#boundless 2022

[oc-cafe]

Episode 3: The Man And The Minister

Once again, a BIG apology to everyone for the long hiatus. I will try to update consistently every Sunday, or Monday at the latest, and you'll be informed of any hiatuses I may take.

Once again, please check the trigger warnings before proceeding, since this story will probably have death, violence and angst and mentions of blood.

Cover Made with Canva; Read from the beginning here

Crossposted on AO3!

Veena liked to think that she was as easy to play as the stringed instrument she was named after. 

Which was to be said, not easy at all.

It wasn’t that she considered herself completely infallible. It was just that growing up with someone like Aditi for a sister, she had quickly adjusted herself to dodge any tricks or pranks the latter might pull, developing a mind sharper and more skeptical than most in the process. 

The woman was equal parts wary and weary. 

So could you blame her for being disbelieving when her sister came barging into her chambers at the first ray of sunlight, declaring that she had turned into some sort of monster the previous night? 

“You did? Strange, I didn’t hear any complaints from the cooks about late night kitchen raids from last night,” she answered, completely unruffled, and added with a twinge of annoyance, “Although, I wouldn’t know, seeing as they’re probably still asleep.” 

“I’m not joking, Veena,” The older woman answered, slightly miffed. 

“You expect me to believe that you turned into some sort of eldritch horror out of nowhere?” 

“It would be nice if you did.” 

“Go back to sleep, Aditi.” 

“No. Hear me out first.”

“Stop being annoying.” 

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll tell mother. I'll get her to confine you to your quarters or something.” 

"Oh no, I'm so scared," Aditi retorted sarcastically. 

"I'll tell her about your little excursions.”

Aditi narrowed her eyes. “How do you even know about that?”

Veena smiled smugly.

“I know a lot.” In actuality, she had been told by Rekha, who, in addition to being Aditi's companion and handmaiden, was also Veena's good friend. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“No?” Veena stuck a foot out of her bed threateningly. “Watch me.” 

Aditi glared, and turned on her heel to leave.

“This isn’t over!” She called out over her shoulder. Veena simply grunted and waited for her sister’s retreating footsteps to recede.

Once she was sure Aditi wouldn’t come back, she smirked triumphantly and immediately flopped down into her bed.

~~ 

Bhavin felt his skin prickle as he entered the dark, lair-like room. It was dimly lit, and he could see a man sharpening his sword. For a moment, the man ignored Bhavin's presence. And then, not lifting his head from his work, he spoke. 

“And what brings you here, Minister Bhavin?”

“The Maharaj and Maharani of Nelaghati plan to hand over the throne to their elder daughter, the crown princess, soon,your highness.”

The other man tilted his head slightly, but he did not turn to look at the minister. 

“So the Yuvrajnee will ascend the throne in her parents' lifetime? It is rare, but not unheard of. Is that all you wanted to say?”

The minister was now losing his patience. 

“Princess Aditi… she is much more powerful than her ageing parents,” He said testily. “Once she ascends the Nelaghati throne, she will only get more powerful.”

“What, exactly, am I supposed to do about that?”  

“Stop them.”

The man turned around. 

“Now, Minister Bhavin, do not be so senseless. Am I to stroll in and tell them to please put a hold on crowning Princess Aditi as the queen, because one of our ministers is scared of the power she may wield?”

“YOUR HIGHNESS-” 

“It would do you no good to raise your voice at me, minister,” The man cuts in. “The king may be extremely lenient with you, but I assure you, I subscribe to no such niceties.”

“My apologies, your highness. I meant stop them another way.”

“What other way?”

“Your highness, you know full well what I am talking about. ”

The man's eyes narrow.

“I'm afraid I do not. Enlighten me, Minister Bhavin. How exactly am I to stop Princess Aditi's coronation?”

“Kill Princess Aditi. Kill her before she can ascend the throne.”

“Minister Bhavin,” The man began coldly, “Do you wish Nelaghati to wage war upon us?”

“Maharaj Sagar and Maharani Arundhati can be easily stopped. They are old, and grow frailer by the day. If Princess Aditi becomes queen and decides to wage war upon us, she will defeat us with ease. We will stand no chance. This is for the good of Alinthi.”

“You forget that war is not fought by one or two people. Even if they cannot fight themselves, they certainly have displayed enough tactical skill in our previous tussles to have a fighting chance.”

“Your highness-”

“Even if, somehow, you're correct, why should I? Do you suddenly hold a higher rank than I, that I was not informed of?”

“No, your highness. These are his majesty's orders. You are to leave at once. I-I would have told you earlier but…”

The man froze, much to the minister's satisfaction. But when he spoke, his voice betrayed no hint of emotion. 

“Is that so? The King's orders?” He asked quietly. “Well, then, I had better get going. I'd do well to fulfill my elder brother's wishes as soon as possible, no?”

-

That evening, Aditi lay on her stomach on Veena's bed, idly sifting through the messages addressed to her. 

“Two suitors today,” She said, wrinkling her nose. “I must be getting rather popular.”

Rekha, who was braiding Veena's hair, clucked her tongue disapprovingly. 

"As if you needed any more boosts to your ego. Didn't you send out a public declaration that all suitors would be rejected?"

"Oh, yeah," Veena piped up. "You used lots of big words. I did not realise you knew that many."

Aditi stuck her tongue out at her younger sister. 

"You are not worth my time. Anyway, that announcement was last week, so this must've been sent before then. It's from the kingdom of Nethilor, and they're very far away."

"Are you going to write a reply?"

Aditi sighed. 

"I probably should. It's so annoying, writing the same thing again and again. My deepest apologies, but the prospect of romantic and sexual relationships does not intrigue me one bit, et cetera, et cetera."

She pauses for a second, considering something. 

"How come Veena never gets any suitors?" She asks,tilting her head. "She came of age months ago, and everyone keeps going on and on about her beautiful dark skin and her soulful black eyes and luscious curls and whatnot. Makes me wonder whether we're even looking at the same person."

Veena harrumphed. "What makes you think I don't have a stash of them hidden away in a drawer somewhere?"

Rekha did not look too excited about the prospect. 

"Well," She began, "Aside from the fact that the servants would've discovered it in a few minutes' time? You would've come running to rub it in our faces." 

"HA! Thank you, Rekha." Aditi grinned smugly at Veena. 

Veena ignored Aditi. "Are you jealous of my would-be suitors, Rekha dearest? Surely you do not want to whisk me away for yourself?"

Rekha laughed derisively, reddening slightly. 

"Of course not. If you ever find someone for yourself, I shall be cheering for you the loudest. But what about me?"

"What about you?"

Rekha stops braiding her hair and loops her hands around Veena's neck, grinning. 

"Your lover would whisk you away, and I would be left here alone without you. What am I to do then?"

A dark flush forms on Veena's cheeks. "I-"

"Then I would have to deal with Aditi myself. You wouldn't subject me to that, would you…" Still grinning impishly, she adds, "Dearest?"

Aditi makes a face at the duo, who were doubled over laughing. 

"Laugh at me all you want, neither of you will be the ruler of Nelaghati in a few months' time. I suppose you need your simple pleasures."

"Yeah, yeah. What're the rest of the messages?"

Aditi sifts through them once again. 

"Nothing I haven't dealt with already. I suppose I'm free to take another look at the book, then."

Rekha paled. "You still have it?" 

"Of course I still have it, Rekha. It's a magical book. I can't just give it to the very first person at our doorstep."

Veena looked unimpressed. "A magical book? Is this related to the monster you were talking about this morning?"

"In fact, it is."

"A monster?!" Rekha nearly screamed.

"Don't worry, Rekha, it's probably not even real."

It did make sense that Veena would not believe her, Aditi supposed. Magic was something limited to only a few kingdoms, and as far as anyone knew, Nelaghati and any of its surrounding territories did not qualify. 

This did lead to a lot more questions than she had bargained for the previous night. If she wanted to know more about this, she would have to do some digging around. 

She sighed and held her hands up in surrender. 

"I'll show you later, okay? Right now, I need to go."

"Where to?"

"To figure some things out."

Mod Tag: @stressedsnake @ne0npurplefantasies

Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @ghostdragoncookie @jewishdainix @ialmostdonothingnew @just-call-me-a-god @death-and-the-lady13 @fierreth-who @mister-finally-found-himself @coffeelovinggayidiot @pinkyy-promises @sassychaostrash @lesbiansayaishii @a-cloud-for-dreams @brkh96 @i-likestuff86 @redvelvetpdf @xx0yeet-everything0xx

[themoonlitartgallery]

art requests open i guess! might take a while to get to them though

i draw characters and people well

if you want a detailed background you're. gonna have to specify otherwise it'll be pretty simple

that's it ig? no NSFW

UPDATE: they're temporarily closed! they will open again once i am done with all the ones I have currently

[bobabisch]

Straight men and their obsession with lesbian women annoy the fuck out of me.

"(insert lesbian character here) is so badass and hot, it's just kind of upsetting that the creators never cared to make her look nicer :/"

here's an idea mathew! what if you killed yourself! 🥰😘🫶🏽

[whitherwaywill]

biz just said that the only way they’re coming back is if someone kidnaps swayman… should i just stop watching now?

[goodguygadgets]

PLDT Enterprise wins the Award of Excellence at the 20th Philippine Quill Awards, celebrates a boundless vision of digital innovation

PLDT Enterprise received the prestigious Award of Excellence for its PH Digicon 2022: BOUNDLESS program at the 20th Philippine Quill Awards. #FurtherTogether #PLDTEnterprise

PLDT Enterprise, the corporate business arm of PLDT, the leading telecommunications and digital services provider in the Philippines, proudly announces that its PH Digicon 2022: BOUNDLESS has achieved yet another remarkable victory by winning the Award of Excellence in the Special and Experiential Events Category at the prestigious 20th Philippine Quill Awards. PLDT Enterprise celebrates their…

[stylized-corpse]

Saw these guys a couple years ago and they crashed at my place after the show. Rad dudes. Rad music.

Sadistic Ritual - "End of All Roads" The Enigma, Boundless May 20th, 2022 Blackened Thrash Metal Prosthetic Records Atlanta, Georgia, USA

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Reverse engineers bust sleazy gig work platform

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/23/hack-the-class-war/#robo-boss

A COMPUTER CAN NEVER BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE

THEREFORE A COMPUTER MUST NEVER MAKE A MANAGEMENT DECISION

Supposedly, these lines were included in a 1979 internal presentation at IBM; screenshots of them routinely go viral:

https://twitter.com/SwiftOnSecurity/status/1385565737167724545?lang=en

The reason for their newfound popularity is obvious: the rise and rise of algorithmic management tools, in which your boss is an app. That IBM slide is right: turning an app into your boss allows your actual boss to create an "accountability sink" in which there is no obvious way to blame a human or even a company for your maltreatment:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

App-based management-by-bossware treats the bug identified by the unknown author of that IBM slide into a feature. When an app is your boss, it can force you to scab:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

Or it can steal your wages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But tech giveth and tech taketh away. Digital technology is infinitely flexible: the program that spies on you can be defeated by another program that defeats spying. Every time your algorithmic boss hacks you, you can hack your boss back:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

Technologists and labor organizers need one another. Even the most precarious and abused workers can team up with hackers to disenshittify their robo-bosses:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

For every abuse technology brings to the workplace, there is a liberating use of technology that workers unleash by seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/13/solidarity-forever/#tech-unions

One tech-savvy group on the cutting edge of dismantling the Torment Nexus is Algorithms Exposed, a tiny, scrappy group of EU hacker/academics who recruit volunteers to reverse engineer and modify the algorithms that rule our lives as workers and as customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Algorithms Exposed have an admirable supply of seemingly boundless energy. Every time I check in with them, I learn that they've spun out yet another special-purpose subgroup. Today, I learned about Reversing Works, a hacking team that reverse engineers gig work apps, revealing corporate wrongdoing that leads to multimillion euro fines for especially sleazy companies.

One such company is Foodinho, an Italian subsidiary of the Spanish food delivery company Glovo. Foodinho/Glovo has been in the crosshairs of Italian labor enforcers since before the pandemic, racking up millions in fines – first for failing to file the proper privacy paperwork disclosing the nature of the data processing in the app that Foodinho riders use to book jobs. Then, after the Italian data commission investigated Foodinho, the company attracted new, much larger fines for its out-of-control surveillance conduct.

As all of this was underway, Reversing Works was conducting its own research into Glovo/Foodinho's app, running it on a simulated Android handset inside a PC so they could peer into app's data collection and processing. They discovered a nightmarish world of pervasive, illegal worker surveillance, and published their findings a year ago in November, 2023:

https://www.etui.org/sites/default/files/2023-10/Exercising%20workers%20rights%20in%20algorithmic%20management%20systems_Lessons%20learned%20from%20the%20Glovo-Foodinho%20digital%20labour%20platform%20case_2023.pdf

That report reveals all kinds of extremely illegal behavior. Glovo/Foodinho makes its riders' data accessible across national borders, so Glovo managers outside of Italy can access fine-grained surveillance information and sensitive personal information – a major data protection no-no.

Worse, Glovo's app embeds trackers from a huge number of other tech platforms (for chat, analytics, and more), making it impossible for the company to account for all the ways that its riders' data is collected – again, a requirement under Italian and EU data protection law.

All this data collection continues even when riders have clocked out for the day – its as though your boss followed you home after quitting time and spied on you.

The research also revealed evidence of a secretive worker scoring system that ranked workers based on undisclosed criteria and reserved the best jobs for workers with high scores. This kind of thing is pervasive in algorithmic management, from gig work to Youtube and Tiktok, where performers' videos are routinely suppressed because they crossed some undisclosed line. When an app is your boss, your every paycheck is docked because you violated a policy you're not allowed to know about, because if you knew why your boss was giving you shitty jobs, or refusing to show the video you spent thousands of dollars making to the subscribers who asked to see it, then maybe you could figure out how to keep your boss from detecting your rulebreaking next time.

All this data-collection and processing is bad enough, but what makes it all a thousand times worse is Glovo's data retention policy – they're storing this data on their workers for four years after the worker leaves their employ. That means that mountains of sensitive, potentially ruinous data on gig workers is just lying around, waiting to be stolen by the next hacker that breaks into the company's servers.

Reversing Works's report made quite a splash. A year after its publication, the Italian data protection agency fined Glovo another 5 million euros and ordered them to cut this shit out:

https://reversing.works/posts/2024/11/press-release-reversing.works-investigation-exposes-glovos-data-privacy-violations-marking-a-milestone-for-worker-rights-and-technology-accountability/

As the report points out, Italy is extremely well set up to defend workers' rights from this kind of bossware abuse. Not only do Italian enforcers have all the privacy tools created by the GDPR, the EU's flagship privacy regulation – they also have the benefit of Italy's 1970 Workers' Statute. The Workers Statute is a visionary piece of legislation that protects workers from automated management practices. Combined with later privacy regulation, it gave Italy's data regulators sweeping powers to defend Italian workers, like Glovo's riders.

Italy is also a leader in recognizing gig workers as de facto employees, despite the tissue-thin pretense that adding an app to your employment means that you aren't entitled to any labor protections. In the case of Glovo, the fine-grained surveillance and reputation scoring were deemed proof that Glovo was employer to its riders.

Reversing Works' report is a fascinating read, especially the sections detailing how the researchers recruited a Glovo rider who allowed them to log in to Glovo's platform on their account.

As Reversing Works points out, this bottom-up approach – where apps are subjected to technical analysis – has real potential for labor organizations seeking to protect workers. Their report established multiple grounds on which a union could seek to hold an abusive employer to account.

But this bottom-up approach also holds out the potential for developing direct-action tools that let workers flex their power, by modifying apps, or coordinating their actions to wring concessions out of their bosses.

After all, the whole reason for the gig economy is to slash wage-bills, by transforming workers into contractors, and by eliminating managers in favor of algorithms. This leaves companies extremely vulnerable, because when workers come together to exercise power, their employer can't rely on middle managers to pressure workers, deal with irate customers, or step in to fill the gap themselves:

https://projects.itforchange.net/state-of-big-tech/changing-dynamics-of-labor-and-capital/

Only by seizing the means of computation, workers and organized labor can turn the tables on bossware – both by directly altering the conditions of their employment, and by producing the evidence and tools that regulators can use to force employers to make those alterations permanent.

