#he's so shaped aaagh

[collar-shocked]

Coming Home

Derek's latest vacation lands him in a position of life or death, in which life seemed ever-escaping. After returning home and recovering, the true weight of his ordeal lands not on him, but on his family.

Authors note: I finally get to include a smidgen of OC into this blog !! Rejoice!! But I also want to elaborate a little bit on Derek's homelife and living situation. Specifically, his siblings, which, technically also count as OC-territory? I don't know. Felt important enough to mention.

Things/Red flags to look out for: Attempted/Implied rape/sexual assault, violence and gore, bodily fluids, vague implied possession.

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The first day is young. There is no more commotion, no more scrambling of feet or heaving of lungs. It seems everyone who has a purpose out here is either hiding from it, or searching for it. Or, in this case, has found and been found by it.

A canteen slams against the sand, the sound of howling laughter following. "Enjoy that one! Gonna need all the nutrients you can get!" Derek zipped himself up, taking one more look at his choice of livestock. A shorter man on the skinnier side- but like, not in the attractive way, in the 'I eat one meal a day and it's a microwavable TV dinner' kind of way. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a weak, pathetic hanging jaw, tongue hung to display his work. The sacrificial lamb, that of which has a name- Bree's eyes found the canteen, resisting the urge to dive for it right now, not wanting to humiliate himself any more than he has already.

His hair was gripped, two almost playful, rough slaps being delivered to his cheek. "Let's see who finds you next." He was then tossed to the coarse ground, left a whiny, breathy mess as Derek hopped on his quad and left the scene. The Frenchman watched as his shape got smaller and smaller, until he finally felt safe enough to move.

Bree lifted his aching body, clothes wetly latching to his skin as the suns rays persisted. His eyes aimed down, looking at the sand directly below him- red and moist, accumulated from the fluids coming from his mouth. His spit. His blood.

And something more.

His stomach began to boil. Becoming dizzy, Bree whimpered and doubled over, retching loudly before a painful shoot released from his stomach and throat, joining the mess already on the ground. God-!! Even the smallest movement of his tongue felt like hell! He felt his eyes swell with tears- No. Do not cry, not now. His attention instead turned to his reward, oh how generous. Giving a small stumble and bend, instant relief filled his core. Oh, it's so cold.. He placed the canteen to the back of his neck, flinching beneath the feeling. He heard somewhere this can cool you down due to the area of circulation. Whether or not it's working, his brain certainly thought it was.

Not that he plans to share. The others in this landscape have made it abundantly clear it's 'me or you.' All that old bastard had to do was keep his mouth shut and Bree wouldn't have been hurt that way. He earned this. Not wanting to stick around for long, he began to move, eventually coming across a large hill to sit atop while enjoying something as simple as water. The sun may have beamed, but the desire to stay away from people outmatched the need to find some shade. Upon opening the bottle, he was.. Incredibly suspicious. Hell no it's not that easy, right? Not from... Scorpion?

..He smelled the water. Nothing. He poured a bit into his palm, examining the color. Seems normal. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking the moistu-

"AAAGH-!!" He jumped back, kicking his feet while slapping a hand over his mouth. How could he forget so soon?! Ice cold water, directly onto his open wound! "I'm such a fucking idiot!!" He shouted messily as blood pooled around his bottom teeth, trying not to use his tongue. Then, he flinched, looking around to make sure he didn't attract any unnecessary attention. Luckily, silence. ...Bree collected himself, eyes finding the cantee- "Shit!!" In his earlier scramble, it had.. Tipped. No, not all of it was gone, but a significant amount of water had been wasted.

It was so gutting. It wasn't just water to him, wasn't just some bottle. It was his sacrifice. His prize for dehumanizing himself at the snap of a finger because he was scared. His canteen now sits at about half full, and honestly?

He's pissed off about it.

Just the kick he needed while he was down. Just the final pluck on his heart-strings provided to make this whole thing feel helpless. Bree wants to go home. Before his cat was left waiting at the door for him. Before his job called over and over and over again. Before his comfort and virginity were threatened.

He wants to go home.

He wants to go home.

......

...The third day is young. There is no more commotion, no more scrambling of feet or heaving of lungs, for most have already gone out. No one has caught sight of the cavedwellers for quite some time, as Bree, with his trusty sacrificial blade, had made quick work of them. It was on reaction, an unintentional incident! He's not a murderer! He just didn't want to see whatever happen to that boy happen! ...Killing Dragon was.. It.. It was self-defense, it was..

And now, Bree wanders. Shoulders heavy, feet weak, skin burnt, mind gone. He lazily shuffles through the sand, letting his jaw and eyelids hang halfway while desperately clinging to his canteen, long-since-emptied. He's not sure why he kept it for so long. Some kind of trophy, perhaps. He wandered, and wandered, and wandered, anything but staying in the same place for too long. He didn't even know where he was going. In fact..

..He didn't even know.. Where he was.

Bree turned around, seeing exactly what he saw before he turned. This repeated, beginning to spin, expecting any direction would be different at.. Some point. His ears had a very faint and quiet ring in them as this just kept going. Round and round, nothing new, all surroundings looking the same. Round and round, round and round, round and round, round and round, round.. Round. Round.

He's throwing up. By now, the wound upon his tongue was a distant memory. It's either not hurting anymore, or he's forgotten that it does. There was nothing left in his stomach to release, but his body kept trying anyway. Upon a strong retch, his eyes wettened, the last of his bodies moisture- and for some reason, that just.. Initiated a fit.

Bree is so tired. He's so tired, and burnt, and worn, and his brain is spent, and oh so sick, and he's sick of it. He began to cry. Not just cry, but wail. Like a small child getting lost in a store. His legs gave out, knees becoming sore against the rough sand. He's just so angry! He did everything right! He did all he was supposed to!! He got good grades, he got through college, got a decent paying job, eventually afforded his own house and car and bills, and bills and bills and bills! He missed out on so many opportunities in favor of sticking to his "future plans," just to end up where? Here? In some sick fucks sandbox?

He cried. He cried until his ears began to ring louder. He cried until his body was dry and his face ached. Upon taking in a tight inhale, he came to a terrifying realization-

His ears aren't ringing. That sound is very familiar. A roaring engine.. Wheels on sand..

Someone fucking help him.

Bree tried scrambling to his feet, feeling his exhausted muscles fail him. He got a few inches up before tumbling down, groaning deeply as he pushed his shaky elbows into the ground, listening to hyena-like laughter, and the ceasing of the vehicle.

Derek's shoes met the ground, kicking dirt with his steel toe as he trailed close, playfully spinning his pretty shiny bat. "Look who it is!" Chimed in sport, delivering a hard blow to the Frenchman's head, sending blood to the sand. Now his ears were ringing, a firework of pain spreading through his head like roots. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at both Derek and the sun. Or well, simply seeing them both, but not exactly looking. He's still processing the hit... "You look like shit, ha'gh ha ha! Did anyone else end up messing with you?"

Bree couldn't answer. He held his hands up in defense lazily, fearing the worst. Death is a hopeful wish at this point. He's got nothing left to give. ...Almost nothing.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" A warning shout, staring icy-blue daggers into the other. Bree tried to move upon spotting the fast motion, going too slow, being too weak, and instead taking the kick to his ribs, releasing a loud cry. "Baby's got healthy lungs, so why don't you talk?"

"Iii-I- I'm- It-"

"Aaahh-ah-ah-ah THINK about what to say before you say it, day-amn!" Using his bat as a cane, he pressed the thick end into the ground before bending his knees apart in a crouch, keeping his hands above on the handle. He observed the other, head to toe. His gaze felt predatory. Bree shudders. "..Naaahh! You're not THAT bad off. C'mon, shake it off, it's no fun when you're just layin' around."

Look, Bree is trying. Now that he's laying down, he feels so rested. Even his adrenaline can not carry him away. "H-How did you even-?.."

"Find you? I mean, I wouldn't have if you weren't throwing a tantrum. So thanks for that. What was that about, anyway? Finally losing it~?" Derek teased his purchase, tilting his head far to the right with a long, light hum. Bree swallowed dryly in apprehension. This apprehension was met as Derek suddenly moved in, bottom lip sliding beneath his upper teeth while parting his knees over the other mans stomach, releasing his bat to find his belt. Bree began to weakly cry out, using whatever strength he had left to push against his attackers stomach- "Trynna cop a feel? HAHA! Don't worry! You'll get more than enough~."

Bree begins to swell with fear and anger. He's right. This jackass is right.. He's not going to save himself if he focuses on Scorpion. He needs to put his focus elsewhere- on himself. The position they're in is tight, but not impossible. He has some wiggle room between the sand and the others pelvis- but not enough.

Bree is a smart man. That is what Derek has forgotten. The blond lifted himself to lower his pants- flinching as Bree took his opportunity. His victim rolled quick onto his stomach, officially unlocking himself from him- now attempting to crawl away, dragging his fingers and elbows through the sharp, oh so sharp sand. "Ah-ah-aaahh~! Fuck do you think YOU'RE goin'?!" Derek cheered, digging his fingernails into the other mans hips, forcibly pulling his boxers down while keeping him still, unintentionally causing so much more pain. Bree squealed in fright and agony before quickly turning around, and..

He's been blinded.

In a single moment, Bree, with a handful of sand, launched it back into Derek's face. Into his nose. His mouth. His eyes. He howled in pain and scoot back, both hands gripping his face as a late defense. Bree scrambled away to make distance, still being unable to lift his weak knees easily. His body shook. His brain stirred. His stomach boiled and eyes ran dry. He watched Scorpion writhe and panic, wiping his eyes clean as he spit and panted the earths natural weapon away. Another opportunity. Bree begins dragging himself close on his knees, removing the bloodied blade he kept hidden in his underwear.

Derek peeked at the other through a squinted eye, not being able to react before the knife was pushed into his abdomen. As the blade tore through his skin, he froze completely, feeling disgust, pressure, and burning pain wash over him entirely. Bree, still weak and sweaty and clinging to the handle, was not yet satisfied. He twisted the weapon before roughly pulling it out, sending Derek backwards as fresh, warm blood coated his hands- becoming disturbed at the results of his attack. Derek's legs awkwardly folded underneath the rest of his body while a near inhuman sound came from his throat. Bree, knowing he has time, attempted to carry himself away- until he paused.

...Why continue to run?

Bree struggled to his feet, an effort that took over two minutes. Within that time, Derek came to his senses. He's still a lot stronger. He's still a lot better. With a hand to his wound and the other picking grains from his face, he roared in exhausted anger, eventually finding the effort to sit up. Clothes sticking to him, headband halfway off, eyes sore and body butchered- none of this, none of this compared to the panic he felt upon seeing Bree, already so far away, trying to lift a leg over his bike seat. "Hhh-!! Hey!! HEY YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!" Bree glanced over with a strange look of calm and continued his efforts. Derek tried scrambling to his feet- being stopped and brought back to his knees by the shocking pain in his stomach. The quads engine began to rumble. "N-NO!!" He cried out to no answer. Within just a few seconds, Bree gave himself whiplash by launching forward, stopping to giggle to himself. "GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!!"

"You.. You know what?.." Bree chirped, a voice Derek is silently, admittedly soothed by. "I.. I'm bigger than you.." Never mind. The fibbing tease did not come without threat- the bike now shooting forward, full speed. Derek was not fast enough.

The tires met his body within a blink. Dragging him in a brief roll before leaving him in the sand, pooling crimson from his damaged form. There was a crack somewhere. A crack, and a pop, and a scrape. Cheek pressed tightly against the ground, mouth wide open as he breathes in more of this sharp, irritating sand- his eyes watched the vehicle carefully. For a moment, their eyes met from their distance. ..Bree's gaze softened, and he went on his way.

Mercy.

Derek was too mangled to even process the concept of mercy. He laid in the sand, gasping, pulling at parts of his body- too terrified to look. He flung an arm up, a bloodied hand digging into the sand in an attempt to pull himself. He goes nowhere. Panic sets in. Hyperventilation. Forgetting about the humiliation of being beaten and the insecurity of being stolen from, Derek feels all else but panic begin to fade- desperate writhing stiffly for any movement at all.

His teeth grit as the vehicles shape disappears into the distance. He screams out in a shaky, cracked cry, sounding like a distressed wild animal, fingers dragging across the sand in search of something. Anything. A sensation besides heat, and pain, and wet. There is nothing to feel.

Derek's thoughts lulled him into a much needed blank, barren state. What will become of his family after this? Matthew will ultimately become heir, and while that fucking sucks, can he handle it? Will he be able to carry the weight, the title of eldest Goffard kin? What of his even younger brothers and sisters? Who will guide them through? Will his father finally appreciate him for what he was? Is it Derek's passing that will finally unlock the affection that old brute refuses to give? Where will he end up after this? Is Hell really that bad? Is this really it? Alone, mangled, and discarded?

He spent the next few hours hopelessly tossing and turning in damp, clumpy, dark sand. Dragging his own corpse was nothing short of torturous. He didn't get far, but he didn't stay still, keeping him attached to the idea of survival despite the chances. A few times, in his desperate battle to keep awake, he could have sworn he spotted some kind of.. Will-o-the-wisp. Sweet, sick nothings whispered to him- though he could not understand.

He reached for it and collapsed in the sand, losing himself to the blood loss and exhaust.

......

...There is no third night. Blue eyes meet the world in a white, cool room, with buzzing lights and multiple sources of beeping from a distance. A large portion of his body is kept tightly by bandaging and metals beneath the skin, held lock and key by healing stitches. Being hugged by gauze and wrapping, he found his form was also encapsuled by multiple gazes as well, though he could hardly process this at all. Derek guided his sleepy eyes around the room, capturing the wonky figures he recognized as his father, and a stranger. An unfamiliar nurse. His heart thumped against his chest- they are not at home.

Derek shifted his weight in bed, letting out a load, pained groan as muscle strains him from somewhere. He's too high on painkillers to tell. A touch to his arm sent uncomfortable blossoms all through his body, glancing over to see his father pressing his index and middle finger on his arm, using only these to lower him back into a rest on the hard mattress. "How many times is this going to happen?" The older man questioned, receiving some long-winded, nervous ramble from the poor soul in the room with them. Derek couldn't process any of it. He felt sick. He began to try and remember anything, really. The desert came to mind. He's pretty sure Jack found him, he can remember his mask. Or was it? What was it?

...Blue eyes meet the world to a canvas of grey, and a bouncy resting place. Derek is in the backseat of a car now. He released a loud grumble and raised a fake feeling arm and hand to hold his forehead, catching the drivers, and his fathers, who sits in the passenger seat, attention. Sharp, icy, dagger-like hues met his tired frame. "There you are!" He started, "What have you done to yourself?! I let you out for one day, and you come back a slab of meat!"

"I'm.. Sick."

"Yes you are! Very! At least you're smart enough to agree on that!" The old man continued to scold. In Derek's intense eyeroll, the noise and the words began to fuse and mix, as if twisting together. Derek's boiling stomach kept him busy, focusing on not losing whatever his lunch may be in the back of this car.

...Blue eyes meet the world in a warm toned, comfortable room, with a spinning fan above his bed. He dozed off again... This time, he is at home, safe in his bedroom. The sun is young, and Derek's mind is much more coherent- though the grogginess has not left him. His body hurts. His stomach feels empty and sickly. He feels weak. The humming of the fan and loneliness of the room is enough to cast the spell of sleep on him once again, even if he truly tried to fight it this time.

...A click.

The moon is now beaming against the dark sky. Derek, previously fast asleep, is listening to the chilling sound of his door opening carefully, followed by a creaky floorboard. His brow tilted in frustration, holding in his grumble for the sake of the hunt- catching them in the act. It's not uncommon for his siblings, or servants, to creep into his quarters to see what consumables or valuables he's left laying around. He just.. Can't believe they'd try it while he's down and vulnerable this way. It's disgusting... Especially now that he ponders- how long has he been asleep? How many times has this happened in his rest? With a grit of his teeth, he's decided it wont happen a single time more.

"Nice try, asshole." It came out groggy and lazy, not nearly as cool as he wanted it to sound. All movement ceased as he painfully rolled over to face them, spotting the shape of his youngest brother, standing at only the age of 14. Really? Him? He's a bit gutted. "I moved my stash like, last month."

The room was silent with pride as Derek, metaphorically, pat his own back. Caught him. His smirk hidden by the rooms darkness was interrupted, however, as something.. Unexpected happened.

A sniffle.

Derek groaned, beginning to push against the bed to sit up. It was a struggle, but one given time by his company. Squinting through the shadows, he could see the light through the window brush against his brothers cheek- reflecting off the wetness of his face. Pride and offense turned to quiet worry. "...It's not a big deal, okay? Everyone tries it."

"A-Ah-" The child, Val, short for Valentine, tried to speak, disregarding the others attempt at comfort. His hands pulled and picked nervously at his shirt, and his eyes were anywhere but on Derek. "I-I know we fight a lot," A sharp, loud, shaking inhale. "but I don't wan-nt you to die-" Both sleeves are brought up to wipe at his face, a hushed cry being uncontrollable.

Derek watched in utter emotional distress. What a sad little guy. He ran a hand through his hair and grumbled uncomfortably, trying to collect the right words- but first, one thing must be handled. "Hey." For once, softness. "Hey, hey, c'mon.. Don't do that. You know how dad feels about that." He reached a hand out, tugging at the others sleeve, making him remove his arms from his tearing eyes. The poor thing was in shambles.

His brother continued to sniff in. Just when they thought he was okay, his throat began to whistle once more, rocking himself from his toes to his heels while trying to cease his crying. Derek gave him time. "I tried not to but-" A wet cough. "-I couldn't hold it."

"Just try not to again, alright?" He speaks from experience. Men don't cry. Things go wrong if they do. Derek puffed a long-breath out of his teeth, rolling his eyes before patting his bed- an invitation his sibling very quickly took. He scooted himself up, pulling his knees to his chest to bury his face into. Derek delivered a few weak pats to his back. "Look.. Were you that freaked out?"

"Yeah-!" Their gazes suddenly met. "They ha-ad wires everywhere, and everyone was loud, and they wou-ouldn't let us take you home-" More and more waterworks. The pats on the boys back had eventually turned to firm rubbing- affection he leaned into.

"Hey, come on, dude. Do you really think I would die out there? Me?" He offered a shit-eating-grin, one filled with false confidence. "Had a bad run. Win some, lose some, but c'mon.. I'm not gonna die. Too good for that.." Despite his snicker, he could tell he was unconvincing. With an anxious, shaky breath inward, Derek decided to drop the act. Can't cool-guy you're way through every situation. He let out an annoyed sigh and quickly traced his tongue along his lips, leaning back with a flinch before repositioning his seating- getting comfortable. "Look... It was a close call. I know. But I wouldn't let myself go knowing you're not ready for that, okay? Okay?"

That was a little more convincing. Val began to nod slowly, sniffing and shuddering in his seat. They're not the most affectionate family, but this really reminded him how much he wants to be. The boy carefully scooted and leaned over, taking his eldest brother in for a hug- something uncommon in this household. He was unaware of how much agony Derek was in because of this, and the man never intended to make it known. He likes hugs, too. "Okay.."

Almost a full minute had gone by before they moved away. Val's hair was ruffled in a slap-like motion. "There we go! Have a lil' faith in me, yeah? I wouldn't do that to you guys." Small chuckles now hogged the air. Now.. He really shouldn't. But the kid's upset. "..'Ey, you want a brownie?"

"What?"

"You want a brownie? Can only have one, but I'm feeling generous tonight. Not sure why." Snickers and giggles from both followed. Val shyly nodded, keeping his head down, as if they could get in trouble any moment. "Sweet. Closet, bottom left corner, gotta move my shit."

Val went seeking. Upon finding the discreet brownie-box, he trailed back to his older sibling with a gasp. "You actually have these? Dad lets you keep food in your room?"

Laughter was quick to strike, something Derek immediately regretted, pressing a hand firm into his side. Still such an innocent little thing.. "No.. That's why you can't tell, 'kay?"

"Okay..." He retook his seat before opening the box. They smelled different, but were presented beautifully. "..Only one?"

"Only one."

"Why?"

"You'll start seein' shit if you have any more."

"Oh.. Why?"

"God damn dude! Just eat the brownie!"

In goes the brownie. The two share their incredibly rare, special moment before Derek forces himself out of bed, using slow and careful steps to walk Val back to his own room in their large estate. He doesn't trust the staff. The boy couldn't help but to reach for his hand- not that he succeeded in full. Instead, Val grabbed onto Derek's index and middle finger, something that came as a surprise, but not a bother. Entering his siblings rooms is always a treat- rooms he never occupies. He gets to see what kind of people they are when inside, and this room screams youth and innocence. It was fun! Toys left out, walls decorated with video game memorabilia, drawings taped to the wall, dirty clothes pile in the corner- a true kids room. It was nice to see Val is still allowed to enjoy it.

He stayed in that room. He stayed until he was sure the little guy was back in bed and sleeping. It's the first time Val was able to fall asleep under a protective guardians supervision- something he needed. Derek soon moves on, making sure to shut the door with a hushed click before limping himself to the patio. He's been inside for.. However long. He's been trapped in sleep for days, possibly even longer- some fresh air would be nice... His body feels stiff and sore, and each step carries weight and ache, but the moon and stars and wind will be so worth it. This is something he never thought to appreciate before. Something so simple like air.

Derek leaned his hands against a chair and let his shoulders ease, exhaling slowly and deeply. His eyes scanned the distance. The moving vehicles, the busy town, the lights still blooming in every business- a strange green flickering from a pin-prick sized window sending chills across his skin. He took his sweet time to himself. Just... Thinking.

...Whatever happened to Bree, anyway?

Whatever happened to his quad?

