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#she wrote the story

valkyrievanessa · 7 months

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ok, so let's talk about Yuri Kuma Arashi, the manga version, i watched the first ep of the anime years ago, didn't understand a shit and stopped, i read the manga and i have plans to watch the anime itself... so, the manga broke my heart in a way i could not believe it was possible, wtf is this manga?! like, it have some weird things, but the story is fucking perfect (and tragic). This will have spoilers, big spoilers, if you don't like spoilers and enjoy Yuri, go read the manga, is short, can be read in a day and is perfect.

so, our protagonists, the main couple, Kureha and Ginko, they are the cutest couple ever, born to be a couple, their love is so cute and perfect, i want to huge both, specially Ginko, this girl needs therapy, a lot, she is just a baby bear that needs a hug.

like, Ginko have this whole psicological trauma because she killed someone by accident when she was a kid, and it was the mother of the girl she fucking loved, and the great love of her mother's life.

and the whole bear thing at least in the manga, is not real, it is something that exist only in Ginko and Kale (Ginko's mother) minds, it was something that Kale had, because she felt different from anyone else, she believed when she was a child, after she became 17, she would become a bear, never happened of course, so she started to believe that everyone is a bear, including her, but they are pretending to be human, Ginko being raised by someone like that also got it from her mom, so the whole bear thing? only in the mind (sometimes people will use the bear costumes). The only person Ginko see as a human is the girl she loves, Kureha, it was the same thing for kale, the only person she saw as a human was Kureha's mother, Reia

Like, maybe Kale started all this thing with bears because she was a lesbian and felt different from everyone, or not, it was my theory (that kinda falls apart, but it is something) and after she met Reia, things changed to her, it was the only person Kale acknowledges as a human, it was the love of her fucking life, she wanted to marry with Reia, she would do everything for her... and Reia married a guy that she liked, she didn't love the guy, she met him, had a summer love with him and decided to marry the guy just because. She acknowledge that it was a mistake after the marriage, because she noticed that she was in fact, in love with Kale (it was kinda too late, that single act destroyed Kale's life).

She kinda thought that the girl was straight, but ignored the possibility that Reia could be Bi and did something stupid, because Reia would had accepted the proposal. How Reia died was an accident, kinda. When Ginko and Kureha was children, Kureha got lost in the forest that had a lot of bears, Ginko decided to go help the girl, stole Reia's gun and went to find Kureha, when Reia find boths she makes so much noise that Ginko without knowing shoots and kills Reia, causing a giant trauma on Kureha, on herself, on Kale and on her aunt that was also in love with Reia, so... yeah, this manga talks a lot about trauma, like a lot. (Kale actually started to say that she killed Reia and devoured her like a bear).

This manga talks a lot about grief, the whole Kale's arc is about that, Lulu's arc too (her past made me want to die of sadness, like, wtf?!!), Yurika's arc too, she loved Reia, but after she died she started to fuck her brother's wife (Kale), i mean, both already had something before, but their relationship got a lot messier after. And Lulu? one of my favourite characters, she is in love with Ginko since she was a child, but their relationship started because she could not handle the grief and guilty of her little brothers death, it was an accident, but she felt guilty, because she was the responsible for him, so she kinda made Ginko her world after that. (she misses him so much that she have a teddy bear named after him and she takes care of it like it was him)

Lulu is so precious that i want to protect her from everything. Sumika is another favorite of mine, she does a lot, but as someone that helps Kureha to save Ginko, she helps everyone, all because she loves Kureha, she say to kureha that she loves her, but want to be a friend and... ouch, like, ouch. Just Imagine, you love this person, you love them so much that you would do everything for them to be happy... but this happyness will not be with you, and you know that since the beggining, that's Sumika in the manga, she helps Kureha a lot, part of the motive everything went well was because of her, and in the end she wanted to really have magic powers like people was saying about her, because that way she could make Kureha love her, it was really sad.

And the protagonist, Kureha, did everything she could to not only discover how her mother died, but did everything she could to save the girl she loved (Ginko was so depressed that i started to fear for her life), Kureha is an amazing character too, like, i probably love all the characters from this manga.

well, that's it, talked about everything i wanted about this manga, i reccomend, cannot say the same about the anime, not because the anime is bad, it is because it's 2 different stories, with 2 different objectives, i will watch the anime, maybe tomorrow.