Image: EFF (modified) https://www.eff.org/files/issues/eu-flag-11_1.png

CC BY 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/

[lousycapy]

now that the top 100 ao3 ships of 2024 list is out and f1 rpf has made two appearances (lestappen & landoscar) I’d be curious to read your most controversial opinions on f1 ships. I’ll start with mine:

I fear the lestappen hype is disproportionate to the actual content available to the writers. obviously there is a lot of potential with a childhood rivals enemies-to-lovers arc, but the issue to me is that the seed hasn’t blossomed yet. the roots are amazing, but apart from a half-assed semi-title fight at the beginning of 2022 there hasn’t been much spice or resolution to their story. some fun yap moments here and there, respectful and friendly (fruity? 🤔) interactions, but I feel like there isn’t any actual continuation to the story that made their dynamic particularly enticing to fanfic writing.

looking at it as a blank canvas to articulate a future where there IS a resolution (such as a title fight or to throw them in the same team and see the romance develop through hatred) is an amazing plot, absolutely lovely to read, but the fics where there isn’t this fight or drama that sublime their relationship don’t really appeal to me and I struggle to understand their popularity. their rivalry quietly fizzling out into a tentative friendship doesn’t do it for me, I need a more concrete story.

anyway, shoutout to the writers and their boundless creativity and goated writing, I might not understand the source of inspiration but I respect the craft and you continue being awesome 🫡

[mariacallous]

(JTA) — As we mark the grim second anniversary of the Ukraine conflict this Shabbat, I’m reminded of a haunting melody I heard in the city of Poltava last month.

I was standing before Sonia Bunina, a plucky 17-year-old, when she opened her mouth to sing when an air raid siren rang out.

I flinched. Not Sonia — she didn’t miss a beat.

“Kol haolam kulo gesher t’zar meod, veha’ikar lo lifached k’lal,” she belted out before seeking shelter. “The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the most important thing is to have no fear at all.”

Sonia, like so many Jews I know in Ukraine, is many things — determined, grieving, focused — but she’s certainly not cowering.

As she sang those words by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov — the Ukrainian Jewish sage whose followers continue to come by the tens of thousands to his grave in Uman annually — she embodied the prayer’s indomitable spirit.

Sonia and I met outside Poltava’s Hesed, part of the network of Jewish humanitarian hubs founded by my organization — the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, or JDC — more than three decades ago. Today they’re a lifeline to tens of thousands of Jews facing loss and strife. Since she was a toddler, Sonia has been attending activities at Hesed — her mother coordinates cultural programs for the elderly, and she connects teen volunteers like herself with isolated seniors, a critical source of comfort these last two years.

These days, traveling to Ukraine feels like a pilgrimage — there’s a pull in my soul to visit family near Lviv, to bear witness to Ukrainian Jewish resilience, and to be inspired by the clarity of purpose that is so palpable there. Since my first trip in 2011, I’ve been eight times. Last year, I wrote about how a year of crisis had transformed the ordinary into the sacred in Ukraine. Now, visiting feels even more essential with the worsening humanitarian situation.

Ukrainian Jews aren’t blasé about these challenges — far from it. Just take the delicate ballet of emotions on their faces when checking their phones during an air alert — contacting loved ones, scrolling through photos of devastation, and analyzing Telegram chats speculating on a given rocket’s make and trajectory.

But life goes on — there’s work to do — and though they’ve lost so much, they refuse to give any more away.

Showing up for each other, whatever it takes, is now baked into their very essence as Jews, and in Ukraine, there are tens of thousands to serve — hungry old women and displaced young families, disabled Holocaust survivors and stunned middle-aged professionals, shocked to now need help when they were once donors and volunteers.

They act fearlessly to ensure their communities make it through this crisis, body and soul intact. Can we expect anything less than boundless creativity from the people who birthed Sholem Aleichem and the Baal Shem Tov?

“These bombings, all these things that are killing people, destroying houses, leaving children homeless … it’s very scary,” Galina Limarenko, an 82-year-old retired nurse, told me in her small bedroom in Berezivka, taking note of the warm blanket, firewood, and other winter supplies my colleagues provided. “Thank God for the Jewish community, which never gives up and always shares even their very last piece of bread.”

I saw that irrepressible spirit again at our Beit Dan JCC in battered Kharkiv — a shapeshifting wellspring of strength just a few dozen kilometers from the eastern border. Shortly after Feb. 24, 2022, the center became a staging ground for truckloads of emergency aid — part of the 800 tons of humanitarian assistance we’ve delivered so far.

A few blocks from missile strikes, it now hosts children’s camps and soulful Shabbat services and operates a “kids hub,” offering academic enrichment to children who haven’t had in-person school for years — robbed of normal childhood by the pandemic and now the ongoing crisis.

And amidst blizzards and blackouts, Beit Dan has also become a “warm hub,” a safe place for beleaguered Jewish Kharkivites to charge their devices and obtain a hot drink and warm meal.

“If you share in our pain, and provide support where it’s needed, I’m forever grateful,” said Nika Simonova, Beit Dan’s program director. “The ability to remain human is the main thing. Done right, I believe that can save the world.”

That’s why we at JDC, aided by a coalition of partners including the Jewish Federations, Claims Conference, and International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, deployed a historic response to this conflict and remain committed to the Jewish future here.

We’re focused on ongoing humanitarian support for more than 41,000 Ukrainian Jews, expanding trauma relief, closing children’s educational gaps, and getting unemployed Jewish community members, among millions of Ukrainians plunged into poverty, back to work.

There is no doubt that the Jewish world is now responding to crises on multiple fronts, including this one, but we have been here so many times before. We must draw strength from our history and from the sure knowledge that this is what we’re built for. Our compassion and commitment, when leveraged with that timeless sense of mutual Jewish responsibility, means we can tackle the challenges we face — and come out on the other side even stronger.

As I walked through Lviv on my last day in Ukraine, I asked my cousin Anna Saprun, a 25-year-old business analyst, how this period has changed her.

“I hate what’s brought me here, but I love who I’ve become,” she said with a fierce and feisty smile. “Nothing scares me anymore. I feel powerful.”

Two years after the conflict began, Ukraine’s Jews are inspired anew each day, resolute in the sure knowledge that they know exactly who they’re working for — each other.

[thelastgherkin]

GHERKIN’S UNTITLED GUIDEBOOK PROJECT (Part 2 of ???)

Last time I posted some of these was nearly three years ago.  This one has been sat in my drafts since May 2022 waiting for other pages to join it that have so far not materialised.  Today’s other Bumblebee gallery felt like a good enough occasion to launch it!

Please enjoy this blend between Transformers (2007 movie), Car and Cable, BotBots, and my refusal to use the name Exhaust.  Text transcription after the break!

MUFFY

(Repurposed from Worlds Collide Bumblebee)

A.K.A. Muffler

Faction: Autobot

Primary function: Xenolinguist

Bio: War rarely offers second chances, so when given the option to voluntarily separate from the Autobots to live in disguise on Earth, Muffler seized the opportunity with great enthusiasm.  The sights, the sounds, the culture – to Muffler, it’s all so wonderful. Her boundless fascination with alien societies developed after a voicebox dysfunction required her to explore alternate means of communication.  To be among an unfamiliar species in all its splendour proved irresistible… and led to her accidentally revealing herself to a small-town farming family, the Conroys, not long after leaving the Ark.  Taken in by them and “talking” using borrowed radio broadcasts, she is discovering all about human culture from Matt and his children, Eddie and Wendy – the latter of whom nicknamed her “Muffy”, for short – just as much as they are learning to see life through a new lens from her.

Muffy has a stubborn side, however, and not just in her squabbles with the Conroys’ dog, Burt Reynolds.  An avowed pacifist, Muffy has held a deep disgust for the war ever since her conscription and, in the hopes of quelling a resurgence of the conflict, has smuggled the life-giving Allspark away from the Ark.  Keeping it hidden means that she and the Conroys have to put up with occasional outbreaks of mutated household appliances, but to Muffy, that’s preferable to sending newborn bots into a fight they never chose.

Quote: “War!  What is it good for?  Absolutely nothing!”

Weapons/abilities: Muffy is a master communicator, having studied many of the galaxy’s spoken and written languages, and she is also fluent in Cybertronian Sign Language.  Her specialisation in xenolinguistics has given her the skills to find unorthodox ways of communicating with alien species that do not necessarily use verbal means.  This resourcefulness also extends to her daily life with the Conroys, as she can quickly scan her surroundings for anything to help her in her regular activities of rounding up mutations, carrying out wilderness rescues, or merely hiding from the neighbours.

Muffy is capable of deploying hydrofoils in vehicle mode, should the need arise.

Weaknesses: Muffy’s natural inquisitiveness, impulsivity, and fierce loyalty to the Conroys often lead her into situations from which she must quickly backpedal.  While pacifism should never be regarded a weakness, Muffy has little combat experience and no armaments; she would be out of her depth should the war ever find her and her new family.  The Decepticon also named Muffler may target her, seeing her as an affront to his name.

Alternate mode: Hatchback sports coupe

[oc-cafe]

The Royalty Representation Project Presents...

An apology by Mod Sam. For the extremely long hiatus.

My reasons are life and a BAD case of writer's block. Nothing else, really. But that's all over now, which is why I'm hyped to announce Boundless's return!!

When exactly will said return I've been yelling about on my main blog for the past few weeks happen? Well...

[I.D.: Digital drawing of a brown skinned man in gold armour. He has shoulder-length black hair, and his face is shadowed. He is looking at the viewer with a serious expression. He is wearing a gold necklace. The background is a grey wall. Text on top: BOUNDLESS; Returns June 4th, Sunday. End I.D.]

Boundless returns this Sunday, and introduces a new character with it mmm 👀

Taglist and other verisons of the drawing under cut:

Mod Tag: @stressedsnake @ne0npurplefantasies (though i suppose you guys can see it prematurely in the queue lol)

Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @ghostdragoncookie @jewishdainix @ialmostdonothingnew @just-call-me-a-god @death-and-the-lady13 @mister-finally-found-himself @coffeelovinggayidiot @pinkyy-promises @sassychaostrash @lesbiansayaishii @a-cloud-for-dreams @brkh96 @i-likestuff86 @redvelvetpdf

yeah so i spent way too much time on this for it to be removed in shading. white background version + closeup

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 22

Chapters: 22/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92, @bridkesby If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Your wonderful vacation in the Dreaming came to an end as Morpheus bestowed gifts and boundless love. Upon arriving at Cape Kennedy, you learned that Lyta's child had already been born. Subtle changes had occurred in everyone's lives, unexpected transformations altering their paths forever. You, on the other hand, faced a tumultuous return to work, grappling with severe physical fatigue back in London.

Author's note: Hello! I hope you guys have been well. Here's another lengthy update for you. I recently realized that in the previous chapter, the name the Reader gave to the deer—Astra—is the same as the little girl Johanna tried to save and lost. This was initially coincidental, as I couldn't recall her name at all. However, it sparked a nice idea that I'll explain towards the end of the story. I didn't want to leave anything to chance, and since the name felt fitting, changing it seemed inappropriate considering all the research I put into it. Instead, I've found a clever way to explain this "glitch" in the narrative. It's not something huge plot-wise, just something that will justify the repeated name.

Now, this chapter delves deeper into the lore of Cape Kennedy's side characters, all of which I've created myself. I wanted to explore a few specific aspects here, as things might become a bit chaotic/dramatic in the next update. I need to ensure I've covered everything thoroughly.

Also, I'm currently revising the first chapters, improving the wording and adding some enrichment. While the story itself will remain unchanged, I aim to make it sound consistent and cohesive from start to finish. After returning to writing in 2022, I've dedicated time to studying and practicing, which has influenced the story's progression. It's hard to believe this fic will be two years old in December!

(The upgraded chapters haven't been uploaded yet. I'll edit each one as soon as they're prepared and ready for posting.)

Gazing at the magnificent Dreaming scenery before you, you heaved a sigh of displeasure. You were fully prepared—though not emotionally ready—to return to Cape Kennedy and depart from the enchanting realm of dreams.

It was absurd, really. You could visit Morpheus's domain every night in your dreams, and he'd even invited you to return physically anytime in the future. There was no logical reason for such despondency; this wasn't a permanent goodbye, after all.

Yet, as you contemplated going back to your normal life, a nagging feeling deep in your consciousness reminded you of the Dreaming's importance to your soul. Leaving it behind felt like bidding farewell to the most beautiful vacation of your life, your heart already aching for it before you'd even left.

Morpheus's arrival heralded your imminent exit from his world. As you turned to greet him, your eyes were drawn to a wooden box nestled in the crook of his right arm. Its intricate design lent it a substantial appearance, adorned with golden decorations reminiscent of your chamber's style and Morpheus' preference.

Curiously, you asked, "What is that?"

He stepped forward, cradling the box in his hands as he examined it. "This is a gift I have prepared for you."

"Another gift? Morpheus, you're truly being too generous."

He smiled, drawing closer to you. "You need only ask, and it shall be yours. All that you long for."

Overcome by a fresh surge of affection for this extraordinary being whom you cherished above all else, you gently cradled his face in your hands and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender, yet laced with unmistakable determination. "And here I thought nothing could top last night's surprise."

You leaned in for another kiss, finding yourself unable to stop, lost in the moment with the man from whom you could scarcely tear yourself away. Morpheus seemed equally content, returning your kisses with matching fervor until you were both satisfied.

"Do you not you want to see it?" he asked teasingly.

Clearing your throat, you reluctantly detached yourself, taking a deep breath. "Yes, of course."

Instead of opening the box himself, he offered it to you expectantly. You took it with extreme care, almost afraid it might slip from your grasp and shatter. As you held it, you were surprised by how light it felt compared to its sturdy exterior. When you unlatched the front lock, a warm pulse of power emanated from it, tingling your fingertips and running down your spine.

You lifted the lid, revealing the contents nestled on a black velvet cushion. Your eyes widened in astonishment at the sight before you: a luminous pearl-white moonflower that glowed like a living lantern, a palm-sized amethyst crystal of the deepest, most mesmerizing purple, a small glass vial filled with sand— its cap tightly sealed with a thin cord, and a golden bangle that looked tailor-made for your wrist, its surface embellished with tiny, star-shaped crystals that glimmered brilliantly in the light. 

"This blossom shall retain its ethereal beauty, forever in bloom, defying the laws of mortality even as it graces the realm of the Waking," he explained. "The amethyst, a stone of grounding, shall grant immediate solace upon your touch."

"What about the sand?”

"This sand, harvested from the very essence of your Dreamland, bears the same properties as that which resides within my pouch. It is a fragment of your dreams made tangible."

Morpheus's sand, granted to you as a gift…?

"Can I really accept this? Your sand is such a vital source of your power."

"Though but a mere fragment, I am confident in your discretion to safeguard it from unworthy hands."

"That goes without saying. I'll guard it with my life."

He raised his hand, gently brushing the box and allowing his fingers to meet yours in the process. "I have placed tokens of my devotion to you in this vessel of memories, eternal artifacts that shall evoke recollections of your stay in this realm."

Morpheus continued to surpass your expectations effortlessly, offering gift after gift without expecting anything in return. His boundless generosity left you feeling humbled and almost insignificant in comparison.

The bangle needed no introduction. Its aesthetic perfectly complemented the starry theme of the Dreaming while matching the bracelet your mother had given you. As you admired it, you eagerly anticipated wearing them together.

"This is beautiful," you whispered, gently closing the box and caressing its ornate surface. "Thank you, Morpheus. This means the world to me."

“Should you wish for anything else, I will provide it for you.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's only one thing I'd love to bring home with me, but that's not allowed."

As you took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his cool ones, Morpheus immediately grasped your meaning and responded with a subtle smile. "I shall be with you always, my love." 

“I know.”

"Are you ready, my love?" Morpheus asked gently.

“No.”

His shoulders slumped slightly as he gazed at you with affectionate amusement. "Y/N…"

"Sorry, I'm kidding. Well, sort of. Maybe. Not really. But yes, I am ready."

Clutching the strap of your bag, you awaited Morpheus's magic. He gathered you in his embrace, his forehead gently touching yours as he closed his eyes, yours following suit instinctively. A gust of wind tousled your hair, accompanied by the soft swoosh of rising sand. You sensed your surroundings change, the Dreaming gradually fading into the distance, yet remaining forever tethered to you by an invisible thread.

As you remained motionless with your eyes shut tight, Morpheus called your name in a low, velvety voice. "Y/N."

“Mh?”

"We have arrived in the Waking World."

The familiar scents of Florida's natural environment and the subtle shift in ambient light confirmed your return to Cape Kennedy. Still, you found it difficult to release your hold on him, struggling to accept that the most unforgettable week of your life had come to an end.

