than you imagined. A stolen kiss, lasting but a moment, yet enwrapped by the tender caress of your mouth, the purest of affections seeping in as you hold her lips between yours, then draw back for the briefest pause.
Eyes locked with her wide, expressive ones as you linger a mere inch away from her face, you respond to her earlier question.
The day was nice, but so were most of the days in Merlin Academy. I usually sat alone, nobody particularly keen to be my friend due to my mother. Some in passing were okay when we had to do tasks together, otherwise I just slipped into the cracks.
“Hey Y/N” I looked up instantly knowing that voice.
“Hello snake” he laughed at me, or with me I’m not sure.
“Please it was one time and just a prank for Uli” He sounded almost remorseful about it.
“Yeah and you shed your skin all on my bag” I looked at him pointedly.
“Anyways, the reason I wanted to come over here was to ask you for your hand at castlecoming” my eyes widened, or shot out of my head. I’m not sure which is worse.
“This isn’t a prank Morgie?” He shook his head.
“And I’m not gonna get pranked later right?” He smiled and still shook his head.
“Okay I’ll go with you. I’ll give you the colour of my dress so we can match later” my cheeks were flushed from the situation.
“I can’t wait” he kissed my hand and as he left I decided it was time to visit the best girl in school for this. Bridget Heart.
————————————————————————
I knocked on her door, hearing music on the other side of it.
“Coming!” I hear and door opens to the girl and her VERY pink room.
“Hi Bridget….I know you’re probably skeptical about why I’m here. I need help with finding a dress for castlecoming.” She then grabbed my arm, and then shut the door.
“Who asked you? Cause we need to match colours.” Next the door opened and it was Ella who walked in.
“Wow ok what’s happening here” she stopped at the door.
“Close it and come in. Y/N got asked out and needs help.” Ella nodded slowly.
“I got asked out by Morgie” Bridget started giggling and Ella’s jaw dropped practically on the floor.
“No way” They both said.
“Way. Now help me, I promised him a colour dammit” My cheeks were flushed again.
“Okay I’m thinking purple. Beautiful colour and will extenuate your hair and eyes.” Bridget piped up.
“A darker one, he usually is seen in black with that damn scarf thing.” Ella also said.
“Care to come with me. I’ve got nobody to help me.” I asked.
————————————————————————
It’s the weekend before castlecoming. I was shopping with the two girls for about 3 hours until we found the perfect dress. It was a shifting light purple to dark purple dress, ballgown style. I was now trying to find Morgie within the school grounds, a swatch of my dress in my hands.
“Oh my god, of course he’s there” I mumbled before walking to the group of VK’s.
“Hey Morgie can I talk to you?” Morgie just nodded, his group hollering and laughing in the background.
“What’s up Y/N?” He asked concerned. He observed my facial features and saw the expressions I made as his friends continued their things in the background. “Oh I know, don’t mind them they’re just like that when anyone decides to be nice to someone”
“Still not a prank right?” I asked him. He nodded, his face a bit red.
“I got you the colour to match. Reflective purple, like the shirts you wear and well we’re gonna look great.” I smiled at him.
“Oh thank you, I didn’t know what colour to go with myself.” He laughed.
“Actually I got Bridget and Ella’s help. They talked about it as if we were a couple.” I laughed and then looked down.
“Would you ever want to be? Cause the first reason why I asked you is so we could talk and get to know each other more” Morgie said confidently.
Harriet Hook and Anthony Tremaine for the writing prompt? Post-canon, post- "A Very Isle Wedding-," the day after the birth of their first child? With Harry, CJ, and Dizzy coming to visit?
Anthony slept soundly in a chair near Harriet's bed side, heading resting on her shoulder as they finally got some much needed rest after a 48 hours in labor.
Their new born son, Thomas, on the other hand, kicked restlessly as he tried in vain to roll over. Already trying to explore the strange new world he was in.
Just as he stared to fuss about not getting his way, he was lifted up by his uncle, Harry.
"Hey little guy, wanna go on an adventure?" The first mate asked, smiling mischievously.
Thomas cooed in response, which was basically a yes.
"I knew he'd say yes.. I'll go pull the car around!" Cj declared triumphly, practically vibrating with excitement.
Both of them were fully committed to running off with the tiny red head to go on a death defying adventure and probably would have if it weren't for one thing.
Dizzy.
Who immediately took the baby from them, staring them down sternly. Staring at them as if they were idiots from another planet.
"No"
"But--"
"Aw come on Diz, it'll be fun--"
"No. Absolutely not. " She cut them off, absolutely refusing to relent on the matter.
