“Here we go again
We’re sick like animals
We play pretend
And I’m afraid
I won’t get out alive
No, I won’t sleep tonight
I want some more
What are you waiting for?
Take a bite of my heart tonight”
So… I was reading this beautiful fanfiction here:Men and Monsters, written by the wonderful @bymidnightflame (I’m in love with all her fanfics :3)andwell… It inspired me and I ended up drawing this. Took me quite some time because I’m stuck with a lot of work and studying and stuffand it’s still so sketchy, but oh well. I like it that way.
Oh and it’s Keith’s leg he’s holding by the way. xD
I’m not sure if this AU is gonna get bloody or not, so I’m just going to post it on here for now
Supernatural Teen AU!
Keith recently moved with his father to a new town. In his free time he loves researching and searching for cryptics, although he finds paranormal things to be highly unblievable. He will soon find unbelievable things happening in his new hometown.
“I will never forget the bright red hood entering the classroom.The colour stood out in the grey colours that you usually found in this town. I almost understood how the big bad wolf felt in the fairytale. I wanted to sink my teeth in those squishy cheeks and bury my nose in that soft-smelling hair. I looked to my right where Lance sat, and I could see that he was thinking the same, but he had always had a remarkable ability to control himself.
I took a deep breath to calm. Patience yields focus. I’ll just have to endure the hunger until first school break.”
To all the spirits of compassion who liked, reblogged and commented on my DAI portraits - THANK YOU for giving me the courage to express my style in the midst of so much exceptional talent and imagination.
(Oh, and I haven’t abandoned video editing. It just feels really, really good to depict my fandom in multiple ways. I had almost forgotten how much I love doing digital artwork.)
Hello. I’ve never really done a proper theory post before, but I really hope I can manage to make my points clear? Because this is something I feel strongly about.
First of all, today is October 28th 2016, Homestuck had its Credits three days ago, and Hussie has been hinting at an Epilogue to come. Many people really want the Epilogue, because they feel Homestuck’s ending was unsatisfying. The reasons for this, and whether I agree with them or not, are up for debate and are more complex than they seem. But one reason people have proposed is that Hussie grew tired of writing Homestuck and just whipped up an ending. That is the viewpoint I absolutely disagree with, and I believe I can (if not prove) make a convincing case against. Which means I believe I can make a convincing case for the suggestion that Hussie had this entire ending planned, including people’s dissatisfaction with the ending and the reasons why they found it unsatisfying.
So then. What was the ending, again? Let’s describe it from the perspective of one who didn’t like the ending.
John finds his way into a rewritten world where his friends are not really the friends he knows. Roxy is dead here, indirectly killed by John’s own choice (but it’s okay because we know the real Roxy is still alive). The protagonists fight the Big Bad witch and inexplicably kill her with one lucky blow off-screen. A wolf thing, presented as a dire threat, has nothing to do with the actual fight and is neutralized and appeased naturally. A robotic killer is threatening but ultimately blows itself up. The audience is rewarded with, essentially, fanart of Homestuck characters being affectionate with each other. The audience is pissed off by this turn of events; after all that was built up, suddenly our favourite characters are being drawn by other people, suddenly all plot seems to have been forgotten and just strung together with contrivances. It feels like an insult to everything we’ve come to admire. The next Act, instead of providing more answers, we just get anime, and still not drawn by Hussie. A little while later, we hear again from the story, and we see our focal point character is despondent and mournful, deciding ultimately to take action and leaving us on a cliffhanger.
(I gave this description on Reddit, though I added the last sentence specifically for this post)
That is the ending, right? Let’s go over it again.
John finds his way into a retconned timeline, where the art is predominantly a different style than Hussie’s conventional (and when it is Hussie’s, it is “fast and loose”).
His friends are there, but John is consciously aware that they’re not literally the same people he has known all his life.
John’s very act of arriving in this retconned timeline (his Choice with Typheus in A6A6I4) necessitated that the new Roxy would have to die (which is okay because there is still the old Roxy).
The new John died before we came to this timeline.
The protagonists fight the witch (Batterwitch), the wolf (Jack), and the robot (different Jack).
