#cloud-based Word files generation

[leyavo]

| Dum spiro, spero | 1

- “while I breathe, I hope”

Summary: You can’t quite seem to adapt to life after a failed op and being tortured. Demoted sergeant to archives assistant, you're slowly becoming a recluse, but years later Ghost offers you a way out.

| Beta!reader x Beta!Ghost | Hurt/angst/comfort/mentions of torture. Featuring Alpha!Price 2115words [Masterlist]

Fate, you hated the word. Every fibre of your being ripped to shreds in the name of the moon. Divinely guided by some goddess watching over you. You’d long stopped talking to the night sky and in general.

You’re lucky to be breathing. The same words thrown your way, without a single thought. The more you heard it, the more it sounded like a threat. No wonder you were always snapping.

Eight years had passed since that failed op. Since you’d lost all sense of self. No you’d come back in someone else’s flesh. Might as well have had another person’s fur. And the years to follow made you feel like a human. You just didn’t expect your pack to treat you like one either.

Most of your days were spent in the dingy archival basement, sorting through paper files for other task forces missions and putting them back on the shelf. In the darkest depths of the archives, keeping you away from everyone else. You liked it that way.

You smelt him before you heard the weight of his steps. The one thing that remained strong, your sense of smell and you relied on it more than you liked. The last scrap of your wolf holding on, you’d been stripped of everything else by your Alpha. No shifting, claws ripped out and left to mirror a human’s hand. You tried to grow your nails, but they were never quite sharp enough. No you mourned the claws, how they used to slice through flesh like a blade and screech against the floor.

This scent, however did not overpower and cloud your senses. No, these were subtle. Hints of tobacco, a musk you couldn’t identify as if he had a signature aroma or a blend with another. Not a lone wolf, but one that had pack.

Definitely alpha though, you could feel the blood writhing beneath your flesh. That little voice in your mind whispering for you to obey, the pressure making you bow your head as he rounded the corner. It didn’t matter how much you tried to fight it, alpha’s got what they wanted in the end.

Your gaze trails after the worn brown boots, kicking the rolling dust along the linoleum flooring as he walked closer.

“Nona.” - your call-sign, the ninth beta to join your task force. Most new recruits were given a number and earned their next one. You were never given another.

You don’t remember much of your life before enlisting in the military, the name you were born with felt more foreign than the number they gave you in the task force. Memory worse since the torture, flickers of the traumatic experience the only thing that wandered back into your mind.

“Would you prefer I call you something else?” His voice soft, you barely register the low tone that rumbles from his chest. Of course, he can smell the pungent bitterness burning the back of your throat.

You blink, vision sharp and clear as you rake your eyes up his thick thighs, gun strapped to his left hip and tactical vest covering his chest. Like he’s just walked here from an op, his fingers are curled around the vest in front of his broad shoulders. A well trimmed beard lines his jaw, moustache framing his lips and chin.

Captain John Price, Alpha of the 141. He doesn’t need to introduce to himself. Each of his team just as legendary as he himself. No one turned down an offer from him. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't noticed them around base. They were hard to miss, commanding any room they entered.

“Nona’s fine, Alpha,” you say, voice gravelly and strained as you try the swallow the lump at the back of your throat. Your fingers twitch by your side, but you fight the urge to rub the heat spreading across your neck. That’s like revealing a weakness to a predator.

His gaze flits to your hand though. Nothing gets past him, no he see's right through you.

“You used to work with frequencies,” he pauses, as if waiting for you to reply, so you nod. “Rare for our kind, recon you could help my task force as a technician?”

Another thing that you were ridiculed for growing up, your lack of hearing. Well for a werewolf, it wasn’t great…human some would say. So you could handle the frequencies used against your own kind. Sometimes you’d even crank it up in the armoury to piss off your team mates when they pushed you too far. Just a little for it to give them a headache, but not enough for them to realise it was a frequency by the sound.

“Join my pack, bond with one of my beta’s and you might just get to see the sun.”

Bond, not mate. You didn’t miss the way he phrased it. You wonder if he's read your file, even the redacted parts.

Part of you wasn't sure if you were ready to face the light, used to blending into the darkness and merging with the silence. Today was the first time in weeks you'd spoken out loud, you didn't even speak to your own alpha. Something he preferred.

“I’ll be back in the morning, so think it over.”

⫘⫘⫘-⫘⫘⫘

The morning couldn’t come quick enough, Ghost had spent the whole night dragging his desk and other items out of his office into his connected bedroom. Perks of being a lieutenant, a decent sized room, en-suite and an office.

He had to remind himself he wouldn’t be mating, but bonding with you. A whole different kind of relationship. There’s no way he’d make you share a room with him, let alone a bed. So he made the small office into a separate room for you.

A single bed pushed up against the wall and a compact chest of drawers squeezed beside it. Not much space, but least it’d be your own. He didn’t bother with sheets or pillows, knowing that you’d bring your own to keep the comforting scent.

Ghost was yet to meet you, heard about you though. Seen your teeth marks in your alpha’s neck. He didn’t pay much attention to the murmurs surrounding your throat or the scars carved into your flesh.

No, he couldn’t help but stare as you walked into his bedroom. The puckered skin lining the column of your neck, the most vulnerable part of a wolf. A curved line marred your right cheek and disappeared behind your right, torn earlobe.

You held his stare though, lifting your chin as if showing him the full extent of your scars. Not that it was anything to be ashamed of.

He’s read your medical reports, knows your vocal cords were damaged beyond repair. How it hurts to speak above a whisper that you don’t bother most of the time. Read the reoccurring dream analysis of you choking on your own blood, Ghost notes to check on you later.

Tucked under your arm is a lumpy pillow, your fingers grasping the fabric as if it’d going to slip through them. Your thin blanket balled up and secured between your upper arm and side of your ribs.

Price hands your duffle to Ghost, small canvas bag covered in mismatched patches. The same one they give you in the training centre, his didn’t last this long. You’re a few years younger than him, thirty three. He’s a head taller than you, but you don’t shrink in his shadow. No you straighten your back and keep his levelled gaze.

Your belongings are plucked from you, Price setting them on the desk now in Ghost’s room. He bids you goodbye, not looking back as he closes the door behind him.

Beta to beta bonds weren’t encouraged, they were seen as unprofessional and lacking discipline or true leadership. The fight to see who would be more dominate, a ninety eight percent fail most of the time. A reason why packs were more efficient.

Could Ghost and you be that two percent? “I like me chances,” he says thinking out loud, you frown at his words.

Ghost grasps your chin in his gloved hand, your lip curling and teeth baring. His gaze lingers on your shaved canines, some sort of punishment for biting your previous Alpha. No bite, a way to weaken you and strip you of a basic need or instinct. Defenceless to those above you.

Still he wonders if your teeth would sink into his neck.

He leans down, his nose trailing your collar bone. Pausing as you hold your breath, waiting for you exhale before he nudges your mating gland. Or the lack of it…the jagged scar making it both difficult to find and scent it. No warmth or reassurance could be transferred to help regulate your emotions. Nothing Ghost could do to help you during your heat.

There’s a subtle hint of jasmine, the kind that blooms at night. He wonders if it’s stronger in the evening.

Ghost doesn’t miss the quiver of your throat as he pulls back, only natural for you to seek out another wolf even if you’re trying to suppress that need. You know that you have to self soothe, no other capable of doing so since your torture.

“I ain’t going to bite ya’. I’m a wolf not an animal.” Again he’s read your folder, seen the experiments your alpha put you through, trying to force a mating connection. How many others bit the scar covering your mating gland?

Bonding, not mating.

None could quite sink their teeth deep enough to mate with you. So they hid you away and neglected you.

“Can’t promise the same,” you whisper, tongue tracing your shaved canine. He knows it’s a thinly veiled threat and not a flirtatious line, but his stomach flips.

Ghost knows it’s his turn to let you scent him, to get acquainted to him and his natural musk. He sits on the edge of his bed, angling his head to the side to show more skin. To allow you more space to shove your face into the crook of his neck.

You don’t move though, blinking down at him. Have you not scented anyone before? Ah, he forgot, your previous pack doesn’t let their females scent the males. Old tradition where the female gives up their own and take on the males, so they smell the same. A good way to deter unmated wolves too.

He tugs you onto his lap, one arm wrapping around your waist, his fingers digging into the muscle of your hip. His other hand snaking up your back and grasping the nape of your neck, like a pup.

A low guttural whine slips from your parted lips, palms resting on his chest as you tried to stop him pushing your face to his collarbone. Your cold nose bumping against the heated spot, muscle flexing at your touch.

“Need to do it, Nona. Otherwise you’re going to go mad,” he says, his thumb brushing the scar covering your mating gland. It won’t soothe you, distract you maybe though.

You grunt, body slumping against his as you lean into the scent. Ghost’s hand fell from your neck, fingers gliding up and down your spine, chasing the tension away.

If he didn’t do this now, you’d be overwhelmed by his presence. That wouldn’t be fair to you or him. He wanted you to be comfortable, free to move around his space as if it were your own because it was now.

Ghost doesn’t know how long your nose had been buried into his neck, but he ain’t complaining. The tingles surging through his shoulder melts away the ache of his sore muscle. Your touch like magic, without even knowing it. He wonders if he’s a grounding anchor for you too.

Scenting normally took at least three hours, sometimes more but that meant staying close and doing tasks together for most of the day. Not holding each other for as long as you have.

He doesn’t know how you pushed him to lay back on the bed, your nose still nudging his neck. Your eyes closed, one arm under his neck and other arm draped over his chest. His legs tangled with yours, he doesn’t complain about the weight your body on his.

Ghost remembers the first time he scented with someone else, knows from experience how touch starved you are. Something as simple as a scent and the warmth of his skin making you stay.

And when he hears the change in your breathing, he waits a couple hours till he knows you’re in a deep sleep before carrying you to your bed.

⫘⫘⫘-⫘⫘⫘

Something's that been in my draft for ages. Might be some errors/mistakes as I am dyslexic. I do check my work multiple times, but still miss things - Leya

[i-donot-forget]

PROJECT ELDARYA

Hi everyone, I'm so excited to be able to post this, for all the time and effort it took, but it's finally here.

What is Project Eldarya? In simple words it is an interactive fan-fic rewrite of “Eldarya : A New Era”

DISCLAMER : this fan-fic is based on the Eldarya game, so all its characters, music, scenery and general elements belong to Beemoov and Chinomiko.

This project is completely FREE, as well as all the episodes that will be uploaded [EVERY EPISODE WILL BE UPLOADED IN ENGLISH AND SPANISH]

I hope you enjoy it and also that those who download and play it leave me your comments, complaints or criticisms, so I can improve it.

DOWNLOAD : if you fear for what you may be downloading on your PC I inform you that it is a POWER POINT file and you only need to have POWER POINT to be able to play, nothing else. I will upload the episodes directly to the cloud as soon as I finish them and translate them to English.

At the date of this writing [03-09-2024] only the PROLOGUE is uploaded and soon I will upload [Episode 1]

PROLOGUE [03/09/2024] - EPISODE 1 [01/10/2024]

Please, any doubt, query, complaint or whatever, feel free to write in this post or directly by private message.

HAVE FUN!

[captures of the prologue]

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 1

series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x f! reader

summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands. 

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! none this chapter but the series will have eventual smut, canon-level violence and just general warnings. 

a/n: hello hello hello! i’m working on creating more appropriately sized chapters and spacing things out but i’m so excited to work on this series. this series is based on a request from @breatheeagainnnn 

word count: 2.7k 

Anakin Skywalker is lost.

The revelation comes to him when he is lost in the deep waters of his meditation, distanced from the buzzing matter of physical reality as he is swept by the currents of the Force. He drifts without anchor, each surge threatening to submerge him, to overwhelm him if he loses his control.

He seeks to control the Force. The Force seeks to control him. 

And the network of the universe ebbs and flows around him when the truth is drawn from his bones. It’s a presentation of three fragmented parts that unsettle Anakin right down to his soul. 

The first. He is afraid. He is the Chosen One, something he’s heard so much that it has lost its meaning. The Messiah lost the message. 

Bring balance to the Force. Bring balance to the Force. Bring balance to the Force.

He doesn’t know what that means anymore. And if he fails, what then? His fear of falling into the Darkness paradoxically increases the hold that it has on him. 

The second. He pines for what he cannot have. 

Padme Amidala is the breath in his lungs, reviving him with each heartbeat. But she couldn’t love him the way he loves her, telling him as much with just a hint of sadness on her graceful face. She shut him out and without her, he feels weaker. 

The third. Anakin is losing control. Obi-Wan can sense it too, because every training session is overshadowed by a sense of urgency. Every move is sloppier, more dangerous, and even in training, his desire to triumph is clouded by his desperation, as if winning would allow him to truly understand it all. 

And all of this culminates in him realizing that he is lost, without hope and without guidance, and nobody will understand. Obi-Wan could never understand, for he still sees Anakin as the child that he rescued so many years ago. Obi-Wan just doesn’t get him. Master Obi-Wan would do anything for his padawan, truly, but Anakin can’t bear the thought of burdening Obi-Wan with this. Besides, it would only reinforce Obi-Wan’s view that Anakin isn’t ready to be a Jedi Master. 

A knock on the door to his quarters startles him and he scrambles to get up as Master Obi-Wan opens the door. 

“Anakin, there’s someone here to meet us,” Obi-Wan says, frowning. Anakin runs a hand through his hair, sighing as he frantically pieces together an appearance of cool indifference. He’s a Jedi. He can’t feel rattled. The two Knights obscure their faces with their hoods and walk out of Anakin’s quarters. 

Anakin follows Obi-Wan to a room where a single figure stands hidden by a hooded cloak, surrounded by a number of handmaidens each adorning the same pinched, tight-lipped look. 

“Leave us,” a low voice says from under the cloak, and each of the handmaidens file out of the room without sparing even a single glance behind. Anakin reflexively reaches for his lightsaber, but then the figure steps into the beam of light streaming from the window and takes off the hood. And he lays eyes on you for the first time. 

You’re not nearly as beautiful as Padme, nobody is, but still, there’s something so mesmerizing about you. Motes of dust dance in Coruscant sunbeams around your head and it looks like a halo, makes you look holy, and he can’t stop himself from staring. He’s studying the details of your face, scanning, and it’s to a point that he can’t pretend it’s for threats. He almost forgets to breathe when you bow your head to him in respect, and he has to bow back. Anakin’s eyes are still transfixed on you when you begin to speak. 

“Master Kenobi, General Skywalker,” you begin, and the two Jedi push their hoods down. “I come to you in need of assistance. As you are aware, the current Queen of Naboo’s two terms are near their end. But what has been kept secret is that I’ve been chosen as her successor, which will be revealed to the citizens of Naboo in a fortnight.” You take a deep breath and smile weakly as Anakin and Obi-Wan mutter half-hearted congratulations. “What I need is protection.”

“So then why do you require our aid? I’m sure you’re aware that Naboo has its own governmental protective forces, and I’m unsure that they’d take the Jedi Council’s interference in their sovereignty kindly,” Anakin asks. He’s more guarded than he intends to come off, but the question holds still. You don’t appear to be a fool, so there must be more depth to the matter. At his questioning, your eyes flit briefly towards the door before you step closer to the Jedi, toying with the front of your robes as nervousness overtakes you. 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m much older than the usual elected Queen, and it is not by coincidence,” you murmur. “I did not get here alone. Under the command of Senator Amidala, I’ve spent the past couple years infiltrating the Naboo separatists. They manipulated the selections such that I would become Queen.” At the mention of Padme, Anakin bites back a sigh and forces himself to pay attention to your words. 

“That is very dangerous,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing his hand over his beard. “I assume you’ve been relaying your findings to the Senator thus far?” 

You nod sharply in response. 

“I see. The Council—“ Obi-Wan begins, but you shake your head frantically and grasp him and Anakin by the robes, pulling them closer to you. 

“No. Not the Council. I do not know who I can trust. There are Separatist spies everywhere. My handmaidens, for example, are all Separatist spies who don’t trust me because Padme is my cousin. While I don’t doubt the integrity of the Jedi Masters, I fear putting them in danger if my operative fails, or if word gets out.” You’re frantic but quiet, and constantly checking at the door to see if any of your wardens have overheard your betrayal.

“And yet you trust us,” Anakin rebuts. He doesn’t trust you, not one bit; how could he ever trust a spy? If you’re so willing to lie, even if it is to the Separatists, how can he be sure that you’re not lying to him? 

“Padme told me that I could trust you. She said to give you this,” you say, shoving your hand into your pockets to produce a necklace, which Anakin recognizes immediately. It’s one he knows all too well, as it’s the necklace he’d gifted Padme before he had even joined the Order. And he decides that if nothing else, you are honest about Padme. And that’s all that matters to him. The part of him that still burns for her overtakes him and he knows that he can’t let her down. 

“I’ll do it,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan glances warningly in his direction, but there’s a certain resignation and relief in Obi-Wan’s posture. Anakin hasn’t taken this kind of initiative in a long time, and Obi-Wan was beginning to grow concerned that all hope for the Chosen One was lost. 

“Alright, the matter is,” Obi-Wan pauses mid-sentence, looking at Anakin’s determination, “settled. We will aid you in your transition away from the Separatist group and expose their interference.” 

”You have misunderstood me, Master Kenobi,” you whisper, voice hush with urgency. “I’m so close to finding out the identities, locations, of key leaders. There are Sith Lords that are regularly hologrammed into our meetings. Should I be tasked with something significant as the Queen, Darth Sidious has already alerted me that I will be tasked with the assignment in his presence.” 

Obi-Wan begins to respond to you, but Anakin cuts him off. “If you have a plan, why don’t you tell us already?” He’s frustrated by your impatience. Maybe Obi-Wan was right about politicians. You glance at him, annoyed. 

“I was getting to it, General Skywalker. As I was saying, this mission is imperative and it is essential to the fate of the Republic and thus, the galaxy, that I am not put in harm’s way before I am able to succeed in exposing the identities of key Separatist forces. I cannot trust the guards provided by the Naboo government, as I don’t know who is a Separatist plant. So—“

“So you need our protection to… what? Kill the spies? And how would that work if Naboo has its own protection for you? I highly doubt they’d take the involvement of the Jedi Council kindly,” Anakin says sharply. You nod at his rapid-fire questioning, unfazed. 

“Something like that. I need to make sure that any communications I have and discoveries I have are protected, and if anyone finds out, that they’re eliminated before they can eliminate me. So not necessarily kill the spies, but I need actual protection, and I need someone that I know I can trust. And…” you trail off and step back, toying with the hem of your sleeves as you sigh. 

“What is it, milady?” Obi-Wan asks you gently. You press your hands to your neck and look up at Anakin. 

“The way I see it, there’s two things we can do. General Skywalker, I understand that as a Jedi Knight, you have a padawan yourself. Ahsoka, correct? We could have her—” 

“No,” Anakin interrupts quickly. “Ahsoka’s far too young, and while I believe that she will grow to be a very competent and powerful Jedi, now is not the time to thrust her headfirst into a mission alone.” You nod at the Jedi’s assessment. 

