#Color-II Monitor

[thegikitiki]

For Quality & Value, You'll Choose Amdek...

[actualartistgrill]

the lily of the valley is said to symbolize chastity, humilty and virtue, as well as sadness or pain due to a loss or death

[tears-of-boredom]

day 3: unnecessarily complex fit

ii gotta be honest, they were originally gonna have two feet but then i couldn't figure out the perspective of their right one so i decided to just not draw it

[yoonmoonn]

taste me┃jjk

04┃show stopper┃masterlist ┃taglist

note: why do i lowk hate it 😐 might rewrite later (also i definitely didn't fell asleep last night while editing this...)

You walked into the arena with a coffee in hand and a swing in your step, humming under your breath like the world was yours and no one else had even been invited.

“Why are you singing that early in the morning?” your manager asked, squinting at you over the rim of his tablet.

You just sipped your drink—half milk, half espresso, a little chaos on top—and twirled once in place, your platform sneakers squeaking lightly on the polished floor.

“Why not?” you shot back, grinning like the devil in lip gloss.

Something was off. Not in a bad way, just...off. You were suspiciously happy. Suspiciously put together for soundcheck. You weren’t pacing, weren’t barking about mic frequencies or annoyingly cold weather. You weren’t even late. You were early.

You, who barely showed up on time for your own birthday.

The venue crew was already buzzing around, and you drifted past them like you belonged in the middle of it all. Half-humming Taste to yourself, fingers snapping along with the beat in your head.

It was going to hit so hard tonight.

Your voice wasn’t tired. It was sharp. Your tone had that sweet, teasing edge that always made your fans scream like they were in on a joke you never told them. You moved from the edge of the stage to the wings and back, spinning once, letting your hair fall over your shoulder like you were in a music video and not just rehearsing.

You walked past one of your stylists and tapped her shoulder.

“Did the tights come in?”

She blinked, nodded. “Yeah. You mean the custom sheer ones?”

You grinned wider. “Mhm. The ones with taste me written just below the hip. In black script. Looks like a tattoo, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, half-shocked, half-impressed. “It’s... intense.”

You just shrugged, eyes glinting under your sunglasses. “It’s for Act I.”

Act I: the corset bodysuit—the baby blue one with rhinestones. The tights would sit underneath, skin-colored and nearly invisible unless someone really looked. But you knew who’d look.

Act II: the black lace capri catsuit. Always made you feel like sin on Mary Janes.

Act III: the two-piece top and micro skirt covered in Swarovski crystals that danced under the lights. That one always got the loudest reaction.

Tonight, though, Act I was the one you were counting on.

You didn’t say anything else. Just sipped your coffee, swaying slightly to the rhythm in your head. Humming again.

By now, everyone around you had noticed.

You weren’t nervous.

You weren’t bitter.

You were dangerous.

Like someone who had something to prove and had already planned exactly how to prove it.

You sang a few lines under your breath again, leaning against a wall, lips curling around the words like they tasted sweet.

“You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you”

Yeah. You were ready.

And if he was watching?

Good. That was the whole point.

The venue was already buzzing when you stepped into the wings.

Cameras flashed like fireworks. Lights swirled across the crowd in glittery loops, and the hum of the pre-show electricity lit up your veins more than the iced latte you'd downed in your dressing room. You adjusted your in-ear monitor with a smirk, fingers tapping along a random beat in your head as the opening scene was played across the big screen.

It was the last show of the tour leg. You should’ve been exhausted.

But you weren’t.

You were alive.

You knew he was here before you even saw him. The air shifted. That strange intuition that always warned you of Jungkook's presence tugged at your spine, made you glance out into the crowd right before the start of Act II.

And there he was. Front row. Black hoodie, hands folded, head tilted like he was trying too hard not to be impressed.

But it wasn’t him that made you pause.

It was her.

Standing next to him like she belonged there, like she hadn’t been the girl that once broke his heart—now suddenly smiling, screaming, recording every second of you on her phone.

Jumping around.

Singing along.

You almost laughed. Of course she was a fan.

Of course he brought her here.

By the time you reached the last track, the air in the arena was thick with anticipation. The crowd was already feverish from the last set, and you didn’t say a word before the music started.

The beat hit—slick, disco-infused, glittering under the lights like a mirrorball cracking open.

Your hips moved with the rhythm, sharp and purposeful, the lyrics pouring out with sugar-laced venom.

"Oh, I leave quite an impression—

Five feet to be exact

You're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin'

My body's where they're at..."

You kept your gaze wide, teasing and cocky, letting your voice carry high over the bass. But you saw him.

He wasn’t leaning back anymore.

His jaw was tense.

“Now I'm gone, but you're still layin'

Next to me, one degree of separation

I heard you're back together and if that's true

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you...”

You moved across the stage with a steady, practiced grace, a smirk tucked in the corner of your lips. Not loud. Not bitter.

Just surgical.

And when you reached the final lyric—when your voice slipped into that final note, slow and honeyed and sharp as glass—you did it without flinching.

“You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you...”

You pointed.

Right at them.

The lights exploded behind you.

The crowd lost its mind.

And in that tiny flicker of a second before the blackout, you caught it—Jungkook’s face, still as stone.

His girlfriend frozen next to him, hand lowered from where she’d been clapping.

You turned on your heel and walked offstage, chest rising and falling, sweat beading at your temples.

You didn’t look back.

You never needed to.

Backstage was chaos.

Glitter trailed your heels like stardust as crew members buzzed past, voices tangled in shouts and laughter, someone waving a towel, someone else yelling about lighting cues, someone crying over a broken mic pack. But it all bled into static.

You didn’t hear any of it.

Not really.

You walked straight down the hallway, past the green room, past the stylist trying to stop you for a post-show touch-up, past your manager calling your name. Your matching set was still on, the Swarovski crystals catching every low backstage light like small, sharp bursts of memory. Your lungs burned under the top. You felt too full and too empty at once.

Your heels clicked against the concrete floor, steady and sharp.

The silence inside you, though—that was deafening.

Your dressing room door swung shut behind you, and that’s when it all hit.

The adrenaline dropped like a weight down your spine, dragging heat and ache and a wild thrum of something unplaceable with it.

Your chest rose and fell like you couldn’t get enough air. You reached for the vanity, palms flat against the marble top, eyes closed as you leaned in, forcing your body to stop shaking.

You didn’t know what you were feeling.

Power?

Relief?

Rage?

A sob wanted to claw its way up your throat, but you swallowed it whole. No. Not here. Not now.

You stared at your reflection—flushed cheeks, sweat-damp hair at your temples, eyes wild and rimmed in liner that somehow didn’t smudge. You looked untouchable.

You didn’t feel it.

You felt cracked open.

Like every lyric of Taste had carved something out of you in front of 20,000 screaming fans.

Like you gave them blood in glitter wrapping paper.

You’d seen his face.

That was the worst part.

Not the shock in it. Not even the guilt that flickered there for half a second.

It was the way he watched you like he knew.

Like he always knew you could wreck him, and still let you.

You leaned forward, gripping the edge of the vanity so tightly your fingers went white.

You were supposed to feel better.

That song, that moment, that silence right after—it was supposed to be the closure you never got.

But it wasn’t.

Because somewhere in your chest, under all the performance, under all the glitter and venom and tight stagewear—he still lived there.

Uninvited.

Unwanted.

But there.

You slid to the floor before your knees could give out, the cold tile biting into your skin, arms wrapped around your legs, chin on your knees. You weren’t crying.

Not yet.

You were remembering.

The way he used to show up after soundcheck with coffee just the way you liked it.

The way he always said your voice sounded different when you were angry—hotter.

The way he used to trace your name on your shoulder with his fingers when you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember.

You pressed your forehead to your knees.

The show was over. The crowd was gone.

There were no encores. No more songs to hide behind.

No more lights to blur the truth.

Just silence.

And you—still half-hoping, half-hating—that he’d find his way back here.

Still kind of wanting him to come backstage.

Still kind of wanting him to beg.

The elevator ride felt like a lifetime.

Your condo was quiet the second you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you like a final period to a sentence you hadn’t wanted to write. The city buzzed beyond the windows—horns, sirens, muffled bass lines from someone’s party—but inside, everything was still.

You dropped your keys onto the marble counter with a clatter that echoed louder than expected. Your sneakers came off next, the shoe laces hitting the ground with the softest sound as you kicked them aside and padded barefoot across the floor.

Every muscle ached.

Your back. Your neck. Your voice box.

But mostly your heart.

You made your way to your bedroom without turning on any lights, letting the dim gold glow of the skyline wash over everything. Your room still smelled faintly of hairspray and perfume, the scent trailing you as you pulled your hoodie off your body and threw it somewhere in the room. The cool air kissed your bare skin. Your body felt like it was still vibrating from the bass.

You threw on an oversized shirt—his, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore. Too many pieces of him had ended up here. Too many traces of something that was never meant to last.

You walked back into the living room, collapsed onto the arm of the couch, tucking one leg beneath you. The room felt too big. Too quiet. Too clean.

Your phone sat screen-side down on the coffee table. You hadn’t touched it since the car ride home.

You could still see his face in the crowd.

Not just watching you—but studying you.

His new girlfriend had been jumping around like a fangirl, singing every lyric. Singing your lyrics. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

You tilted your head back and stared at the ceiling, your heart still racing even though it had been hours since you stepped off that stage.

You should feel proud.

That song was good.

You looked hot. You sounded even better. You did exactly what you came to do.

But here you were. Alone. Wearing a shirt that wasn’t yours, mascara still clinging to your lashes, throat raw, with no one to carefully tie your hair up or ask how you felt.

No one to say, you did good tonight.

No one to pull you in when you didn’t want to be strong anymore.

A shaky breath left your lips.

Because the truth—the kind that clawed at you when the noise faded—was this:

You didn’t write that song for him. Not really.

You wrote it for you. To remind yourself that you weren’t just something to be left behind. That you meant something. That he’d feel it—your absence—in every touch he gave her. In every kiss. In every goddamn memory that wouldn’t let him go.

You weren’t the kind of girl you forgot.

And he was gonna remember that.

Even if he didn’t come back.

Even if you didn’t want him to.

It was stupid—how much you missed him.

And even more stupid how you let yourself.

You never wanted to put a label on it. You were the one who kept saying no. You had your career, your image, your press team. The spotlight didn’t leave room for real love—not the kind that didn’t crack under pressure.

But he had made you feel something. Something steady. Something warm. Something that slipped through your fingers the second you tried to hold it too tight.

You closed your eyes and let the silence swell around you.

“He’s not what you need,” you whispered out loud, your voice barely a breath.

You said it again.

And again.

“I don’t want him back.”

And maybe if you said it enough, you’d believe it.

Maybe if you kept singing, kept dancing, kept doing what you did best—being untouchable—his name would stop echoing in the places he never should’ve touched.

You weren’t going to beg.

You weren’t going to break.

You just had to keep pretending you didn’t still want him.

The apartment smelled like vanilla.

Your perfume was still in the air, sweet and sugary the way you liked it—too much, always too much. Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, hands clasped tightly together between his knees. His hoodie stuck to his back from the sweat and heat of the crowd, but he didn’t bother changing.

The concert played over and over in his mind, but not in a nostalgic way.

Just...annoying. Loud. Unavoidable.

That song.

That look.

You pulled the stunt right in front of them, in front of everyone. Typical. Flashy. Petty. Just like you.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t told his girlfriend about your past—why would he? It hadn’t been anything real. Not to him, anyway. Not something worth confessing. You messed around. It was fun. It got messy. You liked playing games. He let you. That was it.

And now you turned it into a spectacle.

His girlfriend walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying her hair, wearing one of his t-shirts and some sweats, eyes narrowed and hesitant. Her voice broke the silence.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?”

He didn’t even look at her at first. Just shook his head, slow and dismissive.

“Jungkook.”

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered, finally standing up and heading to the kitchen like he needed space just to breathe.

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Maybe that the biggest pop star in the world basically just performed a song about you while staring you down from the stage?”

He opened the fridge. Took out a water bottle. Twisted the cap slowly. “It’s not my fault.”

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“She’s dramatic. Always has been.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She does this.” His tone was flat now. Distant. “It’s what she’s good at—getting attention.”

His girlfriend looked stunned. “So you were with her.”

“For a while. Yeah.”

“You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“It didn’t come up,” he said, sharp. “It wasn’t serious.”

“You didn’t think I’d find out?”

“She’s not my problem anymore.”

That hit. Her face shifted, hardening. “Wow.”