The witch is inexplicably killed with one lucky blow. (The audience is rewarded with “fanart” of Homestuck characters being affectionate with each other, including a wedding.)
A wolf thing, presented as a dire threat, has nothing to do with the actual fight and is neutralized and appeased naturally, non-lethally.
A robotic killer is threatening but ultimately blows itself up.
The audience is pissed off by this turn of events; after all that was built up, suddenly our favourite characters are being drawn by other people, suddenly all plot seems to have been forgotten and just strung together with contrivances.
The next Act, instead of providing more answers, we just get anime, and still not drawn by Hussie.
A little while later, we hear again from the story (Credits), and we see our focal point character (John) is despondent and mournful…
…deciding ultimately to take action (fight Caliborn) and leaving us on a cliffhanger leading presumably up to the Masterpiece.
Does this… make sense? Do you see why I personally believe this whole “ending” is just another ruse, another instance of Homestuck being shaped like itself?
Climbing up six flights of stairs after driving what felt like thousands of miles without stopping for anything but gas and coffee wasn’t much better.
But climbing up six flights of stairs with a bad knee, three exhausted bundles of living ink clinging to you like a lifeline, and going on nothing—no real food or water or even a bathroom break—but sheer grit? Downright impossible.
Henry Ross cleared it in half his usual time.
He didn’t care how late it was, how much he ached or how much he wanted to just curl up next to the chipped floor molding and become comatose, he was not in the mood for any of his neighbors catching him as he was. He just thanks god his doorman, a short ruddy-faced man named Patrick, had fallen asleep at his desk before he’d snuck in, like old Patty always did after 11:00 PM.
“644, 645—646,” said Henry, stopping to catch his breath. “Here. This is it.”
He could feel Boris, Alice, and Bendy collectively sigh in relief, wilting like lilies in the hot summer sun.
Boris was fairing what seemed like the best of them; hand on Henry’s shoulder for balance, but with enough of his druthers to stand upright without help. Alice clung to Henry’s left pant leg, leaning heavily, her black eyes barely open, and not at all complaining when Henry used his free arm to help keep her steady. Bendy, for all his intents and purposes, hadn’t left Henry’s grasp since the studio, tucked against his left side with his face half buried in the old animator’s collar. Henry was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep at least 3 times on the way—he had one hell of a loud snore for a shorty. He hadn’t asked to be put down once, but Henry did not complain. It had been a long day for all of them, but Bendy had had it the roughest—which was saying something, as Henry had learnt that hard way that being turned into a living cartoon was no picnic.
“What’s the plan, Henry?” said Boris, catching Henry off guard.
“Plan is, uh,” Henry mumbled, fumbling with keeping Bendy and Alice from toppling over while he fished for his keys. They weren’t in either of his pockets… where were they?
“Get inside, go to bed. Try to sleep and…” He sighed, “I don’t know, come up with a better plan in the morning.”
“Works fer me,” Bendy muttered, not even opening his eyes.
It was then Henry noticed a small shimmer along the door’s upper frame. Bracing Alice as best he could, he reached up and ran a hand along the top of the door molding and caught something metal on the far corner. Of course. Right where he left it.
“Henr—ry?” said Boris, muffling a yawn behind the back of his hand. “That, uh, don’t seem particularly safe there, leaving yer key where someone can find it. What if someone tries breakin’ in?”
“Not to worry Boris,” said Henry, smirking to himself sardonically, “I doubt anyone would find anything of mine worth stealing…”
The lock gave a rusty clunk, and Henry shouldered it open.
The sound of a rickety radiator and the smell of old newsprint, a faint burnt wood-like scent, and cardboard greeted them along with the faint sting of old alcohol. The light of the hallway cast a thin orange glow into the otherwise pitch-black apartment. Henry couldn’t remember feeling so relieved to see color, faded and muted as it was. He ushered everyone in and quickly shut the door behind them before trying a light switch. It flickered twice before dimly glowing weakly, barely any better than the hallway light. With a small fzzt!, it went right back out.
“Great,” Henry grumbled. It took a bit of blind stumbling, but he managed to reach a tall lamp next to the couch and switched that on instead. The bedroom was cast a pale light, giving everything a pale bluish tint. “Gonna need to replace that.”
