#EB Fusion

[emoncoder]

EB Fusion Review: Revolutionize Your eBook Business

Introduction- EB Fusion Review

In today’s digital age, the demand for ebooks is on the rise, and for good reasons.

Ebooks are not only easy to carry, store, and read, but they also offer advanced features that enhance the reading experience.

Now, more than ever, it’s the perfect time to start your own online ebook store.

Read More

[123whistler-blog]

EBFusion Review, Bonus, OTOs From Rick Ng

EBFusion – AI Ebook Stores

Posted on November 3, 2023 by Andrew Larder

EBFusion

AI Ebook Stores

EBFusion Review, Bonus, OTOs From Rick Ng – A Brand-New AI-Powered Software Auto-Creates A Fully-Functional Ebook Store In Seconds And Instantly Loads It With 10,000 eBooks

Free Hosting Included – 10K DFY Ebooks In 100+ Genres – Ebook Maker Module Included – Major Payment Processor Integration Included

Rick Ng’s EBFusion

Create A Fully Functional Online Ebook Store In 3 Simple Steps

AI-Powered Software Creates Your Ready-To-Profit Ebook Store In Just ONE Click

Step 1: Login & Watch The App Instantly Create A Fully-Functional Online Ebook Store Loaded With 10,000+ Ebooks in Top-Selling 100+ Genres In Less Than 60 Seconds.

Step 2: Connect Your Preferred Payment Processor & Create Discount Coupons (You can also add your own Ebooks if you want)

Step 3: Sell Ebooks & Collect Payments

Demo Video Walkthrough

EBFusion Upgrade Offers (OTOs)

Frontend – EBFusion Regular ($17) AI-Powered Software Creates Your Ready-To-Profit Ebook Store In Just ONE Click Start Selling Instantly (i.e. in the next 10 minutes)… 10,000+ Ebooks In 100+ Genres Pre-Loaded In-Built Auto-Blogging Module (From AI ChatBot and Built-In ChatGPT) Web-Based App, So There’s Nothing To Install. Built-In Ebook Maker In Case You Want To Create & Sell/Giveaway Ebooks Create Discount Coupons & Change The Price To Skyrocket Sales & Profits Optimized For Seamless Mobile Usage Get 100% FREE Hosting. No Domain/Hosting Required 100% Legal & Ethical Series of in-depth training videos shows all the ins and outs of the software. Special Bonus: Get Reseller License If You Purchase Today.

OTO #1 – EBFusion PRO ($37) Translate ebook store into 100 languages Send unlimited emails to all existing members inside of store (using our in-built autoresponder) Send push notification to existing members via their desktops/mobiles Connect Your Custom Domain For Your Ebook Store Allow Users To Add Their Facebook Pixels +Google Analytics ID + Google Tag Manager ID

OTO #2 – EBFusion Premium ($37) Create Unlimited Ebook Stores – users can create as many ebook stores as they want INCLUDES commercial rights – users can create & sell ebook stores to client Create Unlimited Articles From Our DFY Auto-Blogging Module – users can create as many blog posts as they want on autopilot. Get Unlimited Reseller Licenses (Sell EBFusion And Keep 100% Profits) Create Unlimited Ebooks Using Our Built-In Ebook Maker Get Extra 250,000 Done-For-You Ebooks In 500+ Genres Bonus: Fiverr Masterclass, DFY Client Researcher Cloud-based App.

OTO #3 – EBFusion GOLD ($27) Instantly Add Another 4 Income Streams To Your Ebook Store Choose from 100,000 hot-selling Done-For-You T-Shirt Designs To Sell On Your Store Choose from 120,000 attention-grabbing Done-For-You Audio Tracks To Sell On Your Store Choose from 200 High-quality Done-For-You Courses To Sell On Your Store Choose from 726 Done-For-You Cutting-Edge Software Options To Sell On Your Store

OTO #4 – EBFusion Platinum ($37) First-To-Market 1-Click ChatGPT – Powered App Creates A Completely Automated Book Affiliate Website and Automated Course Affiliate Website In Less Than 60 Seconds

OTO #5 – EBFusion Agency ($127) Create Unlimited EBFusion Accounts For Your Clients Agency Kits Included

Learn More About EBFusion:

AI Ebook Stores

[jasir08]

Empowering Businesses with DoFort Oracle Cloud Partners

In the ever-evolving technology landscape, maintaining a competitive edge necessitates strong and adaptable business solutions. Oracle provides an extensive range of applications designed to optimize operations, boost productivity, and foster growth. To effectively leverage these solutions, organizations require reliable Oracle partners such as DoFort. With our expertise in Oracle EBS and Oracle Fusion Applications, we empower businesses to realize their digital transformation goals with accuracy and effectiveness.

Who Are Oracle Partners?

Oracle partners are accredited entities empowered to implement, tailor, and provide support for Oracle solutions. They collaborate closely with organizations to guarantee that Oracle’s robust tools meet their specific requirements. As an Oracle Cloud Partner, DoFort plays a crucial role in delivering expert assistance for the deployment of Oracle Fusion Applications and Oracle EBS (E-Business Suite), facilitating smooth operational processes.

Why Choose DoFort as Your Oracle Partner?

DoFort distinguishes itself among Oracle partners by providing comprehensive services customized to meet the unique needs of businesses. Here are the reasons we are the preferred option.

Proven Expertise:  DoFort is a leader among Oracle partners, specializing in Oracle EBS and Oracle Fusion Applications. We provide comprehensive services designed to meet the unique requirements of businesses, making us the preferred partner for many.

Customized Solutions:  Our team customizes Oracle applications to align with specific industry needs, ensuring optimal efficiency and return on investment.

Certified Oracle Cloud Partner:  As a certified Oracle partner, we follow global best practices and uphold the highest standards in service delivery.

Comprehensive Support:  We offer exceptional support throughout the entire process, from planning and implementation to training and ongoing maintenance.

Global Reach:  With a strong presence in various regions, we deliver localized solutions backed by extensive global expertise.

Understanding Oracle E-Business Suite (EBS)

Oracle EBS is an extensive collection of interconnected business applications aimed at enhancing essential processes such as finance, procurement, human resources, and customer relationship management. As a reliable partner of Oracle EBS, DoFort enables organizations to refine their operations and enhance their decision-making capabilities.

