#minors are not the ones building communities from scratch

[katboykirby]

If you want to be really technical and pedantic about it, modern fandom (yes, including large-scale organised public gatherings, and including the creation of fanfiction) goes all the way back to the 1800s

And still, the creation of these fan spaces and transformative works were all the invention of adult fans.

The "foundation of fandom" has always been the work of adults, fandom has always been for adults, and while minors are certainly welcome within fandom spaces (to the extent where their presence is appropriate) they are absolutely not the ones who created fandom NOR the reason fandom exists.

#5796

"All are ignorant of the idea that minors are the foundation to fandom. Fandom would not exist if it wasn't for minors being interested in it and starting groups for people to join."

What are you even talking about? That is so wrong I don't even know if I should laugh or cry about that amount of misinformation

Modern Fandom was created in the 60s by middle aged and even older women, way before the internet was a thing. Because no way that minors could have ever been able to create the classic fanzines, filled with fanfics and fanarts, that they printed off, turned into a magazine, and then send off to other fans via mail, all without the internet. Because where the hell would they have had the money from to do that? Same as hosting cons or other fandom meetups. Do you think a bunch of minors would even have the legal ability let alone the funds to do so?

Same as the modern websites like AO3 were made by adults with adults in mind

Also all the way to the 2010s it was still widely known that fandom is majorly an adult space and that minors were expected to behave accordingly and expect to see adults and adult content, and to be respectful about it and curate their own content that they want to see. It is only a fairly recent development that minors suddenly claim that fandom is a space for minors and constantly try to push adults out. They even do that for fandoms where the source material is literally 18+

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* Breathe (Yandere!Monster x AFAB!Reader)

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, bed bug inspired monster, minor character death, Non-Con, traumatic insemination, blood, physical torture, mental torture, impregnation, necrophilia

(Reader) breathed deeply, bouncing side to side in the back of the armored vehicle. The men and women by their side held equally grim expressions, not knowing what they were about to face. Three days ago an outpost went radio silent, the group of military scientists sent out an SOS before cutting communications. (Reader) had no idea what the scientists were studying, nor why they needed military protection in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn't their place to know. That's what they continuously told themselves as they practiced their deep breathing, secretly unnerved by how little their team was informed about this mission, and by how uneasy their teammates were.

The van rattled as it parked, and everyone exited the vehicle, guns pointed and night vision on, patrolling their designated routes throughout the empty land. (Reader) was followed by Davis and Jones, surveying the backside of one of the buildings, and praying for someone to be found alive. It was a bit dramatic, assuming that everyone was dead, but with how everyone seemed to keep this mission "hush hush", keeping important info from the men and women entering the "possibly dangerous" area, with the goal of "information retrieval" being considered a higher priority over extraction of survivors, it didn't sound like even their superiors were hopeful.

Everything was suspicious, and made everyone on edge. That worry became a very real fear when (Reader) entered the building through the back door and found the floor painted in blood. A body was mere inches from the exit, and the back of his head was torn open, exposing a cracked skull.

"Jesus Christ.." Davis covered his mouth.

(Reader) bent down, turning the body over to observe the face, comparing it to the portfolios of the personal working at the outpost they had memorized on the drive. They clicked on their walkie, speaking low. "This is (Reader), we've discovered a body, appears to be Dr. Romero."

Rodriguez's voice crackled quietly in their ears. "Copy that, this is Rodriguez, I've got two more bodies over here."

"What the hell happened to him?" Jones whispered.

(Reader) couldn't answer. There were scratches on the skull, and the skin was red and puffy surrounding it. The face was purple from the pooling blood. It didn't look like a gun shot, but (Reader) couldn't imagine what it could have been otherwise. "Let's continue on." The three left the body behind, creeping down a hall in procession.

"Movement." Behind (Reader), Davis urgently hissed, motioning towards what looked like a rec room. The formation changed, following Davis as he entered the room, focused on a couch. As they drew closer, a quiet gurgling could be heard, along with something wet dripping onto the tile flooring.

What looked like a man, naked and hunched over, was cradling a corpse, rocking back and forth. In the odd lighting of the goggles, they couldn't tell that there was something wrong with him until it was too late.

"Turn around, and put your hands up." Davis commanded, frightened and ready to shoot. The head of the corpse lulled back, revealing it's neck was completely devoured. In the second it took to blink, the creature had lunged at Davis, tackling him to the ground. (Reader) and Jones opened fire, but the bullets seemed to bounce off his back in the dark. Seeing a slight difference in texture between his back and neck, (Reader) took a chance, aiming at his neck.

The creature screamed, holding his neck and jumping to his feet, taking a moment to reveal his almost human face to (Reader), before crawling up the wall, and through a trap door in the ceiling.

"Davis!" Jones picked up his brother, patting his armor.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Davis panicked, grasping at Jones to ground himself. "I think he was trying to bite me, but- but couldn't get past my mask."

(Reader) got on the radio again. "This is (Reader), we've just been attacked. No injuries, but.. but I can't explain what just attacked us. It looked like a naked man, but it crawled up the ceiling like a bug."

"Not funny, (Reader)."

"That wasn't a joke, Rodriguez. I unloaded a clip into it, and it didn't die. It went into the attic, do I follow?"

"We're on our way, wait for backup."

Davis looked horrified. "I don't want to go up there!"

"C'mon, man-"

"No, Jones. You didn't see that thing's mouth!"

Everyone went silent as something scraped against the floor boards above them, clenching their weapons in suspense.

The front door was kicked in, Rodriguez and her crew entered the rec room, lowering their guns. "Alright, what happened here?"

"Something Humanoid was in the center of the room, eating.. whoever the hell that once was. Davis told him to put up his hands, when it knocked him to the ground, trying to bite him. Jones and I shot his back, but it didn't seem to affect him. I hit it's neck, but that only got him off of Davis, then he climbed up the wall and went through that door." (Reader) pointed at the attic door.

Rodriguez narrowed her eyes in disbelief, glaring up at the ceiling. "Let's find another way up. If there's nothing up there, we'll go back to the van, check your body cams."

Davis raised his voice defensively. "You think we're lying about this?"

"I think, it fucking reeks in here. It doesn't smell like a gas leak, but I don't believe in monsters. I'm not ruling out a hallucinogen of some kind. (Reader)-" She then nodded to (Reader), signaling to get a move on.

They searched the rooms before finding a ladder, and no other doors leading up. (Reader) sighed. "Good enough."

Davis held the ladder as (Reader) climbed up, followed by Rodriguez, then another soldier, Alistair. Inside the attic the smell was worse, like rotten fruit. It was so bad that Alistair gagged a little, trying not to throw up. "Fuck me, what is that?"

(Reader) flinched, seeing something curled up in the fetal position. "Rodriguez."

The three approached the figure carefully, the smell worsening as they approached, then, (Reader) was close enough to see that the creature wasn't breathing. They kicked it, putting a hole straight through it's stomach.

"Oh God!" Rodriguez recoiled.

However, (Reader) almost threw up, not because of the stench, but from the overwhelming fear that suddenly pulverized their spirit. "It's a shell."

"What?"

Rodriguez bent down, gingerly pulling (Reader's) foot out and examining the body, finding it to be a combination of hard shell and molted skin. "I can see why you couldn't kill it. It's back is like a bug's exoskeleton. Looks like the front is a more... human.. texture."

"But doesn't that mean it's still here somewhere?" Alistair nervously asked, glancing around in the dark.

"We need to get back to the van, call this in to our superiors." Rodriguez commanded before picking up the walkie, calling out the the other three person team. "Jackson, return to the van."

Silence.

"Jackson, you there? I said get to the van."

A barrage of shots fired from outside, echoing through the encampment. Everyone raised their weapons and fell into formation, rushing outside quietly while scoping the area. A scream from one of the newer lieutenants pierced the silent air, before choking loudly, and then returning the outpost to silence once more.

The team splintered apart, separating back into their three man groups, covering more ground in hopes of finding the last three members of their team. (Reader) smelled that fruity stench again, and motioned to their men to follow them in the smell's direction. They entered a tent covering what looked like an excavation site, a deep hole roped off with caution tape. A uniformed body laid headless in the dirt next to the entrance. In the bright green view of (Reader's) goggles, they could read Jackson's name on the vest.

Further down the large tent, a disgusting squelching noise was rhythmically slapping, along with animalistic grunts. (Reader) stepped as soundlessly as possible, stepping over torn clothing; a military vest with Adams' name, her jacket, her tank top, and even her bra, torn to shreds and strewn about, leading to the noise.

Behind a metal desk, seconds clicked by like minutes, the adrenaline forcing (Reader) to take in every detail of the horrific scene. The monster, now much larger than it was before, had Adams' corpse in it's arms, her nude upper body violently shaking as it ground it's pelvis into her abdomen, splattering blood around them. As the scene came together, (Reader) began firing, aiming at the side of his head, hoping to hit a soft spot.

The creature angrily stood up, Adams' body sliding off of what appeared to be a curved spike protruding from it's groin. It screamed, rushing (Reader) and ramming into them, knocking them off balance which sent them tumbling down into the hole.

(Reader) heard their team cry out for them, and gunfire, but they kept falling, bouncing off the walls of the hole before landing hard at the bottom, snapping their arm at the bottom.

The shouts of terror didn't last long above ground, ending with sounds of bones cracking and bodies falling. (Reader) struggled onto their feet, feeling discomfort in their rapidly swelling ankles. There didn't seem to be any rope or ladders to get back out, and they didn't know if it was safe to call for help on the radio.

Spinning around, something moved in the dark, scaring (Reader) onto their ass and fumbling for their gun. In the dark, another naked monster, smaller than the previous one, crawled over on all fours towards (Reader), chest heaving like he was sniffing the air. He approached (Reader) who still couldn't find their gun, and cautiously tapped on their goggles, searching their masked face with deep, sunken eyes. His mouth was split open, showing off his jagged, saw like teeth. This monster was about the size of the first one before it molted.

It continued open mouth sniffing (Reader's) head, almost making them vomit by it's rotting body odor, when suddenly it flinched, whipping his head up to see the bigger creature climbing down head first into the pit. The younger looking monster grabbed (Reader's) face tightly, pressing his hands against their mouth and squeezing, forcing them to hold their breath.