It was childish, you reasoned, considering how much work awaited you in your waking life. You weren't truly separating from Morpheus or the Dreaming, but a part of you wondered if you could ever truly balance your existence between these two worlds, or if you were inextricably tied to just your own.

You were a mortal connected to an Endless being, with time's relentless march ever-present. Could you truly hope to make the Dreaming your permanent abode?

His lips grazed your cheek, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. "Do you intend to stand here indefinitely?"

“If I do, will you take me back?”

He tenderly caressed your jawline, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "My love, my heart longs to keep you eternally in my embrace. If only I could yield to such selfishness.”

With a resigned sigh, you finally opened your eyes to meet his countenance. "You could. I wouldn't complain."

He shook his head gently. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Everything." One hand clutched the memory box, while the other trailed along his chest, settling on his covered collarbones. "But I understand you have vital duties, as do I with my own responsibilities."

"Thank you, Y/N, for allowing me to bring you into my realm. Your devotion for the Dreaming is immeasurable, I cherish it with all that I am."

"The Dreaming is you," you said with a smile. "How could I not adore it?"

Every word you spoke to him, so honest and filled with humanity's most precious light, never failed to make him—the Lord of Dreams, an ever-darker creature—happier than he ever thought he deserved to be.

"I must leave you now, my love. Take heart, for I will seek you in your dreams.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to your side. "I love you, Morpheus. You know that, don't you?"

"I do. And my love for you, my dear, transcends the very fabric of existence, encompassing all realms, both dreamt and waking."

He pulled you close for one last, lingering kiss before reluctantly letting you go.

"Ever the poet," you remarked with a grin. "Just one of the countless things I like about you."

"Are you attempting to keep me here with you?"

“Is it working?”

He let out a soft chuckle. "I am afraid not. But wherever you go, I will follow."

"That's enough, I suppose."

For a moment longer, you looked deeply into each other's eyes as a wordless understanding passed between you. Then, Morpheus's sand reappeared, rising from the ground at his feet and gradually swirling around his form. You stepped back, giving his powers room to work, as a cloud of grains swallowed him completely. In an instant, the sand twirled and dissipated, leaving no trace of Morpheus as he vanished back to his realm.

You exhaled, feeling a complex blend of satisfaction and wistful melancholy.

Hal's B&B stood just a few feet away. As you retrieved your phone from your bag and powered it on, you were astonished to find that barely a few hours had passed since leaving the hotel in Georgia. Morpheus had mentioned that time flowed differently in the Dreaming, but it was still mind-boggling to realize you'd spent seven days in his company, only to essentially travel back in time.

With a final loving glance at the box, you carefully tucked it into your bag and set off. The house's door stood unlocked, and as you entered, Hal's voice greeted you warmly as soon as you crossed the threshold.

"Welcome back!" He exclaimed enthusiastically. "How was the Cereal Convention? I heard it was brimming with fascinating events."

If only he knew the mayhem you had witnessed there. "Fascinating? That doesn't even begin to describe it.".

You wondered if the news had reported anything about the man who had taken his own life in the car, or if they had even remotely mentioned the rest of the cult, now cursed by Morpheus to a lifetime of regrets.

"I bet," he said mischievously. "Rose told me you got quite a pleasant surprise."

You blinked in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Come now, no need to be coy, sweetheart. You know secrets don't stay hidden for long in this house."

You realized Rose must have concocted a story to account for your absence. Whatever tale she had spun, you found yourself at a loss for how to navigate this unexpected situation. 

“Well…”

"Your boyfriend showed up unexpectedly to pick you up, didn’t he? Now that's what I call romantic!"

Oh.

You had to admit, that wasn't entirely inaccurate. "You've caught me red-handed."

He graciously helped you remove your jacket as you clutched your bag tightly, guarding it as if it contained your most precious possessions, which couldn't be nearer to the truth.

"No wonder you look radiant. I'd recognize that glow anywhere."

"What can I say? He has a flair for dramatic appearances."

As you entered the dining room, you found only Chantal and Zelda at the table, their brunch plates cleared. An unusual hush blanketed the house, a stark departure from its typical bustling energy.

“Hey girls.”

“Good morning, Y/N,” Chantal replied cordially. "Zelda says hello as well."

"Where's everyone else? Have they not risen yet?"

Hal joined them, gesturing invitingly towards an empty chair. "Ah, you've missed quite a bit. You won't believe what's happened."

Taking a seat beside him at the table, you narrowed your eyes. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

"No, no, quite the opposite. You see... it's about Lyta; she's given birth."

Your jaw dropped so suddenly that you half-expected it to clatter onto the floor. How could Lyta have delivered her baby so quickly? Could her time with her husband in the Dreaming have stretched longer, similar to your own experience with the King of Dreams?

“What…?”

"I know. Crazy, right? Did you even know she was pregnant? I don't think Rose ever noticed either."

"I didn't," you replied. "It's generally not something you easily miss... though, I've read about cryptic pregnancies before.”

"Yes, but can a belly grow that big overnight? It wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen lately, but…"

You pursed your lips, wracking your brain for a plausible explanation for such an extraordinary occurrence. Yet, try as you might, no rational justification presented itself.

"Rose and Jed accompanied Barbie and Ken to the hospital," Chantal interjected.

"We're heading there in a couple of hours,” Hal said. “Are you free? You're welcome to come with us."

You agreed without hesitation. "Absolutely. I've got plenty of time before my next appointment with Andrew, so I'm in."

"Great! We're all eager to meet the little one."

Despite the maelstrom of thoughts in your mind, you chose to set aside your confusion. There was little point in fixating on inexplicable events, especially since you'd come to understand that the Dreaming's magic and uniqueness often transcended conventional reasoning.

Eager to keep your mind occupied, you insisted on helping Hal with the cleaning, brushing aside his protests. After your ample rest, staying active appealed to you more than idling about in the living room. As he washed the dishes, you meticulously dried the tableware and set everything neatly in its place. Hal hummed random songs intermittently, his voice filling the kitchen with cheerfulness and positivity.

"So, this boyfriend of yours. Does he travel often?" Hal inquired, passing you a freshly washed glass.

"Mm, you could say he's practically omnipresent," you replied with a knowing smile.

"He must have quite an important job," Hal observed, his tone a mix of curiosity and admiration.

"It's vital, indeed. His work shapes the very fabric of our existence."

Realizing you had inadvertently revealed more than intended, you bit your tongue. Fortunately, Hal didn't seem inclined to pry further.

"I admire people like that. Those who can truly change the world."

"You have that power too, in your own way."

"I'm not so sure about that," Hal replied modestly. "Though I must admit, I'm finally considering selling this place."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You're going to sell your grandmother's house?"

Hal chuckled. "I've been thinking; dreams can really change your perspective. No matter how bizarre they get."

You gave his upper arm a friendly squeeze. "Whatever path you choose, I'm confident it'll be the right one for you."

"I haven't made any final decisions yet, but I'm now open to giving my career a real shot. Who knows? Maybe next year you'll hear my name as the greatest Broadway performer of all time."

"I can absolutely see that happening. You shine on stage, Hal. I'm sure I've mentioned that before."

The conversation flowed naturally, weaving through various topics, from Hal's future aspirations to your creative pursuits and life in London. Amidst the discussion, he brought up the unusual dream experience that he and the others had collectively undergone, featuring Rose and the Vortex in action. Remarkably, they all vividly recalled the events leading up to Morpheus's attempt to halt Rose's power, but none of them could adequately describe or explain why—or how—this dream had manifested for all of them at once.

His willingness to openly discuss the event with you, regardless of your apparent status as an outsider and his unawareness of your actual involvement, left you astounded. Although he intentionally kept his descriptions vague, they unanimously agreed that Rose had been rather special since her arrival. 

You refrained from confirming or denying it. While the truth was irrefutable, you were reluctant to raise further questions about a girl who had already endured so much on her own.

The dream had left an indelible mark on each of them, sparking a self-reflection and personal development. Apparently, cracks had begun to show in Barbie and Ken's relationship, and Hal was confident it was only a matter of time before it crumbled completely. This revelation didn't surprise you, as you'd harbored reservations about Ken from your very first encounter.

As the late morning wore on, you carved out a private moment in your room. Seated on the bed, you gazed at Morpheus's gifts, a broad smile illuminating your face and a bright sparkle dancing in your eyes. You picked up the golden bangle, turning it over in your hands to look at its minimalist design. Despite its simplicity, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry you'd ever seen, with its diamond-like stars twinkling brilliantly in the sunlight. As you slipped it onto your wrist, you marveled at its perfect fit, neither too loose nor too tight. It sat snugly against your skin, complementing your mother's leafy bracelet perfectly, as if it were crafted specifically for this pairing. Considering Morpheus's particular attention to detail regarding your appearance, you realized that this harmonious combination was no accident, but rather a deliberate choice on his part.

You missed him deeply, craving his presence with an intensity that eclipsed even your need for breath. It was natural, given that you had been virtually inseparable during your time together, except for the brief absences he was compelled to make. 

Still, you found yourself contemplating your relationship from a new angle, considering the prospect of deepening your bond with him. Was it even possible for a mortal to unite in marriage with an Endless?

Theoretically, given the universal rule that barred Nada from being his lover, you might conclude the answer was no.  Nevertheless, Morpheus had speculated that your Goddess DNA could have shielded you from the dreadful fate his ex had endured as punishment for her transgression.

Ruminating on the matter excessively would only result in mental fatigue.

Shortly thereafter, you journeyed to the hospital with Hal, Chantal, and Zelda, feeling strangely fidgety since leaving the house. You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden unease, yet you were convinced it wasn't tied to any specific ill omen. There was simply an odd, indecipherable voice in the recesses of your mind, somehow linked to Lyta and the newborn child. You sensed that the baby's unusual conception, coupled with the Dreaming's essence flowing through its small body, had heightened your innate sensitivity, likely stemming from your deep affinity with Morpheus's realm and the Dream King himself.

Upon arrival, you found Rose and Jed already visiting Lyta and her newborn son, while Barbie and Ken waited patiently in the lobby for their turn. Barbie's characteristic cheerfulness and signature smile masked an entirely different story lurking behind her eyes. Ken appeared oblivious to her distress, his nonchalant demeanor indicating either genuine ignorance or—more likely—a callous disregard for her feelings.

Men like him were utterly contemptible, nothing more than walking deceptions.

The door to Lyta's room creaked open, prompting Barbie to spring to her feet and stride forward, Ken trailing behind. Rose and Jed emerged from around the corner, looking refreshed; their nightmarish ordeals hadn't been enough to break their spirits.

“My turn!” Barbie chirped, her laughter bubbling up.

"Prepare yourself," Rose noted with a smile. "He's pretty cute."

Ken exchanged a playful, masculine handshake and fist bump with Jed. “Oh, we are ready.”

From your seated position, you caught a glimpse of Barbie vanishing around the corner. Her voice dropped drastically, taking on a serious and resentful tone. “Uh, it’s one at a time.”

Ken's face fell, and you couldn't suppress a flicker of satisfaction. Bravo, Barbie!

“Wha… Oh, come on. Babe! Baby, it was just a dream!”

Glancing at Hal, you noticed he was equally captivated by the unfolding drama. "See? I told you," he whispered.

"Do I really want to know what he's referring to?" You asked.

"Oh, that he was caught being literally blown by another woman in his car? No, I don't think you want to know."

Your jaw clenched instantly. "Well, I'll be damned."

Chantal and Zelda, as composed as ever, exuded the aura of gothic countesses in their distinctive black dresses and veils. You'd grown accustomed to their dark appearance, finding them both incredibly beautiful and sophisticated.

Rose and Jed joined you in the waiting room, the girl’s eyes meeting yours with a silent understanding.

“How are they doing?” Hal queried, adjusting his position in the chair.

“Great,” she answered. “The hospital’s releasing them tonight and then we’ll fly home tomorrow.”

“Oh, so soon?” Chantal exclaimed.

Indeed, it felt as if no time had passed since you first met Rose. You'd grown so attached to her that it seemed you'd known her for years, not mere days.

“To New Brunswick,” Hal concluded. “How far is that from New York?”

“Mm, less than an hour. Why?”

“I don’t know, I had this dream last night and now I’m thinking, what if I sell the house and move back?”

Evidently, Hal's indecision about his future plans had dissipated, and his mind was now set on a clear course of action.

Rose's eyes lit up with delight, while Zelda and Chantal exchanged a meaningful look. Words were superfluous between them; Zelda's face, though usually expressionless except for her shy smile, conveyed all her companion needed to know with subtle nuances that only Chantal could interpret.

“We’ll buy the house,” she declared.

A collective gasp of shock rippled through those present, with Hal himself rendered speechless by such an unexpected announcement. The initial bewilderment quickly gave way to joyful smiles as everyone recognized how perfectly all the pieces were falling into place.

Your heart swelled with joy as you beheld the radiant expressions adorning the faces around you, a sight that filled you with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

As time wore on, Hal, Chantal, and Zelda took turns visiting Lyta and her unnamed newborn. Barbie's despondency had resurfaced, even as she tried to hide it from the others. Ken persistently badgered her to accept that he meant no harm, but any self-respecting woman would banish a man who dreamed of another straight to Lucifer's hell.

As you approached the vending machine for a drink, Rose excused herself and followed, clearly seeking a private conversation out of earshot from the rest of the group.

“Hey.”

"Hey," you answered with a warm smile. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay. I'm still a bit shaken when I think about everything that happened, but... Jed's here with me. That's all that matters."

"He's adorable, by the way," you commented.

"You should've seen him when he was five."

You cracked open your favorite caffeinated beverage, offering Rose one as well. She declined with a shake of her head, her eyes fixed on her feet, revealing a nervousness about what she wanted to say.

When she remained silent, you broke the awkward moment. "Thank you for covering for me," you said gratefully. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I figured they'd ask where you went. I wasn't sure when you'd be back, so."

"I must say, you're quite talented when it comes to coming up with excuses on the spot."

Rose laughed softly.  "It wasn't easy. I also had to tell them Gilbert returned to his country due to an "urgent family matter."”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

You leaned against the vending machine, sipping your drink as another silence settled between you. Rose crossed her arms, shifting restlessly with her foot—an anxious tic that only accentuated her growing discomfort.

You sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Rose, it's okay. Whatever you want to ask me, go ahead."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

You shook your head reassuringly. "It's fine, really. I imagine you have quite a few questions."

"I hope I'm not overstepping, but... is there something going on between you and Lord Morpheus?"

While the question didn't catch you off guard, you considered your options. You could have lied, keeping your relationship with the Endless private and shielding your love from potential judgment. Rose had likely witnessed only the darkness surrounding the Lord of Dreams, unaware of the heart of gold it concealed; a heart heavily scarred from suffering and betrayal.

Ultimately, you decided against it.

A faint smile played on your lips. "Yes, Rose. We are together."

"Oh. Wow, I... I had a feeling, but..."

"You didn't want to jump to conclusions."

“Yeah.”She paused, collecting her thoughts. “It’s just… there's so much I don't understand. When Dream said Jed and I are ‘Children of the Endless’, what did he even mean?"

How could you explain it to her, considering her great-grandfather was one of the cruelest entities in the entire universe, willing to callously manipulate their own sibling and any mortal they came across?

"Is it related to the golden-eyed man Unity saw in her dreams?"

"I'm afraid I can't provide a definitive answer to that," you confessed, feigning ignorance. "In a way, you and your brother are very special, Rose. That’s all I know.”

She mulled over your words, clearly unsatisfied with the explanation, yet accepting it as sufficient for her current needs.

"He's not… really that bad, is he? Morpheus."

“No. He’s not.”

"I know he didn't really want to kill me. I was damaging his world without even knowing what I was doing. It was all my fault to begin with."

You gently touched her elbow, your hand warm against her skin. "You didn't ask to become a Vortex, it was just an unexpected twist of fate you didn't deserve."

"Yes, but I still hurt my friends. Lyta, Hector... even Jed, Hal, everyone around me."

Your hand slid along her wrist as you took her hand in yours. "It was the Vortex. Not you."

"But I was the Vortex. When Dream took Hector, I hated him. I thought he was a monster. Lyta was suffering, and I blamed him for it."

“And now?”

She hesitated, contemplating her response. "Now… I don't, really. It was harsh, but I was the one who set all this in motion. He did what he had to, I guess."

Your smile widened. “Rose…”

"And Unity," she continued. "She gave her life just to save me."

The pain she endured defied consolation, and a persistent guilt would likely shadow her for the foreseeable future.