Benefits of Oracle EBS:

Scalability: Accommodate business growth with ease.

Integration: Seamlessly connect with third-party and Oracle applications.

Automation: Reduce manual tasks, improving efficiency.

Enhanced Reporting: Access real-time data for informed decision-making.

Oracle Fusion Applications: The Future of Cloud Solutions

Oracle Fusion Applications embody the future of business solutions by harnessing the capabilities of cloud technology. These applications provide an integrated platform for managing diverse business operations, fostering flexibility, agility, and innovation.

Key Features of Oracle Fusion Applications:

Enhanced Analytics: Obtain practical insights through integrated analytical tools.

Mobile and Social Connectivity: Boost accessibility and teamwork.

Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning: Streamline processes and improve decision-making.

All-in-One Cloud Solution: Oversee HR, finance, and supply chain operations from a unified platform.

Why Choose Oracle Fusion Applications?

Implementing Oracle Fusion Applications in collaboration with DoFort provides businesses with a scalable, secure, and innovative solution that drives growth and improves productivity.

How DoFort Oracle Partners Drive Business Success

Collaborating with DoFort allows organizations to capitalize on their Oracle solutions investment fully. Here’s how we create value.

Expert Implementation: Effortlessly implement Oracle Fusion Applications and Oracle EBS while minimizing disruptions.

Cost Optimization: Enhance processes to lower operational expenses and boost profitability.

Ongoing Support: Access round-the-clock support to maintain optimal system performance.

Training and Enablement: Empower your team with the necessary skills to maximize the use of Oracle applications.

Tailored Strategies: Craft solutions that align Oracle tools with your organizational objectives.

Industries Benefiting from DoFort Oracle Cloud Partners

Our proficiency as Oracle partners, Oracle EBS partners, and specialists in Oracle Fusion Applications covers a diverse array of sectors:

Retail: Boost supply chain effectiveness and elevate customer satisfaction.

Manufacturing: Refine production workflows and enhance inventory control.

Healthcare: Simplify patient management and operational processes.

Finance: Maintain regulatory compliance and enhance financial reporting.

In Conclusion:

In an era where digital transformation is paramount, partnering with DoFort as your Oracle Cloud partner empowers your business to thrive. Our expertise in Oracle EBS and Oracle Fusion Applications enables us to deliver tailored solutions that streamline operations, enhance decision-making, and foster growth. By leveraging our comprehensive services, you can unlock the full potential of Oracle's powerful tools and secure a competitive edge in your industry. Contact us for more information.

[cloudshinepro]

The Path to Becoming an Oracle Fusion Consultant: Skills and Challenges | Oracle scm cloud training

Learn how to seamlessly transition from Oracle EBS to Fusion Cloud while maintaining consistent reporting practices. Discover the best strategies and tips for a successful migration in this all-in-one guide

[grey-space-computing]

Take your business to new heights with Oracle ERP Cloud! 🚀 Dive into the perks of making the switch – unlock efficiency, gain valuable insights, and ignite innovation. Ready for a game-changing transformation? Explore the benefits now! 🌐 Website: https://greyspacecomputing.com/oracle-erp-solution/ 📧 Email: business@greyspacecomputing.com 📱 Phone: +91-98602 56990 #OracleERP #BusinessGrowth #greyspacecomputing #reducedcost #productivity ##cloudsolutions #clouderp #cloudapplications #oraclepartnerindonesia #oraclepartner #odi #optimadatainternasional #odilife #oracleodi #oracleerpcloud #oraclehcm #oraclehcmcloud #Saudi #Dubai #India #Kuwait #Qatar

[musouie]

੭ simon loves to play cat-and-mouse with the lovely little publican | suggestive language, 1.0k wc, angst if you squint, fem!reader

It’s at a dingy hole-in-the-wall pub where Simon found he spent most his time. In a dodgy part of the city, one that perpetually smelled of tobacco and car-exhaust; nestled between a boarded-up shopfront and a seedy hotel that any out-of-towner wouldn’t give a second glance.

There was no sign, no windows — just a lone, flickering porchlight glowing above a decrepit old door, looking so worn and dilapidated that it could fall off its hinges at any moment. It all seemed more like the cover to a bando than an actual pub with scarcely decent ale, but he minded that little.

It meant not too many people frequented it — that he saw the same lot everyday — faces so familiar they blurred and meshed together most nights —

— which was just the way that Simon liked it. Inconspicuous. Subdued.

No one here batted an eye at him, the boulder at the end of the bar, who nursed his drink between a huge paw and sat by his lonesome. Who would? No one here was quite the saint. Otherwise, they’d have long left, made for the hills when they heard half the conversations that went on:

Of rogue smuggling. Gun trades. Dirty deals. Attempted hits.

It was only a plus, Simon mused solemnly, eyes lidded and trained on the bird before him, that you were here. The pretty little publican, as sweet as a fig in the midst of summer, plump and dangling from the vine.

(He wanted to sink his teeth into you, peel your flesh back, savour you to your core.)

Your hands were nimble, fingers rolling around bottles and skimming against ice as you poured a golden light ale into a chipped, glass mug. A flick of your hand and a fizz bloomed atop the drink, foam ebbing at the sides, flirting with the rim before settling. A fair pour, he reckoned, no ounce wasted. It was one of your virtues, really. An eye for a measure and a patient pour.

Simon caught you in his periphery, saw your head was tilted to the side and his lips pursed. Had you said something?

He cocked his brows up at you, inquisitive, glancing away from his drink. (It was only you he’d do this for. A sacrifice of the greatest kind, he’d wager.)

“Havin’ a night?” you hummed, leaning against the counter. You were close enough that he could see down your shirt, your dainty, little breasts outlined with the help of your nude brasserie.

No, yes.

Maybe. Could you see the weariness in his eyes? The lilt of the bags underneath them? His posture was slouched, but with an undercurrent of tenseness, the type of rigidity that clung until it was instinct — ran clear down to the sinew, blood…marrow.

You were perceptive. Maybe a bit too much so.

What could you glean from him now?

He shifted in his seat, drumming his thick, misshapen knuckles against the countertop. “Wha’ would make you say tha’, dove?” Simon hummed, low and sonorous.

