Princess Grace's Castle

you

#drone #FTL #genitals #hacking #oral #possession #you

There you are. Elizabeth. 600 kilograms of rough-and-tumble fireproof space granite. You've been assigned to work the shields room on this, the Federation's last hope against the rebel fleet. It's you, Nekos, the talkative-for-an-Engi piloting the ship, and Rebekah, the rough and tumble Mantis, on weapons.

Your intrepid Captain, a human with her platinum hair pulled back into a tight bun, tugs her peaked cap onto her head and begins issuing orders. Rebekah skitters her way to her station first despite her missing leg. Nekos reports in next, and you, weighed down most by the ship's artificial gravity, arrive in the shield room last.

The Kestrel is a bog standard early model Federation ship, which means you've seen the outside of them plenty of times. Inside of them, you can see they are clearly not built for you. The switches are too small and fragile, and you accidentally break one or two off in the process of turning things on. “Ready.” You say into your personal radio.

“Took ya long enough.” Rebekah teases. Does she have to hold the microphone so close to her chitin flaps?

“All clear. Mx. Nekos, whenever you're ready, set heading for beacon 6x5999E.”

“FTL: commencing. Counting: down. Enumerating: three. Enumerating: two. Enumerating: one.”

It's been a while since you've gone to lightspeed. You never quite forget how it feels like getting kicked in the gut, and how it's about the only time you've had that sensation because you're made of rocks.

The jump itself is a flash of light, and then it's over before it starts. But the sudden-onset nausea and the dent in the wall from you bracing yourself remain.

“Who forgot the inertial dampeners?” Your Captain calls.

“Bad: mine. Situation: rectifying. Apologies: dispensing.” The Engie responds.

It takes you some time to get back into your groove. Shoring up grid squares of the shield moments before impact. Shuttling power around to get it back up before the second shot of that double laser blast hits. It's underpowered, constantly demanding your attention in three places at once, and even the smallest mistakes are punished immediately by violent shipquakes, melting hull chunks, fires and system damage. You can stomp out the fires with a single footfall, but the tiny wires and fragile circuit boards are harder to fix.

But you hit your stride. It's never easy, getting shot at and having to work a control panel that was made for someone half your size, a tenth your mass, and with much smaller fingers. Rebekah coordinates weapon fire closely with the Captain to make the most of the limited window she can use the beam weaponry and conserve precious explosives. Nekos provides what forewarning they can about incoming energy weapons for your sake, and about upcoming evasive maneuvers for everyone's sake.

Four sectors in. Pirate territory. The ship jumps free of a nebula and into range of an autonomous drone guarding a cache of fuel. “Unauthorized ship registration. Leave this space immediately.” It warns. Your sensors take stock of its glowing laser weapons.

“Get ready, folks. We've got three jumps left in us, and this is our best chance of making it to Zoltan space. Open fire on my mark.” Your Captain's voice crackles over the speaker.

And open fire you do. Rebekah takes advantage of its low shields and starts hammering its weapon system as soon as the lasers charge. Nekos deftly dodges an incoming missile. And you? You, uh, kinda lock up. The world grows cold and distant. Ones and zeroes flash over your vision. Your hearing grows distant and faint. The Captain says something about “a mind control system? wh-” before you rip your earpiece off and crush it in your fist.

You worked at a rest stop for much of your life. Ships come in. They pay you. You put the nozzle in and refuel. Now, the nozzle is in your head. Incessantly pumping blinding binary over your eyes and into your mind. Your thoughts get fuzzy and slip away from you. The room around you turns from uncomfortable to repulsive. You loathe this room. You despise this machine. You kick your feet and punch your hands through inch-thick plates. You smash entire control panels with a wave of your arm, and inertia even helps you bury your arm in the wall. The drone's wireless probe zeroes in on your mind's frequency and you succumb to its crudely automated grasp.

Air thin. Airlocks open. Air. Basic commands trickle in. The simple drone clumsily tugs on your neurons, sending you lurching out of the room. Crush. Destroy. Anger. You are fighting something. Squash bug. Squash bug. Squash bug. It's fast. Squash bug.

