ೃ⁀➷ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 .ᐟ
*ੈ 🌷͙֒ ‧₊˚movie 1 ── movie 3
❛ 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗨𝗘 : set it off 𝗯𝘆 descendants ❜
╭ ──╯
╰┈➤
𖥻 JAY JAFAR ━━ ELIZABETH HEARTS.
❪ ongoing! ❫ 𝜗ৎ a fanfiction following the
disney movie...
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﹒⌗﹒🌹﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 𝓐 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 blew over the outside of Ursula's Fish and Chips, curling through the narrow alleyway with a stench that hit the blonde like a slap. She wrinkled her nose, pausing a beat to adjust the red bandana tied around her golden hair. Her eyes flicked up at the chipped paint of the shop sign before sweeping the alley—just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman slumped against a crate, her sun-bleached shawl barely covering her bones.
Life on the Isle was always a little sour, but today the air carried something bitterer than usual. Maybe it was the smell, or the fact that Stasia's boots were still damp from last night's tide creeping into her room again. Or maybe it was the sight of Mal's face—plastered across the broken television inside the chip shoppe—flashing bright and clean in a world far from this one.
Behind her, the familiar scrape of boots echoed across the stone as Harry Hook peeled himself from the wall he'd been leaning against. Stasia didn't bother to turn—she knew his presence by the rhythm of his steps alone. Confident. Loud. Lazy. His hook caught the fishing line a woman had hung out front, lifting her catch like a prize. He didn't say a word to the woman, just gave her a scowl, tossed her a half-hearted glare, and walked inside, fish in tow.
Stasia pushed the door open, the bell above it giving a pitiful jingle. The smell inside wasn't much better than outside—fried grease layered over decades of fish oil and resentment, a hint of sweat lingering. She slid onto a stool at the chipped counter, ignoring the splatter marks on the wall and the sounds of Harry jumping over the counter like he owned the place.
"Mm—" Gil began, his mouth already full. "Hey, Stas." He continued, pausing again as he continued to chew his food. Once he had fully swallowed what was in his mouth, he gave her a small smile. Stasia gave Gil a small wave from across the counter before taking a fry off of the tray Uma had set down.
Stasia Smee didn't exactly belong anywhere—but she'd carved out her space here. Being Mr. Smee's daughter came with no legacy to live up to, no reputation to uphold. He wasn't feared, not like Hook or Maleficent or the Evil Queen. But he was useful—always had been.
Stasia had learned from a young age that being underestimated wasn't always a weakness. It was an advantage, if you knew how to use it. She didn't strut or swagger like Harry, and she didn't rage like Uma—but when she spoke, people listened. And when she didn't, they noticed.
The television sparked to life, Mal's face crisp and composed on the screen, standing beside Ben of Auradon. Stasia rolled her eyes and leaned forward on the counter, resting her chin on her hand as the rest of the crew filtered in around her.
Uma emerged from the kitchen, dropping a tray with a metallic thud and narrowing her eyes at the screen. Her mouth twitched with disdain, and Stasia could already feel the mood shifting. Uma didn't have to say a word—the tension thickened around her like a tide. "Poser," Uma muttered.
Uma glared at the rest of her crew, seeing as they were all just sitting around watching. "Hello?" Uma exclaimed, causing everyone to start grabbing food of the trays and throwing it at the television, Stasia being quick to do so as well.
Stasia smirked slightly and joined in, tossing a piece of something fried and vaguely green at the screen. It stuck to Mal's pixelated face, sliding down slowly like a metaphor none of them needed explained.
"Oh, I would love to wipe the smiles off their faces." Harry spoke, going up to the television and wiping a stripe of food off of it before putting it in his mouth. "You know what I mean?"
Gil, still eating, was then approached by Uma who leaned into him. "Gil," she said sternly, Gil turning to face her with an egg in his mouth. "You wanna quit choking down yolks and get with the program?"
Gil's eyes darted to Stasia. She gave him a deadpan look across the counter and mouthed, stop talking. But Gil—being Gil—didn't.
"Yeah, what they said." Gil nodded, chewing his egg. Gil then looked at Uma in fear before turning to look at Stasia who sat across from him. The two exchanged the same look before turning back to Uma.
Uma scoffed, "That little traitor. Who left us in the dirt."
"Who turned her back on evil." Harry added.
"Who lied to us," Stasia said coolly, her voice low but clear
"Who said you weren't big or bad enough to be in her gang." Gil joined in from the counter, getting more food placed on his tray. Uma slowly turned to face him; a sharp glare sent his way as he made his way back over to them.
Gil looked around confused, seeing as everyone was staring at him silently. "Back when we were kids. Come on, you guys remember. She called her Shrimpy and the name just kind of . . ."
Stasia closed her eyes, rubbed her temple. She reached over and lightly grabbed Gil's wrist, not in anger, but with quiet warning. He kept talking. "...stuck."
Uma didn't scream—not at first. She simply turned, calm and deadly, and placed a hand on Harry's arm. "That snooty little witch." Uma spoke, glancing at Stasia before back at Harry. "Who grabbed everything she wanted and left me nothing."
"No, she left you that sandbox," Gil interrupted, holding a grab leg in his hand. "and then she said that you could have the shrimp..."
Stasia jumped slightly as Uma slammed her hands down on the table. Her stomach clenched in reaction—years of living under tension did that. She shot Gil another sharp look, shaking her head just enough for him to finally get the message.
"I need you to stop talking!" Uma snapped.
"I was just about to say that," Stasia muttered under her breath, brushing crumbs off her shirt. Uma exhaled sharply, turning her gaze on the television again. "Look," Stasia spoke up finally, sliding off the barstool and leaning her hip against the counter. "We've got her turf now. Doesn't matter what she took—she's gone. Let her play dress-up in Auradon."
Harry scoffed. "They can stay in Bore-adon—"
Uma stared at the screen as Mal smiled, hair all done up, dressed in pastels and perfection. Uma's fingers hovered over the knob and then—click—the TV went dark. "No. That's her turf now," Uma began slowly, turning back towards the others. "And I want it, too."