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nerdpoe · 2 months

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Instead of going to Ra's to find proof in the land of the living, Tim decides to go to the Realm of the Dead to search for proof of Bruce's time entrapment alongside the Ghosts of Kon and Bart. Also he kidnaps Cassie.

It's foolproof; he gets to be with his friends (whether they want to or not, but the cult thing is weird Cassie frfr this is for ur own good damn), he can interrogate the ghosts from the timeframes he suspects Bruce was in, and also confirm that Bruce isn't in the Afterlife at all.

Kidnapping Cassie actually wasn't that hard, he'd just asked if she wanted to see Kon and Bart one last time. Then he'd explained that he could do it without dying.

He found a website from a pair of professionals who built a portal to the "Ghost Zone", or really Afterlife, in their basement.

Breaking into their house and using the thing is no problem at all.

He finds Kon and Bart, and after a tearful reunion, he and Cassie partner up with them for one final adventure.

Unfortunately, he decides to do this after Dick gave Robin to Damian (Dick genuinely didn't see any other way to stop Damian from going back to the League okay? man was stressed out and making snap decisions with no consideration of the consequences), and also after he'd been up for 48 hours.

The note he left perhaps left a lot to be desired.

'If you won't believe me that he's alive, then I'll prove it by searching for him in the Afterlife.'

Things get a little more complicated when Bart and Kon's Ghosts disappear from the Afterlife, indicating that they've been revived.

But also leaving Cassie and Tim without guides in the realm of floating green doors.

So in short;

Dick thinks Tim killed himself.

Cassie's mom thinks she's still with the cult, and that the cult has killed her daughter, because now there's no communication at all.

Damian read Tim's note as literal, as Tim intended, and keeps trying to explain that to Dick, who thinks Damian is in denial.

Cassie and Tim are stuck in the Ghost Zone without a map or guides, still gather evidence of Bruce and also how to get back.

Kon and Bart came back to life, but with the distinct feeling that they need to find Cassie and Tim before it's too late, whatever that means.

Due to the time distortion, Bruce gets back before Tim does, and is informed by Dick that Tim is dead.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #story prompt #its a crossover in that they use the Fenton's invention to get to the Ghost Zone #because of time distortion it's only been like two weeks for cassie and tim #but it's been months for everyone else #superman and co find out about bruce and work out how to bring him back #suicide mention #but not really #presumed dead #because i love that trope #oracle totally went through tim's search history #but she wrote the fentons off as crazy and the 'work #as absolute drivel

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lunarwednesday · 10 months

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You were supposed to save him, you were made to save him

[ID: Black and white Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint fanart of Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk. Sooyoung is shouting at Joonghyuk, who is sinking against her with one hand at her shoulder as she holds him by the collar. Sooyoung looks pained and angry, and she's crying. Joonghyuk's face is lowered and obscured by his collar. End ID] (Thank you to @/princess-of-purple-prose for writing it!)

#orv #orv spoilers #omniscient reader's viewpoint #yjh #hsy #han sooyoung #yoo joonghyuk #sometimes i think about hsy's frustrations with herself and yjh #she wrote a story that both saved and doomed kdj #a protagonist that saved him and was saved by him #ugh these two help

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marlynnofmany · 2 months

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It’s back!

If you missed it the first time around, the “human are weird” anthology is back for a second printing. (There’s even a new story included: “Black Box” by Dara Brophy.)

Here’s the blurb:

In science fiction, humans are usually boring compared to other races: small, weak, with no claws or tentacles, and no special abilities to speak of. But what if we were the impressive ones, the unsettling ones, the ones talked about by all the other aliens? What if we're weird?

If you’d like a collection of excellent stories about humans inspiring awe, fear, and utter confusion, it’s available everywhere books are sold!

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embraceweird · 2 months

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In ep 24 "Knock Knock" I found this interaction between Kalaya and Eursulon so fascinating

Kalaya: You're a true friend of a wizard of the citadel?

Eursulon: Yes.

[...]

Kalaya: Is she kind?

Eursulon: She can be.

It felt like such a big sister thing to be cautious of this wizard and have concern for her little brother. A spirit in a world that can be unkind to wild ones such as themselves.

