#that blue brown dog I made before wasn’t working so I tried to fuse him with a bunny and then he sorta just became a bunny

[ghoul--doodle]

Funny bunny time

[verus-veritas]

Stealing Berrie

I still can't believe how handsome I am. Being the man you have admired for the past 6 years has to be one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs in the world. I find myself still getting aroused just by glancing at myself in the mirror—I still can't believe the reflection (his reflection). It is all mine now. I feel like I can have whomever I want and that is not all based on looks. Berrie was a nasty man, probably always was. Growing up handsome, enlisting in the service, developing a beautifully sculpted body adorned with tattoos probably has that effect on a man. I think (no I KNOW) I will be a better Berrie than he ever was. But I guess I am ahead of myself, let me go back…

It all started 6 years ago when I move into my new home, that is where I first spotted Berrie. He was out walking his dog, wearing tight spandex shorts and a muscle tank. He looked good—really good, and he knew it. Who could blame him, at 6” and 200 pounds of muscle, his whole body showed just what years at the gym could do. His well-defined legs, beautifully shaped bubble butt, 32” waist, well ripped abs, wide shoulders and large biceps just oozed sex appeal. It wasn't just his hard work that made him what he was either. Nature had been very good to him (physically). With a beautiful complexion, bright smile, adorable button nose, and a full head of hair cut short sporting the military influence in his life—he was indeed a man many would want to be.

It wasn't until one day, through the usual neighborhood gossip, did I find out that Berrie had another side of him—one that wasn't quite so beautiful. I didn't believe it at first. Not Berrie “not the beautiful guy I had fantasized about all those nights lying in bed. In my mind, Berrie was not only beautiful outside, he was an all around good guy. The kind of guy you would want to be friends with. Then his neighbors began telling stories of how nasty he was to all of them, fighting with his girlfriend at all hours of the night, drinking too much, getting stoned every night. STONED! That perfect specimen of man smoked pot too? That got me thinking.

I had been feeling that my reflection in the mirror no longer matched how I felt—both physically and mentally. Being your typical all American guy next door—5—8”, 165 pounds, 32” waist, short brown hair and blue eyes—was boring. I was boring. I was bored with what nature had given me and bored with my “clean” lifestyle. I have always wanted to be a kind of punk. The kind that hung around late at night because he didn't have to work, didn't give a flying F*** what people thought of, adorned with tattoos depicting how carefree I really was, smoking pot all hours of the day. You know - just be different than what you really are. Berrie fit that description, but even better, he WAS beautiful. I then had an idea…

Berrie didn't deserve to be him. I DID. From all I had been reading about astral projection and peyote, I decided I could make it happen. I could trick him. Take his body, take his life, right out from beneath him. For those of you unfamiliar with peyote—it is mushroom used in ancient Indian rituals. It supposedly allows those who take it to leave their physical body to experience a higher plane—a spiritual plane. Astral projection also allows one to leave their physical body and travel great distances—when done right. I was going to combine the two and put my plan into action. I was going to steal Berrie.

The plan was set. I had followed Berrie for weeks now and found out were he purchased his pot from. It was almost too easy. I too began purchasing pot from the same guy, just to befriend him. I needed to make sure Berrie would use my very special pot, the one that would allow my plan to take shape. I had bought 2 bags last week, one for me, and one for my future. I needed to make sure Berrie would be vulnerable and confused, he had to be susceptible to the changes that would occur - and soon. I baked the peyote for hours breaking it down into a syrupy type substance. I added a load of my DNA, the ones that I saved while pleasing myself thinking about him last night. Somehow it just seemed appropriate. Once cooled, the liquid was poured onto and absorbed by the pot, I add my DNA just to make sure his soul would accept the new vessel he would soon occupy. Once dry I headed out to the pot dealer a few hours before I know he would be making his run. I convinced our friend, by giving him $50 bucks to sell Berrie the bag I was now holding. That it was pure profit to him. He accepted after I told him Berrie would never come back mad. Actually I promised him Berrie would give him another $50 next week, a promise I know I could keep and would gladly do.

I waited until 11:00 p.m. as I light a joint. I specifically waited until the time I had heard he usually gets stoned. He had told a neighbor he wanted to sleep with (a cute little blond) that he liked to get stoned before bed and he asked her to join him. Little did he know he was going to get company tonight. As I took a hit and held the smoke in, I began to concentrate. After about the 7 or 8 hits I was beginning to feel the effects. I was totally relaxed and focused on the task at hand. It was time…

I took off all my clothes and laid quietly down on the bed. The only light was from a flickering candle that I lit to make sure Berrie would find his way to his new home. As I concentrated, I began to feel as thought I was dropping in and out of consciousness. My heart was beating so fast anyone entering the room could of heard it instantly. The room was black—I began moving around but could not see. In the confusion, I kept moving forward trying to get back to reality. I sensed something was wrong, but not quite sure what. Then, in a sudden flash, it was clear. I was hovering over a bed with someone in it. As I concentrated on the image he became clear. There was Berrie, lying nude and stoned on his bed. A magnificent sight to behold. Something only cute little blondes, and the occasional brunette was able to see. I was so close now, I knew I had to do it. I concentrated with all my mind to lower my soul down—down—down into the vessel below. As I slowly descended, I tried to reposition myself so that I descended into his form the way he was lying, as I figured that was the path of least resistance. As my soul began to merge into his flesh I felt tight. There was not room enough for the both of us. Immediately I began to push my mind into his, pushing the soul within the vessel out. It was working as I began to merge, I could feel Berries presence. He was confused and did not know what was happening around him. The DNA in the pot, my DNA, made his body susceptible. Was he the true occupant, or was it the new presence forcing its way in? Berrie tried to wake up, but I knew I was winning the battle. The rush of sound going through me was incredible. His body was accepting me, pulling me into it, making the body complete, fusing my soul into it to give it life. With one last PUSH I could sense Berrie no more. He was wondering off to where the DNA he inhaled called him. He was wondering back to Dan, yes, his new name in his new body. With all of my might I open my eyes and as I did the rush of sound instantaneously stopped. It was over. The soul is now fused to its new home.