Cj's shoulders slumped as she realized that they weren't gonna get their way, silently resigning herself to waiting until Dizzy was gone to take the baby. Harry, on the other hand, still thought that arguing with the young hair dresser would work.
"Aw come on, lass, take a walk on the wild side for once." He reached for Thomas.
Dizzy just narrowed her eyes, looking very unimpressed. "Do you want me to wake Harriet up so you can have this conversation with her?"
Requested By: No one (but my lonely, dead, cold heart)
Ship: Evie Grimhilde x Reader
Word Count: 434 words
. The Day starts with you helping her design dresses for Auradon’s latest bash and you make the suggestion about creating clothing to send to the children of the Isle, to stop them living in absolute tatters while Ben goes through the legal work to break down the barrier
· She turns to you, absolutely in love with the idea and honestly questions why she didn’t think of it first
· To thank you for the beautiful idea, she waltzes over to you and delivers a slow, soft kiss. She cups your cheeks with her calloused hands (something ALL Isle kids have, regardless of how much the ideals of beauty was pressed upon her by her mother) and murmurs about how you are so selfless and loving; which is what first attracted her to you.
· You lightly laugh against her, telling her to stop being so cheesy. Then, seeing your opportunity, you start to tickle her; relishing in her sensual laugh. To stop your relentless attack, she lightly throws you onto her nearby bed. Giggling as you hit the soft surface with a thwump and a bounce.
· Her giggles turn into outright laughter as she sees your facial expression and soon, you are laughing along with her. “Your face… oh my goodness… so funny.” Her words are spluttered with laughter; disconnected in consequence
· Suddenly those three magic words “I love you” slip through your lips as you laugh along with her and as if a switch flips, the laughter stops
· It is in that moment you are nervous, the feeling spreading like ice through your veins. Evie’s eyes are fastened onto your own. Slowly, but surely, she asks you to repeat yourself; so, you do
· “I love you… Not as a friend. As in something more.”
· Obviously, Evie knows her friends love her – it’s just that it’s not a spoken fact. But here you are, speaking those three words she’s always wanted to hear
· She lays down next to you on the bed, hand intertwining with your own. Your heart is racing, and your breathing has all but stopped. But she faces you, with a sad yet hopeful gaze.
· “My mother never told me that she loved me”
· With those words, she starts to sob. You hold her to your chest, comforting her with every passing moment.
· Slowly, the sobs ease off and Evie manages to look upwards at you: eyes a raw red and her face splotchy. “But I can say the words, I love you. With all my heart.”
· A shared smile. A shared kiss. Then the words being spoken again; just above your heart.
This was requested by one of my friends, enjoy xoxo
Summary: Ben can’t get his mind of his true love and goes to see her.
[requests here] [Masterlist]
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3 o’clock in the morning but Ben was wide awake.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could think about is her. His mind couldn’t focus anything else. Her soft skin, her beautiful smile, the way her eyes sparkled. He took a deep breath and tried to close his eyes. Images of her face immediately flashed before him. Ben sighed and sat up in his bed. This was getting out of hand. He couldn’t bear not being with her. He only saw her now and then, when he would sneak out of the castle to the isle, where she lived. They would take long walks, hide from the villains and dance in the moonlight when it peaked through the dark clouds above the isle. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted to be with her, hold her in his arms, see her beauty every day. He was sure she was his true love.
He remembers when he first saw her. He came to the isle with the core four to recruit new VK’s when he saw her. She stood in front of a stall on the market. She looked up at the people passing by and his eyes locked with hers. His heart stopped for a second and he felt something like a spark ignite in his chest. That’s when he knew.
Since that moment, Ben found himself wandering to the shore to look at the isle more and more often. He made up excuses to visit the isle, hoping he would see her. His best friend Evie started to notice something was up. She knew him all too well. She kept asking him what was going on until he finally told her.
‘There’s this girl. I have no idea who she is, I don’t even know her name, but I just can’t get her off my mind.’
After Ben had described her to Evie, she figured out the girl was y/n, daughter of Gaston.
‘Y/n,’ Ben said her name. The way her name rolled off his tongue gave him a warm feeling in his chest. Evie smiled and she told Ben where he could probably find her.
That night Ben went to the Isle again. He carefully made his way to one of the corners of the isle, away from the market, Uma’s territory and more evil lairs. It was quiet and almost peaceful. There were some people walking around, not bothering to see who was passing them. Ben hopefully looked around, but he didn’t see her. After a few moments, Ben heard a voice.
‘Beat it, Gil!’