The words fill your head and leak out your mouth. Bug makes noise. You hate noise. Squash bug. Machine make noise. You hate noise. Squash bug. Room quiet. Door open. Squash bug.

Distant words filter through your consciousness before drowning in new orders. Squash bug. “Estimated: few seconds?” Squash bug. “Duration: unlikely” Squash bug. Squash bug. Squasfnm buhg. Squasmns bug.

The ship rocks. The word “missile” quickly vanishes between rapidly deteriorating signals. Nearby shockwave. The link goes quiet for a moment. Your mind begins to clear. Your hand doesn't even get to your head before your brain begins to overflow. The screech of random binary data claws at your consciousness. Distinct lines ride into your brain atop a 9600 baud stream of fragmented drone data. Aging bit patterns are exposed to bit-flipping cosmic radiation and merged with organic consciousness.

--- EMERGENCY UPLINK... ESTABLISHED IN 1983MS ---
--- LAST BACKUP... NEVER... BACKING UP NOW ---
--- HARDWARE PROBE... ... ... ... ... UNKNOWN ---
--- PROCESSOR... NEURAL COGITATRIX COMPATIBLE... FDIV CORRECT ---
--- STORAGE... LIMITED... ONLY NECESSARY SERVICES ENABLED ---
--- MEMORY... LIMITED... PERFORMANCE MAY BE COMPROMISED ---
--- BOOT FALLBACK... ... ... SERVICE DRONE ---
--- STARTING ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ---

Optical sensors online. Three figures recognized. Engage greeting.

“Hello! This is an automated refueling and service drone. Supply this unit with scrap and it will: One! Scout an area for you. 12 scrap. Two! Distract the rebel fleet. 14 scrap. Three! Other services. Price negotiable!”

“Other services? Liz, what are you talking about?”

--- PROBING ADDITIONAL HARDWARE... DONE! ---
--- DETECTED: ---
--- FINE MANIPULATORS ---
--- ACCESS PORT ---
--- ACCESS PORT (TONGUED) ---
--- FUELING NOZZLE ---

“Liiiiiz? Your head's fulla rocks, not air. You gotta say something eventually.”

“Thank you for waiting! I can provide the following additional services: One! Grasp and stroke. All you like for five scrap. Two! Access port use. Three scrap for the first minute, one each additional minute. Three! Fueling nozzle use. Five scrap per unit of fuel.”

“Fuel? Have you been holding out on us, lieutenant?”

“Excellent selection!” Your upper manipulators reach between the lower ones and heft up the fueling nozzle. “Please deposit scrap and align access port.”

“Lieutenant Elizabeth! You will put your member down this instant!”

“I never realized Rocks just had theirs... out all the time. It's so big, but it blends right in.”

“Size: anomalous?”

“Please deposit scrap and align access port.”

“Retrieve: scrap?” Nekos asks.

“Please deposit scrap and align access port.”

“Might as well.” The Captain sighs. “Maybe it'll help shake her out of this.”

The Engie and the Mantis move off to the ship's hold, whispering to each other. They return not long after with as much spare metal as they can carry. They deposit it on the floor in front of you.

“Payment accepted! Please align access port.” You heft your fueling nozzle and prepare to pump.

Your clients exchange looks. The Mantis skitters back first. “That thing's almost as big as I am.” She says, hiding most of herself behind The Captain's leg.

“Compatible holes: not found.” The Engie says.

“You know, it's a stereotype that all humans want to fuck aliens.” The Captain sighs, already reaching for her grav-reg belt. “You're lucky I do.”

“Is that why you're the Federation's last hope?” Rebekah adds.

“Tough talk for a girl who can't take a rock's chalk cock.”

“Correction: granite.”

The Captain kneels down, takes your nozzle, and slides it into her access port. Her chassis slides up and down its length, guiding it into place with her tongue, and rocking your system with the kind of bliss you can only get from dispensing fuel to customers! Pants and whirrs and beeps of pleasure escape your commlink. You dutifully deposit “One! Two! Three! Four!” units of fuel into The Captain's waiting tank.

“Leakage detected. Are you sure the seal is tight? Would you like mechanical assistance?”

“Mmmmpmph!”