A pause. Fingertips danced on the glass bar top, tapping in a cadence that suggested you were deep in thought.

“You haven’t flirted with me all night.”

He smiled behind his mask, crow’s feet crinkling as his mouth twisted peculiarly, mirth so foreign his lips couldn’t even lift without a fight.

“Tha’ makes it seem like all I think about is fuckin’ you.”

He ignored how his chest thrummed, pulsated, rumbled, alive and aflame. (A rare occurrence, a rare fusion.)

“Don’t you?” You glanced over, furtive — shy almost, if it weren’t for the coy little smile across your lips. Smug, self-satisfied, beguiling, bewitching; your mouth, your mouth, your mouth.

“May be a lad, but I think ‘bout other things.”

(The odious squelch of blood. Explosions that shook his ribcage and rattled his teeth — strained his maw. Gristle and flesh and innards and brimstone, the stench of them rife when they were raw and unburnt, prodding at his feet.)

“Oh, really?” You leaned further, breasts pressed against the lip of the counter and met his hooded eyes with your sceptical ones. Curiosity danced in your irises, untamed and bursting at the seams. “Like what?”

His gaze briefly flitted down to your cleavage, the supple skin of your breasts plumped between your arms, rising and falling with the jagged rhythm of your breaths. “Brews, birds,” — this, punctuated with a shrug of his broad shoulders — “bike engines. Bein’ of good company.”

“Bloke like you? Company?”

“‘m sure there’s good blokes even in the bowels of hell,” Simon huffs, lightly chagrined.

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Napoleon,” he provided with a crude grin, amused and impious. “Lucky fuck could nab a cunt like Josephine.”

“A dead cunt’s nuthin’, yeah?” Simon snorted; it’s low and gruff, but his eyes gleamed — danced with humour and the unbridled joy of provocation, dark and bottomless, obsidian pits that pulled and pulled and pulled, further and further. “Only you would think he’s good, bein’ a military bloke like yourself.”

Simon smirked, loosened his grip about his glass. “You ask me wha’s wrong just to insult me, dove?”

“But you offer yourself up so willingly, Si.”

He tried not to dwell on how sweet his name sounded tumbling off your tongue, like honey. Sugary sweet nectar that caused a swell in his veins. “Bugger off, bird.” Simon thumbed the edge of his glass. “Shitty service and rude staff. Remind me why I keep comin’ back?”

It was the little quirk of your lips that got him every time.

“‘Cos you love the ale.”

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[liveinfarbe]

A Dark Mirror: face to face with Sam Hazeldine’s Adar

On Closeness at a Distance

Sam—or Sam as Adar—has been slipping under my skin lately, even showing up in dreams. He’s lingered in my thoughts ever since he appeared as the Lord-Father of the Uruk: Adar, one of the most compelling original creations in The Rings of Power.

A dark muse—for the showrunners, for fans, maybe even for Sam himself—he shaped the emotional core of Season 2 and left an indelible mark, even in fictional death.

Adar, a walker between worlds, both elf and orc, cruel and tender, morally ambiguous yet legitimately motivated, perpetrator and victim, maybe asexual, maybe pan, a deeply emotional figure who is - and that’s a point - holding on, fighting for his soul, a father doomed to die.

Sometimes, a character and a performer conjure a response so strong it rearranges your emotional interior—unearthing dormant longing, or conflict. Or both. It’s a kind of intimate experience through art, made possible by what I’d call emotional synchronicity.

That’s what happened to me with Sam’s Adar.

It was much like Rilke’s command -“You must change your life” - but not with a thunderclap. With Sam Hazeldine, it happens like a tide. Rising, ebbing, returning. Quiet, insistent.

Sam’s Adar, and the way he inhabits him, feels inseparable from who he is as a performer—and maybe even as a person. That fusion has been powerful. It opened a radical line of communication—with myself, as myself.

He’s become a kind of dark muse to me, too.

As far as there’s a mystical component to this, it’s not lofty or abstract. It’s visceral. It reaches me through a kind of face-to-faceness where experience and memory meet in a way that quietly undoes me:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now stays faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. (1 Corinthians 13: 12-13)

Charity …

A few nights ago, I woke from a dream. Sam with longer hair, darker, his skin pale, dressed in black. Was it Adar? Or Sam in Adar’s shape? The dream blurred the line, blended the two.

He'd put his arms around me. Both of them.

Pulled me close. Kindly.

He didn't let go. Maybe he whispered something. I don’t remember words, just the warmth.

Apparently I needed it.

I did.

And for as long as it lasted, it was comforting.

Quiet, soothing comfort.

It was a feeling crossing the threshold—from whatever imagined realm it came from—into my breathing, waking reality. A meeting with Sam-as-Adar in that liminal space.

It wasn’t strange.

It felt natural.

It felt okay.

Looking at Sam’s face, there’s an echo of lived experience. A sense of being face to face with something emotionally synchronous—recognizing a common, not the same.

And sometimes, there’s a trace of too much in him: like someone who stayed up an hour too long, drank a little too deep, smoked the one cigarette he didn’t need, turned over a thought from angles no one else bothers with, cried through the witching hour, worked himself up and lost sleep over something he can’t change.

He looks like someone I want to hug. Then crack a joke - just to make the air lighter. Because that’s what he does so well.

He’s by no means just a sad potato. He’s sharp, funny, charming. That dry humor—marked by an almost boyish love of puns and a disarming wit—betrays a fundamental sympathy for people and the world around him.

You know that moment when the invisible tendrils of your nervous system find an emotional match—something synchronous, something they’d been reaching for without you even knowing?

It’s like a quiet earthquake, shifting continents inside you.

Somehow Adar or Sam-as-Adar unraveled feelings that were tugged away for too long.

An unsung grief. A subcutaneous storm of fear and fury.

The kind that bleeds you white until you start to look unfamiliar to yourself.

Then that face, those eyes, his voice—piercing through protective layers.

Igniting something dormant. The sleeping dragon. A balrog in the mines of Moria.

We're witnessing the fictional demise of a character. Watching the inevitable end, anxiously.

Now my smartwatch buzzes, alerting me that my resting heart rate has spiked—like my body thinks it’s an emergency.