Sweat felt like lice as out dripped down the fine hairs on (Reader's) neck. They hadn't prepared to be holding in their air, so they were already beginning to feel light headed. The larger monster paused halfway down, sniffing hard into their air before screeching at the smaller creature. He howled in response, still keeping his hands in place on (Reader's) face. (Reader) understood that the two were communicating, and that it seemed like the smaller monster was on their side, because soon the killer turned around and retreated back up, more than likely to kill more of (Readers) brothers and last remaining sister.

After a painful amount of time, he removed his hands, and (Reader) wasted no time grabbing their walkie. "Hello? Does anyone read me?" They whispered frantically.

"(Reader), we found more bodies-"

"Jackson and Adams are dead, possibly Davis and Jones as well."

"Jesus.."

"We found the monster in a large tent covering what looks to be a dig site. I was thrown into a hole, broke my left arm, lost my gun, and possibly sprained both ankles." (Reader) swallowed their rising bile, watching the monster mimic their movements. "Don't breathe. If you hear rustling, don't breathe. The monsters can see, but I think they find their victims through their breath or something."

"What? Wait, did you just say monsters?"

"There's a smaller one here in the hole with me. I think he saved my life. The one from the attic is much bigger now, this other one is still small. He made me hold my breath and it made the bigger one leave me alone."

"Jesus, alright. That sounds crazy. But.. look, just stay there, we'll be there soon. Can you see a way out?"

"No. No ropes or ladders down here."

"'Kay. Stay quiet, call back if that thing down there tries to attack you. Even if we can't get you out, I can at least throw you down a weapon."

"Thanks. Stay safe up there."

(Reader) leaned back, the pain settling in as the fight or fight response cooled down. They groaned in pain. The monster hopped up, crawling back over to inspect (Reader).

"Curious little monkey, aren't ya?" (Reader) panted, becoming nervous at how he sniffed the air excitedly as they did so. He crept back over, becoming far too close again, and starting touching their mask and goggles, confused. Long sharp claws reached under the mask and pulled it down, startling himself. He retreated to the other side of the pit while whimpering.

"Hey, that was just my mask." (Reader) tried to console him. They didn't know if it was because he saved them, or if because he acted like a scared child, but they weren't nearly as scared of him as they were the other one. Seeing that it was just a piece of fabric, and not (Reader's) face accidentally being ripped off, he shuffled back over, rubbing his dirty fingers across their lips.

He tapped his nails across their teeth, pulling open their lips carefully, feeling their jaw and chin, running his hands over every little bump and scrape. Learning that the bottom half of (Reader's) face had been covered by a mask emboldened him to tug on the goggles, coaxing (Reader) into removing them, leaving them completely blind in the dark. His breath tickled their face as he shuddered, purring deep in the back of his throat as he placed his nose on (Reader's) forehead, pressing into them in an almost cat-like manner, smelling them and rubbing his oily skin over (Reader's) entire face.

Uncomfortable by their lack of vision, (Reader) replaced their goggles, much to the monster's dismay. "I need these. Protection." They put back on the mask as well, ignoring his whines of disapproval.

Dirt fell onto (Reader) as Rodriguez stepped near the opening. "You still alive?" She stage whispered down into the chasm.

"Yeah. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah. I think with the footage we got, and the documents, they'll understand if we don't take any bodies back with us." Her words were harsh, but (Reader) knew she was just as distraught as they were. "Your gun's up here, want me to throw it down?"

"No. I'm guessing you didn't find a ladder?"

"No."

"Then I'll try to climb out."

"Didn't you say your arm was broken?"

"Unless you killed that other creature, it's too dangerous to hang around here." (Reader) readied themselves to climb, immediately hissing as they grabbed into the dirt. The monster panicked, growling at (Reader). But they didn't stop, kicking a foot in, creating a hold, and pulling up. White hot pain flashed through their body.

An arm grabbed them around their waist, and swung (Reader) around; the monster had picked them up like a sack over his shoulder, and began climbing the wall with one arm.

"Jesus Christ." Rodriguez grabbed at (Reader) as soon as they were within reach, yanking them away from the monster. He snarled in response, trying to cover (Reader) with his body, but (Reader) wearily pat him on the head, trying to show that they were fine. He calmed down, but still glared at Rodriguez suspiciously. "What the hell are you?"

"Where's the rest of us?" (Reader) questioned, only now seeing that Rodriguez was alone.

"Only one other guy made it, Davis. He was fucked up when we found him, I got him in the van."

"I'm sorry.."

"It wasn't your fault. Let's go." Rodriguez helped (Reader) to their feet, handing them their gun, and the three left the tent.

Bodies of (Reader's) mates were in pieces, littering the ground with organs. Everyone was wrinkled. Whatever blood hadn't spilled on the ground while being murdered appeared to have been siphoned from their bodies, the chunks nearly mummified. The two soldiers watched their new companion as they snuck back through the outpost, using him like a blood hound to sense if his more dangerous relative was near. There were moments when he would pause, a frightened look crossing his face as he clung to (Reader), and both humans would hold their breath, desperately clinging to the faith that this monster was actually trying to save them.

The sun was still hours away from rising, and horror movie plots drifted through (Reader's) mind, pondering what kind of creature was clinging to their arm at that moment, and what could possibly kill it. (Reader) sped up their pace, rushing to the driver's side door as Rodriguez pulled the unwilling monster into the back with her, wrestling him as he tried to follow (Reader).

Each team leader had a spare key for the truck, so it didn't matter who drove it back, but Rodriguez did have more hands on experience with first aid, so it made sense for her to be in the back with the barely conscious Davis during the ride, just in case his health took a turn for the worse.

The van started up, worryingly loud in the silent town. (Reader) pulled off their goggles and flipped on the lights, flooring the gas as they took off, knowing it was no use trying to be quiet at that point. From the back of the van, the monster started crying.

"Hey, something's wrong with this thing!" Rodriguez called out to (Reader), before the entire van shook under the weight of something dropping onto the roof. "Shit!"

Without thinking, (Reader) spun the wheel to the left, throwing the bloody monster off their vehicle and sending him tumbling into the road. He was able to shake off the fall, standing upright and staring at (Reader) from the road. Now without the night vision, (Reader) saw him clearly in the headlights, the difference between his brown armored shell pieces, and the mammal like skin, almost paper thin in the light, pulsated with the blood of (Reader's) teammates and the doctors they were sent to find. The skin was stretched tight over how swollen he was, growing to almost twice its natural size.

"Hold on!" (Reader) barked, speeding towards the man in the road.

His head snapped forward as his chest connected with the grill, bouncing off the hood as (Reader) drug him back towards the buildings, driving him towards the house with the rec room. (Reader) kept on full speed until they crashed into the wall. Blood splashed across the wall and van as the monster popped under the force of the collision.

"Shit! Are we good?"

The body twitched a few times, choking on it's stolen blood as it feebly clawed at the metal crushing it before falling still, finally dying. "Yeah. We're good."

Back at the base, it was a horrifying shock for the troops awaiting their return, guns raised and pointed at the young monster they brought with them, however, they didn't shoot, as he held onto (Reader) tightly, making no move to attack anyone. They uploaded their body cam footage, corroborating their testimonies of what they saw, save for Davis, who was rushed back to the hospital wing for emergency surgery. (Reader) and Rodriguez were also eventually treated for their injuries, Rodriguez only needing a couple of stitches and getting diagnosed with a concussion, while (Reader) had their arm placed in a cast, and both ankles had to be wrapped up for compression to fight the mild puffiness.

The two sat next to each other, finally alone after the military dragged their monstrous savior away. "God, I need a shower." The dark haired woman complained, sniffing her hair that had been let down. Her face scrunched up in disgust. "I smell like those things."

"Ha. Yeah, like rotting fruit."

"Rotting raspberries. So gross." Rodriguez's forced smile melted, incapable of pretending to feel relief. "Why do you think he saved you?"

Clashing with the smell of the sanitized hospital and the saline aftertaste from the IV drip, (Reader) could still smell the pungent scent of the monster on their body, just as Rodriguez pointed out. "I don't know."

"What do you think those things are? Vampires?"

The image of Adam's limp body sliding off of a thin spike resurfaced in (Reader's) mind, making them nauseous. "I don't think so." They leaned forward, scooting closer towards Rodriguez. "I didn't see your body cam video.. did you see mine?"

"No. Why?"

"Did any of the bodies- I mean, this is going to sound.." they sighed, licking their lips and trying again. "When I entered that tent, with the hole, I found the monster with Adams. It had.. torn off her clothes, and it looked like he was.. stabbing her abdomen, with a claw out of his pelvis."

Except for the normal hospital beeping, (Reader's) words left the atmosphere feeling far too silent. "Are you saying it raped her?"

"I don't know.. maybe. Did you see any other naked bodies?"

"..no." They both laid back, exhausted, and frightened. "But if you're thinking that it could tell she was a woman, why weren't we attacked? I mean, I know you're not a woman, but if those things went by smell or pheromones.. I don't even know what I'm saying." She drug her dirty hands over her face.

"Maybe because our's is a kid. I mean, he's the size of that first monster before it molted, so maybe he isn't.. sexually mature?"

Before Rodriguez could think of a response to that a doctor came in, asking to see her out in the hallway. "I'll be right back." She promised, patting (Reader's) shoulder as she left the room.

(Reader) nestled back into the thin pillow and accidentally fell asleep while waiting for their friend to return, the awful rotting smell never fading.

It wasn't until a banshee worthy scream echoed throughout the hospital that (Reader) woke up, looking up at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was 19:31, revealing that they had slept through an entire day, and that Rodriguez was not in the room with them. Something down the hall shattered, followed by another terrified shout. Unarmed and now incapacitated, the only course of action their adrenaline flooded mind could think up on the fly was to hide, ripping out their IV and sliding under the cot, hidden from view by the crossing metal bars and plastic barrier.