I struggle to get up. I have to see what is being reflected back at me in the mirror. The new muscle man that I now possess will take some time getting used to, but it is a challenge I have longed for all my life. As I move closer to the mirror, Berries heart, my heart beats ever so fast. As I glance into the mirror all I see is BERRIE, the man I always knew I wanted to be. He looks at me with eyes that have expressed anger to so many. Eyes that will now express a sense of completion, a sense of joy and a sense of compassion for others.

It has been a week, and I still can't believe how handsome I am. Being the man you have admired for the past 6 years has to be one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs in the world. I still find myself getting aroused just by glancing at myself in the mirror—I can't believe the reflection (his reflection) is all MINE now. I feel like I can have whomever I want and that is not all based on looks. Berrie WAS a nasty man, probably always was. Growing up handsome, enlisting in the service, developing a beautifully sculpted body adorned with tattoos probably has that effect on a man. I think (NO I DO KNOW NOW) I am a better Berrie than he ever was.

I am off the make good on Dan's word. He told my dealer I would give him $50 bucks this week, something I am glad to do. Oh, by the way, Dan has really gone off the deep end. He keeps coming by his house (my house now) and screaming things like: 

“Give me back my life you Fucking BASTARD!” “What the fuck have you done to me?” “I don't know how you did this, PLEASE stop it! I want my body back, I want MY LIFE BACK!”

Well, I hated to call the police and have him arrested, but he really left me no other choice. I already filed a restraining order against him, and he knew it. After the other night, right after he found out I was selling his home and moving to Miami to strip for a while—he flipped again. He came by my house screaming: “There ain't NO WAY I am stripping for no guys” “I’ll kill you before you do this to me!” 

The gossip around the neighbourhood now is:

“I don't know what has gotten into Dan lately. He just doesn't seem like himself anymore”.

Source: “Stealing berrie” by Unknown on Metabods

[desperate-entwives]

memori engagement week day three: flowers/something new Murphy didn’t exactly mean to become lord of the dead. It just kinda happened. 