“Of course, General. We’re thus presented with the second plan. I am, as Queen, permitted to have a husband. I’ve been building the identity of a lover in my life, and while there is none, this leaves me room to marry without suspicion in the eyes of the Separatists.” You take another deep breath and look at both Anakin and Obi-Wan, shoulders tensed. “If I marry either you or Anakin, then I’ll be able to have you in my chambers regularly, privately.” 

“And you’re certain it must be us?” Obi-Wan asks. You nod quickly, sharply. 

“I can’t trust anyone but the two of you,” you whisper. Obi-Wan nods at your words, then bows his head. Anakin follows suit. 

“Thank you, milady. We’ll meet you at midnight, in the gardens, to settle the matter.” Obi-Wan and Anakin hide under their robes once more, being even more careful to disguise themselves as you call out loudly for the handmaidens to return. 

~~~

The hours pass quickly, and you soon find yourself in the cover of the night’s darkness. Sleep eludes you tonight, and you are filled with restlessness. Your handmaidens have retired, sleeping outside of your bedchamber to ensure that you don’t leave. But they fortunately didn’t notice the ledge that goes from underneath the bedroom window to the bridge connecting the guest quarters to the Temple. 

The air in the room feels stale and suffocating as you toss and turn, counting down the minutes until your meeting with the Jedi. Your heart thumps torturously in its cage before you abandon your futile attempt to chase sleep. You find yourself at the window, sliding it open quietly as the breeze rushes in to kiss your face. Coruscant is beautiful and silent at this time of night, with only the whispers of distant sounds of the city blowing past you. 

The building ledge meets your bare feet when you slide over the window, and the distance from you to the ground is dizzying. Your palms and feet begin to feel slippery from sweat as your thoughts begin to spiral, fear of falling weakening you. You force yourself to shuffle closer to the bridge, focusing on controlling your movement as you do. 

And yet somehow, it’s all so freeing from this far up. No restrictions, no eyes on you, and all the troubles in the galaxy seem so small at this height. You could fall. Or you could keep going. The fear wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was that you were here and alone and it felt safer than you have felt in years. 

You force yourself to keep moving, ignoring the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck. Once you reach the bridge, you quickly jump onto it and hurry towards the gardens. 

The moons make the night soft with their hazy light. You swear that the temple seems so much more powerful in this light, with fewer Jedi wandering the grounds. They spare you a glance when you run past, your nightgown fluttering behind you. 

General Skywalker is the first thing you notice when you reach the garden, twirling a flower in his hands. It looks almost out of place with him, delicateness contrasting the strength of his hands. You get the feeling that he knows you’re there, despite the quietness of your arrival and the fact that you’ve been almost holding your breath as you watch him.  

“It won’t be a real marriage, you know. I love Padme, and I’ll love her til I die.” Ah, yes. Padme had warned you about this— about the intensity of his affection. Anakin Skywalker is not a man who works in subtleties. You hold back a scoff at his arrogance, choosing instead to clasp your hands in front of your nightgown and nod. 

“I don’t ask for your affection, General. Nor your companionship. I would, however, like for us to be allies.” The light of the planet’s four moons is muted in the garden, distorted by the thick layer of clouds and it makes the moment feel private. But you’ve been a double agent for long enough to know that there are always ears and eyes. You hold your tongue in fear of revealing something that could expose your mission just to get General Skywalker’s favor. 

General Skywalker clenches his jaw and drops the flower, studying you before nodding quietly. The flower is crushed under his boot as he stalks towards you. 

“But-” Your breath catches in your throat as you look into his eyes because he’s… pretty. You hadn’t thought of it before now, but as the moons’ lights fall so gently onto him, he seems ethereal. “But you will have to fake your affection, General. If you are unable to do that, I will respect that, but I’m afraid that would mean that you wouldn’t be suited for this mission.” 

“Padme recommended me for this mission, didn’t she?” General Skywalker asks you quietly, and you bite back a sigh at his obsession but find yourself nodding, albeit hesitantly. “Then the matter is settled, milady.” He leans in towards you, and you are lost in his eyes. 

“The matter is far from settled,” Master Kenobi’s sharp voice cuts through. You step back from Anakin, pressing your hand gently on your collarbone as your heart pounds against your ribcage. Your ears ring with embarrassment at the closeness that the Jedi Master had found you two in. 

“Agreed, Master Kenobi. I propose that General Skywalker join me within a month’s time on the planet. We will rendezvous somewhere we’ll be caught, publicly but also by my handmaidens.” 

“Force their hands,” Master Kenobi says, rubbing his jaw with the pads of his fingers as he thinks through the details of your plan. 

“I take issue with one large part, milady,” General Skywalker objects. He looks irritated, as he mostly has within the short time that you’ve interacted with him. Is this how he is as a lover? If so, no wonder Padme left him. 

Master Kenobi sighs aggravatedly and waves at the General, urging him to continue. “Padawan, I’d like to finish this conversation before the sun rises.” 

“I’ve got the feeling that it’ll do more than raise a few eyebrows if the Queen suddenly gets a new husband, all while one of the Jedi Knights and padawan to one of the greatest masters is… what, on a mission?” 

You smile grimly at his question. 

“There’s an easy answer to that question, General.” General Skywalker narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “You’ll have to fake your death.” 

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

A first (very insecure) Valentine's

It's Natasha's first Valentine's Day with her girlfriend, and she struggles more with the concept of love and romance than she feared.

Natasha Romanoff x fem!OC (Katya Petrova) (the ''Forgotten Ghost'' series) Wordcount: 3.9k No warnings (except maybe Natasha being adorably helpless at love)

A/N: here to make your Valentine's Day a bit less miserable: our two favorite murder wives :)

The door of Clint's room had never looked more intimidating than on this Monday night, in the empty, dark hallways of SHIELD HQ. Everyone who lived on base had gone to find their beds, exhausted from the busy workday. But Natasha knew her best friend was still awake by the faint light coming from under his door.

Had she known that love was this embarrassing, she would have thought twice before letting Katya back into her life. Simply the thought of what she came down here to ask made her want to scratch her skin off. It was a completely new feeling that she struggled to get a grip on. This whole 'in love' thing really messed with her mind and body.

Every time she heard or read her girlfriend's name, saw her in the hallways or the cafeteria, or simply thought about her in the middle of a boring briefing, her head got fuzzy and the world faded away. All her thoughts would get consumed by Katya until she was mentally on cloud nine and felt warm all over. 

It was a very odd development for a woman who never lost focus. Last week, Maria chucked a file at her head when she'd zoned out once again in the middle of their conversation.

It was embarrassing. People teased her about it—especially Fury. If he made one more joke about her keeping her head on her neck and not in the clouds, she was going to cut his off his body. The last thing she needed was other agents taking after him and realizing she had a heart. She still struggled to accept her soft side.

"Are you gonna come in, or do I have to bring a pillow and a blanket out while you think about it?"

Once more, Natasha pulled her thoughts back to the here and now, her cheeks flushing red. She had no other choice but to push the door handle down and sheepishly step into Clint's room, closing the door behind her. What was happening to her? She used to be so confident and unbothered all the time.

Clint didn't look up from his spot on the couch, buried in manilla-colored files and papers, an empty pizza box on the floor. His apartment represented his mind. Cluttered, unorganized, yet somehow cozy. If Laura saw him like this, she'd scold him for his unhealthy lifestyle.

"What relationship question do you have for me today?" He asked casually, scribbling something in a notebook. When Natasha stayed silent, he looked up, chuckling at her expression. "Come on. If this was about work, you would have barged in like you own the place."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, looking at the horrible handwriting in his notebook instead of his face. It was difficult enough to get the words out of her throat. "The fourteenth, how serious do people take it?" 

Clint was too taken aback by the question to form an immediate answer, leaving her to cringe in the short silence that followed. The nail of her thumb painfully scratched at the nail bed of her pointer finger.

"You mean Valentine's Day?" Amusement flashed briefly across his eyes, but he was too considerate of her struggle with herself to tease her about the way she worded her question. He closed the folder in his lap, straightening his hunched back. "It really depends. Some people think it's just capitalism bullshit, but most people like showing their loved ones some extra love anyway."

Natasha definitely considered herself a hater of Valentine's Day, of capitalism and money-hungry companies in general. But it wasn't about her, was it? "Do you give Laura something?"

"Flowers. Every year." Clint's face lit up at the mention of his partner. "She says she doesn't want anything, but that's the least I can do. And I try to be home if I can." He tilted his head. "Do you plan on giving Katya something?"

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know if she cares about stupid holidays," she mumbled, prodding the linoleum underneath her feet with the heel of her boot. Why was a relationship so hard?

"I can feel her out for you?" Clint offered kindly, but she immediately shook her head. 

"She'll know." And Katya knowing that she asked Clint for advice was even more embarrassing.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Well, if she says something, I'll let you know." Natasha sent him a thankful nod, reaching for the door handle behind her, but Clint wasn't done yet. "But between you and me, I think she'll really love any gesture from you."

"Thanks."

She left his room feeling only a tad bit better. Clint's advice wasn't really useful and gave her no insight on what Katya would prefer, but it helped to know that even he participated in the holiday. And that said something, given he wasn't the most romantic person she knew.

As she walked back to her own room, Natasha once again wrecked her brain for everything she knew about Valentine's Day, but she didn't get much further than it being a red and pink color vomit with hearts everywhere. Flowers, cards, chocolates, that she also knew. But her knowledge stopped there.

Every year when the day came around, and the stores started to fill up with the nauseatingly sweet colors, she went out of her way to avoid it. Hating it was easier than digging into her soul to figure out why she hated it so much. 

Anyone talked about Valentine's Day? She pulled a grossed-out face. A love song came on the radio? She turned it off.

Now, for the first time in her life, she was forced to face it head on, and she was at an absolute loss.

What did people do on Valentine's Day? What was considered a good gift? What would Katya like to receive? 

She really loved the roses Natasha brought her for their first date, but the redhead hadn't given her anything beyond that that could indicate her preferences.

Natasha's face paled, a nauseating feeling of failure rising in her throat as she stopped in her tracks. Should she have gotten her girlfriend more gifts in the past months? Her heart started to race. Had Katya been waiting on something to follow the roses?

Oh god, Natasha knew she wasn't up for this. She was doing this all wrong. Her romantic instincts took much longer to resurface than she thought they would. And even worse, what if they were gone, forced out of her at a young age? What if she would never get that natural feel for romantic things? 

She didn't even know if it was customary to get your partner gifts often. Every week, every two weeks, every month? She thought that gifts were only for milestones, and birthdays, and the occasional holiday. Never did she stop to think that she could give Katya presents on random moments, just to be sweet. What dumb, inexperienced idiot didn't know that?

Her thoughts were spiraling. 

Twice as fast now, Natasha legged it back to her room, stopping herself from frustratingly slamming the door behind her. 

She needed to calm herself down, taking deep breaths to ease the anxiety as she paced back and forth in her room, the one next to the woman ruining her nights. Valentine's Day was supposed to be fun, exciting, an opportunity to spoil her girlfriend as she deserved.

Shaking out her arms, Natasha pondered what she could get Katya, what she should do, determined to make up for her lack of romance. Flowers were nice, but that was too simple and repetitive. Chocolates were too cliché, and Natasha would rather throw up than write something romantic in a card only to have Katya read it in front of her. Maybe someday.

As her feet wore out a path in the floor, she knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't stop. The fear of doing something wrong, of losing this fragile thing they'd built over the last few months was strong. It was the best thing in her life, and if she lost it, Natasha already knew she wouldn't be able to go on. 

So lost in thought—once again—she almost missed the sound of her phone. Absent-mindedly, her hand fumbled for the device in her pocket, expecting a SHIELD message or an email. Instead, her heart skipped a beat at the name displayed on screen.

Katya: Go to sleep.

Katya: I can hear you pacing.

Katya: Do you want to get something off your chest?

Yes. Natasha had several things to get off her chest, in fact. A million. But Katya was also the reason those things were there. 

She wanted to crawl into her girlfriend's arms and put it all out there. She wanted to be reassured until all those worries floated out of her head, leaving only silence behind, the kind of peaceful silence only Katya could give her. She wanted to just exist in her embrace for a while.

The yearning caught her so off-guard that it took her a second to answer the texts. It was only lately that she'd started to crave physical affection, and it seemed her body was trying to catch up on all the years she didn't have it.

Natasha: I'm alright. Thank you.

Natasha: Go to sleep yourself.

Katya: Can't. Some idiot is pacing next door and it's keeping me awake.

A genuine smile broke through her frown. She'd been doing that so much more often. Smiling, laughing. Natasha didn't even remember the last time she genuinely laughed at something before Katya came around.

She deserved something on Valentine's Day, Natasha decided. But what?

Grabbing her laptop, she sat down on her bed, opening her internet browser to the search bar. She contemplated the right way to go about this, chewing on her bottom lip in thought as her fingertips hovered over the keyboard. 

First, Natasha typed things like, "Valentine's Day gifts woman", and "Original Valentine's Day gifts", but she quickly realized this was not at all what she wanted. The gifts were far from original, and she was pretty sure Katya didn't want a pillow with her face printed on it. 

Aggressively deleting it, she tried other keywords, more specific ones tailored to Katya, but the internet didn't seem to understand her. All it showed her was mass-produced and cheaply made junk. The same things a thousand other New Yorkers would be getting from their loved ones. 

No, it had to be something more personal. But Natasha wasn't crafty enough to make anything the lists suggested, and getting Katya a knife for Valentine's Day didn't give off the right message. 

She got more frustrated by the minute, slamming the keys harder than the agents down at IT would like. Nothing that passed her screen felt right, and she didn't have much time left to find something. She'd already avoided dealing with this for as long as she could.

The taste of iron flooded her tongue, and Natasha realized she'd bitten through her lip in her desperation. She licked the blood off as she aggressively closed all the tabs in her browser. The internet had turned out to be entirely unhelpful once again.

With a quiet groan, she fell back on her bed, staring at the blank ceiling. What did she know about Katya? What did she like? They were still learning each other, getting to know each other again. A few months was nowhere near long enough to know everything about her, especially with all the guards they had up. They were definitely moving twice, if not three times, as slow as the average couple.

But there had to be something. Something Katya mentioned—

Natasha shot up at once, her fingers flying over the keys this time. 

On New Year's Day, the cafeteria had chocolate bonbons for the agents that stayed on base. They'd done that the years before, nothing special. But she remembered bumping into Katya in the hallway just outside, the blonde munching on one of them and having a couple more in the palm of her hand. When she had asked if they were any good, Katya had nodded but said they would never compare to her favorite Russian bonbons, filled with vodka liquor. 

Natasha had never been so happy with her good memory, thanking the gods for saving Valentine's Day for her. Typing the brand in the search bar, she managed to find a store in the city that had the chocolates. From there on out, it was simple to order a box and have it delivered.

Beyond relieved, Natasha shut her laptop, grinning to herself. It was the perfect gift. Thoughtful, personal, it showed that she paid attention, and it fit the Valentine's Day theme. She couldn't have picked anything better. The only thing left was for her to run to the local florist and pick up some roses.

~~~~

On February 14, Natasha was awoken at 5:30 by the nervous churning of her stomach. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that for a moment, she thought she'd caught an illness. Restless stomach, feeling jittery, cold tremors; all signs of the flu. But then she remembered the date. 

Slowly, she got out of bed, trying to ignore her bubbling stomach as she showered and got dressed. It wasn't easy. She would have liked to drag the process out forever, hide in the safe shower, but she needed to catch Katya before she left. No way was she waiting all day to give everything. 

Only when she was satisfied with the way she looked did she open her closet again, crouching to pick up the vase she'd hidden there the day before. Last night, she brought it in, the bouquet hidden in a big cardboard box that she carried through HQ. No agent had spared her a glance.

At 6, Natasha no longer allowed herself to hesitate. She gave herself a mental kick under the butt, grabbed the chocolates and flowers, and headed for the door. With one last deep breath, she slowly opened it, sticking her head through the gap to check left and right. The hallway was empty. 

She felt like a coward, sneaking around like she was dropping off drugs instead of flowers, but her reputation here within SHIELD is what saved her when she first started out, and what kept people respecting her as someone not to mess with.

Her reputation was precious to her. One day, she'd happily sacrifice it for Katya, but before that could happen, she needed to do a lot of work on herself. Growing and evolving took time.

Swift like a cat, Natasha slipped into the hallway, silently closing her door behind her. Again, she listened for footsteps, but the only thing in her ears was her own heartbeat. Her hands were clammy around the box of chocolates.

The thing she was nervous about wasn't seeing Katya. In fact, she looked forward to seeing her again. That smile that greeted her every morning when she pulled her door open was the thing keeping her alive right now. 

No, what she was nervous about was the gesture itself. Her head was filled with only doubts. Had she chosen the right things? Was it too much? Was it too little? Did Katya think Valentine's Day was stupid? Natasha thought she'd like it, because Katya liked New Year's too, and that was also a dumb holiday in her eyes. 

Much like last week, Natasha found herself staring at a wooden door. It had a small dent in it, she realized, right at eye-height. Maybe a previous resident had accidentally knocked their forehead into it.

Her heart pounded in her chest when her fist raised to knock, but she did it. Four, quick knocks, her hand retracting like it had touched fire. She shuffled in her spot, adjusting the things in her hands as she listened to Katya's shuffling on the other side. Even if she wanted to flee, it was too late now. Footsteps were swelling on.

The door swung open, a pair of blue eyes and a kind smile replacing the brown wood. Natasha's heart skipped a beat for other reasons now. Her girlfriend looked so beautiful, her hair loose and her eyes slightly puffy from sleep.

"Good mo—" Katya's voice cut off, her gaze shooting to the things in Natasha's hands.

Natasha couldn't find her voice. How could she have forgotten to think about what to say?! Her clothes, her hair, the gifts, when to give it; it had all been given thorough consideration. But not once had she thought about what she would say. Not once!

"For you," she threw out, her voice sounding ten times more calm and collected than her brain was. The smile on her face was supposed to be gentle, but it felt insecure and nervous on her lips.

Katya's beautiful eyes widened in disbelief. "Nat…" She gasped softly, carefully taking the flowers from her hand. Her nose disappeared between the rose petals, taking a whiff of the fresh scent. Her eyes sparkled when she looked up at her girlfriend again. "That's so sweet of you. Thank you so much." Another gasp flew off her lips once she clocked the bonbons. "Oh, my god. Are those the chocolates? I can't believe you remembered."

Natasha could tell how red her cheeks were based on how warm they felt. Receiving compliments had never been her strong suit. But she felt so relieved, too, realizing all her worries were for nothing because Katya would have probably been happy with a simple kiss. She'd made this way too big in her head.

Her head, that seemed to be the main problem in her life.

"Maybe don't eat them all at once. Don't think Fury would appreciate it if you're drunk on the job," she joked, feeling her usual confidence come back to her.

Katya shrugged, carefully opening the packaging. "Don't care. I'm having one right now."

Natasha chuckled at her enthusiasm, happy her gift was received so well. "It's six in the morning."

"I know." Katya grinned. "Come in, I'll make coffee." She pulled Natasha into her apartment by her sleeve, closing the door behind her. 