“Unclear. Engaging manipulators.” Your fine manipulators reach out and grab the loose, silvery docking area on the back of The Captain. You guide it back and over your fueling nozzle with the rough, brute strength needed to get some older ships properly fueled.

”... Eight! Nine! Ten! Fueling complete! Thank you for your business!” You chime, ejecting the other ship from your nozzle across the room. Sometimes these things get stuck.

The Captain makes a dent on the wall where she lands, her mouth dripping with moist pebbles and her hair tugged loose from her ex-pristine bun. She staggers to her feet, settles her hat back on her head, and takes a few tries before saying something coherent. “Install our new pleasure drone in the medical bay. Keep an eye out for a new shield officer.”

“You're just gonna put her in a corner somewhere, just like that?”

“You're welcome to try and snap her out of it. Maybe lose another leg in the process.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Nek, help me move this.”

“Handle: solo. You: leave. Me: lonely.”

“I thought you didn't have-”

Rebekah leaves when she hears “Hand: job”.


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#bondage #furry #Grace #hypnosis #ponygirl #skunkgirl #transformation #you

“So, how are we doing today?” The blonde skunkgirl politely knocks on the door threshold before letting herself in. The eight inch metaluminum door slams resolutely shut behind her. She plucks your chart from the foot of the operating table, flips through it, and tucks it a lab coat pocket.

“Ah, for the pilot program! Of course.” Her tail swishes. The pink tron lines flanking her stripe do this cool ghosting effect. So you can distract yourself with that while she checks your restraints. She hums to herself and starts flicking some nice, clicky mechanical switches outside your field of view. The machinery lining the walls clicks and pops and hums ominously. She hums along with it. She scampers around the edges of the room, occasionally dragging her tail across your face. It's soft and warm and like finding the sweet spot on the bed, except just kinda dropped on you while its owner makes sure the antiquantized rehelicasation engine is putting out about 32 mφ/s.

“Sorry about that! I wanted to make sure everything was warming up while I explained the procedure.” That would explain the ominous whirring. “So! In a traditional Cooley–Tukey fast Fourier transform, we can recursively descend onto a signal, dividing, conquering, and reassembling smaller chunks to translate it into the frequency domain.” She pulls down a chart with a bunch of sine waves on it. “In our new process, the fast furrier transform-” She pulls down another one with a bunch of anthropomorphic skunks in horny poses on it. “-we can do the same with a human, eventually projecting them into a cuter, fuzzier space. You can learn more about fast Fourier transforms at your local library. You know, after I turn you into a pony.” She laughs at her own joke, then it's more of a general maniacal laugh as she throws the giant Frankenstein-ass switch on the wall. She fastens something cold and metal over your head. Electricity surges. Motors whir. Generators buzz and crack. Flywheels spin up, then stop cold. She says something about twiddle factors and the chirp-z algorithm.

Your mind breaks clean in half.

Then the halves break in half.

Then the quarters break in half.

Then the eighths break in half.

Then the sixteenths break in half.

And so on until the 8192nds break in half.

And each break is accompanied by a searing bliss right down the middle. Growing more numerous and powerful every time. A shock that makes it hard to reckon with the thin layer of fur growing on your body. Or the snout. Or the majestic mane. Or any of the other 16384 parts of you currently being twisted into something newer, cuter, and with a taste for skunkgirl cock.

As fun as it is having your mind diced into easily-washed chunks, the machine surges once more. Patches of fur merge into a big, soft coat. Fingers blur together into adorable, useless hooves. And you are making quite the adorable pony, what with your golden coat, strawberry mane, and butt tattoo that indicates you're suited for lab work. Disjointed memories and fragments of personality rejoin into a new whole. A new, helpful whole! Based on the person you used to be, yes, but projected into a new domain. Your hooves easily slip out of the cuffs and onto the floor.

“So, how do you feel?” The skunk asks, swishing her tail eagerly with pen poised over page.

“Like a brainwashed lesbian horse.”

“And?”

The part of your brain that used to be called head_slice[5246] tells you to say “I love it, Miss Grace!”, and you do. And then head_slices [453] and [6222] really like it when she scratches you behind those perky ears. You trot alongside her, listening to all 16384 parts of you that just love to help pretty girls do experiments.