"She was happy, you know," you revealed. "And very proud of you."

“Unity…?”

"I won't pretend to understand what you're feeling right now. The trauma you've endured is not something that can be easily erased. But I can tell you this: your great-grandmother is at peace.She made her sacrifice for you without any regrets.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Having weathered numerous losses throughout her life, Rose had honed the ability to remain resilient in most situations, a strength she maintained not only for herself but also for those she held dear.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Her voice quivered, and you pulled her into a comforting hug. She gratefully melted into your embrace, finding solace in the warmth she could no longer receive from her mother's arms.

“You’re welcome, Rosie.”

Lyta's baby was a true delight, innocent and tiny, with cheeks so soft they resembled the most delicate confection. You could feel the Dreaming's traces on the infant, yet to anyone else, he appeared perfectly human.  The moment you drew closer, his little hand instinctively grasped your finger, awakening an unexpected maternal, protective instinct in you. Lyta simply smiled, observing how you'd make a wonderful mother someday, a comment you met with a nervous laugh.

The strange gut discomfort you felt vanished as soon as you left the hospital. You had the impression that something about Lyta was not ordinary, but you couldn't quite discern what it meant. Perhaps it was a consequence of your travel between the Dreaming and the Waking World, causing unusual perceptions as you readjusted.

That evening, Lyta and her newborn son were discharged as expected. While Hal finalized the house sale with Chantal and Zelda, you joined the group for a pleasant conversation in the living room, idly toying with your new bracelet as you slid it up and down your wrist. You thoroughly enjoyed your time at the B&B, appreciating the company of wonderful people (with one notable exception) who helped brighten Lyta's mood. The loss of her husband had left an indelible mark, and you admired how everyone tactfully avoided the sensitive subject, refraining from asking questions about the baby's father.

Barbie looked somewhat distracted, her face less vibrant than usual, a subtle alteration that seemed to go unnoticed. She maintained a facade of joy and vivacity, barely interacting with Ken, who sat uncomfortably close to you on the couch. You felt urged to speak with her, but that would have to wait for a more appropriate time.

Despite the tragedies and misadventures he'd faced, Jed was an incredibly adaptable and optimistic kid. His face beamed with smiles, clearly overjoyed at being reunited with his beloved sister. At some point in the evening, you engaged in an enthusiastic discussion with him about popular superhero movies and comics. Rose playfully teased Jed about how, under Gault's influence, he had impersonated a Marvel-esque version of The Sandman. Her lighthearted comment drew genuine laughter from both of you, and Jed rolled his eyes, insisting he had been incredibly cool and powerful in that form.

As night fell, everyone retired to their rooms. Lyta excused herself first, cradling her precious newborn away from the adoring eyes. Rose followed shortly after, and Jed was offered the vacant attic room, formerly Fiddler's Green's quarters. 

Sliding beneath the covers of a bed that wasn't the grand canopy in the Dreaming felt oddly unfamiliar to you. You longed for the soft caress of your enchanted nightgown, the mesmerizing sparkle of crystals, and the soothing ebb and flow of gradient waves on the walls. It seemed paradoxical to long for a place you visited nightly, yet a strange void persisted inside you, like an emptiness you couldn't quite articulate.

With heavy eyelids, you succumbed to slumber, hoping to find Morpheus awaiting your return in the realm of dreams.

You felt weightless, adrift in an ocean of billowing fabrics that obscured the path ahead. Wandering without direction, you pressed forward into the unknown. A distant cry pierced the air, beckoning you closer. As you continued, the fabrics parted, revealing a crib in the distance. The surroundings were hazy and barren, bathed in an ethereal, blue glow.

The more you walked, the farther the crib seemed to get. No matter how hard you tried to reach it, it was as if you were walking on an infinite treadmill. The child inside was whimpering, pleading for you to arrive. 

You pressed on, yet the distance remained unchanged. Anxiety constricted your chest, making it hard to breathe, despite the absence of any visible threat. 

Then the crib began to fade, enveloped by a soft, nebula-like cloud, vanishing into nothingness. You were left uncertain about what you had witnessed, wondering if the baby represented Lyta's son or simply acted as a subconscious symbol; perhaps indicating fresh starts and possibilities. 

Unable to decipher its significance, you endeavored to interpret the dream's significance to no avail. As the vision continued, your consciousness gradually reasserted itself, and you immediately transitioned into an entirely new dreamscape.

You stood in an expansive, surreal forest where trees spiraled upward like great pillars, their trunks woven from shimmering threads of silver and dark purple. The sky above pulsed with colors you'd never seen before—streaks of emerald, amethyst, and soft coral flowing and colliding like auroras. A gentle mist blanketed the forest ground, and as you moved, flowers bloomed beneath your feet. With each step, you ventured deeper into the woods, where strange, beautiful creatures drifted past in the mist, unusual animals with translucent bodies and magical eyes. You felt at peace now, as if this place knew you, welcomed you.

Whatever the crib represented, it couldn't be anything sinister.

The fog lifted, and your heart skipped a beat as you noticed a figure nearby. From the shadows between the trees, Morpheus emerged, his presence both distinct and seamlessly integrated into the scenery. Clad in black that melded with the night's darkness, he seemed to carry the very stars in his eyes and attire. As he approached, the dream's colors intensified, responding to him like a lover's touch.

Your breath itched as he stopped before you, his gaze soft yet filled with an intensity that only Morpheus could hold. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing his cool hand. He took it gently, as though grazing something precious. The bracelet he gifted you gleamed golden alongside your mother's cuff. 

"Your dreams grow more beautiful with each passing night, in ever more resplendent tapestries," he murmured, his voice resonating through the forest.

A smile lit your face, and he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you to bring you into his loving casing. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The dreamscape reacted again, a gentle breeze sweeping through the trees, sending petals into a soft dance around you.

"Every time I'm with you, I feel complete," you whispered.

Morpheus tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as his eyes softened with a tenderness that was becoming more frequent. "Then let this moment last for as long as you're asleep," he said, his lips meeting yours in a kiss as warm and infinite as the dream itself. 

You cuddled against him, sinking into the tranquility and depth of your connection, as the environment continued to pulse with revitalizing energy. 

As you parted, he held your face in his hands, his cerulean irises tracing your every feature as though etching this moment into his memory. "I am bound to you, in dreams and beyond," he uttered genty. "No place, nor time, can keep me from finding you."

"Never cease seeking me. Please."

"Never, my love. And you, forever call upon my name, through the realms of fantasy and waking.”

It was rather striking to reflect on how Rose and Lyta had arrived in Cape Kennedy as a pair and were now departing the B&B as a quartet, a poignant example of dreams' transformative power. Their journey exemplified how the seemingly impossible can indeed materialize into reality.

Hal assured he would join them once everything was properly settled and his belongings were packed, ready for the grand opening of a new live show; the next chapter of his life.

While you couldn't reveal to Rose the book she'd one day write, you encouraged her to pursue graduate school, confident in her potential for extraordinary accomplishments. Your time together had been brief, yet saying goodbye to her tugged at your heartstrings. What had begun as a simple work collaboration in Florida had flourished into something far more meaningful; you'd cultivated new friendships that you hoped would stand the test of time, enduring long after this unexpected adventure.

In the blink of an eye, the house suddenly felt much emptier.

Throughout the day, you noticed Barbie's conspicuous absence from the common areas, rarely catching a glimpse of her around the house. Ken mentioned that Barbie was feeling unwell and had decided to recuperate in their room. The situation raised suspicion, especially since Ken seemed more intent on hovering around you in the kitchen, attempting to engage you in unwelcome conversation. Oblivious to your signals, he disregarded your curt responses and clearly disinterested tone, persisting in his efforts at dialogue.

"You know, I was thinking, you haven't seen much of Cape Kennedy, have you? I could take you on a tour one of these days."

You froze with your cup of tea suspended midair, staring blankly at him as Hal cleared his throat.

"I appreciate the offer, but I have work commitments," you replied, your tone icy.

"Ah, yes, of course. But maybe I could, you know, offer you a ride after dinner one evening?"

You felt utterly disgusted, the tea suddenly losing its flavor in your mouth. Ken's partner was confined to their room, claiming to be ill. But here he was, attempting to flirt with you behind Barbie's back.

His behavior was reprehensible. You abandoned your drink, pouring it down the sink and hastily rinsing the mug.

"Oh! What about dining out? I know a lovely restaurant by the beach."

Ugh.

You considered answering with more excuses to make him desist, but you knew such tactics wouldn't deter a man like him. Ultimately, you decided that a razor-sharp response was your only way out.

"Look, I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate your persistence. And believe me, he's not the forgiving type."

Ken's grin faltered, though he still tried to maintain his charm. "I was just—"

"You're asking me out while your girl is sick upstairs. How considerate of you."

Hal, clearly intrigued by the unfolding scene, became more attentive, his eyes fixed on the two of you.

"You may be accustomed to women fawning over you, but let me be crystal clear: I wouldn't consider someone like you even if you were the last man on Earth."

Ken stood frozen, his smile fixed and hollow, utterly speechless. He seemed incapable of formulating any coherent sentence, caught off guard by your blunt rejection.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," you said, turning on your heel and striding away.

Without looking back, you left Ken to contemplate your rebuff as you climbed the stairs, the kitchen falling into a telling hush. There was only one pressing matter you wanted to address now: Barbie. If Ken was failing to provide the care and support she needed, perhaps a friendly visit could lift her spirits more effectively than her inconsiderate partner could.

You recognized that Ken's intentions weren't specifically malicious, but his casual fantasizing about other women and viewing dates outside his relationship as normal proved he was incapable of full commitment. How Barbie had managed to tolerate him for so long was incomprehensible, but you couldn't help admiring her patience.

You paused before her room, knocking softly a few times, and waited for a response that never came. Though you surmised she might be asleep, an intuition whispered otherwise.

"Barbie?" you called gently. "It's Y/N. Are you all right in there?"

Soft footsteps padded across the floor, followed by the click of the door's lock. As it swung open, Barbie showed up, looking visibly drained. Her face, devoid of its usual makeup, and her refined clothes replaced by simple pajamas, presented a notable difference from her typical polished appearance.

“Hey!”

Her forced glee hit you right in the chest, totally unconvincing, with puffy eyes revealing recent tears.

"Hey. Is everything okay?" You inquired again.

"Yeah! It's just a headache. Nothing serious!"

You exhaled softly, your brow furrowing with concern. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, really! I just need some rest," she insisted with another artificial grin, her voice wavering slightly.

"Barbie, I know I'm still relatively new to you, and you might not feel comfortable opening up to me. But if you need anything at all, even just a listening ear, I'm here for you."

She looked at you in silence, her veneer of cheerfulness intact but slowly crumbling. Her smile faded, lips curving downward as her head dropped in defeat. “Would you like to come in?”

Relieved, you nodded. "If I may."

“Sure.”

She stepped aside, inviting you in. As you entered, the door closed behind you, cocooning the two of you in privacy. Barbie walked to the rumpled bed and sat down, patting the spot in front of her with the familiarity of an old friend at a sleepover. On one of the nightstands, an empty mug stood sentinel beside a few untouched, stale cookies.

"I hope I didn't disturb you," you said, settling onto the mattress.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping at all.”

"What's wrong? I promise you, anything you say will remain confidential."

Barbie let out a chuckle that quickly morphed into a sniffle. "I feel like I can't confide in anyone. People would think I’m silly for even considering this."

You moved forward, tentatively placing your hand on hers. "It can't be foolish if it's keeping you locked into your room."

She shook her head slowly, her eyes welling up as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Have you ever felt like you've lost something important, something that doesn't even exist?"

“What do you mean?”

She released a desperate laugh, a hysterical sound that bore no resemblance to genuine mirth. "I... I used to have this beautiful dream. I had many incredible friends, talking animals that cared for and protected me. Can you imagine?”

You offered an encouraging smile, listening attentively.

"My closest companion was Martin Tenbones, a creature resembling a giant dog... or whatever he was meant to be. You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Not at all. I'm intrigued and would love to hear more about your dream world," you replied warmly.

"It's hard to put into words. It wasn't just a fantasy, it felt like another life. A place where I could be more than just 'Barbie', but finally myself."

"You're speaking about it in the past tense..."

Her tears flowed more freely. "I’m afraid I can’t dream about it anymore."

Oh…

"Last night, I had no dreams. I know it may not seem like a big deal, but I can tell that something has severed my connection to that world.”

Having witnessed your own dream beach reduced to an arid desert, you deeply empathized with Barbie's attachment to her personal subconscious place. Yet, you were fortunate to be with the Lord of Dreams, who could easily restore it to its original splendor, perhaps even enhance its beauty. Morpheus guided you through the Vortex's perils, extracting you from the Dreaming before your link to it could be irreparably damaged.

“I had a mission, something very important to do. And now I’m lost.”

“Barbie…”

"Ken wouldn't understand," she said with a hiccup. "He never does."

You squeezed her hand comfortingly, warmth spreading between your palms.

"I'm sorry. I told you this would sound stupid."

"Well, it's not," you replied with conviction. "As someone who understands the significance of dreams, I can tell you that your sadness is completely justified."

“Really…?”

"Yes. And please, forgive my frankness, but what do you see in a man like Ken?"

Her lower lip quivered as she wiped away her tears. "Honestly, I don't even know anymore. I thought we were perfect together, as ‘cliché as it can be, given our names."

You shrugged. "Names are just names. I doubt that's why you chose him."

"No. He made me feel special, loved… but I fear that was only a beautiful fairy tale. I knew he enjoyed flirting, but this? It’s just too much for me."

You hesitated to disclose Ken's invitation, fearing it would only exacerbate her distress. Considering her fragile emotional state, you couldn't bring yourself to be so insensitive.

"You deserve far better than what he's giving you. I can see that plain as day."

"I don't know. Maybe I set myself up for this. I should have seen the signs."

"We all make mistakes, we're only human. I've certainly had my share of faults in past relationships."

Barbie's lips quirked into a genuine smile, her first in a while. "Do you think I can find someone who'll treat me like a princess in the real world, too?"

"Not a princess. More like the magnificent queen you truly are."

Barbie chortled, and you joined in, feeling the atmosphere in the room finally lighten. "I mean it. You're beautiful, fun, sweet, and open to imaginative possibilities. You don't need a knight in shining armor, real princesses are perfectly capable of writing their own happy endings. Ken doesn't realize how lucky he is."

She swallowed hard, brushing away fresh tears with trembling hands.

"This is your life, Barbie, and I can't tell you what to do. I just hope you'll make the right choice for yourself. That guy's a perfect idiot, too immature to see how amazing you are."

As you stood from the bed, she sighed shakily, drawing her knees to her chest and curling into a ball. "Y/N… can I ask you something absurd?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think I'll ever be able to dream again?"

As you opened the door, you glanced back at Barbie's huddled form. Without Morpheus' insight, you couldn't fathom the fate of dreamers severed from the Dreaming by the Vortex. Lacking this crucial knowledge, you found yourself unable to offer a concrete answer to alleviate her sorrow.

Nevertheless, your heart told you there was only one logical, compassionate answer.

“I’m sure of it.”

The moment you left her to her own reflections, Barbie silently opened the bedside table's drawer, rummaging for an object she had discreetly tucked between books. As she retrieved it, she stared at the rose quartz pendant in her hand, now cold and lifeless, its power inexorably spent.

She clutched the pendant to her chest, inhaling deeply before exhaling, her resolve crystallizing.

As your first week in Florida concluded, your collaboration with Andrew grew more intensive with each meeting. More briefs poured in, shaping the project's trajectory for its official launch. When the first prototypes emerged from the workshop, it became clear that additional revisions were necessary. You had to conced that some of your ideas hadn't translated from concept to physical materials as seamlessly as you'd hoped. Undeterred, you offered to refine the sketches, either by incorporating crucial missing elements or starting anew with concepts that seemed to spring effortlessly from your imagination. This time, Andrew's approval wasn't required; his expression alone conveyed that the newly sewn sets embodied the perfection he had envisioned.

Meanwhile, Ken avoided approaching you in the house, hanging his head like a scolded puppy and barely mumbling greetings in the mornings. The atmosphere grew tense as Barbie silently declared her breakup with him by moving out of their shared room and into Rose's and Lyta's vacant chamber. Unsurprisingly, Ken's futile efforts to win Barbie back were nothing short of ridiculous, every excuse failing spectacularly, as if he were hurling himself against an invisible, elastic barrier.

To compound matters, Hal—Ken's sole confidant—had finally summoned the courage to permanently leave. With newfound confidence, he was determined to reunite with Rose and her family, bolstered by his belief that he could make it on Broadway. 