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

OH MY GOD

Literally no one is going to care about this but I just thought of an angsty ass plot point for my MCD rewrite and AAAGH i’m frothing at the mouth rn

this is very OC centric so fair warning

TW: GORE, VIOLENCE, ALL AROUND ANGST AND WHUMP!!

Sorry for any mistakes, enjoy you sick mofos <3

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Ok so imagine this: It’s been about a year since Laurance left for the Nether. The looming threat of Tu’La is only growing, and the King is getting cocky. He holds a ball in O’Khasis, a masquerade. A lot of important Tulians will be there to celebrate their official occupation of O’Khasis, and soon, Ru’Aun. Somehow the group (Aph, Garroth, Katelyn, Travis, and Eseryt) hear about this and decide to check it out. Garroth is super hesitant but Aphmau is insisting she go and he can’t just leave her. Aph and Eseryt use their meif’wa orbs (yes Es was cursed too) to blend in, seeing as there will be plenty of other meif’wa there. Katelyn refuses to use hers, so Garroth used it instead. Travis uses his shape shifting abilities to make himself look like a meif’wa.

Everything’s going well, everyone is dancing, and socializing, listening in on conversations, getting info abt Tu’La’s plans, the works. Katelyn gets word about something going down on the roof and needs a distraction to be caused in order to get there. She informs Eseryt privately in passing. Es, who is dancing with Travis, tells him to start a fight with Garroth. Travis is like “What? Why me? Can’t you do it?” and Es is like “Yeah I could, but that’s not very ladylike now is it?” So Travis and Garroth stage a fight so Katelyn can sneak off. (Very much inspired by that ep of The Witcher iykyk)

Everything is going well; Garroth and Travis are “fighting” and it’s pretty convincing. Aphmau and Eseryt are off to the side yelling things like “Stop pookie bear! This isn’t you!” and “Boys stop you’re embarrassing me 😜” while Katelyn successfully sneaks off to the roof.

Suddenly, during the “fight”, Travis’s meif’wa features begin changing. His cats ears are replaced by long pointed ears, his fluffy cat tail replaced by a thin pointed tail. His skin shifts to a dark grey color and curly horns begin to sprout from his head. There are gasps from the crowd, Eseryt and Aphmau calling out to him confused. Garroth looks up at Travis, and shocked, he backs away in a stumbling manner. Was this apart of the show? Couldn’t be! Travis freezes, confused and unsure, reaches a hand up to feel the thick horns atop his head. He gasps and looks around in a frenzy.

Eseryt, feels something. An odd aura. She looks past Travis to she a cloaked figure staring him down calmly, whispering something under their breath. Es and the figure make eye contact, as they grin something rotten, before standing and pointing a shaking finger at Travis. “DEMON!” they shout, “KILL IT BEFORE IT HAS A CHANCE TO KILL YOU!”

Eseryt can feel the dark energy radiating from this person. They’re a manipulator. A siren perhaps? Somehow they’re able to bring out the darkest in a person. They brought out Travis’s demon form. But how?

Suddenly a hoard of ball goers lunge at Travis, pinning him to the ground and attacking him mercilessly. Everyone tries desperately to get to him, but they’re held back by other ball goers. Eseryt is pleading, begging, screaming to be let go so she can save him. He’s on the ground curled in a ball. He won’t fight back, he won’t hurt these people. But at this point, she doesn’t think he could fight back if he wanted to. They’re really doing a number on him.

Suddenly Es feels it. A surge of darkness being ripped from her soul. All she can see is crimson red as a familiar shell forms around her body. This sudden act snaps most of the ball goers out of whatever trance they were in and they flee. Aphmau and Garroth help them get away, but it’s mostly to clear a path so they can intervene.

Not all the ball goers leave Travis. Not all of them flee. Some of them take pleasure in hurting him. Eseryt can feel their lust for demon blood. Without a second thought, she mows through them with her daggers. Not a single attacker is spared. Not one.

Travis manages to drag himself somewhat off the floor, hair matted with blood, dripping into his eyes. All he could see was Eseryt’s back, as she breathed hard and gripped her daggers tight. “..eseryt..?” he wheezed. Instant regret hit him like an arrow to the chest. She turned to face him, slowly, she made her way to him. He looked in her eyes, seeing nothing but burning balls of pure fire. Her body was here but her mind was gone. Before he could scramble away she was on top of him. Pinning him to the ground pointing a blood soaked dagger at his throat. He grabbed her forearms, trying desperately to stop her and push her off. But he was weak. And he hurt. He looked into the eyes of the girl he loved and saw the monster she’d always feared becoming.

Katelyn came barreling down the stairs into the ball room, being chased by two guards. She’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to. She was fully prepared to grab her companions and make a run for it. She was not prepared for the scene that wait for her.

Blood was the first thing that registered. The scene was so gruesome even the guards that chased her stopped and stared in horror. Then she saw Aphmau and Garroth desperately trying to push through the crowd. And finally, she saw Eseryt pushing a dagger towards Travis’s throat. She was about to run to stop her when something in her told her to stop. She looked around, finding a cloaked figure sitting calmly in a corner, staring Eseryt down, whispering something under their breath. Somehow, she knew they were the culprit. The person behind all this carnage. She’d never run faster. She hastily made way for the mysterious figure and incapacitated them in one good punch.

It didn’t take much time. Nearly as soon as the figure was out, Eseryt came to. Her eyes became their regular ocean blue in an instant and her body relaxed. She huffed a couple times before everything came back to her. She looked at Travis’s terrified face and immediately backed off, dropping her dagger in horror. She stumbled backwards as Travis got to his knees weakly. “Travis” was all she could manage through her breathlessness and fear, before running off into the forest. Travis tried to go after her but his legs failed him and he collapsed into Garroth’s arms.

Eseryt had never run harder. She pushed through trees and the pouring rain, getting as far into the forest as she could before collapsing to her knees. She sat there, staring at her blood soaked hands, watching the corruption on her fingers creep up further. After a few beats of silence, a blood curtailing scream was ripped from her throat followed by sobs.

The screams was all they could hear has they shakily stumbled out of the ball room into the rain. “Es!” Travis tried to go to her but his legs wouldn’t support him, and Katelyn wouldn’t let him go. “No I hafta- Agh! I have to find- her..!” Suddenly his body couldn’t take anymore and he passed out.

Everyone looked at eachother, with expressions of absolute shock and horror. After a moment, Katelyn spoke up.

“What the fuck did I miss?”

[sneezysubbyboi]

I am drunk right now but I just have to say so respectfully that you were fully part of my sexual awakening like you literally shaped you sexual prefwrwnaces when I told my boyfriend about my kink I like sent him your waves and was like “I want you to act like this” and he was like okay

my god-aaagh eeeeee hnnmmm ggghheee 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 pls- my ego can only get so erect 🙏😔

Seriously tho, I'm glad to have been able to be the match that lit the flame haha, I wish you and your boyfriend the best in exploring your kinky journey! Hope he gets pinned down and made to sneeze helplessly all over ya 😏

[toastythetoasterrr]

Today's victim is.. everyone's favorite traumatized hero,

Kino Estere!

In front of the general public, he puts on this brave, carefree front, pretending he isn't paranoid as hell and on the verge of tears at any given moment

but yeah, he is UNWELL. long-lasting family curse that makes the person with the curse bleed more, unable to recover from wounds properly (basically all of em scar) and die young??? bucko lives with a sense of doom hanging over his head he'd feel weird without at this point

he had an ordinary childhood up until his 6th birthday, when his parents were like, "HEY, kino, we have a surprise 4 u," and then they told him he was never gonna hit thirty and died

his older sister, now his only surviving family member, chucked him at an orphanage and said to put him in the family home once he was old enough

like a year later this girl accidentally threw a ball at kinos window and was like "sorry also u look like you haven't seen the sun in months wanna hang out with me and my friend" and he didn't say ok she just thought he nodded and dragged him outside to her friend who was a fish

and Friendship :)

until kino decided to take up sword fighting and oh no monster

Shizu Da Fish is died.... Kino is trauma again... Tetra didn't see it because she was told to go get help

Time skip to when Kino's starting to Hero

Fnaf.. Kino... Fnaf Kino... Omg

Anyways, another skip.. he's famous now bc he does a really good job at saving and helping people yahoo

It's Shizu again she lived and she's wackus bonkus now and trying to kill kino so he's like "girl I was 13 what did you expect me to do?? suddenly have the skill and experiences of a 30 year old hero who's been fighting since they were 2??" and now she's really died because Self Defense.

Oh no he got seen... he tried to be like "pls don't tell it was self defense she was ranting about wanting me dead very graphically and then lunged at me with a knife" but Mr Worldwide Won't Believe A Word This Guy Says doesn't believe him and then falls down the stairs to kinos family tomb crypt basement thing and dies so kinos like "FUCK I DID THAT AAAGH" and hides the bodies and only tells tetra the shizu part of the story

Kino is really good at faking things.

and he goes to the store one day and finds this fellow who's being accused of theft and when the shopkeeper reveals there is ZERO evidence the fellow did it kino calls him an idiot, grabs the fellow, and skips away

He gets talking about his hero days and suddenly he has an apprentice

Insert Training Montage

Kino remembers he only has food for one guy so he goes to get his apprentice Gabriel a sword and food that isn't fancy cereal, a loaf of bread, fish shaped candy, sandwich toppings, and a box of assorted berries when..

ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT?!?!?!?!!!!

Kino gets 2 arrows to the shoulder and knee each, an arrow to his mid-arm, a nasty knife wound to his left eye, blinding it?!?@?@?@ and also to his right arm and also gets one of his earrings ripped out.

Ouch!

he skedaddles and falls into a cave real hard also probably breaking a rib or two (he doesn't know, he just knows it hurts to breathe deeply)

he deals with his wounds using Ripped Up Shirt and then cries for a bit

and then he decides to use the old broken mask and magic hoodie he found in the cave to resort to crime

and he eventually has a mental breakdown because isolation (he isn't talking to people. only steal.) and also being haunted by his past in a damp cave

He's really flippin scared in there someone give him. a very gentle hug because he is also in physical pain

And erm... That's all for now

[mihrsuri]

🖊 🌝 💻

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP

I’m not going to defend Norwich, not by any means but I think you have to bear in mind the society in which he lived and the way it was informed by the ancient greek and roman societal attitudes

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to? I’m actually going to need to write grown up/teenage Elizabeth at some point and I’m just like AAAGH but also excited. Because OT3 verse Elizabeth is a very different Elizabeth - she’s had a loving, large family her whole life (there are maybe some vague toddler memories of the time before Tommy was born but even then it’s vague), three parents who are in love, KOA is her beloved godmother and so it’s a challenge to keep her as her but also she’s shaped by very different circumstances (she did have a rebellion happen as a small child so there’s that but it was an external threat).

💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done? I do but I have also very gently said to myself that it’s okay, this is historical wish fulfilment fanfic based on live action historical fanfic in which Thomas Cromwell is inexplicably 20-30 years younger and (to me anyway) hot you do not have to do All The Research it’s okay. But I also love finding things out (my undergrad degree with in history and political science/policy I’m that kind of tragic dork etc). So here are some of the things I’ve loved finding out:

The secret but not secret Jewish Community in Elizabethan London that I moved back in time for Such A Time As This (Jewish Anne) and how/why some Persian and Syrian Jews might have moved to England.

Orange Trees in Henry VIII’s time (apparently there was one growing in the gardens of Hampton Court but the rest were in pots) and whether you can grow olive trees in England.

Italian Renaissance Gardens In Florence

Greenhouses and the history therein.

The publication date of Marco Polos travels (it turns out it was available in Italian/Latin in Henry’s time)

Ottoman Fashion, specifically the underwear (research ongoing) in the 1500s.

Sword Culture of the 1500s

fic ask meme

[honeyviscera]

Hehe blorbo ask game for fmab!!

GAAAAH THANK YOUUUU FRUITY AND BAZ!!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <- so many hearts for you guys!!!!!! (@peplos)

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): this is hard bc all of them are Beloved, but... ling. i would say ling, i love him a lot and i want him to be happy!!!! he's funny and obnoxious on purpose (him robbing ed of all his food & money (to use for food) is such a good gag his dynamic w/ ed is So Funny) and he cares so much about others, and for all his efforts to be the Silly Funny Guy he's so smart and he Cares, and I can tell that he needs to be Held, I LOVE HIM SOOOOO MUCHHHH!!!!! WONDERFUL BOY IM GIVING HIM A HUG <3333

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) THAT WOULD BE MAY!!!! MAY MY SWEETHEART MY DEAREST LOVE MY DARLING. MY DAUGHTER MY LITTLE SISTER MY SWEETY!!!!! She's so young!!! She's so kind!!! She appoints Scar to be her Father Figure and he Cares about her and risks his life for her (which I would argue to be the start of his road to redemption and recovery!!!! their dynamic is great!!!!) SHE CARES SO MUCH ABOUT EVERYONE AND SHE'S ADORABLE I LOVE HER IM HOLDING HER SO GENTLYYYYY

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) RIZA HAWKEYE (even though she's very much appreciated she deserves Even More OKAY) GOSH I LOVE HER. She's super skilled and good at what she does and even though she's more of the Brick Wall character she gets to be emotional and she gets to cry and she gets to be angry and she gets to be regretful and she's never 'weak' for her emotions, she's never portrayed as being unreasonable and that's just so GOOD. her relationship with roy is the fucking best thing ever okay. it's about the mutual respect that's been built over a decade, the deep trust and understanding, their secret codes, their teamwork, the compassion they have for each other, their banter ETC. ROYAI SHIP OF ALL TIME ANYWAYS. Riza is so good i love her so muchhhh!!!! She has so much depth and she constantly works to support roy in their goal to overthrow the government she is SO GOOD IM NOT SAYING ENOUGH HERE JUST KNOW I LOVE RIZA I ALSO LOVE ROY.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) MAJOR GENERAL OLIVIER MIRA ARMSTRONG!!!!!!! AAAGH I LOVE HER!!!! first of all, woman with a sword!!!!! automatic points!!! SECOND OF ALL: SHE'S SUCH AN AMAZING CHARACTER she's tough as all hell BUT she's NOT CRUEL, literally all the soldiers at Briggs are loyal as FUCK to her because of her outstanding leadership!!! she's so smart and clever too, and she strives forward no matter what out of sheer force of will and resolve. you might think she's the stereotypical 'tough emotionless Strong (tm) woman who is a brick wall and can punch things' BUT NO SHE HAS DEPTH OK. AND SHE GENUINELY CARES ABOUT HER TROOPS ESPECIALLY MILES AND BUCCANEER. ANYWAYS I LOVE HER <3

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) GREED GREED GREED. GOD. HE'S SO!!! he wants More for himself all the time, but mostly he just wants a life that he chooses, and he chooses People, Friends, Humans, every time, he becomes more like a human BECAUSE all he really wants are friends, he goes beyond what he's 'supposed' to be, he's the 'rebellious' child of the family for choosing his own path, he thinks he wants Everything, he says so but then!!!!! all he wants are friends, people to love him and I!!!!! AUGHHHH. HE BECOMES MORE HUMAN THROUGH HIS FRIENDS. CATCH ME FUCKING SOBBING.

ALSO. hohenheim okay. at first i was like hm. >:/ absentee father. but he just. he thought himself so monstrous that he could never be a parent, and he didn't know what to do, he only left because he thought himself irredeemable but he Tries, and even if his actions did end up harming ed and al, he was genuinely trying his best and he Cares about so much, he thinks about so much, god i find myslef crying over him i just!!!! AUGHHHH HE TRIES SO HARD TO BE GOOD EVEN IF HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO BE. FUCK.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) well I would only torment him affectionately, not actually being mean, but roy mustang. lol (don't get me wrong i seriously love him, he's so well written and he has so much depth he pretends to be a manwhore but he's so not it's all part of his cunning and cleverness, he's smart and resilient and his relationship with riza GOD) anyways i would poke him with a stick why did he think putting a 12 year old in the military was smart lol. also i love that moment where he lies to ed and then later to riza was like 'oh lol ik what you're going to say, that was soo soft of me haha' and then riza's like 'more like a fucking dick move, sir'

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) hm. superhell (derogatory) for Father of course. ALSO KIMBLEE. KIMBLEE CAN GET FUCKED.

[shadowjack12345]

The Path

"Aaagh! Dammit!"

Asami cursed as the chair hit the uneven ground, the remains of a ruined building, beneath her. The parachute had slowed her descent but the landing had still rattled her teeth. She clawed at the harness around her, holding her in her seat, but it wouldn't give. She felt her eyes sting and she bared her teeth as she yanked and snarled at it.

Her father was dead.

She grunted wordlessly, forcing the thought away and fought even harder. She stopped and forced herself to slow down. She knew how to release the harness, and trying to rip it off with brute strength wasn't the way, at least for her. She suspected Korra coud probably do it that way. With that thought, she looked up and imagined she saw a flash of blue, accompanied by several other dark shapes, disappear into the hole she and her father had...

Her father was dead.

Her hands fell limply into her lap and she stared blankly ahead. Her vision blurred as hot tears started to fill her eyes, and her chest ached as her breath came quick and heavy. She wondered if she would scream, but Kuvira's colossus ripped its own arm off and hurled it straight over Asami, landing some blocks away with a deafening crash. The adrenaline surged through her and she managed to get her hands to work again - she was still in the middle of a battlefield, stuck in this damn seat. She found the release and the straps fell slack. She pushed them from her shoulders and started picking her way through the rubble to the street. Before she even made it that far, the colossus drew her attention again as it started to make some worrying noises. She watched it carefully for a long moment, then gasped as its midsection exploded and the whole thing fell to earth in pieces. Her mouth leaped into her throat and her legs shook as she started to make her way to the wreckage.

It seemed to take an age, and by the time she had found her way to a clear road, the way ahead was consumed by an expanding burst of spirit energy. She darted into a nearby stairway and covered her ears as it roared past, yelling uselessly at the cacophony. Quickly, more quickly than seemed possible, the maelstrom ended, and Asami cautiously opened her eyes and turned back to the street. When she stepped out, she was immediately drawn to the green and yellow spiralling light that seemed to be flowing up into the sky. Surely everyone else would be heading that way as well.

The sight of the phenomenon would have been spectacular if she hadn't been beside herself with worry. She had bumped into Tenzin, and they had found Mako and Bolin. They said Korra had chased Kuvira into the Spirit vines, and that was now a crater, the epicentre of the explosion. Tenzin had called it a spirit portal and Asami reminded herself to be amazed later, when they had found Korra. Mako and Bolin checked the remaining wreckage with no luck, and everyone started calling Korra's name, not knowing what else to do. Asami just stood, looking around at the vines but not seeing. She couldn't do this. She couldn't lose her father and then Korra all at once. She couldn't let Korra go without-

"The spirits have returned," Tenzin said, hopefully. Asami turned to face him and then followed his gaze to the portal. Just as Korra stepped through.

"And so has Korra!" Asami cried, barely even realising Kuvira was with her. The adrenaline spiked again when the Earth Empire troops showed up, but Kuvira quickly and conclusively surrendered. And that was that. They had won. Su and Lin took Kuvira away and, on shaking legs, Asami reached out to Korra. Her hand landed on her shoulder and she smiled, and Korra smiled back. She was really okay. Bolin cheered and turned it into a huge group hug that nearly collapsed under everyone's weight. Asami took a deep breath, her hand still on Korra's shoulder, and let herself relax a little - the battle was over. The airbenders and White Lotus guards started to show up to take care of the Earth Empire prisoners, and one of them took Mako away to have his arm looked at, and Bolin followed. Tenzin was giving his airbenders instructions as they came and went, and Korra was with him. Wait... she was looking right at her.

"Asami, are you alright?" she asked. Asami tried to say she was fine, but blackness crept in at the edges of her vision and the ground was rushing up towards her. "Asami!"

/

Meeting Korra had drastically altered the path of Asami's life. In a relatively short time she had gone from being an inventor and minor celebrity to a vigilante patrolling the streets looking to fight the Equalists, but only after Korra had exposed her father as one of them. She was arrested, then broken out, then she fought and defeated her father in a mecha-tank. And Mako left her for Korra. Maybe she should have been mad, but Korra had been genuinely sad to show Hiroshi's true colours. And Mako had made his choice, Korra hadn't made it for him. She remembered at the end of it all, waiting as Master Katara unsuccessfully tried to restore Korra's bending, not knowing what to do next, only for Korra to come back and demonstrate that she'd restored it herself, or Aang had at any rate. She remembered the awe she felt when Korra's eyes shone with white light and she returned Lin's bending as well.

Their next adventure was just as exhausting, her company on the edge of ruin, the dark spirits, Varrick, Mako breaking up with Korra, then breaking up with Asami, then breaking up with Korra again! Their attack on Tarrlok's forces was the worst kind of long shot, and even at the time she couldn't quite believe she had flown a plane with Mako and Bolin strapped to the wings to attack the ground. They had lost that gamble, or would have but for Bumi, and Korra had trusted Asami with her father, who she had taken for healing. It had been wrenching to leave the others to fight, but she knew Korra could spare them even less. And so she had sat and waited with Katara, Jinora and Korra's family while the world turned dark around them. It didn't last too long, but it felt like an age as they just waited. When Jinora blinked and woke up, calm and peaceful, she had told them something, just a few words, that once again shifted Asami's world around her.

"Korra saved the world."

They had stayed in the South Pole a while longer while Korra and her people chose a new path for the Southern Water Tribe, and Asami offered what help she could, though her resources were a fraction of what they had been, thanks to Varrick. She managed to get a first-hand account of Korra's battle from Bolin, rolling her eyes when he described Korra becoming a giant spirit, just as big as Aang's statue back home. She looked to Mako and waited for him to chide Bolin for exaggerating... but he didn't. He only nodded along and shook his head at key moments, clearly just as astonished as his brother. Asami still struggled with their account - it was too much, even for the Avatar. Right? Only when she returned home to Republic City did the reality hit her. Bolin's wish of someone capturing the fight on film hadn't come true, but there were plenty of photographs. There she was, clear as day on every front page, and as tall as a skyscraper.