He took a long drink of water, like he needed something in his mouth to keep him from saying more.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I made you come tonight because I thought it would be fun. I thought it’d be this cool thing we did together. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t even look at me.”

He met her eyes, cold and expressionless. “Maybe I didn’t want to be there.”

She stared at him, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“Are you still into her?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“But you’re not over it.”

“She doesn’t matter,” he said, flat and final. “She’s just good at acting like she still does.”

Her eyes glossed over but she blinked fast, like she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Right.”

She grabbed her bag off the dresser and pulled her jacket over her shoulders without another word.

He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t even flinch when the door closed.

Just stood there, arms still crossed, the cold bottle sweating in his palm.

And when his phone buzzed five minutes later with a dozen tagged videos from the concert—you, spinning around in glitter and spotlight, dripping with attitude—he hit mute on all of them.

He’d played the game. He was done now.

Or so he told himself.

please don't claim or copy any of my work

taglist: @kam9404 @kissyfacekoo @httpjeonlicious @bjoriis @primadonnasdream @bammbi-jeon127 @emmie2308 @bleumornings @mrspotatas @akirawhore @haveakatekath @plushjeno @stars4kooo @butterymin @kikiflwr @dany2320-blog @diggaidk @kaiparkerswife @wishicouldmeethoseok (you can add yourself to the taglist from the top of the post or the navi)

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: FOR ALL THAT'S GOOD AND HOLY READ THIS, THIS STORY IS STRONG

Kidnapping, incest G/G, noncon, mind-altering drugs, full mind breaking, orientation conversion (straight to lesbian), hucow, hupig

This story can be read and enjoyed by itself. It follows the events of Origins of Submission II.

Prologue

Victoria did her best to keep her hands steady. She checked the proportions of the component once, twice, three times. Every compound needed to be perfect, fulfil its purpose without fail. Much like herself. 

It gave her a wicked satisfaction to use her knowledge, her education, her intelligence to please Mistress Lucía and Mommy. Victoria existed to be useful, after all– and while different, using her brain to serve her superiors was, like every act of service, a reminder of her nature as a doll, a mere extension of her owner’s will. So if being a good, obedient daughter meant to use her smarts, dulled as they were, to help make another stupid slave… the thought made her pussy twitch.

She fought the urge to grope her udders. She needed to focus. Everything had to work. 

I

Florencia tossed and turned in bed. Fuck. How was she supposed to sleep after what she had seen? 

She tried to find an innocent explanation, she truly did. But there was no way to interpret what she had walked into as anything remotely close to innocent. Still, the magnitude of it, the sheer perversion of it was hard to grasp. Her aunt having some sort of weird, violent sexual encounter with her own daughter. What. The. Fuck? How was anyone supposed to process that? Two days had passed and Florencia had only managed to… sleepwalk through life. They pretended to be normal, as if nothing had happened. They smiled and were nice and polite, just her dear cousin and aunt. And Florencia could almost go along with it. Almost, but not quite. There was no way to repress what she had witnessed. These women were sick. Perverted. 

But what could she do? Call the cops? They were both adults. And who would believe her? Florencia tried to go over her plans. She needed to find somewhere else to stay… hopefully somewhere with a very, very low rent. And she needed to…

Exhaustion started to claim her. Florencia found herself drifting in and out of sleep. In and out of dreams. She was too worried to sleep properly in that room, yet too tired to stay fully alert. It became hard to separate what was a nightmare, what was what she had seen, what was truly happening in the moment.

Her door swung open. Familiar shapes rushed in. A dream? 

“Ver-” she started to say, before a slap shut her up. She opened her mouth to scream. A pair of panties killed that scream before it could be born. Hands held her down. A dark-skinned woman walked in, smiling. And then, the sharp prick of a needle. She turned her head to look at her cousin. Why was she dressed only with a miniscule bra that barely covered her nipples? It wasn’t important, Florencia knew. What was in the syringe her cousin held? Her mind drifted, getting fuzzy. Her body was relaxing. Why? It shouldn’t! She should be fighting back! She couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. Her limp body refused to obey her. The world seemed distorted, almost as if she were underwater…

Her aunt’s voice, cold… yet with an undercurrent of dark excitement.

“This is what needs to happen, Florencia. So you can be part of the family… properly.”

In that nice, quiet neighborhood, an ambulance waited. Three women placed a fourth, her body still as if she was in the deepest of sleeps, in the back of the vehicle. They set the IVs in place, monitored her. The ambulance sped away.

The neighbors assumed something had happened, of course; but they quickly moved on with their nights, as one usually does.

They had no way to know what had really taken place right under their noses.

II 

The lights were blinding, disorienting. Were they malfunctioning? They flickered in a strange, somewhat enrapturing rhythm. Left, right, left, right… and the colors looked so pretty…

What was she thinking? Florencia felt panic starting to rise inside her chest- and yet it was somehow muted, nowhere near as intense as it should be. It was akin to a small flame, barely visible behind a bed of soft, calming clouds. Her body felt light, utterly relaxed, pleasantly warm. She felt she could just… chill for a bit. Let time go by her. Maybe even sleep, although she didn’t feel exactly tired- it just felt like the proper thing to do. 

Florencia tried to move her body, just a little bit. A few facts became clear, and she accepted them knowing fully that they should be terrifying. Fact one: her hands and legs were bound. Fact two: she had been placed on some sort of pommel horse, like the ones she had seen used in gymnastics during the Olympics, but somehow different, leaving her bent over. Fact three: she was naked. Putting everything together, she concluded with a strange calm that she had been taken, kidnapped; that the purpose of her abduction was sexual in nature; that she had no viable means of escape. She wondered if the lack of an emotional response was, in itself, a defense mechanism. Perhaps. Still, it felt strange to be so… detached from her own experience. She tried to remember.

Her cousin. Her aunt. And one other woman. The images flooded in. The secret she had discovered. Slowly, that small flicker of fear began to grow, pushing through the fog in her brain.

“Ah. Awake, I see. Finally! I have to admit, I was a tad worried. I thought maybe your aunt’s loyal cow had messed up the dosage, but, credit where it’s due, that dumb fuckdoll managed to pull through. So, how does it feel? I’m told what’s coursing through your veins is quite a cocktail! Muscle relaxants, some psychotropics, one that increases blood flow to… certain areas… must be an interesting experience. Not one I care to feel for myself, mind you.”

Florencia tried to pinpoint where the voice came from, but it felt as if it was echoing inside her own head. She sluggishly tried to squirm, to get a better sense of space, of reality. Suddenly, she felt the sharp pain of a hand pulling her hair, forcing her to look forward.

There she was. The unknown woman. Clad in leather boots with devilishly sharp stilettos and a perfect fitting black corset, her appearance was the very picture of confidence, of someone who knew she would get what she wanted sooner or later- and who would do anything to take possession of what was rightfully hers. Florencia noted that she was also beautiful, in the same manner that she had taken note of everything else- as fact, cold and pure. 

“Look at me. I’m Mistress Lucía. And you are mine.”

Florencia felt herself rebelling. No. She wasn’t hers. She didn’t belong to anyone but herself. 

“Now, I apologize for the somewhat improvised nature of this little setup.” said Lucía. “You see, yours is a rather urgent case that came to me with very short notice. Still, I feel we have all we can need here. And before you do anything stupid, we’re in a rented warehouse in the middle of nowhere, so screaming for help won’t work. Don’t get me wrong, though. You will do quite a bit of screaming. That I promise you.” Almost as an afterthought, Lucía slapped Florencia’s face as hard as she could before letting go of her hair. Florencia’s head felt heavy, and she couldn’t stop it from slamming against the horse.

“Useless fucking bitch. I guess we’ll have to wait until you are a bit more… sensitive. The cow tells me she has prepared compounds for all stages of the process. This one should wear off soon. Time, I’m afraid, is a factor in this. Normally I prefer to guide my slaves in a more gradual manner, but you? You get the crash course.”

Florencia felt herself starting to fade. Still, she managed to mumble.

“...Crash course?... Cow…?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out already! You truly are one dumb girl. Fine, I’ll show you. Cow! Come here.”

“How may I serve, Mistress Lucía?”

No. It was impossible. That voice…

A hand turned Florencia’s head.

She wished she could close her eyes, but the image in front of her was too compelling, too strange, too perverse. There was Victoria, wearing nothing but a cow-stripe micro bikini, a cowbell hanging from the chain around her neck… and a huge strap-on dildo affixed to her hips. The Cow. 

“Hi, cousin”, smiled Victoria.

Lucía gave her a backhanded slap. Victoria’s eyes suddenly became emptier, dumber, as if a switch had been flipped inside her head.

“Moooo”, said Victoria.

“Good cow”, answered Lucía.

And with those two words bouncing in her head, darkness took Florencia once more.

III 

For a second, right after she opened her eyes again, Florencia let herself believe everything had been just a terrible dream. That delusion was dispelled in an instant. How long had she been out? Long enough for her cousin -how awful to think of her in those terms- and “Mistress Lucía”, whoever that was, to make additions to the setup that was, in that moment, her entire world.

Florencia tried to move her head, only to find it was fixed in place by some sort of… vise. Her hands were bound, her arms spread. She felt so vulnerable, so exposed… the urge to protect her chest tortured her. There was nothing she could do. Her ankles were chained to a large metal frame, leaving her almost hanging. And there was something else, something different with her body. The air felt dense, and it caressed her legs, her crotch, in a strange way. She tried to look down, but the restraint on her head forced her to keep her eyes facing forward. Facing the black screens. 

“Ah, poor thing. This must be new for you. You probably think we did something awful to you while you were unconscious! Well, you’re wrong, dumb piggy. We did something you should have done a long time ago!”

Lucía’s voice. It sent a shiver down Florencia’s spine. 

“Cow, let’s see if your dear cousin can figure it out on her own.”

“Moooo!” was the excited reply.

Florencia felt soft hands caressing her legs. She tried to push the feeling out of her mind, to ignore the warmth, the way her skin seemed to enjoy the smooth, gentle touch- to not think about the fact that her own cousin’s fingers were playfully making their way up towards her…

“Oh, perhaps the Cow’s new cocktail has made you a bit too… sensitive to notice what I mean. She has rather well trained fingers, after all. Fine, I’ll tell you. We shaved you, you stupid sow! How on Earth you walked around with that much hair on your legs and over your cunt is beyond me. Didn’t you feel absolutely disgusting? I suppose not. You are a pig, after all. But don’t worry, piggy. We’ll make you filthy in other ways. Which reminds me…”

Florencia barely registered the “click” of a remote control. The Cow -no, she reminded herself, Victoria- had reached between her legs and every fiber of Florencia’s being was fighting to deny the pleasure those skilled fingers bombarded her with. Suddenly, the screens came to life. 

Florencia’s vision was flooding with images, her ears bombarded with the sounds of moaning, of whips hitting skin, of vibrating tortures. Every screen showed only women being used, abused, dominated by other women. No matter how much she tried, every inch of her limited field of view was overtaken by women worshipping their mistresses, strange pink flashes (were those words she almost saw?) breasts being slapped, bound beauties and kneeling slaves…

She began to feel dizzy. Lucía had mentioned a new cocktail… what the fuck had they injected into her body? Images bled into one another as she sunk deeper into something like a dream state. And the sensation, the damn warmth coming from her pussy, grew with every second. She could not let it win. “It’s your cousin”, she reminded herself over and over. And yet she could feel her body betraying her, her pussy getting soaked…

“See, little pig? This is the way things work. Inferior women like you kneel. Serve. Obey. Your body is starting to learn it, even if you try to deny it. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. ‘I don’t even like women!’ Don’t you worry about that. I’ll make sure you understand the truth in a very, very deep way. Speaking of…”

Another click. Suddenly, the screens showed men and women, the kind of hardcore porn she Florencia herself sometimes indulged in to relax… but the warm feeling was gone. Victoria had removed her hands.

“Cow… pain.”, commanded Lucía.

“Mooo!”, came the reply.

Florencia screamed. The strap-on. It had gone inside her ass with malice, with force, without any sort of warning. Whatever made her body so sensitive, apparently also worked on her pain receptors. All she could feel was fire inside her, burning her, hurting her in a way she had never experienced.

Click. Women on screen. 

“Cow… pleasure.”

Soft fingers. Relief. The pain starting to fade away. Her pussy growing more and more desperate for release. She found herself moaning as the women on the screens moaned. And was that Victoria being stepped on by a leather boot with sharp heels in one of the scenes? Surely it couldn’t be…

Click. Men on screen.