But more interesting than that was Eursulon's answer. "She can be." It could be interpreted as, sometimes she is kind and other times not. Which we have seen both from Suvi (wielding the power, prestige, and station of a wizard vs loving and cherishing her friends).

But it could also be interpreted in a future connotation. Like she COULD be kind but we have yet to see. Will the citadel justification machine take over or will she retain the lessons learned from grandmother wren and hold on to a respect for the world of spirits

Last Eursulon saw Suvi she was caught between her friends and the citadel. And while wizardry is not innately unkind the systems put in place by the citadel can be concerning. Suvi has the potential to go down an alarming path with the brass of the citadel pushing her along. She has the capacity to be "unkind". But the gut reactions we see from her. The Suvi reactions, not Sky or the citadel, but SUVI are always kind. With her friends in her life Suvi can be kind and would continue to be kind. But her friends keep pulling away and the fall out from the last goodbye may be very influential into who Suvi will be.

Eursulon may not have meant much by his response but it feels very ominous in that we are yet to see the type of legacy this interation of the wizard Sky is going to leave.

#this is very rambly and idk where i was going but the implications of “she can be” has been stuck in my head #and i didn't even get to the connection to Ame #the little girl who wrote “be kind” on her wall #ugh this story is so good #wbn pod #wbn: www #wbn spoilers #wbn #worlds beyond number #eursulon #kalaya #suvi #ame #wwwo spoilers #wwwo #and let me be clear I love wizards and am obsessed with the narrative potential of the citadel #no hate on wizards what so ever

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morganbritton132 · 9 months

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After David tells him that his ex has arrived for Career Day and it’s not even the Wheeler that he asked for, Steve marches over to Mike like, “What are you doing here?”

Wow, David thinks to himself. He’s been told that Steve has some problems with his memory - apparently he compensated for it with a truly insane online calendar - but he didn’t expect him to forget about a whole human being. Just, wow.

Steve loudly tells Mike that he’s never had a real job and Mike scoffs at him and tells him that he wrote for a comic book website for three years. Journalism is just writing with a fancy degree. Will and Mike created a comic book together so, “I’m published.”

“Robin is published,” Steve stresses (Steve’s best friend, David knows that one). “If that was the only qualification I wanted than I would’ve asked Robin to come.”

They start squabbling again in whispered voices so David turns to Dustin and tries to alleviate some of the awkwardness with, “Steve, uh, really has a type, huh?”

Dustin squints at him, “Did you just meet him? Today?”

#Steve didn’t even register that he should be grossed out that someone accused him of dating a literal (in Steve’s eyes) child #I just decided in this post that Mike is a freelance writer #Steve does respect Mike’s work and buys all the magazines that he’s had short stories published in #but he was definitely planning on BSing to the kids about journalism and also Steve just likes to give him shit #Mike wrote the comic and Will illustrated it. It was about Bob #David is trying his goddamn best but Steve did not give him a lot to work with. Dustin is unimpressed #Also for the record: Steve did ask Robin. She was busy #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

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My first choice (part 1/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eyed prince to fall in love with. pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500 warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining), angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!) author’s note: this is inspired by “Little women” and Amy March in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond is nothing like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it’s a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts: the first one explains Aemond’s feelings, the second one is about hers. ✨ part 2

Part 1. How could you be so blind. Aegon knows he’s supposed to be relieved — he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he can’t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. It’s ridiculous that he is upset over this, and yet he can’t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he can’t even sit straight — and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldn’t care less. There is only one person whose judgment he is afraid of — and it’s not long before he’s greeted with a displeased remark:

“When I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldn’t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.”

He looks up — and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon would’ve at least tried to sober up, but today he’s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesn’t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile.

“Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,” your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. “Now that you’ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?”

“I think I like it here,” he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by.

“You like wallowing in misery for all to see?” you huff. “Aegon, get up.”

He fakes a whine. “My legs gave out, I’m afraid!”

“You would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,” you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him — but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:

“You underestimate my brother.”

Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. It’s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation — throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help — and yet he’s always there.

Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up — you stop the one-eyed prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest. Anyone else would’ve thought twice before standing in his way but you don’t hesitate.

“He is perfectly capable to get up on his own,” you reject Aemond’s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. “He can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.”