Asami had cried that night. The sheer immensity of what Korra was, what she could do, was too much to bear. It made her feel insignificant and small, yet she also felt powerful, elevated by her association. Korra was astonishing, and Asami would make sure she knew it. She had found her the next day, back at Air Temple Island. Korra was staring out to sea, and saw as Asami docked her small boat.

"Hey, Asami!" she called, waving. Asami smiled back and made her way to join her.

"Korra. How are you?" she asked. Korra was smiling, but there was a shadow behind it.

"I'm not sure. A lot has happened. Is it weird to mourn now for someone who died the literal moment I was born? It sounds weird, even by my standards," she said. Asami smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry, Korra. I wish I could empathise with that," she said. "But I can empathise with breaking up with Mako, at least." For a heartbeat, she though the joke was a huge mistake, badly timed and badly judged. Then Korra laughed, a loud guffaw that had her clutching her stomach.

"You... you are bad, Miss Sato," Korra laughed. Her laughter stopped abruptly when Asami threw her arms around her and pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Thank you," Asami said tightly. "Thank you for saving us." Korra blushed and fidgeted.

"It's okay. That's what Avatars do after-"

"I don't care," Asami interrupted, pulling back to hold Korra at arms length, her hands gripping Korra's shoulders. "You saved us. You saved me, you saved Tenzin, you saved Pema and the kids, you saved your parents, you saved Bolin and Mako, you saved Naga and Pabu. You saved the whole world, Korra, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who's grateful, but I wanted to be sure at least one person told you. So here I am." Asami had said alot more than she had planned to, and Korra stared back wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Then she ducked her head and smiled shyly, very atypical for the Avatar, and looked back up at Asami.

"Thanks. Thank you," she said, before drawing Asami in for another embrace. "I'm really glad you hit Mako with your bike." Asami laughed this time.

"I'm glad I met you too."

After that, their friendship only grew stronger. Asami found herself attending most of Korra's public appearances, even if only to soothe her in the face of public disapproval, and only once did she feel she had to stop Korra from airbending Raiko into a tree. Korra took to starting her days in the city at Asami's front door, the pair of them sitting for breakfast before they each went about their business. Asami took to following Korra home in the evenings to share a meal with her and the Air Nomads, who were always glad to have her. Tenzin still remembered Asami's part in his rescue from the Equalists and so treated her with warm respect, and Pema followed suit. Jinora was politely curious while Ikki was... impolitely curious. Meelo was Meelo.

Then came the airbenders. Somehow, Korra's actions had birthed a whole new generation of airbenders, and she resolved to find them and help them. The first person she turned to for help was Asami, hoping to loan an airship. Asami gave them the ship, crewed it out of her own pocket and piloted it herself. That got her one of those hugs where her feet left the ground - she liked those ones. Team Avatar was back together and, slight awkwardness with Mako aside, it was a lot of fun, a grand adventure. Asami was delighted to find out that, as well as being good friends, she and Korra made a good team, whether fighting bandits or the Earth Queen's soldiers or escaping a giant desert creature. It was odd, looking back later on such happy memories, as they led to such an unhappy conclusion.

The Red Lotus. A secret society devoted to killing Korra. Who she was made no difference to them, only that she was the Avatar. Anything they learned about her was only used to manipulate and destroy her, nothing more. On some level, Asami understood it wasn't personal, if that even mattered, but she didn't care. She very quickly learned to hate them, and the moment when Korra said she would give herself up to them only made her hate them more. They expected treachery and even planned for it, but it hadn't been enough. Korra had been taken, poisoned and beaten within an inch of her life before they were able to reach her. The look on Korra's face when she reached up to her father, eyes shining white, just before the poison almost claimed her, would feature in Asami's darkest dreams for some time. She stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe, and watched Korra die.

It was cruel, she would think later, that that was the moment she became certain of what Korra meant to her. Friends, yes. Best friends, even. But there was more. There was so much more. And Korra would die before she could say any of it.

Until Jinora shouted something at Su Yin and then, Korra moved and coughed and spluttered and lived! She was alive! Asami almost fainted on the spot, but she breathed, she moved, and she smiled when Korra reached up to her father and spoke.

Korra's condition was... bad. Asami moved back to Air Temple Island to help care for her, even made sure she had the best wheelchair possible. Korra let Asami see her, really see her, at her lowest. Only her parents were allowed to remain as close, and Asami struggled not to make any assumptions, to let her imagination go wild - it was an inappropriate time to dump her feelings on Korra and inappropriate to speculate on Korra's feelings. She needed help and Asami would provide it, willingly and happily. Even so, their time together became more intimate by necessity, as Korra needed help bathing, dressing even eating at first, and Asami felt herself falling harder.

When Korra left, Asami was torn. Korra said she'd only be gone a few weeks, and Asami had offered more than once to join her, but Korra had politely declined, citing concerns for her company and other things that Asami would gladly burn to the ground to have Korra healthy again. Still, she respected Korra's choice, partly to try and hide the strength of her affection, and partly because Korra might have been right. A break away from the city, back in her childhood home, might do her good. And Asami was of Republic City, a constant reminder. So she let her go. And while she learned to live with it, she would question her decision for three years.

She moved back to the city, and threw herself into her work. People still grumbled about the spirit vines, and so Asami decided to do something about it. If the vines couldn't be moved, the city would need to change around them. She worked furiously for two weeks on her designs, even hoping to have a meeting with Raiko to get things moving so she had some good news for Korra when she came back. But she didn't come back.

Tenzin told her when she visited the temple to hear any news, that Korra's recovery would take longer than they'd hoped, possibly much longer, and Katara was taking personal charge of her treatment. That was good, Asami supposed, but her heart ached all the same.

"Can we... Could I..." she started. Tenzin gave her a sad look and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Asami, but you can't visit yet. I'm told she is reading any letters we send, though, so keep that up if you can," he said, kindly. Asami nodded and pursed her lips, her eyes squeezed shut.

"I miss her, Tenzin," she croaked. He smiled.

"As do I," he said. He watched her struggle for a few more seconds then spoke again: "Why don't you stay here for now?" he asked. Asami blinked up at him.

"I could... no. No, you should keep your rooms for your air nation, who knows how many more you might need," she said. Tenzin stood directly in front of Asami and now held both her shoulders.

"Asami," he said, slowly, a fond look in his eyes. "You helped us find and transport the air benders. You helped them escape the Earth Queen. You fought to rescue them from the Red Lotus, including my children. You may not be an air bender, but you are part of the air nation, if you want to be. And you are welcome here at any time, on as permanent or temporary a basis as you please." That did it. Asami's tears fell and she lurched into Tenzin's arms. She looked down when she felt Jinora, Ikki and Meelo wrapping themselves around her as she had seen them do to their father. She was still heartbroken, but no longer felt alone.

Two years later, she would still often spend the night on the island, dividing her time between there and her apartment in the city. She sat at the small desk in her room, an empty teacup next to her as she tapped her pen on the still mostly blank paper. So far, her letter was exactly two words: Dear Korra. She sighed and sat back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. She had dutifully written, as she had been asked, for two years but having received no reply, she was starting to wonder if it was worth it. Tenzin told her that she was reading them but were they just trying to make her feel better? She didn't know what to do.

"A sign would be nice about now," she muttered.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"Asami?"

"Uh.. come in Tenzin," she said. His timing was unsettling. He stepped in and she smirked at him. "When I asked for a sign, I didn't think to get one, and definitely didn't think it'd be you," she chuckled. He stopped dead, his brow knitting.

"Excuse me?" he asked. Asami shook her head.

"Nothing," she said, tossing her pen onto the desk. Tenzin saw the bare beginning of a letter.

"Not sure what to write?" he asked.

"Not sure if to write at all. I can't help but wonder if there's any point any more," she admitted. Understanding dawned across Tenzin's face.

"Ah. Hence your 'sign'. I see," he said. "Well, I may not be the sign you were waiting for... but perhaps this is." Asami looked up as he produced an envelope. She took it carefully and saw a post mark from the Southern Water Tribe. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Tenzin, then back down at the envelope a few times before trembling fingers started to pick it open. Just as she went to take out the folded letter within, she gave Tenzin an uncertain glance. He smiled again and bowed before leaving, closing the door behind him. Asami took a calming breath and began to read. It wasn't a happy letter, and she knew of Korra's progress already thanks to Tenzin, but it was a letter. Korra had finally sent a letter and had chosen to send it to her. She read it a half dozen times, wiping at her eyes the entire time, and then she finally picked up her pen again.

It had taken several drafts before Asami was satisfied with her reply. Frankly, the others made it a little too obvious that Asami's feelings had moved beyond just friendship (in fact she'd spelled it out in very specific terms in her first attempt). She kept writing, and a year after that, she was delighted when Korra was due to return, then crushed when she didn't appear. And when she did finally come back, the old feelings, never far away anyway, rushed right back. After their initial, slightly bumpy reunion, Asami found herself following the Avatar again, and extremely happy to be doing so.

On several occasions, she found herself wondering about confessing: sharing tea on Air Temple Island, sitting alone with Korra in the restaurant waiting for Mako and Wu, the actual literal moment she was finally able to hold Korra again in the lobby... heck, even after they'd jumped off a train after rescuing Wu, she'd wondered how Mako would take it if she asked Korra out during their group hug! It would have been a happy time if not for the ever-present and growing threat from Kuvira. And if not for her father.

She was cautiously happy when Lin had brought him to help with the hummingbird suits, emphasis on cautious. It quickly melted away, though, and they fell back into an old and familiar routine of bouncing around ideas and building them as they spoke. And, it turned out, despite everything that had happened between them, he knew her best after all.

"You should say something," he said, quietly, as they cut and soldered and welded at breakneck speed. She glanced at him.

"Say something?" she asked.

"To Korra," he answered without stopping. Asami's heart skipped a beat and her breath held itself against her will.

"About what?" she asked with unconvincing nonchalance.

"Asami, she's about to lead a team of benders against that platinum terror to buy us time, and then we're going to fly these out there to fight it. If something happens..." he said, not needing to explain further. Asami wanted to tell him he was wrong, but they had learned this lesson before. Zaheer had taught them. She stopped her work and faced her father.

"Dad..."

"Go! I'm done here," he said, indicating his work. "I can finish up for you." Asami smiled, turned, and ran. Korra was directing the airbenders as they went to drop Mako, Lin and Bolin in position, she was about to fly after them, glider staff in hand.

"Korra!" Asami called, and suddenly realised she had no idea what else to say. Korra turned to her, concerned.

"Asami? Is something wrong? The hummingbirds-"

"They're fine, we're just finishing up. It's just..." she said. Why was this so hard?

"It's just what, Asami?" Korra asked, looking over her shoulder to the same exit everyone else had just used. "There isn't much time, can we-"

"You have to come back. You have to survive this. I learned what life is like without you in it and I can't bear it. I don't want that. I want you in my life, Korra," Asami said, stepping forward and taking Korra's hand in both of hers. Korra stared, wide-eyed, but the crash of destruction drew her attention. She looked back again, then to Asami.

"I'll come back to you, Asami. Trust me," she said. Asami nodded.

"I trust you," she answered. Korra grinned that lopsided grin.

"That goes for you too, by the way. I need you to survive too, okay?"

"I will," Asami replied, firmly. She would. Korra grabbed her staff again and leapt into the sky. Asami sprinted back to the workshop. She would fight and survive. For Korra.

/

Asami's eyes opened to the night sky moving above here. She slowly sat up, or tried to anyway, when Korra appeared and gently held her still.

"Hey," she whispered. Asami smiled back, tightly. For a blessed moment, she had forgotten, but it didn't last. Her father had died to save her. Tenzin's face appeared as well.

"Asami, you're awake! Thank goodness," he said, sighing with relief. With Korra's help this time, though she didn't feel it necessary, Asami sat up. She saw they were on Oogi's back, and she thought she saw Jinora at the reins.

"I healed you as well as I could, but I didn't find many injuries. We'll have Kya check you over when she can," Korra said.

"I need to find my father," Asami said, her voice rough. Korra and Tenzin's eyes met.

"Asami," Tenzin started, gently. "Your father didn't-"

"I know!," Asami snapped. "I need to find him, I can't just leave him there."

"We won't. Once we're sure you're okay, we can-"

"No! I won't let someone else, some stranger find him like that. I need to. I need..." Asami said, starting strong but getting shakier as she spoke. Korra's hand took hers and Asami looked up at her, miserable.

"Asami. You trust me, right?" she asked. Asami's lips pursed and her eyes filled with tears and, not trusting her voice, she simply nodded. "I'll bring him to you." With that, Korra leapt from Oogi's back and vanished. The next several minutes were a blur to Asami, but she realised they had landed and she was being helped to the ground. Tenzin took her to a seat that faced the city and sat with her, while Jinora took Oogi and left again. Nothing was said. Tenzin only sat with her. Asami broke the silce first.

"I just... it isn't fair. I just got him back. We were... and now he's gone," she whimpered. Tenzin nodded, but he didn't look away from the city.

"You're right. It isn't fair," he said. Asami blinked up at him - she had been expecting him to remind of her father's noble sacrifice to make his death seem somehow less awful. "When Avatar Aang... when my father died, I felt similarly. Feel angry, Asami. Feel sad about how unfair it all is. He faced his death bravely, but don't let anyone tell you it makes it easier." Asami nodded and silence returned, more comfortable this time.

She wasn't sure exactly sure how long they'd been sitting there when there were shouts from across the water. A point of light appeared in the dark city and moved to the water. A great wave surged up beneath the light and bore it toward them. Tenzin stood and watched as it grew closer, then when it reached the island, a water spout lifted it up. Close up, it was easy to identify: Korra, her eyes blazing. She gently alighted on the ground nearby, eddying winds slowing and controlling her descent. Behind her floated an odd grey box, metal and patchy. Once her feet were on solid ground, her eyes returned to normal, and she gently lowered the metal box beside her. It was flat, only six inches high, but long, about four feet. Asami stood, and Korra, a little paler than usual, looked at her sorrowfully.

"This is... I found him," she said. Asami could see now that the metal patches of the box were parts of the hummingbird that Korra had bent into an impromptu coffin. It was so small, and Asami realised that with the manner of his death, not to mention all of the explosions afterward, this tiny box contained all that was left of her father. It must have been a grim task, and Asami sat back down heavily as her knees weakened. She stared at the box, hardly even blinking. Tenzin wordlessly checked on Korra, all too aware of the difficult task she had taken on, and she nodded back. She was shaken, but alright. He moved back to Asami.

"He can stay here with you if you want, Asami, or I can move him into the temple for now. You can stay here or follow him as you like," he said. Asami took a deep, shaky breath.

"Thank you, Tenzin. The temple would be best for now, I think," she said. Tenzin quickly summoned a pair of white lotus guards and had them carry the small coffin into the temple proper. Asami looked away as they picked it up.

"Hey," Korra said, softly, and Asami was startled to see she had sat next to her without being noticed, trying to give her a smile.

"Hey," Asami replied back, but was unable to answer the smile with one of her own. Korra's mouth worked silently as she struggled for something to say, but eventually gave up and settled for taking hold of Asami's hand and squeezing it. Asami squeezed back and tried to look back at the water, but Korra's gaze held hers. The tears came again, and Korra wrapped herself around Asami as she cried herself to a fitful sleep.

She awoke to see the ceiling of her room on the island. She couldn't quite remember how she had gotten here but didn't much care. There was a hollow ache in her chest and though she didn't sob as she had last night, tears sprang easily. She sat up quickly when she heard a sound between a growl and a whimper. On her bedroom floor lay Naga, who stared at her, and sleeping with her back against Naga was Korra, mouth hanging open. Naga stood heedlessly and Asami winced when Korra's head bonked on the wooden floor, though her loud complaints showed she was largely unhurt. Naga walked to Asami's bedside, sniffed around her face and then promptly lowered the weight of her head into Asami's lap. Asami started to idly pet the animal as Korra slowly stood and stretched out the kinks. Despite everything, Asami found herself staring.

"She knows you're sad," Korra said, turning and indicating. Asami blinked and wiped at the few telltale tears.

"You stayed all night?" Asami asked. Korra shrugged halfheartedly.

"When it came down to it, I couldn't leave you," she admitted. Asami managed a shy smile and ducked her head, returning her attention to Naga. "Did you hear about Varrick and Zhu Li?" Korra asked.

"No. Are they alright?" Asami asked. Korra rolled her eyes.

"They're fantastic. They're getting married and he will not be quiet about it," Korra grumbled.

"To each other?" Asami asked and Korra actually laughed.

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, Zhu Li's happy about it as well," she said.

"Wow," Asami said. "I don't know whether to offer congratulations or condolences." Korra laughed again, kneeling down next to Naga and scratching her shoulder. Asami sighed deeply. "I need to go out there, don't I? I can't hide in here." she said, wearily.

"That's up to you. The world will still be there tomorrow," Korra said.

"Somehow, I think the world would come looking for me if I tried," Asami said, smiling again. It was always easier to smile when Korra was there.

"They'd have to get through me," Korra said, standing and puffing her chest. Asami shook her head and gently pushed Naga's head from her lap, starting to rise from her bed.

"You're sweet," she said, oblivious to Korra's blush. "But I need to go. I need to make arrangements..." the dull ache flared into a sharp pain and threated to spill from her mouth and eyes, but she took a few calming breaths and it dulled again. "...for my father."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Korra asked.

"Korra," Asami replied. "There must be so many people that need you right now. I shouldn't-"

"Asami. I think you might be one of those people," Korra said with certainty. Asami's eyes stung again. She thought for a moment about the task ahead of her and shivered.

"Maybe. I don't need the Avatar, but maybe I need Korra after all," she said. Korra nodded and smiled.

"Then you have me."

The task itself turned out to be fairly simple. Hiroshi had left instructions when he thought he might not recover his relationship with Asami, and there was a spot already waiting next to his wife, so all she really needed to do was sign a few documents and decide whether to hold a funeral. It was also the most difficult thing Asami had done, signing her name under her father's death. As with so many other things, Korra's presence made it easier. Or did she make Asami stronger? Maybe both. Asami elected to return to Air Temple Island for now: her apartment was currently inaccessible and she couldn't face the mansion. Korra greeted her every morning and spent as much time as she could with her.

Asami chose to have a small, private funeral when her father was buried. In fact she was the only mourner. She didn't want anyone there who would only pretend to have forgiven him, either for her sake or for some political stunt. However, even though Korra's duties as Avatar had started to reclaim her time, she arrived, dressed in sombre black and dark blue, and stood by her. They didn't speak, not even when Asami gestured that Korra should join her in her car as she drove aimlessly around the city, heading back to the ferry as darkness fell. Only when Asami stood outside her bedroom door did she turn and yank Korra into a hug so tight it almost hurt.

"Thank you," she said, tightly.

"I thought you might need me," Korra whispered. Asami almost laughed.

"You were right. How lucky I am to get such special attention from the Avatar," she said. Korra pulled back a little to look Asami in the eye, deadly serious.

"Not the Avatar. Korra," she insisted. For once, Asami flushed under Korra's gaze, looking away and fidgeting as she released the embrace.

"Well..." she cleared her throat. "Goodnight, Korra." Korra smiled widely.

"Night, Asami." She kept smiling even as the door closed.

The following days were hard. The ache was becoming familiar now, but the grief easily rushed forward when something she saw or heard reminded or of her father. Her time with Korra eased her pain a little, but she was more surprised at how much other people were eager to help. Ikki excelled at distracting Asami, her questions rapid-fire and unpredictable. Meelo demonstrated an unexpected artistic talent, and Asami found herself trying her hand, usually so used to rigid diagrams and schematics. Jinora guided her in meditation, helping her sort through her conflicting emotions for her father. They rallied around her as they would a member of their family, and she was grateful beyond words. She stood gazing out to sea with Korra one day, making small talk.

"I think I've forgiven my father," Asami said suddenly. They had been talking about pro bending, and the change in conversation caught Korra unawares.

"Oh. Okay. Great! That's great, right?" Korra said. Asami smiled.

"It is. He was trying to make amends, even before, and I think he proved he was sincere," she said. Korra winced.

"Sorry," she said, slowly. Asami blinked at her. Ah. Korra had expressed suspicion when she first returned.

"It's okay, Korra, I didn't mean it like that. I was suspicious too, at first. I'd actually forgotten," she said. "I shouldn't have bitten your head off like that, I was just... it was a sensitive subject." Korra waved her hand.

"Pff. Water under the bridge. Still, I thought it was a pretty memorable day," Korra laughed.

"No argument here. But some parts were more important than others," Asami said. Korra nodded.

"Right, the Wu thing. I guess that did override everything else," she said. Asami didn't reply straight away. 'Say something' her father had told her. Say. Something.

"No," she said. "Not Wu." Korra looked confused. Asami took Korra's hand in both of hers. "You came back. You came back to me." Korra's face flushed bright red, and she let Asami keep ahold of her hand.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"I hear Varrick is holding his wedding here on the island," Asami said. Korra frowned.

"Huh?"

"Jinora told me. I think I might like to go after all. It'll be good to be part of something positive," Asami said. "I'd need some company, though."

"Uhhhh, sure?" Korra said, uncertainly. Asami took a quick breath and soldiered forward.

"Then you'll be my date?" she asked. Korra stared back, slack-jawed.

"Like... as friends?" she asked in a small voice. Asami's heart clenched.

"No." There was a beat, a long moment when Asami was convinced she'd made a huge mistake. Then Korra's mouth stretched into a wide, relieved smile.