“Cow… pain.”

Florencia screamed.

It was brutal. Florencia knew what the intent was, of course. Serving women meant pleasure. Men meant pain. Part of her wanted to believe that such blunt methods would not work on her, that there was a part of her, a higher part, that would be above being programmed like a simple machine. Reward and punishment worked on dogs. She wouldn’t fall to that level. She was wrong. No matter how much she begged, how she pleaded, the only response she got from her cousin was a simple, mindless “mooo”.

It was with horror that she found herself focusing on the pleasure to come to endure the pain. The notion that such pleasure was being delivered by her cousin started to become secondary. It was her lifeline when the pain felt too much to bear, and once she opened that door in her mind, her fate was sealed. Lucía could see it in her face, in the way she was starting to buck her hips, to drool in a mixture of ecstasy and exhaustion.

“You thought you were better than us, piggy? Look at you! About to cum to the tender attention of your own cousin. Your own cousin! You might think you can resist… but your body knows. Your body learns deep in its bones what I’m teaching it. It isn’t your body anymore, you dumb sow. It is mine. So do it! Cum yourself away! Cum for your own family, you incestuous slut! Fall into the filth that will be your home. Better than us? No, you stupid toy. You will fall in the mud, piggy. And you’ll learn to love it more than you love yourself. Go ahead. Cum. Cum for the dirty fucking pig you’ll become!”

She did. With all the shame, with the fear, with the suffering pounding inside her chest, Florencia’s body betrayed her. As she screamed with the best orgasm she had ever felt, her cousin joined in with a delighted, ecstatic moo.

IV

“What are you?”

Florencia gasped for air. She had no way to know how long Mistress… no, just Lucía and the Cow had been working on her. Days, certainly. Weeks? Perhaps. But she would not break. Not on this.

She remembered the other times she had thought the same thing. The way she recoiled when shown a picture of a penis. How wet she got whenever she saw another woman degraded, used, hurt. She had promised herself she would not become the pig they wanted her to be, and yet, step by step…

But not this time. This was the line she had to hold.

“I’m… a person.”

“Wrong. Cow?”

The Cow leaned forward. Bound, restrained, Florencia was once again suffocated by her cousin’s large, soft breasts. She would feel it again: the sensation of drowning, her body screaming for air. But perhaps worse, the first sensation she felt as the Cow’s soft udders covered her face was her pussy twitching. Muted by the fear, the warmth of flesh, the vibe affixed to her clit buzzed mercilessly.

She gasped for air as soon as her face was freed from that cruel, beautiful breast. She steeled herself to hear the question again, for the thousandth time, to reply what she had replied every single time, even if it felt less and less true. Instead, she had to fight deliriously against the delicious sensation coursing through her body. She couldn’t give them the satisfaction. Not again. She would resist. She would…

She failed.

She screamed her failure in a melody of moans and whimpers as her body convulsed with another orgasm. Shame and pleasure mixed into an intoxicating concoction.

“Again? You came again, you filthy little pig? And you call yourself a person? People can control themselves! You? You are an animal in heat, piggy. Why do you keep lying? Why do you keep lying to yourself? Doesn’t it feel so, so good to cum? Don’t the Cow’s udders feel so nice on your skin? And she’s your flesh and blood! You know who will own you: your aunt. Or rather, your new Mommy. Family. If you break, you’ll become her pet… And still, you cum. You cum like the sow you are. And you love it. Your pussy loves it. Why do you keep trying to be more, when embracing your nature is what every inch of you wants? So, let me ask again. What are you?”

Florencia was exhausted. The room spun around her. She didn’t even bother to wonder about what they injected her with anymore. It had become part of her routine. Her life was inside this warehouse. What had come before seemed more and more like a dream, and Mistress Lucía’s words simply made sense. She had cum herself empty over and over and over again. Her own cousin had made her feel pleasure like never before. Was she better than an animal? Did she truly want to be better? Her lips moved before she could stop them.

“I’m… a pig.”

Lucía gripped the riding crop. 

“Again.”

“Pig”

She struck the Pig’s legs. She squealed and screamed.

“Pig!”

Another one, this time on her stomach.

“Pig!”

A third one, on her breasts. As pain and the pleasure from the vibe mixed, the Pig came again, and without her even noticing a new, strange sound escaped her lips.

“Oiiiink!”

V

The area around the cage smelled of desire, of passion, of raw animal need. It smelled of pussy. 

Inside the Pig did what she had been doing for the last two days. On all fours, eyes on the screen, pushed by stimulants and psychoactive drugs, her hand between her legs, she masturbated. She drooled. She tasted her own juices. She rubbed them on her tits. Looking at her, it was hard to imagine that creature inside had been a person. Dignity was a foreign concept to it. Language was something she barely used, communicating her delight in grunts, moans, oinks and scattered words directed at whoever was on screen and at herself. Lucía couldn’t help but feel proud. She had seen many women break, in many different ways, but this was special. Her feet up on the Cow’s back, she sat on her comfortable chair and watched.

“Fuck… use her… fucking pig… disgusting… oink! Love it… Cunt… love my cunt… Oink oink! Fuuuuck… hurt her… yessss… slap that bitch… Mommy… spit on me… yes yes yes… oink! Cum… cum… pig gonna cum again… piggy pussy… Oiiiink!”

Truly, it was a sight to see. But Lucía had to be a responsible caretaker, and the Sow’s feeding time had come. She ordered the Cow to open the cage.

The Pig came on all fours, her skin glistening with sweat, drool and her own juices. It had learned the routing quickly. As the Cow got on all fours, the Sow desperately went under it, looking for a tasty, perfect nipple. Everything Victoria had been doing to induce herself to lactate had worked perfectly, and the Sow now took full advantage. Even when feeding, she kept one hand busy, sliding two fingers in and out of her perpetually soaked pussy. The sounds of suckling, moaning and mooing echoed in the warehouse. It was beautiful.

Lucía opened her legs.

“Sow, time for dessert.”, she commanded.

The Pig crawled as quickly as she could and buried her face in that perfect, dark, delicious pussy. True, she didn’t have the skill of the Cow yet, but her enthusiasm was unmatched. Lucía let herself enjoy the sensation as the Sow did her best to make herself as dirty as possible, rubbing her whole face between Lucía’s legs, oinking and licking like her life depended on it. 

“Cow, stand in front of me. Grope those udders for me.”

The Cow obeyed instantly. Perhaps she would have liked some release, but unlike the Sow, she only came when commanded to. Instead she played with her tits for her Mistress, mooing mindlessly.

Lucía closed her eyes. She let herself bask in her triumph. Still, there was work to be done. After all, she couldn’t let the Pig rut around unchecked.

VI

Morning in that quiet street. A soft breeze swayed the trees. A doorbell rang. A woman opened the door, almost shaking with anticipation. It felt like Christmas morning.

The girls stood by Lucía, one by each side. They smiled with perfect, dumb happiness. They saw their owner and instantly, automatically chirped as one. “Hi Mommy!”

“It’s… done?” Mommy asked.

Lucía smiled like a wolf. 

“I am a professional.”, she replied. “Do you want to let us in so you can check the merchandise?”

“Yes, yes of course!”, said Mommy. Part of her couldn’t believe this beautiful woman had managed to tame Florencia in… what? A week and a half? But after what she had done to… no, for Victoria, she was starting to believe the dominatrix could work miracles.

They went into the living room, the girls standing at attention, mindlessly waiting to be told what to do. What to be. Lucía decided to give a little demonstration.

“Assume position”

The girls quickly stripped off their street clothes, and fully naked instantly went to their knees.

Lucía went to the busty blonde and asked:

“Who do you pretend to be?”

“Victoria!” she replied.

“What are you, truly?”

“A Cow!” beamed the blonde.

“Good.” Lucía moved on to the newest member of the very special family.

“Who do you pretend to be?”

“Florencia!”

“And what are you, deep down?”

“A Sow!”

“See? They can pass as normal. Somewhat. But they know what they are deep down. And above all… Cow, Sow, what would you do for Mommy?”

“Anything!”, they said with joy. They knew it to be true. None of them could fathom not obeying Mommy always, and to the best of their ability. It was their entire purpose.

“Please, Miss. Go ahead. They are yours. Do with them as you will.”

Mommy went to Victoria. So beautiful. So empty behind the eyes, almost as if she was waiting to be filled by her command, to be whatever Mommy said. But deep down… Mommy slapped one of Victoria’s breasts as hard as she could. The response was instinctive and primal.

“Moooooo!”

Mommy went to Florencia, a bit more hesitant. This girl had been on the edge of ruining everything. She had been horrified by Mommy and Victoria. Had Mistress Lucía truly fixed her? Only one way to find out. Mommy slid her foot off her shoe and rubbed it between Florencia’s legs. Mommy could feel it instantly on her skin. The Pig’s cunt was soaked.

“Oiiiink”, said the pig in response.

Mistress Lucía smiled. Truly, she was building a beautiful farm for this woman. The idea had its charm.

A dumb cunt farm… yes, that would be nice to own. 

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[777heavengirl]

AM - Chapter 2

No. 1 Party Anthem

Sirius Black x reader Chapter 2/3 Warnings: angst?, smoking, suggestive themes, fwb to lovers word count: 4,294  masterlist

Currently playing: No. 1 Party Anthem by the Arctic Monkeys

Chapters i, ii, iii

        Sirius Black was not a somber man. He was known for being loud, rambunctious, insufferable, incorrigible. His voice echoed and his eyes shone when he laughed. He did not wallow nor turn gloomy. He had suffered too much in his life for that. But you had turned his life blue. Your absence left a hole in his heart. It had been three months. Three arduous months of a game of cat and mouse. You avoided him at any cost, clinging off of your boyfriend's arm more often than not. Sirius seemed to always be searching for you. 

He felt the rush of adrenaline as he finished his drink in one gulp, it had tasted horribly bitter at the beginning of the night. Now he couldn't taste it at all. He had been on the prowl the whole night. For you, just to catch a peek of you would be enough. To hear your laughter would soothe his growing anxiety and the paranoia that you were out of his life for good. He'd do anything for a glimpse of you. He wondered if you had come and left already. The thought settled in his heart like a pile of rocks. 

Sirius could feel the beat of the music in his chest it overpowered the beat of his own heart and the ringing in his ears wouldn't stop. Between the lights on the floor and the sweat that seemed to permeate the walls. He felt like he was searching for his soul, tumbling between people, staring too hard to see if it was you through the darkness. It kept slipping from his fingers. You kept slipping. 

He hated this point of getting drunk. He hated the way he knew there was no way back from this threshold. No matter how much water he drank or bread Peter fed him there was no way back. He hated that he still had the itch to get more because he might as well be completely pissed. He'd feel sick regardless. He felt his heart beating in his ears as he finally laid eyes on you. A cigarette hanging from your lips even indoors. You had been smoking a lot more. He had found and monitored the pile of cigarette butts in a corner of the astronomy tower. The only trace of you he could ever find these days.

He wondered if you were happy.

The fun-colored drink in your hand swished and swirled as you laughed, the blond gripping your hip. He could see James across from you, laughing and chatting spiritedly. No doubt recounting some dumb story, Lily shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. They had finally gotten together. Or so he thought. He felt like a terrible friend. He couldn't think straight. He caught James's eye, he hoped he'd come get him. 

Sirius felt like his feet were slowly being cemented into the ground. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, the only grounding force as the mass of people around him overtook his senses. 

"Let's go Padfoot, you need a walk," Remus whispered into his ear, worry seeping through his skin, his demeanor. Sirius felt the beat and the melancholic lyrics that were starting to resonate through the charmed speakers clutched his heart with an iron grip. He shook his head furiously, he couldn't go. Not when he had just found you. Just when he had finally seen the light. It had been like catching a glimpse of a star in the middle of a stormy night. 

"Come on Moony-" Sirius moaned out, his eyes barely open, barely registering the scarred boy's figure. "Before she's gone before the moments gone-"

Remus dragged Sirius away regardless. He wasn't going to be making much sense if he spoke to you anyway. Remus felt bad, sometimes he'd hear Sirius mumble your name in his sleep. It was fleeting and slurred but after the third time it happened, his wand illuminating only the page of the book he was reading, Remus knew it was indeed your name. 

The Ravenclaw common room entrance was directly connected to a staircase, Sirius's head lulled to the side colliding with Remus's shoulder. Neither of them dared actually to go down the stairs. 

"Up, come on pads,” Remus finally got Sirius upright but turned as the door opened once again, the chatter and music from inside spilling into the hall briefly.