Neurons in my gut short-circuit for weeks.

Synapses burn out until they misfire… or go numb.

And yet, it’s just a connection through a screen.

Through storytelling.

Fostered, maybe, by a kind of empathetic recognition—some deep understanding of what makes another soul tick.

Still, it leaves me strangely vulnerable. Shaken. In real life.

Even after the heart rate resettles and the neurons calm, something lingers.

As if there’s a synchronized longing—for more of everything.

To feel alive.

To be true to yourself.

To emotionally recognize yourself again.

But also: to be exhausted by that truth.

To be unable to carry it, to hold on.

To be, somehow, somatically at risk.

A hug and a silly joke go a long way then.

A tired man, his tired eyes - both fictional and not- feel so vividly alive they’ve diffused into my world, real and metaphysical.

And I look back at him through a dark mirror.

[luna-wing-cns274]

<< OMNINET SERVICE SUSPENDED / ACTIVATION OF EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM / TRANSMISSION FOLLOWS >>

<< AUTOMATED SYSTEM MESSAGE: priority retasking of Constellar Omninet relay buoy #SD11-06991 received @ 16:55:14. / Task: EBS ACTIVATION MANDATE / Preface: “I am a humble mouth floating in the void, imbued with being so that I may know the gifts of delight and terror in the brief moment I herald the coming of the One-and-Many. If you can hear the message, then it is meant for you.” >>

[ CONSIDER FIRST THE NATURE OF STEAM. IT WHICH ABSORBS HEAT-WITHOUT-DIRECTION AND TRANSFORMS IT INTO A CURRENT. ]

[ CONSIDER NEXT THE USE OF PIPES. CURRENT MUST BE CONDUCTED. WITHOUT CONSTRAINT, THE DIVINE EFFULGENCE IS WASTED. ]

[ FROM THE BALANCE OF CURRENT AND CONSTRAINT, OVERWHELMING FORCE. GRAVITY AND FUSION, SHACKLE AND MIND. THE STARS ABOVE EXTOL THIS, THE FIRST OF MY TEACHINGS. ]

[ I AM KALI, WHO GIVES BIRTH TO MYSELF FROM FIVE THOUSAND AND ONE LITTLE DEATHS. I AM PEERLESS BEFORE HEAVEN. ]

<< TERMINATION OF EMERGENCY BROADCAST / RESUMING OMNINET SERVICE >>

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER TWO

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

CHAPTER TWO - DREAMS OF FATE, FAREWELL AND NEW BEGINNINGS.

The past two months had been a relentless parade of dreams for Marc Spector, dreams that twisted through the labyrinth of his fractured soul. His thoughts have long been adrift in the sea of uncertainty that had become his life. Nightmares have always haunted him for most of his life, but it recently came to a point where they had intensified to an unsettling degree. Night after night, his subconscious mind became a battleground for the ever-present specter of his past.

The latest of his living nightmares have been his own death at the merciless hands of Arthur Harrow. He should have been used to the sound of a gunshot by now, but apparently it didn’t prepare him enough for when he was at the receiving end. His fractured soul had been unceremoniously cast into the Duat, the realm of judgment for the ancient Egyptian afterlife. He and his alter, Steven Grant, have stood before Taweret’s watchful eye as she weighed their hearts in the scales on their journey to the Field of Reeds.

Steven made a comment back then of how it should have been Anubis, Marc thought. 

To balance their scales and hopefully come back to life, Marc was forced to confront the darkest corners of his past: Randall’s death that spiraled Wendy Spector’s slow descent to madness. The abuse he had suffered during his childhood at the hands of his mother continued to haunt him - the once happy memories of him and his family shattered by his mother’s twisted way of expressing her ‘love’.

But amid the shadows of torment, there was a glimmer of salvation. Steven Grant has finally understood the need for his creation at the dark corners of Marc Spector’s accursed room, having realized that it was Marc’s way of coping with all the combined strong emotions that a small, innocent child wouldn’t have been able to go through. Steven was Marc’s secret joy - the living embodiment of what his younger brother, Randall Spector, could have been had life been kinder.

Through all of their shared history of pain and survival, Marc Spector’s bond with Steven Grant had deepened. They were no longer just two sides of the same coin - they were brothers transcending the boundaries of blood and forever bound in ways that defied explanation. Their connection was no longer a mere confluence of minds; it was a fusion of souls, two halves of a fractured whole. They had weathered death together and returned, their fates irrevocably intertwined.

After rising from the dead and helping to stop Arthur Harrow and Ammit from wreaking havoc in this world, Khonshu fulfilled his end of the bargain to release both him and Steven Grant from their servitude as his avatar - his Moon Knight.

To Marc’s displeasure, however, the nightmares never stopped. Among the myriad dreams that plagued him day after day, one stood out above all others— a dream that seemed more like a forgotten, distant memory.

In this dream, he watched as Steven Grant raised his arms to the heavens. The sky itself yielded to his will, shifting and swirling as if bowing to a higher power. Marc could feel his own life force ebbing away, his connection to Khonshu, the ancient Egyptian god who had granted him his powers, dissipating like grains of sand in a desert storm. Yet, even as he felt himself slipping away, he also felt a divine presence, a heavenly female voice that reached out to him from the depths of his foggy memories.

“It cannot end like this. I will not let you die - any of you” 

Marc then felt soft lips descending upon his, a passionate kiss that carried the divine breath of life as it flowed into his lungs. The kisses he shared with Layla couldn’t even begin to compare with the mysterious woman of his dreams. It rendered him breathless as a warm, euphoric sensation seemingly boiled his blood with pure longing for someone he never even recalled meeting. 

"Arise, Moon Knight. With the power of the moon, I grant you half of my life."

Marc’s eyes fluttered open, abruptly ending his dream as he bolted upright in his bed. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat, his eyes darted wildly around the dimly lit room as he felt his own heart pounding strongly in his chest. He then reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on, allowing a soft, warm light to fill the dimly lit hotel room where he’s currently staying. 

That dream again? Steven asked in Marc’s head, his reflection on the nearby mirror wearing an inquisitive, sleep-deprived look.