They didn't have time to chat or drink coffee, but for once, Natasha didn't protest. She felt light, like she could handle whatever the world was going to throw at her today. She was proud of herself, too. Taking a romantic leap was terrifying, but it clearly paid off. Her eyes followed Katya closely as she placed the roses on the coffee table, adjusting them so they looked nice.

"I didn't know you'd get me anything. I would have gotten you something too." Katya smiled as she turned around. "I thought you hated Valentine's Day."

"I do." Natasha paused. Did she still? "Kinda."

"Yet you got me something." Katya's eyes took in her appearance. A brown leather jacket that she saved for special occasions, her hair neatly styled. "And you look really put-together too. Put in extra effort to look nice?" She teased lovingly.

Natasha scoffed, looking away to hide the blush on her face. "No." Were her efforts really that obvious? If so, that was so embarrassing.

Katya hummed skeptically, closing the distance until she stood right in front of her. It was impossible to stay stubborn and not look. The pull of her bright blue irises was too strong. Natasha tentatively glanced their way, relaxing at the gentleness in them. 

"Well, either way, thank you. I really appreciate it," Katya said honestly, smiling softly. Natasha offered her a smile back, the closeness making it feel like she had to whisper.

"You're welcome."

The redhead's breath hitched in her throat when a pair of warm, rough hands cupped her cheeks. She barely had time to process before Katya stepped even closer and pressed a kiss to her lips. More than a couple dozen times they'd kissed, but it never failed to make her body react like the first time.

Before she could move her hands to hold Katya's waist, the woman had stepped back, her cheeks a light pink as well. "Consider that my gift." She teased.

"It'll do," Natasha chuckled breathily. 

It was already a better Valentine's Day than all her previous ones combined.

"Did you really expect nothing?" She asked after a moment, watching Katya make coffee in the small kitchen. It was only then that she realized her girlfriend wasn't fully dressed yet. Her cozy, fluffy cardigan wasn't work-appropriate and hung loosely over her tank top.

"I suspected something when Clint suddenly asked me about Valentine's Day last week," Katya said, looking over her shoulder as she poured some milk in her coffee cup. "You know that look in his eyes that he gets when he's trying to be nonchalant?" She chuckled.

Anger flashed through Natasha's body. "I told him not to ask," she grumbled through clenched teeth, turning her head away. Clint was an incredibly kind, selfless guy, but he was also so annoyingly stupid sometimes. 

One thing. She asked him one thing, and he couldn't keep his trap shut.

A smug grin overtook Katya's features. "So you did go to him for advice? I was just fishing."

Natasha's head snapped back to her girlfriend. Her glare did nothing but make her smirk wider, and Natasha couldn't even be mad, because she walked right into that one herself, didn't she? "Don't ever mention it again," she threatened.

Katya laughed softly, handing her her cup of black coffee. "Do you want to go out for breakfast? If you're not busy."

Natasha was, in fact, busy. But her meeting at seven also included Maria, and she could give her the details later. It wasn't any more important than spending Valentine's Day morning with her partner. "Yeah, sure. I'd love to."

Katya's smile widened. "Give me a minute to finish getting dressed." 

Pressing her coffee cup into Natasha's empty hand, she grabbed something from her dresser and disappeared into the bathroom. As the water in the sink ran, Natasha had the urge to drink Katya's coffee just to get her back for teasing her so much, but before she could actually put the cup to her lips, the blonde was back. 

Natasha nearly choked on her drink. "What are you wearing?"

Black clothing was the way to go in SHIELD. Black, dark blue, navy, the occasional dark red or green if anyone felt adventurous, but it always stayed near the darkest side of color shades. What Katya wore right now, a cherry red turtleneck, was very outside of the clothing norms. Natasha had never seen her wear anything other than black.

"What? You don't like it?" Katya asked, looking down at herself unsurely. 

"It's… red." Natasha blinked rapidly, trying to grasp the sight in front of her. "Very red."

"Yeah. But do you like it?"

To her own surprise, the answer was yes. Katya had never looked so… soft. "It's alright." So alright, in fact, that she felt slightly disappointed when she put her go-to leather jacket over it. 

"Thought I'd go with the theme." Katya smiled, chugging her coffee before grabbing her wallet and keys. 

They filed out of her room, the hallway still empty and quiet as most agents were only now starting to wake up, snoozing their alarms for five minutes more sleep. Natasha should be heading right to prepare for her meeting, but instead she followed Katya to the left, to the elevator heading for the underground garage.

It didn't make her any less of a good employee. It made her more human. 

And as she pressed the elevator button and felt Katya's hand slip into her own, she knew she was going to allow her to hold it a little bit longer today.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part One

Summary: Who knew the little girl in the green coat would change everything? | Word Count: 5.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Taglist | Series Masterlist

A/N: The coat story is based on a real story that happened to me when I was in primary school. Also the age of consent in the UK is 16, and this chapter does mention being intimate at that age. If this bothers you, you're welcome to click away. Primary School = Ages 7 to 11, Secondary School = Ages 11 to 16, Sixth Form = Ages 16 to 18

Warnings: bullying, underage drinking, angst, mentions of sexual intercourse (reader is of legal age), Billy being a general twat

It started with a rain cloud.

It was at a time when he was still excited to be in the passenger seat of his Mum's old Ford Focus. When his enthusiastic little feet still didn't touch the bottom of the footwell. His curious, wide blue eyes watched the world go by, following the shadow of the car as it zipped by the older kids, who were trusted enough to walk to school by themselves.

Year 4 was no particularly exciting year. At the tender age of 8, Billy was highly introverted, but a perpetual watcher of other people as well as his immediate surroundings.

He noticed the little things that other people didn't, like how electricity hummed in the walls of his bedroom, how the space between the grass was worn down into a man-made path and how, on the dot, every night at 8pm a man walked past his house grunting down the phone in a low baritone, swinging his suitcase at his side with every wide step.

His parents noticed how perceptive he was when he'd slip away upstairs as he heard the metal click of the gate with Lana's late return home. Knowing that an argument was about to ensue between his sister and his dad.

His mum, intent on breaking up and being the buffer between two extremely large personalities, often neglected her quiet little boy upstairs. But it wasn't entirely her fault.

Lana, a teenager through and through, intent on creating hardship wherever she happened to be with her actions and words, was incessantly butting heads with both of them.

He could hear the low rumble of thunder even over the revs of the car. His mum always drove in too low a gear.

His mum laughed lightly when Billy looked up at the dark, looming cloud hanging over his school as rain smacked against the windscreen.

"Ooh dear. Good job you've got your raincoat, eh?", she smiled, turning her steering wheel to slide into the school car park.

"What did Miss Warren say it was called?", she prodded.

Billy could barely see his mother over the high collar of his coat.

"Cum…ulo…nimbus", he recalled from memory sweetly and quietly, making his mum's crow's feet tick against her eyes as she smiled.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, darling. It's just a new school year".

His mum's soft pat on his head didn't comfort him.

Though the same people would be there, it would not be the same teacher.

Miss Warren had seen how quiet Billy was and nurtured the few words she could get out of him. He remembers her fondly. How she had curly chestnut hair that one might describe as unruly, and always had a floral scent about her when she'd kneel next to him and ask if he could recite the last sentence of his book to her.

It was the only good thing about school, he thought.

Year 3 had been difficult. He didn't do well when he was forced to socialise.

Other children had thrived in regularly seeing others. Forming friend groups, squealing with delight on the playground and the girls giggling and whispering to each other about who they were going to talk to that day.

He held his mum's hand loosely at the gate, where the headmaster was filing the children of all years and ages into the main part of the school.

She knelt beside him, zipping up his coat as the rain pelted against the concrete.

"I'll pick you up after your club, okay?" 

Billy nodded once, disappearing past the threshold of the school with a downwards gaze and a comically large bag hunched high on his shoulders.

It started with a rain cloud.

He knows now that it was silly, the reason his now best friend entered his life.

When he first saw her, she was on the verge of tears, standing to her feet and looking down at herself completely covered in mud. Her lips quivered, looking at the group of established friends with horror as they rushed away, their shoes smacking on the wet ground.

He hadn't realised he'd stopped until she took a sharp breath in, clearly trying not to cry, looking down at herself. 

Her small hands tried to push the mud off her green coat, but only served to smear it around. He could hear her shudder her breath, frustrated, and began to whine with increasing volume. Her book bag, once blue, was completely sodden.

And on top of all that, rain continued to hammer down on them, which only made her more upset.

Billy fiddled with his hands nervously, looking around immediately for an adult, to no avail. Thinking with terror, that he might have to approach her. 

It wasn't even because she was a girl. For they were at that tender age where it didn't matter. That they were just children, trying to figure out how to exist in a world that seemed brand new everyday.

He hiccuped on her own breath with tears as he stood before her.

"Are you okay?", he asked nervously.

She could only shake her head, her eyes full of fear, her face and hair completely wet through.

"My mummy's going to be cross with me", she replied feebly, looking down at her coat, though waterproof, completely smeared with earth.

At the time, Billy thought, he couldn't argue with that logic that she was so upset at the thought of what her mum would think when she came home, covered in half-dried mud, having been pushed by the rowdy Year 6's.

He also thought, that he hadn't seen her last year, and that this was the first experience she'd had in her new school. And that he, if in her position, would be no different. Snivelling and crying before they'd even taken the register.

He grimaced as he picked up her book bag, slick with earth and without thinking twice, took her cold, wet hand and led her with him to the toilets before registration started.

Billy's big eyes flitted between the signs for 'boys' and 'girls' when presented with the toilets.

He decided to spare her the embarrassment, and took it upon himself to lead her into the girls toilets, despite the heavy blush on his face.

Seeing the inside of the girls toilet, while not much different, felt utterly forbidden.

But all he could think about right now, was the little girl he'd led in, and how to make her look presentable, and to get her to stop crying.

He used what felt like a tonne of blue hand towels, wetting some to get the majority of mud off her and the rest to dry her coat, seeing the rich green colour beneath again finally.

She still sniffed quietly, rubbing her tired face and choking on her breath every now and then. He gave her one blue paper towel to dry the remnants of her tears, the tissue rubbing painfully on her skin.

But ultimately she let him help her.

And Billy couldn't remember feeling as useful to someone as he did right now.

Once her book bag was clean, he gently handed it back to her. And she finally lifted her reddened eyes to him, her lips still quivering slightly, or perhaps she was cold from the onslaught of rain.

"That's better" 

She nodded at him, looking down at herself to see her coat was now only slightly dirty.

It was almost unnoticeable, her tiny, meek 'thank you'.

He held her hand in solidarity as they entered the classroom together. Coming alight when he told her where she could hang her coat up and sitting beside her, in line with the girl, boy, girl boy rule their new teacher had put in place.

It took her a few hours to warm up to him. To everyone really.

But he saw her again the next day, his feet swinging excitedly in the passenger seat of his mum's car at the prospect of seeing her again. The clouds Billy was scarcely able to pronounce were now gone, a light grey overcast instead on the early September morning.

Her coat was clean, a bright green as it was the day before.

She still seemed nervous as he bounded up to her, his curious eyes searching hers.

"Was your mummy angry?" he asked.

She looked down at her shoes, shifting her weight, not wanting to reply.

And Billy had his answer.

He watched her lift her head to meet his eyes again, her hands wringing together nervously and her voice all quiet.

"Can I sit next to you again today?"

Billy had grown out of hand-holding by Year 6, realising that he, as a boy, and her, as a girl, were supposedly from different worlds.

But it never felt like it.

Secondary school was daunting for all Year 7's. But Billy, tall for his age and towering over everyone else, felt more self conscious than usual that he stuck out so much.

His sandy blonde hair flopped against his forehead. Another measly early September, confined to a classroom to be patronised and talked at for several hours, passing the time only by making colourful cover pages in their exercise books.

"Billy!"

He couldn't help but laugh as she ran through the school gates to him, looking quite different in the secondary school uniform than he saw her last, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

Realistically, he only saw her the other week as they walked home together from the corner shop. Then, she'd been in jeans and a jumper.

Now, in her school mandated skirt and blazer, he thought she looked more like a young lady now than ever. And briefly, it terrified him.

The prospect of getting older.

The idea that they might drift apart.

He brushed her waved tendrils from her face, exhausted from the effort of running with her cheeks all flushed, with that squishy appearance that many associated with Year 7's.

If anyone didn't know then both, they'd think they were in different years.

"Got 'em?", he asked with a lazy smile.

She rolled her eyes, rifling around in her bag, "Um, yes? When do I ever disappoint?" 

He laughed as she ripped three Starbursts from her packet and piled them in his hand, "Only three? Thought we were mates".

She gave him a look, popping one into her mouth, "You are my mate, hence why I gave you three".

They walked together, collecting their timetables for the term ahead, rolling the sweets around in their mouths.

"I don't get these room numbers", she mused, "have you got science in S27?"

"Yeah, Mr White".

"That's alright then, I'll just follow you".

"Don't follow me, I've got no clue where I'm going either".

She smiled widely, "guess we'll get lost together then, eh?"

He let out a puff of air in laughter, tugging lightly on her ponytail in soft teasing, "bad luck to be late to your classes on the first day, ya know".

"Well then they should have a map", she pouts, smacking his arm lightly.

Looking back, he wasn't surprised how close to her he felt. For as pre-teens edging that fine line into puberty, when everything is confusing, new, scary and exciting all at the same time, he saw her more often at school everyday than he did his own parents.

She was a constant.

Most days they'd walk to school, spend break times, lunch times, and even the twilight hours after together. Always chatting mindlessly about whatever teenagers did talk about.

It was difficult to address though, that the older they became, the more the powers that be were intent on separating them.

Girls and boys weren't meant to be friends.

They were meant to like each other, hold hands, blush and kiss each other.

They were meant to have different classes, teaching different things. Boys were taught how to keep themselves safe from STIs, and the girls were taught about their monthly cycles, though many of them had started already, as well as how to prevent pregnancy when they were on the cusp of exploring their intimate, sexual selves. With hormones raging so hard that they couldn't think straight.

They were separated for PE. Even in the subjects they were offered to take.

It felt like everything was against them.

And in this forced separation, Billy was then forced to make friendships in other boys, as shallow and surface value as they were.

He felt as if he'd been missing out on this part of growing up, as he sat against the wall at lunch listening to his mates harp on about mindless teenage things. Like who was going to lose their virginity next, and if their parents would find out if they found out they'd swiped a packet of fags from their mum's handbags.

It wasn't like they didn't talk anymore.

There were the summer holidays, where more often than not, he found himself on her doorstep, asking her Mum if she could come out.

And she always delighted in seeing him. Even if it had barely been 24 hours since the last time.

But with the highest of highs, came the lowest of lows. And September would inevitably roll around again.

He sometimes saw her on school grounds between classes, having done the same thing and forced herself to make a group of friends. Though it was as clear to him that she didn't have anything in common with them, and just smiled and nodded at anything they said in an attempt to not show on her face how lonely she was.

She was solitary in nature.

And when he glanced at her across the assembly room, where the foldout chairs were lined up so everyone could eat, her eyes were distantly looking at her hands clasped in front of her, idly picking at her cuticles. Her friends were turned away from her, chatting with wide smiles and booming laughter to themselves. Making plans and giggling at inside jokes, all while her sandwich laid untouched rolled in cling film in front of her.

He thought, she must have been able to sense someone was watching her, as she moved her head. But never looked at him.

While Billy's friend group stayed with the usual characters, hers evolved. And every few months it was a new cast of people.

He saw she made the effort, and really tried, but that with every passing day, her energy wavered and eventually they'd grow bored of her and pretended as if she didn't exist other than to fill the empty seat beside them.

But he still walked her home, even if she said she didn't want him to. In silence if need be.

Eventually he began to notice, more so now than ever, that she was really a woman in disguise. That she was wiser than he thought she was, more grown up. That she thought about the future ahead of her and was careful to take calculated steps in order to get there.

At the fair age of 16, Billy, his features set into crisp lines, hardened by puberty, his muscles sitting wiry on his skin and taught without really having to try, realised that he had done her a huge disservice by merely accepting this forced separation with a stiff upper lip.

That she needed someone true and gentle, honest and no-frills. Something her girlfriends were unable to give her. 

That she wanted someone to try for her friendship.

As he had all those years ago.

They began to take the long way home, through the gap in the hedges, into Cranstead Fields, the tall grass tickling their legs through their uniform.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" she asked suddenly, pulling her hair tie out. Billy's eyes ran over her loose hair for a moment before replying.

"No, why?" 

"Because we barely talk to each other in school anymore", she replied, unable to hide the bitterness from her tone.

He had to accept that her words were true. They rarely crossed paths inside the school gates, and their conversations in between were shallow and empty, void of all authenticity and emotion.

It wasn't enough to have acceptance from one teenage girl, apparently.

But he didn't appreciate being called out so callously about it.

"Yeah, well I've got my mates".

She laughed through her nose, "Yeah, saw you smoking behind the bike sheds. Gonna get you killed one day, you know".

He furrowed his brows at her, "Smoking?"

"No, your mates"

She laughed at his confused expression, "course I meant smoking, you wolly".

There was a silence between them as they brushed past the white painted lines on the field, where a football pitch had been drawn.

"I don't mind you having mates Billy. I just miss you".

"Really, cos it seems like you do mind", he bit back. And he watched her raise her gaze to him quickly, "just cos you don't have mates doesn't mean I can't".

Her lips hung in shock that he could say something so cruel.

And that he carried on.

"Do yourself a favour and do what other girls do and get a boyfriend or somethin'. Save you hanging about with me moaning all the time".

He didn't feel bad about it until the moment she disappeared past her mum at the front door of her house, intent on being away from Billy's harsh words as quickly as possible.

"Tell your mum I said hello, love", her mum smiled.

But as soon as the door was shut, even the thick double glazing couldn't muffle the loud, destructible tirade of her mum's anger.

And he felt the hot whips of panic at his neck, that he'd done and said something wrong.

And yet, despite that, never said sorry for it.

Billy thinks now that he remembers the most from this part of their friendship because the most happened.

But he realises now that it's because of guilt.

It follows you, like a kind of trauma through your life, without the repercussions of the person you've hurt.

And god, he watched her get hurt a lot.

After that, she didn't even really try. She flourished in solitude, keeping herself company wherever she could while Billy and his mates reaped the benefits of being young and dumb. 

It was also when he appeared. Like a fucking virus. Always finding people when they have their guard down and their hearts low.

Even though they were in the same year, he had this air of arrogance about him that he thought he was much older, more sensible, and could be taken more seriously.

And with the absence of Billy in her life, she accepted any chance of feeling wanted with open arms.

She wanted to feel important to someone.

Billy would never forgive himself for that.

He simply watched from afar, not realising how invested he was, more often than not from the bike sheds as the boy who was trying too hard wound his web so tightly around her it must have felt comforting for her to some degree.

To be choked by affection, to some, is a kind of affection.

After Easter break, having not spoken to her directly for some months now, Billy had realised something had changed.

The boy who had wound his web tight, seemed to do so with plenty of others too. As boys of his age were known to do.

She'd rush out of school so quickly, staring at her feet, that often she was the first one out the gates and Billy, even if he'd wanted to, couldn't keep up.

He knew where she was going anyway.

He was assured when he saw her leaning her head on her arms crossed over her knees, under the large chestnut tree at Cranstead Fields.