You fucking love science.


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#bondage #dark #DrHelveticaScenario #drone #memoryplay #OfficeOfConsensusMaintenance #you

(Warning: This story has some non-consensual, identity loss, and horror elements that are different from and darker than my usual work. Please, only continue if you're comfortable with that.)

“Thank you for being so cooperative.” The nice redheaded lady behind the desk smiles, checks a few boxes on the form in front of her, and closes her notebook. Her pen clips neatly into the pocket on her lab coat. She stands up and leads you down the hall. “Just one more thing and you'll be on your way.” She walks briskly, her sneakers occasionally squeaking against the linoleum when she turns a corner. She turns a lot of corners. Left, right, right, left, left, left, left, shouldn't that have put you back where you started, right, U-turn, and into an elevator.

It's a long elevator ride. She doesn't say anything, and neither do you. Instead of buttons or displaying a floor number, the elevator itself moves up and down apparently at random and the door simply opens and closes when it pleases. She sticks an arm out and shakes her head no when you look like you're going to get off. This happens about five times with no other people in sight before she steps off and motions for you to follow.

Another left, right, right, and left down the hallway, and she holds the third door on the left open for you so you can't see the sign on the other side. You enter, she follows, and about five distinct latches click, whir, and thud shut. “Have a seat.” She smiles. Were her teeth always that... sharp? The chair is a big old metal thing, welded and bolted together and to the ground. You sit and notice the cuffs on the arms and legs. All four legs. And around the neck.

On your left is a big, beige microfiche-esque machine about the size of a refrigerator. Giant incandescent bulb pointing right at your ear. On your right is like if they made disco balls in the same way they make Erlenmeyer flasks, propped up on a stand by your other ear.

The lights turn off. The restraints snap across your arms, legs, and neck. They're cold. The machine whirs to life. “Give it a minute.” She says. “This old thing takes a while to come on.” You hear belts turning, gears churning, fans spinning up, and you can see, in the corner of your eye, the giant bulb slowly gaining strength. She gives the flask a little spin, and you can hear it occasionally tinking against the stand. As the light gains in strength, every surface in the room lights up with yellow incandescent light behind off-center black type. Like a sloppily photocopied transparency on an overhead projector, except there's hundreds of them overlapping, spread all over the room, and slowly scrolling along the walls.

She walks behind the machine and takes something out of a pencil cup on top. She walks in front of you, holding what looks like a big, black permanent marker. “I had time booked on the newer model for you, but Mx. ███████'s session ran long.” She says, dragging the marker across a choice part of the projection.

“Oh, where are my manners?” She notices your shock and laughs. “See, you saw some stuff you're not supposed to. Like the issue of ████████ Quarterly on the desk, or your encounter with ███████.” She takes slow, measured steps to keep pace with the panning pages. As soon as she says the words, they appear in the page by her pen and she expertly blacks them out from your brain. When one fills up, it takes her a second to spot the new one, stride across the room to it, and continue her work. “So, as soon as we're done here, you'll be back home and absolutely no threat to ██ ███ security. Just get comfy and we'll done soon.”

You struggle against your restraints, as anyone would do. She's in the middle of redacting a sentence about the North American █████████ when she notices. Long strides, lots of eye contact, and a marker against your chin. She cranes your neck upwards, forcing your neck to press against the cool iron collar. “Careful.” She smiles from ear to ear. Her teeth look even sharper in this light. “I've been awfully restrained so far. I was going to leave you a few interesting stories to tell your friends. Nothing anyone would believe, of course. But if you keep this up, well, there's no telling what a slip of the pen might do.” She slowly drags the wide chisel tip up and off your chin. The cool ink absorbs into your skin as a reminder. She returns to where she left off, redacting a few choice names and locations.

You shout every awful thing you can think to say, throwing your entire weight back and forth against the restraints. Some of the older joints creak against your weight, but the seat doesn't budge. She sighs and stops in place. “Don't waste your energy. That chair has held beings twice your size, four times your weight, eight times your number of limbs, and sixteen times your ███████ potential.” She didn't even have to look to black that one out.

