Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)


Well-Known Member
Oct 24, 2003
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I miss you all so much. Not having the time to write is like having my arm amputated--or both arms amputated--or my heart removed. But I'm still here--just not writing at the moment because of grad school.

I still have nine weeks of teaching school left (ugh), and although I "walk" with gown and mortarboard in two weeks, I don't actually finish my classwork until August. Still teaching Real Estate three weekends a month and selling houses on the side. In short, I'm swamped. (Thank goodness you don't need time or a life to have a sense of humor.)

The big reunion is coming--promise. Let me get my breath and I'll dive back in.

As my wonderful, darling Piggy would say,

Kissy, kissy!


The Count

Staff member
Jul 12, 2002
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Just know that if you need our help, we're here a PM or email away, which might prove more effective than sending one of those little yellow sticky notes :smile: preferred as a paper airplane. Doubt they'd make the long flight distance.

Whenever you get the chance to write/post we'll be here to read and review or as the fanfic people call it, R&R. Congrats on all your achievements Aunt Ru. :jim:


Well-Known Member
Mar 26, 2012
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You are a busy little bee! :big_grin: aren't going to teach children, are you? They're evil! I can't permit those little monsters from ruining your soul! Tell me that you're at least teaching kindergarten - their minds are easily shaped and haven't been downtrodden by the world.

May God have mercy on your soul if you're teaching teenagers.

Again, you are my Muppet Netflix so I shall wait patiently for a new 'season'. Maybe not quietly, but you know...patient like. I'll be patient like :smile:


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Oct 24, 2003
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Chapter 166: Good Things

Clifford plinked around on his bass. The tune that had run so clearly through his head this morning was still circling in his brain, but the chorus has stalled when he tried to get it down on paper. He played through the first bars, half-humming the words, and this time, his fingers found the chords again as he edged into the chorus. Triumphantly, Clifford kept going, watching his fingers move confidently over the strings. When he got through the chorus, he went back and did it again, taking it slow, looking at the notes as his fingers played them.
He felt like his mojo had returned—creative and otherwise—and he thought about that while his hands felt their way along the melody. Was being in love a smart career move? The bossman had been pursuing his dream for a while before he’d met Piggy and, at the first sign of attraction, had started an all-out campaign to keep his “personal life” from interfering with his professional life. Clifford hadn’t been part of them back then, but everyone had talked about. The general consensus was, performers who write their own stuff don’t ever have much of a private life, and it wasn’t because of nosy reporters. Creativity came from the heart more than the brain and, well, most performers leaked. Oh, sure, you could put your game face on and go and play a show, or film a scene, but, over time, what was inside tended to come out.
A song was forming inside Clifford—a song that was making it sure way to the surface, but Clifford didn’t have any doubts about what was going to surface. It was terrifying, wonderful, and it was coming. Clifford took a deep breath and let the music take him where it wanted.

Kermit would never have admitted it, but Lew Lord had always seemed a bit of a Santa Claus—someone who could and would grant your fondest wishes if only you tried very hard to be good. While things had not gone—exactly—according to the movie version, Lew had been one of the first people to believe in him, and in the muppet performers. He’d opened doors wide enough for Kermit’s little flippered foot, and then let Kermit prove his own mettle. But the Santa Claus feeling was back, full force, as Kermit poked his head inside the plane and saw the great man sitting with a brandy and a cigar, holding court with a few friends.
“Kermit!” he roared. “It’s about time you made it!” he cried. His friends lifted their glasses and smiled in a friendly manner as Kermit came into the plane.
“Have a drink! Come tell us what’s up with you and the Missus and the company—I want to hear everything!”
“You’ve probably heard everything already,” Kermit said resignedly, but Mr. Lord just laughed and reached out to snag Kermit around the shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t believe a word of the tripe they print in the news,” he said. “I know too much about how news is made.” He practically flung his amphibian friend into a decadent velvet seat. Kermit found a brandy in his hand and started to give it back, but decided against it. It was a long flight, and he’d be clear-headed by the time they landed, so he sat back and took a sip while Lord made introductions. Everybody shook hands and expressed admiration until the big man waved his hands.
“Yes, we’re all wonderful,” he said magnanimously. “Tell us what’s up in two minutes or less and then we’ll leave you in peace for the rest of the trip.”
Kermit took another sip of the excellent brandy and rolled it around in mouth, thinking, before he spoke.
“Piggy’s on Broadway taking the place by storm because I wouldn’t let her miss this kind of opportunity. I’m stuck at home—mostly (he raised his glass to Lord)—because of post-production on the movie we just shot, which is going to be great.” He paused and took another sip of brandy. “I’m miserable without her, she misses me, and the tabloids are making our lives heck. I’m going to see her tonight because my friends are…the best.” He raised his glass. “Thanks, Lew. I owe you, big-time, for this.”
“Here, here!” Lord cried. “Well said in short order.” The other three men with them made polite noises of agreement while their host clapped Kermit on the back and offered him a refill. Kermit shook his head.
“Thanks. I’m good.”
He settled back in his seat, letting the tension roll off his neck, his shoulders. He listened idly to the conversation around him, but did not feel compelled to take part in it. He sat and nursed his brandy and finally, finally allowed himself to think about what was going to happen when the plane landed. He was going to see Piggy. It seemed like months since they had seen each other, except onscreen, but tonight he would be where she was, where he belonged. It was almost too much, too good to be true, but it wasn’t. This was happening. He was going. Nothing was going to keep them apart tonight.