She heard him approach, and turned her head away, sniffling quietly.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat as he sat beside her, not speaking.

And a long, long moment passed. As if all that time apart had lessened that trust, and it would take more than a mere moment to patch it back up.

"Is it him?" he asked.

Her clothes rustled as she nodded. Her breath hiccuping in her chest the same way it did when he saw her all those years ago, covered in mud.

"What happened?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve, a bit of makeup coming loose.

"What do you think happened", she bit back, annoyed and heartbroken all at the same time.

He briefly forgot, that for girls it sometimes felt like more, like so much more, to give yourself to someone for the first time.

Only to have the trust squashed as quickly as it was to slam a book shut.

She sucked in a breath as he stroked her back comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

After a moment, she raised her eyes to him, all red and puffy, her face all hot from crying.

And he felt his heart break for her.

Behind this girl, who was suffering in heartbreak, believing that her first love and first time had now been entrenched in misery, he caught a glimpse of the girl she had been, when they were inseparable.

He tutted, "Come here".

He bought her head to his chest softly, his hand drifting to her shoulder to encourage her to hug him, to let it all out.

And she did.

She hugged him tighter than she ever had before. 

A teenage boy part of him felt embarrassed. But another, fought to stay here like this with her.

Until eventually she said pitifully, "I don't want to go home".

And he realised that it wasn't just the boy she was upset about.

Luckily Billy's mum delighted in having her around at his, even offering that she could stay if she wanted to, as Lana was away at uni and wouldn't be using her bedroom til the summer holidays.

And though he could see his friend was tempted, she mostly refused, knowing that at some point she'd have to return home. To what version of her mum, she didn't know.

But it didn't mean she never took them up on the offer sometimes, when things were really bad.

Yes, he got teased endlessly by his mates.

But it didn't matter. Because he felt like he had her back.

Sixth Form proved to be a happier time for both of them.

It felt more free, laid back than the shackles of secondary school. Hindered by school uniform and calling the teachers 'sir' and 'miss', here it was all backwards they thought.

The prospect of free time to a bunch of excited teenagers, on the cusp of adulthood, was exciting.

He felt like it was just like old times.

They sat together in the common room in their free period, sharing the cheapest thing they could get from the canteen, which was four flimsy slices of toast. That and an orange Fanta from the vending machine.

They'd both somehow formed into new people over the summer holidays between Year 11 and Sixth Form, wearing different things every day and giving each other a glimpse into their truer personalities.

At first, it was just two of them.

And eventually four, then six.

A solid friend group. 

She had two girls at her side most of the time, Libby and Ami. The first blossoming Billy would ever witness of his friend into womanhood would be the way she formed these friendships so naturally, in contrast to the shallow ones she'd had in secondary school. Which now seemed so long ago.

He had his own mates of his own sex. Ami's twin brother Abi, Harry (who's real name was Barry but never told anyone) and the most recent addition to the group, Paddy.

It was a friend group of the truest intentions. They laughed, joked, and were never far from one another. Many nights they spent at Cranstead Fields, huddled under a tree, passing bottles of WKD around and some horrendous smoky whiskey Paddy had managed to steal from his dad's liquor cabinet.

But there were special moments where Billy and her would just sit and observe, nursing a bottle between them.

"Bet you Libby and Abi are necking each other off by 1", she smirked, gesturing with her head to them as they sat together across the grass, Libby inching herself onto his lap with every swig of alcohol.

Billy laughed, "I don't think I need to bet on that", he replied, pushing the hair off his forehead as it touched his eyelashes.

"You need your hair cut", she smiled.

He gave her a look, "Who do you think I'm trying to impress?"

"I dunno", she shrugged, "you never tell me who you've got your eye on".

He pushed the WKD into her arm and she took it, smirking as she sipped it.

"I suppose…there's a girl a year up…", he murmured.

"See! I knew it!" She exclaimed, "Wait, Year 13? Who? Tell me".

He rolled his eyes at his friend's curiosity, "Rebecca".

He laughed when she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Her? She's been out with a few Year 12's, hasn't she? Proper little cradle snatcher".

Billy laughed, louder than he anticipated, and when he opened his eyes again, his friend was already looking at him. Her eyes all glazed over with the amount of alcohol she'd had already.

"Leave off. You asked", he grins, blinking quickly once he feels his head clouded with dizziness.

"Well", she passes the drink to him, "I wish you luck, you'll need it".

They briefly look back to Libby and Abi, who are now embroiled quite blatantly in kissing one another, Libby nestled in his lap and her hand at his jaw.

In the distance Paddy kicked a ball around with Harry, as Ami watched between them, not an ounce of sexual tension between them.

Their knees touched and both quickly looked at each other, as if horrified that they hadn't realised how close they were.

It was dark in Cranstead Fields, but she felt she could see the way his eyes reflected the distant street lamps, how they seemed to fit over her face, and how he pressed his lips together and swallowed nervously as he moved a piece of her hair from her face to tuck safely behind her ear.

Was is the alcohol? This weird feeling in both of their stomachs? The airiness in their heads?

Was it only now that he saw that she had nice eyes? That he could see the contours of her collarbone, and the curves against her skinny jeans?

That his friend, was a young woman.

He only remembered sighing against her lips, turning his head to the side as he pressed against hers. How small she seemed compared to him.

She tasted of cheap vodka, but then again, so did he. And he wasn't entirely paying attention to the taste of her, but to the feeling of her.

It wasn't either of their first kisses. But it certainly felt like it.

He felt his chest go tight as her hand moved to the front of his hoodie, holding the fabric in her palm, as his tongue parted her lips.

When they pulled away, he still felt her presence on him.

Her hand slowly slipped from his chest, her eyes looking at him with trepidation, her lips kiss-bruised and swollen. Both of them looked at one another, unsure what to say, and trying form words over the whirring and melting feeling of drunkenness in their brains.

"I, uh…I should be getting home", she said quietly. And Billy nodded, now drunk on another feeling that had taken root deep in his chest.

He saw her off at her doorstep, hands deep in his pockets, not knowing whether what they'd done should be addressed or not. Or whether their brief kiss was the result of simply having too much to drink too quickly.

She had her answer though, when Billy turned up to Sixth Form the Monday after, hair trimmed, with his arm loosely around Rebecca's shoulders. He spoke to her closely, making her laugh and stroking her hair behind her ear, as he had done to her the Saturday before.

Though they remained close. Remained friends. There was an air of something unsaid. 

Something that appeared whenever she saw him with her. Pressing his lips against hers, threading his fingers into her long, perfect hair and keeping one hand perpetually around her thigh.

When Rebecca, or Becky as Billy lovingly called her, finished her A-Levels to move onto Middlesex University to do Psychology, she felt horrible that she was relieved she was gone.

Felt that she had him back, even if it was only sometimes.

She knows now, that nothing good lasts forever.

She thought he'd be happy for her, when she got her UCAS email that she'd gotten into her first choice of university in Manchester.

But he always managed to surprise her.

"The fuck are you going to uni for? And so far away as well, you don't even know anyone there", he almost barked the words at her, not wanting to admit that his heart was hurting at the way she looked so wounded at him.

"So what? It's the course I wanted to do and-"

"And what? You just gonna leave me here doing fuck all, are you?"

"You can do what you like, Billy!", she shouted back, matching him now in frustration, "I'm sorry that I am pursuing what I want to do!"

Don't leave me behind.

Please.

"What about your mum? Hm? You just gonna leave her on her own?"

She scoffed, "my mum doesn't give a fuck where I am half the time, you know that".

"Yeah, I'm feeling like I don't really know you at all lately", Billy muttered under his breath.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? I wasn't going to just forget about you. I'd come visit and-"

"You know what, forget it. Do what you like, I don't give a shit".

She stood there, taking his words like hits. Each one hurting more than the last, opening the hole inside her wider.

She thought, he must not know what he's saying. She never knew Billy to be this cruel, apart from in secondary school.

But he was young then, he was smarter than that.

Wasn't he?

Her eyes filled with tears, blinking quickly, taking a step back from him like he'd burned her.

She tried her best to remain strong on her face.

"Just because I don't want the same things as you, Billy, doesn't mean it's pointless".

When Billy just stood there, mouth half agape, like everything had just caught up with him, she shook her head.

"Keep in touch, if you can be bothered".

She said it as coldly as she could, not looking back as she walked away from him, quickly wiping her cheeks. With each step, the pit widened in her chest. Feeling as if the string that had inextricably connected them since that fated day in Year 4, was prone to snapping irreparably.

His words rattled around in her head the entire journey to Manchester. How horrible they were. And how a person she'd considered a friend, could speak to her like that.

After everything that had happened between them.

Moving to a new city didn't feel like starting over. It merely felt like burying something at the bottom of the garden, the grass disturbed, and having to look at the patch of earth as a reminder of what once was.

It was hot again in London.

Billy stared at his phone for most of the evening, waiting for a text from Becky, to tell him that she was moving back in, or that she'd thought things through and decided not to move out.

No such text arrived.

"Put your fucking phone away or I swear to god I am funnelling this pint down you, like it or not", Paddy laughed as he slid into the booth, sliding one pint over to Harry and the other to Billy.

"He's still moping", Harry smirked, which earned a glare.

"Becky again?" Paddy prodded.

Billy sighed, clicking off his phone and turning it face down, "None of your fucking business".

"Woahh! No need for that, is there? C'mon, get it down ya" 

Each of them took a healthy sip of their pint.

"You too, don't be on your phone!" Paddy nudged Harry, trying to get a peek at his phone.

"Fuck off"

Paddy grinned, "Aw, is it a girl?"

"No, it's fucking Abi, you twat".

"S'alright, we don't judge, do we Billy?"

Billy grinned over the rim of his glass in response.

"He coming?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, apparently with Libby", Harry replied, thumbs moving quickly over his screen, "we'll facetime Ami later, when she's awake".

Both Billy and Paddy's eyebrows raised as they looked at each other.

"Together?" Paddy prodded, but Harry only shrugged.

The local pub was mostly empty, with most people outside trying to catch the last bits of sunlight, and getting mauled by mosquitos in the process.

For the most part, Billy watched Paddy and Harry with a smile on his face at how they teased each other talking about trivial things like football and what the hell was going on between their two old friends who kissed in Cranstead Fields all those years ago.

It was a good distraction.

But being with them, made him think of her.

Paddy leaned over, eyes on the door of the pub, "there they ar-oh shit".

Billy furrowed his brows, "What?"

His friend was about to open his mouth again, but it was interrupted by Libby poking her head around to the booth, "Hello! Oo, it's like the gang back together, isn't it?" she smiled.

At her side, Abi, who slid his hand around Libby's waist.

Billy opened his mouth to say hello.

But then he saw her.

And his mouth went completely dry.

He saw her eyes scan the opposite side of the booth, smiling at Paddy and Harry first, and he swears his heart drops into his stomach as she shifts her gaze to him.

The smile on her face falters. 

But not completely.

She catches herself halfway, and it resurfaces.

He can't help the way he studies her as well, like she's a whole new person. Wearing a summer dress with a denim jacket hung on her shoulders, hair down. Her features have matured, but she continues to keep that glimmer of mischievous youth in her eyes.

It was like seeing her for the first time.

"Mind if I sit?"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Billy Washington Taglist: @fan-goddess @assortedseaglass  @chainsawsangel @xxxkat3xxx

[greenhorn-art]

World Champions | Artwork for World Champions by TheDefenestrator by TheDefenestrator, art by Blurb_brain

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 71 944

At the end of season 4 of the Glory Pro Alliance, the government finally receives the information it has been waiting for: The other players have caught up. Or, In which Glory has been a government recruitment ploy for remote-piloted mecha operators all along.

About the Book

FONTS: Mundo Serif, Azonix [dafont], Segoe UI Symbol

IMAGES: Illustration by Blurb_brain [AO3]; cover image by NASA ID: 440611 [Rawpixel]; Planet Earth background ID: 6331593 [Rawpixel]; Circuit lines background ID: 3117935 [Rawpixel]; endpapers' image by Eric Eastman [Unsplash]; Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer [The King's Avatar Wikia]

MATERIALS: regular printer paper (8.5"x11", 96 bright, 20lb), 80pt bookboard, Iris Bookcloth (colour: Black Pearl), Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", bright white, 65lb), waxed linen thread (white, 30/3 size), embroidery floss (shades 3750, 350, 3845, 370), leather cording (1.9mm diameter), Reeves’ acrylic paint (Mars Black, Phthalo Blue, Titanum White), Americana acrylic paint (glow in the dark), ph neutral pva glue (Books by Hand)

PROGRAMS USED: Typeset in Affinity Publisher, cover/title page/endpapers designed in Affinity Designer/Photo, QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, PDF arranged for printing with Bookbinder-JS

BINDING STYLE: quarto, case bound (slightly rounded, with oxford hollow, forgot to use tapes)

.

Fenes' "Glory's tech isn't handwaved" AU. This was great! Funny and creative, and I'm both amazed and full of admiration for Fenes' ability to juggle so many characters.

I was feeling excited and ambitious with this one. Tried some new fun things (double core endbands, painted edges) and used some new equipment (a lying press).

The Text

TITLE/HEADINGS FONT: Azonix says 'SciFi' to me, it's a bold, non-serif, sleek font.

BODY FONT: Mundo Serif, it's a decent serif body font I haven't used before. Felt like it worked with Azonix.

SCENE BREAKS: a special character in Segoe UI Symbol of a black & white icon of Earth, the globe showing Asia.

TYPESETTING: Finished typesetting the fic, left document open on my laptop, laptop's battery failed, file now crashes immediately upon reopening, issue persists with copied versions of file (；￣Д￣) . Thankfully I had a backup file for the typeset with the barebones of the text, so I didn't have to restart from scratch...

Title Page

My thinking: it takes place in space, the world's at stake, and it's the dawn of a new horizon for Earth. Glory and the titular champions are represented by Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer – the captains of what I'd call the 'big 5' teams. A circuitry board background element hints at the tech/mecha nature of the story's competition. It may not match Blurb's art, but I hope I was able to convey some of what the story is about.

The circuitry image is used as decoration throughout the book. I only used the avatars of the top five teams' captains because too many silhouettes would lessen their impact and readability. (Removing the backgrounds was tedious, but worth it.)

Here's what it should have looked like. The test prints for this and the BB art were fine, but I think my inkjet started running out of ink just when I printed the final copies and I didn't reprint them. (Too impatient, really wanted to finish up and read the book)

The Cover

World Champions is another Big Bang fic, and once again I based some of my design choices off of the accompanying artwork. The dominant colours of Blurb_brain's illustration are red and blue-green.

COVER PAPER: For the decorative cover material I used NASA's ASTER image of Poyang Lake. NASA has some really interesting photography some of which remind me of marbled paper, thought it could be interesting. I chose this image of Poyang Lake because 1) it's in China, 2) the colours were similar to Blurb's awesome illustration (fate strikes again, dropping matching images and artwork into my lap!), and 3) NASA is tangentially relevant to the fic, which takes place in space.

BOOKCLOTH: Verona bookcloth in the shade Black Pearl, a lovely dark navy blue colour. Thought it suited the cover paper and title page. (Bought it for this fic specifically, but the colour goes well with almost all of my decorative papers so it should see a lot of use in the future!)

Endpapers

The final decision that held this project at a standstill for two months. In the end I drew inspiration from the matchups against the final opponent in the story. The image I used is a little chaotic and a little too unrelated to identify why I picked it without an explanation, but this book is for me and I know why, so there. (Note that I played around with the colours and cropped the photo.)

Endpaper inspiration: the maps for the matches against the Infilhites

"a long bridge through an enormous tube-like hall, where light seem to come from every side through stained glass windows. It was visually confusing, limited lateral motion" "a warehouse, crates stacked on and beside metal racks that went all the way to the ceiling." "a house of mirrors, fully enclosed to be sure the Infhillte couldn’t fly out of it." "like a volcano, rivers of lava moving sluggishly down a slope, occasional vents of overheated air nearby." "a series of overlapping bridges between halls and stairways, level after level layered over an open abyss."

Trimming & Painting the Edges

Going all out, a 2-for1 deal: the opportunity to use my lying press for the first time and learn a new technique!

TRIMMING: Used a paring chisel and lying press.

CHISEL: The 1.25" wide paring chisel I used was form a modern manufacturer. (Vintage paring chisels are very thin, enough so that you can bend/flex the blade. But don't do that.) It's long and wide blade made it easier to register against the surface of the press for consistent cuts. Looks like this one below from Lee Valley.

LYING PRESS: My dad's project. Solid black walnut, hand carved screws and internal threads — he even made the tools to make the threads too! The jaws of the press are each 3 7/8" wide. It's big and heavy (though much smaller than full-sized professional ones omg), but there's enough of a flat surface to register the chisel against. A thicc boi, much like this one below from Bookbinding Supplies.

PAINTED EDGES: The idea was to have dark navy edges, speckled with white stars. I used acrylic from a tube to paint the edges — tutorials recommended it over liquid bottled acrylic, and I had an old set hanging around. Had to water it down because otherwise the paint just flaked off.

My test of trimming and painting went well. Then the trimmed book itself came out slightly crooked, the paint required significantly more watering-down than before, and the white paint did not want to be both opaque and speckle-able. Unfortunate, but still book-shaped! And now I have an idea of what to do differently next time.

Also, did not like the glow-in-the-dark paint. Looked too translucent in the light when compared to the white acrylic, and needed a thicker coat to be visible in the dark. (The thickness combined with the translucence and base colour kinda reminded me of boogers... Ended up scrapping most of it off, so there's not much left to glow.)

Endbands

Still in the mood to have fun and go all-out, I attempted double-core endbands for the first time.

TUTORIAL: YouTube @ BookbindersChronicle: Bookbinding 101 Sewing Headbands Session 2. Also watched @ DAS Bookbinding's Double-Core Endband // Adventures in Bookbinding, but I personally found Chronicle's closeup video easier to follow.

I used embroidery floss from a 100pk of assorted colours off Amazon, wrapped around a core of 1.9mm leather cording from Michaels. I drew from Blurb_brain's art for the general colours, choosing a dark base, with red, blue-green, and gold. The specific shades were picked to go with the cover.

[bbyguugkie]

Since no one can explain this shit without bias, I’ll do it.

Luv created a work called PA while KGP by Kiki was already out. Some people started pointing out similarities between the two. Kiki responded directly to the readers and accused Luv of plagiarism, saying she might file a DMCA depending on how Luv handled things. Their conversations are public, but I don’t see actual consent or agreement in them, which is already an issue for me—but the convo is out there.

Later, PA was taken down—not because of a DMCA (which Kiki was even said it was taken down before it was filed i think), but because Luv said she was overstimulated and unhappy with the piece. She wanted to make it longer and better. She’s since said PA will return in an improved form.

Now Luv has a new work called JKPK, and she also has Kknagpae, which is clearly meant to show the distinction between JKPK and KGP. These are different Korean words with very different meanings (I study Korean and even checked with native speakers). Despite this, some people jumped to the conclusion that Kknagpae was an attack on Kiki. If you actually read it, it’s clearly not. People just want drama and will fight over assumptions.