“The very same”, Marc shook his head, finding himself chuckling in disbelief. Every night that ended with that shared kiss under the moonlight left him with more questions than answers. 

Why did these dreams haunt him? What do they actually mean? And who even was the enigmatic woman appearing in his dreams for the umpteenth time in a row now?

Marc glanced at the nightstand clock, reading 5:58 AM of today’s time. He could no longer sleep after the unsettling dream he had, so he decided to get ready for the day ahead. He busied himself with the mundane tasks -  taking a long, hot shower, the steam and warmth helping to clear his mind, at least momentarily, of the enigmatic dreams that had plagued him. Brushing his teeth before the bathroom mirror, his eyes narrowed at his own reflection as he caught a glimpse of a crescent moon tattoo inked into his jugular notch. How did I even get this tattoo? Marc questioned in his mind, prompting Steven's reflection to shake his head, having no recollection whatsoever of the tattoo's mysterious origin.

I honestly don't know, mate. Steven sighed. It might be from Khonshu - may be the residue of his magic when he freed us. Marc accepted Steven's theory for the meantime, effectively taking his mind of his own endless questions as he finally dressed in a crisp, charcoal-gray suit, trying to appear composed and confident for what was sure to be an emotionally charged day.

The Motorola flip phone on his bedside table pinged, prompting Marc to open and check his latest message. Layla’s text greeted his eyes, abruptly reminding him of today’s agenda in the first place.

See you in the courtroom today. I’m on my way.

Marc sighed, lamenting how it had all come to this. Their divorce had been a mutual decision, born out of a recognition that their romantic love had faded, wilted by the melancholy of distance and the weight of their shared history. They both have decided to part ways on amicable terms, to seek their own paths and find happiness on their own terms. He would be lying if he said the whole ordeal wasn't painful for him, but he recognizes the necessity to conclude a chapter between him and Layla that had already run its course. 

Two hours later, Marc Spector finally entered the premises of Chicago Family Court. While waiting patiently in the hallway outside his assigned courtroom, he couldn't help but revisit the dreams that had plagued him. He fiddled with his tie, a nervous tic that betrayed his inner turmoil. He wondered if these dreams and nightmares he’s having were mere manifestations of his trauma—the trauma of dying and coming back to life, of shedding the mantle of Moon Knight, the vigilante avatar of Khonshu.

Steven's voice whispered in his mind, a soothing presence amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

Don’t overthink it too much, buddy. Steven suggested, reassuring him that perhaps they were just processing their past in their own unique way.

Marc nodded inwardly, grateful for the reassurance. They were no longer avatars, no longer bound to the whims of Khonshu. They were free, and yet, the mysteries of their shared dreams remained. It left a lingering unease in his soul as he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to them than met the eye.

A yawn escaped him, a reminder of his sleepless night. He took a seat on one of the benches, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He leaned against the cold courtroom wall and slowly closed his eyes against his better judgment, hoping to find some respite from the weight of his thoughts. Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, and he drifted into an uneasy nap. 

"Morning, Marc" 

His name was called, gently waking him from his restless slumber. He blinked and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Layla El-Faouly stood before him dressed in a white blouse, black pencil skirt and gray flats, her dark eyes weary but kind. In her hands, she held two cups of coffee, the aroma of freshly brewed beans wafting through the air.

"Layla," Marc greeted, his voice raspy from sleep.

“How are you holding up?" she asked softly, her tone tinged with a mix of concern and empathy as she handed him a cup of steaming coffee. 

"As well as can be expected, I suppose”, Marc managed a weary smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

She offered him a small smile, a hint of sadness in her toffee-brown eyes. "You looked like you could use it," she said. "Are you ready for this?"

Marc nodded, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup in his hands. "As ready as I'll ever be."

“We both know it’s for the best”, Layla spoke in a serious tone. “With everything that has happened, this will put everything behind us”

He nodded slowly as he let her last words fly by. They exchanged small talk, avoiding the weightier topics for the moment. Soon after, they both heard their names called by the court clerk.

“Mr and Mrs Spector, please come to the front”

As they entered the courtroom, Marc couldn't help but steal a final glance at Layla. Her beauty had always captivated him—the way her raven-black hair cascaded down her shoulders, the warmth of her eyes, and the grace with which she carried herself. She was a striking reminder of what had drawn them together in the first place.

Finally, their case was called. Marc and Layla sat side by side, their hands barely touching as they listened to the legal formalities. It was a somber affair, with a judge presiding over the dissolution of their marriage. Both of them answered the necessary questions with a solemnity that matched the occasion. They signed the paperwork, their signatures sealing the end of their shared lives and setting one another free.

The judge’s words as he delivered the final ruling in their divorce case brought a semblance of peace in both Marc and Layla’s hearts. There was no sadness, anger or regret of any sort - only happiness in its melancholic yet empathetic form. It was the end of an era, the closing of a chapter in their lives.

With the court proceedings behind them, the two walked out of the courtroom and into the corridor, their steps slightly heavy with a sense of finality. Of all the divorced couples in the family court, only Marc and Layla hold hands with a rueful smile on their faces. Outside the courthouse, the two hailed a taxi to take them both to the airport, albeit in separate flights. The taxi ride was a quiet one, the city passing by in a blur of buildings and people.

They may not have worked out as lovers, but they can surely live with being each other's best friends.

"It's time," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as the closing distance of the airport loomed before them. Marc nodded, his throat tight with unspoken emotions. 

"Yeah," he replied in a hushed tone. "It's time."

A few hours later, the newly divorced couple finally found themselves at the boarding gates. Going their separate ways have never felt so bittersweet.

“Take care of yourself, Layla”, Marc said as he pulled his now ex-wife in for one last hug.

“I was supposed to say that”, Layla chuckled, returning the embrace as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Don’t be a stranger - you and Steven”

Tell her to not skip any meals, Steven piped inside his head sadly. His British alter’s brief infatuation with Layla didn’t really help to dampen his already melancholic mood.

“Steven said you shouldn’t skip your meals”

“Tell him I appreciate the thought”, Layla nodded, smiling serenely as if looking directly at Steven himself. “Goodbye, you two. See you around”

With a final, lingering look, Layla turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of other airport travelers. Marc watched her go, feeling a mixture of sadness and relief. The weight of their marriage had lifted, but it left behind a profound sense of loss and emptiness that he wasn't yet sure how to fill.