"Oh. Oh yes. That sounds amazing," she said. Asami's smile grew to match Korra's

"It does?" she asked. Korra laughed and laid her free hand atop Asami's.

"It really does," she sighed. They both stood giggling at each other for several long moments.

"KORRA!"

Korra jumped and spun around, releasing Asami's hands, much to her dismay. Ikki waved at her from the temple door.

"What, Ikki?" she asked, testily. Ikki shrugged.

"Dad says he needs you for something. He mentioned Raiko," she called. Korra groaned.

"Fine. See you later?" she said to Asami. Asami grinned and flipped her hair.

"See you later," she said. Korra whined and started walking back to the temple, but Asami chuckled when she looked back at Asami over her shoulder, nearly tripping as she kept walking. Yet that didn't stop her from looking back once, twice, three times more. Asami waved each time. When Korra disappeared from view, Asami turned back to the sea.

"I'm in love with a dork," she muttered to herself. The path of her life had been unpredictable, and there had been pain. But it led her here, to Korra, and she found herself looking forward again, wondering where her path would lead next, more certain than ever that she would walk it with Korra.

END

I watched it again.

Hey, me finally finishing this lines up with Korrasami day. Neat.

[osakaso5]

Nagi Rokuya RabbiTube Rabbit TV Part 1: Spending Time With Nagi

Part 2 | Part 3

Staff: ...Now, on to the RabbiTube project.

Staff: Our plan is to introduce the videos by featuring clips on NEXT Re:vale!

Staff: We'd really appreciate it if you could show a side of yourselves that people don't usually get to see on TV. It's a pleasure to be working with you!

Momo: We've got high hopes for you guys!

Yuki: Feel free to fully expose yourselves to the public.

Mitsuki Izumi: Ahaha, please be gentle with us! Looks like I'm gonna have to do a RabbiTube study marathon..!

Gaku Yaotome: By the way, Tenn, I saw you watching RabbiTube videos the other day. Do you know any good ones?

Tenn Kujo: ...I was just watching cat videos.

Gaku Yaotome: Cats, huh. That's not gonna help us learn anything.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: ...I think they might help! You could learn ways to entertain and soothe people...

Gaku Yaotome: Ryu, not all of us are gonna be able to do that...

Yuki: ...I'm liking the idea of Kitty Gaku.

Tenn Kujo: ...Pfft...

Gaku Yaotome: Tenn, why're you laughing!?

Riku Nanase: Kitties..! So could it be like a video of Iori going into a cat café?

Iori Izumi: Why do I have to go to a cat café!?

Yamato Nikaido: I'm not too excited about making videos like that, either...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wanna do a pudding tasting!

Sogo Osaka: ...Personally, I'd like to rank my top 100 spices from all around the world...

Nagi Rokuya: And I shall hold a Cocona watch party!

Mitsuki Izumi: You guys aren't bringing anything new to the table!

Iori Izumi: ...Actually, I suppose animal videos do have their appeal, despite how banal they are...

Riku Nanase: Did you say something, Iori?

Iori Izumi: No, nothing.

Momo: Ahaha! Great, you're already brainstorming ideas!

Momo: You've all got the right idea! We wanna see you act natural for your RabbiTubes!

Yuki: Let's have a fun year doing this.

IDOLiSH7 & TRIGGER: Yessir! 

- - - -

Riku Nanase: We're going to be RabbiTubers for our birthday project this year..!

Sogo Osaka: All the group chats up until now were fun, so it's kind of a shame that we won't be doing one this year.

Mitsuki Izumi: ...Fair enough. It'll be awesome to make videos for our fans, but I wish we could have our own celebrations too!

Yamato Nikaido: It's become kind of a tradition by now.

Nagi Rokuya: ...We do not work together as much as we used to. Though I understand that it is difficult to match all our schedules...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Do we not get to eat Mikki's cakes this year?

Mitsuki Izumi: The cakes are the one thing we're gonna make for sure! Right, Iori!?

Iori Izumi: Yes. I'll help, too.

Riku Nanase: Hmm... Celebrations...

Riku Nanase: Ah! Why don't we all go somewhere together for our birthdays?

Riku Nanase: I guess we probably can't all go... But we can get our manager to arrange it so at least some of us can hang out!

Mitsuki Izumi: Going out, huh... That does sound like a nice change of pace from all the group RabbitChats!

Yamato Nikaido: It's a shame that we won't all be able to go, but getting to choose a spot does make it feel more special. ...You should take me to a beer brewery, by the way.

Mitsuki Izumi: Sounds like you've already got one in mind!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Let's take lots of pics and videos for the guys who can't go. We can send them over RabbitChat.

Nagi Rokuya: OH! A wonderful idea. It will make us all feel as if we are there.

Iori Izumi: I'm sure uploading them to Rabitter would make many people happy, as well.

Sogo Osaka: That sounds fun..! Let's ask our manager about it tomorrow.

Riku Nanase: Yep! ...Looks like we're going to have pretty fun birthdays again! 

- - - -

Nagi Rokuya: Wow... Have I died and gone to Heaven?

Mitsuki Izumi: Haha, of course not! This is the hotel that's doing a Cocona collab!

Nagi Rokuya: Such wonderful colors... Ah, it is as if these Cocona panels are welcoming us in.

Nagi Rokuya: It truly is reminiscent of the Pearly Gates...

Mitsuki Izumi: ...Uh oh, he's completely lost it.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Well, Nagicchi? Pretty cool, huh?

Nagi Rokuya: Yes... I am so touched I could faint.

Mitsuki Izumi: You're the one who kept leaving pamhplets for this place in our rooms practically every day.

Mitsuki Izumi: You didn't exactly leave me or Tamaki with any other choice but to bring you here...

Nagi Rokuya: I was simply being a postman of love...

Tamaki Yotsuba: It was super tough to get a stay here, right, manager!?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Hehe, Tamaki-san and I had to keep constant watch on the booking site!

Tsumugi Takanashi: Though the room is technically for four people, I'll be going home for the night. I'll try my best to take lots of pictures of you until then!

Nagi Rokuya: Thanks, Tsumugi! Well then, first...

Mitsuki & Tamaki: First?

Nagi Rokuya: Let us play cards! 

- - - -

Nagi Rokuya: ........

Mitsuki Izumi: ........

Tamaki Yotsuba: ........

Mitsuki Izumi: Tamaki's got the old maid, huh..? He's so easy to read...

Nagi Rokuya: Luck is on my side today. I will not be defeated.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Your turn, Nagicchi! Pull a card from me.

Nagi Rokuya: Yes... I choose this one.

Nagi Rokuya: ...OH, it appears my love is being tested.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yesss..!

Mitsuki Izumi: Tamaki! Now we all know he's got the old maid!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Good, 'cause I don't want it!

Mitsuki Izumi: Neither do I!

Mitsuki Izumi: ...Not like we can have much of a game with only three people, anyhow.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Are you sure you just want to play cards in this fancy collab hotel, Nagicchi?

Nagi Rokuya: Heh. As long as you are both with me, I would gladly have gone anywhere at all.

Nagi Rokuya: However... I must admit that I still feel a bit lonely without the others.

Mitsuki Izumi: Nagi...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Gotcha!

Nagi Rokuya: Tamaki?

Tamaki Yotsuba: You pretty much decided that we'd come here for us...

Tamaki Yotsuba: So now it's me and Mikki's turn to do something for you!

Nagi Rokuya: ...Wow..!

Mitsuki Izumi: ...Yep! We'll keep you entertained!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Okay, for starters...

Mitsuki & Nagi: For starters?

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Uh...

Mitsuki Izumi: C'mon, you can do it..!

Tamaki Yotsuba: L-let's play color tag!

Nagi Rokuya: Color tag!?

Mitsuki Izumi: In a near completely pink room!?

Nagi Rokuya: What is this "color tag" you speak of!?

Mitsuki Izumi: It's a game where whoever's "it" says a color, and you have to touch that color before they catch you.

Nagi Rokuya: That sounds fun..!

Mitsuki Izumi: Don't get all excited yet..! As long as whoever's "it" says any color other than pink or yellow here, they'll always catch  someone in no time!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Hmm, then how about... Hide-and-seek!?

Mitsuki Izumi: In this tiny hotel suite!?

Nagi Rokuya: I shall hide behind this Cocona panel!

Mitsuki Izumi: Don't just announce your hiding spot!

Tamaki Yotsuba: No fair! In that case, I'm gonna hide in the bath tub!

Mitsuki Izumi: Do you two even know how to play hide-and-seek!?

Tsumugi Takanashi: I-it looks like not even you can keep up with them, Mitsuki-san!

Mitsuki Izumi: Haha! ...Geez, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Nagi wasn't feeling lonely at all.

Mitsuki Izumi: ...I guess there's only one thing we can do now. Manager, can you bring that thing over now?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Will do! 

- - - -

Mitsuki Izumi: Ta-dah!

Nagi Rokuya: This is..!

Mitsuki Izumi: It's a Cocona lunch I made especially for you!

Mitsuki Izumi: Tamaki helped me out, and not just with the tasting!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Oh, yeah! We could've just showed him the lunch box!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Check this out, Nagicchi! I cut the eggs into little star shapes!

Nagi Rokuya: Wow! ...So they are not meant to be starfish?

Tamaki Yotsuba: No!

Nagi Rokuya: ...This lunch will keep me warm. So very warm...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I thought it would've gotten cold by now.  

Nagi Rokuya: That is not what I meant... The affection you put into this lunch box will warm my heart greatly...

Mitsuki Izumi: I'm glad you like it. I wanted to do a little something extra for you, since we're not really doing anything other than having a sleepover.

Nagi Rokuya: ...I love you both, Mitsuki and Tamaki..!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Aaagh..! Nagicchi, I can't breathe!

Mitsuki Izumi: Ahaha! Watch out, or you'll spill your food!

Nagi Rokuya: Tsumugi! Take a picture of us with this lunch box, if you may!

Tsumugi Takanashi: Alright..! Stand over there, in front of that panel!

Nagi Rokuya: It makes me so happy to be able to spend such a wonderful day with you!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Hehe. It's still a little early, but happy birthday!

Mitsuki Izumi: C'mon, get closer! Okay, go ahead and take the picture!

Tsumugi Takanashi: Say cheese..! 

End of Part 1.

Translator’s notes..? 

Rabbit TVs courtesy of @rabbit-library

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

[hunterbahamut]

Part 1 - Part 2

Here is Part 3 of ‘Virus’.

Once again, advisory warning.  Some of the content here may be a tad more gruesome than normal, so proceed with caution if you’re worried.

--

The storm grew stronger.  Lightning flashed and thunder crashed as the winds howled through the mushroom swamp, causing the massive trees to sway.

Ryner grumbled.  "Fricken' miserable..." She muttered to herself as he got up and stretched out.  When she felt more awake, she made the rounds of the camp: Kaz was asleep next to the heat generator with his bedroll curled up around himself. 

But he was the only one she could find.  

"Zane?"  She took another look around the camp to make sure.  "Zane!  Where are you?" She called, looking out past the edge of the light into the dark forest.  "Come on, you couldn't have gone out there in this."

She went over to grab one of the emergency flashlights from her pack, but before she could start her search, she turned and let out a small gasp when she saw their radio. Or at least, what was left of it. "Oh no!" She rushed over; the thing was in pieces, but it wasn't wrecked or ripped apart, it was purposefully disassembled and many of its components were missing.  "What the heck?  What is going on?"

She snapped her light on and started to search.  There didn't seem to be any sign of Zane anywhere, but then she could see indentations in the soft muck. "Footprints?"  She moved her light along the trail before she followed after it.   It led away from the camp, around the protective outcropping and into the howling winds. That didn't leave her much choice, Ryner stepped out into the winds, struggling to stay up as she tried to keep moving, though by now the winds were blowing so strong that they had blown over the tracks.

Zane!" She tried to call out over the loud rush of wind. "Where are you?"

There was suddenly a bright flash of lightning that illuminated the entire area.  Ryner froze, taken by surprise when she caught an unusual shape in the darkness.  She shone her light around, trying to find it again before there was another flash, that was when she could see it.

Up ahead of her was the unmistakable silhouette of Zane, but he was just standing there in a strange pose:  he stood there at a slight angle with his arms out, one pointed up and the other down.

"Zane!"  She called out and rushed over. "Zane, what the heck man?" She reached out and took hold of his arm, turning him around. "What's gotten into you?"  She asked, but then let out a gasp when she got sight of his face.  There was just a completely blank expression and his eyes were just...wrong, having a dull reddish hue rather than the vibrant green.

Ryner was scared now.  "Zane?"  She took hold of him and tried to shake him,  "Zane, talk to me."

The eyes shifted slightly, slowly focusing on her before the reddish hue was replaced with a bright blue color.  Now she could see that his left eye was distorted, glowing completely blue while his pupil had a distorted shape to it.

Then he smiled a large, wicked smile, his fangs gleaming whit against the darkness.

Before she could react, there was a sudden bright orange flash and a sharp, burning near her left eye and antenna. "AAAGH!"  She yelled out in pain and stumbled backwards. She had no idea what happened, but she didn't have any time to focus when Zane grabbed by her vest and held her close.  "What the hell?!" She cried out.

Zane spoke up, but there was a strange distortion to his voice.  "I'm putting an end to this operation."  He said, "With casualties."

Ryner jerked around in his hold, realizing that Zane's shoulder-mounted laser welder pointed right at her head, the end glowing a bright orange color.  That must have been what got her before! She had to act fast, she swung out with her flashlight, smacking it the welder just as it fired.

Zane let out a snarl of pain as the beam shot through his ear, buzzing his head and through one of his head spines.  He stumbled backwards, letting go of Ryner at the same time.

"Zane!  What the hell?!"  She couldn't believe what was going on, but she wasn't going to take any chances.  She reached for her PD device, but Zane moved in on her and lashed out with his claws, slashing her hand and knocking the device off into the swamp.

"That's enough from you, Ryner!"  Zane snarled out, his voice starting to sound more distorted as he reached for her again, the welder arm moving around in an erratic pattern as it aimed for her.

Ryner was better prepared this time and she was able to dodge away from the lunge.  Without a proper weapon now, she used the flashlight again and swung it down just as the super-charged welder fired another shot.  The blast struck the light and the power supply, causing a sudden explosion that made both the Glimneon and the Gorm shout out and stumbled away from each other. Zane landed in the swamp with a thud, but Ryner was still on more solid ground. She could hear the squelching muck as he thrashed around, and she made a run back to the camp.

"Kaz!"  She yelled, rushing over to the smaller Needlix and shaking him awake. "Kaz, wake up!  Wake up!"

"Wh-wha-wha?!"  Kaz woke up with a start, blinking and looking over to her. "What the heck's going on?"

"We gotta go! Now!"  

Kaz was confused, but Ryner's panic was starting to scare him. "What's happening?"  He asked before he gasped, seeing the blasted and melted portion of her helmet, along with the faint glow of her blood.  "Ryner! You're hurt!"

"I know, I know!"  She said, quickly pulling the helmet off, tossing it aside. "It's Zane! We need to get away from here and find a place to hide!"

"What? Zane?!"  Kaz gasped out, panic building. "Is he okay?"

"No he's not!"  She said, trying to get him up on his feet. "Something's very wrong!  I think he's trying to-"

She was suddenly cut off when they both heard the strange, distorted voice piercing through the rushing winds. "Kaz. Ryner. You better still be at camp.  It's too dangerous to go out in that storm."

Kaz could hear the distortion in the voice and he started to shake. "Wha-what's happened?"

"I don't know." She said, "But we're gonna be in trouble if we stay here!"  She got to her feet, pulling Kaz up as well.  "I think I know where we can hide, but we gotta go now!"

He tried to keep up with her, but running through the swamp forest in the high winds was taking a lot out of them both.   "Wha...w-where...where are we going?"  He tried to call out to her, huffing out loudly as he tried to follow after the Glimneon's glowing bio-luminescence.

"There's a cave...further along!" She said, starting to pant herself now. "We passed by it when we...we came in.  It should give us...cover from this storm and from Zane!"

Kaz tried to keep up, starting to stumble a bit. "How are you gonna find it in this storm?"

"It's in the mushroom patch!" She said, "The wild mushrooms...their glow should help hide us!"  

"But is th-that gonna be enough?"

"Dammit, I don't know!"  She shouted, starting to turn before she tripped and fell forward, landed hard and letting out a yelp.  The Needlix ran over to her, trying to help her up but that's when he realized that she was shaking. Kaz was shocked; in all the times he knew her,  this was the first time he had actually seen Ryner actually scared.

"Kaz...I'm doing the best I can here..." Ryner said, shaking as she tried to brush the dirt and muck off of her. "Something's wrong and I'm scared that Zane's gonna-"  She stopped herself from finishing that, instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile device.  "It's still working... Do you have yours with you?"

It took him a moment, but Kaz started to search through his pockets, letting out a gasp. "I don't!  Oh crap,  I must have left it at camp!"

Ryner groaned. "Okay...okay...what about your weapon? Do you still have your PD?"

The Needlix searched through his pockets again, this time nodding. "Yeah!  I still have it!" He said, bringing his large mace out.

"That's something at least..." She said, "I lost mine in the swamp when Zane attacked, so we don't have any other ranged options.  We need to get moving and-"

She stopped talking when she noticed Kaz wasn't paying attention, "Kaz! Are you listening-?"  She stopped short though when she saw what had his attention: there was single red dot against one of the trees. Suddenly, there was a flash of energy that blasted against the tree, sending the two of them back as fibrous debris showered over them.

"He's trying to snipe us!" Kaz yelped out, "What are we-?"

"Sssh!"  Ryner quickly quieted him down. "Hide and stay quiet!  Maybe we can lure him closer and jump him before he has a chance to pick us off!"  She pointed over to one of the mushroom trees, and the two rushed over, standing up against the trunk and waited. The two stayed absolutely still and quiet. The sound of the wind rushing past them was almost deafening until they were able to hear a definite stomp. Then another.

"Kaz. Ryner."  The distorted voice cut through the wind.  "I'm pulling rank, get the hell out here. Now.  You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be."

The two remained quiet, staying hidden as they heard the steps getting closer and closer.  Soon the orange Gorm stepped out in-between the two with his blaster pointed forward.  He had his visor on, but the normal green color was distorted with random flickering red and blue blocks.

Ryner held her breath, holding her hand up to signal Kaz, waiting for a tense moment before she shouted "NOW!"

Kaz yelped and acted instantly; slamming his mace down onto Zane's blaster and smashing it out of his hand and into the muck. "Sorry, sorry!" He muttered quickly.

Ryner jumped and lunged for him next, slamming into the Gorm. She was on his back, her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled back, kicking her legs as she tried to bring him down. "C-come on-"

Taking Zane down wasn't working.  He let out a loud snarl and spun around, swinging his tail out and knocking Kaz back. He reached up and grabbed hold of Ryner, swinging her up over his head and slamming her into the ground.

"Owww...."  Kaz groaned and tried to get up, but his eyes went wide in terror as he watched Zane slam Ryner into the ground over and over again with enough force that her mobile device flew out and landed at Kaz's feet.

Zane held Ryner up in the air by her neck as she coughed, blood trickling down her mouth as he glared at her. "You thought you could take me on?" He snarled,  "Do you know what happens to agents that dare attack their commander?" There was intense crackling sound in the air and they both saw electrical energy starting to arc around Zane's arm. It was his taser, but it was crackling with more energy than it ever had before.

"Zane!"  Kaz yelled out, "Stop it!  You can't do this! Please-!"

Ryner tried to talk, choking and gasping out as she grasped Zane's arm. "Kaz, go! He's not-"

He couldn't move, frozen in place by terror. "But-!"

"GET OUT OF HERE YOU IDIOT!"  Ryner shouted, "RUN!"

That was the shock to Kaz's system that got him moving, pushing himself up to his feet. He quickly scooped up his mace along with the mobile and he ran further into the forest.

Zane's cold, distorted glare was solely on Ryner now.  "You're only making this worse for him." He said, that wicked smirk returning.  "It won't take me long to find him."

Ryner coughed out as she continued to struggle. "Zane, you can't do this!  The others-"

"-won't know what happened." He said, "All they'll know is that two agents were lost during an intense storm. But when I get back and report in, it'll only be a matter of time before they'll start see things my way."

She swung her legs out, claws scarping against his armor as she tried to break free. "Zane!  Please-! You can fight this!"

Zane just laughed as he held up his arm, electricity sparking around it. "Bit late for that." He reached forward, grabbing hold of Ryner's head before there was the awful sound of crackling around them.  Ryner let out a scream as her body convulsed in his hands.

Soon the screaming stopped and Zane pulled his hand way, smoking blowing throw the wind.  He just stared at the Glimneon for a moment before he tossed her body aside into the swamp, looking out into the mushroom trees.  "Don't worry Kaz.  I'll find you soon."

[papermoonloveslucy]

LOOK! TV: TURN ON OR TURN OFF?

September 7, 1971

The September 7, 1971 issue of LOOK Magazine (volume 35, number 18) dedicated their entire issue to the medium of television. Inside, there is a feature titled “Lucille Ball, the Star That Never Sets...” by Laura Bergquist on page 54. 

The photograph on the cover is slightly distorted to give it the look of an image through a TV screen.  The shot was taken by Douglas Bergquist in January 1971. 

The issue presents a variety of viewpoints about the state of television. Is it ‘tired’ or is there an infusion of new energy to take it into the new decade? John Kronenberger writes an article that asks if cable television is the future. Hindsight tells us that it was not only the future, but is now the past. 

“Lucille Ball, the Star That Never Sets...” by Laura Bergquist. 

Bergquist first interviewed Lucille Ball in 1956 for the Christmas issue of Look. 