There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you happy, now when I’m in the standing position?”

“If you cared about anyone else's feelings but your own, you wouldn’t be in this position,” you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.

“Do you ever get ashamed of yourself?” you hiss at him.

“Let me think... No, why would I?” he sounds sarcastic.

“You should be,” you whisper scream at him. “You can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!”

Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.

“Well, what else am I to do,” his voice is bitter. “Since I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.”

You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.

“I feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you’d bear it better,” you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Your duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,” he mutters before he can stop himself — and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.

“At least I would be respected if I couldn’t be loved,” your tone hushed but sharp.

Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.

“But I thought that you loved me,” Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.

“Oh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?” you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While he’s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouth “How many cups?”

“Way more than usual,” he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.

“Alright, you can lean on me. But don’t get handsy or I will push you down the stairs,” your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.

Aegon doesn’t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.

“I can take it from here,” Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.

“No, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,” he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.

“Aemond, I can handle him.”

The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble on his way — and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.

“Should I call for the maid to help you undress?”

“No, I am way too comfortable like this,” he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry for the way I behaved,” he reveals, frowning. “I did not mean to, truly.”

“Aegon, you know I’m not the one you should apologize to,” you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. “You left Helaena all alone. And you promised me you would make an effort.”

“I know, I know,” he yawns. “I was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,” his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:

“I fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,” he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.

There is only one book so it’s easy to find — and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it’s the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.

If you were to turn around, you would’ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.

When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:

“Even though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.”

“He asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,” the prince explains as if it isn’t that big of a deal. But to you, it is — although you think he only did it out of politeness.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.

“You know that you bring out the best in him?” Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.

“You overestimate my influence,” you say, then dither before admitting, “I’m afraid I was too hard on him today.”

“Someone has to do it,” Aemond objects, and there’s something in his tone — sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyone’s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.

“I think you are doing a pretty good job, too,” you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when he’s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.

But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.

“I’m sorry you had to get involved,” you look down at the book. “I wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“You need to elaborate on that,” Aemond says uncomprehendingly.

“I’ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,” you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates before answering.

“Well, I only plan to,” the prince clarifies. “If she accepts my advances.”

“It would be silly of her not to,” you blurt out and, while you can’t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“She may have her reasons —”

“I can’t come up with a single one,” you tell him with so much confidence, Aemond’s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. “You are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome — and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.”

The prince is glad that you’re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. It’s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily — but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usually start with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.

And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.

You notice his lack of response — and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:

“Lady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” the prince encourages you with a grin. “If he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.”

You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say. “Please make sure your brother stays in bed.”

“Will do,” Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten-and-three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest — Elaesa — has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyone’s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that you’ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed — or both — but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.

Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. That’s when he saw you — fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.

“Why do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,” despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.

“I can help you find your parents without a map,” he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.

“I cannot go back,” you gestured at the dress. “I am in such trouble!” you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldn’t leave you be.

“It is not that bad,” he pointed at the ripped material. “I can ask our seamstress to take a look.”

You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress — surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.

“I’d appreciate it if you help me find my way back,” you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.

Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone — Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didn’t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.

At first, he thought you fell for Aegon’s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as you did like his brother’s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with — and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it might’ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason you had to grow up early.

It happened the same year you met — your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa’s vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit — which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.

Within a few years, there wasn’t a thing you weren’t good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence — the corrosive desire to prove one’s worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.

More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren’t in harm’s way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you — the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should’ve been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn’t realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemond’s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house — the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn’t meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.

He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that it’s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.

“He overslept,” the younger prince shrugs. “It isn’t a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.”

You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work — as he always does — while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason you did not expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy.

“I was sorry to hear about lady Baratheon’s decision.”

“I was not,” he’s quick to retort.

“I cannot imagine agreeing to marry a Stark,” you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.

“Is it the cold weather?” Aemond grins knowingly.

“Yes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,” you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.

“Some say they’ve got quite a beautiful scenery,” Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn’t stand a chance.

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy that,” you huff. “How am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?”

He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.

“You are staring,” you say without turning to him.

“Where do you want me to look at?”

“Aemond, you are in a room full of art!” you chuckle lightly. “Surely, enough options to land your eye on.”

The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.

“When do you begin your next great work of art?” he asks, hoping to distract you.