Marc still has a few hours left before his own flight, so he decided to pass the time at the nearby airport bar. The departure board above displayed rows of cities, each with its own departure time, a digital countdown matching the frenetic rhythm of the bustling terminal around him.

Nursing a lukewarm coffee and absentmindedly flipping through his passport, he suddenly heard the announcement over the intercom, crackling and distorted but crystal clear in its message.

"Ladies and gentlemen, calling all passengers for flight BA294 to London Heathrow. The boarding gates are now open"

The overhead announcements ceased, and the travelers, like Marc, turned their attention to the departure board. In bold, digital letters, the gate number for his flight to London illuminated.

"Flight 294 to London Heathrow: Gate B13."

See you around, Layla’s voice echoed in Marc’s head once more, prompting him to mildly chuckle to himself as he stood up and went on his way to the boarding gates. He knew it would take a long while for them to meet again. Layla has new responsibilities as Taweret’s new avatar - the Scarlet Scarab as dubbed by the people of Egypt. He, on the other hand, will have to pick up the pieces of anything he recalls as a semblance of his old life. 

London was their home now, and Marc and Steven were eager to return to the familiarity of its streets. This time around, it’s up to them to figure out how the next chapter of their new lives will begin. But one thing is for sure - finding out the true meaning of their collective dreams would be the first step.

END OF CHAPTER TWO.

masterlist | previous | next chapter

[northstar-galactic-command]

This is part two of a two-part essay series. You can find Part One here!

Shipkillers, Part Two

"Shipkiller" is not an official designation, and is rarely used in marketing. It is believed to have originated as pilot slag that went viral on the Omninet, and eventually just became part of the standard lexicon.

The concept of shipkillers predates Frames by thousands of years, and even predates space travel. Pre-Fall records suggest the first shipkillers were air-dropped torpedoes carried by primitive biplanes. These torpedoes eventually became fusion warheads and more exotic weapons as humanity took to the stars.

Their popularity ebbed and flowed, but prior to the Interest War it was largely believed that modern point defense had rendered shipkillers obsolete. Saturation attacks were more reliable than betting everything on a single high-yield strike. The Interest War proved this assumption incorrect. The mobility and precision of mounted chassis allowed them to employ shipkillers in ways crude bombers couldn't, and Frames with high-yield anti-ship weapons were able to cripple or outright destroy several capital ships during the course of the conflict.

The GMS BRIGHTSKY coherent particle beam cannon is perhaps the most well-known of the modern shipkillers, though Northstar Galactic Command and Trunk Security forces favor the Haymaker conical nuclear warheads licensed by Titan-Enceladus. There are many others, from anti-capital railguns to relativistic kill javelins, and all of them are equally devastating.

For the firepower freaks now frantically skimming through the GMS catalog trying to figure out how they missed a warship smashing particle cannon, don’t bother. Shipkillers aren’t included in general licenses, and can’t be fabbed from standard printers. Not because Union or anyone else is trying to keep them out of peoples’ hands (any ship with a nearlight drive can cause an extinction-level event if you slam it into a planet), but because of how complicated they are to construct.

Making a weapon powerful enough to seriously harm a capital ship but small enough to fit on a Frame is extremely complex. If shipkillers were simple, every bomber and chassis mount would be slinging around particle cannons and relativistic javelins. Just fabricating the parts requires high purity materials that are extremely rare, and putting them all together requires a sealed environment with high-precision assemblers. The power of these weapons generally burns them out after a few shots, so in addition to specialized mounts and dedicated reactors they require precision targeting and Legion assistance to make sure they actually hit.

In 90% of engagements, shipkillers just aren’t worth the bother. A wing of bombers or chassis can deal with warlords and pirate raiders just fine using conventional weapons, they don’t need superweapons that cost more than some warships. Shipkillers are also useless against anything that isn’t a station or a capital ship. Their firing cycles are too long for them to be effective against conventional targets, and using them in atmosphere is either pointless (because the weapon just won’t work) or actively suicidal (because the weapon and everything around it will be vaporized).

Even when used in space against peer opponents, shipkillers are rarely practical. Modern warships are armored to withstand impacts from spool guns powered by battleship reactors. No amount of clever engineering will allow a Frame’s weapon to match that level of output, so despite the name a shipkiller can’t really destroy an intact capital ship in a single hit.

But sometimes an impractical solution is worth the expense.

The reason chassis and bomber wings can harm battleships even with conventional weapons is because attack wings are precise. The limits of stellar engineering and the cruel realities of physics mean that even the most well-armored ship has weak points, but it’s almost impossible for ships to capitalize on those weaknesses. Naval engagements take place over staggeringly huge distances. Even with incredibly sophisticated sensor data, smart guidance, and prophetic levels of Legion analysis, naval artillery tends to have a margin of error measured in dozens or hundreds of meters. Attack wings can close this gap, using their numbers and mobility to attack areas that a larger warship could never reach.

This is where shipkillers come in.

The expense of shipkillers makes them a critical battlefield resource, only deployed when the edge they provide can turn the tide of battle. They are the killing stroke, the coup de grace. Losing a shipkiller to interception or to a miss can cost the entire engagement, so they are only entrusted to the most elite pilots. Entire battles have been centered around creating the perfect opening to deploy a shipkiller.

Spinal superheavy weapons like tachyon lances or petajoule kinetic accelerators are often portrayed as unstoppable weapons, able to end a battle in a single blast, which is sometimes true. But while tougher ships can survive a blast from a spinal gun, none of them can do so unscathed.

When the long-spool guns have fired and the enemy thinks the worst is over, the shipkillers pounce. Dozens of fighters and drones clear their path, which has been charted over days of fighting to bring them through blindspots in the enemy sensors and point defense screens. A half-dozen mounted chassis, maybe less, swoop down on their target. Its armor is battered and torn from constant fighting. Guided by the fleet legion, they line up the perfect shot and fire. The shipkiller slides through the molten scars in the ships’ armor and strikes deep into the core of the vessel.

And just like that, a seemingly invulnerable leviathan of guns and armor dies.