The photograph is by Douglas Kirkland, a Canadian-born photographer, who not coincidentally, also took the photograph used on the cover. This shot was taken in the garden of Ball’s home in June 1971.  At age 24, Kirkland was hired as a staff photographer for Look magazine and became famous for his 1961 photos of Marilyn Monroe taken for Look's 25th anniversary issue. He later joined the staff of Life magazine.

Bergquist launches the article talking about her friend Sally, who is besot with watching Lucille Ball reruns, preferring Lucy over the news. Under the headline, she sums up the purpose of her interview: “Sorry, Sally. But Lucy is a serious, unfunny lady. So how come she’s a top clown of the fickle tube for twenty years, seen at home 11 times weekly and in 77 countries?”  

LUCILLE BALL: THE STAR THAT NEVER SETS...

(Lucille Ball’s quotes are in BOLD. Footnote numbers are in parentheses.)

My neighbor Sally, nine, turns out to be a real Lucy freak. Though she likes vintage-house-wife I Love Lucy best, she'll watch Lucille Ball 11 times a week, if permitted. That's how often Madame Comedy Champ of the Tube, come 20 years this October, can be caught on my local box. Ten reruns, plus the current Here's Lucy on Monday night, CBS prime time. Friends, that's 330 weekly minutes of Lucy, which should be rank overexposure. Did you know that even the U.S. man-on-the-moon walkers slipped in ratings, second time around?

Quel mystery. Variety last fall announced that old-fashioned sitcoms and broad slapstick comedy are passé, given today's hip audiences. With one big exception - Lucy. When the third Lucy format went on in '68, reincarnating Miss Ball as a widowed secretary (with her real-life son, Desi Jr., now 18, and Lucie Jr., 20), Women's Wear Daily said not only were the kids no talent, but the show was "treacle." "One giant marshmallow," quoth the Hollywood Reporter, "impeccably professional, violence-free, non-controversial . . . 100% escapism." 

Miss Ball: "Listen, that's a good review. I usually get OK personal notices, but the show gets knocked regular."

So why does Sally, like all the kids on my block, love slapstick, non-relevant Lucy? "Because she's always scheming and getting into trouble like I do, and then wriggling her way out of it." A 44-year-old Long Island housewife: "Of course I watch. I should watch the news?" When the British Royal Family finally unbent for a TV documentary, what was the tribe watching come box-time? Lucy, over protests from Prince Philip. (1)

"I've been a baby-sitter for three generations," says Miss Ball briskly. "Kids watch me during the day [she outpulls most kiddy shows]. Women and older men at night. Teen-agers, no. They look at Mod Squad. Intellectuals, they read books or listen to records.... You know I even get fan mail from China?" MAINLAND CHINA? "Hong Kong, isn't that China?" No. "Where is it anyway?"

The Statistics on the Lucy Industry are numbing. In recent years, she has run in 77 countries abroad, including the rich sheikhdom of Kuwait, and Japan, where, dubbed in Japanese yet, she's been a long-distance runner for 12 years. Where are all those funny people of yesteryear - Jackie Gleason, the Smothers Brothers, Sid Caesar, the Beverly Hillbillies - old reliables like Ed Sullivan, Red Skelton? Gone, all gone, form the live tube - except for reruns dumped by sponsors, out of fashion, murdered in the ratings.

Even this interview is a rerun. Fifteen years ago, I sat in Miss Ball's old-timey movie-star mansion in Beverly Hills, wondering how much longer, oh Lord, could Lucy last? She has a different husband, a genial stand-up comic of the fast-gag Milton Berle school, Bronx-born Gary Morton, 49. He replaced Desi Arnaz, her volatile Cuban spouse (and costar and partner) of 20 years, who lives quietly in Mexico's Baja California, alongside a pool shaped like a guitar, with a second redhead wife. "Ever been here before?" asks Gary, now her executive producer, who's brightened the house decor. "Used to be funeral-parlor gray, right?"

Otherwise, the lady, like her show, seems preserved in amber. Though newly 60, she could be Sally's great-grandmother. Of a Saturday, she's unwinding from a murderous four-day workweek. Her pink-orange-fireball hair is up in rollers. Her black-and-blue Rolls-Royce, inherited from her friend, the late Hedda Hopper, is parked in the driveway. But in attitude and opinion, she comes across Madame Middle America, despite the shrewd show-biz exterior. Good egg. Believer in hard work, discipline, Norman Vincent Peale. Deadeye Dickstraight, she talks astonishingly unfunny - about Vietnam, Women's Lib, about which she feels dimly, marriage to Latins, books she toted up to her new condominium hideaway in Snowmass, Colo. "Snow" is her new-old passion, a throwback to her small-town Eastern childhood. For the first time in family memory, this lifelong workhorse actually relaxed in that 9,700-foot altitude for four months this year, learning to ski, reading Pepys, Thoreau, Shirley MacLaine's autobiography, "37 goddamned scripts, and all those Irvings" (Stone, Wallace, etc.). She had scouted for a mountain retreat far away from any gambling. Why? Is she against gambling? "No, I'm a sucker. I can't stay away from the tables."

From yellowing notes, I reel off an analysis by an early scriptwriter. Perhaps she comes by her comic genius because of some "early maladjustment in life, so you see commonplace things as unusual? To get even, to cover the hurt, you play back the unhappy as funny?"

Forget any deep-dish theorizing. "Listen, honey," says Miss B, drilling me with those big blue peepers, "you've been talking to me for four, five hours. Have you heard me say anything funny? I tell you I don't think funny. That's the difference between a wit and a comedian. My daughter Lucie thinks funny. So does Steve Allen, Buddy Hackett, Betty Grable."

BETTY GRABLE THINKS FUNNY? "Yeah. Dean Martin has a curly mind. oh, I can tell a funny story about something that happened to me. But I'm more of a hardworking hack with an instinct for timing, who knows the mechanics of comedy. I picked it up by osmosis, on radio and movie lots [she made 75 flicks] working with Bob Hope, Bert Lahr, the Marx Brothers, the Three Stooges - didn't learn a thing from them except when to duck. Buster Keaton taught me about props. OK, I'm waiting."

Well, I hedge, I caught Miss Ball in a few funny capers on the Universal lot this week. Like one day, in her star bungalow, she throws a quick-energy lunch in the blender - four almonds, wild honey, water, six-year-old Korean ginseng roots, plus her own medicine, liver extract. "AAAGH," she gags, then peers in the mirror at her hair, which is a normal working fright wig, "Gawd," she moans, "it looks as if I'd poked my finger into an electric-light socket!" No boffo line, but her pantomimed horror makes me laugh out loud. Working, she is fearless - dangling from high wires, coping with wild beasts. She talks of animals she's worked with, chimps, bears, lions, tigers. "I love 'em all, especially the chimps, but you can't trust their fright or panic. Like that baby elephant who gave a press job to a guest actress." (2) What's a press job? "Honey, once an elephant puts his head down, he keeps marching, right through walls." Miss Ball puts her own head down, crooks an arm for a trunk, and voila, is an elephant. Funny as hell. So off-camera she's no great wit, but then is Chaplin?

Four days a week, through the Thursday night filming before a live audience, she labors like some hungry Depression starlet. Monday a.m., she sits at the head of a conference table, lined by 12 staffers, editing the script. Madame Executive Tycoon in charge of everything, overseeing things Desi used to do. Also the haus-frau, constantly opening windows for fresh air and emptying ashtrays. She wears black horn-rims, three packs of ciggies are at the ready. "Do I have to ask for a raise again?" she impatiently drills the writers, "I've done that 400 times." "QUIET!" she yells during rehearsal, perching in a high director's chair, a la Cecil B. DeMille. "Isn't somebody around here supposed to yell quiet?" She frets about the new set. "Those aisles - they're a mile and a half wide. What for?" The audience is too far away, she won't get the feedback from their laughs are her life's blood. (Once I hear Gary Morton on the phone, in his British-antiqued executive office, saying: "We need your laugh, honey. Go down to the set and laugh; that's an order.")

That physical quality about her comedy, a la the old silent movies or vaudeville - which were the big amusements of her youth - seems to transcend any language. (A Moscow acting school, I was told, shows old Lucy clips as lessons in comic timing.) So what did she learn from that great Buster Keaton?

"At Metro, I kept being held back by show-girl-glamour typing. I always wanted to do comedy. Buster Keaton, a friend of director Eddy Sedgwick, spotted something in me when I was doing a movie called DuBarry - what the hell was the name? - and kept nagging the moguls about what I could do. Now a great forte of mine is props. He taught me all about 'em. Attention to detail, that's all it is. He was around when I went out on a vaudeville tour with Desi with a loaded prop." What's that? "Real Rube Goldberg stuff. A cello loaded with the whole act - a seat to perch on, a violin bow, a plunger, a whistle, a horn. Honey, if you noodge it, you've lost the act. Keaton taught me your prop is your jewel case. Never entrust it to a stagehand. Never let it out of your sight when you travel, rehearse with it all week." Ever noodge it? "Gawd, yes. Happened at the old Roxy in New York. I was supposed to run down that seven-mile aisle when some maniac sprang my prop by leaping out and yelling 'I'm that woman's mother! She's letting me starve.'" What did you do? "Ad-libbed it, and I am one lousy ad-libber."

After 20 years, isn't she weary of playing the Lucy character? "No, I'm a rooter, I look for ruts. My cousin Cleo [now producer of Here's Lucy] is always prodding me to move. She once said Lucy was my security blanket. Maybe. I'm not erudite in any way, like Cleo. But why should I change? Last year was big TV relevant year, and I made sure my show wasn't relevant. Lucy deals in fundamental, everyday things exaggerated, with a happy ending. She has a basic childishness that hopefully most of us never lose. That's why she cries a lot like a kid - the WAAH act - instead of getting drunk."

Aha! Is Lucy the guileful child-woman, conniving forever against male authority - whether husband or nagging boss - particularly FEMALE? ("None of us watch the show," sniffed a Women's Libber I know, "but she must be an Aunt Tom." Still, I ponder, hasn't that always been the essence of comedy, the little poor-soul man - or woman - up against the biggies?)

"I certainly hope so. You trying to con me into talking about Women's Lib? I don't know the meaning of it. I never had anything to squawk about. I don't know what they're asking for that I don't have already. Equal pay for equal work, that's OK. The suffragettes rightly pressed a hard case - and when roles like Carry Nation come along, they ask me to play them, perhaps because I have the physical vitality. But they're kind of a laughingstock, aren't they? Like that girl who gave her parents 40 whacks with an ax? Didn't Carry Nation ax things, was she a Prohibitionist or what?" (3)

She'd just said nix to playing Sabina, in the movie of Thornton Wilder's The Skin of Our Teeth. Why? "I didn't understand it." She turned down The Manchurian Candidate for the same reason. "Got that Oh Dad, Poor Dad script the same week and thought I'd gone loony." If she makes another movie, she'll play Lillian Russell in Diamond Jim with Jackie Gleason, "a nice, nostalgic courtship story that won't tax anyone's nerves." (4) 

Is Miss Ball warmed by the comeback of old stars in non-taxing Broadway nostalgia shows like No, No, Nanette? (5)

"Listen, I studied that audience. I saw people in their 60's and 70's enjoying themselves. That had to be nostalgia. The 30's and 40's smiled indulgently, that Ruby Keeler is up there on the stage alive, not dead. For the below 30's, it's pure camp. I don't put it down, but it’s not warm, working nostalgia, but the feeling 'Ye gods, anything but today'

"Maybe I'm more concerned about things that I realize. I told you politics is definitely not on my agenda - I got burned bad, back in the '40's signing a damned petition as a favor. (6) Just say the word 'politician,' and I think of chicanery. Too many subversive angles today. But I must be one of millions who are so fed up, depressed, sobbing inside, about the news...the atrocities, the dead, the running down of America. You can't obliterate the news, but the baddest dream is that you feels so helpless.

"I was sitting in this very chair one night, flipping the dial, and came to Combat! There were soldiers crouching in bushes, a helicopter hovering overhead. Nothing happening, so I make like a director, yelling, 'Move it! This take is too LONG!' It turned out to be a news show from Vietnam. That shook me. There I was criticizing the director, and real blood was dripping off my screen... That drug scene bugs me. It's ridiculous, self-indulgent. We're supposed to be grateful if the kids aren't on drugs. They're destroying us from within, getting at our youth in the colleges. OK, kids have to protest, but how can they accomplish anything if they're physically shot?

"One of the reasons I'm still working is that people seem grateful that Lucy is there, the same character and unchanging view. There's so much chaos in this world, that's important. Many people, not only shut-ins, depend on the tube, too much so - they look for favorites they can count on. Older people loved Lawrence Welk. They associated his music with their youth. Now he's gone. It's not fair. (7) They shouldn't have taken off those bucolic comedies; that left a big dent in some folks' lives. Maybe we're not getting messages anymore from the clergy, the politicians, so TV does the preaching. But as an entertainer, I don't believe in messages.

"Some Mr. Jones is always asking why am I still working - as if it were some crime or neurotic. OK, I'll say it's for my kids. But I like a routine life, I like to work. I come from an old New England family in which everyone worked. My grandparents were homesteaders in New York and Ohio. My mother worked all her life - during the Depression in a factory."

What does she think of the new "relevant" comedy like All in the Family? "I don't know... It's good to bring prejudice out in the open. People do think that way, but why glorify it? Those not necessarily young may not catch the moral. That show doesn't go full circle for me."

Full circle?

"You have to suffer a little when you do wrong. That prejudiced character doesn't pay a penance. Does he ever reverse a feeling? I'm for believability, but I'm tired of hearing 'pig,' 'wop,' 'Polack' said unkindly. Me, I have to have an on-the-nose moral. Years ago, the Romans let humans be eaten by lions, while they laughed and drank - that was entertainment. But I’m tired of the ugly. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing, that's my idea of entertainment. Anything Richard Burton does is heaven. Easy Rider scared me at first because I knew how it could influence kids. But at least that movie came full circle. They led a life of nothing and they got nothing. Doris Day, I believe in her. Elaine May? A kook, but a great talent. Barbra Streisand? A brilliant technician."

On her old ten-minute daily interview radio show, (8) she once asked Barbra, like any star-struck civilian: How does it feel to be only 21, a big recording artist and star of the Broadway hit Funny Girl? "Not much," said Barbra. "That cool really flustered Lucille. It violated everything she believes in," says cousin Cleo Smith, who grew up with Miss B in small-town Celoron, N.Y. "For her, nothing ever came easy. She didn't marry until she was 30, or become a really big star until she was 40. She's still so hard on herself, sets such rigorous standards for herself as an actress and parent. She honestly believes in all the old maxims, that a stitch in time saves nine, etc. She's literal-minded, a bit like Scarlett O'Hara. Does what needs doing today, and to hell with tomorrow."

Her self-made wealth a few years ago was reckoned at $50 to $100 million. After her divorce, she reluctantly took over the presidency of the Desilu studio and sold it six years later to the conglomerate Gulf & Western for nearly $18 million. Does that make her the biggest lady tycoon in Hollywood? (The 179 original I Love Lucy reruns now belong, incidentally, to a CBS syndicate; her second Lucy Show, to Paramount. She owns only the current Here's Lucy - OK, go that straight?)

"Hah! Like Sinatra, I owe about three and a half million bucks all the time. That figure is ridiculous. All my money is working. I lost a helluva lot in the stock market last year and haven't recouped it. It's an illusion that people in show biz are really rich. The really filthy rich are the little old ladies in Boston, the old folks in Pasadena, who've had dough for years and haven't been seen since."

The divorce from Desi Arnaz can still set her brooding. "It was the worst period of my life. I really hit the bottom of despair - anything form there on had to be up. Neither Desi nor I has been the same since, physically or mentally, though we're very friendly, ridiculously so. Nobody knows how hard I tried to make that marriage work, thinking all the trouble must be my fault. I did everything I could to right that ship, trotting to psychiatrists. I hate failure, and that divorce was a Number One failure in my eyes... Anything in excess drives me crazy. He'd build a home anyplace he was, and then never be around to enjoy it. I was so idealistic, I thought that with two beautiful babies, and a beautiful business, what more could any man want? Freedom, he said, but he had that. People don't know what a job he did building that Desilu empire, what a great director and brilliant executive he was yet he let it all go....Maybe Latins have an instinct for self-destruction..."

Was that the conflict, a Latin temperament married to an old-fashioned American female? "It has a helluva lot to do with getting into it and getting out. The charm. But they keep up a big facade and don't follow through. No, the machismo didn't bother me, I like to play games too.

"Desi and I had made an agreement that if either of us wanted to pull out of Desilu, the other could buy. I wanted to go to Switzerland with the kids, anywhere to run away, but he wanted out. The I found out that for five years, our empire had taken a nose dive, and if I wanted to get my money back, I had to rebuild it first. For the first time in my life, I was absolutely terrified - I'd never run any show or a big studio. When I came back from doing the musical Wildcat on Broadway, I was so sick, so beat, I just sat in that backyard, numb, for a year. I'd had pneumonia, mononucleosis, staph, osteomyletis. Lost 22 pounds. Friends told me the best thing I could do physically, psychologically, was go back to work, but could I revive Lucy without Desi, my old writers, the old crew?"

You didn't like being a woman executive? "I hated it. I used to cry so much - and I'm not a crier - because I had to let someone go or make decisions I didn't understand. There were always two sides to every question, and trouble was I could see both sides. No one realizes how run-down Desilu was. The finks and sycophants making $70,000 a year, they were easy to clean out. Then during the CBS Jim Aubrey regime, I couldn't sell the new pilots we made - Dan Dailey, Donald O'Connor, Ethel Merman. I couldn't sell anything but me." (9)

Was it tough to be a woman bossing men? "Yeah. It puts men in a bad spot. I could read their minds, unfortunately, wondering who is this female making this decision, not realizing that maybe I'd consulted six experts first. I'm all wrong as an executive, I feel out of place. I have too many antennae out, I'm too easily hurt and intimidated. But I can make quick surgical incisions. I've learned that much about authority - give people enough rope to hand themselves, stand back, let them work, but warm them first. Creative people you have to give special leeway to, and often it doesn't pay off. Me, I'm workative, not creative. I can fix - what I call 'naturalize.' I'm a good editor, I can naturalize dialogue, find an easier way to do a show mechanically.

But I didn't make the same marriage mistake twice. Gary digs what my life is, why I have to work. We have tranquility. We want the same things, take care of what we have."

She shows me Gary's dressing room, closets hung with shirts and jackets - by the dozen. "My husband is a clothes and car nut, but it's a harmless vice. Better than booze or chasing women, right?" (His cars include a 1927 Model T Ford, a Mercedes-Benz 300 SL, an Astin Martin, a Rolls-Royce convertible.)

"Anyone married to me has an uphill climb. Gary and I coped by anticipating. We knew we should be separated eight, nine months a year, so he tapered off his act, found other thing to do - making investments, building things. He plays the golf circuit, Palm Springs, Pebble Beach, and tolerantly lets me stay at Snowmass for weeks. Sun just doesn't agree with me. He didn't come into the business for five years. I didn't want to put him in a position in which he would be ridiculed. I could tell that he was grasping things - casting, story line. I said, 'You've been a big help to me. You should be paid for it.' "

On a Friday night, I dine with the Mortons. Dinner is served around 6:30, just like in my Midwest hometown. Lucille is still fretting about this week's show - "over-rehearsed; because there were so many props, the fun had gone out of it." Gary, just home from unwinding his own way - golfing with Milton Berle, Joey Bishop - asks if I'd like something to drink with dinner? Coke or ginger ale? "No? I think we have wine." No high living in this house, but the spareribs are superb. "Laura asked me an interesting question," he tells his wife. "Like isn't there a conflict when a husband in the same business - comedy - marries a superstar? I told her I'd never thought of it before."

They met the summer when Lucille was rehearsing Wildcat, and he was a stand-up comic at Radio City Music Hall, seven days a week. "We both came up the hard way," he says. "I got started in World War II, clowning for USO shows. I've been in show biz for 30 years and can appreciate what she goes through. Lucy can't run company by herself. Maybe with me around, when she walks on the set, her mind is at peace. I pop in from time to time, on conferences, rehearsals. I can tell from her if things are going well, if the laughter is there. She's a thoroughbred, very honest with me, a friend to whom I can talk about anything. She never leaves me out of her life; that's important for a man. Do you know how many bets were lost about our marriage lasting? It's been nearly ten years now, and I've slept on the couch only once."

Past dinner, we adjourn promptly to the living room, and a private showing of Little Murders. It's not a pretty movie of urban American life, and Lucy talks back indignantly to the screen. (10) The flick she rally like was George Plimpton's Paper Lion, with the Detroit Lions, which she booked under the illusion it was an animal picture. "At the end, 12 of us here stood up and cheered, and I wrote every last Lion a fan note. You know that picture hardly made a dime?"

On a house tout, I'd noted the Norman Rockwell and Andrew Wyeth albums in the living room, and a memo scotch-taped to her bathroom wall: "Get Smart with N.V.P."

N.V.P. Is that Norman Vincent Peale, her old friend and spiritual mentor? "Yes. He marred me and Gary. I still adhere to his way of thinking because he preaches a day-to-day religion that I can understand. Something workable, not allegory. Like how do you get up in the morning and just get through the day?

"Dr. Peale taught me the art of selfishness. All it means is doing what's right for you, not being a burden to others. When I was in Wildcat, he dropped around one night saying, 'I hear you're very ill, and working too hard.' 'Work never hurt anybody,' I protested. But he reminded me I had two beautiful children to bring up, and if I was in bad shape, how could I do it? I've learned you don't rake more leaves than you can get into the wheelbarrow. I've always been moderate, but I was too spread around, trying to please too many people. You don't become callous, but you conserve your energies."