Then comes the cult talk. Someone in Luv’s asks made a comment calling people cultists, or “feels cultist.” I get that people took offense, but even I can see where that came from. That same person is now out here trying to “inform” others—but in a condescending, uninvited way. Back when the Kiki drama first happened, they claimed she didn’t do anything and that people were trying to provoke her. And now it’s clear who and what she meant, because that same MF is probably the one stirring shit in the tags again 🙄

Does it look odd? Yes. But we can’t make assumptions based on how things seem. We have to rely on facts and public information.

I’m aware that Luv deleted some asks related to PA. From what I’ve personally asked her, people didn’t even care about the situation. In fact, some came thinking Kiki had promoted her—which, based on the reactions in the tag, seems to be true for some. So let’s look at both sides.

Kiki’s side: Kiki posted Luv’s name publicly, which drew a lot of attention to her. At the time, that actually resulted in positive exposure. I haven’t seen much negativity except from one person—and two others in the #jeonloves tag. Just one person… anyway.

Now, that same person and a few others are pushing a narrative and escalating it to the point where people are sending death threats, malicious comments, and hate. That’s harassment. And they’re making claims about change and impact that we don’t actually know are true. Looking back at Kiki’s blog, I haven’t seen any hate coming directly from Luv’s side. And as someone who supports both authors, that says a lot to me.

I’m speaking up because I’m not going to sit back and let someone who’s full of hate and misinformation dictate the narrative. I feel for both authors—Kiki, dealing with someone not crediting her even if it was minor, and Luv, getting death threats even after changes were made, intentional or not.

Stop assuming. Take things based on what we know, not speculation. That’s how you inform people. You don’t educate through hate and bias. If you’re only pushing your side while ignoring the rest, you’re not informing—you’re manipulating.

If you don’t actually want change and just want to stir shit, stop pretending otherwise.

THEY OWE US NOTHING, WE SHOULD NEVER DEMAND THEM.ANYTHING? so what it’s not public, the issue is gone and done. Other things like Luvz being a copycat, are obviously personal opinions not routed in factual information. They deesve better, authors deserve better in general

Fuck that was a lot and was edited by Grammarly bc im to fucking pissed becuase this shit’s gone to far. Ans pwople sont know when to stop before it becomes harassment and provotion😡😡

Mf said to not cloud the tags? Yet did the same thing. Fuck off

[sentientgolfball]

Ghoul Files: Cumulus

Welcome to my little series of ghoul character sheets. The Files are basically little living documents of how I headcanon/characterize each ghoul. I've made one for every ghoul (yes every ghoul) and I'll be slowly uploading them alphabetically by era just for the hell of it.

Find the rest here!

Also pspspsps @holleringhollowfolk its baaaaack

Check out her design here!

Name: Cumulus 

Element: Air

Pronouns: she/her 

Powers: can throw her voice to make it sound like it’s coming from a different direction/all over, use airflow to lift small objects, she can’t fly but if she jumps off a high place she can float down, create gusts of wind, create small clouds. 

Love language (giving): big physical touch person, words of affirmation and acts of service are her go to, though. 

Love language (receiving): gift giving and quality time. She just loves her pack! And she feels so loved when she gets trinkets from them and she gets to be with them! 

Pairings: She’s almost never seen without Cirrus around. Even when the two are with the whole pack. She’s also really close with Sunshine and Aurora and usually goes straight to them if Cirrus isn’t/can’t be around. 

Influential Others: Mountain is someone who helped her a lot when she was first summoned. She was struggling real bad with getting used to life on earth and her role as a band ghoul, but Mount was there, along with Cirrus, to support her. Copia also means a lot to her because he was so gentle and so patient with her and was even willing to go through the trouble of summoning another ghoul if she found she didn’t want the pressure of band life. She loves her earth ghoul and her silly little human more than words could describe. 

Kinds of People Liked: She just loves people! Like literally, she finds humans so fascinating. Though, her favorites are the ones who don’t take life so seriously, those who can just laugh at the mistakes they make. She doesn’t like to get bogged down by constant self deprecation or the bleakest outlook on life. 

Kinds of People Disliked: Generally speaking, there are very few people Cumulus doesn’t like. She tries her best to see the good in everyone! However, if you’re the type to try and take advantage of that constant kindness and patience you may disappear soon. Also people who can’t see past how someone looks. Sorting people into a category based on weird arbitrary societal standards is an immediate turn off. 

Time in the Pits: Cumulus was Cirrus’ mate in the Pits. Because of that she was kind of the co-leader of the flock. In a way. The others respected her and anything she had to say, but it wasn’t like she was going around with orders. Though, she’s had to break up her fair share of fights and chase away scavengers. The only real thing she was in charge of was the hunting pairs. Air ghouls hunt in pairs rather than parties and it was her who organized them. When the light of the summoning took Cirrus she didn’t hesitate to go after her. She didn’t want to know what a life without her was like. Forcing her way through nearly killed her but it was worth it to make sure she didn’t lose her heart. 

Sense of Humor: Puns. She’s going to find a way to make a pun out of even the most obscure things. She also likes to purposefully act like she doesn’t understand memes/uses memes wrong just to watch the others groan. Especially loves to do it to Phantom, Aurora, and Swiss. 

Basic Nature: Cumulus is the most supportive ghoul you’ll meet, though sometimes this does result in chaos. She’s going to encourage every little thing her pack does so she can take so many stupid videos and pictures of them. She’s going to be there for them when they need her. She may also embarrass them subtly but totally on purpose from time to time. She’s just a big affectionate, goofy ghoul. 

Compulsions/Habits: When she’s really stressed she has a bad habit of unconsciously pulling out her feathers. She also needs background noise when she’s working, like she’s tried working on little projects quietly when Cirrus gets migraines and she just has trouble focusing without. 

Fears: The sky with no clouds…it’s too open. Snakes, she’ll puff up her feathers and trill if one gets near her. 

Attitude Towards Own Body: She’s attractive and she knows it. Like she’s not flaunting it unless she’s in a mood…but like she knows she has the goods. This definitely influences the type of clothes she wears when out of uniform. 

Sees Self As: She’s always been the second half of a pair. She’s never been the star of the show and she likes it that way. It makes her life easier. That’s why when people say she’s cool and she’s their favorite or something else along those lines she’s touched. Confused and a little flabbergasted, but touched nonetheless. 

Hobbies: She crotchets. She actually does a lot of crafty stuff. She can knit, sew, crotchet, cross-stitch. She loves making art! She loves that it’s something she can do Topside! Also baking, ghouls have weird sweet teeth and she provides for the pack…mostly to stop them from stealing from the kitchens. 

Pastimes: She likes to go on walks around the Abbey and the surrounding land. She’s only second to Mountain about the layout and the flora and fauna in the forest. She also very much likes hanging out with Aurora and doing makeup, skin care, hair care etc. while telling the day's gossip. There’s a reason why she’s the abbey information broker. She likes to people watch and listen to what goes on. 

Collections: She collects preserved bugs! Out of all the little creatures on earth, she is most fascinated with bugs. She has some framed butterflies, amber scorpions, necklaces, and mounts. Aurora refuses to go in her room unless everything is put away minus the butterflies. 

Reading Materials Preferred: She likes those very obviously fake news magazines. Like how everything is over dramatically talked about is funny to her. 

Most Prized Possession: A quilt she made that is composed of each of her packmates shirts. Everytime they get a new member she goes back and alters it to add them to it. She takes it literally everywhere, she can’t sleep without it. It’s how she keeps them close even when they’re not there. 

Favorite Colors: Baby blue, silver, lavender 

Favorite Foods: Fruits! Oh she loves fruit so much, bring her a little bowl of fruit if you love her. She really likes those fruit, cream, and granola bowls. Her absolute favorite thing though is strawberry shortcake cupcakes. 

General Likes: warm weather, floral perfumes, romcoms, sherpa fabric

General Dislikes: getting dirty, sand, wearing her glasses, beige aesthetics 

Is Seen By Others As: Just as fierce as Cirrus but in a different way. She uses her silver tongue to get what she wants and it’s a little scary but also. It's Cumulus. What are you gonna do say no to her? 

Typical First Impression: Soft and caring and kind and level headed. Just as fluffy as her namesake. 

Morning Routine: She gets up just a bit before Cirrus, going to the kitchen to get her coffee ready before she’s awake. She’ll try to help Swiss and Mountain with making breakfast but she can’t cook for shit, only bake, but she’ll happily hand them ingredients. When she gets tired of that she writes lovely little notes to put in lunch bags or books or guitar cases for the pack to find throughout the day.

Evening Routine: Do not talk to her until she’s had her evening shower. After that she curls up in the common room with the pack writing in her journal while they wait for dinner to be made. Last thing she does before going to sleep is throw on her face mask and put curlers in her hair. 

Strongest Character Trait: Her strongest trait is how easily she can let stuff roll off her. She’s a bit clumsy, she gets so excited in the groupchat that she usually has tons of spelling mistakes, she gets excited when she sees her packmates and runs at them and smothers them not caring who sees. She never cares who sees. She didn’t always love her life Topside, and now that she has learned how to, she’s not wasting anymore time. So what if she types a message that can only be deciphered by Cirrus? It makes the others laugh and she loves it. 

Weakest Character Trait: She can’t keep her mouth shut. I say this with affection, but Cumulus cannot keep quiet when she learns something. Nobody ever tells her when surprises are given out. There’s not necessarily malicious intent, she just gets excited and needs to tell someone before she explodes. The only exception to this seems to be when someone comes to her to vent. Not a word will be spoken to another when she leaves that room. 

Mental/emotional blocks: Even after all this time Lus struggles with feeling like she doesn’t belong. Sure she wasn’t sure if touring was for her in the beginning, but now she couldn’t imagine not doing it. Since she wasn’t originally in the plan she worries one day she’ll be told she’s not needed. That one air ghoul is enough. She was terrified when changes for the Reimperatour began happening. What if she was asked to stay behind just like Aether? 

Chores/other job: Cumulus is a shepherd for the flock of Ministry sheep! She occasionally helps with the cattle, but the sheep are hers. Shearing season is her favorite because she gets to collect all the wool and help spin it into yarn. 

Long Term Goals: She wants to hone her skills with her fiber arts enough to create a tapestry for the Ministry. Even though Copia is Frater now, she’s still worried about the rest of the Clergy's perfectionist tendencies. She is not going anywhere near them until she creates something worth that meeting. 

Present Problems: Honestly, besides her occasional bad day, she doesn’t really have any problems in her life that are so persistent that it heavily impacts her. Though, when she does have those bad days, go check on her with a warm bowl of soup to offer. 

One Line Characterization: Cumulus is a goofy, good natured ghoulette who loves this new life she was given. 

Room description: Cumulus’ room is very neat and orderly. Her bug collection is on full display all over. Honestly besides that and some other small decoration her room doesn’t look lived in. That’s because she usually sleeps in Cirrus’ room. Her assigned room is more like a glorified storage unit than an actual room. She really only uses it when she or Cirrus is sick, she’s spending the night with another ghoul(s) that’s not Cirrus, or when she’s crafting. Her potted ranunculus sits next to Cirrus’ flower in her room. 

Summoning: She clawed her way out of the Pit when Cirrus got surrounded by the light of summoning. She didn’t even hesitate to throw herself into it before it disappeared. When she finally made it Topside she was weak, drained from forcing herself through. She passed out before Cirrus could even say her name. She was very reserved for a very long time until Mountain started slowly introducing her to the inhabitants of the Ministry. She fell in love with humans and learned to fall in love with her new life. 

NSFW

Favorite position: She just likes to be really really close with her partner. She likes to either have them on her lap or her on their lap. 

Dom/sub: Soft dom. Ohhh she is going to take such good care of her partner. She’s going to bend them over and coo softly and praise them the whole time. 

Risk: Ask and you shall receive but it’s not her go to. Besides public sex she fucking loves public sex. 

Kinks: Tit-fucking and nipple play. She just likes her boobs being played with. She’s a little too into cockwarming and edging, she just likes to hear her partner beg just a little bit before taking such good care of them. Humiliation, but not for herself. Loves to watch her partner make a fool of themselves just for her. Blood. She really likes blood. It’s a little concerning how much she likes blood. 

Aftercare: She is going to bundle up and just absolutely shower her partner in praise and kisses. She does keep snacks and water nearby so she doesn’t have to leave if someone gets hungry or thirsty. If any toys are used she does try to clean those immediately before cuddle time though. 

Noise level: She's talkative but not noisy. She's constantly praising and checking in. When she does make noise, it’s very quiet and breathy. 

Surprise: Lus has a massive toy collection. Like bigger than Swiss. She absolutely loves using toys. She will use multiple. She really likes her strapless strap ons though. 

[astrology-bf]

The Pathos of Things

Chapter 1: In Spring Sunlight

General | WoL/Hancock | ~4.2k words | CW: Stormblood Spoilers

AO3 | Index | Next Chapter

“In these spring days when tranquil light encompasses the four directions, Why do the blossoms yet scatter with uneasy hearts?” Ki no Tomonori, ひさかたの Hisakata no

In the employ of the richest man in all Eorzea (and possibly all Hydaelyn) there was among the many gentlefolk a man who, though he was not of any noble birth, was favored beyond all the rest.

So great was the confidence invested in him by his master that the man was given charge of his affairs in the far lands beyond the eastern seas. They had their methods of communication, naturally, but the vast distance between Ul’dah and Hingashi meant the gentleman often had broad discretion when it came to executing his employer’s star-spanning plans.

If Lolorito Nanarito was something of a merchant-king, then young Hancock Fitzgerald was no less than a prince. And the prince of the East Aldenard Trading Company was ever-dutiful when it came to securing the advantage of its chairman.

Such was the reason for his present heading: to the Shiokaze Hostelry, down by the docks of Kugane. It was a fair day, and though the last remnants of winter had faded into memory under a warm spring sun, the air still carried a light chill brought by a southwesterly over the Ruby Sea. Some of the city-goers found it pleasant, others muttered that it had no right to be so cold given the season... but all thankful that it kept the clouds over the Ruby Price from staining an otherwise pristine blue sky.

Ordinarily, Hancock liked to take his time on days like this. It was perfect for a stroll down to the markets, or through the gardens, or even simply taking in the salty air from the great bridge spanning the city’s center. But the direction of the wind ensured that those he had been tasked to greet on their arrival in Hingashi would almost certainly make port in timely fashion, and it was critical that Hancock be the first to greet them when they made landfall in the Far East. Haste was necessary.

Even so, the merchant chose to make his way on foot; taking a brisk but steady walk down through the market of Kogane Dori, rather than traveling by aetheryte to the Tenkonto Plaza. He’d left sufficient time for it, being easily able to calculate the time it took to disembark down to the minute (and the gil); and even if it was a bit of stolen pleasure, Hancock could justify the walk as giving him the chance to think.

It was an opportunity to run over the many facts that his nearly eidetic memory had gleaned from his employer’s dossiers regarding the Scions of the Seventh Dawn; facts with which he’d need to arm himself, if he had even the remotest chance of making his master’s hospitality more attractive than holding on to grudges - which were admittedly quite justified, if everything he'd read was true.

Hancock’s pace was even and his hands hung loosely at his sides as he passed by the clustering of people at the city's market boards. His eyes were hidden by his red-tinted spectacles, as always, masking his habit of frequently glancing to the sides with the occasional lingering of his gaze on passing folk of possible interest. To onlookers he merely had a calm and thoughtful look, though a few faint furrows could be seen etching his brow as he reviewed what might be useful.

Names, dates, places… even banal facts like preferred foods and what entertainment might be pleasing to them. They were certainly a curiously diverse group, based on the files: two Elezen prodigies from Sharlayan and grandchildren of Louisoix Leveilleur himself, an Ala Mhigan woman who had until recently been masquerading as her departed sister, a Lalafellin woman from Ul’dah who Hancock had been warned not to underestimate, and…

No less than the Warrior of Light, himself.

Hancock’s chin rose slightly as he crested the red-painted arch which bridged the two halves of the city. To his right, the graceful spire of the Tenkonto gleamed in cyan crystal as it acted as a beacon for those traveling by magic, while to his left the statue of Lord Zuiko shone with burnished verdigris under Azeyma’s radiant face. It was a sight he’d seen more than a hundred times before, but now it seemed a little fresher to him. Less a familiar vista, and more a sunlit prelude to an uncertain but exciting meeting with a myth made out of flesh, rather than carved in crystal or sculpted in bronze. A myth... but also a man.

The merchant’s mind began to loop upon the dossier of Ifan Kaleid as he descended from the bridge’s peak, lingering upon the details of his early life in Thanalan. An early life which coincided with his own, in terms of years, and though Ifan was raised outside the city proper he was for all intents and purposes Ul’dahn… just like Hancock. And, much like the prince of the East Aldenard Trading Company, the Warrior of Light had within his calling obtained favor beyond all the rest - despite having no blood family to gift him rank or fortune. What he’d earned, it seemed, were the dividends of his own virtues, hard work, and a willingness to take a risk when the rewards were worth it. In short, Ifan’s life read like that of a man who Hancock Fitzgerald was more than a little keen to meet in person.

So keen, in fact, that his eyes began to drift away from where he was going.

Not far, but enough that his attention slipped and he failed to take notice of a man leaving the hostelry who paying even less attention to his heading than the gold-haired merchant. Hancock caught himself at the last moment, but he couldn't prevent his right shoulder from lightly colliding with the man's bicep.

The stranger let out a rough grunt, then turned an irate gaze towards Hancock.

“Watch it!” he snapped, issuing an irritated scoff. He was a local, by his garb, and one a little far into his cups if the color in his cheeks was anything to go by.

Hancock straightened up immediately as his expression shifted to a calm, respectful smile. He gave the man a polite bow at the waist, choosing not to point out that neither of them had been paying attention.

“Apologies, my good sir,” he said.

The man merely returned a sneer. He leaned towards Hancock with his lips parted, an insult clearly ready on his tongue… then paused as caught sight of the pair of sword-wielding men standing near the hostelry’s entrance. The blood-red cloth of their haori, made all the more vivid by their white hakama, was enough of a reminder.

Instead he gave a simple huff, and let his cursing go unvoiced as he eyed Hancock up and down contemptuously.

“…Ijin.” The word was dripping with barely concealed derision, made even more obvious by the curt nod the Hingan gave him before turning and departing.

Hancock bowed again, but both it and the brief frown which twitched its way across his face both went unnoticed. He didn’t dwell on it too long, however; he took in a slow breath, spared another moment to make sure his irritation wasn’t showing on his features, and then turned to make his way into the large, open entrance of his destination.

Shiokaze Hostelry was as busy as could be expected given the season and the time of day. The air was filled with both the smells and sounds of folk from nearly every corner of the Three Great Continents taking their ease, set against the salty breeze and distant cries of gulls wafting in from the establishment’s harbor-side entrance. Though most patrons went about their business on the hostelry’s ground floor, the upper floors were still busy with folk seated or standing… watching, too, from the high vantage point - as if the inn were in truth a disguised theater in the round.

But it was the group of foreigners who stood by the harbor-side entrance who immediately caught Hancock’s eye. Five of them, speaking among themselves as they gaze up in wonder at the hostelry: a pair of adolescent Elezen twins with pale hair and a preference for red and blue respectively, a Lalafellin woman wearing a red cap, a blonde Highlander with strong arms and scarlet attire, and a bearded, brown-haired Midlander arrayed in white.