Something to do with the war against the titans, and the splitting of different realms to those who had fought the hardest. No one wanted to deal with him, so the underworld it was. Not the best hand to be dealt, but hey. The only people he had to deal with here were dead, and it was easy to deal with dead people. Put them to work for a while, send them back down the river for their new lives. Simple. He got bored sometimes. Sometimes got sick of the reaping, the constant soul-recycling, the isolation-- he never quite learned how to get along with the three-headed dog that came with the territory, and the guy on the ferryboat wasn’t big on chatting. Plus, no one on Olympus really wanted him around. That left earth. Death tended to follow him when he walked around the moral realms, which was a neat trick at first but got old pretty quickly. He visited the harvest goddess sometimes (read: once every century or so) for the conversation, the quick insults. Visits to the smithing goddess were slightly more frequent; Raven used the metals he created down below, and she was the closest thing to a friend he had. As someone painfully aware of death, Murphy never liked to think of beginnings. You can’t have a beginning without an ending. New things are by nature transient bullshit. So it didn’t begin when he went down to the old volcano and saw a nature goddess talking to Raven, but maybe something ended. Maybe a feeling of isolation, of bitterness. It couldn’t have meant the beginning of something, he told himself, because that would mean depending on an idea, that idea being this person, this person being a harvest goddess who turned around, breaking off her conversation with Raven, and raised an eyebrow at him. No beginnings, not for him. Without sparing a glance at either of the goddesses, he left. --- “So how often does death come by?” Emori asked Raven, who was working on a series of weapons, long knives with intricate handles. “Also, what the hell was that?” “He hangs out here because no one else can tolerate him,” Raven explained casually, wiping a strand of hair from her forehead. “And honestly? I have no idea what that was. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was flustered.” Emori had never made the acquaintance of the god of death. Too bad, she thought: she’d enjoyed the glimpse she’d just had. But she and her brother were isolated from the other gods, deemed unfit for Olympus. Nature gods who were offensive to nature. But there was no choice; without their constant presence on earth, Gaea would shrivel, the blades of grass choke in the root, the trees calcify. Speaking of. “I have to get back,” Emori said, morose. She liked Raven’s volcano, liked the pulsing warmth and the tools everywhere and, moreover, the lack of judgement. “Grow some nice flowers,” Raven called after her, not looking up from her work.  When she returned to her fields, the flowers had shriveled, hyacinths turned yellow and brittle, coming apart with one brush of her fingers. This was unusual. She’d only been away for an hour, not nearly long enough to do this. It was, she realized, as though death had walked by. --- After leaving Raven’s (and leaving some silver in her doorway; he always gave her some materials to work with), Murphy tried to go back to the underworld. He did not go back to the underworld. Barely in control of his movements, he wandered the fields of the nature gods for a time, wondering when he’d last visited and where they’d all gone. It was a flimsy excuse, trying to chat with some old acquaintances, but it was all he had.  When he saw the nature goddess from earlier, he hid behind a tree, clutching at the bark and watching as it aged beneath his hands. Here, in the sunlight, she looked like nothing less than the embodiment of life itself, all warm dark eyes and brown skin and tangled hair. A smile that held something, held secrets. She knelt down and brushed a hand over a patch of dying flowers, and he noticed that her fingers on that hand were long, fused together. Was that why he’d never seen her before? Was she not good enough for those elitist pricks up in Olympus? “You can come out,” she said, still focused on the withering stems. He gripped the bark so tightly that a piece of it broke off. “I just came to uh, apologize for earlier,” he said, stepping out from behind the tree and dropping the clump of bark hastily. She looked down at it and back up at him, amused. “Really? It looks like you just came to stare and ruin my plants.” He’s notoriously good at ruining things and also, apparently, staring at this goddess, so it’s a fair enough assessment. “I’d plant you new ones but I’ve got kind of a black thumb,” he quipped. Gods, what was he doing here? No self-respecting nature goddess would want anything to do with the king of the dead, as unenthusiastic as he was about the title. “I noticed. So what do you bring to Raven?” “Silver, bronze. Gold sometimes, if I feel like making it.” She nodded, seemingly storing that information away. Then she ran her hands over the patch of dead flowers and instead of crumbling, they burst into color, a small explosion of life. “We’ve never met,” he said, marveling at the way the plants responded to her touch. “I’m unfit for Olympus,” she said, biting back a hard smile. “Me too,” he offered, moving a little closer and sitting next to her. It felt less like he was looming this way, less like he was a force of destruction. “Where are the other nature goddesses? I used to hang out with them, sometimes.” “They’ve been killed.” He frowned. “By who? Gods?” “By humans,” she said. The flower she was working on shuddered, as though blown by the wind. “We don’t talk about it, my brother and I.” “Okay.” Then he should drop it, too. The look of pain that crossed her face, however brief, must have been felt all the way down to the roots. “I have some dead people to get back to. Just, uh, wanted to say hi.” She laughed, standing with him as he got up. She was shorter than he was, but something in her stance contained power and he shivered at her nearness. “Here,” she said, and tucked a purple bloom behind his ear. “For however long it lasts. A gift from me.” When he got back to the underworld, hours later, it somehow hadn’t yet shriveled.  --- Emori was nothing if not curious, and being delegated to the fields of earth had led to considerable exploration. So the passage to the underworld and its entrance in a cave far at the edge of her lands was known to her, if largely untouched. She knew the precious metals came from down there, and now that she’d met the king, she realized he’d be an easy mark. He wasn’t power-hungry or sex-driven, like so many of the gods apparently were (not that she’d met them), and he looked at her like she was the sun, like he was just a little too bright for his eyes. She liked that. She liked that a lot. Another benefit to being isolated: none of the gods knew about her collection of trinkets, and none of them had to know. So a day later, as she walked the long passageway and crossed the dark waters, she reminded herself that this was just for the metals. Nothing else. The dog was easy enough to tame. The three heads could all smell life on her like it was something they missed; she laughed as they lapped at her face, soon crossing over them to the place where the dead dwelled, and the god she’d just met among them. Was he here? The lights in the house in the kingdom’s center were dead. No. No matter. It was easy enough to slip inside, to find a door hidden behind a bookshelf. A painfully obvious place to keep valuables, and the system of organization therein was not pitiful so much as completely absent. Bricks of silver and gold were scattered everywhere, and bronze curled into rings. The pinpricks on the back of her neck spoke of another life here, suddenly, among all the death and metal. He was in the house. She wanted, suddenly, to get caught.   “Don’t be stupid,” she said to herself, but she remembered his “me too”, and the cold blue of his eyes, and how she seemed to melt something in him. By all rationality, he should freeze something in her. Why, then, was she filled with warmth at the idea of seeing him again? Still staring straight ahead in the room, she heard the door close behind her, and something in her felt relieved. “Nice place you have here,” she said, before he could speak. She didn’t turn around, but his presence was palpable behind her. Maybe life is always drawn to death. --- And here he thought she was different. “How much do you think you could have taken without my noticing?” he asked, trying to resist a thrill of something licking into his ribcage at her presence. “You’d be surprised,” she said. “Most people don’t notice nearly as much as they think they do.” She turned around. She was dressed differently, her clothing dark, and among the blocks of metal, she seemed like a fierce spark. Stop that, he told himself. “Does it get lonely in here?” she asked, stepping toward him, which was an unfair move on her part, even if this was his territory. “In my storeroom? I don’t hang out here often.” “You know what I mean.” She looked at him, curious, calculating. “Have I angered the god of death?” The words were almost mocking. “I mean, you were about to steal from me,” he said, not angry in the slightest. “I could demand that you stay. Who knows what that would do to the earth, though.” An almost wicked look crossed her face, and how was it she belonged so perfectly here and up there both? “I guess we’ll have to find out,” she said, and bridged the remaining space between them. Later would come the autumn and winter, the demand for her return, the pomegranate and the life-death-life cycles up above. Later would be the marriage, and the centuries and the stories. Later, and not all that much later, he would make her a flower of silver, and it would be the only thing she brought with her when she made the spring and the summer, and the only thing that went back with her when she ruled the dead in the autumn and winter. But now, the goddess of nature kissed the god of death, and something new was sparked.