Alice and Boris blinked in the sudden light, Bendy preferring to just keep his face buried under Henry’s chin.
“Well, uh,” Henry said, eyebrows creasing as it seemed something very apparent dawned on him. He tried his best to smile, but only managed a wince and he half-heartedly motioned to the living room. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”
The light made it easier to take stock of just how messy the man’s apartment really was. A quintessential bachelor pad, with bare walls, sealed and opened boxes alike strewn everywhere, bookshelves decorated with everything from empty whiskey and beer bottles to unfinished model ships—and pretty much everything except for books. Dirty laundry littered the floor, waste bins sat overturned in the corner. The kitchen looked almost unused, save for the stacks of pots and pans stuck to the grimy stone tops, and piles of unread junk mail and bills sat on the kitchen counter, unsorted. The couch looked about as comfortable as a sack of potatoes, the green fabric a shade greyer than when it was first bought. One of its legs was held up by an old phone book.
A thick, sturdy easel and stool sat out of place in the corner, next to a far window, unmistakable in spite of a tarp covered it. Stacks upon stacks of blank newspaper leaned against the corner behind it, book-ended by empty sketchbooks that looked hardly handled. A stray sheet of sketch paper poked out from under the tarp, the off-white paper marred with frustrated, uninspired scribbles of charcoal.
Henry was suddenly acutely aware of Alice and Boris’s stares. He coughed.
“Sorry about the mess,” said Henry, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down, “I don’t, uh, get guests all that often.”
“S’alright Henry,” said Boris, voice no longer tired. His ears had pulled back, eyes downcast as well. “We don’t mind it.”
“S’not like we got anywhere else to be,” Bendy mumbled, peaking up. “Even if it is a pig’s sty.”
“Bendy,” said Alice, sharply.
“Any port in a storm, huh?” Henry shrugged, smirking ruefully. “Alright, alright, everybody to bed. We can worry about this mess in the morning.”
He didn’t need to tell the Toons twice. Henry herded them into the next room, which was surprisingly less musty than the den. There were still more piles of boxes strewn about, sure, but the desk next to his bed was only slightly disheveled, and bed looked well made. Almost as if Henry never really slept in it… or used his bedroom at all.
He led Boris to one end and helped him strip the covers to climb in. Afterwards, he lifted Alice up onto the mattress. Up next was Bendy.
“Alright, short stuff, time to get down,” said Henry, leaning down for Bendy to easily fall onto the mattress. Which he did not. “C’mon, I need my arm back at some point.”
“Can’t here yah, I’m asleep,” said Bendy, pretending to snore, clinging all the tighter.
It took a couple of attempts, but he finally managed to pry Bendy free from his side, his arm practically all pins and needles from the tight hold the little demon had on him. In spite of the little devil’s petulance, Henry gently set him down next to Alice and gave his arm a slow pinwheel stretch. He ignored Bendy’s pointed, pouting glare, clearly not liking being rudely stripped from his warm perch. The fact that a draft ran along Henry’s apartment didn’t improve things much either.
“It’s cold,” said Bendy.
“I know. Sorry,” said Henry. He shouldn’t feel this guilty. “It’s all we got for now.”
The apartment was small, the circumstances messy, the bed a single, and tomorrow looked big and uncertain… but it was all Henry had on such short notice. He only got color back a day ago; he could worry about living conditions later.
Tomorrow. He could worry about it tomorrow.
He motioned to tuck them in and—stopped himself when Bendy gave him a look.
Why had he moved to do that?
He rubbed his neck and stifled a yawn with his knuckles.
“I’ll be in the den if you need me,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling very foolish.
“You’re not staying here?” Alice asked. Boris looked surprised as well, but Bendy ignored all of them and crawled under the sheets, pointedly looking away from Henry. Something about that stung, just a little.
“Not enough room for all of us on there, Angel,” said Henry. The stinging didn’t go away. He’d gotten them all out, hadn’t he? He brushed it off. “But, uh, I’ll leave the door open. You can bug me for anything.”
