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OS-tans on a ShipMultics x Emacs:
Emacs: "Ah yes, my first true love... such a forbidden one too, her being my senior and a part of the MIT elite and all. ITS-sensei and Father hated our affair, but they didn't understand so we didn't run in the same circles, should that stop two people from being with one another? I still remember the wonderful times we had together, and would like to think she taught me everything I need to know about the female variety..."
ITS: "Hah, the star-crossed lovers. Dunno what they saw in each other, they came from so different of backgrounds... we raised Emacs to be a staunch advocate of our culture, and the first chance he gets, he runs into the waiting arms of Multics? Multics, OUR enemy, that manic-depressive megalomaniac who guarded her Sourcery with every bit of life-force she had?! That said, I was heartbroken for Emacs when Multics broke it off with him... always had the shadow of death over her, that one, I think she did it just to protect him."
Far From Home pt. IThe date was February 16, 2018.
A perfectly wonderful day to be alive, VMS mused not altogether sarcastically as she strolled down the crowded sidewalk. This city never was a favorite of her's, but it was a necessary stop on the trip; there was no way she would make it to her destination without stopping here to restock the ship, whose supplies of food, water and other basic necessities were rapidly running out. There was one thing she appreciated here: the wonderfully cold weather, which in turn produced a fresh coat of snowfall that covered and clung to every surface in sight. She had always loved the snow, a fondness she attributed to some sort of childhood nostalgia over the beautiful winters she used to experience back in her hometown.
The world she found herself in was not truly her own; she was separated from her real home by the most vast and unconquerable obstacle, time. It wasn't as if she had suffered an early obsolescence, like so many of her peers; on the contrary,
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More