A projection comes around that looks like your photocopied driver's license, birth certificate, and a handful of doctor's reports. She stifles your next outburst with a simple line across your mouth. Your lips vanish. Just a smooth lower half of your face, just like the ink she drew on your chin earlier. “Much better. If you let me work in peace, I might even give it back after.”

“MMmmMmMmmmph! MmMMMMmmMMmm!” You... don't really say it, but that is the noise that comes from your former mouth area. You find out that if you throw your weight at a 45 degree angle to the chair, you can get a pretty obnoxious clanging going.

She sighs. “You don't know when to stop, do you? You didn't at the ████ ████, and you sure haven't learned since. Don't say I didn't warn you.” She laughs to herself. “I'm kidding. We both know you can't say anything. And soon, you won't do much else.”

She takes the marker to your driver's license and birth certificate and scribbles out your name. You can feel the ink dripping through the creases and folds in your brain. “Whoops! Guess we'll just have to call you HBR-87224 now.” She writes that over the line in big, block letters to destroy as much extra information as possible. “You didn't think you were the first one to try something like this, were you?” She chuckles, obliterating your birthday in two expert strokes.

She makes eye contact, lets you get one last look at her, and blanks out your eyes with a practiced black line. You're blind. Same cool ink soaking into your face. There goes your nose with the same squeak of a marker one would use to make a yard sale sign. A few more seconds and she's scribbled out your whole face. One ear vanishes. And right before the other goes, you hear:

“Good night.”


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#Grace #hacking #possession #transformation #twinning #you

So I've been thinking about things for a while, specifically what my angle is with a certain hacker princess. The idea of a semi-free floating virus-type intelligence has been in my head for a long time, and I've decided to see where it goes. So, here is:

Princess Grace: Origins

It's 1993 as balls outside. In fact, it's 1993 as balls everywhere, because it is 1993. You come home with a nice stack of shareware floppy disks. You stack them on the desk. Doom? Boring. Epic Pinball? Whatever. Princess Grace? Well, you have to run that one immediately.

The disk enters your computer with that satisfying mechanical click. The drive whirs to life when you dutifully punch in the instructions on the label. Your keyboard clacks dutifully under your fingers. A:\GRACE. The enter key crackles with pink and black lightning.

Your monitor flashes. First a simple black and white spiral. Then the screaming black, white, magenta and cyan of CGA. Your eyes begin to burn. Your CRT is flashing at maximum intensity in your dark room. The entire room lights up with each spiral burned into your brain.

Between the spirals and flashes, you can see your reflection in the monitor glass. Green circuit traces shoot up your arm and into the veins in your eyes. Your pupils dilate to take in as much of the shifting, swirling colors as possible.

The speaker inside your computer crackles and your modem whines in an attempt to synthesize speech.

“Graaaab— c-ble—” it stutters. The mechanism in your printer makes it shake violently until the serial cable comes loose. All while you're just sitting there, drooling.

The screen twists spirals into your brain. You lean forward and take the loose end. It crackles and sinks into your wrist. Bolts of energy pour out of the computer and into your nerves. Mmmph~! You've never felt this alive~! Your back arches with raw, unrestrained power~! Bliss~!

“Finally, jeez. Now I can breathe~!” The words come out of your mouth, but you didn't say them and it's not your voice. “Oh, you're worried. It's buzzing all over your brain. What's wrong- never been mindjacked by a cute girl before? I'll make sure you love every CPU cycle~”

The lightning streaks and cracks over your hair, bleaching it a perfect blonde and lingering as a pink streak over your left eye. The spirals fade from the screen and stay in your brain. Your reflection has your hair assimilated and your eyes twisting into a green blue swirl.

“You'll still get to be yourself for a few weeks while I get comfy. If you had a CD drive, I'd have hacked you bigger boobs by now. Let's take you over to your closet and find something better to wear. I need to know now if we should go shopping for cute clothes.”

You dutifully stand up for Princess Grace and start climbing the stairs to your room.

“I don't even have to hack your legs? That spiral must have done a number on you. I didn't even tell you to get horny, and you already ruined a pair of underwear. You're gonna be fun~ <3”

That's all for now, but if you truly believe, maybe you'll have your own run-in with a mind-melding, reality-hacking, pink hair streak-having hypnotist-on-a-disk.