You had to admit, upon seeing Hal fully prepared with his suitcase and giant bag, he would likely be the person you'd miss the most in Cape Kennedy. Although Gilbert had quickly become your favorite (for reasons that now made much more sense), Hal had treated you like a best friend from the instant you emerged from Andrew's vehicle, seeing past your 'celebrity' status and addressing the authentic you with complete naturalness.

Moved by an irrepressible need to repay his kindness, you offered to create the perfect costume for his Dolly persona in the future, a gesture that made Hal's eyes sparkle with pure excitement. The prospect of wearing your design on stage made him feel like a star, and you eagerly anticipated seeing him perform for audiences worldwide.

As the days passed, the house grew more solitary, transforming into an unrecognizable place. Even Barbie decided to depart for New York by the tenth day of your stay, unwilling to endure Ken's omnipresence and compelled to rediscover herself through a new beginning. One by one, they were all witnessing their lives completely turned upside down, for better or worse, by the hand of Destiny. A fate that was clearly set in motion by the Vortex's influence, affecting their Waking World just as much as their dreams.

"Thank you, Y/N. You're a sweetheart," Barbie uttered gently, embracing you on the threshold. Her hug was so tight it nearly squeezed the breath from your lungs. "Let's keep in touch. I'd love to see you again sometime.”

"Absolutely," you said, gently rubbing her back. "Take good care of yourself, Barbie."

“You too.”

As the taxi pulled up, Barbie strode out of the house without a backward glance. Inside, Ken slumped on the couch, his face a portrait of total defeat. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had royally messed up, with no hope of mending the rift he had caused.

Barbie radiated a diva-like aura with her impeccably styled hair, flawless lipstick, and chic sunglasses that gave her the stunning look often adorning magazine covers. She waved at you, Chantal, and Zelda before entering the car, occupying the backseat with the grace of a regal swan. A large pink pendant hung from her neck, one she had never worn before, glistening and glowing under the sun.

In fact, it shimmered more brilliantly than any ordinary gemstone, causing your own necklace to suddenly warm against your skin. Before you could take a closer look, Barbie was gone, leaving her former home behind for an uncertain future.

You shook your head, dismissing that persistent feeling of déjà vu. Your attachment to the Dreaming was simply playing tricks on your mind, causing you to see things that weren't actually there.

Probably.

During your final days in Florida, you toiled relentlessly at Andrew's workshop, scarcely finding time to return to the B&B for rest. Chantal and Zelda seemed now solitary figures, quietly enjoying their drinks in the hushed house. Ken often disappeared into town, presumably in pursuit of a new conquest to seek solace in new companionship. Yet they looked unperturbed, their sweet smiles ever-present and nary a complaint voiced. 

While they genuinely missed their friends, Chantal and Zelda were self-sufficient women who found complete contentment in each other's company.

On the eve of your return to London, you had another vivid dream. While the recurring image of a newborn crying in an empty, bluish space persisted, your nightly visits to the Dreaming were becoming increasingly lifelike.

Morpheus accompanied you on most of your explorations, walking beside you or standing amidst the evocative landscapes of his realm. He always welcomed you with the warmest expression the Lord of Dreams could muster, his subtle smiles illuminating his face at your arrival.

After much hesitation, you finally broached the subject with Morpheus about Barbie and how the Vortex had removed her from the Dreaming. 

"Is there anything you can do to help her?"

Morpheus shook his head, giving you a thoughtful but firm response, rooted in his views on the purpose and temporality of dreams. “Each dream has its time, its arc, and its end. Her connection to The Land was severed as part of a larger design, one that is beyond any individual's desires, even mine."

Noticing your crestfallen countenance, he elaborated. “Dreams are both gifts and lessons, my love. They are there to guide mortals, but they must also be let go when their purpose is fulfilled. To restore it now would be to disrupt the path she must walk."

"So, she's unable to return to her dreams?"

"One day, perhaps. A dream is alive only when it meets the dreamer’s true need."

You averted your gaze, allowing his words to settle in your mind. After a moment, you turned back to him, your eyes glistening with emotion. "If I were severed from this world and from you, it would be unbearable. I can't imagine my life without the Dreaming, I would probably die."

Your words deeply moved him, though he tried to conceal it behind his characteristic gravitas. "You would not be disconnected from me, my love. Not truly. No matter the forces at play, I told you I would always find you, in dreams or beyond them."

He reached out to touch your face, offering comfort and promise, acknowledging your compassion and worries without dismissing them. "If ever such a fate were threatened, I would bend the realms themselves to keep you close."

Your smile returned as your fingers toyed with the lapels of his coat. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Even the King of Dreams is not immune to the fear of loss," he admitted. "And you possess a unique quality that no other mortal will ever match."

"Are you implying that the Dreaming would suffer without me?"

"Not only the Dreaming. I am its ruler, yet above all, I am a being irrevocably bound to your heart."

That very heart raced with exhilaration, sending waves of warmth cascading through your body like a gentle fireworks display.

"You’re so sweet,” you expressed.

“Sweet?”

You tilted your head. "I know you're all powerful and mighty, and that 'sweet' isn't typically associated with you. But with me, you're so wonderful that I doubt any other being in existence could ever compare."

He grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling with veiled intentions. “Perhaps I should remind you of my true nature, my love. As befits the King of Nightmares.”

You laughed, crossing your arms with a glint of curiosity on your face. "Oh? Is that a challenge? Because, Your Majesty, I'm not one to run away so easily."

For a moment, silence blanketed the space between you. The air grew still, charged with electric anticipation as Morpheus's posture shifted. An otherworldly darkness seeped into the scene, dimming the ambient illumination. Cold moonlight took its place, casting elongated shadows on the ground. The world around you transformed into a vast canvas, painted in shades of deep blue and ink-black, completely bereft of stars.

With a flick of his hand, Morpheus stepped back. The space stretched into an endless void, where whispered secrets echoed and your surroundings dissolved into an illusion of midnight sky. His form began to transform, subtly at first. His robes billowed like storm clouds, infused with silver strands that glinted like trapped starlight. His eyes glowed with pale fire, and his hair flowed freely, no longer tethered by gravity.

Despite the imposing figure before you, you felt no fear. In fact, the beauty of it—the raw, infinite greatness—thrilled you to no end and made you shiver in awe rather than terror. He embodied everything he claimed to be: powerful, enigmatic, and fearsome—yet he remained, undeniably, the man you loved.

He circled you slowly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he leaned in from behind. His voice boomed, almost demonic, though unmistakably his own. "So bold… and so fragile. Will you not bend and yield to your Lord?"

You recognized this as an enthralling performance, a thrilling roleplay that left you completely spellbound.

"You are magnificent," you breathed, your voice brimming with admiration and something else. "Truly, I don’t need to tell you how willingly I'd surrender to you. You already know."

His hands wrapped around your waist, strong and secure. "It seems," he said with a wry smile, "that even the King of Nightmares cannot dissuade you."

"Never," you replied, tracing delicate patterns on his hands. "Not when I know that you'd never harm me."

His dark and menacing guise melted away, replaced by a soft chuckle as he reverted to his normal form. The inky blackness dissipated, giving way to the previously vibrant colors of the dreamscape.

With a touch of reverence, he lifted your hand to his lips. "Perhaps," he murmured, "I shall remain 'sweet' for you alone."

You threw your head back, sinking against his chest as laughter bubbled from your lips. Your eyes sparkled with immense happiness and love. "Now I wish I never had to wake up."

For the remainder of the night, Morpheus granted your wish, keeping you blissfully ensconced in the realm of fantasies.

As you settled into your seat on the plane home, you went through a curious distortion of time. The fortnight in Cape Kennedy and week in the Dreaming had passed in a blink, yet paradoxically left you feeling as though you'd been away for eons.

You were exhausted, the jet lag evidently taking its toll on you. Readjusting to your regular routine proved unexpectedly daunting, as you had to deal with frequent migraines and an unsettling tendency to nod off at inopportune moments throughout the day. 

You missed the friends you'd made, the cozy ambiance of the former B&B, and the tranquil Floridian nights that contrasted so starkly with London's bustling soundscape.

The newborn continued to make sporadic appearances in your dreams, but the crib remained just out of reach, its cryptic message undecipherable. Curiously, this recurring vision didn't unsettle you; upon waking, it often slipped from your mind entirely.

Upon returning home, you quickly established regular long-distance communication with Hal and Rose. They now shared a peaceful home as a family, along with Jed, Lyta, the baby, and an intriguing man—a friend of Rose's—who had seemingly won Hal's heart. Rose had finally submitted her college application and begun brainstorming ideas for her future book. Meanwhile, Hal was actively pursuing a career as a Broadway performer, eagerly anticipating news of a potential audition.

After carefully considering numerous options, Lyta finally settled on a name that perfectly suited her son: Daniel Hall.

Corbyn & Jones was busier than ever, inundating you with work the moment you stepped into the office. The company overflowed with orders and requests for new projects, which Ella presented as promising opportunities for the future. With the Fashion Show behind you and sales skyrocketing across online platforms, local stores, and social media, your friend decided to entrust you with an equally creative venture, one with the potential to become the company's crown jewel. Both figuratively and literally.

"Are you serious?" you asked, your eyes wide as you stared at her face in disbelief.

"I don't see why not. You've always had a passion for jewelry, and I distinctly remember you designing some back in high school."

"Those were just early experiments, hardly worth mentioning."

She grinned, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You used to say the same about all of your sketches. Yet here you are." 

You sighed, massaging your throbbing temples and stifling a yawn. "Fine, you've got a point. But I'm wondering, are we really prepared to take on more work? It's not exactly difficult for people to find quality accessories from other sources."

"We've received numerous requests for jewelry to complement our products. It's a bold move, but we can't afford to ignore our competitors."

You brought your finger to your lips, contemplating. "I guess you’re right."

"Look, I know you've just returned from Cape Kennedy and haven't had a chance to catch your breath, I can see how tired you are. Still, you're the only one I can trust with this," Ella explained. "Whenever I scroll through my social media feed, all I see are the same products being marketed as 'exclusive drop collections' by different brands or influencers, simply because they're trending. I don't want to slap our name on a generic necklace, bracelet or ring and claim we made it. I want something special, something that only you can create."

Ella had always been fiercely competitive. Seeing an opportunity to make a real impact, her eyes lit up with a reinvigorated enthusiasm.

"I'm not asking you to do anything complex, I swear. You have an excellent sense of style, and you're very distinctive. You emanate this constant aura that's simply goddess-like."

You couldn't help but chortle, amused by the unintended accuracy of her statement. Whatever she saw coming from you was no longer a coincidence, now that you were aware of your true origins.

"I'll cover the material costs, and Oliver has connections that could help with soldering services and gem sourcing. Perhaps you could do some research? Visit a few places, gather inspiration, and compile elements you find appealing?"

As Ella elaborated, you found yourself increasingly drawn to the idea. You couldn't shake the concern about managing deadlines with yet another project on your plate, but it was worth a try if it meant outperforming competitors and surpassing market projections.

"I've already got a couple of places in mind for you to check out."

Your gaze drifted to your wrist, where your mother's bracelet and Morpheus' bangle gleamed under the artificial light. With these treasures as inspiration, you realized you might already possess the guidance needed to excel in this new endeavor.

“Fine, let’s do it,” you declared.

"Really? You're on board?"

"I mean, you're still my boss. We might be friends, but that's no excuse for me to slack off or neglect my responsibilities. Besides, you might be onto something here, and I'm genuinely curious to give it a try."

Ella slammed her hand onto the desk with such force that you nearly jumped out of your seat.

"Ha! Those businesses better brace themselves. We've got a secret weapon right here!"

"Come on, Ella. I'm hardly a secret weapon."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to us. And to me, because I've found my bestie again. I'm absolutely thrilled to be working with you!"

You nodded, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips. "Right. Remember how we used to daydream about this when we were teenagers?"

"How could I forget? I always wanted to run my own company with you as my creative genius. You'd tell me it was too good to be true, but I never stopped insisting it was possible. And now, look at us!"

"Indeed, I was wrong. I must admit, I was quite the pessimist back then."

Ella rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips with an air of confidence and satisfaction. "Yeah, and I definitely prefer this version of you."

"I could take offense to that, but honestly, I feel the same way."

“Yaaaaas! Slay!!!”

The office door swung open, and Oliver strode in, clutching a handful of papers. His eyebrow arched quizzically at the scene before him. By now, you were certain he'd grown accustomed to his wife's antics, yet the expression on his face was absolutely priceless, especially as he caught sight of her, arms thrust triumphantly skyward.

"What's all this ruckus?"

"Oops, sorry, love. Was I too loud?"

"I'd wager they heard you clear across the street," Oliver quipped, his lips quirking into a sardonic smirk.

Ella waved off his comment, taking the papers he offered. "Is this the list you mentioned?"

"Yes. I assume you've already informed Y/N about our new quest?"

"Indeed, I have. We were just discussing it."

Oliver pushed his glasses up his nose, turning his attention to you. "Given Ella's reaction, I take it you've accepted our proposal."

Your friend’s bouncing movements reminded you of a cartoon character, the passage of years only enhancing her comedic charm.

You gracefully crossed your legs, settling into the swivel chair with your arms and back comfortably supported, ignoring the looming fatigue and headache. "When do I start?"

Once again, you found yourself wandering through an unknown landscape, a twilight meadow bathed in the deep, velvety indigo of night. The profound quiet was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves as you stepped forward, drawn toward a soft radiance in the distance. Fireflies danced around you, their tiny lights twinkling like celestial guides along your path. The air carried a mysterious warmth, a gentle weight that felt both calming and comforting, as if something unseen were embracing you.

As you moved closer, the glow revealed itself to be a single flower blooming amidst the grass, its petals as bright and sparkly as moon dust. Intrigued, you knelt down, extending your fingers. The petals pulsed with a gentle rhythm, reminiscent of a soft heartbeat. Your hands hovered over it, sensing the energy of something alive, tender and delicate, yet infinitely strong. A deep connection stirred, an instinctive awareness that you were being entrusted with something precious.

When you touched the flower, warmth spread through your palms, wrists, and elbows, life itself flowing into your veins. You closed your eyes, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and sweetness. An overwhelming tenderness rose inside your heart: a love you couldn't describe, a caring that was simply boundless.

A delicate whisper drifted through the meadow, a soothing voice that seemed to come from both earth and sky. "This light now belongs to you," it echoed. "Soon, it will flourish. And so will you."

The flower dissolved, sinking into your chest like a subtle pulse settling inside your heart. You tried to speak, but your throat constricted, silencing any sound. A thin layer of bright blue fog descended, and then you heard it again, the familiar cry of a child, the now visible distant crib beckoning you.

You attempted to rise, but were anchored to the grass as if you were a deeply rooted tree. Strangely, you felt no desire to resist or struggle. A flicker of concern crossed your mind, yet an underlying calm reassured you that there was no cause for worry.

This time, your voice emerged, speaking a single name, the only one that occupied your thoughts.

“Daniel…?”

The baby neither reacted, cried, nor moved. Suddenly, silence blanketed the scene, and everything around you faded into nothingness.

You awoke, the residual warmness from your dream still occupying your chest—a mysterious sensation yet to be understood. However, as comforting as it felt, the moment you pushed yourself into a sitting position, reality struck. You were drenched in sweat, your nightgown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. A wave of nausea surged from the pit of your stomach, twisting your face into a grimace. 

You dismissed it as insignificant, attributing it to the minor anxiety that had followed you from the realm of dreams into the Waking World. The recurring presence of that child in your subconscious remained an enigma, leaving you uncertain about its nature. As Morpheus had explained, Daniel Hall's conception during Lyta's dreams forged an unbreakable bond between him and the dream realm. Could the newborn be reaching out to you in Morpheus' domain for some unknown reason?

Despite wracking your brain for answers, you were simply left with even more questions.

You tried to lie down again, pushing aside the bedsheets as you took deep breaths. Unfortunately, the queasiness persisted. Instead of easing, it grew more intense, significantly so.

And then you felt it, that dreadful urge to expel whatever was churning in your stomach. You leapt out of bed with lightning speed, one hand clamped firmly over your mouth as you raced to the bathroom. You despised it and fought to contain it, but whatever it was, it refused to subside on its own.

Unable to hold it back any longer, you hunched over the toilet, your body convulsing as you violently ejected the remnants of your dinner. The ordeal continued relentlessly until you felt completely hollow, as if you'd purged every last morsel from your system—intestines and all.