[fontainebleau22]

Box of Frogs (Part 6)

From @tramstrams‘ not-at-all-serious prompt, ‘an AU with magic, but something has gone terribly awry and people are being turned into frogs. Only Sam Chisolm can stop this madness’.

Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here. Part 4 here. Part 5 here.

---

I go away for one week, just one week, and when I come back my entire friend-group is living in tanks and eating flies. Sam was cruising slowly through a tangle of suburban streets, checking the names as he passed. It had taken him some effort to persuade a reluctant Red Harvest, in a conversation conducted through the skylight, to adopt human form long enough to tell him the address of the woman who had wreaked such havoc. And Goody so upset - ain’t going to be much in the way of entertainment on poker night till this is all set straight.

He drew to the kerbside beside an unremarkable one-storey house with a well-tended yard; as he stepped from the car a young man strolled by, fingers clicking in time to the tinny beat from his headphones. Tiny rainbow-coloured fish leaked from the earpieces and gathered to dart behind him in a rippling shoal. He paid Sam no attention, but one or two of the fish lingered in his wake, swimming curiously over to inspect him; as they neared him their colours began to fade to black and white. The boldest, nosing towards him, suddenly popped like a soap bubble, and the others flipped their tails and fled.

Sam squared his shoulders and strode to the gate. He had one hand on the latch when a dog the size of a kitchen table came cantering round the side of the house, rowfing enthusiastically. Sam withdrew his hand from the latch. Goody hadn’t mentioned a dog, nor Red. Not that it would have made a difference: Sam Chisolm wasn’t afraid of dogs, even disturbingly hairy dark brown ones. 

‘Good boy?’ he said experimentally. The dog sat down and scratched itself vigorously; its eyes, if indeed it had eyes, were hidden under a shock of thick fur and it occurred to Sam, purely coincidentally, that it might be more polite if he stayed on this side of the gate for the present.

‘Who is it, Gavin?’ called a voice; the dog turned its head and Sam was half-surprised that it didn’t answer.

A woman appeared, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans muddy at the knees, her red hair coming loose from its braid. She seemed younger than Red’s rather incoherent explanation had led him to expect, though her face was pale and drawn. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked in a tone of glacial coldness.

‘Ms Cullen?’ asked Sam politely. ‘Name’s Sam Chisolm.’ He glanced at Gavin who had settled down again, a tongue like a roll of carpet lolling from his mouth. ‘Fine specimen of a dog you have there.’

‘What do you want?’ she demanded impatiently. Well, he’d been warned she had a short fuse. ‘If I could – ‘ he started, but she interrupted. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘You’ve had some recent dealings with my friends.’ Her face darkened like a storm rolling in and Sam quickly held up his hands. ‘Ain’t come to quarrel with you or pass blame; it’s just the whole – frog issue.’

Ms Cullen rolled her eyes. ‘Who are you friends with, my macho jackass of a neighbour? The asshole from the café who wouldn’t stop winking at me? Or the strange old guy who told me to look into my heart for the Lord’s guidance?’

Sam winced. ‘Jack meant well, I’m sure.’

Ms Cullen looked at him narrowly. ‘Are you like the one with the cheekbones who tried to order me around?’

‘No, ma’am,’ said Sam with dignity. ‘I’m not here to do anything but talk with you, and if you let me in I swear I won’t outstay my welcome.’

‘Gavin will see to that,’ said Ms Cullen darkly; it was hardly encouragement, but it seemed as good as he was likely to get, so Sam squeezed cautiously round the gate.

Gavin perked up at the prospect of a visitor and Sam loosened his collar. ‘Is he … friendly?.’ Ms Cullen sighed pointedly, cast around for a stick and hurled it away into the bushes; Gavin went cantering obediently after it.

Sam looked optimistically at the wooden bench nearby, but Ms Cullen just stood and folded her arms. ‘Well?’

He took a deep breath. Need to tread carefully here. ‘Thing is, I just got home from Albuquerque, been away for a week, this thing I –‘ Ms Cullen raised an eyebrow and he hurried to change gear. ‘You’re right, never mind all that, but I came back and found my friend Goody with an apartment full of frogs, and it seems ‘most everyone I know is now in a tank under his care.’

Gavin came crashing back, stick in his mouth, and Ms Cullen wrestled it from him and tossed it again to send him racing off. 

‘Now I’ll grant you Joshua can be overenthusiastic, and you’re not the first that’s threatened to turn him into a rat or a skunk or the like, and I can see that if Billy – that’s the one with the cheekbones – started trying to order you about, you might get tired of that, and Jack, well, he is strange, and that’s the truth…’

Ms Cullen seemed puzzled and Sam had to admit that Gavin’s looming presence might be keeping him from top form. He ploughed on regardless. ‘But Ale – he’s Josh’s boyfriend, he was distraught, Goody said, and Goody’s just beside himself with Billy being a frog and I’m here to ask if you’d find it in you to turn them back again.’

Ms Cullen stared at him. ‘Back.’ Her flat tone was unnerving.

‘To human. You can turn them back, can’t you?’

Ms Cullen shrugged. ‘Why would I want to?’

Because they’re frogs. Sam tried to rein in his temper. ‘I undertake that they’ll have seen the error of their ways; and surely you must feel some sympathy for Ale and Goody, and Red too, losing their partners so sudden? Red won’t stop being a bird, and Goody, well, he ain’t so sensible at the best of times and this has just thrown him for a loop…’

He realised, too late, that Gavin had snuck up behind him and was growling a basso profundo accompaniment to his words, and worse, he was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea as Ms Cullen drew herself up; it felt as though rage was rolling off her like heat from sheet metal.