What about her kids? Passing a newsstand, I'd noted a rash of fan mags blazoned with headlines about Desi Jr., something of a teen-age idol, and at 18 a spitting image of old pop. (A rock star at 12, he'd recently garnered very good notices indeed for a movie role in Red Sky at Morning.) "Why Lucille Ball's Son Is So Bitter About His Own Mother," read the El Trasho covers. "Patty Duke Begs Desi Jr. To Believe Her: 'You Made Me Pregnant.' " Does the imbroglio bother this on-the-nose moralist?

"I worked for years for a quiet personal life and to have to personally impinged on, with no recourse, is hard. I brought Patty to the house, feeling very maternal about her, saying look at this clever girl, what a big talent she is. Now, I can thank her for useless notoriety. She's living in some fantastic dreamworld, and we're the victims of it. Desi being the tender age of 17 when they met, she used him. She hasn't proved or asked for anything. I asked Desi if he wanted to marry her and he said no. My daughter helped outfit the baby, which Patty brought to the house, but did she ever say thank you?

"Desi's going to CIA this fall." Not the CIA? No, the new California Institute of the Arts, where he'll study music. "Yes, he's very much like his father, too much sometimes - I just hope he has Desi's business acumen. I'm glad he didn't choose UCLA or Berkeley or a school full of nonconformists. Lucie just now wants marriage and babies - maybe she'll go on to college later.

"I took the kids out of school deliberately. Desi was at Beverly Hills High, Lucie at Immaculate Heart."

Why? "I didn't like the scene - it was the usual - pregnant girls, drugs." That goes on at Immaculate Heart? Sure. "A lot of girls who boarded there were unhappy misfits, and Lucie was already working in the nunnery. All the friends she brought home were the rejected. I'm that way myself."

Did they mind, well, your stage-managing their lives? "No, they were as sick of that weird high school scene as I was. I made them a proposition - told them to think it over for a month, while I was in Monaco. Do you want to be on the show? I told them the salary would be scale, that most would be put in trust. They'd be tutored and not able to graduate with their classes. They both thought they were going to the coast, but working with a tutor, they really got turned on by books for the first time. They wanted to be in show business, and I wanted to keep an eye on them."

Of course her show is nepotism, she grants. "Cleo thought a long time before becoming the producer, wondering if it wasn’t overdoing family. Nobody seems to be suffering from it, I told her." Thursday night show time is like a tense Broadway opening night. Gary Morton, in stylish crested blazer, warms up the audience, heavy with out-of-town tourists. "Lucy started out with another fellow, can't remember his name.... What is home without a mother? A place to bring girls." Lucille bursts out onstage, exuding the old MGM glamour, fireball hair ablaze, eyelashes inches long, in aquamarine-cum-rhinestone kaftan. "For God's sake," she implores, "laugh it up! We want to hear from you... Gary, have you introduced my mom?" Indeed he has. Loyal, durable, 79-year-old Desiree "DeDe" Ball, her hair pink as Lucille's, has missed few of the 409 Lucy shows filmed to date, and is on hand as usual with 19 personal guests. Gary also asks for big hands for Cleo, and her husband Cecil Smith, TV critic for the LA Times, who has also appeared on the show. (11) 

One day Desi Jr. wanders on the set, just back from visiting his father in Mexico. He'd gone with Patty Duke and the baby. The young man does have Latin charm, and apparently talent. I ask him a fan-mag query: Is it rough to be the spin-off of such famous show-biz parents?

"Well, I grew up with kids like Dean Martin, Jr., and Tony Martin, Jr., and we had a lot in common." What? "We all had houses in Palm Springs." Any generational problem with Mom? "She's found the thing she's best at, and sticks to it. As long as she has Snowmass, she has an escape, some reality. I realize she lives half in a man's world, and that must be tough on a woman. My father - he worked hard for years, and then he'd had it. This is silly, weird, he felt. He aged more in ten years than he had in 40. I'm like him. I feel life is very short. He's had major operations recently, and he's changed a lot."

Patty Duke is six years older than Desi Jr., paralleling the six-year age gap that separated parents Lucy and Desi. "Patty is a lot like my mother, the same drive, and strong will, a perfectionist...But I'm never going to get married. Marriage is unrealistic, expecting you to devote a whole life unselfishly to just one person. Do you know people age unbelievably when they marry? From what I've seen, 85 percent of married couples are miserable; 14 percent, just average; one percent, happy." (12) 

His mother's own childhood, in little Celoron, an outspring of Jamestown, N.Y., was oh-so-different from her kids'. "She was always a wild, tempestuous, exciting child," say Cleo, "doing things that worried people, plotting and scheming, though she knew she'd get in trouble." Interesting, because that's one basic of the Lucy format, Miss B forever finagling second bananas like Vivian Vance into co-trouble. "One summer, she conned me into running away. It was only to nearby Fredonia, but in her sneaky way she really wanted to catch up to a groovy high school principal who was teaching there. He played it very cool, calling Mom and telling her we were staying overnight in a boarding house. On his advice, when we got home, DeDe acted as if we hadn't been away. That devastated Lucille, no reaction, nothing."

The classic Lucy story line also has her conniving against male authority, whether husband or boss, now played by Gale Gordon. "I need a strong father or husband figure as catalyst. I have to be an inadequate somebody, because I don't want the authority for Lucy. Every damned movie script sent me seems to cast me as a lady with authority, like Eve Arden or Roz Russell, but that's not me.

"No, I don't remember my own father," says Miss Ball. "He was a telephone lineman who died of typhoid at 25, when I was about three. I do remember everything that day, though. Hanging out the window, begging to play with the kids next door who had measles... The doctor coming, my mother weeping. I remember a bird that flew in the window, a picture that fell off the wall.

"My brother Fred [who was born after her father's death] was always very, very good. He never did anything wrong - he was too much to bear. I was always in trouble, a real pain in the ass. I suppose I wasn't much fun to be around." To this day, says Cleo, Lucille suspects Fred is her mother's favorite, even though DeDe has devoted her whole life to this daughter.

Family ties were always fierce-strong. After her father's death, "We lived with my mother's parents, for a while. Grandpa Hunt was a marvelous jack-of-all-trades, a woodturner, eye doctor, mailman, bon vivant, hotel owner. [And also an old-fashioned Populist-Socialist.] He met my grandmother, Flora Belle, a real pioneer woman and pillar of the family, when she was a maid in his hotel. She was a nurse and midwife, an orphan who brought up four pairs of twin sisters and brothers all by herself. He took us to vaudeville every Saturday and to the local amusement park. When Grandma died at 51, all us kids had to pitch in, making beds, cooking.

"Yeah, I guess I am real mid-America, growing up as a mix of French-Scotch-Irish-English, living on credit like everyone else, paying $1.25 a week to the insurance man, buying furniture on time. But it was a good, full life. Grandpa took us camping, fishing, picking mushrooms, made us bobsleds. We always had goodies. I had the first boyish bob in town and the first open galoshes.

"My mother then married Ed Peterson, a handsome-ugly man, very well-read. He was good to me and Freddy but he drank too much. He was the first to point out the magic of the stage. A monologist came to town on the Chautauqua circuit. He just sat onstage with a pitcher of water and light bulb and made us laugh and cry for two hours. For me, this was pure magic. When I was about seven, Ed and mother moved to Detroit, leaving me with his old-fashioned Swedish parents, who were very strict. I had to be in bed at 6:30, hearing all the other kids playing outside in the summer daylight. Maybe it wasn't that traumatic, but I realize now it was a bad time for me. I felt as if I'd been deserted. I got my imagination to working, and read trillions of books."

The adult Lucille, talking to interviewers, used to go on and on about her "unhappy" childhood, little realizing that she was reflecting on her mother, to whom she is passionately devoted. "Just how long do you think you lived with the Petersons?" asked DeDe one day in a confrontation. "Three YEARS? Well I tell you it was more like three weeks."

"I left home at 15, much too early, desperate to break into the big wide world. Looking for work in New York show biz was ugly, without any leads or friends or training other than high school operettas and plays and Sunday school pageants. I was very shy and reticent, believe it or not, and I kept running home every five minutes. I got thrown in with older Shubert and Ziegfeld dollies and, believe me, they were a mean, closed corporation. I don't understand kids today who get easily discouraged and yap about doing their own thing. Don't they know what hard work is? Where are their morals? I always knew when I did wrong, and paid penance."

Yet she was venturesome enough to sit in on some recent Synanon group-therapy sessions for drug addicts. "They wanted me to raise some money, and I wanted to find out what it was about. The games were fascinating, wonderful, until I couldn't take it any more. The other participants kept bugging me: What are you here for? Are your children drug addicts? I had to start making up problems."

For two decades, she's been risking her neck in those murderous ratings, outlasting long-ago competitors like Fulton Sheen, and now up against such pleasers as pro football and Rowan and Martin. (13) 

Suppose the ratings drop, what would she do?

No idea. "Might take a trip on the Inland Waterway form Boston to Florida. In my deal with Universal, I can make specials, other movies, TV pilots. I wouldn't have to ski 'spooked' at Snowmass." What's that? "Honey, I have to be careful. If I break a leg 500 people are out of work. (14) I'd be happy in some branch of acting with some modicum of appreciation. Listen, it never occurred to me, in life that I'd fail ever, because I always appreciated small successes. I never had a big fixed goal. When I was running Desilu, it drove me wild when people asked, 'Aren't you proud to own the old RKO studio where you once worked as a starlet?' What $50-a-week starlet ever walked around a lot saying, 'I want to own this studio'?

"I don't know what you've been driving at, what's your story line? But it's been interesting, talking."

FOOTNOTES: HINDSIGHT IS 20/20

(1) This refers to a rare 1969 BBC documentary about Britain’s royal family that gave the public an inside look at the life of the Windsors. In one scene, the family was watching television, and on the screen was “I Love Lucy”, much to the chagrin of Prince Philip. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip were mentioned on the series, especially in the episode “Lucy Meets the Queen” (ILL S5;E15).  

(2) Lucy is referring to a 1967 episode of “The Lucy Show” titled “Lucy The Babysitter” (TLS S5;E16) in which Lucy Carmichael babysits three rambunctious chimps for their parents, played by Jonathan Hole and Mary Wickes. In the final moments of the show, Wickes reveals a fourth sibling - a baby elephant!  The animal went wild and pushed Wickes (what Ball described as a “press job”) into one of the prop trees. The trainer had to physically subdue the elephant to get it away from Wickes, who injured her arm. The final cut ends with the entrance of the baby elephant.

(3) Lucy is conflating (probably intentionally) the stories of real-life prohibitionist Carrie Nation (1846-1911), who famously hacked up bars and whisky barrels with an axe, and Lizzie Bordon (1860-1927), who famously hacked up her parents with an axe. (Photo from the 1962 TV special “The Good Years” starring Lucille Ball and Henry Fonda.) 

(4) There was never a film version of Thornton Wilder’s play Skin Of Our Teeth which was on Broadway in 1942 starring Tallulah Bankhead as Sabina, the role offered to Ball.  There were several television adaptations; one in Australia in 1959; one in England the same year starring Vivian Leigh as Sabina;  one in the USA in 1955 starring Mary Martin (above) as Sabina; and a filmed version of a stage production starring Blair Brown as Sabina in 1983. Although it is possible that Lucille Ball might have been considered for the role of the sexy housemaid Sabina in 1955, the article says that the role was “just” offered to her, so it probably refers to a 1971 project that never materialized. Wilder’s story tracks a typical American family from New Jersey from the ice age through the apocalypse. 

(5) In 1971, there was a popular revival of the 1925 musical comedy No, No, Nanette on Broadway. The cast featured veteran screen star Ruby Keeler and included Helen Gallagher (playing a character named Lucille, coincidentally), Bobby Van, Jack Gilford, Patsy Kelly and Susan Watson. Busby Berkeley, nearing the end of his career, was credited as supervising the production, although his name was his primary contribution to the show. The 1971 production was well-reviewed and ran for 861 performances. It sparked interest in the revival of similar musicals from the 1920s and 1930s. The original 1925 cast featured Charles Winninger, who played Barney Kurtz, Fred’s old vaudeville partner on “I Love Lucy.” In that same episode (above), they sing a song from the musical, "Peach on the Beach” by Vincent Youmans and Otto Harbach. Like the revue in the episode, the musical is set in Atlantic City, New Jersey.  

(6) Lucy is referring to her 1936 affidavit of registration to join the Communist Party.  Lucille said she signed it to appease her elderly grandfather. The cavalier act caught up with Ball in 1953, when zealous red-hunting Senator Joe McCarthy tried to purge America of suspected Communists. Although many careers were ruined, Ball escaped virtually unscathed.  

(7) The popular big band music series “The Lawrence Welk Show” (1955) was unceremoniously canceled in 1971 by ABC, in an attempt to attract younger audiences. What Lucy doesn’t mention is that four days after this magazine was published, the show began running brand new shows in syndication, which continued until 1982. Welk, despite not being much of an actor, played himself on “Here’s Lucy” (above) in January 1970. 

(8) “Let’s Talk To Lucy” was a short daily radio program aired on CBS Radio from September 1964 to June 1964. Most interviews (including Streisand’s) were spread over multiple installments.  

(9)  To showcase possible new series (pilots) Desilu and CBS aired “Vacation Playhouse” (1963-67) during the summer when “The Lucy Show” was on hiatus.  This would often be the only airing of Lucy’s passion projects. “Papa GI” with Dan Dailey as an army sergeant in Korea who has his hands full with two orphans who want him to adopt them. The pilot was aired in June 1964 but it was not picked up for production. “Maggie Brown” had Ethel Merman playing a widow trying to raise a daughter and run a nightclub which is next to a Marine Corps base. The pilot aired in September 1963, but went unsold. “The Hoofer” starring Donald O’Connor and Soupy Sales as former vaudevillians aired its pilot in August 1966. No sale! 

(10) Little Murders (1971) was a black comedy based on the play of the same name by Jules Feiffer. The film is about a young nihilistic New Yorker (Elliott Gould) coping with pervasive urban violence, obscene phone calls, rusty water pipes, electrical blackouts, paranoia and ethnic-racial conflict during a typical summer of the 1970s. Definitely not Lucille Ball’s style of comedy!  Paper Lion (1968) was a sports comedy about George Plimpton (Alan Alda) pretending to be a member of the Detroit Lions football team for a Sports Illustrated article. 

(11) Cecil Smith appeared in “Lucy Meets the Burtons” (HL S3;E1) in 1970 playing himself, a member of the Hollywood Press with a dozen other real-life writers. The casting was a way to get better coverage of the episode (featuring power couple Dick Burton, Liz Taylor, and her remarkable diamond ring). The gambit worked and the episode was the most viewed of the entire series. 

(12) Desi Jr.’s 1971 views on marriage did not last. He married actress Linda Purl in 1980, but they divorced in 1981. In October 1987, Arnaz married dancer Amy Laura Bargiel. Ten years later they purchased the Boulder Theatre in Boulder City, Nevada and restored it. They lived in Boulder with their daughter, Haley. Amy died of cancer in 2015, at the age of 63.   

(13) From 1952 to 1957, Catholic Bishop Fulton J. Sheen hosted the inspirational program “Life Is Worth Living”, winning an Emmy Award in 1953, alongside winners Lucille Ball and “I Love Lucy.”  “Here’s Lucy” was programmed up against “Monday Night Football” on ABC and “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In” on NBC.  Instead of ignoring her competition, Ball embraced them by featuring stories about football and incorporating many of the catch phrases and guest stars from “Laugh-In.” 

(14) Lucy spoke too soon!  Just a few months after this interview was published Ball did indeed have a skiing accident in Snowmass and broke her leg. With season five’s first shooting date approaching, Ball was faced with either ending the series or re-write the scripts so that Lucy Carter would be in a leg cast.  She chose the latter, even incorporating actual footage of herself on the Snowmass  slopes (above) into "Lucy’s Big Break” (HL S5;E1). 

Elsewhere in the Issue...

“This Was Our Life” by Gene Shalit includes images of Lucille Ball in the collage illustration. 

A week after this issue of Look hit the stands, the fourth season of “Here’s Lucy” kicked off with guest star Flip Wilson and a parody of Gone With the Wind.  Three days later, Ball guest-starred on his show. 

Not to be outdone, LOOK’s rival LIFE also devoted an entire issue to television, on news stands just three days later.  

Naturally, “I Love Lucy” didn’t escape mention!  I’m not sure why the show’s run is bifurcated: 1952-55, 1956-57.  Actually, the show began in 1951 and ran continually until 1957. 

Click here for more about Look, Life and Time! 

[gigikiwiandco]

Wolf of Ebottburg, Part 3

[Chara and the Six had been messing with Frisk’s canine instincts, but they quickly ran out of ideas. And by wolf, he meant dog. They’ve thrown several sticks and balls to see if they could get her to play fetch, which she fell for the first couple times, and they also had her baring her teeth and chasing squirrels around Monster Town, which they actually found really funny. A laser pointer and a chew toy were involved, too. They also learned that Kris and the monsters were aware of her secret as well. Later, at Sparkle Meadow, they’re hanging around while Yellow is stalking Orange’s older brother Demitri and Frisk walks up to people saying “Hello! Hello!” and clawing at any tree she hears a squirrel in as well as rolling over on the ground and even eating a dog treat when nobody else was there. No one exactly finds it weird as in the unnatural kind of weird, except Demitri who tries to ignore it as he continues playing his violin. However, when Frisk gets someone to throw a frisbee to her and catches it with her mouth, Demitri pauses and temporarily puts down his violin to walk over and talk to the other Rainbow Kids.]

Yellow: [realizes something] *in her head* Hey, wait, no, wait a minute! *stops speaking in her head* [runs to the others]

Demitri: Hey, Leo, I think we need to talk about your friends.

Orange: Why, what’s wrong with them?

Demitri: I’m talking about one in particular. [points to Frisk]

Cyan: [pretending nothing’s up] What exactly do you think is wrong with her?

Demitri: For starters, she was just eating a dog biscuit and rolling around on the grass.

Purple: [pretending nothing’s up] That was actually just a cookie shaped like a dog biscuit.

Green: [pretending nothing’s up] And what’s wrong with a person rolling around on the ground? It’s not that uncommon.

Demitri: She also keeps going “Hello! Hello!” to strangers.

Yellow: [pretending nothing’s up] Now that’s just how she greets them, partner.

Blue: [pretending nothing’s up] Yeah, Frisk is always like “Hello! Hello!” to anyone she meets.

Demitri: She even caught a frisbee with her mouth.

Chara: [pretending nothing’s up] She’s just great at catching things. [the frisbee hits her in the head] Unlike me... I’m okay! [turns to Green] Hey, am I bleeding? [points to where it hit her]

Orange: [pretending nothing’s up] Relax, bro. I’m sure there nothing weird about her.

Frisk: [walks over to the other Rainbow Kids] Guys, I think Toriel wants us to get back. C’mon, let’s go. [the others wave goodbye and leave the park]

Demitri: *sigh* [gets an idea] Hmm...

[Later, at the Dreemurr household, Demitri is spying on Frisk in the living room through an open window holding a dog whistle.]

Chara: Frisk, we gotta be careful who takes your canine tendencies seriously. Orange’s brother is onto you.

Frisk: I know, Chara. That’s why I don’t like going to Sparkle Meadow very often, it brings that side of me out. I just hope no- [Demitri blows the dog whistle] WAGH! [covers her ears] Ow...

Green: [concerned] Are you okay?

Frisk: Ugh, yeah. I’m pretty certain I just heard a- [Demitri blows the dog whistle again] AAAGH!

Demitri: [trying not to laugh] Wow...

Frisk: ...dog whistle. I’m pretty certain I’m hearing a dog whistle, I hate those things. The shrill noise hurts my ears. Who is even-...? [Demitri blows the dog whistle again] EEEEEEE!

[Demitri holds back a chuckle, but then feel everyone’s eyes on him and runs off.]

Frisk: [annoyed] ...If I didn’t respect your guys’ families, I would strangle him.

[Demitri hides the dog whistle in the bush, then the Rainbow Kids and Asriel walk up to him with disappointed faces.]

Cyan: [disappointed] Hello, Demitri.

Demitri: [panicking, nervous] Oh, shhhhoot! Um, hey.

Asriel: [disappointed] A dog whistle, seriously? Hand it over.

Demitri: [lying, nervous] A dog whistle? I don’t have a dog whistle on me.

Frisk: [disappointed, annoyed] Hmph. [sniffs the air, takes the dog whistle]

Demitri: [confused, nervous] *in his head* What the...?! How did she...? *stops speaking in his head*

Blue: [disappointed] You liar.

Purple: [disappointed] No wonder Orange can be so dumb at times.

Orange: [disappointed] I can’t believe you right now. I am ashamed of you, and I didn’t think I could be. [realizes something] And also... [turns to Purple] ...Hey!

Purple: *nervous chuckle*

Yellow: [disappointed] I’m with your brother. As a student in your violin class, I am also disappointed. That was dirty and underhanded.

Demitri: [giving up on this] *sigh* Okay, look, I am sorry. But could you blame me for doing that? Frisk is literally a dog, Leo! How else was she able to hear that?!

Asriel, Demitri and Rainbow Kids: ...

Frisk: [amused] *chuckle*

Demitri: [confused] What’s so funny?

Frisk: Sorry to break it to you, but I’m not really a dog. [looks at the other kids, the other kids nod, looks back at Demitri] [decides to tell him] ...I’m a werewolf.

Demitri: [surprised, shocked] ...

Chara: [finding his reaction amusing] Orange, your brother’s face!

Demitri: [shakes his head] If you’re serious, then transform right now.

Frisk: Alright, but do not tell anyone else.

Demitri: I promise. [intrigued] Now, let’s see this this.