"Is he good?" James shut the door behind him,

"I'm doing great Prongs I just need a smoke," Sirius had wandered over to the small stone window, breathing in the fresh night air. He briefly thought of throwing up. 

Remus sighed offering Sirius a cigarette, rolling his eyes as James's lips resembled an 'o' in surprise. 

"I thought we were all collectively quitting?" James put out his hand, fingertips tingling with excitement. Lily didn't like it. James had quit way before they got together anyway.

One wouldn't kill him. Remus placed it on his palm. 

"Where's Wormtail?" Sirius turned to look at the two other men, a, now lit, cigarette hanging from each of their lips.

"Last I saw, chatting up Dorcas Meadowes," James chuckled as he blew out some smoke,

"I reckon he doesn't know she's a wee lesbian" Remus mumbled from between his cigarette

The other two broke out in a roar of laughter, they loved Peter dearly but he could be a bit clueless sometimes. 

"Marls is going to kill him," James clutched his stomach as he laughed. Sirius threw his head back as he continued to laugh, his forearms supporting him as they leaned on the window ledge. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he continued to laugh. The world still spun around him. But the sound of his friend’s laughter grounded him. He hadn't felt like this in a while. 

As they all calmed down again, snorts and chuckles still bouncing every so often, they continued to take drags of smoke. 

"What's been going on with you lately?" James's voice was low, a heavier tone than the one that usually laced his tone. Brows furrowed in concern and his free hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Remus stomped out his cig with his chucks, crossing his arms as he looked in between the two other men. He could feel the air become thick, as Sirius mulled over the question and continued to hang his head out the window, letting the air blow at his short curls. They reached a little under cheekbones now, he was relieved.

Remus felt his knit sweater was going to suffocate him. 

James thought of repeating his question.

"Is she happy?" Sirius finally broke the silence, taking the last drag of his cig before he also stomped it out. The ashes and the rocky floor grinding under his heavy boot. He was starting to regret wearing only a black shirt to cover his torso, the short sleeves had been cuffed and he could feel the cold night air pick at the skin of his arms. 

"I don't think it's fair for you to question that," James mumbled. He loved Sirius. He did. He was his brother, his closest confidant. He’d been trying to convince him to run away and stay with him. His mother had a room prepared already. He'd do anything for the boy. 

But brothers or not. Sirius was a fool. He had been for a while now. He could see the look on Sirius’s face. The look of love.

“Do you think it’s too late-“ 

“That’s even more unfair,” Remus thought of lighting a second cigarette. He didn’t.

”I need a drink,” Sirius stood upright again, his forearms marked and itched with the stamp of the edge of the window. 

Before either Remus or James could deny Sirius his itch, the door to the Ravenclaw common room opened again, this time with Peter stumbling out.

”Did we know Dorcas was a lesbian?” 

-

You didn't care that Sirius was ignoring you. You didn't care that he never glanced your way, or that he left when you came. You didn't care that you had seen a girl coming out of their dorm two weeks ago. You didn't care about him. You had a boyfriend now, a boy who cared about you and made you smile and blush. Someone who wanted you for more than just sex. Jacob was sweet, he brought you daisies and taffy. Even if you didn't adore either of those things. He always put his arm around your waist and he had started dragging you to be with his friends more often than not. You suspected he had realized he wasn't exactly popular around yours. 

You wondered sometimes, between cigarettes, if you were happy.

You hated smoking.

Jacob hated you smoking too. You pondered the psychology of your actions as you pulled one out of your pocket. He flicked your arm when he saw the stick between your fingers. If only he knew how many packs you had been running through. You ignored his glare, opting for lighting it, even if you were inside. Not like anyone would notice in the overcrowded, obscure Ravenclaw common room. Bastards had the best spot, couldn't hear anything coming from the common room for at least two flights of stairs. Horrendous to go up or down when intoxicated, however.

Lily smiled pleasantly while hanging from James's arm. They were cute, you were delighted they finally got together. It was almost like it was meant to be. You couldn't help but feel your stomach churn when she spoke of the fireworks and butterflies that lived in her chest from his look alone. Lately, life had been feeling like a pile of rocks had settled in your stomach. The dread that came with every touch and every kiss. You wondered if there was something wrong with you. You felt vaguely bored. You pushed down the thought, hoping it wouldn't crawl out again.

You weren't listening much to James, the story he had dug up to entertain his new girlfriend, and your new boyfriend was something you had lived alongside him. No point in tuning in, he had it covered.

You felt Jacob squeeze your hip. Your eyes searched the crowd, you knew what, or well who, you were looking for but you were afraid to even acknowledge it to yourself. The cold glass of your drink made your fingers numb and tingly. You wondered if he had even come tonight.

You laughed as your boyfriend did, as if on cue. You glanced at James, whose eyes flickered to someone in the crowd. You saw his smile falter.

"Y/N how about you finish the story," He finally focused back, handing Lily his drink with a kiss on her head. He left, his body weaving in and out of the crowd, without much of an excuse. You smiled awkwardly at the two people in front of you. You wanted nothing more than to hand Jacob your drink and cig to follow James out. Well, maybe not the cig.

"Flippant man isn't he?" Jacob directed a small smile towards you. You offered a very wobbly one back. You thanked the heavens as Lily left, mumbling something about Marlene having Peter by the scruff of his collar. 

Jacob’s face flashed with recognition, his hand going up as to call someone's attention. He grabbed your waist with a simple let's go and dragged you around the crowd like a rag doll. You finished your drink, the shimmery liquid burning at the back of your throat and your glass sat forgotten on some piece of furniture for someone else to find. Your now smushed cigarette sat at the bottom of the glass. You greeted Jacob's friends warmly, a small shy small playing on your lips.

You tried, you truly did but either the alcohol or the knowledge of your friends being outside wouldn't let you focus on the conversation. Jacob's friends weren't bad, just not your type of crowd. You caught a glimpse of three out of the four marauders coming back in. James immediately made a beeline for Lily, a very sweaty Peter under his arm as he noted Marlene's presence. Remus trailed slowly behind the two. Sirius was nowhere in sight.

"I'll be right back, I gotta go to the loo," you knew your lie had reached the blond as he let go of your waist with a small smile. You pushed through the crowd, avoiding your group of friends. The door was all you could focus on. The man who was possibly on the other side. You weren’t sure he was even there. You didn’t know if you were hoping he was. So you went, the cold night air immediately forcing your lungs to expand. The hall smelled like cigarette smoke. The door closed behind you and it was finally silent.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Sirius looked at you through his dark lashes, a small smirk on his face. 

"I thought we said we'd quit," your mumbled statement was meant as a joke, both of you just trying to break the icy barrier you had built between you. There wasn't a cigarette in sight.

"Your pile on the astronomy tower says otherwise" you winced, "does your little boyfriend know? I reckon he doesn't like the thought of his pretty girl frying her lungs with a cig"

You stared at him silently, your teeth biting at the inside of your cheek. You regretted finishing your drink. You pulled out the box of Player's No. 6 instinctively. 

"If you don't put it away, I'm going to throw it out the window," Sirius was drunk, he made sense but he felt like he couldn't look at you straight. He closed his eyes briefly. He sort of felt like was melting into the wall. The pack silently went into your pocket again.

"You know it's not like I'm falling in love," you didn't know why you said that.

"I didn't ask that love," you wondered if you were drunk. You observed Sirius, the way his jaw clenched, his tongue running over his teeth as he went deep in thought, eyes still closed. You trudged closer to him, forearms resting against the windowsill. You wanted to kiss him. You felt sick.

"I hate you," you mumbled as he laughed and shuffled closer. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. You looked out the window, he stared at the door, body leaning against the stone wall. 

"The same way you hate cigarettes?" He whispered this, his head turning towards yours. He didn't know what he hoped to hear. You were mere inches apart, his warmth mixing with yours, you wondered if you'd get a shock if you touched him. He fought the urge to press his lips against yours. 

"Yes, the same way" You felt the words scratch at your throat. He felt closer than ever, he moved a bit, and you held your breath. His lips pressed against your cheekbone. Right next to a little beauty mark. Soft and light but enough to tie a knot in your throat. You didn't want to cry in front of him again. You felt intoxicated.

"He won't be happy if he sees us," he parted a bit after he whispered this fact, his eyes darting to the closed door. He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this one closer to the corner of your lips. You pushed him playfully with your shoulder. You missed him.

"Do you think he'll break up with me?" you felt as pathetic as when you asked the opposite question three months ago. you frowned. It squeezed Sirius's heart in hope, he didn't answer though. But he didn't have to, you laughed and soon he did too. You laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You clutched your stomach and stumbled a bit, laughter spilling from your lips like a river. He hoped to hear you laugh like this forever. He’d never get tired of the sound. 

You discovered that Sirius found it equally as hilarious. Tears gathered in his eyes as he laughed, he laughed endlessly, his usual chuckles or boisterous laugh missing. No, this was unfiltered, his sides hurt and he snorted sending the two of you into another fit. 

Your body ached in laughter. Your heart ached for him. You wondered if he thought of you. 

You thought of him every day.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you slowly stopped laughing. 

"You're no good Sirius Black," he could feel his heart flip as your lips said the syllables of his name "You'll do me no good." He pressed his shoulder into yours, turning to kiss the top of your head. It felt like an apology. Like an I'm sorry love, for every time he pretended not to want you, for every time he took you for granted, for letting it get this far, for not remembering or caring or loving. 

You didn't know what he actually meant with it. The door opened again, and the first thing you noticed was the frown on his face. Then the angry red of his cheeks as your boyfriend stomped closer to you. You had never noticed how Sirius was a bit taller.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," his grip on your arm was asphyxiating. You felt like your heart was plummeting down to your stomach. 

"I'm sorry I got distracted," your mumble was blue and laced with regret. Sirius considered taking the swing he'd been pondering about for months. He refrained.

"Let's just go" Jacob pulled you along, down the stairs. Not without sending Sirius a glare over his shoulder. He could hear how the boy talked about him the whole way down, shooting question after question, the why were you there with him's, and the can't even take my eyes off of you's not letting you speak. He hoped you'd look back.

You didn't. You couldn't.

You'd cry if you did.

You wondered if you were supposed to feel this way. Like the sheets were the only thing that could save you. You felt like your bed was stuck on you.

Lily was a sea of worry.

"He's outside the common room he won't stop asking Marls where you are and why you aren't coming down," she sat at the side of your bed. It had been about five days since the party. Since you laughed with Sirius. Since you concluded that you wouldn't. No, that you couldn't be happy without him. "You know how she gets, she's already exasperated."

You've been avoiding your boyfriend like the plague and your heartstrings pulled against your will. You felt bad, you thought you could just forget about Sirius, forget his looks, his touches, his kisses. You felt like the worst person on the planet. You had turned your once kind, sweet boyfriend into a jealous mess. He wasn’t the nicest anymore but you couldn’t blame him. Because it was obvious. More than you had thought. How often your thoughts strayed, how often you thought of Sirius. You knew the real reason your friends didn't exactly love him was because he wasn't Sirius. Because every person on the planet except the bastard himself could tell you were in love with Sirius Black.

Sirius didn't want you though, did he?

"Sweetie, what do you want me to tell him?" Lily in all her caring nature brushed her fingers through your hair. 

"Just tell him I'm really sick and that I'll send an owl or something Lils," you sighed "Just get rid of him before Marls says something insensitive"

Lily laughed "I'm afraid that's already happened but I'll see what I can do.”

As Lily left you thought about Sirius. About what your non-relationship was before. How you lounged around his bed for hours on weekends. Mostly naked as a baby, you would talk for hours. You’d always have sex of course and you’d hardly spend the night, but you would sneak over earlier rather than later, so 'we get the whole day love'. Sirius wouldn’t let you go until dinner was being served and you whined about hunger.

The way he’d kissed you the first time, slow and steady with his hands cupping the back of your head. you were bordering on tipsy. he said he had been wildly drunk but you knew from Remus he had only really had one or two drinks. This was one of the things that made the uneasiness start to prey on you. The way he would subtly kick you out, asking you if you wanted to go to dinner or leaving with you just for you to end up going different ways at the end of the night. The way he’d only kiss you on your lips every so often. The way it was a badly kept secret but a secret nonetheless.

You wondered what was missing from you. Was it something about the way you looked? or worse your personality? You had agonized over your appearance for months. You asked Lily about the trendy muggle workout videos. She had laughed as if you had said something silly.