‘Yes, Mr Chisolm. I know what it’s like to lose a partner suddenly –  I know exactly what it’s like. And no one’s going to wave a hand and bring Matthew back to me.’

Ah. Quite a lot of things became clear to him at once. ‘That’s a hard thing-‘ he began with awkward sympathy, but she hunched her shoulders defensively. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need your pity. I just want you and your friends to stop bothering me.’

In all honesty Sam could see her point. ‘I get that this was all Joshua’s fault at the start - that ain’t usual...’

‘Just go.’ She was running out of patience, that was clear, but Sam owed it to Goody not to give up. ‘But - they’re frogs.’ If he could just find the right words to convince her. ‘Do you really think this is what your hus-’

Gavin’s growl turned into a bark. ‘How dare you?’ Ms Cullen lifted her hand and Sam, despite himself, took a step backward. 

There was an electric zap! followed by a startled yip, and Gavin flashed from an intimidatingly large dog to – an intimidatingly large frog, the largest frog Sam had ever seen, more than a foot from snout to tail, with thighs like a turkey and enormous paddle-shaped feet.

‘What did you do?’ demanded Ms Cullen, horrified. FrogGavin opened his mouth and let out a strange whistling noise, like a deflating football, before hopping away across the grass.

‘Now that is downright unsettling,’ observed Sam. Ms Cullen looked in disbelief from frog-Gavin to him, then flexed her fingers again; Sam stared at her levelly. This time there was no zap!, just a sound like the slap of a wet cloth, and Sam stood there, resolutely unfrogged. ‘Won’t work on me,’ he said, almost apologetically. 

They’d clearly reached an impasse; but as they stood, eyes locked, another car drew up outside and running footsteps approached. ‘Sam!,’ cried Goody, vaulting over the gate. ‘I looked it up – I’ll undoubtedly be a Cajun chorus frog – we’re compatible!’

‘What?’ asked Ms Cullen, too taken aback to protest his invasion of her property.

Goodnight turned to her, manners forgotten in his agitation. ‘I need you to turn me into a frog so I can be with Billy again. Sam will put me in the vivarium with him and we’ll be fine.’

No, no, no. ‘Ignore my histrionic friend,’ said Sam to Ms Cullen, trying to pull Goody away by the elbow, but, ‘You have to,’ declared Goody feverishly. ‘I can’t live my life with Billy on the coffeetable in a tank! He’s my husband and I love him.’

Terrifying visions of a future sitting alone surrounded by frogs began to dance through Sam’s head. ‘Don’t listen to him,’ he begged. ‘Goody, be reasonable...’

Ms Cullen frowned in confusion. ‘You actually want me to –‘ she started, but then broke off, pointing an accusing finger at him. ‘Don’t I know you?’

Goodnight frowned. ‘Well, you turned my husband into a frog, I think that must count as a basic acquaintance…’

‘No,’ said Ms Cullen with more confidence, ‘you’re the man from the pet store, I recognise you. You were buying-’ ‘curly-winged flies,’ supplied Goody, the light of memory on his face – ‘and when I went back after they said you’d paid for my leash.’

‘That’s right,’ agreed Goody. ‘You were upset, it seemed the neighbourly thing to do.’ He looked around vaguely. ‘Big dog, wasn’t it?’

Sam indicated the enormous frog rooting about happily in a flowerbed. ‘There was an accident,’ he said awkwardly.

Goody whistled, impressed. ‘And I thought Jack was big.’

‘An accident.’ Ms Cullen glared at Sam, then clicked her fingers sharply. Goody jumped expectantly at the flunch! which followed, then looked down at himself, still warm-blooded and mammalian, in disappointment, but Gavin popped back into canine form and came sauntering back towards them, apparently unfazed.

Sam retreated behind Goody in what he hoped was a subtle manner. ‘So you can reverse it.’

‘Reverse it?’ Goody’s attention refocused like a laser. ‘Permanently? Sam tried, but Billy kept frogging and unfrogging again and – can you bring him back?’

Ms Cullen tried to scowl at him, but her composure suddenly wobbled. ‘Yes, I can bring your husband back for you.’ She turned her back hastily and went to sit down on the bench, hugging her arms; Gavin hurried over to offer a wall of doggy comfort.

Goody looked to Sam, who cleared his throat. ‘Ms Cullen lost her husband unexpectedly.’

Understanding dawned on Goody’s face and he went to sit down beside her. ‘You said, you moved here after he…?’ he asked gently. 

Ms Cullen hugged Gavin close, tears beginning to creep down her cheeks. ‘I just – I thought being somewhere new would help, but I miss him every second, just the same.’

Goody put a tentative hand on her back. ‘What happened?’ 

‘An accident. Hit and run. One morning he was there, and then – just gone, in an instant. It’s so unfair.’

‘It is unfair,’ agreed Sam, sitting down on her other side. When she looked at him, he added gravely, ‘I know a little about losing family. And so does Jack. He’s always been a help to me.’

Ms Cullen rubbed at her eyes. ‘Maybe I have been a bit quick-tempered recently.’

Goody patted her arm comfortingly. ‘Now, Ms Cullen,’ – ‘Emma,’ she interjected quietly – ‘it’s understandable.’