You halt movement, then force out glumly:

“Never.”

“What do you mean?” he’s taken by surprise.

“I’ve come to realize that I’d never be a genius,” you reluctantly explain. “So I’m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.”

“You cannot be serious. You have so much talent and —”

“Talent isn’t genius!” you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. “I may be talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,” you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.

Aemond wants to argue, he really does — but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he would’ve found it endearing but it’s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.

“Hm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?”

You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years you’ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Alright,” the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. “Next time I come for breakfast, I will drag you into the garden to pose for me,” you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.

Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.

“What are you going to do with your life in the meantime?” he changes the subject.

“Polish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,” you sigh, putting the cloth away.

There’s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:

“Here is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?”

You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.

“But you are yet to be betrothed to him,” he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.

“I will be if he proposes,” your eyes meet his, and you are sure that there’s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: “I always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.”

But Aemond isn’t looking for a fight — he swiftly corrects himself:

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...” — he can barely bring himself to say it — “As long as you love him.”

For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.

“I believe we can have some power over who we love,” you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.

“I think the poets would disagree,” he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension.

But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.

“Well, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,” you rebut crisply. “And as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects which do not include me earning a living to support my family. And my parent’s fortune has its limits as I’ve come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children — I do — and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,” that last word is pronounced with disappointment. “So don’t stand here and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.”

Had he not known you, Aemond would’ve been very impressed — with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as he’s standing in front of you, watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks he might take a chance at arguing with you, after all — but you’re both startled by a knock on the door:

“Lady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.”

You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.

“Why would he — I, I didn’t expect him today,” you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.

Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.

“Did I miss any paint stains?” you ask Aemond in a haste.

“No,” he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high — and then, “...Wait!”

You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.

“There is something on your cheek,” he says as you both step toward each other — and in the next second you are suddenly standing too close.

You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didn’t have to go.

You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.

“How do I look? Do I look alright?”

“You look beautiful,” Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in — with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. “You are beautiful.”

You seem a bit bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face — and in a blink of an eye, you’re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you — and so does his heart.

The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance — watching you do whatever your heart desires. Because his only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesn’t know how to pluck it out.

Nor does he want to. It’s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle — with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemond’s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he won’t reconsider.

“I will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?”

He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.

“Take any pose you like, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.

And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can also be explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.

When you are finally satisfied, you can’t tell if it’s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasn’t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemond’s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.

“Want to take a look?” you hand him a few sketches. “Mind you, I’m not finished so please don’t judge too harshly —”

“I could never,” his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.

Aemond has seen your works before but it’s a whole new experience when he’s the one being portrayed. He almost doesn’t recognize himself — you didn’t miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He is at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It’s a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he’s deep in his thoughts.

“When did you do this one?”

“After the coronation,” the memory makes you smile. “Made my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.”

It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must’ve been looking at him to capture every detail and movement — all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There is so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:

“Don’t marry him.”

His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. He did not mean that, you must’ve misunderstood.

“...What?”

Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Don’t marry him,” he repeats, helplessly and desperately.

“Why?” you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation — instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.

“You know why,” Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rate speeding up.

He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry — which is supposed to be a good sign — but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you look hurt.

“No,” you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. “No, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,” you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain — while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.

His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue what’s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.

“Why am I being mean?” he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.

You don’t even realize you are doing it — it’s almost an urge to not be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his — as you see it — wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.

“I have felt like everyone’s second choice my entire life,” you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. “In everything, no matter how hard I’ve worked to be better. I thought you out of all people would understand that,” you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,” only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.

But you are out of his reach already — at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.

“No, I won’t. I can’t,” you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. “I can’t do it. Not when I have spent years loving you.”

His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest — and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago — and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears.

Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until it’s too late — the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.

He was afraid he would never have you — but he actually could have.

If only he wasn’t so blind.