She’d gotten his message by now. He couldn’t leave her hanging, not after the other night. It would be cruel to let her think he’d given up and slunk away just because they’d had a little misunderstanding. Strathers adjusted his tie in the mirror and tried to ignore the nervous tic that had developed in his left eye in the past few days. He..he’d been under a lot of stress lately, and his plans for relieving that stress had not panned out. He took a deep breath and tried to channel his father, tried to summon up the old man’s smooth to get him through the evening.
Tonight, he was going to catch a penguin act and probably sign them, good or bad. His partners were beginning to wonder what the heck he was doing up here, so he needed a bone to throw them. A new act inked onto a contract would ease the pressure a bit, and who wouldn’t want to come to Vegas after the chill and damp of Gotham? Any act with half a lick of sense would jump at the opportunity.
With that out of the way, he could focus on what mattered, on Piggy—on making her his own. After that, he wouldn’t need New York any more—and neither would Piggy.

They begged and pleaded, but it was all to no avail. Piggy refused to leave with them, and the most she would grant was a vague promise to try to join them later at The Grill.
“I have Moisha, and I have Bobo,” Piggy said firmly. “What else could I possibly need?”
Darcy and Rory both inhaled sharply, dismayed by the edge in her voice, but in the end they left, protesting uselessly.

Someone knocked loudly on the dressing room door. Piggy sighed, debating whether to answer. Again the knocking, and Piggy put down her towel and turned toward the door. “Yeah—who is it?”
“Flowers for Miss Piggy,” came a muffled voice.
“Just leave ‘em outside,” she called.
There was silence, then some feet-shuffling noise. The voice came again, indistinct but persistent. “Um, there’s a card to sign for.”
Piggy sighed again and crossed to the door. Behind it was a spray of white lilies so enormous that the delivery boy was completely invisible behind it.
“Ooh, lilies,” Piggy cried, clasping her hands. The heady smell of them was like a salve, reminding her of that day by the lake, when she and Kermit had, um…the day they had picnicked. A card was thrust—with difficulty—through the foliage and Piggy took it eagerly.
“Oh, Kermit,” she began fondly, opening the card, but her delight died quickly when she saw the signature. Disappointment was etched in every line of her frame. “A secret admirer?” she said, bewildered and spooked. Not again. “But I thought….” She turned back to the delivery boy in confusion and the card fluttered, forgotten, to the floor.
Kermit stood leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely across his chest and a look of tender amusement on his face.
“Hello Piggy,” he said quietly.
There was a moment when time hung suspended in the air, the earth stopped revolving on its axis and nothing and no one moved in all the world. Then real time reasserted itself, and she was moving, and Kermit found himself gasping for breath as Piggy flattened him against the wall, her arms tight around him.
“Oh, Kermit, Kermit!” she cried, almost jumping up and down in her excitement. Kermit wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, more pleased than he could say by her obvious delight. “Oh, Kermit, Sweetheart, how did you--? I can’t believe you’re actually here! Moi—”
Kermit kissed her soundly, interrupting her chatter, and she grew still and content in his arms, returning his kiss as though drawing her very breath from him. It was a long, searching and very thorough kiss, and the entire universe reordered itself while their lips worked together. Piggy pulled back shakily and gazed at him, but her fingers tightened convulsively on his shirt. She could not quite believe he was here.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice very small. Kermit nodded, gazing into her eyes.
“I’ve missed you too, Piggy. It’s pretty lonely in that big…house without you.” He swallowed, gazing at her. “It’s been awfully lonely in that big bed without you.”