Footsteps passed by (Reader's) door. They took a deep breath, holding their face to keep in their air. The door opened and whoever it was entered the room. (Reader) was only capable of seeing the bare feet painted in blood as they stepped closer to the bed. The bloody individual leaned on the mattress above (Reader), pressing their weight into it, before stepping away, touching other things around the room. Blood dripped onto the tiles from the drenched body. (Reader) began shaking, trying not to take a breath as they waited for the thing to leave, tearing up at the possibility of it being the creature they willingly brought back with them. The feet disappeared from view, then they heard the door close. Still, just to be safe, (Reader) kept their hands to their mouth for a few more seconds, unable to hear if he left because of the blood rushing through their ears. Quietly, they released the lungful of air and slowly sucked new air back in.

A hand grabbed one of their swollen ankles and pulled (Reader) out from under the bed. In the dim light of the flashing buttons, (Reader) saw the freshly molted monster, smiling down at them with blood coating their face and dribbling from their lips.

"No!" A casted fist attempted to punch him, but he caught it, rubbing the puffy fingers against his face affectionately. He leaned down, rubbing his nose across their face like he had done back when he had first saved them, sniffing loudly. (Reader) began sobbing, knowing what would happen to them after Adams. The thin hospital gown was easily ripped off, pleasing the monster who made that purr-like rumble in the back of his throat, still smiling.

A long, thinly tipped aedeagus unfurled itself, curved and sharp, just like (Reader) remembered it looking.

"Please don't.. please.. I don't want to die!"

Their words weren't understood by the monster, too busy rubbing (Reader's) side. He laid down beside them, hugging (Reader) tightly as he positioned himself, still sniffing their neck as he did so. Between (Reader's) pleas a stinging pain entered their side as he pushed his hypodermic penis into their midsection.

The sound of pain (Reader) made was unlike anything they had ever made, or heard, before. Incapable of jerking away because of his hold on them, he continued making noises of pleasure, rolling his hips as he pressed deeper, splurting blood as he wiggled back and forth inside of them, trying not to puncture anything important until he could get deep enough to what he needed.

His prick pierced (Reader's) uterus, the burning torture as they felt something inside getting stabbed was hell. Their eyes rolled back as his hips rubbed sensually against their side, unable to hold on as they began to pass out. He screeched horrifically, scratching (Reader) as his grip constricted happily, cumming straight into (Reader's) uterus. Even after they fell limp in his arms, his fluids continued pouring out, overfilling the poor organ; his elastic liquid solidifying near the hole like a polyp.

Contrary to what (Reader) thought, the monster who caressed their body was intelligent. He was far smarter than his brother, who had been so desperate to implant his seed he fucked that poor woman to death, not taking into account that human females hadn't evolved to handle the method of reproduction that their species used. Even their own could die if they mated multiple times, so he really should have been more careful. He held onto (Reader) dreamily, using their gown to stop the bleeding as he pulled out. He took the time to ensure nothing was damaged inside his wonderful little mate, so the only bleeding he had to worry about was the skin. Some of his sperm clung to the tip of his needle like cock, so he rubbed it across (Reader's) face as they laid unconscious, just so that if another male of his species did somehow follow them, the could smell that (Reader) had already been claimed.

When he was searching the hospital for (Reader) he had seen stitching, and learned what it was for by watching a doctor from afar before killing him and the patient. It wasn't too difficult to figure out.

(Reader) would live. It would hurt, but imagine how happy they'll be when they awake to find themselves pregnant! It made him purr with joy, wondering how many children he'd have with his beautiful human.

After all, unlike humans, his species only needed to fuck once and their sperm would survive inside the host body for years, creating a kind of sac to plug up the hole in the uterus and protect the sperm from the forming infants, releasing sperm whenever there is a vacancy in the uterus to immediately impregnate the host again.

His mate shifted under the needle in their sleep as he fixed them up. It brought him such pride, imagining that he could almost see them becoming pregnant at that very moment. He knew from the second he smelled (Reader) down in the dirt he was unburied from that he was born to be their mate~

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Sabezra Day 2025

Prompt: Sabine and Ezra discover ship works of a Jedi and a Mandalorian.

@sabezraweek

*Ezra and Sabine find something interesting when digging through old archives*

“Of all the jobs they could have stuck us on, why did it have to be this one?”

“Correction; it’s the job they stuck you on.  I’m the one nice enough to give you a hand.”

Ezra rolled his eyes at the remark.  He supposed that Sabine was right.  He was on suspended command following the incident with the Y-Wings, meaning the only help he could really do around the base was menial grunt work.  In this case, he was sifting through a collection of old archive material that the Rebels wanted curated for a potential intelligence database.  Important work in the long term, sure, but also relentlessly boring.  Pile after pile of datacards and holorecordings that all needed their contents organized and numbered.  And the majority of it wasn’t even useful.  A minor cargo manifest here, an advertisement there.  There seemed to be no end to it.  He never thought there would be a moment he’d prefer scrapping the carbon scoring off the Ghost, and yet the day had come.

True to her word, Sabine had taken pity on the would-be Jedi and offered to help him with his chore.  As monotonous as the work was, having an extra pair of hands on the job and someone to talk to did lessen the burden by a good deal.  That didn’t mean, however, that he forsook the right to complain.

“Alright, fine,” he conceded, “Of all the jobs they could have stuck me on.”

“You do kind of deserve it,” quipped Sabine as she removed a datacard from her pad, the content already typed into the finding aid they were building.

Ezra sighed.  “Don’t remind me.”

“Look on the bright side,” she said, “we only have about eight more boxes left.”

“How many cards?”

“150.”

“Let me guess, each?”

“Bingo.”  Now it was Sabine’s turn to groan, selecting a new datacard.  “At this rate, we’ll probably be done by next Life Day.” She looked up as she absentmindedly plugged in the card.  “What have you had so far?”

Ezra looked over to the list he had been recording on the side, a small tally sheet of flimsi for him to keep a general track of what they had so far.  Over the past few hours, he and Sabine had made a bit of a game out of it.

“So far,” he read, “153 holonet articles, 97 image records, 88 community bulletins, 80 cargo manifests, 52 recordings of people’s pet tookas, and- get this- 29 different ads for a bake sale on Telerath!”  He said the last one with an air of bewilderment.

Sabine merely whistled.  “Remind me to check out Telerath pies in the future.”

“And that’s not even scratching the surface of the useless stuff I’ve found here.” Ezra groaned, tossing his datapad to the table.  “Anyway, what do you have?”

Sabine looked back at her own pad.  “Let’s see- 132 articles, 115 cargo manifests, 96 differe-“  She stopped talking as he eyes became glued on the datapad.

Ezra perked up.  “What?” he asked.  “Find something?”

“It’s…” Sabine trailed off a moment, blinked, then pushed the datapad away.  “Nothing?”

“What?” “Noth-“

“C’mon, tell me.  Can’t be any worse than bake sale ads.”

Sabine sighed and recovered her datapad.  “Well, looks like someone had a holonovel stored among this stuff.”

Ezra shook his head.  “Huh?”

“See for yourself.”  Sabine handed the datapad to Ezra for him to see.  What he saw was certainly surprising.

A Heart of Iron Crystal: A Star-crossed Tale of the Old Republic.

The cover page seemed to depict a golden sunset overlooking a cliff.  Below the title were two human figures looking to the sky with clasped hands.  One was clearly a Jedi, garbed in brown and tan robes with a lightsaber held in his opposite hand.  The other, a woman, seemed to be wearing a set of bright purple armor, a long helmet held under her free arm.

Ezra looked away from the page to stare at Sabine.  “Great, so now we have to sift through trashy romance novels along with the other junk.”

“Yep,” Sabine said with a slight groan.  “Looks like someone just had to get their Jedi-Mando ship works in between actual important stuff.”

Ezra looked at Sabine, puzzled.  “Mando?”

“Yeah, the woman on the cover.  She’s a Mandalorian.”

He checked the cover page again.  The helmet under the woman’s arm seemed to have the iconic t-shaped visor of the Mandalorian people, but the rest of the armor screamed foreign to him.  “Doesn’t look like any Mandalorian I’ve ever seen.”

Sabine scooted over closer to Ezra and pulled the datapad back to herself.  “Well, unless you were in a museum, I doubt you ever would have seen it.”  She pointed to the woman on the cover.  “That’s Neo-Crusader armor.  It was worn during the Mandalorian Wars thousands of years ago.”

The name finally scratched Ezra’s memory.  “I remember Kanan talking about that.  Didn’t the Mandalorians invade the Republic and were only stopped by some Jedi who later fell to the Dark Side?  What was his name, Ryan, Roonan…

“Revan,” Sabine corrected, “And yep, that was him.  This armor was worn by most of the warriors who fought on the front lines.”  She scoffed a bit, “I can see where the star-crossed bit comes in.  Half the reason the Jedi and Mandalorians hate each other these days comes from what went down then.”

Despite considering it lame a bit ago, Ezra found himself laughing.  “Romance across opposite sides of a war.  That’s rich.”

“I don’t know, it has a bit of a fun edge to it.”

“Yeah, the edge of a vibroblade you mean.”  Ezra ignored Sabine’s eyeroll at his joke and looked back at the female Neo-Crusader.  “Kinda looks like you, come to think of it.”

Now Sabine laughed.  “Oh yeah, because I’m the only Mando with purple armor.”

“No, I’m serious, look.”  Ezra pointed down at the image.  “She’s wearing her hair the way you usually do, short bang off to the side.”

“Most Mandalorian girls have short hair.  It’s practical.”

“I swear, her style makes me think of you.”

“Oh, you want to play that game, huh?” Sabine asked with a wry smile.  “Well, what if I said that Jedi on the other side looks like you?”

Ezra chuckled.  “Well, for starters, I don’t have a beard.”

“You could,” Sabien retorted, plus he has that mischievous little Loth-rat look that you do so well.”

“Mischievous?”

“And if I look carefully,” Sabine continued unabated, “I might be able to see a couple of scratch marks on his cheek.”

“Oh ha-ha,” Ezra replied sarcastically.  “And I bet they met while he was stealing crates from her, too.”

“Could be,” said Sabine.  She chuckled a bit.  “He probably tried cheesy pickup lines on her when she first took off her helmet.”

“And she got back at him by painting an embarrassing picture over his bunk.”

“Maybe decorated a stolen fighter together?” “I’ve heard of worse first dates.”