Alice nodded, but she looked like she wanted to say something else. Henry waited… and she just followed Bendy, tucking herself between the demon and the wolf without another word. Boris gave Henry a little wave, but didn’t say much more before his head fell back on the pillows. Within seconds, he was snoring up a storm along with Bendy, Alice silently snoozing between them.
“Thing’s’ll be better in the morning,” he said, half heartedly. He wasn’t sure if he was talking more to them or himself. “Promise.”
The Toons said nothing.
Henry trudged to the couch, every inch of him feeling almost as heavy and war-beaten as when he returned to the States from the Front. As he turned off the lamplight, he only hoped sleep would come to him as easily as it had the Toons.
In spite of a million thoughts churned in his mind, clicking like giant cogs. The studio, Bendy, Boris, Alice, Sammy, Joey, their escape, the look on Bendy’s face and the strange ache it left in his gut. Or maybe he was just tired from all the running and the fear and the coffee. Henry pushed it all down, too tired to think, and fell face first onto the lumpy, familiar couch. His arm was left dangling over the side.
Sleep fell over him like a thick, lead curtain. Like a flood of inky black.
Henry awoke from a nightmare, and for a moment he thought he was still dreaming it.
He couldn’t remember much, except there had been whites and grays and something about sheep—or was it the 3 little pigs and the big bad wolf?— and a big, empty black void collapsing on top of him. A faint whine broke through the void, someone’s whine—was it his? When his eyes snapped open, all he saw was black, and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
He was back. He was there. Back in the studio. Escaping had just been a wonderful, hopeful dream and he was still there he was going to die there and the Toons Were In Trouble—!
But when Henry bolted upright, he felt the familiar lump fabric of his couch, heard the familiar sound of taxi’s speeding by his building in the horrible early hours following midnight. He even welcomed the musty smell of newsprint and old beer. He wasn’t in the studio. He was safe.
And the Toons—
Henry leapt to his feet and bolted for his room in two easy strides. The door was open. And in the bed.
They were there. Safe and sound. Their silhouettes were easily recognizable, even in the faint moonlight and the faraway streetlamp light
Boris was leaning halfway out of the bed, tongue poking out and lolling to the side as he snored, his feet jutting out comically from under the covers over the end board. The blanket looks uncomfortable small on him. Alice was breathing deeply, her face twitching occasionally from deep REM, but otherwise looking peacefully saint-like. Her halo was crooked and looked dangerously close to falling on her face, disturbing her sleep. Bendy was silent, facing away from Alice and…
He softly whined.
Henry was at his side in a second. Had he woken Bendy up with his frantic flailing in the next room?
No, Bendy was still fast asleep, his face scrunched up tight, hands balling up the blanket and comforter in bunches, hogging it and pulling it away from Boris. A droplet of ink dribbled from his temple, staining the large pillow they shared.
Bendy was having a nightmare.
Without thinking, Henry reached for his pocket and pulled out a grey-stained handkerchief. Praying he didn’t startle the Toon awake, he gingerly mopped the loose ink from Bendy’s forehead. Bendy flinched away, curling tighter into himself. The little devil suddenly seemed very small.
Henry quietly shushed him and continued mopping up his clammy forehead, swiping it in long, gentle strokes. Slowly but surely, Bendy’s hands began to unclench, his brow starting to dry. His face refused to give an inch, his whines only becoming more anguished.
“….mmm…jo….ey?” Bendy breathed.
Henry’s chest seized. He lost his voice, but only for a moment.
“Nah… no, half pint,” said Henry, all the gruff and bite leaving it as he spoke softly to the little devil. “S’just me.”
A pause. Bendy shifted, shut eyes seeming to relax a fraction. “….old m’n?” he muttered.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s old grouchy me,” said Henry, wanting to laugh. “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”
“…stay’ere th’s time… kay?” said Bendy. His face finally relaxed.
Henry stopped mopping.