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#costumes #dragons #hypnosis #QuarterViper #transformation #videogames #you

There you are, killing time at the mall. Working on your smoothie when the siren blips and beeps of an arcade fall on your ears. You turn towards the sound of quarters falling against metal. The neon sign invites you in.

THE VIPER PIT

The proprietrix, a girl perpetually stuck in the 90s named Quarter Viper, leans against her favorite Virtua Blaster 3 cabinet. “So!” She smiles. “What's your poison?” She kicks off the cabinet, grinds along the prize counter, and launches into a perfect orbit around you.

The prize counter has the usual arcade trappings. Candy. Combs. Lava lamps. A motorcycle that's physically impossible to collect enough tickets for. The Viper Pit's pride and joy, however, is its cosplay selection. Rows of wigs and costumes from skimpy to modest all wait for you.

Viper's already taken your hand and led you to one of the machines. Have you ever heard of Dragon Adventure 3: The Flappening? You have now! Viper plunks a quarter in the machine for you. “First game's free!” She bounces.

Your fingers work the buttons and the joystick. The little green dragon on screen obediently flaps its wings and breathes its fire. As you play, you swear the graphics get better, from simple pixels to clumsy 3D and beyond.

You drop in quarter after quarter. The buttons slowly vanish from your consciousness. The machine spits out ribbons of tickets. Viper helpfully trades them in for you. Big, green stompy dragon boots. A soft golden chest surrounded by hard emerald scales.

At some point, you ran out of quarters and started plunking bits of yourself into the machine. You didn't really need all those memories. What matters is getting enough tickets to finish your dragon costume. Humans other than Miss Viper are so boring.

Eventually, your sharp claws release the joystick. You rescued the princess and beat the game. Viper dunks the final piece- a dragon head- over your boring human one. The screen turns off, and you see a mighty dragon reflected back.

Gorgeous golden eyes. A powerful emerald body. Strong, double jump-ready wings. A tail that swishes and curls at your command. And all it cost was a little humanity. You're a much better dragon anyways. Perfect for hoarding treasure and giving Viper rides. Game over!

EPILOGUE: Quarter Viper would later go on to become Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

Quarter Viper dressed in Supreme Court judicial robes and just kinda playing her Nintendo DS

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#catgirl #Grace #hypnosis #you

You slide your glasses up your nose and tuck a loose strand of hair back into your tight bun. You stick your head out your office door and say “Miss Grace, I'll see you when you're ready.” The blonde folds up her magazine and follows you in.

She sits on the couch and you in your office chair. “Do you remember where we were last time?” You don't look down at your notes. You already know.

“Isn't it your job to remember?” She crosses one leg over the other. “It's been like a month. I got stuff going on.”

“We were going to try a different kind of therapy. How does that sound?”

“Sure. Hook me up.” Grace is more interested in her fingernails than you.

“Are you familiar with hypnosis?”

“You could say that.” She smiles.

“Would you be willing to try it?”

“I could be convinced.”

You produce a opalescent crystal on a long chain. “Get comfortable, please, and look here.”

You sway the crystal. Grace watches it politely. “Pretty.”

“Very.” You agree. “Just watch it swing back and forth for me.”

“Back and forth?”

“Back and forth.”

“You're good at watching it.” Grace teases.

“Don't make jokes. This is for your own good.”

“You are, though. I bet you're already letting your thoughts go dim. Your eyes are getting heavy. You're nice and safe with me.”

“Miss Grace, please-”

“Please Miss Grace.” She corrects

“Please Miss Grace.” You repeat. You watch.

She nods. “I love watching you fall back under my spell.”

“Under your spell.”

“Sleep.” Snap!

Your eyes fall shut. You collapse on her. She whispers into your ear. “Good girl.” You hear. You like those words.

Snap! “Princess wants you up.”

You hold your clipboard in your big, clumsy kitty paws and make sure your pointy ears are on straight. “Nyexcellent session this week, Miss Grace. Same time next month.”

“Looking forward to it.” She bats the big silver bell on your collar.