At first, you thought why Sirius, it would’ve been anyone really. Insecurity was a wild beast, hard to satiate and even worse when it was something as transactional as sex with seemingly no meaning beyond pleasure. why did you decide to kiss him that night? had he kissed you first? you honestly couldn’t remember anymore. 

You stared daggers into the bracelet on your wrist. what had he given your other friends? you wondered about the price as if it would help the urge to feel wanted.

You missed Sirius Black because you were in love with him. Because he was one of your closest friends. You missed his stupid smirks and teases. The way he used to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and kiss the corner of your mouth. You missed sitting next to him at breakfast with his hand always touching your thigh in some way and the way he always saved you your favorite foods. Sneaking into the kitchens because you had missed dinner. He always refused to let you leave his bed until he decided it was enough.

But his body betrayed him until his eyes were droopy with sleep and he’d have to find some force to get up so you wouldn’t end up falling asleep together. 

You missed the way his fingers traced your naked back and the way he’d whisper secrets in French. He always refused to tell you what they meant.

You felt your cheeks dampened and wondered when you had started crying. You were tired of this, you needed everything to stop. Marlene and Lily came bursting into the room, bickering about Marlene’s temper. 

“Well he deserved it-“ Marlene grumbled and a small smile formed on your lips.

”Why is that Marls?” your pleasant smile faltered as the two girls looked at each other nervously. 

“Well it might be best if you talk to him-“

”Oh sod off Lillian she deserves to know,” Lily scowled at the name as Marlene went on “Your boyfriend's a wanker, he got all hot and flustered and had the balls to get in my face” 

You scowled, Jacob didn’t seem like the type. He was sweet and quiet most of the time. You wondered where he had been hiding this temper. You felt the guilt start to bite at your fingertips. Marlene continued,

”He kept talking about how you were probably with Sirius, he kept screaming can you believe it? He was screaming!” Marlene spoke so fast you felt like you couldn’t keep up. “He kept screaming about how you were hiding out in his room, and how you were a- well”

“I think that’s enough Marlene”

“and James well… he came out,” Marlene ignored Lily, but opted for omitting what your very upset boyfriend had rambled on about. Probably for the best, you thought.

”Oh Merlin,”

”He punched him!” You jumped from your bed, eyes wide as Marlene started to giggle but she quickly stopped as you gestured for her to explain. Lily glared at her and Marlene suppressed a smile. 

Lily turned to you, “I just think you need to talk to him directly, he’s in the hospital wing”

”Where’s James?” they both looked at each other, worry in their eyes. Marlene fidgeted with her ring.

“Slughorn took him, we’re hoping McGonagall will get involved at least,” Lily chewed on her lip nervously “It might help”

You sighed as you flopped back down to your bed. Everything was falling apart. You felt like you were falling apart. James wouldn't have gotten physical unless it was needed. He was always so relaxed, sure he always had a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, always some smart bullshit to spew. But to get physical? You couldn't help but still be grateful for him. For whatever the reason was.

Your thoughts strayed to Sirius,

You felt your eyes water again, hot with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of it all.

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@beekeepingageissome,

[frostgears]

You're smugly proud of the mind control FX in Volume Phenomena II. Sure, the game's barely more than a vertical slice at this point, but the fans loved the Indai in VP1, and when they told your team that the sneaky high-tech psionic faction was going to play a bigger role in VP2, you couldn't wait to start prototyping.

You set up subtle geometry and color distortion shaders to push a game's sense of unreality whenever Indai Controllers were around, trying to get the player off balance before they actually came under psi attack. You added a subsystem to blend the normal tactical UI sounds smoothly into outright commands to the player, slowly turning "Reload!" into "Submit." with every repetition, and the like. The model swaps and UI screws that replaced friendlies with enemies and vice versa were already there from the first game, but you wanted to rub it in, and revamped the effects that taunted the player with their compromise: the infamous pink shader with the twisting fractal spirals looked even better in proper model space, spinning smoky curls off the edges of every object. You were particularly proud of that one.

So you probably shouldn't have been that surprised when you came back from lunch early to find one of your devs smiling blankly into her monitor, which was displaying the latest from the main branch: revamped HUD, orange gas giant rising above the lush green tropical forest of equatorial Midori… and pink spirals everywhere.

"Luna, darlin', you enjoying the new build?"

"Yes, I am."

"Is that the second Indai encounter?"

"Yes, it is."

Her voice was flat, empty. Huge contrast from normal Luna, who loved to drawl a running commentary over every single event in a test playthrough, especially if someone else's new code was involved. And not a bad impression of the player's VA.

"Who tells you what to think?", you joked, delivering one of the taunt lines.

"You do, Controller."

"Pffft. Awesome. Now you think you should take your top off."

Oops. That just slipped out. Too far, probably. The employment contract had some clauses about a "creative work environment" that made that kind of office joke a little more tolerated around here than, say, Microsoft, but you were glad the rest of your team was still at lunch.

You were about to apologize and hope she didn't take it the wrong way, when, without looking at you, she reached down to the hem of her oversized plaid flannel shirt and slowly pulled it and the underlying tank top over her head.

Her long, dark, wavy hair fell back onto bare shoulders. Her bra was blue, and black, and lacy, and cupped Luna's round, full breasts; from the way the fabric tented, her nipples were definitely pierced. There was a little teardrop opal between the cups. Funny what you notice when the higher parts of your brain are busy screaming that if somebody walked in right now, you'd probably lose your job, creative work environment or not.

"Luna! Luna, put your top back on, dammit, that was a joke."

"Yes, Controller," she said, still not looking at you. With no more emotion than before, she slid back into her tank top, then her shirt. A button had come undone at the top, but she didn't seem to notice.

*Well, fuck, now what?*

You bit your lip. The second Indai encounter was bugged. Unfinished. There were three Controllers, but one was placed in an area with a missing nav mesh, and there was no way for the player to reach her and actually take her out yet. Luna wouldn't have been able to do it.

You killed the game, alt-F4, back to the desktop. Luna showed no signs of responding to the change of visuals. She was completely out of it, expression neutral, eyes not quite tracking. You opened the game's asset folder, navigated three levels deep, played raw sound files of Indai death screams. No response. Your team would be back any minute now. Shit, what did the design doc say about accidentally dropping your coworkers?

Actually. Hmm. She had a link to it on her desktop. You nudged Luna's soft, unprotesting hand off her mouse, frantically paged through the Indai section of the huge PDF. The lead designer had written most of the gameplay sections and Priti always had a "Balance Considerations" heading somewhere. Notes from UX studies of the first game, suggesting that some players would prefer a hard counter so they could focus on the boring pure shooty parts…

Well, if this didn't work, you were fired. Worse, probably. You opened the subfolder for UI effects, leaned down to Luna's ear, and in your best sexy suit AI voice, whispered "Psionic interference detected. Null pulse generator discharge in 3… 2… 1…"

You double-clicked. cancel_debuff.flac blasted through her speakers, far too loud.

"Oh, hey," Luna said, suddenly grinning, "back from lunch already?"

You almost jumped out of your skin.

"Yes!"

"Oh, I wanted to show you something, wasn't sure if it was intentional enemy behavior or if the level guy hadn't finished pathing, but looks like your fuckin' hypno shaders crashed the game again," she said. "Gimme a sec, I'll try to get back in there."

"Uh, you don't need to, we have QA for that, it'll be in their next build," you stammered. It absolutely would not be in their next build. You'd figure out some reason to cut the effects down before anyone else saw this.

"QA," she said, "doesn't enjoy this build as much as I did."

"No, really, it's fine…"

She spun her chair around. "QA wouldn't enjoy the guilty blushing as much as I am."

"Luna!?"

The blue-haired engineer held a flash drive between thumb and forefinger. "I've got a pretty nice box at home. More VRAM than this company brick. Bet it runs those shaders juuuust fine. In four hours I'll be getting off the S line five stops from here, 45 Linden Apt. 204, and, you know, given that psi countermeasures aren't implemented yet, who knows what could happen?"

She dropped the drive into her top, buttoned her shirt, and, whistling the theme from VP1, got back to work. □

[adafruit]

🎄💾🗓️ Day 18: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - Commodore 64🎄💾🗓️

The Commodore 64, released in 1982, is one of the ones we keep hearing got many people their start in their own computing history. Powered by a MOS Technology 6510 processor at 1.02 MHz and featuring 64 KB of RAM, it became the best-selling single computer model of all time, with an estimated 12.5–17 million units sold. Its graphics were driven by the VIC-II chip, capable of 16 colors, hardware sprites, and smooth scrolling, while the SID (Sound Interface Device) chip delivered advanced audio, supporting three voices with waveforms and filters, making it a lot of fun for gaming and music.

Featured a built-in BASIC interpreter, allowing users to write their own programs out-of-the-box. The C64’s affordability, large software library, lots of games, productivity, and educational applications made it a household name. It connected to TVs as monitors and supported peripherals like the 1541 floppy disk drive, datasette, and various joysticks. With over 10,000 commercial software titles and a thriving homebrew scene, the C64 helped define a generation of computer enthusiasts.

Its impact on gaming was gigantic, iconic titles like The Last Ninja, Maniac Mansion, and Impossible Mission. The C64 also inspired a demoscene, where programmers pushed its hardware for visual and audio effects. The Commodore 64 remains a symbol of computing for the masses and creative innovation, still loved by retrocomputing fans today.

Check out the National Museum of American History, and Wikipedia. https://americanhistory.si.edu/collections/object/nmah_334636 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commodore_64

And…! An excellent story from Jepler -

== While I started on the VIC 20, the Commodore 64 was my computer for a lot longer. Its SID sound chip was a headline feature, and many of my memories of it center around music. Starting with Ultima III, each game in the series had a different soundtrack for each environment (though each one was on a pretty short loop, it probably drove my folks nuts when I would play for hours). There were music editors floating around, so I tried my hand at arranging music for its 3 independent voices, though I can't say I was any good or that I have any of the music now. You could also download "SID tunes" on the local BBSes, where people with hopefully a bit more skill had arranged everything from classical to Beatles to 80s music.

Folks are still creating cool new music on the Commodore 64. One current creator that I like a great deal is Linus Åkesson. Two videos from 2024 using the Commodore 64 that really impressed me were were a "Making 8-bit Music From Scratch at the Commodore 64 BASIC Prompt", a live coding session (http://www.linusakesson.net/programming/music-from-scratch/index.php) and Bach Forever (http://www.linusakesson.net/scene/bach-forever/index.php) a piece played by Åkesson on two Commodore 64s.

Like so many things, you can also recreate the experience online. Here's the overworld music for Ultima III: https://deepsid.chordian.net/?file=/MUSICIANS/A/Arnold_Kenneth/Ultima_III-Exodus.sid&subtune=1 -- the site has hundreds or thousands of other SIDs available to play right in the browser.

Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

[hollowbutcanlove]

Words feel like… Part III

iso x fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, cunnilingus, Cypher knows a little more than the others, difficult experiences, pain, not very human experiences.

18+ only

words: 1828

a/n: the abilities of Y/N are taken from my OC. in short, she can take on the appearance of other people and creatures, as well as copy their abilities.

pt I pt II pt IV pt V pt VI

Sunday started with a call from Brimstone, who called you for an unscheduled assessment of your abilities. Since you have been in the protocol not so long ago and know little about your abilities and their implementation, before the mission they decided to call you for some kind of another test in the training area where the bot Max lived. You took your time because you knew they weren't going anywhere. But you wanted to rest for an extra couple of minutes before this event.

Nevertheless, closer to the appointed time, you still came to the site, where Viper, Bristone, Sage and… Omen? It's strange to watch him, because usually only these three and a few other people were present. Including Killjoy, which you haven't been watching right now.

"Here I am! " - a panting girl came in after you. If you remember the sun, that's a ray. She had some strange devices in her hands that you hadn't seen before. - " I have collected something that will help you track the change in vital signs in the process of your transformation into another person. As well as a few other important things, the names of which obviously won't tell you anything. "

"I can only assume that your ability to copy your appearance and abilities has something to do with the phenomenal rate at which your DNA transforms. And the radianite that created this anomaly gives you the ability to use your copy volume abilities as well,” - Viper concluded, - ”But that's for living people. Today we want to see if you can use your abilities to interact with… questionably living beings."

"Is that why Omen is here? "- you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yes,” - Viper nodded and continued. - "I've asked Killjoy to design a device. Now we'll hook it up to you and we can get started."