Hancock let out a quiet sigh of relief and indulged a faintly smug cast to his smile at his good timing, before he descended to the ground floor of the hostelry and made his way towards the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

The Lalafellin woman - Tataru Taru, Hancock assumed - had her back turned towards him as she was speaking to one of the twins with an airy, teasingly dismissive tone.

“-and a tavern is a tavern, Alphinaud, here or anywhere else!” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to do what I do best.” Then she turned and, without looking, began to run at a brisk pace that almost took her directly into Hancock’s shins before she skidded to a halt.

Hancock’s smile vanished for a moment as he blinked behind his spectacles. His lips pursed, but then smoothly slid back into a polite expression as he once again chose not to dwell on nearly being run into for a second time that morning.

“A thousand pardons, my lady,” he apologized, offering Tataru a short bow at the waist before he straightened up. “The Scions of the Seventh Dawn, I presume? I hope your voyage was not too trying.”

He followed his greeting with a light smile as he cast his eyes over each of the Scions, observing them in greater detail. It was simple enough to put names to faces, even if only by written description: besides Tataru, the Scions’ “receptionist”, the Highlander was certainly Lyse Hext, while the twins were obviously Alphinaud and Alisaie Leveilleur.

Hancock was about to speak again, but the air escaped him silently as he laid eyes on the man in white standing beside Alisaie.

The Midlander - who could be none other than Ifan Kaleid, the Warrior of Light - stood with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised as he wordlessly stared back at Hancock. His bearded face was set in a faintly distant expression despite the obvious signs of curiosity at the merchant’s unexpected appearance. The other details went largely unnoticed, however, as Hancock found himself unable to avert his eyes from the dark blue of Ifan’s irises.

Yet ‘dark blue’ seemed insufficient to describe them. The color edged on grey in the same way as the vast expanse of the Ruby Sea directly behind Ifan; like indigo desaturated in white mulberry paper, or glazed cobalt overlaying porcelain. It had a mournful quality, however, seeming more likely to run into a stain of tears than remain coldly affixed upon ceramic or a page.

The grin on Hancock’s face widened by a fraction of an ilm as he watched Ifan’s eyes drift over him. That sodden well within his gaze was briefly stirred into a bright eddy of interest, and the prince of the East Aldenard Trading company felt a slight tightness in his chest at the way the Warrior of Light tilted his head… as if he indeed liked what his wine-dark eyes beheld.

It was Alisaie, however, who broke the awkward silence.

“…And you are?” she asked, cocking her head inquisitively.

Hancock nearly jolted as he blinked behind his spectacles, and sharply shook his head. “Ah, yes, of course! Forgive me,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hancock Fitzgerald, of the East Aldenard Trading Company, at your service. On behalf of Chairman Lolorito, I bid you welcome to Kugane and invite you to take refreshment at our local offices.”

He followed his greeting with another deep bow at the waist before he stood upright, and gave the Scions of the Seventh Dawn a rather fox-like grin; one made all the wider by the slightly horrified confusion on all of their faces.

“Lolorito?" Alphinaud said, nearly exclaiming. "I was aware his interests extended beyond the borders of Eorzea, but not so far as Kugane." The disbelief in his expression soon receded, however, and he frowned sternly back at Hancock as he crossed his arms. “Regardless, I am disinclined to accept the hospitality of grinning merchants,” he said, crisply. “Especially those who serve a master with whom we have such a difficult relationship.”

There was a pause as Hancock’s grinning eased into a teasing smile. He lightly threaded his fingers together in front of him, and gave the Elezen a respectful half-nod. “My my, such naked suspicion! I do hope that business with the Crystal Braves did not rob you of all faith in your fellow man," he said, airily. Then he tilted his head, and wiggled his chin faintly. "Or do you really think the chairman is plotting to drag you into another one of his grand schemes?”

Alphinaud blinked rapidly as his breath caught in his throat. He began sputtering, but Hancock’s attention was instead caught by the smirk Ifan was doing a poor job of hiding - much like Alisaie, who was whispering to him with equal amusement.

“I daresay Alphinaud has met his match…” Alisaie muttered, earning a barely audibly snicker from the Warrior of Light.

“I… beg your pardon?!” Alphinaud uncrossed his arms and glared up at Hancock indignantly. “If you are trying to win my trust, you are failing quite spectacularly.”

Hancock’s eyes returned to the young Elezen, and he was unable to conceal the chuckle in his voice. “Oh dear, have I offended you? Once again, I must apologize. Too much time in the Far East, you see. One is compelled to talk in circles around everything here, and one finds oneself longing for the invigoratingly candid speech of the Ul’dahn markets… though I see now that this is neither the time nor the place to indulge said longing.”

His words carried an air of affected wistfulness, though one which became genuine as his eyes went again to the magician. He saw now that Ifan wore a ring on his right finger, bearing the sigil of the tipping scales of Ul’dah. Hancock was sorely tempted to spend precious moments trying to recall if it had been recorded where the ring had come from, but the crest of Nald’thal’s city was itself a sufficient reminder of his task. So he straightened up, and gave Alphinaud a much more conciliatory nod.

 “…Might I suggest that we continue this conversation at the company offices?” he suggested. “Too many eyes and ears here, you understand. ‘Twould be decidedly reckless to say any more.”

He followed this with a quick canting of his head towards the upper levels of the hostelry, but the gesture and the warning seemed a touch too subtle.

Alphinaud answered with an imperious sniff. “If I may favor you with the invigorating candor you apparently crave,” he said, curtly, “it would be decidedly reckless to follow a man I neither know nor trust. Give me one good reason why we should accept Lord Lolorito’s invitation.” He crossed his arms again, and tilted his head while looking at Hancock expectantly.

Hancock grinned again. “Now there’s the young diplomat I was told to expect!" he laughed. "Very well, then, I shall explain.”

His grin settled, and he took in a slow breath as he stepped forward towards the Scions. When he spoke again, the coy amiability had been replaced by casual seriousness.

“You understand that you are come to a most reclusive and secretive nation, yes?” he asked, lowering his voice just a hair. “One whose borders are closed to foreign trade save at this single port?”

“Only the one?” Lyse asked, lowering her voice in turn.

Hancock nodded sagely. “Indeed,” he said. “So it should come as small surprise that a great many parties have vested interests here. Merchants like myself are a given, of course, but for every one of us you may be certain there is also an agent of a foreign government.”

He paused to let his words sink in. The indignation in young Master Alphinaud’s expression receded under realization, mirrored by the sudden shift to wariness in both Lyse and Alisaie’s faces. But Tataru seemed less surprised, and more sternly resolved; as did Ifan, who had closed his eyes in a look of weary frustration.

For whatever reason, Hancock felt his chest tighten again… though unpleasantly, rather than the headiness of when Ifan seemed interested in something. Nonetheless, he took in another breath before finishing his explanation.

“Many notable nations and empires have embassies here, you know. Including a certain Empire with whom you have such a…” Hancock paused again, searching for suitably diplomatic phrasing, then hummed mirthfully before mirroring Alphinaud’s earlier words. “…difficult relationship.”

After another long and awkward pause, it was Alisaie who again broke the silence: this time, with an irritated clicking of her tongue against her teeth.

“To paraphrase,” she said, as delicately as she could. “Kugane is teeming with Imperial spies, one or several of whom could now be listening to our every word.”

Hancock chuckled once and nodded gracefully at Alisaie. “Something to that effect, yes. Beneath this veneer of bustling trade a war for supremacy is being waged between world powers. One might say we are standing on the front lines… just not in public.”

Alisaie inhaled quietly through her teeth as she began glancing around, mirroring the wary looks that Alphinaud was trying not to be too obvious about.

“Imperial spies everywhere,” Lyse said, letting out an aggrieved sigh. “Great. Just… great.”

Though the ambiance inside the hostelry had barely changed since they’d begun their conversation, there was a distinct frostiness tainting the otherwise pleasant air. The Scions had their faces set in varying looks of watchfulness; all save Ifan, who had his gaze cast thoughtfully off to the side.

After a brief silence, he gave a nod before looking back at Hancock with a polite half-smile. “Would you give us a moment to talk it over, Master Fitzgerald?” he asked.

The smile Hancock returned was just as polite, but he couldn’t stop a slightly boyish tilting of his head at the look Ifan was giving him. “But of course.”

With that, he took a few steps back and turned to idly look around… but not quite far enough that his excellent hearing couldn’t pick up the Scions’ whispered conversation.

Ifan was the first to speak. “What do you think, Tataru?” he asked. “You deal with merchants the most out of all of us.”

“I don’t trust him one bit, and neither should you.” Tataru’s voice was nearly a hiss, making her displeasure evident.

A concurring hum left Ifan’s chest. “Not saying we should,” he agreed, “but we may not have a choice when it comes to accepting help. We’re at a disadvantage.”

“Indeed,” Alisaie said, voicing her agreement in turn. “I still have my doubts, but he may have a point. I say we accept his invitation… for now.”

There was a lapse in conversation, and Hancock spared a glance towards the Scions to see Ifan was looking at Alphinaud with a concerned frown. The young Elezen had his arms crossed again, and was looking at the floor with a pinched grimace on his face.

“…You all right, Alphinaud?” Ifan asked.

Alphinaud blinked as he was stirred from the mire of his thoughts, and looked up towards Ifan sheepishly. “…Forgive me. The mere mention of the East Aldenard Trading Company is enough to-“ The next few words came out as a mumble before he uncrossed his arms, took a breath, and then nodded up at the magician slowly. “I am fine, truly. You need not worry,” he said, offering a strained smile.

Ifan smiled back, though Hancock noted it was similarly strained. “Nothing to forgive. What do you think?” he asked.

The Elezen gave a quiet hum, mulling it over before issuing a resigned sigh. “At the very least, I cannot see the harm in at least hearing him plead his case. Alisaie has the correct idea,” he answered, nodding at his sister.

“Right, then. Seems we’re in agreement.” Ifan took in a deep breath and straightened up before looking at Alphinaud fondly, and reaching over to give his shoulder a light pat. “I’ll take the lead for now,” he said. “Just take a break.”

Alphinaud blinked, seeming to hesitate, but he voiced no protest. Instead, he gave Ifan an equally as fond and very grateful smile as he reached up to squeeze the back of the magician's hand and nodding back at him.

Ifan’s smile widened, and expression remained warm as he glanced at Lyse, Tataru, and Alisaie in turn before it settled back into that casual yet slightly distant look Hancock had first seen him with. He turned to face the merchant, casting his eyes over him once more, and then approached before giving Hancock a polite bow at the waist.

It was a far from perfect gesture, by Hingan standards, but Hancock nonetheless felt an irrepressible grin begin to creep across his features.

“Hancock, was it?” Ifan asked. His gaze settled on Hancock’s grin, and his cheeks rose in a soft look of mirth as another interested gleam danced through his eyes.

Hancock’s grin grew even further, and he indulged another moment of staring at Ifan from behind his spectacles before he returned an equally deep bow.

“At your service,” he greeted, his voice surging with enthusiasm. “And you must be Ifan Kaleid! Slayer of Gods, Rider of Dragons, Savior of Ishgard…”

The thrill within his voice started to fade somewhat as that unpleasant tightness pinched within his chest again. Every title seemed to cause the mirth in Ifan’s eyes and face to ebb away, so on a whim the merchant took in a light breath and gave the Warrior of Light a coy, teasing smile.

“… Stealer of Pants, if some of the more puzzling rumors are to be believed,” he finished.

Ifan blinked. There was a pause, and just as Hancock felt the urge to swallow nervously… Ifan snorted, and chuckled as he tried to hide a grin.

Hancock inhaled audibly as the pressure in his chest released. A giddy warmth began to prickle on his cheeks as he took in the sight of the magician’s face when it was lit up with humor, matching the light tingling in his ears at the musical but rough-edged sound of Ifan’s laughter.

The magician took in a slow breath to compose himself. He was still grinning slightly as he eyed Hancock up and down again, and his expression took on a teasing edge as he returned a sagely nod. “When they have pants to steal,” he replied.

Hancock blinked behind his spectacles as he tilted his head curiously. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Ifan returned a noncommittal hum before his face settled again. “You’ve the right of it, but just ‘Ifan’ is fine,” he said, inclining his head in a more casual greeting.

The merchant’s grin eased back into a polite smile as he nodded in turn. “Of course, Ifan. May I say what an honor and a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance. I just know you and I are going to get along famously,” he said.

Ifan gave another chuckle. “Likely so,” he said. “You do seem fairly interesting, Hancock.”

Much as earlier, Hancock’s lips twitched briefly as he fought back an expression: but rather than a scowl, he struggled to hold down a dizzy half-grin at the way his name sounded with that rough edge to Ifan’s voice accentuating it. To say nothing of being called interesting by such a man.

But unlike earlier, it didn’t go unnoticed. Ifan’s eyes flicked downwards to Hancock’s lips, and the grin began forming anyway.

And it kept on growing, as the Warrior of Light began to smile at him in turn. That distant look, which had been weighing down his handsome face, now seemed itself far distant. The lightness in his eyes was as bracing to Hancock as seeing the expanse of the Ruby Sea from atop Kugane’s airship landing, and he felt ten thousand questions about Ifan’s life and thoughts start running through his head.

But his excitement soon found itself tempered. A light breeze from the hostelry’s port-side entrance drew his attention, and the sight of the four other Scions in his peripheral vision served to remind him that he had a task of utmost importance. Though it was difficult, the prince of the East Aldenard Trading Company managed to pull his gaze away from the Warrior of Light's

Hancock composed himself with a light clearing of his throat, before casting his eyes at each of the Scions from behind his red-shaded spectacles.

“Now, then…” he said, gesturing towards the hostelry's city-side entrance. “Without further ado, allow me to escort you to the company offices. This being your first visit to our fair city, I shall make an effort to point out various landmarks along the way. If you would be so good as to follow me.”

[nicnak20]

Suspects:

<Part 2>

Back at the precinct, the stark fluorescent lights felt harsher than usual after the quiet intensity of Yn’s apartment. Nicholas plunged back into the case files, the details of the subway attack now overlaid with Yn’s face. His gut, usually a reliable compass, pointed him towards several lowlifes known for muggings in the subway system, individuals with rap sheets stretching back years, often involving violence. He cross-referenced descriptions – though vague – with known associates, staking out locations notorious for fencing stolen goods.

Hours blurred into days. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. He ran on lukewarm coffee and sheer will. His focus narrowed, his determination hardening into a fierce resolve. He circled one name in particular: Hector 'Spider' Ramos. Ramos fit the general build, had a history of violent strong-arm robberies on public transport, and had been active in the area. Nicholas leaned into his instincts, bolstered by a flimsy alibi Ramos offered when questioned. The guy was twitchy, evasive. He felt right.

Nicholas pushed for the arrest. He convinced his less-than-enthusiastic captain, Captain Miller, a man whose patience was thinner than the precinct coffee, based on the circumstantial evidence and Nicholas's strong conviction. Miller, under pressure himself from the brass on the rising number of unsolved street crimes, reluctantly gave the green light.

The arrest was swift and clean. Ramos was brought in, read his rights, and interrogated. Nicholas felt a grim satisfaction, a sense of closure beginning to settle. He looked Ramos in the eye, searching for the shadow he’d seen lurking behind the hooded figure in his mind. Ramos maintained his innocence, though his eyes darted nervously.

Then, the alibi checked out. Solidly. Ramos had been upstate, visiting a sick relative, with phone records, toll booth receipts, and witness statements from family members corroborating his story down to the hour. The timelines simply did not match the attack.

Captain Miller didn’t yell. Yelling was for rookies. Miller’s disappointment was a heavy, silent weight. He called Nicholas into his office, the venetian blinds casting stripes of shadow across his impassive face.

"Detective," Miller began, his voice low and even, "I authorized this arrest based on your conviction. Your instincts. And you were wrong."

Nicholas stood stiffly, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "Captain, he fit the profile—"

"Profiles are a tool, Detective, not a guarantee," Miller interrupted, resting his hands on his desk. "We wasted time, resources, and potentially alerted the actual perp that we're looking. Your focus on this case, while understandable given the... personal connection... is clouding your judgment. Get your head back in the game, Nicholas. And figure out where you went wrong. We're back at square one."

Miller dismissed him with a curt nod. Nicholas walked out of the office, the precinct buzzing around him, feeling the weight of failure crushing down. He had been wrong. His gut instinct, the thing he relied on, had misled him this time. The intense personal stake he had in finding Yn’s attacker hadn’t sharpened his focus; it had narrowed it too much, making him see what he wanted to see.

The setback burned, a hot coal in his gut. But beneath the sting of being wrong was a rekindled fire. Miller was right. He’d let the personal element blur the lines. But that didn’t diminish his determination. It just meant he had to be smarter, more meticulous, and keep the personal drive separate from the professional process. He would find this guy. Failure wasn't an option.

He needed to clear his head. He found himself walking, the familiar, chaotic pulse of Manhattan a strange comfort. His feet, almost on their own, took him towards Yn's neighbourhood. He hesitated outside her building, then pulled out his phone. He hadn't spoken to her directly since the attack, mostly communicating through brief, formal updates via email or a quick call to leave a message. He hadn’t felt right checking in casually when he hadn’t made progress. But now, after the failed arrest, he needed… something. Reassurance, perhaps, that he was still fighting for her, or maybe just the quiet calm her presence seemed to radiate.

He sent a simple text. Checking in. Everything okay?

Her reply came almost instantly. Nicholas. Yes, thank you. And you? Any news?

He paused. How much to tell her? The failed arrest felt like a step backward she didn’t need to hear about. Still working on it. Had a lead, didn't pan out. But we're not giving up.

I know you're not, she texted back. Thank you. Truly. There was a beat, then another message. The city feels... different now. I keep looking over my shoulder.

His chest tightened. I understand. Be extra careful. Don't hesitate to call, anytime. For anything.

Okay, she replied after a moment. Maybe... maybe later this week? If you have a moment? Just... to talk?

A wave of warmth spread through him, unexpected and powerful. It wasn't a formal police interview request. It was... personal. Yes, he typed quickly. Anytime works for me. Let me know when is best.

They arranged to meet for coffee a few days later. Nicholas tried to treat it like any other follow-up with a victim, but his usual professional distance felt increasingly difficult to maintain around Yn. She was cautious, yes, still somewhat guarded, the mystery about her background lingering. But beneath the quiet reserve, she was slowly unfurling. She talked about her work, a quiet passion for historical textile restoration, her voice soft but steady. She shared small anecdotes about her grandmother, the one who had given her the necklace. She even managed a few hesitant smiles.

Nicholas, in turn, found himself opening up, just a little. He kept it professional, mostly answering her questions about the process, explaining the challenges of the case without dwelling on his recent failure. But he also shared small, non-work related details – a frustrating encounter with a pigeon, his struggle to assemble IKEA furniture. He found himself wanting to make her smile, to see the light return to her eyes. He felt a fierce protectiveness bloom, different from the general duty he felt towards other victims. It was specific, sharp, focused solely on her safety and peace of mind. He knew, intellectually, this wasn’t ideal. This wasn’t how a detective should feel about a case. But he couldn’t help it. He was growing irrevocably, dangerously, attached. He tried to stifle the feeling, pushing it down, telling himself it was just empathy, heightened by the shared experience of the attack. But it felt like more.