It sounded like honey and pretty flowers and…
He couldn’t move. From the bushes appeared the daughter of Gaston. She had an annoyed look on her face. She sat down against one of the old dead trees and started to play with a loose strand of fabric on her dress. Ben stood there for a moment, taking in her appearance. She was just as beautiful as he remembered.
Y/n looked up. She felt a pair of eyes on her. Not that it was something she hadn’t experienced before, there were enough creepy dudes who would stare at her from the shadows. But this was different, she didn’t feel uneasy or uncomfortable. Her eyes scanned her surroundings and that’s when she spotted Ben. Sure, she knew who he was. He was king of Auradon. He wasn’t exactly loved on the isle, but y/n thought about him almost every day since that moment they locked eyes on the market. And she didn’t think about him in a hateful way. No. She thought about what he would be like. What he would say to her. What it would feel like to be in his arms, to hug him, to kiss him. But it was foolish. King Ben would never even remember her in the first place, and yet he stood there, looking at her with soft eyes and a big smile on his face.
Ben smiled at the memory. The two quickly became a couple and they were madly in love. But them being together wasn’t something that was easy. There had been talks of closing the barrier forever, locking all the remaining villains and VK’s on the isle of the lost. Ben had tried to reason with everyone. He understood that it was the only way to protect his people, but his heart ached at the thought of never seeing y/n again. However, recent events may have made it possible to let the barrier down. Audrey turned evil and the people of Auradon realised evil could come from anywhere, not just the isle. There hadn’t been made any decisions yet, but Ben was trying so hard to get the barrier down. He would get it through, whatever it would take. He wanted nothing more than spend the rest of his life with y/n, to rule Auradon with her as his queen by his side.
Ben’s breath hitched as he realised that’s what he wanted. Without a second thought he jumped out of bed, got dressed and ran out of his room. He bumped into a door, almost fell over his own feet and knocked off a pile of book that was set on one of the tables. He made his way to his bike. Mal had permanently enchanted his bike so he could go to the isle any time he wanted.
‘Ben, what are you doing?’
Ben froze. He slowly turned around and was met by his best friend.
‘Evie! Why are you awake?’
‘Ben, it sounded like you were going full beast-mode,’ Evie chuckled.
‘Oh, right,’ Ben scratched his neck, ‘sorry.’
‘It’s fine, are you going to see y/n?’ Evie asked.
‘Yeah,’ Ben smiled. ‘I uh- actually wanted to ask her, um-’
Evie smiled. She knew exactly what Ben was about to tell her. She had been teasing him about it for a while. She could see he was utterly in love with the daughter of Gaston and with the possibility of the barrier coming down, it would be a perfect opportunity.
‘Finally!’ she exclaimed as she gave Ben a big hug. ‘That’s amazing, Ben!’
Ben smiled and let out a breath. ‘I just don’t wanna wait any longer.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for then?’ Evie gave Ben a small push towards his bike. ‘Go get your queen!’
Ben got on his bike and drove to the shore. He stopped for a moment and looked at the isle. Knowing he would see y/n again in a bit made his heart flutter. He stared his bike again and drove off to the isle of the lost.
Y/n sat at her usual spot against the dead tree in the open field. She couldn’t sleep. Something was keeping her awake, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Maybe she just couldn’t get any sleep simply because she missed Ben. She felt so sad that she couldn’t be with him when she wanted to. Ben came to the isle as often as he could, but that wasn’t enough. She craved to be with him.
Y/n let out a sigh and looked up to the sky, where the moon was faintly visible. She missed him, she missed him so much. She’d give everything to be with him, to live with him in Auradon, forever and ever.
‘Y/n,’ it sounded like a whisper. The girl turned her head and her heart skipped a beat.
‘Ben.’
She got on her feet and practically launched herself at him. Ben welcomed her in his embrace with open arms. He buried his face in her soft hair as he lightly stroke her back. She looked up into his eyes and showed that beautiful smile of hers. Ben slowly closed the space between them and kissed her. Her soft lips moved in sync with his own. He could never get enough of kissing her. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, yin and yang, day and night. Perfect together.
Y/n broke the kiss, their foreheads still touching.
‘I missed you,’ she breathed.
‘Don’t get me started,’ Ben replied as he pressed a small kiss on the tip of her nose. Y/n giggled and she looked up to meet his eyes. Ben stared back into hers. He always found Y/n’s eyes so beautiful, but the way they twinkled in the moonlight left him speechless.
Ben cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘Y/n, I want to ask you something.’
The girl just nodded, encouraging him to carry on.