The next few moments were a flurry of kisses, giggles and the occasional gasp as they reveled in being together again. Piggy was pressing kisses in the open collar of his shirt, her mouth seeking out the sensitive skin beneath his frill. Kermit felt himself succumbing, his mind fogging pleasantly as she worked the familiar magic on his senses. Things might have gotten completely out of control if not for the loud banging of a door opening in the hallway. Heavy footsteps and the sound of whistling could be heard. Kermit shook his head to clear it and made as if to look out into the hall, but Piggy gasped and wrenched him back into the room, slamming the door behind him in her haste.
“Wha—” Kermit began, but Piggy shushed him. The heavy footsteps stopped, turned and came back to rest outside Piggy’s dressing room door.
“That you, Miss Piggy?” came a growly voice.
After an agonizing moment of indecision, Piggy answered him. “Yes, Bobo—it’s Moi. I was…I was just—just taking care of a few things.”
Kermit shot her a look that said plainly that she wasn’t taking care of things the way he’d intended. “Piggy,” he began. “Just tell him—”
“Shh!” she hissed, turning large eyes on him. A million things were chasing each other through her head, and though Kermit’s arrival backstage was threatening to blot everything else out, Piggy was anxious without being able to explain why. Kermit was here—Kermit was here!—but Bobo clearly didn’t know it. What did that mean? What would happen to Bobo for not knowing? Why hadn’t Bobo noticed? The specter of her earlier intruder was a cloud over this joyful moment, but no cloud could remain now that Kermit was here.
“You okay in there, Ma’am?” asked the deep voice again.
“I’m fine, Bobo,” Piggy said firmly, trying to make her voice sound normal.
That’s certainly true,” boomed the voice heartily, laughing at his own joke. Piggy laughed, too, a little nervously, but Kermit did not look amused.
“I just wanted to be sure we didn’t have any more interlopers,” Bobo continued. “Somebody said they saw an unfamiliar delivery guy earlier—looked a little fishy.”
“That’s froggy, thank-you,” Kermit began, but Piggy silenced him by mashing him up against her bosom. Kermit struggled for a moment before the advantages of his position occurred to him. He proceeded to familiarize himself with his surroundings and make himself useful while Piggy tried to reassure the guard outside the door.
“Delivery guy?” Piggy repeated with effort, unable to generate anything very original with her senses coming alive under Kermit’s tender ministrations. “Ohh—I mean, Oh, the, um, delivery guy came with flowers. But he’s gone now.”
“He is not,” Kermit muttered distractedly.
“Are you sure? I didn’t see anybody leave?” Bobo persisted.
“Moi is sure,” Piggy said, trying not to gasp. “I—I’m sure he’s already well on his way.”
“True, that,” Kermit murmured. Piggy was torn between wanting to swat him and just plain wanting him.
“Do you know which way he’s going?” Bobo asked doggedly. Piggy could imagine the big bear scratching doubtfully behind one ear.
“Hard to say,” Piggy gritted, clinging to her composure with an iron will while Kermit did his best to undermine it, “but I have a pretty good idea….”
“Sure you don’t want me to check your dressing room?” A big paw rattled the knob and Piggy sagged in relief when she realized it had locked. It was locked. She was locked in with her Kermie…. Nothing else seemed important.
“No, thank you, Bobo,” she said breathlessly. “I can assure you, Moi feels quite…ooh…safe….”
“Well, all righty then,” Bobo said heartily. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I think I’ve got it covered, thanks,” Kermit murmured, nibbling on her neck.
Piggy waited only long enough to be sure that Bobo had gone. She roused in her husband’s arms, fire in her eye, but he was already burning with a fire of his own. For one highly charged moment, they stared at each other, then Kermit’s arms tightened around her as he gazed into her lovely face. Piggy’s hands clasped his neck and she gazed at him, brimming with happiness. He pulled her back into his arms with a strength that brooked no arguments.
“I don’t care if the whole world’s outside the door,” Kermit said simply. “I just want to be alone with my wife.”
“Oh, Kermie,” Piggy said, but that was all she managed before the fire swept over them both.