All at once, Henry faintly remembered something very striking. Something very specific. When he was a young lad, he’d become sick with pneumonia, and despite all his aching and griping and being a pain, his mother had dropped everything— work, her book club, volunteering at the library— to sit at his bedside for almost a whole three-day weekend. It had almost made up for being sick while school was out. And while he was sick, she read him stories. Treasure Island and Huck Finn. He never remembered thanking her for it, but he did remember drawing James Hawkins fighting Captain Long John Silver. She’d tacked up his drawing on the fridge with a green magnet and never took it down. She smiled for weeks on end after getting that gift.
He thought about that memory— that old smile she had where the edges of her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her teeth shown and she wheezed out a quiet laugh.
Seeing Bendy go back to slumbering peacefully, he could only wonder… Had this been how she felt while he was growing up?
A tightness settled in Henry’s chest and a whole different ache fell over on him. It wasn’t an entirely new realization, one he’d been grappling with ever since Boris had shakily asked Henry if he really meant they’d all escape with the animator. Ever since he’d found Bendy blindly running from his own solemn doppleganger. Ever since He’d told Bendy that he was his own story’s protagonist.
He was responsible for these three now.
Now, that wasn’t to say that Henry was irresponsible. He was a hard working, a dependable man of routine, and could even come handy in a pinch.
But this was different. This was new. This was terrifying.
He was an old, bitter man. No living family left to speak of. Well on his way over the hill. Never had a thought in his mind about marriage or kids of his own, often only keeping his focus on staying alive, both during and after the war. Hell, he never even thought he’d set foot near an animation desk again before heading off to see Gabriel’s pearly gates (if he was that lucky). And yet, here he was, with three cartoons dropped in his lap. Who probably wouldn’t be able to handle living in the real world yet. Who probably shouldn’t be sharing a tiny bed in the middle of a run down apartment on the ass-end of a filthy city.
What could an angry old man with a tiny apartment and hardly anything to his name do for them?
“mmm… h’nry?” Bendy whined. Henry snapped out of his quiet, rising panic, stifling a yelp.
“S-still here,” he managed, feeling his voice crack.
“good…” Bendy relaxed against the pillow, completely at ease. Completely trusting.
The tightness in Henry’s chest finally unfurled, and his eyes felt a slight sting. He covered his mouth to muffle a deep, shaky sigh. Bendy had complete and utter trust in him. Was that a good thing? Did Henry deserve it? In spite of all that had happened these past few days, he suddenly didn’t feel so sure.
But… this was his chance right? He was supposed to figure things out now, wasn’t he? He felt so unprepared, like he’d been thrown out in No Man’s Land all over again.
But then again… this wasn’t like the war. Or the studio. Things were on his turf. If anyone should’ve felt like fish out of water, it was the Toons. He was the one with the knowledge of how the real world worked, how colors looked and how real sunlight felt on your skin.
He had to be there for them. He was going to be there for them.
They were all he had now.
Feeling more tired than ever, Henry stood from his seat as quietly as he could. He quickly grabbed Alice’s halo, just before it could teeter another centimeter and drop onto her nose, and after giving it a quick polish with his handkerchief, he set it on top of the bedside lamp, perfectly centered. He set to work on the blankets, adjusting it to be spread out evenly between the three of them— he left Boris’s feet sticking out, finding the silly sleeping position suited the wolf— and tucked them all in. It wasn’t the best, rough around the edges, and the blanket was lopsided. But Bendy re-curled around, snoring softly and facing Alice. Her head lolled, and she in turn nestled comfortably atop Bendy’s horns. Boris snuffled and licked his snout before settling more deeply against the pillow. They all seemed to just… fit together. Like puzzle pieces.
Henry felt that unfurling feeling return, and he quickly wiped his face.
Despite being exhausted, he hardly felt like returning to the lump couch. He returned to Bendy’s side of the bed, and took a seat. He knew his neck and back were going to kill him tomorrow, but he could worry about that later. He had more important matters to worry about.
Like making sure the other three got the best-damned night’s sleep they ever got. He wasn’t about to let their first night in the real world be a sorry one.
Tomorrow was going to be the roughest day of his life, and yet, somehow, he couldn’t find it in him to mind it.
I AM ACTUALLY SITTING HERE WIPING TEARS FROM MY EYES, GIRL
THIS IS BEAUTIFUL. I LOVE THIS. I LOVE THIS SO, SO MUCH; YOU HAVE A LOVELY WRITING STYLE HOLY SMOKES.