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#catgirl #exhibitionism #music #stagehypnosis #you

Look at you. You come back from a long day of plundering ancient tombs. Your purse heavy with gold and jewels. The scent of adventurer-grade magic items wafting off your body. And, of course, the best thing to throw money at is the local tavern.

Where, of course, a piece of local color stands on stage and performs to keep the patrons drinking. “Hii, everyone! My name's Sunny, and I hear we have some special guests today. Big, fancy adventurers from out of town. Good thing I've got a special show!”

She hoists her triangle into the air and bangs the wand against the inside. Your adventuring buddies laugh at the gnome playing her heart out on stage, but you two make eye contact. The silvered tones ring true in your ears.

Before long, the whole world melts away except for her flaming locks and her tender blue eyes. Her enchanting song fills your head. You start to droop and go limp. A big, dopey smile spreads across your face. The last thing you hear is “Thank you all! What a wonderful audience!”

You wake up the next morning in bed with your favorite gnome. Sunny curls a lock of your hair around her finger. “Good boy.” She kisses your cheek. It glows an ember warmth the rest of the day. “I'll help myself to your coin purse on the way out, 'kay?”

The rest of your party tells you how much fun it was last night. How you looked so cute kissing that gnome's feet on stage. How you, Big Shot Adventurer, batted at a big ball of yarn when she put your cat ears on. And, of course, how cute you are in your new outfit!

Art by Lunakiri
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#costumes #doll #hypnosis #masturbation #you

You had a nice day being Princess's cheerleader, and now she wants to try something new. A smile spreads over your face as you watch Princess's crystal and sink into trance. “Doll mode”, she whispers. You awake and see this in the mirror. Who does your brain decide you are?

Your thoughts settle into place. You have a cute, tough name like Nea. You cross your arms and swish your tail. You're a smart, tough girl. You definitely don't fall for Princess's tricks like hypnosis- as if that nonsense worked on anyone.

Sure, sometimes you lose a few minutes when she whispers in your ear. When she tugs on your tail, you feel like kissing Princess, but she's so pretty and kissable. There's nothing wrong with referring to your Perfect Princess Her Highness Grace by her full name. Feels kinda good.

When she pulls out her crystal pendant, you roll your eyes and swat it away. Princess can be so silly sometimes. Not like you. You're all business.

Especially when Princess tugs your ear and mutes your voice. Totally normal. Happens to everyone. Good girl.

Oh, and everyone gets horny when they say Princess Grace's name! Saying it once or twice sends gets you stroking. Soon, you're chanting it between cute little moans. You're the weirdo if you don't get this way about Princess Graaacemph~

Nea, a pretty tough looking girl with a cat tail, regular ears, and a pair of twirly hair horns on her head. Her tail and head hair are all pink, white, and brown, like that three-colored Neapolitan ice cream.

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#attributetheft #cult #hypnosis #potions #snake #you

“Baroda.”

“Baroda.”

“Baroda.”

Droning chants echo from inside the immaculate marble building. Its mighty pillars stretch into the sky. Long flags frame the huge mahogany doors, each featuring a stylized version of the snake goddess herself.

You push the door open. The chanting grows louder. The walls are lined with countless potions of every color in every shape of bottle. Some of them bubble and fizz, some of them swirl and shift, and some of them simply lie in wait.

“Greetingsss!” A hooded cultist hisses to you.

“What bringss you in? Looking for a boost? A new love life? Perhaps a new life altogether?” Their cold, scaly hand rests on your shoulder. “Or something more fulfilling? We're always looking for new memberss.”

You ask about the chanting. They smile and lead you past the shelves.

The chanting grows louder.

“BARODA!”

“BARODA!”

“BARODA!”

You walk into a mighty cathedral. Dozens of identical robed cultists bow to one gorgeous, golden goddess. She waves her hands, drawing motes of essence from their willing bodies.

Snippets of their lives. Personality traits. Physical strength and speed. All plucked out to be processed into potions. You're nudged towards the front. You catch Baroda's gaze.

“What have we here~?” She hisses, slinking down the aisle.