[Frisk gets on all fours and transforms. In a few seconds, Demitri is in awe at the large dark brown and pale red wolf standing in front of him.]

Demitri: [amazed] Whoa, that’s incredible. [pets Frisk decisively]

Wolf Frisk: *Bark!*

Chara: I know, right?

[gosecretscribbles]

Stanuary 2019 Week 1 Bonding

“GET BACK HERE!”

“AAAGH!”

Stan chased after the tourist, brandishing his cane in one hand and the crossbow in the other.  The guy had tried to pay for his tour with a baby goat!  What did he think this was, Medieval Europe?!  Goats were not currency!  Goats weren't even profitable!  They just ate, pooped, and stank!

Stan thought he was in decent shape for an old fat guy, but the skinny farmer sprinted to his truck like all the tax collectors in the state were on his heels.  Plus that stupid baby goat was prancing around Stan and tripping him up.  Even so, Stan nearly made it to the truck when the farmer hit the gas.  The engine roared to life and dirt sprayed in Stan's face.  He skidded to a stop, coughing and scraping at his eyes.  

There was a thunk and Stan looked down.  The kid had keeled right over, all four legs straight out.  

“Oh, great, now he's dead!  YOU PAID ME WITH A DEAD GOAT, YA MORON!”

He swung up the crossbow and fired, but the truck hit a bend in the road.  Instead of popping a tire the bolt just hit the license plate and jarred it loose.  It fell off with a noisy rattle as the truck swung around the curve and disappeared, the other goats' bleating quickly fading from earshot.  

Swearing a blue streak under his breath, Stan went to retrieve the license plate.  Never know when you'd need one to throw the cops off your trail.  

Now he had to decide what to do with a dead baby goat.  The next tourist bus wasn't coming until noon, so he had about an hour to figure it out.  He didn't really want to stuff it, but he couldn't think of anything else to do with it.  Hey, maybe he could make his new mechanic do it instead – what was his name, Zeus or something? Sure, that'd work.  He just had to get the goat out of the way until Soup came back from school.  

He reached the goat and bent down to grab its leg.

“Baa-aa-aah.”

“AAH!”

He jumped back.  The goat's ears and tail twitched, then it rolled over and looked up at him.  

“Baa-aa-aah,” it repeated insistently.

“Yeesh, give me a heart attack already,” Stan growled, one hand over his chest.  “If you're looking for food, you're lying in it.  Grass, meet goat.  Goat, meet lunch.  Now stay outta the way, I got a business to run.”

“Baa-aa-aah.”

He went inside to work on more pun-related exhibits for the museum. Those wax figures had brought in a ton of money when he'd first set them up, but business had gone dry a week ago, and he needed another money maker and fast.  Those portal parts didn't come cheap.

The goat bleated from the porch for a solid twenty minutes, then he heard it clopping away.  Stan snorted, then went back to gluing googly eyes on a plastic octopus.  Maybe eight eyes, so it was like a combo spider-octopus?  Yeah, that'd work.  Now he just had to think of a catchy name for it.  Or maybe Octo-spider?  Arachnipus?  Octo-Eyes? Hmm, maybe that'd work...

Stan came out of the Shack in time to greet the next tourist bus.  He didn't see the kid anywhere, so many the dumb thing had wandered into the woods.  Perfect, one less thing to worry about.  He put everyone in the carts and drove 'em out to see random stuff in the forest, like the Tree of the Screaming Tourist.  He told them the eerily twisted bark was an actual tourist whose spirit had been sucked into the tree when he refused to pay for the tour.  (Everyone was suddenly very eager to pay him for the tour.  And tip him.  Generously.)

He drove 'em back and waved them into the bus.  Then he headed back to the Gift Shop.  His pockets were practically bulging with cash.  He definitely had to use that Screaming Tree story more often!  Even if it kind of freaked him out.  Wait, hadn't Ford's journal's mentioned something about –

“Hi, Mr. Pines!”

“AAH!”

He jumped back for the second time that day, glaring down at Deuce, who was standing innocently in the doorway of the Gift Shop.

“Geez, kid, make some noise when you move!”

“Sure, Mr. Pines!  By the way, I didn't know you had a pet goat!”

Deuce moved aside.  That dumb stinky nuisance was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled everywhere, its floppy tail thumping like a puppy's.  

“Baa-aa-aah!”

He groaned.  “That's not a pet.  And get it out of here! Smells like a moldy haystack, and I got some new attractions I need to make for the museum.”  He stepped over the goat and strode to the craft counter in the corner.  “Octo-Eyes was a huge hit! Taxidermic monstrosities are gonna make me a fortune!”

“Couldn't we make this little guy an attraction too?” Moose asked behind him. “I bet you could even give him a punny name!  Like 'Cutebacabra'!”

Stan stopped and turned around.  The goat looked up at him with those weird sideways pupils.  

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly, holding up both hands to frame the little moneymaker.  “Yeah, the Cutebacabra!  Glue on some fake wings, coupla cow legs – maybe some red paint drooling from its mouth! Ha, I love it!”

Bruce beamed at him.  “Thanks, Mr. Pines!”

“Kid, gather every spare stuffed limb I've got and a ton of crazy glue. Then go set up a display for him in the museum.  This creepy cuteness is gonna be our next main attraction!”  

Exactly forty-three minutes later, Stan was showing a new set of tourists into the museum.  He'd already taken them to the Tree of the Screaming Tourist, and now he was gonna milk 'em dry.  Zeus had rigged up a little stage and a red velvet curtain for Chompers.  With a single grand gesture, Stan pulled it aside.  Instantly the crowd went 'AAAAH!' and 'AWWW!'

He grinned and gestured grandly.  Sluice had made it a little vest and glued on every spare animal limb they had.  “That's right, folks, the rare baby Cutebacabra!  The only one in the world!  Pictures are five – no, fifty dollars each!”

Immediately tourists stuffed good ol' Grants into his hands and snapped pictures, flashes going off in every direction.

The goat's eyes went wide and it keeled over, legs straight out.  

A kid in the crowd screamed.  “OH MY GOD IT'S DEAD!”

“WE'RE CURSED!”

“RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIFE!”

“Oh come on!” Stan shouted.  He didn't bother chasing the tourists – he'd pick-pocketed them while they had their eyes on the goat, and he knew they didn't have even two bucks left among the lot of them.  But why in the name of Paul Bunyan did the goat keep playing dead?!  If it had done that two seconds earlier it would've cost him all those picture fees!

“I'm back with the goat feed, Mr. Pines,” Puce said, poking his head into the Museum.  He was dragging a forty-pound bag of feed.  “You didn't give me any money, so I had to pay Mr. Sprotts with three hours of child labor.”  Then he caught sight of the goat, turned white, and dropped the bag.  “SWEET MOSES HE'S DEAD?!”

“No he's not,” Stan scowled.  He reached out and poked the goat with a foot.  The goat twitched, then flipped upright and started gnawing on one of the cow hoofs taped to its back.  “See?”

The goat bleated and head-butted him.

“Aw, he likes you!” Spruce said.

“Ugh, get it offa me.  The darn thing's defective!”  He paused.  “Then again, if I could get it to do it on command...”  Imagine the look on people's faces if he walked his goat into traffic, then made them think they'd hit his Prize German-Australian Longhair Goat!  They'd pay through the nose just to keep him from suing them!

“Eh, he probably just has that myotonic thing.  Or maybe it was myopia?  I always get those two mixed up.”

“Mia-what?”

The gumdrop shrugged.  “Myotonia.  Mr. Sprotts told me about it.  You know how people get startled, and then they freeze up?  It's like that, but for goats.  And it lasts for longer, like their muscles seize up or something.  It doesn't hurt them or anything,” he added, “but it is a genetic thing.  Mr. Sprotts said a lot of his goats got it from the toxic waste dump.”

“So he's being literally scared stiff?”

Moose laughed.  “Good one, Mr. Pines!”

The goat had finished chewing on the cow hoof and proceeded to gnaw on Stan's pantleg.

“Whoops!” Soup pulled the goat away, then set it down in front of the bag of feed and tore it open.  “There ya go, little Gompers!  This'll taste waaaay better.  Trust me, I tried it!”

“Baa-aa-aah!”

Stan watched the goat eating.  “Hey Swoose.”

“It's 'Soos', Mr. Pines!”

“Whatever. You're sayin' the goat just keeps getting scared?”

“Yep!”

“'Cuz it's genetic?”

“Uh, I guess so?”

“Well NOT ON MY WATCH!  After one day of Stan’s Scare-A-Thon Therapy Session, this goat’s gonna be so desensitized it’ll never faint again!”

First, Stan got Moose to wire his satellite to pirate-stream horror movies from Japan.  (Watching these also traumatized Puce, which Stan found hilarious.)  Next Stan hired a clown (who he did not pay) and then practice his jump scares (which made Soos scream so loud it scared off all the birds in a three-mile radius).  After that, Stan converted the Museum into a haunted house, complete with sheet-ghosts, cobwebs, and a looped sound track of death metal, complete with screaming.  He shoved Gompers in and locked it tight.  

He didn't realize until he went back three hours later that he'd also locked the child labor. Moose had collapsed on the floor in the middle of the room – but Gompers was stumbling around bleating to himself.  It didn't look like he'd played dead at all!

Stan grinned.  “Alright, now we're makin' progress!”

“That's great, Mr. Pines,” Bruce gasped.  “You should – oh sweet burrito angels – you should totally save this stuff for Summerween.”

“Summer-what?”

“Summerween!” Soup struggled to sit up and collapsed.  “It's – it's this holiday where – oh man I'm having a panic attack.”

Gompers clonked over, bleated, and started chewing on Soos' face.

Stan roared with laughter and slapped his knee.  “Ha!  This is goat's the best!  Alright, Floose –”

“Soos.”

“Get ready for the main event.  Something even scarier than Japanese horror movies or that weird mold growing in the corner.”

Sue sat up.  “Okay, but if I don't come back, tell my grandma I love her and give all my stuff to charity.”

“The Mystery Shack appreciates your donations!”

Night was falling and the full moon was out.  Luckily Soup had fixed the golf cart right down to the headlights, so they trundled along the beaten road in relative safety.  Gompers and Soos were in the backseat, the kid's arms wrapped around Gompers like it was a really smelly plushy.  He grinned.  When he was done that goat would be almost as hardcore as Stan himself!

When they got close enough, Stan stopped the truck, hustled around to the trunk and started handing a stuff to Soup.  

“Okay. Run ahead and put these all around the tree ahead.  The batteries are all dying so the light'll flicker all weird and creepy.  This one has a full battery.  Lie down at the bottom of the tree, and then when I give the signal, shine it right at the bark.”

“Sure, Mr. Pines!  Which tree is this again?”

“The one with a human soul was trapped in its bark writhing in agony!”

“Ok!”

Stan gave him a shove and then hustled back to the cart, where Gompers was currently chewing on the back seat.  He hopped back in the driver's seat, waited three seconds and then drove slowly up to the Tree of the Screaming Tourist.  It was hard to see the shape of the messed-up bark, which would make it even creepier when Zeus lit up the flashlights.  

He parked, took his portable radio out of the trunk, and then grabbed Gompers.  He set the goat down in front of the tree, backed up, and hovered his finger over the “play” button.

“Okay, Sluice...NOW!”

From the radio, a hollow scream filled the air and the whole tree lit up with a flickering yellow light.  

“Ha! That's perfect!”

“Baa-aa-aah,” said Gompers.

He grinned, but before he could tell Zoop to step it up, the lights suddenly flickered.  They turned orange, then red.  The radio suddenly crackled with static and he dropped it as electricity singed his hand.  The bark of the tree started moving and a huge ghost-y thing ballooned out of it, just a massive face made of fire and fury. Stan backed up with a shout.  Several tree branches snapped and started bending like spider arms.  One of them swung around from the back of the tree – and a certain pear-shaped mechanic was dangling from its twigs.  

He waved.  “Hi, Mr. Pines!  I'm a hostage!”

The spirit's yellow eyes turned on him.  Its pupils went red. “YOOUUUUU!”

“AAH!”

He sprinted for the golf cart, but the spirit lashed out and smashed it with a bark-covered arm.  He grabbed Gompers and held it up.  

“JUST TAKE THE GOAT, TAKE THE GOAT!”

“Do you know how long my spirit has been stuck in that tree, completely alone, just listening to those stupid squirrel-squids chatter about acorns and sushi?  And after years of waiting for you to come back, you finally bring people to visit me – and you tell every last one of them how terrifying I am, so they'll never!  Come!  BACK!”  The face swelled until it blotted out the sky.  Its heat seared his skin. “AM I SCARY ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW, STAN PINES?!”

He screamed and tried to run, dropping the kid, but she swooped down and grabbed him up.  She lifted him higher and higher, squeezing him so tightly he could feel his bones creak.  He could barely breathe!  He had a funny feeling he wasn't the Stan Pines she was talking about, but he couldn't get enough air to tell her that!

“Um, excuse me?  Ms. Tree Spirit?”

They both looked at Soos, who was wiggling one of his chubby little hands to get the spirit's attention.  

“Hrrrrr,” she growled.

He smiled.  “Oh, I'm a him, actually!  Although I do have a feminine softness.  It sounds like you're mad because you've been lonely for so long, right?  But Mr. Pines has been bringing people to see you all the time!”

“They are TERRIFIED of me!”

“Not everyone.”  He pointed.

Gompers was standing on the ground below, absently chewing on a fallen stick. The ghost growled and moved closer, her face distorting until her burning yellow eyes were the size of whole cars, and her face was a gaping maw dripping with reddish flame, mere inches from the goat's puny face.

“DO YOU FEAR ME, LITTLE GOAT?!” she boomed, and her voice was so loud and deep the trees nearby actually shivered and creaked on their roots.

Gompers blinked.  

“Baa-aa-aah,” he said, and resumed his chewing.  

“Hmm.”

“Good goat,” Stan managed.  The spirit scowled and squeezed a little harder.

“But this is not what we agreed to. I don't want people to be afraid of me!”

“But scariness is part of the fun!” Soos said earnestly.  “Plus it's a fun way to spend time together!  My dad never hangs out with me, but Mr. Pines and I watched a horror movie marathon.  And even though I wet myself a couple of times, I wouldn't trade that time for the world.  I'll bet the families who visited you remember how frightening and fun it was, and they'll probably come back to see you again next year!”

Stan could see the spirit thinking it over.  

“Baa-aa-aah,” added the goat.

The spirit snorted and gave Stan a hard look, those ruby peepers staring right into his soul.  “You will keep your promise, Stan Pines?  You will not leave me to suffer in isolation?”

“Guarantee it,” he wheezed.  “Main attraction.  Every tour.  Can't breathe.”

“Very well.  But if you break your promise one more time, the woods will never be safe for you again.”

She let go of Soos and Stan, who hit the forest floor with a dull thump. The spirit withdrew into the bark, lifting her arms to become branches again, while the bark of the trunk twisted and rippled back to its previous shape.  Stan waited for a second, but the tree didn't so much as twitch.  

He sprang to his feet and scooped up the goat.  “Ha!  You did it!  You beautiful monster, you really did it!  You looked that tree-thing straight in the big yellow eye and didn't even twitch!  I bet this goat could handle the frigging apocalypse without batting an eye!”

“Probably!” Soos agreed cheerfully.  

Stan smirked, then mashed Soos' head in a noogie.  “Ya didn't do too bad yourself, there, ya midget.”

“Really?!”

“Uh, are those actual stars in your eyes?”

“For you, Mr. Pines, I would go full-on anime.”

“Don't make this weird, kid.  Now let's see if the golf cart's drivable. I'm allergic to all this bonding and I left my old-man tonic in the Shack.”

“Soda isn't tonic, Mr. Pines.”

“Says you.”

“Baa-aa-aah.”

A/N

“A myotonic goat, otherwise known as the fainting goat, is a domestic goat whose muscles freeze for roughly 3 seconds when the goat feels panic. Though painless, this generally results in the animal collapsing on its side. The characteristic is caused by a hereditary genetic disorder called myotonia congenita. When startled, younger goats will stiffen and fall over. Older goats learn to spread their legs or lean against something when startled, and often they continue to run about in an awkward, stiff-legged shuffle.”

- from a-source-I-forgot-to-save-the-website-for

Also Nour386 came up with the idea about why the Tree was screaming!  I had a different idea but this one is so much better!!!

@nour386

[adropofmelanin]

Catching His Eye pt.3

+Summary: Your friends finally get you out of the house and onto the dancefloor! But, you catch the eyes of a predator, and he’s after you.

Paring(s): Erik Killmonger X Reader

Warning(s): Language, Eventual smut

Rating: 18+

A/N: This chapter is a short description of what they are! Sorry if my version of shapeshifting/hybrid isn’t what you envisioned, but damn it was fun to write! Please enjoy! 

(Gifs are not mine…)

Part 1   Part 2

TAGLIST:  emoniclark22  the-ruler-of-death  slimmiyagi  feminominal   ashanti-notthesinger  korrababy disneysdarlingdiva  heyauntieeee  sincerelyjamaica foureyedsiopao  myboyfriendgiriboy  scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

Catching His Eye Taglist:  emoniclark22  the-ruler-of-death  slimmiyagi  feminominal   ashanti-notthesinger  korrababy disneysdarlingdiva  heyauntieeee sincerelyjamaica  foureyedsiopao  myboyfriendgiriboy scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade  youreadthatright  missumuch1918  aykanna  thadelightfulone  suburbanblackhoe  cutewylie iamrheaspeaks  zxddy-panther  cancerianprincess   vanitykocaine  misswakanda2018  hairhattedhooligan  lildashofmelanin  localtrapgod  autumn242

*******************************************************************************************You look over towards Erik who was now standing with his forehead pressed against the glass with his arm above his head and golden orbs trained on you as he panted. Even though he was in pain he still managed to smirk his lips, jutting his tongue over it, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

The point of his fang taunting you.

*******************************************************************************************

His body lies dead at your feet, badly beaten and bleeding everywhere. He still had the smile on his face from moments before, fangs still in full view. You couldn't hold it back anymore, you let out the biggest scream and backed away against the dumpster that kept you there at the scene. You couldn't take your eyes off of the dead man.

"I, fuck,” He stumbles, “I had it!" Erik grunts pushing himself off of the concrete.

The woman only glares as Erik struggles for a second but manages to get to his feet and roll his neck, popping and stretching his shoulders. His thumb rubs his busted bottom lip and he juts his tongue out over the cut. His eyes then cut to you, the woman, then back to his feet, clearly losing the confidence that he had just minutes earlier. He then begins to jerk and lets out a brief yelp. 

"Clearly, not from where I stood," A deeper and raspy but hushed voice is heard, but nobody else stood in the area. You look around frantically for the other voice. Your hands shoot up to both sides of your head and covering your ears, "No, no, please no more please," you whispered to yourself, "this isn't-"

You flinch when you feel a soft hand on your shoulders. Your eyes shut tighter not wanting to see anymore, you couldn't stand to see anymore. These creatures weren't supposed to be here, you weren't supposed to be here! You feel a warm body being pressed against you and you sob again, only feeling the fear you felt when that man was attacking you.

"What are you doing? I had her T'-"

"Then WHY is she cowering in fear?" The voice boomed and vibrated from his chest. Erik growled back in response and balls up his fists. You look up to see a beard and that was all, but he must have felt that you were looking because he pulls back a bit to give you a reassuring smile. His eyes were gentle and wrinkled with his smile. You hide your face into his chest and muffle your sobs. Your body shook and your knees and ankles hurt like hell. You could feel the blood on your knees rolling down and the stinging from the gashes.

"Because old Busta Rhymes over there was trying to take my territory!" Erik growls motioning his hand towards the dead attacker, “fucking dog.”

Dropping back to his knee he snarls and grits his teeth, his fist makes contact with the gravel underneath him.

"I don't know who that is," The man's voice seemed annoyed.

"That doesn't... m-matter," Erik groans, "What matters is, you have your hands on what’s mine!" He growls and begins to buck up. 

The man tilts his head and as if on cue, The woman in red and gold comes over towards you, gently pulling you from the one holding you. Snarls came from Erik his fangs pushing through his gums once more.

“Erik,” He grunts, “You need to breathe, you are already injured.”

“Erik! He isn’t here!” He snarls his head jerking to the side violently. He lets out a pained whimper and is on his hands and knees. His pupils change shape and his shoulders broaden, “S-she’s MINE!-aAAGH!”

The new mystery man only sighs and removes his jacket, "Here Okoye, take her to the ship," He smiles at you but you are still confused. The ship that you didn't know was sitting in the darkness started up and blew dirt and plastic bags everywhere around you. Your eyes widened as the door opened and dropped onto the ground to the left of you. 

"Ship? Ship! N-no! I have to go back! NO!" 

 Okoye lets out a frustrated groan at your refusal to participate but understood why you were this way. It has been an eventful night for you and you were scared. Who wouldn't be afraid of humans shifting into different creatures so casually?

"Let go of her!" Erik roars then lunging forward at Okoye who still was trying to get you up the stairs and into the ship, not worried one bit about the danger that was behind her. The view of Erik's eyes was soon blocked off by the body of the man lunging forward at Erik and a loud roar. The man grabs the now massive beast around its head and pins him to the ground before the door to the ship closed suddenly.

Okoye sits you down on a bench against a wall. The man's jacket wrapped around your shoulders still. You felt your mind overloading and you just wanted to close your eyes, open them and be back home drunk or hungover on your couch. Everything instantly begins to blur and you are thrown into a pit of darkness.

Pain.