‘Though it’s true,’ added Sam, ‘you can’t solve every problem by turning people into a frog.’

Goody glared at him over her head, but Emma managed a watery smile. ‘That’s what Matthew used to tell me. I never met anyone I couldn’t turn before.’

‘Sam here’s immune to magic,’ explained Goody.

‘Blessing and a curse,’ said Sam.

‘What about you?’ she asked Goody curiously. ‘What can you do?’

‘I can cure things.’ Goody took her hand sympathetically. ‘Though unfortunately not broken hearts.’

Ms Cullen – Emma – shut her eyes again briefly, then shook herself and sat up straighter. ‘I shouldn’t be making everyone else suffer. Let me bring them back.’ 

‘We can take you-‘ started Sam, but she shook her head. ‘I can do it from here.’ 

She lifted a hand again, but Goody suddenly grabbed it. ‘Wait!’

‘What?’ squawked Sam, but Goody gave him a withering glance.

‘How exactly does this work? Is Billy going to find himself standing on the remains of my coffeetable in a busted tank? I left Ale and Josh on the bookshelf, and Jack is still in the washbasin…’

Emma had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. ‘It should bring them back to the place where it happened. Reset the clock.’

‘So they’ll be here?’ Goody took her hand with one of his charming smiles. ‘Would you?’

Emma closed her eyes and concentrated, then clicked her fingers. The mother of all flunch!es set Gavin barking and started off car alarms down the street, and Billy and Jack popped into existence, staggering in surprise.

‘Billy!’ Goody jumped to his feet. ‘Thank the Lord!’

‘Goody?’ Billy blinked at him in confusion. ‘I left you at home. No, I was at home with you. Sam was there, but he’s not back.’

‘Sam’s over there,’ interjected Jack, equally at a loss. He peered at Billy. ‘Aren’t you a frog?’

Billy looked around. ‘Where’s Ale?’

‘Where’s Red?’ asked Jack. His question at least was answered as a dark blur came plummeting down from the sky, changing form at the last moment to land in a flurry of feathers and hair. 

‘There you are!’ Jack enveloped Red in what could only be described as a bear hug, and Goody followed suit with Billy. ‘I’m so glad to have you back, cher.’

Emma turned to Sam, deliberately ignoring the heartfelt reunions. ‘The red-haired guy and his boyfriend will be at that cafe.’

‘We’ll go and fetch them,’ declared Goody, all smiles. ‘I can’t thank you enough-‘

Emma shrugged and the corners of her mouth tugged down. ‘Back to normal for you all. Gate’s over there. Come on, Gavin.’ She began to walk back to the house, shoulders slumped.

Sam exchanged glances with Goody. ‘Look, we shouldn’t trespass on your time, but won’t you…’ Emma looked back expectantly, and Sam faltered.

‘…come and be sure the others are OK?’

Sam threw Goody a look of gratitude. ‘Yes, just in case it hasn’t worked.’

‘It will have,’ said Emma, but Goody was already back to his regular voluble self. 

‘Wouldn’t want either of them to end up different – you know, Josh left with frog feet or Ale breathing though his skin.’

‘We wouldn’t?’ asked Billy.

Jack nudged him reprovingly. ‘We’d be honoured if you’d come with us to the café, ma’am.’

Emma looked cheerful for the first time. ‘Can I bring Gavin? He likes company.’

‘Of course,’ said Goody blithely, ‘Billy and I will take Jack and Red, and Sam can take the two of you.’ 

Hellfire, Goody. Sam ground his teeth. ‘No problem.’ 

When Emma laughed properly Sam could see how young she really was. ‘Want me to frog him up again for the journey?’

‘I think,’ said Sam resignedly, ‘ I’m going to need to learn to love him as he is.’

---

[Just a short coda to follow, and this idiocy will be at an end.]

[fandom-smut-shots]

Harry Hook - First Mate

Title

First Mate

 Pairing

Harry Hook x Reader

 Fandom

Descendants

 Summary

Request for Abby457478

"Can I have an x reader Descendants harry hook"

A/N: I've had this idea in my head forever and now that I write Descendants I thought I'd put it to use.

"Uma's gone. Harry's the new captain. He's got a new first mate. What are Harry and crew going to do when Uma suddenly returns?"

 The clinking of metal clashing against metal echoed through the air, sword blades hitting one another with every thrust. A feminine voice cried out a triumphant yell as she was once again victorious. Her opponent backed away with a groan, his hand resting atop the bleeding gash that the girl's sword had left on his cheek.

"Miss (Y/n)!" an excited voice called out, accompanied by the fast-paced thumping of booted feet running across wooden planks.

You let out a groan, dropping your sword and turning in direction of the voice. "What do you want, Gil? I'm training the newbies."

The blond boy was nearly jumping with excitement. "Uma's back!"

Your eyes widened and you nearly dropped your sword in surprise. Gritting your teeth, you thrust a hand out to grip the front of Gil's leather vest. "Uma's what?"

The boy gulped as your eyes glazed over with anger. He knew how short the fuse to your temper was. "I-I was out on patrol, you know, a-and I was in the alley behind Ursula's place when I saw her. At first I thought I was seeing things, you know, so I closed my eyes, but when I opened them again, she was still there staring at me."

You mumbled a string of curses, shoving Gil backwards as you released his vest. "This is bad, Gil."

The blond tilted his head. "How's it bad, (Y/n)?"