“Maybe saved each other’s lives a lot, too.”

“Looked past the initial differences and- “

“Came to know the person underneath- “

“Kinda like- “

“Us?”

Ezra hadn’t even realized he had been moving closer to Sabine as they talked.  Or how their voices had become less amused and softer.  Or how their faces were mere centimeters away from each other.

Several seconds passed before Ezra’s face started to heat up.  He scooted backwards and cleared his throat.  “We, uh, we…we should get back to work.” “Right!”  Sabine’s voice came out in a higher pitch than he was used to, her hands fumbling a bit as she pulled the datacard out and hurriedly returned to the finding aid.

Ezra turned back to his own datapad.  Although, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, he could have sworn that he saw Sabine slip the datacard into her own pocket.

Looks like she had some reading for tonight.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi, white aspiring author here! I've been tinkering with a story for years (coming up on 10... Eek!) and the main characters have shifted around a lot. Currently the cast is a Black princess and a red-headed witch! I was reading through your hair posts and trying to think about how the princess's class and standing, especially relative to the other kingdoms, would impact what kind of hairstyles she would be most likely to have, and which she may not even have access to. A few context bits I have regarding her story:

- the setting is so post-modern it wraps around back into pre-electricity (so, no one probably has straightened hair unless they have magic...?)

- her kingdom is objectively the most important due to heavy contributions to continental agriculture access

- her kingdom is culturally snubbed due to bias against connections to nature (there was a Humans vs Nature vs Magic war - tentative peace rn but aftermath is still palpable)

- she is loved and trusted by the citizens of her kingdom, and she trusts the people who work in the castle and as her handmaidens

- she is frequently on the go, especially as a child, but in recent years she's had to focus more on royal diplomacy

- her parents are trying to set up an arranged marriage due to the cultural tensions, so she's getting dressed up a lot (unwillingly)

- the plot really starts when she leaves the castle to adventure with the witch

So I'm thinking about like... How her main hairstyle is probably going to change pre-plot versus mid-plot! Before leaving the castle she has the time, wealth, and help for something like microbraids, or even microbraids that make bigger braids. But I'd imagine that'd get very difficult to maintain after a week of hiking around the woods and up and down mountains, much less months of traversing the continent. Another thing I'm wondering about is if it'd be more reasonable to assume she has enough basic practice and skills to maintain her hair with a lower maintenance style on her own after leaving, or if that's something she's starting from near-scratch with, having her hair done by someone else her whole life thus far? As in, would it be more realistic for her to remember her childhood styles and try the twist out, or would she have self-braiding skills as a young adult? She has a great amount of dexterity in general, but I'm not sure if general dexterity translates to braiding dexterity (mostly because I've tried braiding my own hair and suck at it, despite being good with things like knitting). I'd imagine that's the kind of thing where practice goes a long way?

Anyway I apologize for the wall of text but thank you very much for that master post, I'm going to keep reading through it because it's really helping me conceptualize this character a lot more in-depth, and it's helping to give context to minor world building considerations too! Really developing the details like this is my favorite thing to do, because once I have enough everything just kinda clicks and springs to life on its own! So I hope this isn't too long ;;

Hot combs don't require electricity, so people could have straight hair! It's just gonna take longer.

This really depends on your character. If you give her the skill to do her own hair, she'll have it lol. If you're implying that she always had servants who did it, then she won't. So if what you're saying is she's doing it from scratch, then no, she won't know what to do. No one just has good braiding skills lmao, you have to practice on yourself and on others. There's a reason doing hair is such a community experience.

Microbraids is a hell of a style to get stuck with when you don't know how to do your own hair 😅 they'll be fine while having them, but getting them down by herself at some point is gonna be a BITCH. I'd rather cut my shit off fr 😭 but that's why I never got micros, I'm far too impatient. Can the witch do hair lmao? Is the witch trusted enough to help take it down or magic it out? Does she get to come back to the castle every now and then for new styles, or is she just out and about? And for how long? Because if she wants more flexibility, the braids are probably not it.

I think everyone struggling with this sort of question should have their characters practice doing four simple plaits or cornrows on their head 😅 like it's gonna suck the first time, but practice makes perfect.

[isa-ghost]

amfmn missa.. p please.. please mother … feed us

I'M BEING ENABLED PPOVERHEAT

He's an actual grim reaper. That's where he's disappeared to so often in canon, reaper duties. It's a very demanding job, you know.

Doesn't stop him from feeling terrible about being gone so often though. He misses his husband and kids and hates how often he's out of the loop :(

Fr though Phil and the kids make him so so happy after spending countless hours working such a sad job. It's also partially why he sings and makes art. That brand of fun is catharsis for the soul.

He has all his canon weapons but I ALSO gave him a reaper deathscythe. And boy is he gonna use it. Fucking AWOOGA MissaSinfonia when he's angry.

Btw as a reaper he can FEEL souls. He can see their power, their condition, feel the surface level emotions and personality of its owner. This will come in handy later in the fic. ;)

As per the post I made asking for Missa appreciation so I can characterize him properly: He's undyingly loyal, he fights hard and loves even harder, he's protective, silly, and goddamn can he flirt.

All his wet cat behavior is a result of getting too overwhelmed by The Horrors. He's seen A Lot as a reaper. But somehow Quesadilla Island and all its... Everything. Always manage to show him a new brand of What The Fuck he's never even imagined before. Hence all his screaming and weeping when he's caught up on what he's missed. Like how tf else is he supposed to react??

Somewhat attached to that, he and Phil rlly were a match made in Federation Heaven bc they both have issues with self-doubt despite being insanely skilled and sharp-witted. Missa is better abt it than Phil though. His only acts up when he messes up a lot or just. Doesn't have a clue how to handle a situation where it's dire that he does. It's more of an insecurity about being unprepared and failing his loved ones than it is a doubt he has skill. He KNOWS he does, he hates when it's not enough. That's how he differs from Phil, who thinks he has none at all.

Btw when you fuck with the people he's protective over, he gets PISSED. We're getting a LOT of pissed off Missa in AMFMN <3 Ofc there'll be a lot of reaper tears too, his husband is suffering and there's little he can do about it. :( But ohohoho when the sad turns into rage. BARK WOOF. Eventually he decides EK is catching these hands and scythe.

He also shakes hands with his husband on being a self-sacrificing little shit. And. Yeah this is gonna happen later in the fic. (He's not dying dw dw)

You have no idea how excited I am that I basically get to build his dynamics with Fit, Etoiles, and Bagi from scratch. I'm so hyped. People are welcome to reply with this with any crumbs we have of their dynamics in canon but afaik they've rarely interacted outside of very minor moments, so AMFMN will largely be a sandbox for me to establish what I THINK they'd be like. Which in my fic plan so far, is largely taking each character's personality and applying how I think they'd react to a situation, and how that would look when two of them are interacting in that situation. Ex: at one point Etoiles has to comfort Missa bc he's just having a ROUGH time with this saving Phil stuff. But Etoiles is NOT a comfort guy. So he does his Etoiles thing: hearing Missa out while also cracking his usual brand of jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I also have a plot point planned with him and Bagi when shit is hitting the fan the hardest and OUUGHHH. That self-sacrificing shit am I right.

God I'm being so mean to him specifically in AMFMN though. Ender King is a sack of shit, he knows exactly who to harass most using Phil's body >:/

See in my AMFMN Fitza headcanons, I said they're each other's confidants. Which IS true. However, no one in the fic gets the honor of Phil FINALLY communicating with someone about his issues other than his husband. Missa is the person he caves and confesses things to. Missa gets the HC Deity lore and what's been happening to him lately. This is actually what Chapter 3 is :D

Also I am so sorry but I'm sliding a Missa Romantic Love Confession attempt into the fic and it gets interrupted by The Horrors. But yeah Missa is romantically in love with Phil, he just respects that Phil sees things platonically. He still wants to communicate his feelings though.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so. 

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat. 

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing. 

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently. 

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point. 

“When is your flight?” 

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation. 

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-” 

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid. 

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?” 

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts. 

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.” 

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?” 

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?” 

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face. 

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic. 

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand. 

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze. 

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury. 

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists. 

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.” 

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you. 

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood. 

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.” 

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his. 

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go. 

“You don’t know him,” He said. 

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.” 

“Why?” 

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar. 

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.” 

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit. 

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of ​​children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely. 

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.” 

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.” 

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.” 

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?” 

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag. 

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”  

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary. 

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff. 

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head. 

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.” 

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention. 

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head. 

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things. 

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.” 

******

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@seaweeden

[eskawrites]

Hello! Since you’re in the tlou headspace do you have any thoughts about a ronance in Jackson au? Any headcanons?

oh so many. jackson is just one of those concepts that leaves so much room for interesting stories and ideas, it scratches my brain in the best way

this got long so uhh here

listen we know nancy wheeler is gonna be THE patrol guy. more infected sightings this week? make sure nancy's on patrol. it's fucking cold and no one wants to do the creek trails? nancy's up for it. something weird going on in that part of the mountains? send nancy, she'll figure it out. she's also 1000% in jesse's roll, helping coordinate and make sure everyone knows what they're doing and where they're going

she's not reckless necessarily when she's out there. i mean, she is, but not because she's trying to show off or anything. she's just incredibly thorough, and she's not going to leave any stone unturned. so if there is something weird going on, she will absolutely sneak her way through a dozens of infected in order to get to the bottom of it

robin hates patrols. she hates being out so far alone, she hates feeling vulnerable, she hates the idea of a bad signal or a sudden storm or any number of things suddenly cutting them off from communicating with jackson while they're out. she much prefers guard duty, where she feels much safer and her nerves don't get in the way of her perception

that said, she's incredibly good on patrols. i always headcanon robin as having insanely good hearing, which means she's pretty good at noticing if there's infected in a building nearby. but she only goes on patrol with nancy or steve (unfortunately for her she works excellently with both of them so she ends up getting dragged out on patrols way more than she would like)

robin loves the movie nights, she always drags nancy to them, and tbh nancy doesn't care (and often has to be convinced to leave her work behind for a while), but she loves curling up against robin in the dark, where she thinks she won't get caught