“Get her back to the car!” Derek snapped at Erica who forced
you away from Isaac who was being attacked by the Alpha twins and towards the
“Derek I am a witch I can help!” You shrieked and he glanced
back at you, missing one of the twins who helped his brother yank Isaac to his
feet, you knew the look, he didn’t know if he could bring Isaac back to you.
You begrudgingly followed Erica to the car and let her rush
back to Derek while you headed to Deaton’s to see if you could help from there.
He wasn’t surprised when you stormed in and had laid out several spells and new
things for you to try out.
“He wouldn’t let me help!” You snapped and Deaton sighed.
“(Y/N) you’ve not yet reached your full potential and you
are overly protective, you might have got injured.” He pointed out and you
rolled your eyes.
“Or I would have helped.” You muttered.
“You’ve been here a few months (Y/N), Derek’s only just
opened up to the pack about his feelings and you’re important to him.” Deaton
pointed out and you nodded.
Summary//Request: Based on Jay Park’s lyrics from his song ‘Stay With Me’. Jay thinks you deserve more than him after he’s forced to cancel spending time with you on your birthday. But, you show him that none of that matters to you - that you’ll always stay with him, no matter what.
Note; not rated M for mature, but includes some suggestive scenes.
Request-Request for harry hook x Oc Bailey bad 🐺 daughter of the big bad wolf leaves the woods for the first time. In nothing but ripped clothing nearly covering her body. She bombs into none other than harry hook while sniffing around. Someone around their meeting could you have a scene where… Harry: “don’t worry love I don’t bite” Bailey: “ oh? But I do”
Thanks again to @carmen12053 for requesting this, I hope you like it!
Disclaimer-I don’t own any of the Descendants characters all credit goes to the creators and producers of Disney Descendants.
Summary- You, daughter of the Big Bad Wolf, have never been outside of the Dark Woods before, but decide to explore the village, and meet a certain hook handed pirate.
It was official. You were lost.
You sighed as you look at any possible signs or hints to tell you where you were, but everything looked the same. There was nothing but alley ways and hanging drapes, nothing like the molding trees of the Dark Woods.
You continued your search, only to still find nothing.
Well, you thought, this bites.
You sniffed around, trying to get some type of scent to guide you in some way, but still no help. All you could smell was the stomach wrenching odors of sweat, smoke, and…..dead fish?
You shook your head, the nauseating scent making you dizzy for a moment. This place was so closed up and musty, walls of metal towering over each side of the road. The different explosions of darkened colors made your head hurt, the new smells only making the experience worse. The change of scene wasn’t much of a surprise to you. This wasn’t the Dark Woods anymore. This was the village of the Isle of the Lost.
Old buildings with broken windows, stoned paths that were unstable to walk on. And the unwelcoming, and most certainly petty, fairy tale villains. You could sense the evil all around, it polluted the air like a plague. You had seen new villains come in over the years, all different, and ridiculous, in their own special ways. But being the daughter of the Big Bad Wolf, it was only natural that you lived in the Dark Woods, away from civilization. However, as years went by, you thought it was about time you “bonded” with your fellow villainous neighbors.
And so, you left the Dark Woods, and started your journey to the village, with nothing but your ripped clothes, and your scruffy appearance.
But this was nothing you were hoping for, let alone wanting to conquer. In all honesty, this place was a dump!
No one seemed to fear you, or even acknowledge you.
You continue your path through the town, taking a turn onto a dirt path, surrounded with wooden structures, unlike those from the other parts of the town.
Too fascinated with the strange and sudden change of the Isle, you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings, bumping into a stranger, a minion of some type, you assumed.
“Hey! Watch where you’re-” With a low growl, you cut him off immediately. Then with a bark, he ran for his life. You chuckled, that never got old.
“Wow,” you heard someone say. “That was quite a show.”
You turned to the voice, meeting the eyes of a figure in the shadows. His scent was one of a male’s, but it was the thick accent and broad outline that proved your inference.
The look of him alone made it evident that he was nothing but trouble. You didn’t mind a little trouble now and then, but right now wasn’t one of those moments.