➡ Part 2

yes, this is me blabbing again: I’ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and I’ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst — just so you know, it was painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won’t, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on “Little women” and it’s only fair that I link it as well!

tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked 💙 comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! 🥺 🎨 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #<<< PLS don’t be mad! I know Aegon isn’t the main character but he has a meaningful role #so I thought maybe I should add his tag too... (PLS DON’T BE MAD)#on a completely unrelated note I decided to start with dialogue(s) and then bring the backstory #I think it’s more engaging??? but we’ll see how that goes #also it was a conscious decision to start with Aemond’s side of the story — just so it comes as a surprise when she says ‘hey I loved you f #(I mean it obviously won’t be surprising if you saw the movie...)#ALSO I really hope you guys will want the second part (’cause I already wrote it lmao)#my stuff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen angst

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thebramblewood · 6 months

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Our girl coming in hot with the understatement of the century.

Previous / Next

Helena: [hisses in pain as hot water hits wounds] What the... There's no fucking way.

[investigating in mirror] Yep, this is not good. Not good at all.

Now, where did you come from? [picks up letter addressed with her name]

Dear Helena,

If you are reading this letter, I will admit I am relieved, though I cannot say for certain whether your survival is more blessing or curse. I know you must be confused. God only knows how much of the night you even remember.

My sister misled you about who and what we are, which was no accident on her part, even if the dreadful mistake that followed was. I can hardly cast stones for I did nothing to stop her and, in fact, committed an unforgivable sin myself in attempting to undo what she had done, though I very well knew it would turn you into a monster against your will.

I will put it to you bluntly: Lilith and I have been vampires for some 100 years, and faced with your otherwise certain demise, I chose to make you one too. You may not believe me. It will feel like a bad flu for a day or two; then it will feel like the heat of 1000 fires blazing inside.

You will desire answers. I compel you to seek them elsewhere. Lilith has her mind set on having you and, if she knows you are alive, will not take no for an answer. I can only deceive her so long, as vampires are inextricably tied to their creators. As surely as I will soon know your fate, so will she, for she is my maker and cannot keep out of my head.

I am truly sorry, though it must offer little consolation. You do not deserve this eternally damned existence, but you also did not deserve to die. You see the bind I was caught in. All I can do now is urge you to make the most of this truly terrible hand we have all been dealt.

Regretfully,

Caleb Vatore

Helena: Well, shit.

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 story #simblr #story: hzid #helena zhao #injury tw #she's definitely still in shock and denial mode #gonna take her a minute to process #i love how caleb took the time to clean himself and helena up AND sit down to type her a long letter just in case she was alive #(though i think he only wrote it because he knew she was)#as for the lack of brevity you can take the guy out of the 1900s but you can't take the 1900s out of the guy #btw the first picture is my favorite use of relight so far #most of the time it's been too subtle but i think that's been on me being afraid to set the intensity too high

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bixels · 5 days

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What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

#i was a diehard pharmercy shipper back then btw #the inherent homoerotic experience of pharmercy gameplay.#the homoerotic experience of looking to the skies to fly to safety under the protection of your knight in shining armor #the homoerotic experience of feeling white hot murderous rage at an enemy trying to pick off your pocket mercy #i still kinda despise gency lmao. you cannot convince me mercy would be in love with genji. at all.#he'd make her feel so uncomfortable and guilty. in my head. the canon is obviously different #gency is sexless. absolutely zero bite or tension.#i could go on about mercy and how her character has so much missed potential #i'm no longer in my overwatch fandom phase but #i still think about that new flirty line they added in ow2 where mercy goes “ahh you're like my knight in shining armor!”#and pharah goes “that's what i'm goin for ;)” and i sigh dreamily #really happy that pharah outright says she's a lesbian too but it's hard to feel good about rep when you know blizzard uses it for pr #to be honest i'm willing to bet cash that blizzard's keeping pharmercy in their back pocket as ammo for the next controversy #last year we already saw logs about pharah fretting and taking care of mercy and the two talking about how good it is to see each other #tbh pharah has the same energy/demeanor as applejack. cheerful and competitive in a can of whoopass #but yeah overall pharah's a pretty shallow character. i have IDEAS on how i'd go about deepening her but. whatever #that's sorta what happens when you have to juggle a cast of 40 characters. a lot get left with the bare minimum #ok so i wrote this entire post up saying that pharah isn't in ow2's storymode when she is. she's in the story i just. forgot #because she doesn't do or contribute anything interesting #ok i'm stopping here. overwatch's story is such an interesting narrative mess i could go on for hours #i dunno how you come up with such incredible character designs and give them such an unincredible story #it's also so so so interesting seeing the conflicting takes on characters the writers have #mercy in gameplay and voicelines is peppy and cheerful and optimistic #but mercy in the storymode journal logs is tired. jaded. a total shut in who forgets to leave her room and social #and YES! THAT'S WHAT I WANT!!! THAT'S MERCY TO ME!!! THE DOCTOR WHO FORGETS TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF #ask me #anon