(she does get caught. the entire town knows. they just know better than to bring it up to nancy)

robin and nancy both have a soft spot for books, it's their weakness when trading. they'll give a lot for something new--fiction, nonfiction, poetry, whatever. they help start a small library in jackson, and one of robin's biggest fears is that it's going to get burnt down if infected or raiders or whoever ever make it through the walls

nancy and mike live in jackson, but karen and holly are still alive in a QZ somewhere. nancy never talks about it, but robin knows that she wants to go get them someday, when holly is old enough to travel the country. robin never talks about it, but she is absolutely going with nancy when she does

in addition to being the go-to person for patrols, nancy is like an unofficial recordkeeper for the town. sure, they have patrol logs and inventory and records for who comes and goes, but nancy documents e v e r y t h i n g. just, passively. she has an unofficial history of the last few years of jackson because she is always writing down what happens, who does what, things they've done well, and everything she thinks could be better. and make no mistake, some of her writing is mean. it's also always incredibly accurate

robin is also a cook at the bar! this is her relaxation job--she stays in the kitchen and doesn't talk to anybody and she gets to just focus on what she's doing and not think too much for a while

she's also an interpreter, and she's been super vital for refugees or just passing groups who either don't speak english or don't speak it very well

(as a side note, i'm so curious about the potential evolution of language in tlou. you get some interesting sort of vernacular things with ellie and dina and other kids who were born post-outbreak, just very minor details like referring to pre-outbreak times as 'the old world,' which yeah is just an obvious descriptor but in the game it always reads almost like a title to me? but beyond that i'm thinking about like, remote communities or families that stuck together whose primary language isn't english. would they keep speaking english post-outbreak? would they teach it to their kids? would we get pidgins developing between communities in certain areas? would those pidgins develop into creole languages as time goes on and the next generation learns that instead of english?

also, i was talking to a friend about how accents would develop--we were talking about why ellie doesn't have a boston accent if she grew up in the boston QZ, but in reality, how many people in the boston QZ were originally from boston? did QZs start developing their own accents over time? if most people are either nomadic or so isolated they rarely come across anyone else, how does that effect the development of language?

none of this is ronance i'm sorry but basically i'm dying for someone who knows more about linguistics than me to come up with some theories)

anyway all of that to say robin is incredible with languages so yes she's helping people who speak spanish, french, and italian (and maybe some russian) who pass by, but also if there are any new regional linguistic evolutions, or even just codes or anything like that in friendly or aggressive groups that encounter jackson, she'd be so on top of it)

(robin would be able to decode the seraphites' whistles in seattle, i'm just saying)

ANYWAY

nancy arrived in jackson when she was 17/18. her family lived in a QZ, and Ted was always very much a "the military know what they're doing so keep your head down and do as you're told" kind of guy. Nancy, as you can probably guess, was not.

She never went looking for trouble until Barb disappeared one day--she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, got grabbed by soldiers who were hunting down Fireflies after an attack, and they killed her, then covered it up when they realized she really was just heading home from work

Nancy tried to get justice on her own but all she got was a couple days in lockup and a thinly veiled threat. not much later, a Firefly recruits her, and she starts working with them. but not for very long, because she definitely got put on a watch list, and as soon as Ted realizes his daughter has become a terrorist, he tries to turn her in.

long story short she has to flee the QZ, and Mike helps/goes with her. Karen stays behind bc Holly is so little at the time, but they figured out a way to smuggle letters back and forth once they were in Jackson

Nancy and Mike wander on their own for a while, doing their best to avoid danger and keep to themselves, until eventually they hear a rumor about Jackson and make their way there

Robin and Steve were on a shift at scoops ahoy on outbreak day, and you can just imagine the kind of chaos that resulted from that. they actually holed up in the mall with any shoppers/workers who survived the initial outbreak, and tbh, they had it pretty good for a while. plenty of supplies, strong barricades, and an incredibly eclectic mix of people, from fascinating customers who randomly know about field surgery to type A store managers who know how to run a tight shift.

but it can only last for so long, and dumb teenagers, in-fighting, and threats from increasingly vicious looters eventually breaks the group up. steve and robin get out before the end, grabbing whatever supplies they can carry and setting off on their own

they've heard horror stories about the QZs by this point, so they avoid official communities for the longest time. sometimes they group up with other survivors around their age, but at the end of the day, it really is just the two of them

they hear about jackson by coincidence, and it's a good thing they do; they're in the area, sticking to the mountains because it means less people, but winter comes fast and early, and they find themselves freezing to death and quickly running out of food.

robin manages to get an old radio in the abandoned cabin they're staying in to work. that's where they intercept communications between patrols. robin immediately suggests high-tailing it out of there, but steve is the optimist, he wants to try their luck--it's not like they're going to last long on their own up here.

and that's how they enter jackson: frostbitten, half-starved, scared out of their minds. nancy is actually the one to find them while she's out on a patrol. robin is sure they're about to get shot, but instead she ends up riding behind nancy on her horse, huddled in nancy's coat as she takes them back to town

and yes, they fall in love from there

[proximasaur]

Gods and Goddesses (in myth's universe)

This is Nephivia (aka Nephi), the god who rules over the world "Myth" (a years-long placeholder-name for now).

Everything involving my world-building is work in progress plenty of lore will change overtime. I just want to share the concept around gods in this universe (unfortunately I only have one example and probably won't have another for a long time - if).

The concept of myth's gods

(exploring different ideas for there being other gods other than Nephi)

Note: Gods are not to be confused with myth's deities the Astrone, who are godly creations themselves (Nephi's assistants, Myth's representatives of elements and principles)

The idea is that gods/goddesses in this universe are born from places like stellar nurseries and nebulae, places of immense power which then create these extraordinary beings (commonly alongside celestial bodies).

(warning: 1500 or so words follow)

Once the god is powerful enough, they will leave their place of birth and begin a search for a world to inhabit, essentially bringing their own version of life to the world (whether it was already occupied or not). You could call this terraforming. Some gods may actually create a planet from scratch, or manipulate the system's star to be hospitable (or even create organisms immune to negative effects of others). Each god can be different, with their own rule sets for each world.

Gods can grow or lose their power, depending on how they manage it. Some powerful gods may occupy multiple worlds, even to the point of ruling an entire galaxy (and I'll extend upon that later). However, this can strain a gods power which tends to limit their capabilities and creations.

Gods ruling over multiple worlds are more likely to have fauna more like Earth's, limited to the universe's own rules (which godless worlds follow - at the moment I'm not sure if godless worlds containing life should exist or not).

A god(dess) like Nephi could be considered extremely powerful due to her ability to introduce magic into her world, however, Nephi only rules over one world, meaning potentially unlimited amounts of her power can be concentrated on a single globe and the extent of her actual capabilities is unknown.

As of Myth's current age, Nephi could probably terraform multiple worlds with the same rules as the original Myth (magic, multiple realms, creatures who wouldn't function properly on a world like Earth). But if she were to inhabit several dozen worlds, consequences and limitations would begin to appear.

Worlds like Myth would likely begin to collapse (magic systems would fail, Astrone would weaken and could possibly die, dragons and the alike would lose their abilities, and that's if the world itself is lucky. The non-living realms could destroy themselves leading to no divine realm and no spirit realm, just the original).

If Nephi were to stretch her limitations further, she would begin to lose power over multiple worlds, or risk eradicating herself (if not severely weakening herself to a point of inactivity - like a god in a coma if you will - this idea hasn't been explored enough to define).

Chances are, this will never happen, as Nephi prerfers to align with magical-fantasy systems.

To add to this specific goddess: Nephivia has no restraints against time and is able to see and influence the past, present, and future. She is an apathetic god who sets out stories for her creations. Some individuals have mass amounts of her attention set on them and experience more complex, eventful, lives, while all others have minor influence. She sets out their stories like an outline (she is not fully in control of their lives, only the potential events that are to play out - indirect influence), not everything can play out to plan (the astrone for example are less under her influence and some can cause unplanned trouble - she is more likely to communicate with them instead if she seeks their involvement, so she probably directed the astrone of tyranny "Poldra" to aid the celine known as Falcor).

Nephi would be labelled a goddess of time and fate (excluding Creation, her alternative title), but there would be plenty more out there with similar abilities.

What happens if two (or more) gods come into contact with one another?

This depends on the circumstances.

Sometimes, when searching for a new (if not their first) world to occupy, a god may encounter another. If the god decides to pursue the already inhabited world, it is highly likely to end in a fight, if not a war.

There are worlds out there that have multiple ruling gods (like how many mythologies have multiple gods except under myth's universe rules). It could be a cooperation between gods of multiple worlds, it could be a weird circumstance of 'sibling' gods, or maybe it could just be a cold war, etcetera.

A war between gods can lead to the destruction of another. They could end up weakened, or falling to defeat and loosing their own world, or they could be eradicated.

But the most terrifying situation of all is when two extremely powerful (galaxy-ruling level) gods go to war. For whatever greedy reason two (or more) gods of this level decide to fight, they risk the destruction of the entire universe.

For such power to collide would result in mass destruction, which would reach into further settings, affecting not just those involved, but other gods. These gods in their true forms are huge compared to those like Nephi. Think of two galaxies colliding, and while a collision in Earth's universe shouldn't be bad, in myth's it's like a trigger for the big crunch.

When a war between such powerful beings ends in disaster, it triggers the destruction of the entire universe, and upon being destroyed, everything is reborn all over again. A new universe, with entirely new gods and stories, only to repeat again.

This is important to prevent the universe from becoming crowded, as single gods in a galaxy of many are highly likely to become more powerful and occupy multiple worlds as time goes on, which increases the chance of galaxy-ruling gods to experience conflict towards others on their level.

To extend upon Nephi again: her power over myth is somewhat similar to the universe's rule of resetting. When events go out of hand and begin to go against her worldly visions, it is said that Nephi will reset her world all over again (specifically the living realm Amorta), starting from the second age, before sentient life came to be. The Astrone (and some spirits/non-Astrone) from what-was-the-past remain, along with their knowledge of the old world.