You backed away from him slowly, hoping to avoid the hidden stranger, but he caught on to your plan.
“Aw ye scared, love?” He snickered. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite, most of the time.” He smiled, showing his straight, white teeth.
“Really,” you smirked. “Well, I do.”
“Oh, feisty little thing, aren’t ya.” He slowly emerged from the darkness, standing at his full height. He was tan and tall, with eyes blazing blue. His features looked deadly enough to cut through bark, more efficiently than the hook he carried in his left hand. His hat was one you recognized as a pirate’s hat: triangular, with a small, white feather. But what gave it away the most was the abnormally large coat, which hugged his frame with red leather, and followed him like a broken kite, unable to gain enough air to fly.
He smirked again, his piercing eyes staring right into your, compared to his, dull E/C eyes. His index finger slowly stroked the interior of his hook, as if trying to intimidate you with his puny weapon.
You grinned, but only enough to show what little effect he had on you.
It seemed to work.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen yer face around this part before,” he said, examining your torn attire as he spoke. “I think I would have recognized someone with such a…..unique sense of style.” He cackled at his own joke.
“Yeah I’m not from around this part of the Isle,” you countered. “You see, where I come from, we don’t need to pretend our limbs are missing in order to scare others.”
The comment seemed it hit a sensitive nerve, as his laughter halted instantly, only to cradle the hook close to his chest.
Then, with a killer look, he pointed the tip of his hook towards your throat, thinking of the many ways he could dispose of you, most likely.
“I can hurt ye, little girl,” he hissed, tilting the hook toward the center of your neck.
You had to admit, you were a little scared, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had an ounce of control over you. You glanced at the hook and lifted your head to see his serious expression.
With a long, sharp fingernail, you gently lowered the hook from you neck, never letting your eyes wander away from the stern look he held. You watched as his anger melted into complete awe, flashing your award winning, sharp tooth smile.
“That’s Y/N Wolf to you, Pirate.”
His mouth hung open, eyes wide, as if trying to put the pieces together in his head. He fumbled with his words, stuttering, and breathing heavier than normal.
“Aw, you scared, love?” You taunted, using his own words against him.
His features turned grim, knowing he had just been outwitted by a newcomer.
“So seen as how I’ve got your attention,” you spoke, tracing along his defined jaw with the tip of your claw. “Why don’t you lend a helping paw and let every pathetic, no good citizen on this Isle, know that I, daughter of Big Bad himself, has come over for a little…..visit.”
He gulped, and waited until you lowered your finger to catch his breath.
“What’s your name, Pirate?” You smiled with a voice that made the poor boy shiver at your words.
He looked at your small frame, and frowned, “Harry Hook, son of Captain Hook.”
With a nod, you turned on your heel and walked back the way you came.
As he watched you disappear from his sight, Harry thought about how easy it was for you to make him feel so helpless, and with nothing but a smile and a slight touch of your claw. He smiled and chuckled to himself.
Just wait till Uma hears about her!
Okay, I just need to thank you all for all the amazing support I’ve gotten on Night Owls! I am so blown away with how much love and compliments I’ve received from it already, it’s utterly INSANE! Sorry for any spelling errors I may have missed, I made sure there wasn’t any in this, but I’m not the best with grammar and spelling. lol. Thank you all again, I love you all. Hope you liked this imagine!
“I dunno what’s wrong with her Scott, she’s acting like she’s
nervous.” Stiles rubbing his hands together as he thought over catching you last
night, he didn’t know what you were doing but you screamed at him for checking
in on you like he normally did before he went to bed.
“Maybe she’s just out grown you tucking her in?” Scott
offered, waving at one of their friends who had begged the entire pack to
support them at the school’s talent show, Malia had been curious to the pack
ended up agreeing.
“Scott, when there’s a thunder storm she gets in my bed and
makes me call Derek!” Stiles sighed. “Also, have I told you that he never picks
up but he seems to always tell when it’s her calling, even on my phone!”
“Well he did save her from getting eaten by me… Peter,
Isaac, Boyd and Cora so she’s going to trust him I guess.” Scott chuckled but
Stiles shook his head.