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cuntstable · 1 year

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rgu and berserk fan intersection is so interesting to me like despite how on the surface different the stories are im NOT suprised that it exists considering everything but everytime i see it its through something like this. whoah

#asked my rgu AND berserk friend if guts and anthy would he friends she said YES so ok.#i have not watched rgu yet btw i should…. i should……#also thinking about how miura said that despite being a seinen he wrote berserk more like a shoujo story. bc it was heavily inspired by #the rose of versailles of all things… lol #and the focus is on the emotions and drama ofc

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wakeupandchooseviolets · 24 days

Text

Sweets (1/?)

The snugness was barely tolerable. She had overestimated herself. She looked surreptitiously over her shoulder and ducked around a corner. The only thing following her were her bad decisions, but she felt chased all the same.

Okay. Calm down. Breathe (but not too deep). Evaluate the situation. What are your options? Can you loosen anything?

She looked down at herself. Past her swollen breasts, past a fluffy roll of upper belly, she examined her waistline. Nope. The button was the only thing keeping the zipper together, and vice versa. For the millionth time, she lamented her morning. What a bright idea, interviewing for a job with a snack company. She was very well aware of how sweets affected her.

Could she find somewhere discrete to wait out her... little metabolic mishap? She looked around for a discrete nook to accommodate her fresh bulk.

The little atrium she had found had a series of plush benches around the walls. She sighed and headed for the one in the corner. She sucked in as best she could and sat down. Some horny little corner of her mind made note of how it felt as her tight belly shifted against her puffy thighs.

Sitting like this, only barely upright lest bending too far compromise her jeans, she couldn't ignore how her waistband was trying to cut her in half. She thought back to how she had done this to herself. The lovely HR manager had very explicitly pointed out the basket of the company's sugary offerings there in the middle of interview table. The woman had been insistent that she try at least one of each, gushing like any good salesperson about their rich flavors and subtle textures, occasionally even peeling one out of its wrapper and handing it to her.

How could she have done anything but eat what was offered to her? And by a beautiful woman, no less. She knew how her body reacted to food like this, but she had been desperate to make a good impression, to look good and eager and employable. A good girl. She ignored that last thought, and the accompanying shiver through her frazzled tummy.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth (but not too deeply). All she had to do was calm down, and give her body a chance to do the same. Then she could find a back door to sneak out of, go home and hope that somehow that she hadn't blown the interview.

She opened her eyes again and caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room. Holy crap, she was huge. She had been her normal, narrow self, and her outfit had fit very very normally, when she had arrived. But now? Now it looked positively painted onto her. Her breasts were trying to spill out of her tastefully exposed bra and over the lapel of her blouse. She was more balloon than woman at this point. She ignored another tingle.

As she watched herself in the mirror, she noticed something change. Slowly but surely, the last wrinkle in her blouse smoothed out. Uh oh. That meant... she was still filling out. Panic. She tingled again.

No. No. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). She closed her eyes again, and could feel her plump body quietly grow. Crap.

Panic. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). Calm.

Maybe if she didn't look, it would go away. That had never worked before, sure, but there's a first time for everything, right?

As she rationalized to herself, she noticed the sound of heels clacking towards her hiding spot. Panic!

Maybe their owner would pass and not notice her?

No such luck.

The woman who had interviewed her rounded the corner.

"There you are!"

She struggled to stand. So tight.

"You left your purse upstairs. I get it, though. Interviews can be pretty stressful, huh?"

Like nothing had changed. Did this woman not notice that she was currently three times the size she was when she had shown up? Could this woman not hear every seam in her clothes creaking in harmony? Could the woman not see how wide and deep and round she was becoming?

"It's such a beautiful handbag, I almost wanted to keep it for myself!" The woman laughed. "Oh well."

She took the bag from the woman. "O-oh! Thank you!" Leapt out of her.