Piggy tried to set her tousled hair to rights and find a suitable change of clothes while Kermit watched her with undisguised interest. Their time together had taken the edge off, but there was still a bright, possessive gleam in his eyes that made Piggy’s heart thrill. Suddenly shy, she stepped behind the dressing screen and began to pull on her jeans. Kermit roamed the room restlessly, and tried to steal peeks behind the screen.
“This is kind of fun,” Kermit said, looking at her Pinks costume with interest. “I always liked you as a biker chick.”
“We could get your leather jacket and do some cruising,” she teased.
“Been that, done there,” Kermit said. “Not my usual look.”
I liked it,” Piggy said.
Kermit looked up at her, smiling. His voice was warm. “I remember.” He was tucking a green chamois shirt back into his jeans, and Piggy drank in the sight of him. It was still too wonderful to be true, and only the heady lethargy of her muscles told her he was no mirage. “Um, sorry about the flowers,” he said, making a wry face. The flowers had made an excellent cushion for their reunion on the dressing-room floor, but were no longer suitable for a vase. Neither of them were inclined to mourn the loss. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any, um, plans.” In truth, Kermit couldn’t have cared less what plans he might have interrupted, but felt it somewhat impolitic to say so. “What were you going to do tonight?”
“I was just going to meet my friends at The Grill.”
His guilt over his mild hypocrisy made him feel generous. “We can still go if you like—I’d love to meet some of your friends.”
The rustling behind the screen stilled. “Umm,” Piggy hesitated and all Kermit’s insecurities surged to the surface for an instant. Maybe Piggy didn’t want to introduce him to her new friends.
“We don’t have to go out—” he began. He trailed off and turned back to find her looking at him with such longing that it took his breath for a moment. After a second, Piggy blushed to her hairline and dropped her gaze. “Oh,” he said softly, as the blood began to thunder in his veins again. “I see.” He reached out for her hand and tugged her into his arms, smiling at her with a hint of mischief. “Then what would you like to do?” he asked. Piggy would not look at him, but her fingers slipped into his collar and under the frill around his neck. “Hmm?” he prompted, teasing her just a little. Piggy leaned forward, her mouth close to his skin, and whispered the answer to his question.
There was a long pause, then Kermit took a deep, shuddering breath and cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Sounds like a plan.”

Kermit was surprised when Piggy stopped in front of a shabby brick apartment building that had seen better days. The front porch light was broken, but the street lamp provided enough illumination for Piggy to unlock the door. The inside was also dark, but Piggy picked her way up the stairs with the ease of long practice. Kermit was glad he’d worn shoes—riding the subways of New York without shoes had not been appealing.
Piggy let them into a small apartment with an old-fashioned key and switched on a lamp. Kermit stepped over the threshold.
“This is, um, nice, Piggy,” Kermit said, looking around in some surprise. The room was small but tidy and the furniture tended toward solid and dependable rather than comfortable and fashionable. Kermit liked it, but found Piggy’s presence here somewhat anachronistic. Until this moment, it had not occurred to him to wonder about her accommodations. Given their livelihood, they’d both learned to adapt and make do with whatever quarters had been available, adding whatever comforts they could in the small bits of time they were free from the demands of work. Despite this, Kermit found it hard to picture Piggy in this somewhat Spartan environment.
His faith in his judgment was somewhat restored when he wandered into the small kitchenette. Cobwebs weren’t exactly dangling from the appliances, but it looked quite unused and the refrigerator boasted half a sleeve of soda crackers and—inexplicably—a light bulb. Kermit smiled—Piggy had never been much of a cook. He closed the refrigerator door and wandered through the hall toward the back of the apartment. Pushing open the furthest door, he found Piggy humming a little to herself and putting away her theatre things in a bedroom completely dwarfed by the enormous bed it housed. Here at last were signs of the pig he had married.
Although the bed was huge, the room probably seemed smaller because of the profusion of clothes that hung, lay and were draped across most of the surfaces. Piggy seemed oblivious to the clutter, and Kermit watched her with affection while she added the contents of her duffle to a chair already heaped with garments.
“Hey, Piggy, I’m going to go out for some groceries,” Kermit said.
“Oh!” Piggy cried, suddenly contrite. “I didn’t even think. If I’d known you were coming—”
“I’d have baked a cake,” Kermit said with a smile.
“Not likely,” Piggy said honestly, “but I can go out for food.”
“It’s okay—I saw a little market on the corner. I’ll just—”
“No,” Piggy said hastily. “Let me go. I’ll only be gone for a few moments. This neighborhood isn’t a safe place to be out after dark.” She snatched up a scarf and tied it over her hair.
“Then you certainly shouldn’t be—” Kermit began, but she shot him a look and—before he could protest—was gone. Kermit hmmphed for a few moments but knew it would have been useless to argue.
True to her word, Piggy reappeared in a surprisingly short time with a brown paper sack of edibles and a plastic bag of bagels from the deli a few doors down. Kermit had dug out a place on a chair in the bedroom and was reading the playbill from her show with interest, but he got up and came to the kitchen to help her put things away.
There was something about the domesticity of unpacking the groceries in the small kitchen that made itself felt. They bumped into each other, blushing and apologizing like strangers as they opened cabinets and drawers. When the last of the food had been put away, Piggy folded the brown bag neatly, not sure what else to do with her hands. Kermit reached out and took the bag away from her as though she were a naughty child with some breakable. He reached for her hands, took them in his own and stepped close enough to kiss her. After a moment, they broke apart and looked at each other, then walked, not speaking, down the long hall. At the doorway they stopped and kissed again in a leisurely fashion, leaning together.
There were already so many clothes strewn about the room that a few more hardly mattered. They fell on the big bed together, limbs entwined, mouths working slowly but persistently. Earlier, the fire had burned so hot that it had swept them up in the heat and haste of it. Here, there was time and privacy enough for subtlety. Piggy’s soft, knowing hands seemed to find every spot that cried out to be touched, and her mouth followed her hands, wreaking havoc on Kermit’s equilibrium. His senses were fogging, his body humming with pleasure and anticipation, but Piggy would not release him from her thrall. Impossibly, she was coaxing new nerves to life, her hands and mouth and body teasing him with promises he knew she would fulfill until he thought he would lose his mind.
“Piggy,” he groaned, “Oh, Piggy, Piggy, Piggy…” The scent of her filled his head. She was everywhere, loving him, coaxing him, drawing him over the edge until—with one earth-moving wrench—he was hurtling toward oblivion with their bodies clasped together, the only constant the welcoming, blissful warmth of her embrace.