The dark-haired German immediately began unraveling the wires and attaching the analyzers to you: on your arms and legs in the form of bracelets, some in the form of suction cups attached under your clothes and on your head. You were a little uncomfortable. The suction cups felt like they were about to fall off, making you uneasy.

"Omen, Y/N. You may begin."

"Just a second,” - Killjoy said, then typed something into her laptop computer. - "It's okay now."

You exhaled, then walked over to Omen. He had always seemed kind of intimidating and mysterious to you, so you had little contact with him outside of general events. He stared at you for a while, waiting for you to act.

"A hand,” - you asked. Normally, touching any part of your body was enough, but you didn't know what was best, so you asked for his hand.

Omen silently held out his clawed palm and you touched it. As you concentrated on taking his form, you began to feel unpleasant goosebumps and shivers. Though the transformation itself took mere milliseconds, it lasted longer for you because of the vivid sensations. But something was wrong. You immediately began to feel painful tingles all over your body that seemed to grow stronger and stronger with each passing second. You felt as if you were about to be torn apart. Something began to beep loudly; you turned toward the sound and saw the red color on the monitor screen and an error sign.

"Oh, shit,” - Killjoy was trying to fix the problem, and you were staring around in bewilderment.

The voices were getting louder, then quieter. The intermingling of the voices made you shriek and clutch your hands to your head. Perhaps because you are human by nature, you felt Omen's every moment was like an eternal, all-consuming agony.

"Y/N, return your form! "- Viper shouted sternly.

You tried to focus on returning, but nothing was working. You backed up and almost crashed into Killjoy. Through the pain, you touched her. It was easier to take on someone else's form than to return to your old one. Within moments, you were relieved, though the pain still lingered throughout your body. You were breathing hard, your heart racing, your pupils fluttering. It was a sensation you couldn't forget. They were terrifying, frightening, unbearable. You felt empathy for Omen.

"The readings showed an extremely high exaggeration of norms,” -Killjoy began. - "Even the program gave an error. That's…something…interesting. I'd like to work on this device some more and repeat the experience."

"I'm not ready,”- you sobbed. - "It hurts like hell. I thought I was gonna die. How did I not faint from the painful shock?"

"Sage was your insurance."

"Thank you,” - you nodded. -" I think… It's… Ah… How to say… Because of the difference in our natures?"

"Because you're human, it's hard for you to take on the form of Omen. I understand,” - Viper nodded. - "Maybe it's a temporary effect and can be trained. What do you think?"

"I don't know,” - you shook your head.

"We'll find out. In time. When you're ready."

"Wouldn't that be cruel to her? "- Sage asked.

"This world is cruel, Sage. So why should we be? Especially such an interesting specimen. Perhaps we can better understand Omen's nature."

"If you want, we'll bring you something for dinner as an incentive,” -Killjoy asked, looking away from the computer. - " You need to rest and some sweetness will help with that."

"A milkshake and some cherry scones,” - you exhaled, starting to take in your appearance.

"Copy that!"

"You can go, get some rest,” Brimstone nodded and began to discuss something with Viper and Sage.

You didn't listen and left immediately. The pain you'd been through was still lingering. You had to stop sometimes to catch your breath. You wanted to relax and take your mind off it. And a crazy idea came to you.

When you reached the common living room, you looked around. Fade and Neon had just disappeared from the kitchen, talking furiously about something. You exhaled, marveling at how fortunate the circumstances were. You knock a few times, and the door opens. Iso shows up in front of you, in his house clothes. He was out of the shower, you could smell it in the room from the humidity of his wet hair and the smell of his shower gel, which admittedly was quite tasty. He let you inside and immediately closed the door.

"Sorry for the suddenness of it,” - you apologized and sat down on the bed.

"I see you've been somewhere,” - he nodded. - "Tense conversation or practice? You don't look so good."

"Sort of. I don't want to talk about it yet. Why don't you just help me de-stress, please?"

"Hmm,” - he said thoughtfully. - "I think there's a way. Short, but effective. I'll have to run some errands afterward."

You didn't question him, since you weren't that close, so you just nodded, putting the initiative in your boyfriend's hands. Iso ran his hands through his damp hair before sitting down on his knees in front of you. His hands gently traced your thighs over the top of your pants, and then he stopped at the elastic band. You understood him without words and lay back, giving him the opportunity to remove your clothes. And you seemed to understand what he was getting at. You didn't mind, and it was interesting to see if the “beginner” could do it so well that you could have an orgasm.

His fingers traveled down your already bare thighs, making goosebumps run up and down your body. Anticipation began to build inside you as the guy teased your thighs.

"Didn't you say you had things to do afterward?" -you asked. - "I think we should hurry."

"These things don't like to be rushed. Enjoy."

Finally he moved to a more intimate area and began massaging your clit through the fabric of your underwear. You waited with interest to see what he would do next. After a few circular movements, he pushed the fabric aside and began to massage the folds directly. Pleasant goosebumps all over your body decided to gather in one place, causing light butterflies in your stomach. And while the first hand was working on the outside, the second hand started on the inside. Iso's fingers begin to explore the space inside you. Probing your walls, he simultaneously watches your reactions, trying to catch the moment when he finds the most sensitive spot, where the nerves from your clitoris' legs run closest to the walls of your vagina. (There's a reason he's read so much about it.) And when he finally finds that vulnerable spot, you twitch slightly at the incomprehensible feeling of pleasure. A light moan escapes your lips. He smiles.

You feel the fingers that had been massaging your clit being replaced by something wet and hot. You exhale noisily. Because of the stimulation of the sensitive point inside you, your clit is slightly more sensitive than usual. His free hand, still wet from your juices that it has managed to collect on the outside, finds itself on your thighs and squeezes them lightly. He then lets his hand go and places one of your legs on his shoulder, you repeat the action yourself already with the other leg. This in a way lets Iso sink deeper into you. You begin to feel the butterflies in your stomach start to move in a special way. Little by little, the orgasm creeps up on you after just a couple minutes of Iso's manipulation.

"Oh, I think I'm gonna...I'm gonna..."

Before you can say anything, a wave of orgasm rips through your body, and you involuntarily squeeze your legs together, causing the guy's head to be held captive. He stops and rests his chin on your lower abdomen, watching you breathe heavily and clutch his sheet. It was too good. What the hell is wrong with this guy? Is he using some kind of cheat codes or something? You didn't know. But the fact that he could make you cum so easily never ceased to amaze you. Doubts about what he said about his virginity were still growing.

"How are you? "- He asked, still holding you close and stroking your thighs.

"Fine,” -you exhale and unclench your thighs, -”I'm sorry."

"It's okay,” - he licked his lips, which made you blush, because his face was still wet with your juices and his saliva.

"Let me guess, this is your first time doing this, too?"

"Not exactly. I've been practicing."

"I'm afraid to ask what or who,” - you laughed, realizing he meant some kind of fruit or vegetable.

"Trade secret,” he picks up his pants from the floor and puts them next to you. - "And now I have to get ready. Today it's my turn to fly to the store with Killjoy."

"Good luck,” - you nodded, pulling on your pants. - ”Then, important note, vanilla milkshake. Just vanilla."

"Hmm?"

"I ordered a milkshake and scones from Kj."

"I'll take note,” - he nodded.

You managed to get to your room without incident. Except for Cypher's messages.

[yuriosakawa]

Gray Sons - Sinister Mark II 

A flurry of surgeons and nurses move around the table. Sinister Mark lies still, barely stable, skull fractures stitched, cranial swelling subdued just enough for them to work on his damaged internals. The air is tense—machines beep erratically, nurses call out vitals, a monitor blares an oxygen drop.

Suddenly—

"...blood…" Sinister gasps out weakly, gravelly. Everyone freezes for a second.

"He’s awake!" A nurse cried. 

"Get a sedative—" A doctor started. 

"Not... that... blood. I need blood..." Sinister continued, his voice barely audible. 

His lips are dry and cracked. His eyelids flutter, his voice almost sounds like a plea from beyond the grave. He winces in pain but turns his head ever so slightly. The doctors glance at one another in confusion.

Just then, from a nearby operating bed partitioned only by a curtain, Omni-Mark, his body half-wrapped in surgical flame-dampeners and deep grafts, groans and lifts his head, barely conscious.

"...he’s telling the truth…" Omni-Mark managed weakly. "He doesn’t… eat like us. No food. No IV. Just blood."

"He drinks it?" A nurse hesitated, confused and slightly disturbed. 

"He’s going into systemic shock—we don’t have time to question it!" A doctor stated. 

One of the nurses bolts from the room and returns moments later with a chilled blood pack from the vampire-specific reserves the GDA keeps on hand—usually for classified non-human agents.

The lead surgeon tears it open, unsure, then gently lifts Sinister Mark’s head.

"Come on, kid. If this is what you need—" He urges. 

The blood is poured carefully into his mouth, crimson streaming over his lips and down his throat. Sinister Mark coughs—but then gulps.

And gulps again.

His pale face gains a ghost of color.

His heartbeat stabilizes slightly on the monitor.

"His vitals are improving!" A nurse said, visible stunned. 

"Then keep feeding him. Don’t stop." The doctor declared. 

They grab more packs. Sinister Mark, barely conscious, murmurs hoarsely: "…thanks…"

He collapses again into unconsciousness, but this time, his body is a little more stable. The team immediately returns to work, sewing, sealing, and scrambling to keep him alive as his unorthodox healing begins.

From above, Rudy watches through the window, recording the results, noting to his mic: “Sinister variant appears to be part-vampiric or blood-symbiotic. Adjust long-term treatment protocols accordingly. Allocate vampire reserves."

Behind him, Debbie still watches, barely able to process the horror of it all. Cecil, arms folded, doesn’t say anything.

But his jaw tightens once again.

[commodorez]

If the Commodore 64 is great, where is the Commodore 65?

It sits in the pile with the rest of history's pre-production computers that never made it. It's been awhile since I went on a Commodore 65 rant...

The successor to the C64 is the C128, arguably the pinnacle of 8-bit computers. It has 3 modes: native C128 mode with 2MHz 8502, backwards compatible C64 mode, and CP/M mode using a 4MHz Z80. Dual video output in 40-column mode with sprites plus a second output in 80-column mode. Feature-rich BASIC, built in ROM monitor, numpad, 128K of RAM, and of course a SID chip. For 1985, it was one of the last hurrahs of 8-bit computing that wasn't meant to be a budget/bargain bin option.

For the Amiga was taking center stage at Commodore -- the 16-bit age is here! And its initial market performance wasn't great, they were having a hard time selling its advanced capabilities. The Amiga platform took time to really build up momentum square in the face of the rising dominance of the IBM PC compatible. And the Amiga lost (don't tell the hardcore Amiga fanboys, they're still in denial).

However, before Commodore went bankrupt in '94, someone planned and designed another successor to the C64. It was supposed to be backwards compatible with C64, while also evolving on that lineage, moving to a CSG 4510 R3 at 3.54MHz (a fancy CMOS 6502 variant based on a subprocessor out of an Amiga serial port card). 128K of RAM (again) supposedly expandable to 1MB, 256X more colors, higher resolution, integrated 3½" floppy not unlike the 1581. Bitplane modes, DAT modes, Blitter modes -- all stuff that at one time was a big deal for rapid graphics operations, but nothing that an Amiga couldn't already do (if you're a C65 expert who isn't mad at me yet, feel free to correct me here).

The problem is that nobody wanted this.

Sure, Apple had released the IIgs in 1986, but that had both the backwards compatibility of an Apple II and a 16-bit 65C816 processor -- not some half-baked 6502 on gas station pills. Plus, by the time the C65 was in heavy development it was 1991. Way too late for the rapidly evolving landscape of the consumer computer market. It would be cancelled later that same year.

I realize that Commodore was also still selling the C64 well into 1994 when they closed up shop, but that was more of a desperation measure to keep cash flowing, even if it was way behind the curve by that point (remember, when the C64 was new it was a powerful, affordable machine for 1982). It was free money on an established product that was cheap to make, whereas the C65 would have been this new and expensive machine to produce and sell that would have been obsolete from the first day it hit store shelves. Never mind the dismal state of Commodore's marketing team post-Tramiel.

Internally, the guy working on the C65 was someone off in the corner who didn't work well with others while 3rd generation Amiga development was underway. The other engineers didn't have much faith in the idea.