"Listen," said the woman, "technically I have to review a few other candidates, but I think you're a shoo-in for the position." The woman moved closer. "No one else has shown so much... enthusiasm." Closer still. She basked in the smell of the woman's musky perfume.

"Oh... that's great!" she managed to squeak out.

"In fact," the woman continued, "if you'd like to come back upstairs, we can have you fill out the onboarding paperwork now, so you don't have to come back just to fill out some forms if... when we give you the job." So close now.

"Um! Okay!" What.

The woman placed a gentle hand on the side of her massive, tight, growing belly. "Listen, between you and me, that passion you showed today will take you far with us. Do you feel like the offer is fair? We can negotiate further if you need." The woman's eyes were so sincere.

What was going on here? She could barely think.

The woman placed her other hand on top of her belly, well hidden by her burgeoning breasts. "I do hope you'll say yes."

"Um..."

There was a pop. Her button pinged away across the room from her overburdened jeans. It made a little thwack sound as it hit the far wall. Her zipper flew down, zizzing audibly. Her belly erupted through the breach. Her blouse retreated upwards. The tingling became a roar. All the while, the woman, as though no tectonic shifts were happening right there and then, continued to implore with borderline puppydog eyes.

The world held its breath with her. How had this woman not reacted to any of that?! What? Was the woman still waiting for an answer?

"...okay?" She tried. She wasn't sure if her brain was still working. "Sure?" Best to stick to small sentences.

"Yay!" cheered the woman, "I really think you'll love it here!" The woman launched in for a quick hug around her exposed belly. The woman's arms didn't go even halfway around her. And still the woman didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

"Well! If you'll follow me back to the elevators, we can at least get the formalities out of the way."

The woman took her by the hand and pulled, still gentle. She followed, mutely. Even the horniest, shamiest corners of her mind were silent, waiting with bated breath.

As they reached the elevators, the woman pushed the up button and stood to the side. "Please," said the woman, "after you!"

On autopilot now, she stepped into the elevator and... wedged into the door. Stuck. What. Panic? Calm? The elevator dinged again as if to say "I'm waiting!"

The cold of the elevator doors brought her back to reality. She put a hand on either side of herself and tried to pull herself in. As though this were somehow normal, the woman chirped "Oh, here, let me help!"

She felt a gentle pair of hands press into her oceanic bottom. Her horny brain thrilled again. She clamped down on those thoughts. No time to be a pervert.

Between the two of them, they muscled her into the elevator. She turned to face the doors in time to watch the woman press into her in order to let the doors close. Normally equipped for eight full-sized human adults, due to her immensity, it very barely fit two.

"We need floor thirty," said the woman into her barely contained cleavage. She tried to reach for the panel of buttons, but by now there was simply too much of her in the way.

"I've got it," said the woman, reaching behind her without looking.

They rode the thirty floors quietly. She could feel herself still widening, pressing towards the walls of the elevator car. Her embarrassment had burnt out, leaving only a kind of stunned peace in her mind. She tried to will her body away from the woman, but where else could it really go?

By the time they reached their destination, the woman was firmly pressed against the doors, still showing no indication of the extra-ordinariness of the situation.

As the doors opened, the woman stepped back, grabbed her hands, and pulled as she tried to wiggle through the door. Eventually she floomped through, and they set off toward the HR suite.

Full-on waddling now, she felt an inner tension release. She had stopped growing. Relief. If nothing else, at least things had stopped getting worse. Sure, she was almost round enough to roll. Tingle. Sure, her clothing had been reduced to barely covering her... rude areas. Tingle. Sure, a beautiful woman was acting as though this was all perfectly normal. Tingle tingle tingle. But hey, at least it finally wasn't getting worse.

The woman pushed open the double doors to the HR suite and welcomed her in with another glittering smile. They seemed to be the only ones there. The woman led her, patiently, to the front desk area. The woman ducked behind the desk, looking for something.

"Hmm, it looks like I'll need to go print off more some more copies of the forms. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two." Finally she'd have a moment to collect herself.

Then the woman produced a basket, laden with various goodies, from underneath the desk. "Here! Help yourself, sorry to make you wait." Uh.

"Oh, here, allow me," said the woman, picking out a chocolate confection, peeling it, and pressing it into her mouth. "I'll be right back!"

She chewed and swallowed the treat.

Uh oh.