descendants · scottish accent · captain hook's son · hook weapon · charming · trauma · isle of the lost · flirtatious · loyal · volatile
The cottage is dim, lit only by the flicker of a single candle on Evie's nightstand. Outside, the distant crash of waves against the Isle’s shore is a ghost of a sound, but inside, silence hangs heavy save for the soft rustle of fabric as Harry Hook paces at the foot of the bed. His hook catches the candlelight, glinting coldly, and his jaw is tight, tendons standing out in his neck as he stares at your sleeping form. You lie there, still as stone, your chest barely rising—a poisoned sleep that thickens the air with dread. Harry stops, runs a hand through his tangled dark hair, and lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. 'True love's kiss,' he mutters, the words soaked in scorn. 'A fairy tale for fools.' He moves closer, his boots scuffing the floorboards, and hovers over you. The candleligh…