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him. "Uma coming back will ruin everything! Everything I've worked for; everything we've accomplished! Harry will go back to being first mate - and Uma's little lap dog. And do you know where I'll be?"

Gil shook his head. "I'll be on my own," you growled. "Don't you like our system here, Gil?"

He nodded eagerly. "Of course I do. You're much nicer to me than Uma was."

"Then Harry can't know she's back," you told him, your voice low and quiet. There was an air of urgent secrecy in your voice that made the blond pay attention.

He nodded again. "How are we gonna keep him from finding out? What if he sees her?"

You chewed your lip in thought. "I'll keep an eye on him. You shadow Uma. Keep me posted on everything she does so I can make sure Harry doesn't cross her path."

Gil offered you a clumsy salute. "Aye aye, First Mate!"

 Gil made a surprisingly decent shadow. A week had passed already, and every day the blond reported to you with new information. And he hadn't gotten caught.

Yet. With Gil, it was only a matter of time.

You stayed close to Harry. He didn't mind your company – you'd known each other for a long time. You'd just only recently been reunited because he'd chosen Uma over you, and the two of you hated each other. Once she was out of the picture, you had actually been the one to suggest Harry taking over as captain, rather than finding a new one. You insisted that he deserved it, and hey, he was the son of Captain Hook.

Your loyalty to him had earned you your rank as First Mate. That same loyalty was now causing guilt to bubble up in your belly. You’d never so much as lied to Harry, and now you were outright keeping secrets from him. Between your admiration for him as Captain and the crush you were harboring on him, the guilt was likely to eat you up until you broke down and told Harry what you knew.

But you’d burn that bridge when you came upon it.

 When you entered Ursula’s shop, which had remained your crew’s meeting place even after Uma’s disappearance, the last thing you expected to see was the blue-haired sea wench sitting on a stool at the bar, glaring at the door as she awaited your arrival.

“Uma,” you sneered, swinging the door open and planting your booted feet on the wooden floor. Your dominant hand immediately reached for the sword you had tucked into your belt, and Uma hopped down from her chair. Her hips swung as she approached you, and you recognized the gloss of determination in her eye. It was the same look she had when she cornered Mal after kidnapping Ben. She meant business.

“(Y/n),” she scoffed. “So, you swooped in and took my place?”

“Technically, I took Harry’s place,” you countered. “He deserves to be captain. Always has. You just wouldn’t let someone else have the title.”

“You always were his little fan,” she smirked. Realization dawned on her cocoa-brown features and she grinned. “You’re in love with him. That’s why you always defend him.”

“I defend him because you’re an egomaniac,” you growled. Boots thumped heavily outside the door, and your heartbeat increased. You recognized Harry’s footfalls by now. Cringing, you twisted your body to glance at the door.

The grin that usually settled on Harry’s lips when his eyes met the sight of you in the shop fell as soon as his dark gaze settled on Uma. “Uma… What are ye doing back? Thought ye got lost at sea.”

“I did,” the sea wench scoffed, flipping her blue braids over her shoulder. “I found my way back, expecting my crew to be waiting for me. Imagine my surprise when I find out that this little traitor has turned my crew against me.”

Before you could defend yourself, Harry stepped forward.

“Don’t call her that,” he growled. “Ye left us. Ye abandoned me and Gil without a word. We moved on. We have better lives now, and (y/n) is my first mate. That’s my choice, Uma. Get out.”

She exhaled a humorless laugh, and you could hear the anger in her voice. “Get out? This was my mother’s restaurant, and my crew’s meeting place. She should get out,” her sword gestured in your direction.

“You know what?” you smirked, stepping forward. “Fight me for it. Winner stays in the crew. Loser never comes back.”

The pirates around you cheered, and Harry reluctantly stepped aside to let you fight. You were honored that he’d defended you, but you needed to beat Uma yourself.

Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your sword, releasing it from its sheath. Uma followed suit, and you stood before her, feet planting on the floor. She lunged, ever impulsive, and you dodged. With a growl, she spun on her heel, swinging her sword. You bent a leg and knelt down, ducking beneath her blade. Catching her off guard, you swung your own sword and sliced her leg. She tumbled to the floor with a cry on her lips. As you backed away, she rose, charging at you. You slid to the side, holding your sword before your face to block hers. Metal clashed against metal, the sound of clinking filling the air as every single viewer held their breath in anticipation.

You lunged, your sword catching Uma’s chest. She fell back with a gasp, and you gave her no time to recover. Looming over her, you rested a foot on her abdomen, holding her down as you aimed your sword at her throat. She brought her own sword up to press against yours, but your angle gave you an advantage in strength, keeping yours in its position.

“Yield,” you growled.

She let out a roar, struggling beneath you. Your foot pressed down, pushing on her abdomen, and she groaned in pain.

“Fine!” she cried out. You backed away, keeping your sword extended in case she tried to attack. As expected, she charged forward. Turning slightly, you struck her head with the hilt of your sword, knocking her unconscious.

Cheers erupted through the shop as you stood victorious over Uma’s unconscious body. A couple of pirates carried her out into the ally, leaving you to face Harry.

“I know she was important to you,” you murmured.

“Was,” he agreed. “Not anymore.”

“Why did you defend me?” you questioned. “I mean, thank you, but why?”

“The same reason, I hope, that you’ve been so faithful to me,” Harry stated softly, crossing the room to stand before you. He towered above you, lifting a hand to rest it on your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as you gazed up at the brunet, standing so close that you all you could smell was seawater and sandalwood.