Days turned into another week. The case was stagnant. Tips dried up, witnesses were non-existent, and video footage was useless. Nicholas felt the pressure mounting, both internally and from Miller. He kept digging, revisiting pawn shops, talking to informants, re-interviewing the few people who were in the subway car but saw nothing.

Then, a small break. Not about the attacker, but the necklace. A sharp-eyed informant, a snitch Nicholas had cultivated over years, mentioned hearing chatter about a distinctive piece being pawned shortly after the attack. It was a long shot, but Nicholas followed it. It led him to a grimy pawn shop in lower Manhattan, the air thick with years of dust and desperation. The owner, a man with more rings than teeth, was hesitant at first. But after Nicholas leaned on him – a calculated mix of intimidation and implied threats – the man produced a small, velvet pouch.

Inside was the necklace. It was even more beautiful than Yn had described, intricate silver work, clearly antique, pulsing with a quiet history. It was scratched, slightly dented, the clasp bent, a testament to the violence of the robbery. Nicholas felt a surge of triumph, quickly followed by cold dread. The necklace was here, yes, but the trail ended with the pawn shop owner, who claimed a nameless, face-covered runner had brought it in. The runner was untraceable.

He called Yn immediately. Her voice was shaky when he told her he had recovered it. They agreed to meet at his apartment, a neutral ground that felt safer than her place.

Seeing the necklace again brought a rush of emotions for Yn. She held it gingerly, her fingers tracing the familiar pattern. Tears welled in her eyes, tears of relief and sorrow mixed. "My grandmother," she whispered, her voice thick. "Thank you, Nicholas. Thank you so much."

Nicholas watched her, a knot forming in his throat. Seeing her pain, her relief, her quiet strength, solidified something within him. Returning the necklace felt like a win, a small victory in a losing battle. But it wasn't the victory he truly sought. The man who had hurt her, who had shattered her sense of safety, was still out there. And the necklace, while precious, hadn't led him any closer to finding him.

He drove her back to her apartment later that evening, the silence in the car comfortable, underscored by the unspoken weight of the case. He walked her to her door, lingering for a moment.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Yn met his gaze, her brown eyes still holding a trace of sadness, but also a newfound trust. "As okay as I can be right now, Nicholas. Thank you. For everything." She touched his arm lightly before slipping inside.

He stood there for a moment, the touch lingering on his skin. He had the necklace back for her, a tangible piece of her history restored. But the intangible— her sense of security, the attacker's freedom – remained. He was still failing on the most important front.

Back at the precinct the next morning, the air felt heavy with the collective frustration of the cold case. Nicholas was staring blankly at the case file, running through possibilities for the hundredth time, when his partner, Detective Kyle O'Malley, walked over, a rare flicker of excitement in his usually laconic demeanor.

Kyle was a good detective, steady where Nicholas could be impulsive, a foil that worked. He'd been quietly working background, digging through peripheral leads Nicholas had initially dismissed in his rush to find his first suspect. Piles of takeout menus and crumpled paper littered his desk, proof of his own sleepless nights.

"Nick," Kyle said, his voice low, pulling up a chair. "I might have something. Remember that list of petty criminals we ran through? The ones who pawned stuff but didn't match the timeline?"

Nicholas nodded, his mind snapping to attention.

"One of 'em flagged something interesting," Kyle continued. "Not for this attack directly. Kid named Mikey 'The Shiv' Flanagan. Pawned some earbuds a few days after Yn's hit. Doesn't look like much, right? But we got a B&E report from an apartment near that subway station, filed a week before the attack. Among the stolen items: a dark hooded sweatshirt and a distinctive pair of boots, the kind with reinforced toes. The victim in the B&E remembers seeing a kid loitering outside his building earlier that day – short kid, shifty eyes. Doesn't sound like Ramos. Sounds more like Mikey."

Nicholas leaned forward, his heart pounding. Mikey "The Shiv" Flanagan was small, known for being quick and surprisingly vicious when cornered. He worked alone, hit and run. The hoodie, the boots... it wasn't much, but it was more than they'd had.

"And the timing?" Nicholas asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

"He was out on bail for a different charge during the B&E," Kyle said. "Skipped town the day after he pawned the earbuds. His old lady says he's gone quiet. No calls, no sightings."

"He got spooked," Nicholas murmured, the pieces clicking into place. The attacker was small, brutal, silent. Mikey fit. He lived in the area, knew the subway lines. He had access to the type of clothing described. And he'd disappeared.

The instinct that had failed him with Ramos flared again, but this time, it felt colder, sharper, backed by Kyle's solid if indirect evidence. This felt right in a way Ramos never had.

"Where do we find him, Kyle?" Nicholas asked, standing up, the failure of the past week fueling a renewed, tempered determination. The hunt was back on, and this time, Nicholas wouldn't stop until he had the right man.Back at the precinct, the stark fluorescent lights felt harsher than usual after the quiet intensity of Yn’s apartment. Nicholas plunged back into the case files, the details of the subway attack now overlaid with Yn’s face. His gut, usually a reliable compass, pointed him towards several lowlifes known for muggings in the subway system, individuals with rap sheets stretching back years, often involving violence. He cross-referenced descriptions – though vague – with known associates, staking out locations notorious for fencing stolen goods.

Hours blurred into days. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. He ran on lukewarm coffee and sheer will. His focus narrowed, his determination hardening into a fierce resolve.

Finally, a name cropped up. A parolee, recent release, history of strong-arm robbery, known to frequent the subway lines near where Yn was attacked. The description was vague, but it fit the limited footage they had – height, build, the way he moved. Nicholas felt a surge of certainty; a this is him feeling that resonated deep in his gut.

Hector 'Spider' Ramos. Ramos fit the general build, had a history of violent strong-arm robberies on public transport, and had been active in the area. Nicholas leaned into his instincts, bolstered by a flimsy alibi Ramos offered when questioned. The guy was twitchy, evasive. He felt right.

Nicholas pushed for the arrest. He convinced his less-than-enthusiastic captain, Captain Miller, a man whose patience was thinner than the precinct coffee, based on the circumstantial evidence and Nicholas's strong conviction. Miller, under pressure himself from the brass on the rising number of unsolved street crimes, reluctantly gave the green light.

The arrest was swift and clean. Ramos was brought in, read his rights, and interrogated. Nicholas felt a grim satisfaction, a sense of closure beginning to settle. He looked Ramos in the eye, searching for the shadow he’d seen lurking behind the hooded figure in his mind. Ramos maintained his innocence, though his eyes darted nervously.

Back at the precinct, in the stark confines of the interrogation room, Nicholas leaned forward, the weight of Yn's fear making his gaze intense, almost accusatory. Ramos denied everything, of course, but they had him on parole violation and initial questioning seemed to yield promising inconsistencies in his alibi. Nicholas felt it was him. The tension in Ramos's shoulders, the sweat on his brow, the flicker of fear in his eyes – it all screamed guilty.

They held Ramos for forty-eight hours while they tried to firm up the case. Forensics came back negative on anything concrete linking him to the specific train car or attack.

Then, the alibi checked out. Solidly. Ramos had been upstate, visiting a sick relative, with phone records, toll booth receipts, and witness statements from family members corroborating his story down to the hour. The timelines simply did not match the attack. The physical description was generic, the MO based on past crimes, not this specific one. The gut feeling, for once, had been wrong.

Captain Miller called Nicholas into his office, the blinds drawn, casting the room in a harsh, grey light. Miller's jaw was clenched, his eyes hard. "Detective, do you know how much paperwork this generates? How much overtime? You put a man in lockup for two days based on... what? A hunch?!"

Nicholas stood stiffly, his face impassive, but a heat rose in his chest. "Captain, the profile fit. Past record, proximity, initial alibi issues—"

"Initial alibi issues that cleared up!" Miller slammed a hand on his desk. "We don't make arrests on 'feelings', Detective. We make them on evidence. Solid evidence. This case is high-profile to you, maybe, but it wasn't going anywhere until you wasted our time and resources chasing down a ghost! Get back to basics, Nicholas. Find me something real, or this case goes inactive."

Miller dismissed him with a curt nod. Nicholas walked out of the office, the precinct buzzing around him, feeling the weight of failure crushing down. He had been wrong. His gut instinct, the thing he relied on, had misled him this time. The intense personal stake he had in finding Yn’s attacker hadn’t sharpened his focus; it had narrowed it too much, making him see what he wanted to see.

The setback burned, a hot coal in his gut. But beneath the sting of being wrong was a rekindled fire. Miller was right. He’d let the personal element blur the lines. But that didn’t diminish his determination. It just meant he had to be smarter, more meticulous, and keep the personal drive separate from the professional process. He would find this guy. Failure wasn't an option.

He needed to clear his head. He found himself walking, the familiar, chaotic pulse of Manhattan a strange comfort. His feet, almost on their own, took him towards Yn's neighborhood. He hesitated outside her building, then pulled out his phone. He hadn't spoken to her directly since the attack, mostly communicating through brief, formal updates via email or a quick call to leave a message.

He hadn’t felt right checking in casually when he hadn’t made progress. But now, after the failed arrest, he needed… something. Reassurance, perhaps, that he was still fighting for her, or maybe just the quiet calm her presence seemed to radiate.

He sent a simple text. Checking in. Everything okay?

Her reply came almost instantly. Nicholas. Yes, thank you. And you? Any news?

He paused. How much to tell her? The failed arrest felt like a step backward she didn’t need to hear about. Still working on it. Had a lead, didn't pan out. But we're not giving up.

I know you're not, she texted back. Thank you. Truly. There was a beat, then another message. The city feels... different now. I keep looking over my shoulder.

His chest tightened. I understand. Be extra careful. Don't hesitate to call, anytime. For anything.

Okay, she replied after a moment. Maybe... maybe later this week? If you have a moment? Just... to talk?

A wave of warmth spread through him, unexpected and powerful. It wasn't a formal police interview request. It was... personal. Yes, he typed quickly. Anytime works for me. Let me know when is best.

They arranged to meet for coffee a few days later. Nicholas tried to treat it like any other follow-up with a victim, but his usual professional distance felt increasingly difficult to maintain around Yn. She was cautious, yes, still somewhat guarded, the mystery about her background lingering. But beneath the quiet reserve, she was slowly unfurling. She talked about her work, a quiet passion for historical textile restoration, her voice soft but steady. She shared small anecdotes about her grandmother, the one who had given her the necklace. She even managed a few hesitant smiles.

Nicholas, in turn, found himself opening up, just a little. He kept it professional, mostly answering her questions about the process, explaining the challenges of the case without dwelling on his recent failure. But he also shared small, non-work-related details – a frustrating encounter with a pigeon, his struggle to assemble IKEA furniture.

He found himself wanting to make her smile, to see the light return to her eyes. He felt a fierce protectiveness bloom, different from the general duty he felt towards other victims. It was specific, sharp, focused solely on her safety and peace of mind. He knew, intellectually, this wasn’t ideal. This wasn’t how a detective should feel about a case. But he couldn’t help it. He was growing irrevocably, dangerously, attached. He tried to stifle the feeling, pushing it down, telling himself it was just empathy, heightened by the shared experience of the attack. But it felt like more.

Days turned into another week. The case was stagnant. Tips dried up, witnesses were non-existent, and video footage was useless. Nicholas felt the pressure mounting, both internally and from Miller. He kept digging, revisiting pawn shops, talking to informants, re-interviewing the few people who were in the subway car but saw nothing.

Then, a small break. Not about the attacker, but the necklace. A sharp-eyed informant, a snitch Nicholas had cultivated over years, mentioned hearing chatter about a distinctive piece being pawned shortly after the attack. It was a long shot, but Nicholas followed it. It led him to a grimy pawn shop in lower Manhattan, the air thick with years of dust and desperation. The owner, a man with more rings than teeth, was hesitant at first. But after Nicholas leaned on him – a calculated mix of intimidation and implied threats – the man produced a small, velvet pouch.

Inside was the necklace. It was even more beautiful than Yn had described, intricate silver work, clearly antique, pulsing with a quiet history. It was scratched, slightly dented, the clasp bent, a testament to the violence of the robbery. Nicholas felt a surge of triumph, quickly followed by cold dread. The necklace was here, yes, but the trail ended with the pawn shop owner, who claimed a nameless, face-covered runner had brought it in. The runner was untraceable.

He called Yn immediately. Her voice was shaky when he told her he had recovered it. They agreed to meet at his apartment, a neutral ground that felt safer than her place.

Seeing the necklace again brought a rush of emotions for Yn. She held it gingerly, her fingers tracing the familiar pattern. Tears welled in her eyes, tears of relief and sorrow mixed. "My grandmother," she whispered, her voice thick. "Thank you, Nicholas. Thank you so much."

Nicholas watched her, a knot forming in his throat. Seeing her pain, her relief, her quiet strength, solidified something within him. Returning the necklace felt like a win, a small victory in a losing battle. But it wasn't the victory he truly sought. The man who had hurt her, who had shattered her sense of safety, was still out there. And the necklace, while precious, hadn't led him any closer to finding him.

He drove her back to her apartment later that evening, the silence in the car comfortable, underscored by the unspoken weight of the case. He walked her to her door, lingering for a moment.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Yn met his gaze, her brown eyes still holding a trace of sadness, but also a newfound trust. "As okay as I can be right now, Nicholas. Thank you. For everything." She touched his arm lightly before slipping inside.

He stood there for a moment, the touch lingering on his skin. He had the necklace back for her, a tangible piece of her history restored. But the intangible— her sense of security, the attacker's freedom – remained. He was still failing on the most important front.

Back at the precinct the next morning, the air felt heavy with the collective frustration of the cold case. Nicholas was staring blankly at the case file, running through possibilities for the hundredth time, when his partner, Detective Kyle Brandit, walked over, a rare flicker of excitement in his usually laconic demeanor.

Kyle was a good detective, steady where Nicholas could be impulsive, a foil that worked. He'd been quietly working background, digging through peripheral leads Nicholas had initially dismissed in his rush to find his first suspect. Piles of takeout menus and crumpled paper littered his desk, proof of his own sleepless nights.

"Nick," Kyle said, his voice low, pulling up a chair. "I might have something. Remember that list of petty criminals we ran through? The ones who pawned stuff but didn't match the timeline?"

Nicholas nodded, his mind snapping to attention.

"One of 'em flagged something interesting," Kyle continued. "Not for this attack directly. Guy named Mikey 'The Shiv' Flanagan. Pawned some earbuds a few days after Yn's hit. Doesn't look like much, right? But we got a B&E report from an apartment near that subway station, filed a week before the attack."

A shiver ran down Nicholas's spine. This had to be him, he thought... or maybe just wanted to believe again. The hunt was back on. And this time, the lead felt dangerously, terrifyingly close to the truth.

[mahamid110]

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[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

2. Writing Set Up: Where to Write Your Draft

Before you even start writing, you’ll need to find a writing program/medium you feel comfortable working with. 

I promise you—from start to finish—you’ll look at your draft for a couple of hours at minimum, so I suggest you choose a program/medium that aligns with your individual needs. Now it’s time for you to identify what those needs might be. 

Here are some options:

Creativity strikes while you’re cuddled up in bed or on your commute to work? 

Try writing on your phone/tablet (unless you’re the one driving, of course!)—you can use pre-installed apps like Pages (iOS) or your Notes/Memo app. You can also download free writing applications like Google Docs. Google Docs works on and offline on basically any mobile device, which is great for when you’re on the go! 

You prefer writing/typing on a computer? 

There are many desktop writing programs like LibreOffice (free for Windows, Mac and Linux), MS Word (needs to be purchased/subscription-based), countless online text editors or the browser version of Google Docs. 

You need to physically feel the words flowing through your body? 

Well, imagine you’re a classic author and write them down by hand on generously perfumed paper (preferably with royal blue ink)! Of course, you can also use Post-it notes or that coffee-stained notebook from 2013. Regular paper will do, too, though it’s obviously not as cool. 

Of course, there are many more options to choose from, but since you’re just starting out, I suggest you try free and more readily available programs first. Everything has its pros and cons, but digital writing is generally pretty clean-cut and saves you the trouble of digitising hand-written drafts (which you’ll need to do if you want to share your writing online! Unless you want to share scans of your beautiful handwritten writing, of course!). 

But before you settle for one (or more!) program/media of your choice, you might want to consider a few things: 

Is your writing easily accessible to you? → Can you add to your draft whenever and wherever creativity strikes? 

Does your writing program save your progress automatically? → You don’t want to lose hours upon hours of work because you forgot to save your progress! 

Is your writing secure? → Is your writing uploaded to a cloud? Will you still be able to access your writing if your computer crashes or you lose your login data/ phone/notebook? Can you easily create external backups of your files?

It really doesn’t matter what you need to write down at this early point. Be it an idea, rough outline, dialogue, stream of consciousness, mind map or a finished draft—you just want your entire writing process to happen in a secure, accessible location that you feel confident working in. There is no perfect writing program; whatever program works best for you is the best program for you! 

For example: 

I almost exclusively write on Google Docs since it meets all my personal writing needs: It’s a free cloud service that syncs my files all across my devices (phone, laptop, tablet) regardless of where I am. It has an intuitive interface with all the basic writing/formatting tools I need. 

Once a month, I download my most recent drafts as “.docx”-files and back them up on an external hard drive—so even if I can’t, for whatever reason, access my Google Docs account, my files are still secured in a different location. 

Sometimes, I make use of handwritten notes, too—though I keep losing them or can’t decipher my handwriting…This seems minuscule or even funny, but it’s hard to come back to an idea when you’ve literally lost the physical manifestation of it! 

Next: The Idea: Coming Up With and Developing Your Idea (with examples)

Masterlist

[lumenflowered]

[A video file is attached. Executive Proton stands flanked on either side by grunts, and while said grunts are still busily battling Brock and Silver respectively, Proton seems to be out of Pokémon given the presence of a very angry-looking Kingdra balancing on her tail beside Maria, and the general lack of Pokémon that seem to belong to him.

"Well then," Maria says mildly. "I don't suppose you would be willing to surrender now and save us all the trouble?"

"Go fuck yourself," Proton says.

"I really don't see the appeal of that." Maria withdraws a knife from where it was hidden within her clothes—then vanishes into a cloud of dark blue smoke, reappearing with said knife pressed to Proton's throat. "Now then."

Proton's eyes widen. Around them all, the fighting stops.

"You call yourself one of the good guys," Proton says. "You wouldn't kill me."

"I would rather not," Maria allows. "But I have killed before, Executive, which is precisely why I would rather not. Have you ever taken a life? Ever watched the light leave the eyes of another at the end of your blade, covered in their blood?"

Proton swallows nervously. He says nothing.

"I have," she says, a note of finality to her voice. "Relying on Pokémon, for me, is a handicap."

"And you call yourself a hero," Proton says weakly.

"No. Others do. I don't consider myself a hero; I merely consider myself someone who refuses to ever stand by and allow injustice to happen ever again. So, Proton, I will ask you again: surrender? Or would you prefer to die first?"