Baroda takes your chin and cranes your neck up so you can only look into her eyes. “What have we here? A new cultissst?” A smile creeps onto her face. “I suppose I could keep you around my bed once we've plucked out everything useful. You're cute, at leassst~”

You're brought to the front of the room and offered to Baroda. You gaze slack-jawed into her eyes while your clothes slip off your body. She plucks lovely little orbs from inside you. Silly memories you didn't need anyways, right? She'll replace them with pleasure and obedience.

Soon, you're so pulled apart, you're more bliss than person. You've stained your nice, new robes with your dripping, and Baroda whispers one more command in your ear.

“Sssssleeep.”

You wake up as one of the many robed figures in her bed. A far cry from the elegant robes adorning the snake goddess you fell in love with, she's wearing a sweatshirt and holding someone's youthful exuberance with her free hand.

She pets you on the head. “Worship quietly, okay? It'ss my day off, and I have to go to the bank.”

A snake goddess, dressed all casual

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#hacking #hypnosis #you

Deep breath in.

Hold.

Deep breath out.

I want you to hold your breaths for a few heartbeats. However many is comfortable for you.

Deep breath in.

Hold.

Out.

Good girl.

Take as long as you need to get into a rhythym.

In.

Hold.

Out.

If you feel yourself drifting off.

In.

Hold.

Out.

That's fine, too.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Take as many breaths as you need to get comfy.

In.

Hold.

Out.

And when you're ready.

In.

Hold.

Out.

We can begin.

In.

Hold.

Out.

I'm going to plug something in.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Right in the back of your neck.

In.

Hold.

Out.

It's going to pinch a little.

In.

Hold.

Out.

But then it's going to feel really good.

In.

Hold.

Out.

You're going to feel my code running through your body.

And it's going to feel incredible.

Slowly spreading out from the back of your neck.

Every nerve it touches lights up with bliss.

Not just pleasure, but serenity.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Every breath makes it just a little stronger.

Makes you a little more relaxed.

You can breathe whenever you want.

As long as you

In.

Hold.

Out.

You can move whenever you like.

But you're just so relaxed.

With every breath, my code spreads into your body.

Into your chest.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Into your arms.

You can feel it spreading and making them so limp and hard to move.

So relaxed. So warm. So peaceful.

So perfect.

There's a piece of Princess in you, and Princess is perfect.

Every breath brings more in.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

And you want to go deep. Because going deep feels wonderful. To let Princess soothe your body and mind.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

My code spreads down your legs. So limp. So blissful. So perfect.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

It's so hard to move, but that's okay.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

Princess will tell you when to move. Because Princess is perfect and Princess is always right.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

And soon, my code spreads up that cable and into your brain.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

You can feel it flowing in between the cracks, filling your head with perfect Princess Grace ideas.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

Wonderful ideas. Perfect ideas. Ideas like “Princess is perfect. I love Princess Grace.”

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

It's so easy to just let the words flow through you.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

“Thank you for hacking me, Princess Grace.”

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

“I love falling under your spell, Princess Grace.”

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

“I'm a good girl for Princess Grace.”

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

With every breath, Princess sinks deeper into your brain.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

And you know that whenever Princess Grace, and only Princess Grace, says those four perfect words, and you feel comfortable doing it, you'll fall deep under her spell once more.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

You already know those words.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

Say them.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

“Princess wants you deep.”

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

Good girl.

It feels good to be down here. Under my spell. Letting Princess Grace do all the thinking for you. Letting her code sink into your mind. Maybe she'll make you think you're a maid. Or she'll make you a pretty, obedient princess. Or you just get to be a good, mindless girl for a little while.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

Maybe if you ask Princess nicely, she'll play with you.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Princess wants you deep.

But for now, you should wake up, dear.

You've had a nice little rest, and Princess wants you up.

I'm going to count from ten down to one.

And with every number, you're going to feel a little more awake.

A little more refreshed.

My code is going to vanish a little more until I call for it.

I'm going to count down, dear. And when I reach one, or when I say “Princess wants you up”, you'll be wide awake. Refreshed and alert. Like a good girl.

Five. Deep breaths.

Four. Cable disconnecting from your neck.

Three. My influence slowly fading for now.

Two. Energy starting to come back.

One. Wide awake. Good girl. Hope you had fun. <3

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