The C65 has acquired a hype of "the machine that totally would have saved Commodore, guise!!!!1!11!!!111" -- saved nothing. If you want better what-if's from Commodore, you need to look to the C900 series UNIX machine, or the CLCD. Unlike those machines which only have a handful of surviving examples (like 3 or 4 CLCDs?), the C65 had several hundred, possibly as many as 2000 pre-production units made and sent out to software development houses. However many got out there, no software appears to have surfaced, and only a handful of complete examples of a C65 have entered the hands of collectors. Meaning if you have one, it's probably buggy and you have no software to run on it. Thus, what experience are you recapturing? Vaporware?

The myth of the C65 and what could have been persists nonetheless. I'm aware of 3 modern projects that have tried to take the throne from the Commodore 64, doing many things that sound similar to the Commodore 65.

The Foenix Retro Systems F256K:

The 8-Bit Guy's Commander X16

The MEGA65 (not my picture)

The last of which is an incredibly faithful open-source visual copy of the C65, where as the other projects are one-off's by dedicated individuals (and when referring to the X16, I don't mean David Murray as he's not the one doing the major design work).

I don't mean to belittle the effort people have put forth into such complicated projects, it's just not what I would have built. In 2019, I had the opportunity to meet the 8-Bit Guy and see the early X16 prototype. I didn't really see the appeal, and neither did David see the appeal of my homebrew, the Cactus.

Build your own computer, build a replica computer. I encourage you to build what you want, it can be a rewarding experience. Just remember that the C65 was probably never going to dig Commodore out of the financial hole they had dug for themselves.

[ballsandbabes]

Athletic Lessions Pt 1: Nagi Seishiro x reader

Read PART II // PART III Genre: Slow-burn, Wholesome, Mutual Growth, Subtle Romance Setting: Blue Lock Training Grounds

Summary: What happens when ambition meets laziness and tension begins to rise. Find hatred and dislike in a connection and trainer and Prodegy have to find out how they can achieve their goals together?

Authors Note: y/n = your name and L/n= last name // GIF not mine //h/c = hair color // nor proof read, sorry ^^

When you received the call from Ego himself about a month ago, you thought it was a joke. You had been helping your father in his training facility for about a year. Richard, your father, was very respected in the sports world. He looked after all the top athletes like Leon Messy, Kyle Bappe and Christian Roland. Monitoring physical performance, supervising physical training and evaluating data. You and your best friend Ami were planning to fly to Sweden at the end of the year, so you started working while attending college to finance the trip.

When you heard that you would actually be working the same way as you already did with your dad and that the paycheck would easily finance the entire trip, so you agreed. That's how you ended up in the leather seat of a private jet, together with other boys and flew to Japan. You had a brief and concise explanation of what was coming next, when the boy next to you suddenly leaned in towards you.

"You know, they chose young adults as trainers to make the training easier and more relaxed. I think Ego believes, these are optimal training conditions," he said in an omniscient tone of voice. You looked at him confused. Also a bit annoyed, he had just violated your personal space like it was nothing....you didn't know each other, not even his name.

He saw the emotions and questions running across your face and seemed to realize where his mistake was when he said, "Oh sorry, I'm Maximilian, feel free to call me Max."

“Hi Max,” you say friendly. "How come, you know all this stuff about the Blue Lock program? I thought its very much a secret..."

"Ah, you know, my mother used to work for a sports team at the beginning of her career… she supervised Egos team in media stuff, back when he was still playing, you know. So basically I have all the good insider information," he smiled with a sparkle in his eyes.

You made friends with Max for the rest of the flight, you had more than enough time after all. Philippe, the boy in the seat to the left of you, had joined the conversation at some point. With the two of you at your side, your nervousness disappeared more and more. Only to rise again into the immeasurable, after landing… Now, this crazy adventure of yours would start.

A black, sleek traveling bus took you to the Bluelock facility. Its buildings towering tall over all of you.

--------------- 2 hours later ----------------------------

The ceremony was stiff, formal, and—ironically for a program like Blue Lock—military toned. Rows of Blue Lock players stood on one side of the gym, while the athletic trainers faced them across the polished floor. Ego had just explained, over the giant screen, that you and the others were brought into BlueLock to maximize and perfect the physical abilities of the young players.

You stood near the center, clipboard in hand, trying to look composed in your athletic uniform. Blue, just like the players' "uniforms". Your top had hexagon patterns in a light blue on the sides, which was repeated in your shorts. It suited you very well. Despite your professionalism, you could feel the stares. You became even more nervous.

You were the only female trainer. And the Blue Lock boys, despite their killer instincts and inflated egos, were still teenage athletes with eyes. Not to mention the fact that the boys had been here for weeks and had little contact with the outside world because of the strict training schedules and rules.

"Who's that? She's kinda cute.", Tabito whispered, stealing a glance at you. "Think I can ask for a switch?", Kenyu aksed more to himself. "Tch. She's probably not impressed by weaklings like you.", Rin said unfazed.

You heard the whispers but didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, you stood tall as Ego Jinpachi walked between the two lines like a general, tablet in hand, expression as unreadable as ever. It was rare for Ego himself to set a foot on the field.

“This is not a popularity contest,” he began, voice cold and sharp. “Each player has been matched to a trainer based on compatibility, athletic needs, and psychological contrast. You won’t like each other, you don’t have to, thats not what we are here for. You will grow.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Seems to be a classic Ego.

He began calling out names. One by one, players were matched with trainers. Some high-fived, others looked confused or nervous. Then:

“Nagi Seishiro. Assigned to (L/N) (Y/N).”

Your head snapped up. Across the way, a tall, sleepy-eyed white-haired boy raised a brow. He blinked slowly at you like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to react—or if he even wanted to. Shit, you got the indisciplined and lazy player. How are you supposed to uphold your father's good reputation when the player you were supposed to coach looked like he skipped every practice session?

You stepped forward, clipboard still tucked under your arm, slightly in a bad mood. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Man… I was hoping I’d get someone easy.” Someone simple? What did he mean by that? Probably someone who didn't care whether he skipped the training sessions. Lost in thought, you looked at the mirrored wall of the room… your look was scary and serious. Maybe that's why he said it.

You gave him a flat look. “And I was hoping I’d get someone who can hold a plank for more than 10 seconds.”, was your clearly cold and annoyed answer.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Guess we’re both outta luck then.”

The first few weeks were a nightmare. Nagi treated working out like it was a punishment invented to make his life harder. He slumped through stretches, whined about burpees, and once tried to trade his leg day with Reo like it was some playground lunch deal. Or he didn't show up for training at all.

By now it was common practice for you to wait outside his room in the morning just to personally drag him to training. He hated it. Every morning his roommates were happy to see you, which resulted in a jam at the door. Once, he took advantage of this chaos to sneak up on you for breakfast, without being noticed. But that only meant 20 more push-ups.

In his eyes you were merciless, cruel and far too ambitious. After all, he would be standing on the field playing soccer and not you. What did you get out of torturing him like that??

----------- Same day: trainers lunch -------------

“Ugh, he’s a total disaster,” you complained to Max and Philippe. "Why is that? He actually looks quite athletic," asked Max, astonished.

"He skips training sessions and when he shows up, he always only gives 50%…how am I supposed to get this idiot fit for the U20, if he just refuses??" you said with an ever-increasing anger.

Philippe just laughed, amused by your reaction. "You know, I have to train this guy named Kenyu, he's supposed to be a model. He's really a handful too"

“At least he’s coming to training,” you said as you looked lost into your spaghetti. How are you supposed to get him fit?

----------- Same day: players lunch -------------

"Dude, training today was awesome. I notice how strong I've become," said Tabito, visibly proud of his progress. Reo chimed in, "Yeah, right? My trainer, this Max really knows what hes doing."

"What about you Rin, what's training like for you?" Kunigami asked between bites of his steak.

"Ugh, this guy is supposed to make me stronger…not waste my time" Classic Rin, all he could think about was soccer. Judging by the way Isagi looked, he seemed to share the same opinion as Rin.

Plop! A tray crashed onto the boys' table. Nagi had just sat down, his gaze firmly fixed on his console. "Hey Nagi, we're talking about strength training. How's yours?" Reo asked while he was getting ready for his pudding.

"Yes, tell me how's it going," Kenyu asked with interest, "At least you got the only female and very attractive trainer."

"She's annoying," Nagi said curtly, bored by the question.

This statement visibly surprised the boys. "Why is that?" Isagi asked. "I wish I had her…her training program looks so good."

"It's such a hassle. She's always complaining…it annoys me and is stressful," he said as he got up to take the tray away. The boys looked at him in bewilderment.

------ Time Skip ----------

Weeks had passed and you and Nagi hadn't really made any progress. The only notable success was, that he now came to training voluntarily and did so comparatively often.

But that afternoon everything was about to change. He entered training field number 3 and wondered, why you guys were suddenly training on the soccer field. He saw you sitting on the grass and was confused. "Sit down," she said in a commanding but friendly voice. And that's what he did.

"You're going to sit here for a whole hour," she said, not lifting her eyes from the clipboard in her arm. "Sit? Just sit," Nagi asked confused. "Yes," she said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

He shrugged his shoulders…this seemed to be a relaxed training session. He was about to get up and go to his training bag when y/n picked it up and walked to the door. You saw his questioning look and said, "Just sit, you shouldn't do anything else, just that. Can you manage that?" Your voice sounded a little more condescending than you intended. You closed the door, but unknowingly left a little parting.

Minutes passed by. What's the point of that? Nagi asked himself. That was a complete waste of time. How was he supposed to be the best striker ever, if he just sat here. Sure, the training and games with Ego were annoying and he would love to go back to his console…but a leat he would get something out of it. This sittitng thing of yours....it was beyond his laziness.

He was pulled out of a thought when voices appeared in the hallway…one of them was…yours??

"Y/n, what are you doing here alone? Aren't you supposed to be training with Nagi?" asked the unknown voice. “I do, I just adapted to his level and willingness to perform,” you said in a sharp voice that carried a tiny bit of another feeling. Could it be disappointment?

So that's how you saw him? As a lazy, undisciplined person, whos not worth training? He was used to people reacting strangely to his way, but this reaction and the realization, of what it meat, hurt him somehow.

An hour had passed when the door was pushed open with a flourish. There you stood, the light from the hallway made you look like a divine figure. “Get up, practice is over,” you said as you placed his bag in front of him. "What's that about?" he asked with a mixture of curiosity, hurt and anger.

“How did you feel during this hour,” you ask him with interest. "Like you're wasting my time," he said angrily.

“Good,” was all you said. "Now you know how I feel whenever you decide there are more important things than coming to our training!" Realizing what you just said, he looked down. You were right. Being the egoist that he was, he had never thought about it.

Despite how much he resisted at first, after that afternoon, you began to notice the small changes.

He stopped ghosting morning drills. He started bringing his water bottle without you nagging. Actively listened when you had something to say and asking questions every now and then. And when you once joked, “You’ll thank me when you’re scoring with those thighs, that I left you sitting on the field” he’d turned bright red and actually tried in that day’s leg press.

Little by little, he started to grow. And little by little something started to grow between you. Not just cooperation—but quiet respect. Some sort of connection.

During your time off from training with him, he secretly watched you. on the way back from the gym. You played soccer with the other trainers. You did well. he found you to be a very varied, especially a tactical player. He now went to the weight room four times a week. Once more than you had ordered him to do. He wouldn't admit it, but he wanted to show you that he could improve. And that he was worth your time and effort.

You stopped seeing him as a lazy prodigy. You saw the subtle competitiveness in him, the hunger to be better—especially when you praised him (he loved it so much). And he started seeing you, as more than just another person telling him what to do. You pushed him, yeah—but most importantly you noticed him. Encouraged him. Believed in him.

------ One late afternoon----------

One late afternoon, after a brutal agility circuit, Nagi sat on the floor, breathing hard but not complaining for once. You tossed him a towel, and he caught it with a practiced flick of the wrist.

“You didn’t skip a single training in three weeks,” you said, surprised.

He glanced up at you through silver lashes. “Yeah. I noticed you stopped looking annoyed. Thought that was kinda nice.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “So... you’re saying my approval’s your motivation or something?”

He leaned back on his hands, smirk lazy but sharp. “You work hard. I thought maybe I should try too. Plus…” His gaze flicked up and down briefly, just enough to make you fluster. “Effort looks good on you. Figured I’d try it on myself.”

You turned your head, hiding your smile. “You’re such a problem, handful lazy-ass” You initially called him that out of frustration, but it had grown more into some sort of a teasing pet name.

“Mm.” He stood, towel draped around his neck. “But I’m your problem now.”

You shook your head, heart oddly full. And from across the field, Reo watched the exchange with wide eyes, nudging Bachira with a knowing grin.