"You're bluffing," he says.

"I could kill every Rocket member in this base within ten minutes. Perhaps five." Maria raises an eyebrow. "Am I?"

it's obvious, from the way his shoulders slump, what he's going to say before he actually says it. At last, he says, as if forcing the words out, "...I surrender. But you won't be able to take down Giovanni."

(Though neither Proton nor Maria notice it, Silver stiffens at the mention of Giovanni. Why wouldn't she?)

"I have faced horrors the likes of which you would not even be able to imagine," Maria says, withdrawing the knife from where it was previously held. "Giovanni is nothing."

The video ends.]

[anqelicdiary]

online resources for school! ꒱ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

resoomer.com –> summarizes the text (you can set your native language)

wordcount.com –> counts words in document

speechinminutes.com –> counts how long it will take to read the prepared text (you can also set whether you speak slowly, quickly or normally)

essaytopicgenerator.com –> generates the topic of the essay based on keywords (the field or type of essay can also be included)

researchgate.net –> free texts that can be referred to in the essay

academia.edu –> free texts that can be referred to in the essay

Google Drive / Microsoft OneDrive and Office365 –> free cloud with tools to make slides, documents etc.

sites.google.com –> make free, simple website without any skills

carrd.co –> make free, simple and pretty website without any skills (max. 100 elements)

Online converters –> change file type to different file type

icons8.com –> free icons (for slides, sites etc.)

remove.bg –> remove background from photo

loader.to –> download YouTube video or playlist as video or sound files

forms.google.com –> make simple form/poll/quiz/etc.

quizlet.com –> make flashcards and test yourself (some things are only in pro version now)

Streaming services –> documentary films, educational podcasts etc.

artsandculture.google.com –> explore art, online museum tours etc.

plantsnap.com –> recognizes plants and mushrooms

ecosia.org –> web browser, but they plant trees when you use it

tunemymusic.com –> transfers music playlist (or text song list) to another service

shazam.com –> recognizes songs

slidesgo.com –> slides templates

thesaurus.com –> finds synonyms (you can easily find similar websites in your native language)

Apple reminders, google calendar etc. –> help organize

Online libraries –> free books

html-online.com –> write html, css and javascript online

supercook.com –> shows recipes with things you have at home

edx.org –> free courses

academicearth.org –> free courses

© anqelicdiary

[marketingprofitmedia]

AI Ebook Suite Review – Create Unlimited eBooks & FlipBooks In Minutes

 Welcome to my AI Ebook Suite Review Post, This is a genuine user-based AI Ebook Suite review where I will discuss the features, upgrades, demo, price, and bonuses, how AI Ebook Suite can benefit you, and my own personal opinion. You may publish and sell infinite “High-In-Demand” Best Seller eBooks and FlipBooks. Revolutionary AI The world’s first AI technology makes stunning, guaranteed best-seller AI kids books in 100+ languages and sells them on Amazon, Etsy, and eBay in under 60 seconds!

Can You Spare Just A Minute A Day? Then This Publishing App Is For You. Crafting high-quality ebooks that keep readers interested can feel like climbing a rock in today’s content-flooded world. Problems like writer’s block, lengthy study, and difficult design issues often make it hard to move forward. A new piece of software called AI Ebook Suite claims to use the power of artificial intelligence (AI) to change the way ebooks are made. We’ll look at how AI speeds up the process of creating content, discuss the different file types that the software supports, and discuss the benefits of its easy-to-use interface and cloud-based accessibility. Watch as we reveal the AI Ebook Suite’s secrets and give you the information you need to make an intelligent choice about your ebook writing journey.

AI Ebook Suite Review: What Is It?

AI Ebook Suite is a cloud-based software application designed to empower users with the power of artificial intelligence (AI) for effortless ebook creation. It goes beyond standard ebooks, offering functionalities to craft engaging flipbooks, children’s books, eye-catching covers, and even interactive puzzles and crosswords.

The core functionality lies in its AI-powered writing assistant, which generates content based on user input. This can significantly boost efficiency and overcome writer’s block. AI Ebook Suite boasts a collection of pre-designed templates and allows seamless integration of images and videos, making content creation a breeze. Furthermore, the cloud-based platform ensures accessibility from any device and grants users commercial rights to their creations, opening doors for monetization.

AI Ebook Suite Review: Overview

Creator: Yogesh Agarwal

Product: AI Ebook Suite

Date Of Launch: 2024-May-25

Time Of Launch: 10:00 EDT

Front-End Price: $17 (One-time payment)

Official Website: Click Here To Access

Product Type: Software (Online)

Support: Effective Response

Discount: Get The Best Discount Right Here!

Recommended: Highly Recommended

Bonuses: Huge Bonuses

Rating: 9.5/10

Skill Level Required: All Levels

Discount Code: “AEB4OFF” Get $4 OFF Any Funnel!

Refund: YES, 30 Days Money-Back Guarantee

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AI Ebook Suite Review: About Authors

Yogesh Agarwal and his passion for cutting-edge solutions have changed how marketers interact with their audiences. Yogesh, the founder of AI Ebook Suite, created the first AI-powered virtual platform generation tool to let marketers easily generate compelling eBooks & FlipBooks platform.

Yogesh’s platform lets marketers of diverse backgrounds use virtual AI Graphics influencers. His AI knowledge allows him to create easy solutions that require no technical skills, making content creation accessible to everybody.

Some lots of launches, including Instant AI Biz, AI Fame Rush, AI Platform Creator, VidMonopoly, AI Creative Suite, AI Audio Avataar, Ai Video Tales, BusinessBoxAI, AI Creative Suite, AI Graphics Factory, Viral Faces AI, TubeRushr, Propel AI Kit, AI List Flipper, AI Multi Marketer, AI Smart News,and many others.

AI Ebook Suite Review: Key Features

100% Cloud-Based Software Suite

7 Unique Ways To Create Ebooks/Flip-books

Create Ebooks/Flipbooks with ChatGPT & OPEN AI Without Writing a Single Word

Done For You Professional Ebooks/Flipbook Templates

Customize Design & Layout In Seconds Using Our Visual Designer

AUTO Lead Gen System Built In

Monetize & Share Your Ebook/Flipbook In 1 Click

Create Stunning EBook/Flipbook Covers That Grab Attention Immediately

Collect Leads With Ease & Integrate Into Your Favorite Autoresponder (Upto 25,000 Leads)

Automatic Mailer & A Done For You Sequence To Make Commissions From Every Flipbook You Create!

1-Click Social Sharing To Get More Traffic & Leads

A Massive Library Of Over 50,000 Ready To Monetize Ebooks

Embed What You Create On Any Website

Inbuilt Cover Creator Feature

Pre-Made Books In Dozens Of Niches

Unlimited One-Click Download

ZERO Skills App

Multi-Lingual Support

Commercial License Included

World-Class Support

Over 1 Million Articles Inbuilt For You To Create Flipbooks Instantly

AI Ebook Suite Review: How Does It Work?

Only 3 Clicks To Become Best-Selling On Any Platform And Generate Thousands Of Buyer Leads

Step 1: Login

Click on any of the buy buttons on this page, and create your account with AieBookSuite (it takes less than 9 seconds)

Step 2: Enter

pick any keyword you like, or select any niche you desire… That’s all that you need to do…

Step 3: Publish & Profit

Within 90 seconds, you will have a JAW-DROPPING eBook, FlipBook, Crossword, KidsBooks, And more Each time we publish our creation with AieBookSuite we make money like this

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AI Ebook Suite Review: Can Do For You

Create eBook, FlipBook, Puzzle, Crossword, Or Anything else in 90 seconds or less…

Our content is readable, engaging, and most importantly addictive to the readers

Mind-Blowing DFY Templates For Guaranteed Top Seller Status!

Pre-made books In Dozens Of Niches

Inbuilt Cover Creator Feature

Embed What You Create On Any Website

A Massive Library Of Over 50,000 Ready To Monetize Ebooks

1-Click Social Sharing To Get More Traffic & Leads

Automatic Mailer & A Done Sequence To Make Commissions From Every Flipbook You Create!

Create Flipbooks with ChatGPT & OPEN AI Without Writing a Single Word

Stunning and jaw-dropping designs that look like it’s done by a 7-figure studio

Fully cloud-based and works on any device

Pay only a small ONE-TIME Fee!

30 money-back guarantees

AI Ebook Suite Review: Customers Feedback

AI Ebook Suite Review: Who Should Use It?

Affiliate Marketers

Digital Product Sellers

Freelancers

Business Owners

Entrepreneurs

Bloggers & Website owners

Social Media Marketers

E-Commerce Store Owners

And Many Others

AI Ebook Suite Review: OTO’s And Pricing

Front End Price: AI Ebook Suite ($17)

OTO 1: Unlimited Edition ($67)

OTO 2: Automation Edition ($97)

OTO 3: DFY Edition ($77)

OTO 4: 1-Hour Profit ($77)

OTO 5: 1-Click Traffic Booster ($77)

OTO 6: ChatGPT Edition ($47)

OTO 7: Click Design ($97)

OTO 8: Reseller Edition ($297)

OTO 9: Agency License (67)

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AI Ebook Suite Review: My Unique Bonus Bundle

My Unique Bonus Bundle will be visible on your access page as an Affiliate Bonus Button on WarriorPlus immediately after purchase.

And before ending my honest AI Ebook Suite Review, I told you that I would give you my very own unique PFTSES formula for Free.

AI Ebook Suite Review: Free Bonuses

BONUS 1: 3,000 ChatGPT Prompts (Value: $197)

This is a Cutting-edge Package of 3000 Prompts that fences in Prompts of almost every niche that you can think of to optimize ChatGPT. These are Fully DFY Style so Just Add your Data and Hit Submit and see the Magic!

BONUS 2: Over 5000+ Vertical Videos (Value: $197)

Massive Collection Of Jaw-Dropping & Attention-Grabbing Royalty-Free, 5000+ HD Quality, Vertical Video Templates In Super HOT* Niches — Garner Millions Of Views On Social Feeds & Lock-In Huge Profits!

BONUS 3: DFY ChatGPT4 Email Prompts (Value: $197)

This is an Exclusive Item, Specially Crafted for ChatGPT3, ChatGPT3.5 and ChatGPT4. You will get 25 DFY Prompts and using that you can create over 1000+ High Converting Email Campaigns.

BONUS 4: DFY ChatGPT4 SMS Prompts (Value: $197)

Tailor-Made for ChatGPT3, ChatGPT3.5, and ChatGPT4. Behold, an Exquisite Offering, Designed Exclusively for You. Unveiling 25 Done-For-You Prompts, Enabling the Creation of 1000+ Highly Effective SMS Campaigns.

BONUS 5: Product Launch Master Class (Value: $197)

Discover the power of real strategy with a step-by-step plan for launching your product. Learn from an experienced marketer through four live sessions and quickly get your product up and running. Simplify the product launch process and gain valuable insights that can be applied to your own venture, even if you’re new to technical aspects like sales pages, autoresponders, and copywriting.

BONUS 6: Guide to Make 10k in 90 Days (Value: $297)

Learn how to generate substantial online income with a proven method, making $10,000+ per month in just 90 days or less. Overcome common obstacles, develop a successful mindset, leverage email marketing, and build a profitable sales funnel to achieve your financial goals quickly and easily

BONUS 7: Product Launch Playbook (Value: $297)

Discover the power of real strategy with a step-by-step plan for launching your product. Learn from an experienced marketer through four live sessions and quickly get your product up and running. Simplify the product launch process and gain valuable insights that can be applied to your own venture, even if you’re new to technical aspects like sales pages, autoresponders, and copywriting.

BONUS 8: Social Media Lower Thirds Pack (Value: $297)

An Essential tool to enhance the visual identity of your videos and graphics. With its transparent files, this pack offers versatile usage across various social media platforms and popular graphic and video creator apps. Elevate your content with these captivating lower thirds

BONUS 9: Social Media Hand Drawn Sticker (Value: $297)

Learn the secrets of becoming a highly successful internet marketer and master the art of promoting websites to increase traffic and attract more customers. Discover the vast opportunities of working online, from affiliate marketing to building websites and blogs with massive audiences, monetizing through advertisements, and selling your own products.

BONUS #10: IMers Toolkit (Value: $297)

Learn the secrets of becoming a highly successful internet marketer and master the art of promoting websites to increase traffic and attract more customers. Discover the vast opportunities of working online, from affiliate marketing to building websites and blogs with massive audiences, monetizing through advertisements, and selling your own products.

BONUS #11: 4500+ Graphics Pack Signup (Value: $297)

This is an Exclusive Marketing Graphics Package which has Everything you need to Create a High Converting Sales Page! It has all the formats and You get Complete Master Resale Rights with it.

BONUS #12: 50000+ Premium Fonts (Value: $297)

Get Access to Premium Library of 50,000+ Fonts which comes with Complete Resale Rights. Use for your Own Projects, Clients Projects, Agency or Even Sell it!

AI Ebook Suite Review: Demo Video

Just Watch The AI Ebook Suite Demo Video Down Below To Get All The Details:

>>For More Details Click Here<<

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AI Ebook Suite Review: Money Back Guarantee

We Removed All The Risks With Our 365 Days Iron-Clad Money Back Guarantee

I am going to keep things simple. You’ve got two possibilities. You either enjoy AIeBookSuite and see results from it, or you get your money back. No in-between. We don’t like games or hidden words. We have no intention of holding your money until you get actual, concrete benefits. So, in the unlikely event that you do not. Simply send an email to our customer care department, which is available 24/7. And we will gladly send you every money back. There are no questions.

AI Ebook Suite Review: Pros and Cons

Pros:

Efficiency Boost: AI writing significantly reduces content creation time.

Content Inspiration: Overcomes writer’s block and sparks creative ideas.

Content Variety: Creates ebooks, flipbooks, children’s books, puzzles, and more.

User-Friendly: Cloud-based platform with pre-designed templates simplifies use.

Cons:

You cannot use this product without an active internet connection.

In fact, I haven’t yet discovered any other problems with AI Ebook Suite.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ’s)

Q. Do I need any experience to get started?

No, you don’t need to do anything at all… Just follow the simple instructions in 60 seconds and you’re good to go

Q. Is there any monthly cost?

No, there is no monthly payment needed whatsoever

Q. How long does it take to make money?

Our average member made their first sale the same day they got access to AIeBookSuite

Q. Do I need to purchase anything else for it to work?

Nop… Not a thing. AIeBookSuite. is the complete thing

Q. What if I failed?

While that is unlikely, we removed all the risk for you. If you tried AIeBookSuite and failed, we will refund you every cent you paid

Q. How can I get started?

All you have to do is click any of the buy buttons on the page and secure your copy of AIeBookSuite at a one-time fee

AI Ebook Suite Review: My Recommendation

AI Ebook Suite offers a compelling solution for those seeking to streamline ebook creation and explore diverse content formats. The AI writing assistant can jumpstart the creative process, while pre-designed templates and user-friendly features make it accessible for various skill levels. However, it’s crucial to remember that AI-generated content may require substantial editing to achieve a truly polished and original voice. Ultimately, AI Ebook Suite stands as a valuable tool, but not a replacement for the human touch and strategic planning required for exceptional ebooks.

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Check Out My Previous Reviews: Dropify AI Review, BulkShortsAI Review, ProfitShopper Review, ShopBuildr AI Review, IntelliVid AI Studio Review, CB Ninja Review, AI Employees Review, & OverLap AI Review.

Thank for reading my AI Ebook Suite Review till the end. Hope it will help you to make purchase decision perfectly.

Disclaimer: This AI Ebook Suite review is for informational purposes only and does not constitute professional advice. Before making a purchase decision, we recommend conducting your own research and exploring the software.

Note: Yes, this is a paid software, however the one-time fee is $17 for lifetime.     

[thechurchoftheatom]

A Sermon for June 18th: Archives for the Ages

Brothers and Sisters in the Atom, we are not only builders of shelter and seekers of safety. We are keepers of memory.

To walk the path of the Atom is to understand that knowledge is fragile—and sacred. It must be preserved, protected, and made legible for the future. A shelter protects a body. An archive protects a civilization.

The stories of who we are, the warnings we issue, the science we carry—they cannot live only in the cloud, in fleeting links, or in the minds of a few. If the future is to endure, our knowledge must endure with it.

Why We Archive

When I was studying archaeology, one of my professors explained why so little of the ancient world survives. It is not that we lost the worst or the least important. It is that we lost what was singular.

The ancient literature we still have today—be it poetry, science, myth, or law—survives not because it was exceptional, but because it was copied again and again. If one version was lost to fire or time, another survived elsewhere. And then another. And another. Until, across centuries, even as dozens were destroyed, a few fragments made it to us.

This is the lesson: redundancy is survival.

And this is the Atomite’s burden: We must copy. We must spread. We must embed knowledge in multiple places, in multiple forms, across multiple lifetimes.

Methods of Preservation

Each Atomite may choose their own methods, based on resources, environment, and calling. But no single record should be trusted alone.

1. Paper

Archival-quality paper, laser-printed or handwritten, stored away from moisture and sunlight. Keep copies of:

Radiation safety procedures

Maps of nuclear waste sites

Sermons and teachings

Basic first aid, water purification, and shelter guidance

Store in fireproof boxes or layered with desiccants.

2. Durable Materials

Metal etchings and ceramic tablets may last for thousands of years

Microfilm is compact and stable

Stone or fired clay is heavy, but survives all else

If a flood washes away one, may another remain buried and waiting.

3. Offline Digital Archives

USB drives, external hard drives, even simple e-readers loaded with PDFs. Pair every digital archive with a printed guide:

What is this device?

How do you power it?

What does it contain?

Remember: a file not understood is no better than a stone.

Planning for the Long Term

The Church of the Atom dreams not only of private archives, but of public knowledge infrastructure—sites meant to outlast any one generation.

We envision:

Information kiosks in safe zones—engraved with radiation safety, location warnings, and emergency survival guides

Redundant libraries in underground shelters, with instructions printed in simple language and diagrams

Beacon archives: layered capsules buried near nuclear sites to warn the future in multiple languages and symbols

We may not yet have the numbers or resources to build these—but we build their foundation with every printed sermon, every stored PDF, every hand-copied guide.

Archive as Devotion

Archiving is not clerical work. It is sacred labor.

It says, I believe someone will come after me. It says, Their safety is worth my time. It says, Truth must outlast me, even if my name is forgotten.

To preserve knowledge is to take a vow against forgetting. To make many copies is to resist silence. To archive clearly is to show love to those who cannot yet speak our language.

Call to Reflect and Act

This week, ask yourself:

What knowledge do I carry that must survive me?

What would I wish someone had saved for me?

If the world went silent tomorrow, what would I want to leave behind?

Choose one thing—just one. Write it. Save it. Copy it.

Start your archive. Let it grow.

And remember: it does not need to be perfect. It needs only to persist.

Closing Words

Brothers and Sisters, archives are not relics. They are seeds. They wait quietly for someone in need. Let us be the ones who plant them.

Let our warnings be read, not rediscovered. Let our knowledge be remembered, not reinvented. Let our voices carry forward—not as whispers, but as structure.

Go forth, and be radiant.