This would be more likely to happen if her creations began to pollute the world (yes, similar to what's going on with earth), overpopulate, or if the world itself began to die. Except, there would most likely be times (to Nephi's plan or not) when such events could occur and play out, which could give rise to a new age, with new creations or evolutions. When the Astrone begin to weaken till they are no longer active (e.g. when the Earth Astrone loses her power from nature, or the Air Astrone is weakened by pollution) is when Nephi will be more likely to act upon this time reset.

A final note is that technology, powered by electricity, is a forbidden rule on Nephi's world. While it is possible that such devices could be created in future ages (perhaps something to do with the Lightning Astrone or even my minor Astrone of energy and stamina Drein rose to power), such devices are meant to fail, (I wouldn't mind one day exploring a weird magic-lightning system of electricity for a new age).

Wait... gods CAN die?

As explained, gods can die by using up all their power or battling another god, alongside the destruction of the universe.

"Only a god can kill another god" ~ Ares (Wonder Woman 2017)

There is no other way that a god can die, but perhaps the death of a god could have some advantages. For one, perhaps the defeater could absorb what power remains of the other. Or maybe, under the perfect circumstances, the death of a god could lead to the creation of a new one, their remaining energy scattering out into the universe where it could take on new forms within nurseries.

Just an idea though, and most likely will be discarded.

If Goddess is the name for a female god, and Nephi is referred to as female, do gods actually have a (physical)gender, does that mean gods could reproduce?

If gods could reproduce, it's not how you think, they don't you-know (don't you dare start💀) at least they don't do that when they plan to have miniatures, (gods are technically advanced shapeshifters, they could live like a mortal if they chose to, or they could live like Nephi - all gods are different, with intentions, personalities, or even none - in an alternative universe, the Astrone would be real gods cooperating on a world).

Taking minor inspiration from the fact that many godly mythologies on Earth have family trees, there probably are divine families in the myth universe and it involves some sort of power transfusion between the godly parents. It would differ from how a goddess like Nephi created her divine (non-god) beings the Astrone.

Perhaps a lot of time is needed, or maybe they have to travel to locations where gods are born.

This is something I haven't decided on (obviously). The idea of a family tree of gods for some settings is interesting, but based on the lore of how gods are born, it doesn't make as much sense.

While the power of gods can grow over time (which can come from advancing their power, practising, creations, time, etc.), how do they have enough power to join with another to create something just like them (and then again!)? It would weaken them significantly to create anything near powerful enough to embark on a godly quest of occupation.

But wait! What if... what if they aren't meant to be strong? What if these god families act more like the deities mentioned on earth, with each descendent representing and gaining their power from elements/principles/etc.? Each new generation could become weaker and weaker in power so they soon are just representatives of their connected 'element'. This is very similar to Nephi's Astrone. They will never be able to leave their world, and could probably be considered as something other than a true god (maybe this is like the Titans to the Olympian gods - damn I need to research more on mythologies :p)

Well... looks like that's that for now...

Any questions, please feel free to ask, and I'll go into plotting mode to find the right answer.

For something that isn't entirely needed in myth's lore, I sure did write way too much. I might right about the basics behind the astrone next, however... they are underdeveloped, and I have to warn you that there is a disturbing story lying in the lore behind Radein (lightning and power), Xorvceious (malevolence), and "Poldra-who-needs-renaming"(tyranny and also power - not referring to strength which lightning holds)

Further warning: All of my ocs are fcked up (typical trauma I guess - more like sad/cruel stories, bad endings), which is why I say Nephivia is a cold and apathetic ruler (but I'm to blame aren't I? Cause not all are in the myth universe *cry*)

Please, if you're under 16-18, I suggest shying away from my blog as there are mentions of content other than violence (however, I try my best to phrase it lightly since I myself am not comfortable talking about such things)

[brickcentral]

🤩 ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: edgy_mando Hello everyone! It's time to direct the spotlight toward our community members, and today we will get to know better edgy_mando!

"My name is Patryk, known as Edgy_Mando. I’m from Poland and I am a 90s kid. During the day, I work as a graphic designer and in my free time I am a LEGO freak.

LEGO was my favorite toy in childhood. I received my first sets from my grandfather, who initiated my passion to bricks. Back then, we loved building the first Pirates and Castle sets together. I have many wonderful memories from those times.

My return to LEGO happened two years ago. As a huge Star Wars fan, I stumbled upon the Razor Crest set from Mandalorian in a store and fell in love with it. I thought, why not buy and build it? Since then, I have started collecting LEGO again and have been enjoying myself. Additionally, I have always admired toy photography by other creators.

I decided to join this community by actively managing Instagram and regularly taking photos of scenes I come up with.

At first, my photos focused only on Star Wars, but I quickly realized that it limits my creativity, and I wanted something more. In my gallery, you can find photos from Pirates, Castle, City, Marvel, and my own imagined universes. Currently, I enjoy photographing the amazing world of Castle and the daily life of City residents.

Most of my photos are taken at home. I feel the most freedom in creating when I can calmly analyze and set up everything I need in my own space. A big advantage is the control over the light and the possibility to create my own scenery using elements such as sand, gravel, moss, artificial grass, etc.

Equipment I use is a Xiaomi Mi Note 10 smartphone as my camera, RGB LED lights, a tripod, and paper cards for light reflection. As for editing software, Lightroom helps me with color correction, while Photoshop is used for retouching (removing dust and unwanted scratches on a minifigures).

I try to make my photos as natural as possible, but as a graphic designer, I sometimes add minor special effects, mainly in themes like Star Wars (lightsabers, blaster shots, etc.).

I find ideas for photos everywhere! From my everyday life and surroundings, which I use in the City series, to pop culture, movies, games, or even art, which allows me to create my own themes. I have plenty of ideas, and when I decide one, I build MOC (My Own Construction), set up scenes, and turn on the lights to realize my shot as it looks in my mind."

Thank you for accepting our invitation and let the community knows you better!

If you want some insights on the exclusive picture and for a better view of the others, head to our blog at https://brickentral.net/.

- @theaphol, Community Outreach Manager

[anheliotrope]

I'm quite happy that Rider IDE is now free for personal use. This is a recent development.

Where-in I talk about IDEs a bit

Rider is a C# IDE that is in direct competition with Visual Studio. It's a bit surprising that Microsoft gave enough wiggle room in the ecosystem to allow a competitor like this to exist.

Of course, both Rider and VS are non-free software, but I find Rider to be an addition to the ecosystem that makes things healthier overall.

Ultimately, even if Rider wasn't free, I don't mind paying for this kind of tool. It is a good tool. What I mind is the lack of control and recourse if the company decides to fuck me over. And that's less likely when you have two IDEs in direct competition like this.

(Though to be clear, this is extremely far from a bulletproof defense and your long-term future as a programmer is always at risk if you don't have FOSS tooling available.)

(Also, it would be cool if we found a way to pay people for tools that doesn't require them holding the kind of power they can use to fuck you over later.)

I think it's generally unlikely for the FOSS community to develop IDEs that are this comprehensive, along with the fact that most programmers in that category have an inherent distaste for IDEs. I think that at least for some usecases, the distaste is misguided.

Trying to get emacs to give you roughly the capabilities of a proprietary IDE can be really painful. Understanding how to configure it and setting everything up is a short full-time job. Then maintaining it becomes a constant endeavor depending on the packages you've decided to rely on and to try to integrate together. It will work wonderfully, then when you update your packages something stops working and debugging it can be frustrating and time-consuming. Sometimes it's not from updating -- you notice some quirky behaviour or bad performance you want to fix and this sends you down a rabbit hole.

By comparison, Rider works mostly how I want it to work. It's had some minor misbehavior, but nothing that would make me have to stop and expend a lot of time. The time saved is really psychologically significant. On some days debugging my tools is fine and even fun. On other days it is devastating.

Don't get me wrong. The stuff you can do with emacs is incredible. The level of customization, the ecosystem. If you want to be a power user among power users, emacs is your uncle, your sister, your estranged half-brother, and your time-travelling son. But it definitely comes at a cost.

Where-in I talk about VSCode a bit

All of this rambling also reminds me of VSCode.

VSCode masquerades as being free software, but the moment you fork it in any way:

Microsoft's C# and C++ debuggers are so restrictively licensed as to exclude the ability to run them with a VSCode fork. (Bonus fact: Jetbrains when developing Rider had to write a debugger from scratch!)

Microsoft forbids the VSCode extension marketplace from being used by any VSCode fork.

Microsoft allows proprietary extensions to be published to the extension market place, which are configured to refuse to work with a non-official build even if you obtain them separately.

In response to this, Open VSX appeared, operated by the Eclipse Foundation. This permits popular FOSS builds of VSCode, such as VSCodium, to still offer an extension marketplace.

Open VSX has an adapter to Microsoft's marketplace API, which is what permits a build of VSCode to use Open VSX as a replacement for Microsoft's marketplace.

Open VSX does not have every extension that Microsoft's marketplace has and will always lack the proprietary ones. But the fact that a FOSS alternative exists is encouraging and heartwarming.

[firebend-hq]

THE DEATH OF CARTER ABIOYE -- OPENING PLOT DROP

Screams of terror draw attention to the main gates in the late evening of Saturday, April 26th. Amani Abioye collapses in front of his house as he watches Luca Abel carry his bleeding brother through the gates. Any help the medical team wants to provide, comes too late. Carter succumbs to his injuries in his brother's arms, and the bystanders are forced to watch the disaster unfold. Who is at fault?!, Amani demands to know, but he will have to wait for his answer longer than he would ever want to stomach.

On Saturday Morning, the group of five raiders departed from the main gates at their usual time, 12am, to take an extended trip to a newly found old warehouse. When the raiders did not return at the agreed time, their colleagues, family members and friends started to grow nervous.

At almost 8pm sharp, a look-out reported their return through ringing their bell high above the ground. But alongside the bell marking their return, they ring the bell denoting a minor emergency. A medical team, including the emergency surgeon Matteo Díaz, rush to aid the injured Head of Raiders. But it is too late. Carter takes his last breaths in his brother's arms, and is then carefully brought into the forensic department of the Emergency Services building.

The Council comes together in an emergency meeting at 8:30pm, and after the other four raiders went through medical check-ups and necessary injury patch-ups, they are asked to join them. Throughout the course of the conversations becomes clear what happened.