‘You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t what I would do without you. You make my life so much better. I love you so much, Y/n and I want nothing more than spend the rest of my life with you. And I don’t want you to feel obligated to answer, but I just have to ask, because if I don’t I’ll regret it and maybe it’ll be too late by then. So, um, Y/n, will you marry me?’
Y/n blinked a few times. She was at loss for words. Never in her life would she have dared to dream about this moment.
Ben slightly started to panic when Y/n wasn’t giving a reaction. ‘Look, it’s okay if you want to think about it, or if you don’t want to, I’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’ Ben stopped mid-sentence.
‘Yes Ben, I want to marry you,’ Y/n whispered as a big smiled appeared on her face.
‘You-’ Ben looked at her with such adoration, ‘I’m- Oh my god,’ he breathed out.
Y/n stood on her tippy toes and pressed her lips once again to Bens. She moved her hands from his chest into his hair as Ben pulled her even closer to his body. Suddenly Y/n pulled back, ‘But what about the barrier?’
‘I’m gonna make sure it comes down, whatever it takes,’ Ben said.
‘But what if it doesn’t?’
‘Then I’ll come to the isle and live with you.’
Once again, Y/n didn’t know what to say.
‘You’d really do that for me?’ she asked.
Ben just smiled. There weren’t more words needed. He would do anything for her. And she knew it. She was his world and he was hers. And that’s all they needed.
hi. can you write a huma christmas prompt. Ursula is always watching Auradon's soap operas so one day Uma and Harry are sneaking in and catch a christmas episode and then they decide to have their own christmas so they join a lot of food and get presents to each other. I don't know if it snows on the Isle but they should have some fun on the snow too ❄️⛄🌨️
Anonymous said: yay you reopened the prompt asks!!! write something Christmas related about Huma pleaseeeeeeeee!! 🎄
Hi anons! Here’s the Christmas prompt you asked for. It’s a bit more platonic Sea Three (but there’s some Huma if you squint). I hope you still enjoy! (FYI, the kids are about 6 or 7 in this.)
Warnings: Some cursing.
Uma pouted. How was she supposed to know that the white powdery looking stuff that she had seen in one of her mother’s stupid Auradon soap operas (the one with the three sisters that Gil always said the youngest one looked just like her but older - Uma didn’t see the resemblance) wasn’t flour? It wasn’t like she had ever seen snow before. The Isle seemed to only have one weather: doom and gloom.
“Just look at this MESS!” her mother screamed, waving her hand at the dining part of the restaurant that was covered in a thick layer of flour. “Do you know how long it took to get all that flour, you little brat!?” Ursula hissed wrapping a tentacle around her young daughter’s arm and pulling her roughly towards her.
“It was supposed to be snow!” the little girl yelled back.
Ursula paused. “Snow?” she questioned, confused.
Uma, still trying to tug out of her mother’s grip nodded. “Yeah! Cause it’s Christmas! And all of your shows have snow during Christmas!”
The old sea witch’s face was expressionless before she burst out into loud cruel laughter, shoving the girl away from her harshly. Uma bit her lip in an attempt to not cry at the pain. (That would only make her mother angrier.)
“Oh girl! I knew you were stupid, but not this stupid!” Ursula laughed so hard tears were in her eyes. “Christmas! On the Isle? Oh you poor little idiotic angelfish of mine.”
“And what’s wrong with Christmas on the Isle?” Uma snapped back. “Those Auradon kids get to have it! Why can’t I?”
“Because no one loves you, you little brat” Uma hissed. “Now clean this shit up! I’m going out and I expect this to be all gone when I get back!”
Uma waited for the last of her mother’s tentacles to be out of sight and to hear the loud slamming of the back door before she looked towards the restaurant’s small stage.
“All clear,” she declared just before a boy with blonde hair was forcefully pushed from behind a slightly less moth eaten curtain, tripping over his feet and landing hard to the side of the stage.
“I’m okay,” he declared getting up as a dark haired boy hopped from behind the same curtain off the stage and in front of Uma.
“Yer ma’s a whore,” he muttered darkly as he glared at the spot Ursula had once been.
Uma frowned. “Do you even know what a whore is?” she asked.
Harry turned back to her, his dark look quickly disappearing, replaced by a cheeky grin. “No, but I think it means scary ‘cause I heard someone call Harriet that and she then knocked the lights out of ‘em!” he said enthusiastically, punching the air in an imitation of his older sister.
“My dad said my mom was a really big whore!” Gil tried to chimed in happily.