When it was finally over, you relished the relief, washing your mouth and face to rid yourself of the sticky residue of sweat on your skin and the acrid taste persisting on your tongue. Your abdominal muscles contracted painfully, as if you'd just completed an intense set of sit-ups at the gym.

Good lord. You felt like a wrung-out dishrag.

Whether you had eaten something bad or were experiencing delayed symptoms of travel burnout, you desperately wished for this nausea to leave you alone. It had ebbed and flowed throughout the night, barely relenting even as you left the house. 

It was unusual, you rarely had digestive issues. Considering the whirlwind of your recent trip, flying to Cape Kennedy, physically moving in and out of the Dreaming, and then back onto the plane home again, it probably made sense that your body was finally feeling the strain. 

Fortunately, you made it through your workday without a repeat of your previous night's disaster, successfully keeping your lunch where it belonged. You convinced yourself it was just a random occurrence, a fleeting ailment that would pass as your body naturally recovered.

You pored over your sketches and scoured your Pinterest boards for further inspiration. With an array of gemstone pieces and chains spread across the table, you let your creativity flow, crafting designs that were both unique and original. Ella desired something innovative, jewelry that stood out from the current market offerings, and you were determined to exceed her expectations.

The process was unexpectedly enjoyable and fulfilling, surpassing your initial skepticism. Your research and material acquisitions produced impressive results, with several of your creations already sent to the workshop for soldering and welding. Weariness was a constant companion, testing your resilience and mental focus over the following days. Nevertheless, a few stifled yawns and tired eyes paled in comparison to the joy of seeing your efforts appreciated.

Just as you were ready to forget about your mysterious illness, the nausea suddenly resurfaced one day as you walked out of the shower. It lasted only a few minutes before subsiding, allowing you to sleep without feeling sick or making another dash to the toilet. 

Over a week had elapsed since your return, and with your appetite slightly diminished, you began to question whether your random symptoms were truly related to the trip and the tumultuous circumstances you had encountered in Florida. Ella and your colleagues appeared unaffected after your recent restaurant outing, yet you couldn't shake the suspicion that something on your plate might have caused potential food poisoning. 

On the other hand, you wondered if this physical disorder was merely a result of exhaustion. Your father had noticed your pallor and evident fatigue, expressing concern about how unsteady you seemed on your feet. With the new jewelry project underway you'd been bustling about, visiting stores and different studios to source new supplies. You hadn't exactly been cautious, willingly pushing yourself far beyond your limits.

During your walk home from a fruitful excursion, you had to stop multiple times due to unexpected breathlessness and lightheadedness. These strange manifestations left you feeling disconcerted, as your body behaved in ways you didn't recognize.

Ultimately, you dismissed your condition as a mere stomach bug or something equally benign. You saw no reason to fret over what you believed would be a short-lived malady.

Yet, was it truly so insignificant…?

You hadn't seen Hob Gadling since before your trip abroad, and your work subsequently left little room for socializing. In spite of his persistent invitations for drinks, you regrettably had to decline repeatedly. Hob, true to his nature, remained incredibly patient and understanding, encouraging your professional growth while reminding you to prioritize self-care.

Finally meeting him felt like reuniting after an eternity apart. His bright smile was better than any medicine, his company one of the most precious things in the world. To be honest, you felt so sleepy and generally under the weather that you were tempted to reschedule. However, you knew that finding a better opportunity in the near future was unlikely.

"Are you sure you just want tea? You're not ordering anything else? It's my treat, you know."

"I know," you replied. "It's just that I've been feeling a bit off lately."

"Oh, is that so? Sounds like you might be burning the candle at both ends again."

"My job keeps me busy, but it's nowhere near as hectic as when I worked in Wych Cross. I can sit for hours without being called away."

Hob bit into a piece of tart, humming in response as he chewed. 

"How are things going at school?" you inquired.

"Some students can be quite a handful,” he said after swallowing. “But you know how it is."

"You've become a role model for so many young people. That's something to be proud of," you observed.

"Well, when you've lived as long as I have, you inevitably accumulate quite a trove of useful experiences."

"It's not just your extensive knowledge that makes you awesome, Hob. You're intelligent, kind, and always attentive to those who need support."

"If you'd known me back in 1600, you might think differently."

"But I know you now, and I truly appreciate the man sitting in front of me."

His grin widened as he reached for your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Or maybe, I have the best influence right here."

"Oh, come on. You were already like this when we first met."

Immersed in the joyful atmosphere, you savored the shared laughter and companionship of a treasured friend. While you loved your creative job, having a day free from work finally gave you the chance to unwind and momentarily set aside thoughts of impending deadlines.

The afternoon progressed perfectly until an unexpected disruption occurred. As the waitress approached the adjacent table, a potent coffee aroma wafted through the room. The scent went straight to your head, compelling you to abandon the remaining of your tea as a sudden wave of sickness engulfed you all over again, reminiscent of a rising tide.

"Are you all right, Y/N?" Hob asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yes, it's just... isn't this smell a little too strong?"

“What smell?”

“The coffee.”

Hob furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. He sniffed the air, taking a moment to analyze it. "I don't know," he said. "It smells like normal coffee to me. I don't find it particularly overpoweri—"

You abruptly sprang from your chair, weaving through customers and tables to reach the mercifully vacant bathroom. Stunned, Hob followed in your wake, gently rapping on the door and calling your name with apprehension. Curious onlookers paused their conversations to observe the scene, while the waitress craned her neck inquisitively.

You heard him, but couldn't respond. Doubled over and coughing, you felt your fluids rushing out uncontrollably. The malaise hit you with full force, dropping you to your knees as your body eliminated its contents a second time, leaving your throat raw and burning. 

"Y/N, please say something. What's happening?"

Only when you were certain you had nothing left to expel did you open the door. A searing pain shot through your forehead, and the entire path from your trachea to your stomach felt inflamed, as if ready to burst from the inside out.

"I'm sorry about that," you mumbled, your voice hoarse. "I'm fine."

"That didn't seem like 'fine' to me. Would you like me to drive you home? I think some rest might do you good, Shortcake."

Completely drained, quite literally, you nodded silently and returned to your table. You gathered your belongings, leaving behind your dinks, unfinished and forgotten. Each step felt leaden and sluggish as you made your way to Hob's car, shrouded in a thick, uncomfortable silence. With a heavy sigh, you leaned back against the seat, shutting your eyes and clutching your bag's strap tightly.

"I'm so sorry," you apologized dejectedly. "I've ruined our outing."

"I'd rather see you feeling well than keep you out when you're sick to the bone. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have postponed it to another day."

You pouted. "I really wanted to see you today, though."

"And I want you to take care of yourself. I can't die, remember? I've got all the time in the world."

"I just don't get it,” you protested, your voice wavering. “I can feel fine for a few days in a row, and then suddenly I'm puking my guts."

"How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"

"I've been feeling a bit strange since I landed last week, but nothing major, really. Just the occasional headache, fatigue, that sort of thing."

The car halted at a red light, its engine rumbling in the quiet street.

"You mentioned the coffee smell was particularly strong."

"Yes, I don't know why. I could not stand it."

“Mh.”

Noticing his unusual quietness and the contemplative look on his face as he mulled over your words, you narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

"Ah, it's nothing, Shortcake. I've heard there's some sort of stomach bug going around. You might have caught that."

The car resumed its journey, winding through the thoroughfares of London as you gazed out the window, your eyelids feeling impossibly leaden. “Yeah. Could be.”

Morpheus strolled through the library, his presence as ubiquitous as the tomes on the shelves and tables, as if they were fragments of his very essence. He returned the volumes borrowed from Lucienne: various dream records he'd examined to evaluate his realm's current state and its power's impact on the Waking World following the Vortex incident. 

He scanned the spines of the books before him, striding along the rows of shelves with his customary regal bearing. A faint smile played on his lips, a testament to his renewed control, now bolstered by your unwavering support and endless affection.

His fingers glided along the leather bindings, caressing centuries—if not millennia—of transcribed stories. From across the library, Lucienne and Matthew's distant voices wafted through the atmosphere, lively and tranquil, signaling the full restoration of every fracture caused by the previous disturbances.

Morpheus experienced an unprecedented, profound sense of bliss and inner peace. After innumerable centuries of existence, he finally grasped the true meaning of being cherished, and his understanding of love had undergone a drastic metamorphosis. A human had taught him more in a brief span than eternity ever could, smoothing the sharpest edges of his being. You had believed in him when everyone else saw him as a monster, perceiving his past misdeeds as steps in his growth.

Little did he know that his newfound self-assurance was about to shatter in the face of an imminent revelation.

As Morpheus turned to depart for the throne room, a whisper from behind arrested his attention. A large, weathered tome jutted out from the long row of books, awaiting the Lord of Dreams to hold it. The Endless paused, pivoting slowly, and gazed at the book with surprise as he approached. 

Its cover was pitch black, adorned with faintly scratched embroideries and devoid of any visible title. As Morpheus lifted it from the shelf, he was struck by its physical lightness, yet felt a spiritual weightiness emanating from it. Gingerly, he opened the volume, unsure of its contents. The title was emblazoned in large, inky letters on the first page:

Morpheus felt his blood run cold, his fingers turning even icier. He had heard of that name before, old tales circulating from one shaman to another, handed down to priests and storytellers until they remained nothing but a legend with no foundation. It was described as a book full of dire predictions, destiny itself written upon its pages, bringing forth catastrophic prophecies that were never proven.

Not once in his eternal lifetime had Morpheus encountered this book in the castle's library, or in any library, for that matter. He had long dismissed it as nothing more than a fanciful myth. 

Its sudden appearance in the Dreaming could only mean one of two things: either it was a product of someone's vivid imagination, or it heralded an impending catastrophe. Morpheus dreaded the latter possibility, considering all that he and the Dreaming had endured over the past 106 years.

The second page lay blank, its rough, ancient parchment unyielding beneath his ethereal touch. He flipped it over, and the third one featured a Celtic-inspired illustration in black and gold ink, depicting a tarot-like tableau of a full moon reflecting on still waters, with a solitary female figure wading into the depths. In the center, a short paragraph had been inscribed.

Morpheus's entire form tensed as he continued leafing through the book, only to discover another image, a counterpart to the previous one. Instead of the moon, the sun now dominated the landscape. The same woman stood with her back turned, clad in a long gown, still traversing the vast ocean ahead. In the middle, another caption stood out.

Morpheus staggered, clutching the shelf before him for support. These images weren't unfamiliar; everything depicted on those pages represented only one thing—what he treasured most in the entire universe: you.

He pressed on, both terrified and desperate to uncover more. With each turn of the page, he saw more of you, and even himself, intricately woven into the written lines and painted details. The book revealed something he had never wished to know, yet somehow, deep in the core of his love for you, he had already foreseen it.

A once-distant fear, something he fervently hoped would never recur as it had in the past, now a tangible possibility.

As understanding dawned, Morpheus sank to the floor, his legs buckling beneath him. His chest tightened agonizingly, as if a hidden power sought to tear his heart from his body and destroy it. He was in agony, metaphorically shattered into countless fragments, as the mental image of you splintered like a fractured mirror, your radiant smile morphing into the deepest frown.

Sequestering himself in that spot, he read the enigmatic messages obsessively, only to conclude they portrayed the most unfavorable fate imaginable. One he was determined to protect you from, no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing everything you represented for him.

And for the Dreaming.

Mere moments ago, he was elated at the thought of having you by his side, bringing out the best in himself, shaped by your unconditional love for all that he was.

The next, his eyes closed, a solitary tear tracing a silent path down his pale skin at the devastating prospect of what he had to do for your sake.

I'm sharing this for reference, so you have a clear image to associate with it; the bangle Morpheus placed in the memory box is essentially like this one. I purchased it online recently, and it reminded me of The Sandman and my fanfiction, so I've decided to include it. ✨

What did Morpheus find in the library just now??? 😱 😶 🙊 😭

Also, if you're wondering what I suspect you're wondering, the answer is… it could be either yes or no. 😏

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 23 (coming soon) ->

[youremyheaven]

Can you elaborate on your experiences with goddess worship? 🩷🩷

I started my journey with goddess worship in 2022. Chanting has always appealed to me and chanting mantras (beej mantras of the deity in question) while visualising the deity is how it started for me. I was drawn to a certain Goddess almost instinctively even though I did not know much about her up until that point and connecting with her energy made me feel really good. I felt bodily sensations that felt powerful and by chanting, it's akin to embodying the energy of the Goddess within yourself and making yourself sacred??? I remember how during the height of my practice, I'd get told often that I emanate a certain "glow" and that I had a very sage like aura lmao. I just remember being stared at often and being perceived in an almost exalted way.

However late 2022- much of 2023 was a tough time for me and I fell out of touch with my practice and really suffered as a result. I felt myself go haywire, I gained more weight, my hair was falling out in chunks, my skin was breaking out and it's like I did a 180 😭 I felt really lost spiritually and otherwise and struggled to feel any kind of balance. And these had very physical repercussions for me.

Then obviously, I found my way back and I regained fresh perspective and how important my practices including Goddess worship have been in shaping my internal landscape. Several months ago, I struggled with severe anxiety and it was prayer that helped me get through it. During those times yoga did feel a bit mechanical or robotic but I kept doing it simply because I'd rather do it than not do it.

Finding my way back into the practice has taught me so much. Spirituality is truly a calling and no matter how much you read/research/practice, unless the Divine calls you, you will remain blind to the true nature of living. This is not to discourage anyone, in fact I suggest deep diving into it yourself and see what you gain from it. It's worthwhile to keep showing up everyday until you're called in further.

Also no spiritual practice makes you invulnerable. You're still human and you'll still make mistakes and be hurt/upset but you will have more grace moving through these experiences. You'll suffer less than others who make suffering their entire personality. One cannot embody the Goddess without also embodying her boundless mercy, infinitude reservoir of strength and tranquility.

It's always amusing to me when people say things like "oh why did the goddess not give you $5 billion and your dream life, what's even the purpose of worship them???" or "how can you be spiRitUaL when you watch movies/listen to music/are involved with men???". Being spiritually evolved does not mean you turn into a Zen master who lives in a cave.

The Goddess is not a vending machine. You want xyz things bc we live in a capitalist society where you're taught to value them. The Goddess gives you internally and when you're sorted within, you can make strides in life. Obviously she also often throws miracles your way but it's important to understand that the purpose of prayer and worship is not making $$$ or whatever. Im not saying you shouldn't pray for money or material things just that you shouldn't look at prayer as some kind of quick fix for financial woes???

You can still have a life, hobbies, interests etc and you don't have to "transcend" beyond them. You don't become less Zen by shaking your ass to Nicki Minaj 😬

However it will be hard to be a part of stan culture and celebrity worship because you won't care anymore and it won't feel right?? We worship money, fame and celebrities because our soul craves for connection and worship is inherently a part of our making. But it's important to not worship false gods (like money, fame and celebrities). Remember you are what you worship.

My personality has changed remarkably in the last couple of years and maybe even every few months, i feel like a new person and that's another feature of one's evolution. It's easier to accept and imbibe fresh insights and be comfortable with growth and change.

The concept of mantra purusha (which is different but similar to all the chanting ive been doing all along) is still very new to me (thank you to that anon who lmk about it) but Im reading David Frawley's book and it's all kind of coming together.

Goddess worship helps me feel connected to a profound nurturing spirit, a tranquil cosmic bliss, divine sensuality and ultimate peace and abundance.

All that said, do not start your Goddess worship unless you're prepared to commit to it daily and tbh once you start and feel its effect, you probably will want to worship everyday hehe

its actually helped me embody femininity in a way that did not feel limiting instead more transcendent, powerful and beyond whatever society tells you to be.

[alottanothing]

Keep Playing [part two]

Summary: After returning home from a long, cross-country haul, Wayne Munson comes home to find new responsibilities

Word Count: 6.3K

Previous Part

Warnings: Language, minor mentions of abuse

Tag List: @itswormtrain (please let me know if you would like added to this list)

A/N: Okay no update for June, only because time got away from me. So, here's a long chapter for the few of you who are along for the ride. I probably should have mentioned that this doesn't follow the canon book that came out, that I can't remember the name of, that came out with Eddie's backstory. I started writing this in 2022. Anyway, there's at least two more parts to this series opener, which I'm hoping to have up more regularly.

The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm, golden glow across the distant horizon when Wayne Munson pulled his trusty pickup truck into its usual spot outside of his humble trailer. The engine hummed to a stop before Wayne stretched his arms over head as best he could in the cab of the old truck, trying to alleviate the stiffness of exhaustion in his muscles. Still, a yawn fell heavily from his mouth. 