When the group entered the warehouse, they were confronted with an Infected in a stage of infection not yet known to humankind. Shielded entirely by Agaricus, the massive being attacked the group. While they were trying to defend themselves, Carter was fatally impaled by falling on a broken metallic shelf. Through a trick, the raiders managed to maneuver the Infected being outside. Light seemed to weaken it, and the group managed to kill it a few meters away from the warehouse, leaving it behind to retrieve Carter from the building, and to carry him home as quickly as possible. The Infected was described as aggressive, and could be heard scratching walls.

After the council has sent the raiders home, a note is pinned to the information board on their building. It is written in short, brief notes, and reads: CARTER ABIOYE DEAD AFTER ACCIDENT. LUCA ABEL TAKES OVER THE POSITION OF HEAD RAIDER. WAREHOUSE PROMISES LUCRATIVE CONTENTS, BUT WILL BE APPROACHED ONLY AFTER IDENTIFYING THE NEW FORM OF INFECTED DISCOVERED TONIGHT.

One hour later, a small scribbled note is added: WE WILL CALL THEM SCRATCHERS.

OOC NOTE

This is not an official event, it is just a small plot drop to get things going! Here is a few things your muses could know about Carter Abioye:

Carter was known to be rather morally grey, and sometimes aggressive. He was in his late forties, strong, broad-built, and lived alone with his brother. He liked to drink and joining the community parties, bust stayed mostly to himself. With the raiders, he was strict, and often bumped heads with them, but he was someone to learn from, and knew how to crack a joke in difficult situations.

WHAT CAN I WRITE REGARDING THIS PLOT DROP?

Everything mentioned in this post is completely canon and accessible knowledge for every character. If you write a raider that has been a part of the raid, you could write a little self piece on how they felt -- feel free to make up small bits of the fight with the creature, or moments alongside the other riders. This can also be written as flashback threads. All current knowledge about Scratchers can be accessed here, except for the must be burned, could turn into the mushroom part.

For muses that were not directly part of the plot drop, here is some things they could mention or showcase in a thread: Their reaction to Carter's death. Their reaction to the new form of Infected. Their fear, or anger about the situation. Their reaction to Luca taking over. Fear, for what is to come. Skepticism in Matteo's abilities, and if someone else could have saved Carter.

If you want your Raider to have been part of the group alongside Luca Abel, please shoot the main a quick message! :)

[starr-finn]

Houston x reader, soulmate red string.

I would love for y/n to be in a diffrent country, come to America and end up following the string through alleyways to the safe house. The doors open with a gun pointing and as she slowly lifts her arms to surrender, she gets pulled in and basically kidnapped.

Idk, Dallas shoved the duo into a room and they somehow make it work, y/n able to walk free but still needs to regularly check up on Houston. Tender moments and all

Ohhhhh ok! Houston x Reader

Author's note: Red string soulmate AU, S/O is Italian because I said so, and S/O is a minor Chaos Goblin, shitty end, as always.

The plane ride to america was a mess, just about as much as you expected it to be. Now that you were on solid ground again, you just started walking, following wherever the red string connected to your pinky led you. You were walking for a solid 45 minutes before you had to stop for a break. You sat down on a bence and leaned back. The city you were currently in, Washington DC, was busy with tourists and people heading to work. It was a sunny day. You sigh when you hear an alarm go off nearby. You look over your shoulder to see a bunch of guys running out of a jewelry store holding a bunch of bags and jump into the back of a red van, before they drove off. You blinked in confusion

"Ho appena assistito a una fottuta rapina?" You asked yourself before you stood up and continuing your hunt for whoever your soulmate is, because you mind your own damn business.

After another hour long walk, you found where the string led you, an alleyway beside an old dry cleaning place. You take a breath and take a step into the alleyway, and it was barely 20 seconds before you had 3 guys in front of you holding guns at you, after a second they grabbed you and dragged you into the building, kicking and screaming.

"Lasciatemi andare, stronzi!" You shouted, scratching at one of the guys.

One put his hand over your mouth and glared down at you, "Shut the fuck up."

The man had a strange accent, you knew he was european, but what the hell was his accent? They hauled you into the building and shoved you down onto the couch. One of the guys got one look at you and suddenly went totally silent, you could see why, the stupid red string you had been following lead right to him. The damn thing got you into this mess by literally dragging you to your soulmate. Well fuck.

He grabbed the guy holding you and dragged him aside, leaving you in a room full of armed men that stared at you like you had three heads anytime you opened your mouth.

"Quando uscirò da qui, giuro su qualunque dio ci sia lassù…" You said, spite in your voice as you tried to break out of the men's hold.

You kept trying to fight off the guys, until the two men that left came back in. One of them grabbed your arm and dragged you into a seperate room, one of them walked into the garage and the other forced you in after him. The room was silent until the guy across from you spoke up.

"Do you understand English?" He asked, although, to you, it sounded more like gibberish

You were confused instantly, before the guy sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing something out and then showing you, from what you understood in the very VERY broken Italian, he was asking if you understood English.

You shook your head, and he nodded before typing something else out and handing it back to you, you could actually understand it this time

'Mi chiamo Houston, piacere di conoscerti' was what the words read.

You look up at him and nod, taking the phone and typing out your name and a simple 'Nice to meet you too.'

Eventually, after another long pause in communication, he types out something you guess was trying to mean 'So, We're soulmates' but was a bit broken. You nodded.

The conversation went on like that for a while, he would type something out and you'd respond the same way, and it was actually kind of fun. Eventually, with some convincing from Houston, you were allowed to leave the building and sometimes, Houston would randomly come and bring you back. He started teaching you English after the first few days, and you started trying to teach him Italian. It didn't take much at all for you to find your place with the gang. Houston didn't really like having you with the gang, but he loved having you around him all the time, so he let it go. Eventually, you guys went on a first date, it went well.

(Help I lost my train of thought at the end fuck-)

[wivendev]

Minor Update 0.034

Greetings and Salutations my fellow peoples! I hope you all have had a great weekend and a good start to your week! Today ill be talking about Wiven's newest update so strap in.

More map building

It was a slower week then usual as we were patching bugs and fixing a few glitches (scratch hard :c) But two maps have been added, these are "Jump Over the Moon" and "Parkour". "Jump Over the Moon" is a game about slowly unlocking new ways to jump higher and higher till you jump over the moon. Parkour is a game about parkouring. These maps are only in a very rough draft state so expect changes from what you see in the picture below.

Slight UI Update

Thats right, another new UI update! This time there is now a function to go to a second page (more pages to come) in the clothing menu! We are currently testing out the concept so it may not be permanent but it will open up many more opportunities to more clothing items and community made clothing items too!

Whats next?

The next update for Wiven will be a major one (0.04) and will include a new game and many other improvements to existing games. The new game will be set on an Alien Planet where you will be shooting aliens! I wont spoil to much as much more than just shooting aliens (that would be boring) but it is going to very fun! The improvements will probably consist of another UI update somewhere and "finalizing" some existing features for games.

Thank you everyone for taking the time to read this! Me and the team have been working very hard lately on this update that is coming soon so I hope you can bear the lacking features of this update! This is Bam signing off and I wish you a good week! See yea soon!

[mx-information]

I’m never quite sure how to take posts like these.

On the one hand, it’s a valid point. I’m not a medical expert, I don’t know how to maintain these kinds of complicated supply chains, and certainly not through an uprising. I’d much rather ask people to live for a cause than condemn them to die for it, and I’d much rather build alternative care structures than just burn everything down and start from scratch.

On the other hand, people are dying now. To point the finger, global capitalism is killing people now. How many people starve every year because feeding them would go against the profit-driven ethos of our capitalist system? How many die of preventable diseases, chronic conditions, or disabilities because medical companies don’t give a shit about anything but making a buck? How many indigenous people are murdered and displaced in the name of mining, drilling, and logging? How many civilians murdered so the arms industry can keep rolling right along without pause? How many killed by Covid because our so-called betters decided that the stock market was more important than human lives?

These aren’t aberrations, these aren’t things that can just be voted away, this is the face of our global status quo, capitalism working as intended, business as usual.

People will die in a revolution, people will die in a reformation, and people will die if we do nothing. We don’t have the privilege of not being complicit in some level of death, our institutions are built on violence, our politics and economy are driven by it. The only meaningful choice we have is how much death we’re willing to accept. It’s a horrible, vicious choice, but that’s the world capitalism has built for us and that’s the world it will commit any atrocity to maintain.

I confess, I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t want anyone to die, I don’t believe anyone is expendable. I know my history, how seldom revolutions succeed, how often they turn into a bloodbath that does nothing to make the world better. I’m afraid of people who talk about revolution in breathlessly expectant terms, as if it will be some glorious adventure rather than a war. I steer well clear of anyone who is too eager to see their enemies lined up in front of a firing squad. But I don’t know what else we do but fight, I’m unwilling to live in a world where minorities, the poor, the unhoused, the global south, the indigenous, and so on and so forth are written off as acceptable casualties so that the global murder machine keeps working for us for a little while longer. That’s not progress either, that’s not a neutral position

We can’t rely on building alternate structures either, our governments have more than show their willingness to murder anyone trying to build something better without their permission. Not to say we shouldn’t try, not to say we shouldn’t be proactive in helping our communities, in providing for those in need when the system fails them, but historically such efforts have been seen as perhaps the biggest threat of all by those with wealth and power, because if people know that we can make things better, than they might try and actually do it, and then, well, the whole logic of capitalism just falls apart doesn’t it.

Any amount of resistance, any amount of change, any amount of compassion is too much for a system that tells us we can only rely on it to save us, that better things are impossible so really we shouldn’t even try.

That’s why they try and make it illegal to help the homeless, that’s why they post cops outside of dumpsters. That’s why, for instance, when the French army rolled into the Paris Commune, an attempt a democratic socialist society that rejected the terror of guillotine, they slaughtered somewhere between 10 and 20 thousand people, shot that new world dead in its cradle. It’s why the FBI called the Black Panthers the biggest threat to national security for feeding people, and they killed them for it. Why when Guatemalans peacefully reformed their society to more equitably distribute land the CIA responded by propping up a series of dictators and backing them to the hilt as they committed genocide against the Maya. That’s why our governments are arresting, brutalizing, and killing activists, organizers, and protestors now. That’s why they’re backing and arming a genocide in Palestine now. Are we to consider their lives expendable? Do their children just not matter as much as ours?