Lazily, almost carelessly, Kermit’s hands were describing little whorls and lines on the soft skin of her shoulders. Every now and then, he pressed a kiss into her hair, or one webbed hand would steal beneath the sun-kissed tresses and stroke the silky nape of her neck. Piggy closed her eyes and drank in the moment, wanting this time together to go on forever. Beneath her ear, Kermit’s heart thudded sure and strong, and she snuggled into his body seeking warmth the way a flower turns toward the sun. For a long time, it did not seem necessary to use words to describe the deep communion of their souls, nor the recent communion of their bodies.
“That was unbelievable,” Kermit murmured dreamily. “Piggy, I—I didn’t know that was humanly possible.”
“It’s not,” she responded drowsily. “Be glad you’re a frog.”
Kermit smiled and nuzzled her temple, loving the firm, solid feel of her in his arms. “I’m glad I’m this frog,” he said at last. The thought of going home tomorrow was unbearable. He felt like a man who’s been starving who’d only just entered the banquet hall—like a man dying of thirst who’d only just lifted the glass. He paused, wondering how much else to say. Piggy picked up immediately on his mood and pulled back enough to see his face.
“What is it?” she asked, concerned by the sadness in his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Kermit began earnestly, then stopped, frowned and began again. “Except everything’s wrong when I’m not with you. I was thinking….”
What Kermit had been thinking had to wait. There was the noise of shuffling feet from the hall, and a firm knock on the door. Frog and pig stared at each other, not sure what to do.
“Piggy—are you in there?” came a woman’s voice. Recognition flashed across Piggy’s face, and she started to respond when—to their horror—they heard the unmistakable sounds of a key turning in the lock. They looked at each other in consternation and dismay, then Piggy sprinted out of bed and began to throw on a dressing gown. She shot Kermit a look, pressed her finger to her lips, and sprinted down the hall after shutting the bedroom door firmly behind her.
Kermit heard Piggy laughing nervously, and the sounds of several pairs of feet crossing the threshold. Kermit glanced at the clock beside the bed and was surprised to see it was not as late as he had thought. The voices outside grew a little more loud, and he could hear Piggy making some sort of protestations that were being gradually overridden. He crept out of bed and pressed his eye to the keyhole, but could see nothing. He listened through the small opening instead.
“We thought something must have happened to you when you didn’t show,” a woman’s voice said. “We were worried.”
“Oh, well, Moi—”
“Somebody said there was a fellow trying to get into the backstage left door earlier,” another voice chimed in. “Stacy thought—”
“And Kristen thought, after the last time-“
Last time? Kermit straightened with a jerk and the wooden floorboard gave a sharp crack of protest as his weight shifted. Immediately, Kermit could feel the unwavering attention of many eyes on the door he stood behind.
“Piggy!” someone said at last, and there was reproof and deep disappointment in the tone. Kermit heard several gasps and a wail of dismay.
“Oh, Piggy—I can’t believe you actually—”
“Ah…. It’s not what you think—” Piggy began.
"Then who is here? What's going on?"
"Nothing! Nothing is going on."
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, Kermit thought faintly, paralyzed. He was unsure of what to do, and uncertain about what he was hearing.
“I don't believe it! I never believed any of those rumors!” the one called Stacy said morosely.
“No—they’re not true!” Piggy protested. “I promise--it’s not what it looks like. Moi was going to come to the grill tonight but I just—”
“After all that talk about Kermit this and Kermit that, I can’t believe you’d actually step out on your frog.”
“No!” Piggy said. “Moi would never—”
“C’mon,” said the voice who had first called out. “I guess we should be going. Here’s your key, Piggy—I guess you’ll be needing it.” If sarcasm was a liquid, the room would be flooded.
“But, but—”
Behind the door, Kermit squared his shoulders. He could not let Piggy suffer this accusation alone.
The door at the end of the hall creaked and began to swing inward. All the chatter stopped as they stared with morbid fascination. Swallowing hard, Kermit stepped into view.
“Um, hello,” he said nervously.
There was a long pause, then the ladies fell on Piggy in a flurry of apologies and squeals of delight.
“Oh, Piggy, I’m so sorry I thought—”
“This is so exciting! When did he—”
“Piggy—he’s so darling. You said he was cute, but I—”
“I never would have intruded if I’d known it was—”
“We were just worried about you when you didn’t show up, and we all thought—”
Kermit walked slowly down the hall and stood next to Piggy, looking around the circle of faces with interest.
“So, these are your friends,” he said, nodding with satisfaction. Piggy’s hand slipped into his, holding on tight. “Yes,” she said. “These are Moi’s friends.” She smiled up at the beaming faces all around. “And this is Mon Capitan.”
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The Count

