Jovian Archive

(ONGOING) 2022 Working in the underground archive of Hills Inc. a company that took over her father's, Caroline Ann Wright, a beautiful black woman experiences much more than she ever thought she would in her lifetime. ***** Caroline Ann Wright lost her parents in a plane crash when she was just seven years old. Her Aunt took her in because of the fortune her parents had left behind. At eighteen, she was abandoned to live on the streets. Twenty four years old, she works at Hills Inc. a building where her father once ran his company, now taken over by a new one. It didn't matter to her, not as long as she gets paid. Later on, she realizes her job in the underground archive is much more than bookkeeping. Instead, she is to ensure the secret door containing the company's secrets is not breached by outsiders. Fate aligns her meeting with the cocky playboy CEO, Dawn Hills who had lost his mother to cancer, and has quite a strained relationship with his father. At first, he lied about his true position in the company just to know her. In his words, Caroline seems rigid and makes his curiosity swell. Their story breaks into a full blown romance. However, like the saying goes...it is not always sunshine and rainbows.

The doors of elite research institutions aren't open to the unknown. But Rick Allen pulled Beth out of nowhere. He poured everything into nurturing her talent and promised her the world. The Allen family's compromise was simple: the Chief Young Scientist had to be Summer Belden—someone from their own social circle. From that day on, the words Rick said to Beth most often were, "Just wait a little longer." He told her to wait when her groundbreaking paper was published under Summer's name in exchange for research funding. He told her to wait again when the research she'd perfected over three years was packaged as Summer's signature work, paving the way to major awards. "The bigger picture comes first," he said. "The next Nobel Prize—I'll make sure it's yours." But when the paper credited to Summer—though written by Beth—was exposed for fabricated data, everyone reached the same conclusion: Beth, as a core member of the project, had tampered with the data to steal the credit. Locked in a glass-walled archive room, Beth looked at Rick standing outside the door. His gaze was ice-cold, full of disappointment. "Why did you touch the data?" he said. "You've ruined everything I've built." She remembered how he once told her, "In this world, yours is the only talent I truly recognize." He had promised, "I'll make sure achievements with your name hang among the stars." Now he stood with the others, judging her. He looked at her the way people look at a ruthless, ambitious fraud. When she was finally released, Beth dug her nails into her palm until blood ran down. This time, she wouldn't wait any longer.

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*

I was the girl no one noticed. Until I opened File Case No. 0001. Azrael Atlas St. Claire. They call him “The Architect.” A ghost. A cold-blooded killer. A man so dangerous the FBI can’t touch. His death would shatter the economy. Rival syndicates would burn the city to kill him. He has no weakness. Then he found me. He appeared in my archive and vanished without a trace. The next morning, gifts started appearing on my nightstand. First, a bullet coated in dried blood. Second, ten fingers belonging to the man who touched me. He watched. Followed. Stalked my every move. Then one night, he came through my window. He took what he wanted while I floated in haze. I woke up sore, terrified…and craving for more—needing for more. The FBI saw a fracture in me, and decided to weaponize it. They wired me. Made me their spy with a promised I’d be safe if I helped them cage the monster. Yet, at the first sign of blood, they ran. Leaved me in chaos. He stayed. Now, I lived in his world. My mother thinks the lawyer at her table is a kind stranger. She didn’t feel his hand between my thighs underneath. She doesn’t know he’s been sculpting my life for years, long before we ever met. The FBI wants me to betray him. His enemies want me dead for revenge. But the monster who stole my life? He’s the only one who ever truly saw me. And I’m starting to wonder if that makes me just as dangerous as him. They say there’s a line between the victim and the villain. I don’t think I’m on the right side anymore.

"I'm sorry, Daddy..." The massive length shoved in and out of me from behind. A heavy hand slammed against my ass with a brutal crack, and my hair was yanked back, forcing my head up. "Suck it." My mouth was stuffed over and over again, cum dripping from the corners of my lips. "I was wrong, I was wrong, Master..." ******** My name is Aiden, and I'm a college freshman. I have three roommates: the quiet and shy Jovian, the playboy Ethan, and my secret crush—the cold and aloof Chris. I used to be their roommate; now I am their sex slave.

Dragons hoard gold. Korth the Dread hoards last words. Hidden above the clouds, his vast archive holds the final truths of kings, liars, and killers—sealed in glass, never meant to be heard. Because a single sentence, spoken at the wrong time, can start a war. When a vial is found empty, Korth faces the impossible: someone hasn’t stolen a last word… they’ve become it. Now a stranger walks the world carrying a dead king’s final truth along with his memories, his will… and his thirst for justice. If that truth is spoken, a kingdom will fall. With only a sharp-tongued human accountant at his side, Korth descends from his mountain to hunt what was never meant to live again. Because in a world built on fragile lies, the most dangerous thing isn’t power. It’s the truth.