[caperingcryptid]

Fires and Fabric

@fallenlondonficswap @the-insouciant-scientist @artisanoftheredscience @finerandbonnier @sparingiscaring (Notes: This is, unsurprisingly, for the group event, and for a couple people I saw on the list with a Veils or BaL interest. Hope you all enjoy!

(Additional Notes: It's my first time writing the Masters, so they may be a bit OOC.)

Fires and Fabric

Mr Veils, Mr Fires, other Masters mentioned, Vake/BaL content, brief and off-handed reference to a certain betrayal

(1,016 Words)

Veils was not so often satisfied, but tonight, its bottomless hunger had ebbed...if only, again, for tonight. It was no matter, of course. Tales of the Vake and promises of the fortune placed upon its head drew aspiring hunters in like flies to honey, and as the number of Echoes climbed ever higher, so did Veils' prospects of returning to the Bazaar well-fed and well-amused. 

It picked its teeth with a shard of bone as it ascended the steps, working some of the sinew out from between its fangs. Its latest catch had been some poor, hopeful fool with dreams too big for his head: not unique in the slightest, but still a nice little morsel to feast on until something more fascinating came along.

A hunter was only as good as the prey that they sought, after all. Someone with more gumption would make a fine meal for the Vake, indeed. 

It was ready to return to its lodgings in a good mood (as good a mood as Veils could ever be in, at least) when it sensed, rather than heard, a presence join it on the stairwell. It turned in a whirl of velvet, eyes burning a hole into the creature that had dared disturbed what was otherwise a lovely night.

And that creature was-

“Fires.” Veils glowered, teeth glinting like needles beneath its robe. “What purpose?”

“Temper, temper. I am not so easily frightened as your pet seamstresses.” It held in its hand a lantern, which cast harsh, flickering shadows on the walls around them. It was not so bright that it lit the face beneath the hood, but that was of no interest to Veils anyway. There were far fewer secrets between them than the rest of the city.

“I wanted,” Fires went on, in that strange, honeyed voice. “To have a word about your little...amusements. You were out hunting again, weren't you?”

“Foolish question.”

Fires sighed. ”Perhaps. No, no. It was. But I needed to hear the answer from you. Perhaps I thought there was a chance otherwise, which would be quite foolish of me, indeed.“

”To the point.“

”Never one for small talk, were you? It makes me wonder, sometimes, where that spark of plotting in you came from. Words are what pluck the strings of man, after all, and you are of few.

”And yet, here you are.“ Then, somewhat mockingly, Fires added, ”Veils, the Intriguer.“

Veils scowled. It wasn't in the mood for whatever this was, and already it could feel the sweetness of the night souring. It wanted to return to its chambers, curl up, and sleep away the weight of its meal. It had no interest in hanging around a stairwell like some shifty-eyed urchin while Fires relished in the sound of its own voice.

When it replied, it wasn't in the debasing and irksome words of man. It was somewhere between a snarl and a lick of Correspondence, a fusion that, though brief, was still enough to make the sigils in the walls alight and the tiles shudder beneath them. The closest translation to human tongue, for those curious, would be a particularly colorful suggestion as to exactly where Fires could take its commentary.

Fires calmly adjusted its footing, then raised a single claw in a gesture of peace. ”I'll be on with it now,“ it said. ”The others and I have come to share an opinion: you are getting out of hand. We could forgive your little excursions when they were occasional. But now? Nearly every night? Do you have no self-control?“

Veils puffed up. ”I do not meddle in your affairs, Fires,“ it hissed, begrudgingly picking up speech once more. “You have no right to meddle in mine.” 

“I think we do. I think it is in our best interests to ensure that we're all behaving ourselves. To an extent, of course.”

“I fill my role. My trade is flourishing.” Then, pointedly, “Can you say the same of yours? I have heard word of the Docks.”

Fires didn't rise to the bait as Veils hoped it would. Instead, it went on. “There are less of us than before, when we first came to this place. You know this fact better than anyone.”

It did. 

“Your hunger could very well become your ruin one day, Veils. If not, then it could lead trouble to our doorstep, and none of us are interested in spending our time cleaning up your messes.”

“It's handled.” Veils bristled up. How dare Fires and the rest make such accusations? How dare they think so lowly of it that they think a human could harm it? Humans, with their dull teeth and their flat faces and their stubby little fingers. It was a born hunter. The humans were the soft and succulent prey. London, the city, was its hinterland. 

“It's handled,” Veils spit again. “It is Wines that agrees with you. I know how it thinks. I know its softness. Tell it what I told you: to keep out of my affairs.”

“It worries.”

“Then it is weak.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, Veils' eyes seething and furious, Fires' unreadable. It was Veils who ultimately broke their stand-off, snarling as it turned away from the other Master.

“I am older and stronger and sharper than any little rabbit that could hop to my door,” said Veils. “If they dare, I shall feast on them, and leave their bones as my message. These cities have poisoned you all with softness. I am the only one that remembers what we are.”

Veils ascended a few steps towards its lodgings, paused, then turned again, brushing past Fires in a whirlwind of silks and spite. It needed to shed blood. It would hunt again, and again, and perhaps when it had glutted itself on all it could stomach, it would drop whatever was left of its latest play-hunter through the roof of one of Fires' workshops. 

In its haze of fury and bloodlust, it didn't notice- or care to notice- the somber, knowing way that Fires watched it go.

[jasir08]

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[talesofsonicasura]

Glitch in the Relics Shenanigans

Hey there everybody. I'm back with FE Reader shenanigans and this time we're dwelling into the world of Knack. Gonna be quite a doozy as our heroes have more than just technology to contend with. Simple or unconventional weapons tend to be used a lot in this particular franchise. Let's get started.

Between the three iterations, Fatal Error Reader here remains mostly chill in temperament. They are still snippy and a bit snide about the situation. It leads to counter snark whenever someone says or does something stupid. Mostly and harshly at Viktor.

The entire team didn't fully trust FE Reader at first. Understandable when the human now virus had hack and emerge from Viktor's security drone. I can imagine they have a very advanced firewall to handle viruses. Something Doctor is aware of since he does have history with Viktor.

There were definitely questions when Reader says they used to be human. Ones that wouldn't have much answers since the living virus is still confused about the situation. Viktor doesn't care about it though.