There was never any grand welcome waiting for him when he returned from exceptionally long hauls across the country, no one waiting to wrap him in their arms and tell him how much they missed him. All he came home to were the creature comforts he’d been without for so long: his bed and his sofa and his shower. They all beckoned him, none so much as the familiarity of his own mattress. The toll of those grueling long hauls was becoming increasingly evident in his aging bones, the weight of endless hours spent behind the wheel of his rig leaving an indelible mark on his body every time he returned. Even so, Wayne couldn’t help but revel in every day he spent miles away from Hawkins.

Sometimes, he considered leaving the only town he'd ever called home, a town that would undoubtedly have rejoiced at his leaving. The narrow streets and gossip-filled corners were growing old. Each time he drove west, he thought of staying; the vast countryside and boundless skies were far friendlier than anything Hawkins had to offer. Amongst the rolling hills and sprawling meadows, the weight of expectations and judgment lifted from his tired shoulders. The mountains welcomed him with open arms time after time, offering refuge from the suffocating confines of a past that he'd had little control over. Out west, the air was crisp and untainted and always filled his lungs with fresh vitality. Yet, he always came back, always pulled his rig into its familiar spot at the truck stop near the highway. And each time, every thought of abandoning Hawkins disappeared, much like the rest of his dreams had. It was too important that he stayed, for a while, at least.

The same surreal feeling fell over him as he left his rig that morning after living in it for weeks on end. However, the notion of a hot shower and the comfort of his bed was always strong enough to combat that peculiar wave of melancholy.  The paycheck in his hand helped too, of course. It would be enough to fix up some things around the trailer, put a full tank of gas in his truck, and maybe even buy that new boombox he’d been wanting. All things considered; Wayne was glad to be home.

With his latest souvenir in hand—another mug for his collection—he stepped onto the dirt looking around finding little had changed in his weeks away. Nothing usually did, but folks in Hawkins seemed to like it that way. Everyone liked their routine no matter how dull it was, and Wayne couldn’t even bring himself to think he was any better. He always found comfort in routine.

He stood a moment, filling his lungs with the fresh morning air, smiling at the awakening world around him. The birds were chirping in the trees, their melodies harmonizing with the gentle rustling leaves. Overhead the sky was a pastel canvas dotted with white puffy clouds. There was beauty there too, even without the majestic mountains and open prairies, he just had to look a little harder to find it.

“Oh hey, Wayne!” His neighbor across the way waved as he stepped out to grab the paper on his stoop, pulling his attention away from the sky.

“Hey, Scott,” Wayne waved back, tossing him a pleasant smile.

The Jones family had always been friendly; one of very few in town who heard the name Munson and didn’t immediately peg him as a nefarious character like his dad and brother were.

“Your sister-in-law was here yesterday—pretty early actually.”

The smile on Wayne’s face sank, his gut sloshing with uneasiness. Betty never came around unless she was looking to stir up trouble.

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

Scott shrugged, “Dunno, she was banging on your door—shoutin’ for ya, blowin’ a horn.”

“Did she have the boy with her? Ed?” Wayne asked, that feeling in his stomach beginning to gnaw. He cared little about Betty, or why she’d come calling so early. It was Eddie that mattered to him. He just wanted his nephew to be alright.

“I think so, from what I could see out the window anyway. They didn’t stay very long. Thought you should know though.”

“Thanks, I’ll—uh—go see if anything’s missing.” Wayne tossed a pointed thumb over his shoulder.

“Hope everything is accounted for,” Scott said, glancing at the trailer.

“Me too,” Wayne nodded. “Good to see you, Scott.”

“You too, Wayne. Welcome back.”.

Ever since Walt’s faults had caught up with him and landed him in prison, his son’s mother, Betty, had all but fallen off the face of the earth. She didn’t call him; she didn’t bring Eddie around. When Wayne did go over to check on his nephew, no one was ever there. Not knowing was always the worst, and sometimes he feared he put too much trust in Betty’s ability to take care of her son. Knowing that Eddie was okay enough to be with his mother the previous day did bring Wayne a little solace. Even so, he weighed the idea of giving up his hot shower and sleep to go to the rundown apartments to make sure his nephew was okay. 

“Hey, uh, Scott,” Wayne asked just as his neighbor was about to disappear behind his screen door.

“Hmm?”

“Did you see if Ed left with Betty yesterday?”

Scott shook his head. “I’m afraid I went back to sleep—like I said, it was early when she was here.”

Wayne nodded, digesting that morsel of information.

“Thanks again, Scott.”

“Anytime.”

Wayne didn't waste a second as he swiftly fished his keys from his pocket to unlock his trailer, with no thoughts of stolen items crossing his mind. The urgency in his movements was fueled by the growing sense of concern for his nephew and his whereabouts. If he had to, he'd drive all over the state to find him.

With the lock clicked open, Wayne swung the door wide open, and there he found Eddie sprawled out on his sofa, fast asleep and completely safe. That uneasy feeling in his gut gave way to a wave of relief. Not so long ago he’d told Eddie he’d always have a place there with his uncle. A place to feel safe and free from the abuse Wayne was almost certain his nephew had suffered.

The more he thought about everything, the more it angered Wayne.

Like Walter, Betty was no prize, although that was more than likely Walt’s doing as well. Walt had a natural talent for getting involved in reckless, often criminal, activities, as well as aligning himself with the wrong crowd. It was a pattern Wayne had spent most of his youth trying to correct to no avail. No matter how many heart-to-hearts he'd shared with Walter, or how many positive role models Wayne tried to push into his brother's orbit, Walt gravitated to his self-destructive tendencies. Somehow, Betty got caught up in the mess too, and whatever innocence she'd had in the beginning, Walter managed to drain it out of her. Their tumultuous relationship was on everyone's tongue, and when word got out that their affair resulted in a child, a child neither one of them were fit to raise, all of Hawkins set its teeth on them.

Despite all the negativity surrounding him, Eddie's ability to maintain a heart full of kindness was truly miraculous. All Eddie took from his parents was his appearance. He was a Munson, no denying that. Even with his hair cut so short, little more than a buzz, he was the very image of his father save for a few softer features given to him by his mother. Whenever Wayne looked at him long enough, it was as though he was face to face with his kid brother. The brother Wayne had failed to take care of.

Quietly, Wayne placed his keys and his mug on the kitchen counter and hung his jacket on the hook by the door before going to wake his nephew.

“Ed...” he shook him gently, “Eddie?”

His nephew opened his eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and looked around the room with a hint of confusion etched on his face. The unexpected surroundings seemed to puzzle him momentarily until his gaze settled on his uncle. Recognition dawned with a smile across his lips as he realized where he was.

“Son, what are you doing here?”

Without an answer, Eddie hopped to his feet and hugged his uncle with enough force Wayne almost lost his footing.

“Uncle Wayne! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, kiddo.” He returned the embrace, patting his back with a smile. Surely this sweet boy is not my brother’s son.

"Is everything okay?” Wayne asked when Eddie finally let go. “How’d you get here?”

“Mom and some guy dropped me off yesterday morning.” He shrugged.

Wayne frowned, “And you’ve been here by yourself since then?”

Eddie was old enough to fend for himself that long, but that didn’t mean Wayne liked the idea. The trailer park wasn’t the safest place to live in Hawkins—better he guessed than the hovel Betty and Walt lived in. But still not a place for a twelve-year-old to be left unsupervised for long.

A sigh broke past Wayne's lips as his eyes examined the trailer, searching for anything out of place, knowing Betty tended to have sticky fingers.

“Did you...” Wayne’s brows furrowed. “Did you do my dishes? Throw away my trash?”

Eddie nodded.

Wayne’s heart sank a little.

“You know you don’t have to do that stuff when you’re staying with me, right?” He kept his voice soft, knowing the sort of tone his nephew was used to at home. “I’m not gonna get mad atcha for a dirty dish in my sink or some candy bar wrappers on the table.”

“I know,” Eddie admitted, looking away as he scratched the back of his nearly bald head. “I didn’t have anything else to do.”

Another sigh fell past Wayne’s lips as he nodded.

“Did your mother say when she’s gonna be back?”

Eddie shook his head and reached for a mostly empty, very dirty pillowcase lying in a heap by the sofa. He dug around in it for a few seconds before brandishing a wrinkled envelope.

“She gave me this before she left.” 

Something dark radiated from that unsuspecting envelope in his nephew’s hands; the room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with an unexplainable heaviness. A wave of melancholy washed over Wayne as he eyed the envelope. Eddie, however, stood ignorant of the cloud that filled the room the moment he pulled the note from his pillowcase.  Wayne was glad for that youthful naivety on Eddie’s face, it kept him a little less burdened, a little more innocent and Wayne preferred things remain that way for the good of his nephew.

Wayne knew what he would find written on the paper before he even took the envelope in his nephew's hands: a collection of careless words written by a careless mother. The haphazard scribbles adorning the page would forever be seared into his mind. The ink seemed to mirror the lack of attention and concern that had been poured into its creation. Each word was a testament to a mother's indifference, her complete disregard for the impact those words could have on her child's fragile heart.

A part of Wayne always knew he would one day find himself there, at one time in his life he’d fought to be where he stood. Even so, Wayne was unsure if he should rejoice or lament.

A smile forced its way onto Wayne's face as he read, the gesture nothing more than a charade to keep Eddie at ease while he digested the bitter words he read. Eddie’s eyes never left him, big and brown—his father's eyes—curiosity beginning to wander onto his expression.

“What’s it say, Uncle Wayne?”

Rejoice, Wayne decided, realizing it was a happy moment. No one would hurt his nephew ever again. No more harsh words or cigarette burns or nights without a meal. Eddie was finally out of harm's way, all thanks to his mother's carelessness. With a single sigh, Wayne let 12 years of contempt and worry billow out of him, hopefully forever. He would be able to sleep through the night, no longer worrying about the wellbeing of his nephew. In only a matter of seconds, Wayne came to terms with his new responsibilities when only 20 minutes ago all he longed for was a shower and his warm bed.

“Uncle Wayne, what does it say?”

The smile on Wayne’s face grew wider, becoming more genuine.

“Nuthin’, bud,” Wayne told him, stashing the note in a nearby junk drawer. “Just that you’re gonna be staying with me for a while. That okay with you?”

The grin that spread over Eddie’s face rendered a sight so pure and full of joy, that Wayne almost wanted to cry. He wouldn’t be able to give his nephew much, but he would love him the way he deserved to be loved and provide for him as much as he possibly could.

“Of course! Yeah!”

“Good.” Wayne nodded, his smile fading slightly when his eyes fell on the ratty pillowcase. “What else ya got in there, son?”

“Oh, just my stuff,” Eddie turned the makeshift rucksack upside down, spilling a handful of moth-eaten t-shirts, a pair of dirty jeans, and a toothbrush onto the floor.

“That’s all you brought?”

“That’s all I have,” Eddie shrugged.

Wayne’s heart sank, how did he not know just how little Eddie had? Suddenly, that paycheck he’d brought home held a more significant purpose. He still had some fixing to do on the trailer and needed to fill up his truck with gas, but buying new electronics seemed foolish. Eddie was far more important than a boombox.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Wayne brandished his check and gave it a little wave. “We’ll go cash this, then go and pick you up some better things to wear, okay?”

Eddie almost looked shocked, “Really?”

“Yup,” Wayne nodded. “If you’re gonna be here longer than a few days you’re gonna need more clothes than that.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We’ll even stop and get breakfast while we’re out, sound good?”

Eddie nodded, still looking as though he could hardly believe what was happening.

“Really good. Thank you, Uncle Wayne.”

“Don’t mention it, son”

*

The breakfast rush at Paula’s never seemed to slow down morning after morning. The old 50s-style diner near the interstate had been a staple of Hawkins for as long as Wayne could remember. It was also one of the rare spots in town where the staff treated individuals with the name Munson just like any other customer. Wayne spent many mornings there in his usual booth sipping cups of black coffee, eating scrambled eggs that were always a touch too salty, all while the station across the street got his rig filled up and ready for its next long haul.

Those days, however, were behind him. Eddie needed him more than Wayne needed the escape to the vast horizon stretching out before him. The local plant was always looking for reliable new employees, and Wayne knew he'd have no trouble landing a position there: a job that paid well and allowed him to stay in Hawkins full-time. Wayne was nursing his third cup of coffee—every sip a prayer to keep his tired eyes from drooping—as he sat in his usual booth, this time with Eddie across the table. He watched with some amusement as his nephew shoveled large bites of buttermilk pancakes into his mouth, brown eyes bright and his smile unwavering. Wayne hated to think how often Eddie’d gone a day without food. Too many, he figured, but never again.

As Wayne enjoyed his breakfast, consisting of over-salted eggs, wheat toast, and sausage, his gaze shifted towards the paper place mat beneath Eddie's plate, bringing a gentle smile back to his face. The blank sheet had been turned into a canvas of sorts thanks to Eddie’s handy work with an ink pen. He'd spent the majority of their time waiting for their meals drawing pictures of dragons and sword-wielding knights: characters from a book he’d read in the library: The Lord of the Rings. 

The series of fantasy books had eluded Wayne’s knowledge of literature until that morning. Eddie, on the other hand, held a deep understanding of the happenings of Middle Earth, and by the time their breakfast arrived, Wayne felt significantly enlightened. It was during that pre-breakfast lecture over Tolkien fantasy that Wayne realized just how meaningful those books were. Stumbling upon the world in those pages all on his own was the very catalyst that laid the groundwork for Eddie to avoid treading the same paths as his parents. Escaping to a land of heroes and easily distinguishable good and evil helped him keep his head on straight. Wayne had never felt such immense gratitude for books before, but that morning he found himself expressing his thanks to them for providing his nephew with a way to break free from the confines of his own reality.

With breakfast finished, and coffee to go, the pair stopped at the thrift store on Main Street. As they crossed the entrance of the shop, a peculiar smell enveloped them, typical of most thrift stores. It was a blend of familiar scents like fabric softener, perfume, and mothballs, creating a signature aroma that was well-known in establishments selling pre-owned items. The absence of customers wasn't surprising considering the early hour. Wayne was glad about that. The quietness of the store allowed them to fully envelope themselves in their hunt for a newer wardrobe. The notion of shopping for his own clothes seemed to thrill Eddie more than Wayne thought it would. However, as Wayne watched his nephew weave through the aisles of second-hand clothing, grabbing anything that caught his eye, he couldn't help but contemplate the notion that Eddie had never truly been granted the freedom to choose his own things. Wayne realized that their shopping trip was more than just a simple errand, it was a taste of newfound independence and self-discovery. In the end, he ended up with more than a week's worth of clothes that weren’t moth-eaten, or dirty and fit him properly. Among the mostly plain T-shirts, he managed to find several flannels, multiple pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a winter coat. When they got back to the trailer, Wayne found temporary spots for all of Eddie's new clothes, knowing it would take a little time to adjust to having his nephew there indefinitely. Things needed to be moved and thrown out to make room, but he was more than willing to do so, Eddie was far more important than junk Wayne had held on to for no particular reason. 

After all the clothes were placed on hangers and put away, the pair of them settled on the sofa in front of the television for the remainder of the day, moving from the comfort of their seats only to microwave frozen meals or fill a bowl with snacks. However, it was Eddie that did most of the tv watching; Wayne mostly watched the back of his eyelids, exhausted, but content to sleep peacefully knowing that his nephew was safe.

 *

Wayne dedicated the following week to getting Eddie registered at Hawkins Junior High, taking on the role of his guardian, and landing a job at the factory. He ensured that his nephew had everything he needed for school—from a backpack to notebooks, pencils, and pens. He left no stone unturned. All of it was a new routine, but one they each adjusted to rather quickly. Having another soul under his roof proved to be remedial in a way, more so because it was Eddie. 

There was so much life in his young nephew that Wayne felt rejuvenated in a sense. Sure, every tick of the clock made him older, his joints stiffer, his hair thinner, but Wayne's outlook on life was fresh again, hopeful. Sometime, during all those years of trucking across the country, he’d lost it, perhaps swept up in the sands of the west or by the ocean breezes out east, whatever the case, Hawkins had never felt so hopeful than with Eddie under his wing.

In the first few weeks, Eddie gathered the courage to ask several times about when his mother would come back to take him to their dreary apartment. And each time Wayne saw the truth in his big brown eyes; he didn’t want to go back. His question was no more than a warning for himself, a way to prepare for her return, and the notion that he would have to go back.