Pain is what woke you up. Your head was pounding and your body felt like it was being ripped apart. You roll over and with your eyes still closed, you feel the soft fabric. A sigh of relief you open your eyes and stare at the ceiling. Your head pounded and a flash of last night and a  snarl echoed in your ears. Your body tensed up, "Shit," you blew, rubbing your hands over your face and sat up in bed. When your sheets fell you yawn and rub your eyes, the light came in through the curtains and you closed your eyes again.

"The fuck?" You said confused, you didn't have these curtains, and your window wasn't at the foot of your bed, and wasn't that big either. You feel the sheets and squint, this wasn't your bed, it was too comfortable. You look around the room to see that it wasn't your own. Panic rushes through you and you look under the sheets to see that you were wearing a black tank top and black athletic shorts. You suddenly felt so violated and draw your knees up to your chest, but you remembered the scars. When you feathered your fingertips along where your scraps were, you felt nothing. Your body was still a bit sore but that was the least of your worries.

Erik....

Did you leave with him last night? His intense stare flashed through your mind for only a split second and then fangs. 

Fangs. 

Golden eyes.

Quickly putting two and two together you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, this bed was huge! You step out and back up to examine the room. The flood was a dark hardwood with a huge rug that rested in the middle of it and the curtains were long with different purple patterns as an accent to the black. Masks and small weapons hung on the walls for decoration and there was a fucking chandelier in the middle of the room! Your feet and ankle still hurt from the night before and you had to lean against the wall. You felt like a trapped animal.  

You looked towards the door and rushed over to it, pressing your ears to it to listen.

"He's still in protection mode and as far as she knows, he IS her protector. That poor girl. I feel sorry that she has to be- Oh shh shh," The voice outside your door says. Your eyes squint, protector?

 So this wasn't a dream. This was really happening. Before you could think of anything else to say, the door opened without warning. You press your back against the wall again. You quickly move back further into the room once as the footsteps approach closer. A few seconds later the man from last night comes in with a tray of food in his hands and a confident smile on his face. 

“I wanted to bring you these myself, I know you may be confused,” He takes a step forward and other women with shaved heads dressed in red and gold pull the door shut. It was just the two of you and you were on high alert. He walks over to a bedside table and places the tray on it. You could see his features a whole lot better than last night. 

He seemed young but very mature. He wore all black down to the shoes and stood with confidence. You looked into his eyes, everything seemed like it was normal. Was this the man that saved you last night? The protector that the voices were talking about?

“If you don’t mind, I would like to take a look at, that,” He hesitates as if you were going to be spooked at any moment. 

You take a quick step back, grabbing a decorative weapon and holding it out between the two of you, “Who are you?” You glare and continue to take a step back as he continues to take slow steps forward with both of his hands up.

“T’Challa,” He answers you.

“Where am I?” You try to make your voice sound bold and unafraid, but clearly, you were failing because T’Challa only smiled at you.

“Wakanda, I’m not going to hurt you,” He says cooperating with you. 

Wakanda? 

As in Africa? 

Why the hell were you in Africa!? 

You instantly drop the decoration and rush over towards the curtains, pushing them aside. The view was absolutely beautiful and unlike anything you have ever seen before. It looked totally different than what you had been shown on the news. So that meant, you were standing face to face with this nation’s King. You turn around to see that T’Challa was still standing there with a smile on his face, fingers interlocked in one another in front of him. He certainly didn’t dress like a king but you believed him.

“I would like to personally apologize for what happened last night,” He clears his throat, eyes never leaving your exposed shoulder. You try and cover it with your hand but T’Challa’s eyes stop you. The closer he got to it, the more his eyes began to change. They weren’t like Erik’s golden orbs, but a beautiful jade green or blue?

“What are you?” You whisper being enchanted by his eyes. T’Challa only looks up at you then turns on his heels without a word, but you followed him out of the room and down the hall. You couldn’t help but notice the guards dressed in purple stepping out of nowhere and following the both of you.

“We are Mchanganyiko, or in your case, shifters, hybrids, something different,” He begins, “and unfortunately for you and us, you have been marked by my relative you know as Erik.”

That name sparks your interest and you are all ears. You can’t help but gulp and clench your fist at the way he kissed you at the club the night before, the memory sending shivers down your spine. T’Challa must have noticed this because he sniffs and then clears his throat, your scent affecting him in a way but he remained professional. 

“Judging by your reaction, I can tell he has made an impression on you, hmm?” He asks looking down at you. You blush and look straight ahead, not wanting to make a fool out of yourself. 

“Erik “Killmonger” Stevens, a name given by his American mother and Special Ops forces, is a Wakandan native and my relative and is now a Wakandan war-dog. He suddenly dropped from our radar and roamed free without supervision,” The more he talked the more you were drawn into his voice. It was thick and sooted him, well duh because he was a native. You shook the thought from your head and continued to follow T’Challa until you entered an all-white hallway.

“Erik was just following his instincts which fortunately earned the attention of another war-dog in the area, but unfortunately brought you here,” T’Challa sighs, “and my fault as well.”

The sound of banging and yelling could be heard over the music that got louder the closer the both of you got. You were afraid of entering the room, but T’Challa gently rested his hand on your lower back, urging you further. When you pushed the double doors there was a spiral that led down into what seemed to be a lab. The music suddenly faded and a younger girl met the both of you. She greets you with a smile but continues her attention towards T’Challa.

“How is he Shuri?” T’Challa asks following Shuri, his question being answered at the sight of Erik curled in a ball of sweat. Sweat rolled down his brow and chocolate skin while muscles flexing and unflexing as if he was trying to hold back something. His screams hurt your heart, they sounded like someone was trying to kill him, or was killing him. 

“Refusing to let it take control,” Shuri she scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Shut the FUCK up!!” Erik snarls those fangs more visible in the light. He started to push himself up but his body thrashes, knocking him over once again. The scene was violent and it made you sick. With the push of a button, Shuri silences the rooms audio, only showing Erik’s mouth wide open but nothing coming out. You watched as he tugged and pulled at his hair, scratched his biceps and the floor under him, doing damage to it. 

“So many years trying to come out all at once. They must not want to be held back anymore,” Shuri sighs.

“They?” You questioned out loud, not meaning too.

“Those born with that gift has the spirit of a creature in them, which makes them ‘shifters’. He hasn’t used his power for over 15 years after fully developing them. Last night was the most freedom they have had in that time,” Shuri explains.

“Imagine, having the time of your life, following your own rules, being able to move and stretch, then being forced back into a cage of darkness” T’Challa finished, his voice gruff.

You look over towards Erik who was now standing with his forehead pressed against the glass with his arm above his head and golden orbs trained on you as he panted.

“And they have their eyes on you as their mate,” T’Challa also adds. 

 Even though he was in pain he still managed to smirk his lips, jutting his tongue over it. It seemed as though he was winning the battle but his smirk turns into pain. The point of his fang taunting you. The way he looked at you was enough to catch your breath. Those eyes were fucking you, eyeing your body, hunting you. Why did you feel like this towards a monster!? 

In the light, you could see all of his features. He was built like a fighter, his whole torso was scared but that didn’t take away from those tight abs and chiseled jawline that could cut diamonds. You then moved to the features of his face. Noticing how intense his eyebrows were, the length of his lashes, the fullness of his lips, and the dimples on his cheeks had. He was a work of art. The more you stared the more your eyes roamed.

 Yes, he was in fact good looking you gave him that. Erik raised a brow at you eyeing him. When he licked his lips you quickly turn your head to see that they were watching Erik’s actions as well.

“Why me?” You gulp, looking at them for answers. 

When your eyes finally landed on Erik’s form, his back was towards you, glistening, rising and falling rapidly.

“That, we don’t know. It just happens. Love at first sights exists here. When they see someone, human or shifter, they want to court, mate, breed. Like the shifter that attacked you last night

“He just needs you for this simple task, then you will be free to go,” Shuri continues

“No! This is dangerous, what if he imprints on her, he already marked her as his ‘territory’,” T’Challa interrupts and glares at her.

 “We can’t just let him rip himself apart! I know he causes trouble but he is still one of us.”  Shuri begged.

“I just want to go home, please I have to go home. What do I have to do?” You ask looking from Shuri to T’Challa.

“Reject him,” Shuri answers.

TO BE CONTINUED...

*******************************************************************************************

Thank you all so much for reading! PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR MORE!

[c-e-c-e-r-o]

On Love's Tail 19

A mighty fwoosh rings throughout the courtyard, and Priscilla and Sær are formed from the smoke of the nearby bonfire, propelled forward by Priscilla's power. She clings to him as they roll along the ground, skidding to a stop at the foot of roughly hewn stone stairs.

 The two look up, only to witness the startled faces of Vengarl and the tattered woman holding him.

"Hullo," Sær chirps.

"Are you well, mister Vin-gral?" Priscilla asks. Vengarl never had the heart to correct her.

"I am faring well enough, lady Priscilla, though I lack favorable company."

"Hey!" The ragged woman says.

"This poorly dressed girl is known as Rosabeth of Melfia. I unwittingly freed her from a curse of stone, and she is now indebted to me. I would have her pay with her body, but seeing as neither of us have one...

Rosabeth smacks his helm against the stairs, setting his ears to ringing. "Of course I would get stuck with this lout," she complains. "I had expected someone like you to rescue me," she says to Sær, blushing. Priscilla growls, her tail curling protectively around Sær and yanking him to her chest. Rosabeth's eyes widen, frightened by this massive woman intent on protecting her mate.

Priscilla turns around, clutching Sær and sulking. "Damn you for being so handsome," she mutters. The both of the turn beet red, not meeting each other's gaze. Sær hugs her tail reassuringly, stroking it. Despite how close they are, anything related to sexual desire sets their faces aflame.

Now, Sær is no maiden, or the whatever the male equivalent of a maiden is, but there's something about his bride-to-be that sets his heart racing like no other. The thought of laying with her had an allure far beyond mere physical pleasure. In the theater of his mind, when he is inside of her, the whole world is warm and pleasant, and the past and future cease to exist. He wants for nothing, and all of existance disappears with the first thrust. Priscilla's sighs of pleasure fill him with ecstasy, and her tail writhes and squeezes him as they reach their peak.

He snaps out of his fantasy, turning to look up at Priscilla. He loves her with all his heart, and when she holds him against her chest the both of them grow warmer than bed of chaos. The cool breeze coming off of the Majula coast disappears as she hugs him tighter, enveloping him between her breasts. Sær sighs happily. He truly has the most beautiful, comfortable wife- er, wife-to-be, in all of Lordran, and she would be all the more so once her fur grows back.

"A-hem," Vengarl interrupts. "There will be time enough for that and more once you are married. Do we not have a quest to complete?"

"Mister Vin-gral is right, Sær," Priscilla agrees. It has been at least a decade since we set out, judging by how long your hair was when you saved me from darkroot garden. Poor aunt- um, uncle Gwyndolin, must be suffering greatly."

"We should hurry, then," Sær says, gently untangling himself from Priscilla's tail and falling to the ground from between her breasts. "But while we're here, we should get Priscilla more... Suitable attire."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Majula, despite looking like a ruin, teems with shops to provide various undead with whatever they may need. Swords, armor, female company, and skin cream (for the humanity-starved walking pieces of bacon.)

Priscilla walks out from behind a large building, the only place large enough for her to change. The sight of her drew a loud wolf whistle from Sær, while the rest of the town's occupants looked on in amazement.

Her top is a black gown of shining silk, swooping along her form, accentuating it.

The skirt portion parts to either side, forming an A shape, allowing freedom of movement, even more than her fur. The rims are trimmed with gold. Her sleeves are long, as well as wide at the cuff, with a slit along the forearm for her fluffy "wings." Draped around her shoulders is a short cape of dark, thick cloth whitch comes around to her front in another A shape, leaving her scales and the area between her neck and chest bare, save fore the diamond ribbon Sær gave her. Gold trim rings the cloak as well. She wears a pair of flat, black, flexible shoes that leave the top of her feet bare.

Sær melts. Paying for the custom-made garb may have left his soul vessel empty, but the sight of his fiance in her magnificent garb makes his

heart- among other things- feel full.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rarely does Sær ever dislike Priscilla's size. That is one of his favorite things about her appearance, after all. It allowed them to overcome many obstacles thus far. It also means that she is much stonger than him, and a much better warrior, a boon at almost all times.

This is not one of those times.

Sær splutters and coughs as Priscilla dunks him in a vat of soapy water, scrubbing him raw with a large brush. It couldn't be helped; he had tried to run the moment Priscilla suggested he clean up to be fitted for new clothes.

He hisses as she scrubs his neck and upper back. "You vile vixen," he huffs.

"Whatever do you mean?" Priscilla coos sweetly, knowing full well that his neck and back are the second most sensitive places on his body. He only grits his teeth in response, grunting as she caresses the area with her large fingers. Sær fights back a groan, and he loses when Priscilla rubs his shoulders and back with her thumbs, pressing deep into the weary muscle. Her hands are warm from the hot water they are in, a small pool fed by a nearby hot spring.

She adds her tail to the fray, wrapping it around his torso. Sær jumps and gasps loudly as Priscilla leans forward, nuzzling the back of his neck. She hums a random tune, and Sær joins in after listening for a minute. The two soak in the steaming water, humming as they press together.

Priscilla nudges him with her nose. "Sær?"

Sær's ears perk up. She rarely calls him by his name, instead usually opting for 'Darling.' This is pleasant in it's own way, though...

"What shall we... Well, do? Once we're wed, I mean." The idea of officially being Sær's wife sets her heart aflutter, and she blushes.

"I'm not sure. The world is a big place, even for you."

"How big is it, really?"

"Who knows? I'm sure we will, eventually. Time doesn't exist for us, being immortal."

"Do you really want to see the whole world?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. We've only been at this quest for a short while, and we've already made so many friends, and we still have yet to find a single person who curses your existence. Either Gwyn was lying, or you are truly something special, Priscilla Filia Gwynevere."

The two are silent for a time, before Priscilla speaks up again.

"You know, one must be wed to claim the throne... Mother has no plans to marry, and uncle Gwyndolin prefers the company of his many male consor- Ahem, Darkmoon Knights. So, if you should wish it..."

"We could be Queen Priscilla and King Sær?

As temping as that is, Anor Londo would need quite a bit of work to be a true city again, and neither of us have any experience in politics."

"I suppose so. We are already King and Queen of Darkroot Garden in our own right, thanks to your efforts, darling."

The two silently soak, only leaving once Priscilla sneezes and accidentally freezes the hot springs.

"Darling, you're taking an awfully long time to change. Perhaps you need assistance?"

Behind the curtain, Sær grins. "I would be delighted," he says, his heartbeat quickening. Suddenly, a large red wolf's head is flung over the curtain, rolling to a stop at Sær's bare feet.

"AAAGH!" Vengarl cries in mental anguish. "COVER THINE SCRAWNY FORM, THOU NAKED BUFFOON!"

"I'm not scrawny! I'm wiry!" Sær protests, tripping as he hastily tries to cover himself.

"BY THE GODS!"

The changing room becomes a hotbed of clanging, cursing, and thumping until finally Sær pulls down the cutain, ripping it from it's place and falling face first onto the ground. Vengarl hits the ground with a thud, slowly rolling and coming to a stop at Rosabeth's feet. Sær stands, cursing and brushing himself off.

Priscilla gasps.

He wears black trousers made of breathable fabric, the knees reinforced with boiled black leather pads, fastened with gold thread. He wears a short black sleeveless surcoat, his upper back, shoulders, and upper chest covered by a short black leather cloak trimmed with gold, much like Priscilla's. The cloak's collar is high, coming halfway up his neck and framing it loosely.

Priscilla begins to feel an odd heat in the pit of her stomach.

Sær tugs at the cloth, unused to being so covered. "Mnnnrgh," he whines. "Priscilla, do I have to wear thi-"

"YES!" Priscilla interrupts. "Don't you dare take it off." She stares at Sær predatorily, drooling. He steps back, worried.

"Well, if we are all finished with our errands, I believe we have a wolf to slay," Vengarl reminds them.

The group encircles the bonfire. The undead holding the dragon crossbreed princess, who holds the hand of a centuries old stoned woman, who holds the severed head of a man who was once one of the most dangerous mercenaries in existence. Sær pities the sorry sods whose party merely consists of a warrior, mage, theif and cleric.

With a deep breath, they all touch the hilt of the coiled sword, Priscilla's power dragging the two non-undead along with them through the void.

[eldritchsurveys]

1082.

5k Survey LXXXIII

4251. If you could make a new toothpaste flavor what would it be? >> I would not do this. 4252, Have you ever called the police or the fire department? Why and what happened? >> I’ve called the paramedics, but not the cops or fire department. 4253. What's more important, freedom or security and why? >> I think a balance of both (or an interaction between both, as one serves the other) is the most ideal... 4254. Who pays most of the taxes, rich people, or average people or poor people? Who should pay the most? >> As a resident of the United States, I don’t even want to think about the answer to the first question. Obviously the people who make the most money should pay the most taxes. 4255. You are on the weakest link with these contestants: a monkey, Simon Coswell, Hayden Christensen, Cher, a guy in a teenage mutant ninja turtle costume and GW Bush. Who do you vote off as the weakest link and why? >> ---

4256. Do you like: mint skittles? mint ice cream? junior mints? >> I like all of those things. 4257. Does protesting/demonstrating really have any effect? >> I don’t know, I’ve never done any research on it. I assume it does, otherwise people wouldn’t do it (especially considering the possible consequences from the police force...). 4258. After the world demonstrated against war with Iraq, Saddam was quoted as saying america was 'weak and isolated'. Do you believe this is so? >> I mean, I think I could see why he would say that. 4259. Have you ever wanted to be with someone who was off limits? >> --- 4260. Have you ever wanted someone so badly that you would kiss your hand imagining it was them? >> --- 4261. Are there any situations when cheating on someone is okay? >> I assume not. 4262. When you feel empty inside what do you fill yourself up with? Where does it come from? >> There is nothing to fill myself up with. The emptiness is chronic and it largely comes from childhood emotional neglect. There’s no uncashing that check. 4263. Would you rather be loved or desired? >> Loved. 4264. When you remember something do you remember yourself to be more or less graceful/positive/smooth than you actually were? >> I don’t really remember myself, when I remember things. I have an astoundingly difficult time recalling how I was in the past, how I felt or how I behaved or even just... what my personality was like. I don’t know why this is. 4265. How can you tell the days of the week apart without using a calander? Are your days really different or all the same? >> I mean, I just know what day it is in comparison to what day it was yesterday and the day before and what-not. Like... Monday follows Sunday... that never changes. IDK? And yes, most of my days are all the same, but weekends are different because Sparrow doesn’t go to work. 4266. Who started punk rock? Who started goth? Who started hip hop? >> --- 4267. What 3 things about you have shaped your life the most? >> --- 4268. Is your mind awake? Is your soul? Were they always? If not, can you remember a moment or a few moments that helped you wake up? >> I have no idea what this question is actually asking. 4269. Have you ever misperceived what was going on only to discover it when it was too late? >> Probably. 4270. Do you understand the human heart? >> I mean, no, I’m not a cardiologist. 4271. How important is your weight? How important is your partner's weight? >> --- 4272. What color is the wind? >> I assume it’s colourless. 4273. Do you believe children or adults know more? >> --- 4274. Do you believe you are crazy? >> It’s not a word I’d use to describe myself. There are more precise and less pejorative words to use. 4275. Did you predict the ending to Joe Millionaire? Is there something you care about less than you care about Joe Millionaire? >> The what now? 4276. Snow blower or shovel? >> --- 4277. List everything you ate in the last 24 hours? >> Tortellini and sauce, veggie burger and chips, chocolate cookie, toast with butter and jam, turkey with squash and carrots and potatoes and cranberry sauce. 4278. Have you ever plagerized? If yes, what and why? did you get caught? >> Not to my recollection. 4279. Who specifically annoys you? >> --- 4280. What is your favorite blanket like? >> I don’t have a favourite blanket. The one I’m using is extremely annoying and I hate it (because the beans aren’t evenly distributed! they just slide all over the place and then the blanket is always uneven and the weight is always wrong!!! AAAGH), but I have this pretty flower-print cover for it and that’s really why I keep using it. I just like the cover. u__u 4281. How do you feel about teachers coming on to their students? Students coming on to their teachers? >> I mean, obviously that’s inappropriate from either party, but far more so from the teacher, who is in a position of authority and has a responsibility not to abuse that position.

4282. In what ways do you keep yourself entertained? >> A lot of ways?? 4283. Entertainers (musicians, sports players) are the highest paid people in america. Why are we so obsessed with being entertained? >> We -- the consumers -- are not the ones paying them, though. We did not set their salary. I have no idea why the fuck they make quite so much money, and it annoys me. I should probably look it up because now I’m curious again. 4284. Do you want a perfect body? >> --- 4285. Do you want a perfect soul? >> --- 4286. Which do you want more? >> --- 4287. Do you want people to notice when you're not around? >> --- 4288. Are you more of a creep, a wierdo or special? >> Yeah, I really just didn’t want to answer a bunch of song-lyric questions, lol. 4289. Who wrote the bible? >> A bunch of people. 4290. Who wrote the book of love? >> --- 4291. Who put the bomp in the bomp ba bomp ba bomp? >> --- 4292. Who rocks the party that rocks the party? >> --- 4293. If you could pick 5 things to study with no limits what 5 things would you pick? >> With no limits? What does that mean? Like... are there normally limits (that one would want to surpass)? 4294. Do you study any of them on your own? >> --- 4295. What's more important, learning or getting the hell out? >> --- 4296. What is your favorite highlighter color? >> I have the highlight colour set to blue on e-readers, usually. 4297. Give everyone some advice: >> --- 4298. Are you practically perfect in every way? >> Of fucking course not? 4299. Are you nasty and tricksy? >> Sometimes. 4300. Where is the precious? >> Oh, god, it was another set of pop-culture-reference questions.