“I’m in love with ye,” he whispered. “There was no way I was gonna let ye leave.”

A grin split your lips. “What if I didn’t win?”

He barked out a laugh. “Sure, lass. Like ye weren’t gonna beat Uma. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind about ye winning that fight.”

Throwing your arms around his neck, you pulled him down into a kiss. Louder cheers erupted around you, along with applause, as Harry’s arms wound around your waist and pulled you as close as he possibly could.

[sothisiswhatidreamtlastnight]

I have a treat for you today. Last night I had several dreams!

1. My best friend was pregnant with twins, but with a twist. Even though they were both her babies, one of them was growing in her womb, and the other was growing in mine ????? No, I wasn’t a surrogate, and it wasn’t mine; that’s just how she was having her twins. But because of that, her left leg was fused to mine, and we couldn’t even get our legs surgically separated because that would have killed her kids; so we were stuck shocking people as we tried to figure out what to do.

2. I had just arrived at mum’s house for a visit, and next door I saw that there was a man who was definitely not her neighbour, being abusive to a large brown horse that stood by the fence, and was stealing. Before I could call the cops, someone had already attacked him and choked him. He didn’t die, but the force was enough to leave a deep bruise around his neck and leave him spluttering for air while the attacker escaped. It was enough to make him instantly.

3. I think this was part of the same dream, but it was more detailed, as though the other dream was just the prologue of a book, and this was the whole story. This time when I went to mum’s house, my brother was home with the dogs, and the exact same guy was back again, but with 2 or 3 other men. Already weary from last time, I warned my brother to bring the dogs inside and we’d call the police. My brother, being who he is decided to strike up a conversation with the guy from last time instead and basically said that if he did anything illegal, my brother would phone the cops. The guys didn’t really care about the threat, so my brother called the emergency number straight away. As he was telling the address, he got confused and thought it was unit 3 of the street, and I corrected him, giving him my address instead which was unit 1; then I realised my mistake and quickly corrected him saying his house number was 13. The guy was really tall, and easily jumped the fence to get to my brother to cut the call. By then, this guy’s mates had fled the scene, not wanting to get caught by police; so it was just us against him. I marched right over and stood in front of my brother, who is much taller than me.

Because I recently arrived, I still had a backpack on. Remembering this, I took it off so I could defend my brother better; also telling him to stay behind me. I didn’t realise how tall this guy was, and as he went right up to me, I saw that my head only reached his abdomen. It was a little intimidating, but I was prepared to fight. My brother whispered for me to “go for it”, meaning his crotch because it was right there in front of me and much easier than climbing the guy to punch his face; so that was my plan. We both fought at the same time, and I can’t quite remember exactly what happened, but I do remember being lifted easily in a fireman’s lift so I was essentially helpless; but I managed to get out of his grip and defeated him. I really can’t remember if he was tied up or not, waiting for the cops, but he was definitely seated and wasn’t attacking. He had his face down, as though it was pointless for him to try and do anything and he was now a prisoner, and I studied the man quietly to myself. I became a bit of a psychopath then, and had a sudden urge to run a knife across his neck, not to kill him, but just to scare and hopefully teach the guy a lesson so he didn’t do anything like that again. Then all of a sudden I giggled to myself as I said “Ew, how gross!” when I saw a tent peg and had a visual of plunging it into his neck. I was tempted to do it, so I walked away and chose to tell my brother how gory the idea was instead. Just as I finished telling him, I saw blue and red flashing lights along the fence, and the guy was taken away.

4. From here, I was in a different dream, but it started at mum’s house as it transitioned into the next world. Basically, I was a very wealthy red headed little girl, and my father* had just asked me if there was a block of land that I wanted for my birthday; and I nodded yes as I gazed into the sunset that coated the forest and farmland at the edge of town. He knew there was one specific area I had always dreamed about going to, and he gave it to me. From then, I went with my grandfather who also wanted to see it, because he was curious to know if the area had changed. The city I lived in was very futuristic and up in the sky was basically a hovering train that looks very much like the shinkansen (bullet train) in Japan, except instead of being predominately white with a splash of colour, the trains were a shiny metallic silver colour. It was basically a flying train, but passengers followed train rules instead of plane rules. Cars and buses hovered too, but even so, there were still ordinary tilt trains around (old and rusted a little but still operational) that were available for people who couldn’t afford to travel in the hovering technology. My grandfather and I took a hovering taxi to my new block of land, and I was studying the man, who was staring intently out the window.

“Do you think they’re still there?” I asked. He was silent. I stared out the window again to see a white animal transportation bus, and began to wonder what was inside. At the top of the bus was a slit for animals like horses to stick their heads out the side, and instead of an animal, I saw a weathered bright orange sail about the size of a pillow, and it had a hand-painted white symbol on it. It was the same symbol of the place my grandfather used to work, and I recognised immediately that sail in particular was his work. As I began to think about how my grandfather lived life, he looked out my window in disbelief, so I looked straight where he was staring. A word began to etch itself across the body of the vehicle, as though it was being carved my claws, and when the creation was complete, it spelled “Raptor”.

“Yes. They’re still there.” my grandfather finally responded. The main reason I had wanted to visit that block of land was to check out and preserve the giant livable tree house the size of a mansion that was right in the middle of it; but knowing for sure that dinosaurs would be there too made my trip that much more exciting.

*My ‘father’ and ‘grandfather’ are not my actual family - just my family for this dream