Wayne didn’t have the heart to tell him that his mother had all but abandoned him. Even after all that the woman had done to the boy, it seemed cruel to tell him that he wasn’t wanted. Instead of spilling the sad truth, Wayne just questioned why he was curious and whether he was already fed up with his uncle's company. Eddie always responded the same: with a big smile and a ‘no way.’

After a month, he quit asking altogether. It was as though, after four weeks time, he finally grasped the seriousness of what had happened to him. However, instead of wallowing in sorrow, he flourished. A new sense of freedom allowed him to spread his wings, shake out the shadows of his past, and catch the winds of change. He was expressing himself in ways his parents never would have encouraged; watching the things he wanted, listening to the things he wanted, reading the things he wanted. Eddie relished in the newfound power of choice, delighting in the ability to shape his own identity and forge his path. With the freedom to do so, it was clear that his nephew needed a space of his own to grow and develop. When Wayne selflessly gave up his room for Eddie, his nephew showed his gratitude for a whole week. He helped with chores around the house without being asked, kept his new room clean and organized, and even surprised Wayne with a homemade dinner one evening: very brown grilled cheese. Wayne was touched by Eddie's thoughtfulness and dedication to making the most of his new space. It was clear that the sacrifice was worth it, as Eddie flourished in his own space and continued to show his appreciation in small but meaningful ways. Wayne knew he had made the right decision in allowing his nephew to thrive and grow on his own terms. Sure, the pullout bed was tough to break in, but after a couple of nights of tossing and turning, Wayne found it oddly comfortable.

By the end of September, Wayne was certain Eddie had never felt more at home and safe. That feeling was something he felt as well; it was as though Eddie had always been there eating too much junk food, watching the TV with the volume all the way up, and leaving wet towels on the floor in the bathroom. Wayne couldn't resist grinning, realizing that every little act of defiance was his nephew embracing his newfound independence.

No longer did he have parents around who scolded him for every little thing he did “wrong” in their eyes. When Eddie stopped feeling compelled to wash all the dishes in the sink or pick up after himself, Wayne knew his boy felt safe. His boy.. he could get used to that.

Even so, Wayne knew better than to let Eddie get away with all those things. He still issued gentle reminders of where to put the towels after his showers or that he really shouldn’t be watching the TV with the volume so high. All Ed needed were those little pushes and a soft word to help shape him. He was easy to mold under a tender hand.

Time pressed on, the year nearing its end, and with every passing day, the bond he had with Eddie only grew stronger. Ed wasn’t keen on fishing, but he went a few times before Wayne caught on that that particular hobby wasn’t one they could share. Baseball was another one his nephew didn’t seem too thrilled with, but Eddie always put on a good face, too sweet to say out loud how he felt out of fear of hurting his uncle’s feelings. Music, however, was the major winner.

Even while Eddie was living with his folks, Wayne managed to take him to a few shows; as a kid, his face lit up when the music boomed through the arenas. It was just the same when they snagged tickets to Black Sabbath for their Never Say Die! Tour. Wayne would never forget that trip to Indianapolis to see their favorite band. Eddie hardly slept the entire week leading up to the concert, and Wayne couldn't help but share his nephew's excitement and anticipation. Music, particularly the metal genre, resonated with Eddie, brought his big smile to the surface, and put a sparkle in his eyes. Wayne wanted to nurture that sense of awe as much as he could.

When there were no shows to see, the pair spent their weekends watching Sammy Terry’s Nightmare Theater or playing board games. Wayne even took the time to read The Lord of the Rings books just so Eddie had another person to talk to them about. And while they weren’t his usual cup of tea, Wayne was rewarded with long nights discussing the characters and narratives and seeing his nephew light up at the notion of his uncle knowing all those details. It broke his heart knowing that Eddie had no outlet like this for the last 12 years, but Wayne was thrilled to be that for him. 

When Halloween rolled around, Eddie had his heart set on trick or treating—another experience his parents had denied him growing up. His vampire costume was rudimentary, thrown together with things they found at the thrift store, but Eddie was thrilled, nonetheless. He’d made a killing that night, his pillowcase nearly bursting with the amount of candy at its bottom, and they stayed up well into the morning watching horror movies and pigging out on all the treats he’d nabbed going door to door.

Thanksgiving was somewhat underwhelming on account of Wayne’s own inconsistency with cooking. The turkey Manhattans at Paula’s, piled high with mashed potatoes still managed to fit the bill. It was good hearty food that Eddie certainly wasn’t complaining about. Especially when Paula brought them each a slice of Pumpkin pie on the house.

Christmas was always a tender subject in the Munson household. Growing up they’d never had much, and Wayne’s parents rarely went out of their way to make things special for him and his brother. For years, Wayne spent ‘the happiest of holidays’ on someone else’s couch, usually his buddy Fred’s. Those were the only happy Christmases he remembered, but with Eddie under his roof, he’d never felt more determined to change that.

After Thanksgiving, Wayne bought a small artificial tree, a couple sets of lights, and a box of plastic ornaments. None of it was showy or inspiring, and he wished he could do more, but Wayne knew Eddie would appreciate it more than anything. Together they assembled the tree, fluffing its branches and arranging the lights just so. The plastic ornaments of red and green came next, each placed delicately on the small branches. In the end, the tree may not have been the most remarkable or extravagant, but it stood as a symbol of love, intention, and warmth. To Eddie, however, that mediocre tree outshone even the one towering in Rockefeller Center.

The winter had been relatively gentle, with more rain than snow. The days had been marked by a damp chill, with occasional flurries that melted away as soon as they touched the ground. However, on Christmas morning, a magical transformation occurred, as if the heavens had conspired to gift the world with a breathtaking surprise. A thick layer of white, pristine and untouched, covered everything in sight, transforming the familiar landscape into a winter wonderland. The trees, once bare and skeletal, now stood adorned with a heavy coat of snow, their branches bending under the weight of this unexpected gift. The rooftops of nearby trailers wore a thick layer of white. The streets, once dull and lifeless, now sparkled with a perfect layer of fluffy snow. Wayne was grateful for that. Christmas always felt more magical with snow, and if anyone deserved a little magic during the holidays, it was Eddie.

*

Eddie woke up that morning just as he had every day for the past few months. He sprawled out in his spacious bed, letting out a tired yawn as he desperately clung to the last traces of sleep. The cold seeped through the thin walls of his uncle's trailer, causing him to shiver as he huddled under layers of blankets for warmth. The thought of stepping out into the icy air made him cringe, preferring instead to stay cocooned in his makeshift fortress of comfort. Without the scent of coffee drifting into his bedroom from the kitchen, he would have been perfectly happy to stay wrapped up in his snug blankets. He stretched again, arms and legs poking out of the covers, timidly testing the chill in the air, surprised to find the temperature tolerable. His uncle must have turned the heat up a little higher than usual, although Eddie wasn’t sure why. Maybe the snow on the ground made the cold even more unbearable. Money was tight and the luxury of AC in the summer and heat in the winter was used sparingly. Nevertheless, Eddie was glad to not have to dress in layers just to hang around and watch TV.

Wayne sat comfortably on the couch, snuggled up in his cozy flannel robe, enjoying a sip from one of his numerous mugs, when Eddie made his way into the living room. White Christmas was on the television, strangely a favorite of his uncles and even Eddie had to admit he enjoyed the film even though he found a few of the musical numbers a little cheesy.

“Morning, son,” his uncle said with a smile, sliding two wrapped boxes across the surface of the coffee table. “Merry Christmas.”

Eddie stopped and blinked at the plainly wrapped gifts, unsure how to respond. He had spent years hearing his classmates at school excitedly discussing the magic of Christmas, each one returning from winter break boasting about the gifts they received from Santa or their parents. It seemed like a never-ending parade of stories about new toys, gadgets, and experiences that left him feeling left out and disconnected from the holiday spirit. There had never been a jolly big man in a red suit bringing him any gifts despite all the years of wishing and wishing. In fact, Eddie’s father made sure he knew that Santa, as well as all the other magical gift-giving beings the other kids spoke about, were bullshit. No one would ever bring him gifts, most of all his parents.

“A-are those mine?”

Wayne raised his brows and tossed a glance around before reaching to read the tag on each of the boxes. Finally, he shrugged.

“I don’t see anyone else in here with the name Eddie, do you?”

Eddie shook his head.

“Alright then, why don’t you go ahead and open ‘em?”

Excitement built slowly as reality began to settle and his grin was even slower, tinged with a hint of caution. He half-expected to suddenly snap awake in his own bed, rather than find himself in his uncle's living room with real Christmas presents waiting for him to open. “Whattaya waitin’ for, Ed?”

“Nothing,” Eddie assured his uncle, taking the smaller of the two boxes and situating himself cross-legged on the floor.

He opened that first gift slowly, savoring every tear of the brown paper, his smile growing wider with every piece he peeled away.

“Oh wow!” he beamed at the cassettes that fell from the packaging and onto the floor. “Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden!”

Wayne smirked and nodded, still sipping methodically from his cup of coffee.

“Yup, I know how much you enjoyed the show we went to back in October, thought you might like Iron Maiden too.”

“Cool,” Eddie said. “I’m sure I’ll love them. Thanks, Uncle Wayne!”

“Don’t thank me yet, ya got this one too.” Wayne pushed the second gift closer as he spoke.

As Eddie reached for his second gift, a little of his enthusiasm waned, guilt coming over him like a dark shadow. His uncle caught it right away.

“Ed? What’s wrong? Ain’t you gonna open it?”

“Yeah…I just—I feel bad.” Eddie confessed.

“You feel sick?”

Eddie shook his head, “No.”

“Then what is it, son? You can tell me.” There was a heavy line on his uncle's brow, heavy with concern.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Eddie said softly, guilt quickly overpowering all the joy he’d felt only a few minutes prior. “I would have gotten you something too, if I could have.”

Wayne’s posture wilted; his expression doleful as he patted the cushion next to him. Eddie stood and sat down, the springs in the old sofa squealing under his added weight. In his lap, his uncle's gift remained untouched, too excited to surrender it, too ashamed to open it.

“Son, you don’t owe me anything, okay? Having you here is a gift enough for me—knowin’ you’re safe and away from all that nastiness.”

Tears threatened to breach Eddie’s composure. He wasn’t used to such comforting kind words and hearing them was enough to bring the smile back to his face. Wayne smiled then too, reaching to give him a pat on the back, a gesture Eddie did his best not to shy away from. His uncle would never lay a hand on him the way his parents did.

“Now, open your other gift so we can have breakfast, I’m hungry.”

With newfound vigor, Eddie tore into his second gift, heedlessly tossing the paper aside with the rest of the trash. Suddenly, his entire body froze, and he was fighting back tears again. This time, however, they weren’t brought on by guilt or sadness. Eddie found himself completely overwhelmed with joy as he clutched his brand new books: The Hobbit and the entire trilogy of The Lord of the Rings.

“Now you don’t have to keep going to the library to read them,” Wayne said, his smile subtle but kind.

All Eddie felt was shock and happiness, left blinking between the books in his hand and his uncle, doing everything he could to keep the mist in his eyes from becoming tears of pure joy. Boys weren’t supposed to cry, at least that’s what his dad had pounded into his head over and over as he was growing up. Crying made you a wuss; Eddie didn’t want to be a wuss, not in front of his uncle.

“These are mine? To keep?” Eddie sniffled.

“Well sure, Ed.” Wayne nodded. “Books don’t only exist in libraries, y'know. You can buy ‘em and keep ‘em and read ‘em whenever you want.”

Words couldn’t adequately describe how happy Eddie felt. No one in his life had ever been so thoughtful and the feeling it rendered was more profound than he knew what to do with. Never had he felt so seen and so loved and so happy. Nothing was strong enough to hold back those tears. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie swiped at the tears on his cheek as they began to fall, feeling embarrassed.

“For what?”

“Crying,” Eddie said. “I know boys aren’t supposed to cry.”

Wayne frowned, “who told you that?”

“My dad…he said if I cried it made me a wuss.”

His uncle’s frown grew deeper.

“Never mind what your dad told you. There is nothing wrong with crying. And it absolutely doesn’t make you a wuss. People cry all the time: when they’re happy and when they’re sad. I’m hoping you crying now means you’re happy.”

A soft smile unfurled across Eddie’s face as he nodded.

“Yeah, I am.” Gingerly, he placed his new books next to his cassettes on the coffee table and wrapped his uncle in a long hug. “Thank you, Uncle Wayne. I love them—the tapes too.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” he said, hugging back just as tightly.

“I finally get to go back to school and tell the other kids all the cool things I got for Christmas!” 

Suddenly, it looked like his uncle was about to cry too.

“You sure do,” Wayne said, pausing a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Now, how does French toast sound? Extra powdered sugar?”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Right on.” His uncle finished his cup of coffee in a couple gulps before making his way into the kitchen and firing up the stove.

Eddie sat on the couch, his eyes scanning the pages of his newly acquired books with an intensity that suggested he had stumbled upon a treasure trove. Each familiar word, each familiar map, seemed to captivate him as if he were discovering them for the very first time again. His fingers delicately turned the pages, as if afraid to disturb the magic that lay within. Wayne just smiled, placing his Walkman on the cushion next to his nephew so he could listen to his new tapes while he skimmed through all his favorite parts of his beloved books.  For the first time in his life, Eddie understood all the holiday hype and was almost certain nothing would ever top his first-ever Christmas. 

[sloshed-cinema]

Hundreds of Beavers (2022)

Not much needs to be said about this movie, and I mean that as the highest possible praise. Hundreds of Beavers is such a kinetic, visceral experience as to defy description, or at least putting it into words would severely diminish its magical effect. Je ne sais quoi. The premise is simple enough: a down on his luck fur trapper must bag enough beavers to gain the hand of his beloved from the disapproving and overprotective merchant. He must learn the ways of the forest and hack it out with his prey and those that will seek to harm him (which is just about everything out there, from the cold to the wolves to the bird that pecks at him every time he whistles his appreciation). Oh, and also the beavers are building a rocket ship. Virtually silent throughout, the film takes a slapstick approach that is equal parts Looney Toons and Legend of Zelda: navigate the crazy platform levels, earn enough pelts to get the next item. This is a specifically zany world where all animals look like mascots, people can regenerate teeth after using them like beavers to gnaw out a crucifix, and revealing an ankle can quickly lead to a fervent pole dance. Every possible avenue of humor is explored, from elaborate callback structures to an extended story of familial birth, life, love, and death told entirely in rabbit tracks. Chaplin and Keaton are obvious antecedents in this scrappy folk hero, but he’s somehow even more back on his heels: a reference to the Keaton barn collapse ends with the trapper flattened not once but twice by dummy backgrounds. It’s a joy ride from top to bottom, nothing but boundless creativity and manic glee. One question does remain, though. Which is the best joke of all time: the Sherlock Holmes and Watson beavers hot on the trail, or the fact that the horse of all animals is just a morose dude in a costume?

THE RULES

SIP

The trapper trades pelts for goods.

The trapper whistles.

Paint! That! POOOOOOP!

Someone flies through the air.

BIG DRINK

Progress is made on the beavers' superstructure.

The trapper regenerates teeth.

[dk-thrive]

This picture I’ve painted of it becomes something that describes and echoes the world inside of me.

Gazing at this view allows me to forget all that and instantly transforms me into someone else: when we look at a view like this one, and more generally at any pleasant view, we end up finding our own place in the universe. We yearn to be as open, as calm, as beautiful as the vast landscape before us. More than the landscape itself, this picture I’ve painted of it becomes something that describes and echoes the world inside of me. But the most important thing about this view is the feeling of security.

But when I get up in the morning in Cihangir and come face-to-face with this view, the sun rising in the early hours in the midst of that boundless silence, the whole world turns beautiful. Looking out at this view in the early morning silence allows me to forget everything else... the feeling of being so exhausted and overworked that I might pass out, my fear of dying, and my loneliness, reminding me instead that I can handle everything with a smile, and that the world, and Istanbul, and life itself are marvelous indeed. The loveliness of this landscape is a call to respect the world and the whole universe…

it conveys. It says… the road ahead is clear, there is nothing around me, I am somewhere high above, and safe. We love landscapes, we love looking at them, because they gift us with the pleasure of looking at the world, at the whole of creation, from a safe hill which protects us from danger… Landscapes fill me with a sense of security.

— Orhan Pamuk, "Memories of Distant Mountains: Illustrated Notebooks, 2009-2022." Translated by Ekin Oklap. (Knopf, November 26, 2024)