Rolling her eyes, not having the energy to explain to them what a whore actually was, Uma shoved past the boys and made her way to the kitchen. “I just better not hear either of you call me that,” she muttered before adding as an after thought. “And ya probably shouldn’t say it to Harriet either.” It only took a moment for Harry and Gil to follow her and take the brooms and mops she shoved into their hands.
Harry snorted. “What do I look like to ye? An idiot? I’m not trying to get killed by that harpy!”
Uma sighed but didn’t comment.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring Christmas here for you, Uma,” Gil sighed as they began to clean up their poor substitute at snow.
Uma shrugged, trying not to let her disappointment show. “It was a stupid idea anyway. We’re villains. We would have just gotten coal anyway,” she murmured as she began to sweep some of the flour outside. “But it would have been nice to have seen it snow.”
Harry and Gil shared a look, a brief and rare moment of being in sync as an idea began to form between them.
—
The next day was like any other day for Uma. She got up early, opened up shop, and was worked endlessly until the day was almost over.
It wasn’t that unusual a day except she hadn’t seen Harry or Gil once, an odd occurrence since the two always snuck in for food or to help out if the crowd got too busy.
Her mother had already retired to her room and Uma was just cleaning the last of the dishes when she heard the swinging doors up front open. She grabbed one of the kitchen knives, prepared to stab anyone in the shins who thought they could steal from the shop, when a hand gripped tightly to her wrist.
“Put that away, lass! Yer gonna poke me eye out!”
Uma relaxed at Harry’s voice, ready to tear him a new one for scaring her when she paused, utterly confused at the sight before her.
“What…what in the seven seas are you wearing?”
Harry looked down at himself, at one of his father’s old red coats that trailed behind him with the fluffiest pillow he could find tied underneath around his stomach. On his face was shaving cream that he had nicked from Lady Tremaine’s salon when her grandson hadn’t been looking, dripped down from his face and onto the floor. (He was so going to clean that up.)
“I’m that old fart Santa- oh! Ew! That’s disgusting!” he spat out as shaving cream got into his mouth. Uma laughed at his misfortune which made the boy pout. “Stop yer laughin’ or I’ll smudge ya with coal!”
Uma bit her lip, trying to withhold her laughter. “O-okay,” she managed to say though a giggle or two did slip through.
Harry frowned but he nonetheless pulled out the crudely wrapped package from the pocket of his jacket. “Here!” he shoved it into her hands.
Taking a moment to observe the spreading redness that she could see underneath the splotchy patches of shaving cream on the boy’s cheek, Uma went to a nearby table and placed the gift gently on it before beginning to unwrap it. Her eyes widened a bit, breath catching in her throat, as a beautifully crafted snow globe was revealed.
Inside was a beautifully sculpted ship with pearl white sails with a intricately carved seapony as its figurehead. Around the base of the globe was carved images of rising waves and starfishes. When Uma shook the globe, the ship looked like it was covered in snow, giving it an ethereal effect as little flakes of “snow” spun and danced around before softly floating back down.
“We can’t make it actually snow here but…Gil and I figured it was the next best thing,” Harry asked, not looking at her but instead fiddling with the too long sleeve of his father’s jacket.
“Where did you find this?” Uma asked, looking from her friend back down to the globe again, not able to help herself when she gave it another gentle shake, mesmerize at the small snow storm happening inside.
Harry grinned, inflating slight with pride. “Snuck it out under Jay’s dad nose when he wasn’t lookin’.”
“Jay will be mad.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he waved the comment off. He and Jay hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, mostly because the young thief wanted to hang out more with annoying Maleficent’s daughter. Besides, if Uma liked it, it would have been worth the strain on the already tense relationship between him and Jafar’s son.
Harry watched as Uma swirled the little trinket again, mesmerized.
“Do ye like it?”
Uma paused. “I didn’t get you or Gil anything.”
“Ye didn’t have to,” Harry shrugged.
Observing the way the boy shifted looking uncomfortable, the red on his cheeks already reaching his ears, Uma decided to take pity on him.
“I like it,” she nodded, handling it with care. After all, this was the first gift she had ever received.
Harry grinned, relief evident in his expression.
Uma smiled before a thought came to her. “But I do have one more question…Why is Gil wearing a sheet with a bow on it?”
“I’m the the Christmas Present Ghost!” the boy proclaimed proudly, not understanding why his two friends groaned exasperatedly. “Merry Christmas Uma!” he proclaimed, picking up the much smaller girl and spinning her around and around until she began to laugh, a rare innocent and carefree noise that wasn’t heard too often on the Isle by anyone.
As she was placed on her feet, a bit dizzy due to all the spinning, she grinned up at the two boys with genuine appreciation. “Merry Christmas.”