How many murders are we willing to accept? How many massacres? How many famines? How many genocides? How many people have to die at the hands of capitalism’s own callous disregard for human life before it become too abhorrent to allow? How far can we be pushed before fighting back becomes justified? How many daily crimes against humanity do we have to witness before the status quo becomes intolerable to us?

I think a lot about how, if the glorious violent revolution happens, every kid with significant medical needs in a hospital where power gets cut will die.

You can decide you're willing to sacrifice your own life, but you don't get to tell everybody else on the planet that they're acceptable collateral damage.

[reviewsbyshiksha]

Honest Saraf Furniture Reviews That Matter

Like many of you, I was hesitant about buying big-ticket furniture online. Would the quality match the photos? How reliable is the delivery? After extensive research and ordering multiple items from Saraf Furniture, I felt compelled to share my honest experience. Here’s why these reviews truly matter.

What Do Popular Reviews Reveal About Saraf’s Quality?

A 2025 roundup highlighted Saraf’s use of 100% solid Sheesham wood, a key factor in its growing reputation . Customers praised sturdy builds and stunning finishes. My experience confirms that — the wood feels rich, substantial, and free from flimsy veneers.

Even So Delhi’s 2017 write-up celebrated the brand’s tradition of genuine Sheesham craftsmanship, noting how their pieces beautifully marry traditional design with modern flair so.city. My furniture has that same timeless yet current aesthetic.

Who’s Behind the Brand — and Why It Matters?

The man making this happen is Raghunandan Saraf, the visionary behind Saraf Furniture and insaraf Furniture. A November 2023 feature described how he integrates VR tools, custom design options, and robust logistics to streamline the online furniture experience . You can actually see production phases, choose finishes, and monitor delivery — all from their site.

These steps inspired confidence in me. It’s not empty branding — it’s clear evidence of a founder dedicated to quality and transparency.

Why Your Furniture Delivery Will Be Smooth

One top‑mentioned point in Saraf reviews is their packaging and delivery process. Many say deliveries arrive secure and on time. In my case, the care taken — bubble wrap, padding, reinforcement — immediately stood out.

Another review thread echoed this: “Order took around 3 weeks. Packaging was great and furniture arrived in perfect condition”. That milestone delivery match aligns with my experience.

When Customer Support Really Helps

Community feedback often praises Saraf’s responsive support. One online review praised their free shipping and hassle‑free assembly , and another buyer on Trustpilot said any minor defect was solved under their lifetime warranty .

I also had a minor touch‑up request after delivery. Their team arranged a replacement part and resolved it pronto. That kind of aftercare builds trust.

What Real Users Are Saying (and Why It Matters)

Here are some genuine snippets that stood out while researching:

“I purchased a bed and dining set… the quality is outstanding!… finishing is perfect.” — Rajesh S. “The Sheesham wood finish is absolutely stunning.” — Priya M.

These reflect what I experienced: sturdy, polished, elegant pieces holding up over time.

A six‑month personal review confirmed that well‑built coffee tables and beds didn’t wobble or lose their finish — with only a little routine polishing needed .

Why Some Reviews Raise Concerns

No brand is perfect. A few complaints popped up about delays or service issues — mostly related to minor hold‑ups. But these seem like exceptions rather than trends.

I did wait a full eight weeks for one item, slightly longer than expected. But its condition at delivery — flawless build and pristine finish — made it worthwhile .

What I Bought and Loved

Queen‑Size Double Bed Heavy, no creaks, gorgeous leather‑like headboard, and that warm Sheesham aroma.

6‑Seater Dining Set Immaculate joints, scratch‑resistant finish, and the chairs feel solid and ergonomic.

Coffee Table Sculpted like I ordered it from a showroom. It’s become a daily-use piece without a hint of wobble.

The consistent quality across items echoes what satisfied reviewers mentioned above.

What Makes These Reviews Truly Trustworthy

Multiple Sources: Verified platforms like Google, Trustpilot, Quora, and community forums.

Real Details: Reviews mention packaging, timelines, assembly notes, and wear over months.

Photos & Long-Term Use: Several users posted real images and discussed durability six months later .

Balanced Feedback: Not all glowing — some minor or rare issues, but major red flags are absent.

That dynamic makes them honest — and that’s precisely why my trust grew.

Final Thoughts: Are These Reviews Worth Your Time?

Absolutely. These reviews helped me decide to make a substantial investment — and I’m glad I did. Saraf Furniture delivers:

Real solid wood

Artisan-level finishing

Careful delivery & packaging

Reliable after-sales support

Yes, timelines may vary. But if you’re after quality and longevity, it’s a smart choice.

FAQs: Honest Answers Before You Buy

1. How genuine are the positive Saraf Furniture reviews? They tend to be honest, from verified buyers. You’ll see photos, timelines, and consistent quality reports.

2. Does delivery ever take too long? Most orders arrive within 3–5 weeks. Some customization or volume orders may take longer — but usually arrive intact.

3. What happens if something arrives damaged? Saraf offers responsive support, fast replacements, and a lifetime warranty on solid wood products.

4. Is the quality worth the price? Definitely. You’re paying more upfront, but the durability and timeless design make it a cost-effective investment.

5. Should you worry about negative reviews? A few complaints exist, mostly around delays. Weigh them against numerous consistent positive reports — delays happen but aren’t the norm.

[insaraffurniture]

Honest Saraf Furniture Reviews That Matter

Like many of you, I was hesitant about buying big-ticket furniture online. Would the quality match the photos? How reliable is the delivery? After extensive research and ordering multiple items from Saraf Furniture, I felt compelled to share my honest experience. Here’s why these reviews truly matter.

What Do Popular Reviews Reveal About Saraf’s Quality?

A 2025 roundup highlighted Saraf’s use of 100% solid Sheesham wood, a key factor in its growing reputation . Customers praised sturdy builds and stunning finishes. My experience confirms that — the wood feels rich, substantial, and free from flimsy veneers.

Even So Delhi’s 2017 write-up celebrated the brand’s tradition of genuine Sheesham craftsmanship, noting how their pieces beautifully marry traditional design with modern flair so.city. My furniture has that same timeless yet current aesthetic.

Who’s Behind the Brand — and Why It Matters?

The man making this happen is Raghunandan Saraf, the visionary behind Saraf Furniture and insaraf Furniture. A November 2023 feature described how he integrates VR tools, custom design options, and robust logistics to streamline the online furniture experience . You can actually see production phases, choose finishes, and monitor delivery — all from their site.

These steps inspired confidence in me. It’s not empty branding — it’s clear evidence of a founder dedicated to quality and transparency.

Why Your Furniture Delivery Will Be Smooth

One top‑mentioned point in Saraf reviews is their packaging and delivery process. Many say deliveries arrive secure and on time. In my case, the care taken — bubble wrap, padding, reinforcement — immediately stood out.

Another review thread echoed this: “Order took around 3 weeks. Packaging was great and furniture arrived in perfect condition”. That milestone delivery match aligns with my experience.

When Customer Support Really Helps

Community feedback often praises Saraf’s responsive support. One online review praised their free shipping and hassle‑free assembly , and another buyer on Trustpilot said any minor defect was solved under their lifetime warranty .

I also had a minor touch‑up request after delivery. Their team arranged a replacement part and resolved it pronto. That kind of aftercare builds trust.

What Real Users Are Saying (and Why It Matters)

Here are some genuine snippets that stood out while researching:

“I purchased a bed and dining set… the quality is outstanding!… finishing is perfect.” — Rajesh S. “The Sheesham wood finish is absolutely stunning.” — Priya M.

These reflect what I experienced: sturdy, polished, elegant pieces holding up over time.

A six‑month personal review confirmed that well‑built coffee tables and beds didn’t wobble or lose their finish — with only a little routine polishing needed .

Why Some Reviews Raise Concerns

No brand is perfect. A few complaints popped up about delays or service issues — mostly related to minor hold‑ups. But these seem like exceptions rather than trends.

I did wait a full eight weeks for one item, slightly longer than expected. But its condition at delivery — flawless build and pristine finish — made it worthwhile .

What I Bought and Loved

Queen‑Size Double Bed Heavy, no creaks, gorgeous leather‑like headboard, and that warm Sheesham aroma.

6‑Seater Dining Set Immaculate joints, scratch‑resistant finish, and the chairs feel solid and ergonomic.

Coffee Table Sculpted like I ordered it from a showroom. It’s become a daily-use piece without a hint of wobble.

The consistent quality across items echoes what satisfied reviewers mentioned above.

What Makes These Reviews Truly Trustworthy

Multiple Sources: Verified platforms like Google, Trustpilot, Quora, and community forums.

Real Details: Reviews mention packaging, timelines, assembly notes, and wear over months.

Photos & Long-Term Use: Several users posted real images and discussed durability six months later .

Balanced Feedback: Not all glowing — some minor or rare issues, but major red flags are absent.

That dynamic makes them honest — and that’s precisely why my trust grew.

Final Thoughts: Are These Reviews Worth Your Time?

Absolutely. These reviews helped me decide to make a substantial investment — and I’m glad I did. Saraf Furniture delivers:

Real solid wood

Artisan-level finishing

Careful delivery & packaging

Reliable after-sales support

Yes, timelines may vary. But if you’re after quality and longevity, it’s a smart choice.

FAQs: Honest Answers Before You Buy

1. How genuine are the positive Saraf Furniture reviews? They tend to be honest, from verified buyers. You’ll see photos, timelines, and consistent quality reports.

2. Does delivery ever take too long? Most orders arrive within 3–5 weeks. Some customization or volume orders may take longer — but usually arrive intact.

3. What happens if something arrives damaged? Saraf offers responsive support, fast replacements, and a lifetime warranty on solid wood products.

4. Is the quality worth the price? Definitely. You’re paying more upfront, but the durability and timeless design make it a cost-effective investment.

5. Should you worry about negative reviews? A few complaints exist, mostly around delays. Weigh them against numerous consistent positive reports — delays happen but aren’t the norm.