Staff member
Jul 12, 2002
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*Cheers contentedly at Aunt Ru's return.

Not only are we reunited with this fic, but the main duo is together again.
Bobo: That's a catchy song.

So, the frog went with the tride method of delivering flowers to his girl in person. Good, for a moment I was a bit peeved it might have been that pesky pseudoshark instead.

Fave mental scene from the chapter is probably Kermit and Piggy in the apartment's kitchenette area.

It's great to read some new material to a true classic, thanks for posting. :smile:
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Apr 5, 2011
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All hail the returning Empress of Ugh-Gush!

This chapter made me SO happy. I have personally been in a gushy mood of late (no, nothing to do with the artificial Hallmark Holiday, just a period of reconnecting with the big frog of my heart), and this is spilling over into what I'm writing, reading, and watching, so this chapter full of Muppety passion is just what the doctor ordered.

Favorite bits:
She turned back to the delivery boy in confusion and the card fluttered, forgotten, to the floor.
Kermit stood leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely across his chest and a look of tender amusement on his face.
“Hello Piggy,” he said quietly.

Ahahahah! What an entrance!

Piggy silenced him by mashing him up against her bosom. Kermit struggled for a moment before the advantages of his position occurred to him. He proceeded to familiarize himself with his surroundings and make himself useful while Piggy tried to reassure the guard outside the door.

Literally LOL at this. I can picture Kermit squirming and then the light bulb going off...

He felt like a man who’s been starving who’d only just entered the banquet hall—like a man dying of thirst who’d only just lifted the glass. He paused, wondering how much else to say.

This is poignant and lovely. But will the frog really fly home tomorrow, if he finds out about Piggy's baleful admirer? Will the creeping scum strike in time for Kermit to witness it and take action?

So, so happy this story has been resumed. *sends only the best muffins to Lady Ru*


Well-Known Member
May 21, 2005
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EEEEEEEEEEEEEE (You can probably hear my squealing all the way in South Carolina) YAAAAAAAYYYY Auntie Ru has added to this most glorious of glory-filled stories!!

I've also had my fair share of staying away, but mostly....the other things that held my attention have frittered away, and now my sights are laser focused on my original love, The Muppets!!