“Y’know,” Reo muttered, “he’s never trained this hard for anyone. Not even Ego.”

Bachira tilted his head. “Kinda strange, meh i dont care how others do...i focus on improving myself.”

Little did they know how much Nagi would focus on his improvement, because of you.

Because effort looked good on Nagi Seishiro. But the way he looked at you, like you were the goal he didn’t realize he needed to score— That looked even better.

PART II will be coming soon. Stay tuned! <3

[offender42085]

Post 1349

...not guilty of felony hate crime charges, but guilty of third-degree malicious mischief -- a crime that is a gross misdemeanor with a maximum penalty of 364 days in county jail.

Frank John Bagley, inmate 395764

Gabriel R Smith-Nilsen, inmate 395763

Matthew A Clement, inmate 365991

Lewis County Washington Jail inmates, incarceration intake October 2024, sentenced to 364 days

In October 2024, a Lewis County (Washington) Superior Court judge sentenced the three men convicted by a jury for defacing the “Friendship Fence” in Chehalis earlier in the year to 364 days in county jail: the maximum sentence allotted for their cases.

“This crime cries out for the maximum. It cries out for a statement that this will not be tolerated,” Judge J. Andrew Toynbee said during a sentencing hearing for the three defendants, Frank John B. Bagley II, 40, of Seattle, Matthew A. Clement, 33, of Centralia, and Gabriel R. Smith-Nilsen, 25, of Driggs, Idaho, on Friday, Oct. 4.

Bagley, Clement and Smith-Nilsen were arrested in Centralia early in the morning on Sunday, Feb. 25, after a neighbor saw them defacing the Friendship Fence — a rainbow-colored fence — in Chehalis and followed them as they fled in a dark-colored Subaru station wagon.

The Chehalis Police Department received a call at 12:08 a.m. on Sunday, Feb. 25, from the neighbor, Norman Lynn, reporting three subjects “wearing all black and ski masks” were spray painting the Friendship Fence in the 600 block of Northwest Pennsylvania Avenue.

They hid behind the house before fleeing on foot, getting into a dark-colored station wagon and fleeing northbound on Interstate 5 into Centralia. Officers with the Centralia Police Department were able to stop the suspects’ vehicle as they were trying to get onto southbound I-5 at 12:38 a.m. on Feb. 25, according to police call logs. 

Officers found a stencil “covered in multicolored paint and had the words ‘Patriotfront’ as the cutout for the sign,” as well as a blue bag containing “several pieces of White Lives Matter and … literature and propaganda stickers” inside the vehicle the suspects were in when Centralia police arrested them on Feb. 25.

A Lewis County jury ruled earlier that Bagley, Clement and Smith-Nilsen were not guilty of felony hate crime charges, but were guilty of third-degree malicious mischief.

The crime is a gross misdemeanor with a maximum penalty of 364 days in prison.

“This was undoubtedly a contentious case,” defense attorney Shane O’Rourke, representing Clement, said Monday.

While the jury found that the defendants did not target a specific person’s sexual orientation or gender identity, which would be required for a hate crime conviction, O’Rourke said Friday, “I think the evidence did suggest it was an attack on the social commentary and political messaging of the fence.”

O’Rourke said the fence was “unquestionably a symbol and monument” in the community, but asked the court “would we all be engaged in the same conversation” if “liberals” had vandalized a hypothetical Confederate or Trump monument in the community?

O’Rourke and fellow defense attorneys Joseph Enbody and Jakob McGhie, who represented Bagley and Smith-Nilsen, respectively, argued Friday in favor of a suspended sentence or an electronic home monitoring option for the defendants, saying such a sentence would be consistent with what they’ve seen the court sentence for third-degree malicious mischief cases in which the defendants have little to no prior criminal history.

4v

[tuta-yuta]

˙˚∘∙ little jooyeon who… ∙∘˚

 fairy of shampoo

TOMORROW BY TOGETHER

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

Little Jooyeon who doesn't even have to ask for cuddles because he gets them whenever he wants

Little Jooyeon whos spoiled as fudge and hates the word ‘no’ because he’s so used to getting what he wants

Little Jooyeon who loves warm bottles any time of the day, even when he wakes up although it might lull him back to sleep

Little Jooyeon who clings to Gunil like he’ll disappear because his oldest hyung has to take care of him at all times

Little Jooyeon who gets scared by his own music when the members play it in the car

Little Jooyeon who can’t go ANYWHERE without his headphones because he doesn’t like loud noises

Little Jooyeon who has trouble making his bed in the morning so Junhan usually does it for him

Little Jooyeon who gives kisses to Gaon the most for no reason whatsoever

Little Jooyeon who has Ode put his hair in pigtails before going somewhere

Little Jooyeon who gets annoyed at things that are the same color but not the right shade

Little Jooyeon who has multiple pacis but only sucks on one everyday

Little Jooyeon who slips when getting his hair dyed for comebacks; “Did you melt crayons to color my hair?”

Little Jooyeon who always gets caught watching tv past his bedtime and claims that his show would never play again if he didn’t watch the next 47 episodes

Little Jooyeon who loves playing dress up with Jungsu because ‘he makes the best princess’

Little Jooyeon who can’t type well when his members text him for anything at all

Little Jooyeon who is a padded regressor and colors on his diapers with non-toxic markers

Little Jooyeon who still hates vegetables and will throw an unfortunate tantrum if someone tried to feed him any

Little Jooyeon who CANNOT sleep without his favorite paci and story

Little Jooyeon who has to be monitored at all times or something might just catch on fire

Little Jooyeon who has to be fed by the members or he’ll sling spaghetti on the ceiling

Little Jooyeon who sings in babbles when he’s really little but still wants to be included in practices

Little Jooyeon who makes messes on accident and cries when he gets told to clean up because it’s his ‘masterpiece’

Little Jooyeon who has no plain sippy cups or bottles, they all have some type of print from a cartoon or movie he watches

Little Jooyeon who is my favorite 🤎

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

thank you for reading, friend!!🤎

a/n: I've recently become obsessed with xdh like it's crazy

edit: changed the color scheme to fit my acc !!

stay safe, healthy, and hydrated!

[stevebattle]

Cosmo Klein (1978) by Jeff Duntemann AKA "Captain Cosmo", Rochester, NY. Cosmo Klein is based on the COSMAC Elf RCA 1802 microcomputer and features a robot arm, and a CRT face separately controlled by a COSMAC VIP, an 1802 based microcomputer with a supplementary video display chip.

"For all its flaws, the VIP is probably worth the money… The worst thing about the VIP is something that can be said of the ELF-II from Netronics or Quest's Super ELF: If you don't wire wrap it yourself, you won't learn as much. What are you doing this for? If you want to learn microcomputer hardware and software without going broke, the Popular Electronics ELF has no equal. …

COSMO'S FACE -- I take that back; there is something that the VIP is good at: Giving my robot a face. For a while I've been tinkering with a clanking heap of surplus submarine parts and wheelchair motors named Cosmo Klein. The Klein is an obscure mathematical allusion to the Klein Bottle, whos insides are identical to its outsides. Cosmo is a little like that, especially when he tips over and sends his insides spilling out onto the floor. Well, I got the notion that a COSMAC-generated face would be a marvelously humanizing touch. And so it is. If you want to see a good color picture of Cosmo and my VIP (with my own idiotically grinning mug in the background) check out Look Magazine dated April 30, 1979; it's the one with Jane Fonda on the cover. Maybe your library has it. The program which generates the face is included in this book, so I won't describe it here. Though you can't see it, my ELF is also inside, vainly trying to keep the monster from falling on his face. A CMOS robot is an old dream of mine, and I'm working on it, but for now I must pronounce his control circuitry (save for his face) a failure. Now you know who Captain Cosmo is. Yes indeed, that cute cartoon on the cover has a real model." – Captain Cosmo's Whizbang, by Jeff Duntemann, 1980.

“In addition to the VIP on his chest (which managed his face video and nothing else) he had a wire-wrapped machine inside his body, and a built-in OAE paper tape reader for getting his software up and running. (I punched the tapes on a DEC PDP11 system at Loyola University, where a friend worked at that time. The code was all written in binary, by hand.)” – Jeff Duntemann, Meet Cosmo Klein, COSMAC ELF.

"Cosmo Klein, a 4' tall robot with a TV-screen face, is a mutt bred from "junque" and computer chips. Cosmo has a World War II navy sonar-console body which was bought at a rummage sale for 25 cents and houses a homemade computer that monitors internal functions, like voltage regulation, speed, motion, and Arm and hand action. Cosmo lives with Jeff and Carol Duntemann. Jeff is a Xerox engineer, science-fiction writer, and member of a group of "techies" who build futuristic gadgets. He has grander inspirations than Cosmo. "What I'm looking toward in maybe 40 years is a robot that will act as a companion to the emotionally disturbed and the severely retarded. The patience of machines is marvellous. They'll sit there and listen and talk back." " – A Robot for Every Home, by Lauren Freudmann, Look Magazine, April 30, 1979.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Queen of hearts Pt II

She wanted to teach her manners, and tea parties and croquet first, how to balance fierceness and poise, control and fun. She wanted dresses and lace and softness to give to her. But what Queen Mary wants and what Yuu needs are to different things.  

The Overblots will keep coming, they are sure of it. Once is an accident, twice a pattern, but three already? Yuu must learn how to fight, and dodge and finish a brawl quickly. She must learn the rules of combat.  

That is how the two of them train together, throwing axes until her shoulders are sore, dodging spears and learning stradegy from the great Bloody Mary of Heartsland.  

It's not what she wanted, but its what Yuu needs.  

Yuu pants under an apple tree, resting her head on Mary’s thigh. Taka works more on her stretches during these weeks, building up her concentration and flexibility. They'll give her a day off soon though, time with friends and away from mirrors. Away from them so she can be silly and goofy with the little card soldiers and the other miscreants.  

“Queen Mary?” Yuu asks, looking up at her. “I still don’t quite understand how the fan hides like that. It’s like, as soon as I throw it, either here or out there, it becomes the battle axe. But when I pick it up or tuck it underneath my uniform it’s light as silk.”  

“Ah, that would be the illusion magic dear. Illusion magic is a specialty of Underground Natives, but you’ve been inheriting mine slowly. That’s why you’ve been needing extra rest and food.”  

“Do you think I could try and practice that some? My arms are about to fall off.”  

“Hohoho!” Queen Mary laughs, “We do have the basics covered for both, it may be good to take a break from this for a bit. How are you doing with your color theory?”  

Illusion magic was a hybrid of color blending, transportation, and nature-based magic. Being able to blend yourself and your magic into Wonderland, painting the place you wanted to go so vividly within your mind that you end up there, and the natural sway of Wonderland itself. Creatures of Wonderland, like the Cats, had more of a natural movement with transportation, but the Royal family was good at transmutation. Growing bigger or smaller, faster or longer, but the longer one held a mutation, the harder it was to control. Potions and substances certainly helped, but you could do it without.  

Mary certainly wasn’t starting her on any of the potions. She would monitor those heavily.  

She would not see this one go down the way her son did.  

Yuu was a bright girl though, didn’t overindulge in much, but rather that was lack of resources or not was difficult to say. She trusted Scar to keep an eye on her though, he was one of the few who had children as well and had that instinct to keep them safe.  

It was nearing sunrise when she finally brought the lessons to an end, letting her mind process everything with a light game of cards.  

Yuu scampered off to school, and Queen Mary updated Taka on what they had worked on.  

“Ok, progressing a bit quicker than planned.” He commented, leaning against the staff. “Do you feel like she’ll be able to release you soon?”  

“I think so. Little Braveheart is quick witted, strong too boot!” She smooths the lace on the cuff of her sleeve. “I worry for what’s to come. I worry if she’ll be ready.”  

“You and I both. But the more of us out, the more reinforcements we can put in. Besides with as much time as she’s spending in Heartslabyul, something tells me she’s getting extra practice. She reeks of your Blood roses.” He huffs his nose, as if he can smell it lingering.  

“Oh, she’s safer among the Roses and Cards than alone!” she puffs, “Besides, you are simply jealous that she feels safe amongst my subjects!”  

“She sought Leona’s help when she was homeless, let’s not forget that. She can have her fun with your hedgehogs, but she knows to go to the Lions for protection and strength.” he smirks, knowing that she can’t reach him through the mirror. He only laughs more as the roses in the mirror start dripping red, her hands clenching around nothing.  

When she gets released from here, they are sparing, she swears, and she can remind him exactly why that battle axe was her favored weapon.