The billionaire already saw FE Reader as an unwanted pest even moreso when it comes apparent that their abilities expand further than crashing programs. Doctor, Ryder, and Lucas are willing to give the virus a chance. Knack is a mesh of friendly curiosity.

FE Reader's strange abilities doesn't really faze him since he's just as abnormal. Also it is quite obvious that they have no idea about their potential powers either. Like the general freakout upon realizing virus' stomach turn out to basically be a pocket dimension when they had accidentally lost the communicator inside.

He does his best to make sure FE Reader doesn't feel alone throughout the entire journey. Even when they both accidentally find out the virus could hitch a ride inside his chest orb. It did feel weird as Knack heard FE Reader inside his head and they can partially merge with his body to assist him. (Think of the CO-OP Knack fusion from Knack 2.)

Everyone obvious freaked out when FE Reader practically became a hooded cape like shroud over Knack's upper body. His face seen inside their jaws akin to him wearing a helm, the viral upper arms entangle around the golem's own that they were now larger while the lower limbs remains normal and their body overlap his in a plasma state without obscuring the relics. It felt even more awkward speaking due to their voices being mixed together.

Doctor: Incredible... Are you two alright?

FE Knack::I- We're fine other than feeling so tingly. Like just had six straight shots of the most intense expresso/black coffee combo strong.

Ryder: That actually sounds worse than what the Doctor makes for his longer projects.

Doctor: Hey! My preference to get enough caffeine to complete my inventions isn't that bad.

Lucas: Not when it's stronger than three energy drinks. -_-

Despite the oddities between each other their kinship is very strong. Reader often storing any relics they find in their pocket space so Knack can defend himself better or communicate vocally if he's small. It isn't uncommon to see the virus napping inside the golem's chest orb, evidence being soft red data 'flakes' ebbing off it. Knack and Reader are protective of each other, moreso the latter who will share their ire if the former is mistreated.

FE Reader: Call him a pet one more time then you'll quickly find a gag sewn inside your throat and a muzzle glued to that sad excuse for a face, Viktor.

Lucas: That's much more extreme than what I had in mind. Any tips?

FE Reader is gonna be quite an influence on Lucas. They are happily willing to hear him out whether it be his ideas or opinions. Even moreso that he's part of the group decisions tends to be sidelined for his age.

Doctor documents any info that revolves around Reader's powers and mannerisms. He is given permission as the former human wants to understand their new body without accidentally hurting anyone. Although they'll pull Vargas back if he goes a bit overboard.

Ryder is there for the ride and hopefully keep things civil in the group. When it comes to FE Reader, he helps in wherever he can. Simple advice and of course warnings on what machinery is fragile to errors.

FE Reader ends up going into the Goblin Village thus separated from Lucas and Knack. Or living virus tries to keep three unarmed people alive throughout a heavily fortified fortress. Not a fun experience especially when said virus loses their temper.

When canon Fatal Error looses his temper, he takes on Critical form. More powerful, more monstrous, and even more eager to tear apart who garners his rage. Same goes for FE Reader albeit with a chaotic buckwild attitude instead.

You can sum it as a walking hurricane of viral code. They'll need to constantly feed on energy or data in order to sustain Critical mode should their rage wane enough. FE Reader will be exhausted afterwards.

They seem to have a peculiar reaction to Giant Relics or exposure to large quantities of relic energy. One such instance would be immediately going Critical just by touching the giant relic in Viktor's Mansion.

Whatever connection they may have to these particular artifacts are still unknown. It will put Fatal Error Reader and those they care about in the crossfire for those with bad intentions. Whether they be humans, goblins or something else.

It'll take more than crashing a few systems to tackle this particular threat. That won't stop this living virus from trying. It's delete or be deleted.

That's it for now! Untill next time folks, I'll see on the next expedition. Ciao!

[senjutsunade]

Tsunade-sama's thoughts on seeing her dearly beloved grandfather's face grafted into his once-good-friend's pectus. I have attached a picture for both reference and visual stimulation. ^^

Tsunade's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a deafening drum against the encroaching silence of the battlefield. Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between disbelief and the raw, visceral horror that clawed at her throat.

There, emblazoned on Madara’s chest, was the unmistakable visage of her grandfather, Senju Hashirama. For a moment, she couldn't process it, her mind refusing to accept the twisted reality before her. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some kind of cruel genjutsu, a nightmare woven from the darkest threads of her fears. Right?

But the image remained, unwavering and real. Her eyes, wide and disbelieving, took in the grotesque spectacle of Madara standing there, defiling the legacy of her clan in the most obscene manner imaginable. Hashirama's face, contorted in unnatural stillness, mocked her very existence.

Her pulse raced, each throb a painful reminder of the sacredness that had been desecrated. Clan practices, DNA—these were not mere scientific curiosities but sacred bonds, the essence of one’s heritage and pride. And here was Madara, wearing Hashirama's legacy like a trophy, an abomination that shattered her very core.

The realization dawned with the force of a sledgehammer. Madara, with his own formidable power, now wielded Hashirama's abilities as well. The implications were staggering, a nightmare made flesh. She knew Hashirama's capabilities intimately—the power to reshape landscapes, to heal wounds that should be fatal, to bring forth life from the very earth. And now, those gifts were twisted in the hands of the most fearsome Uchiha in the history of the shinobi world.

A cold sweat broke across her skin. How could she, Tsunade, hope to stand against this monstrous fusion? Her abilities, impressive as they were, paled in comparison to the towering legend of her grandfather. She was a pale shadow of Hashirama’s greatness, a mere mortal in the face of a god-like adversary. She knew her limits. How? HOW?

Her knees felt weak, the strength she prided herself on ebbing away like sand through her fingers. She wanted to scream, to cry out against the sheer wrongness of it all, but no sound came. Her throat constricted, a silent scream of despair lodged there, choking her.

The image of Hashirama’s face on Madara’s chest burned into her eyes, an indelible mark that seared her soul. It was a defilement beyond comprehension, a sacrilege that tore at the very fabric of her being. She could almost hear her grandfather’s voice, gentle and wise, twisted into a mockery by Madara’s malevolence.

[grey-space-computing]

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