#Loyalty scheme

[loyalty-program]

How to Build a Loyalty Program That Boosts Retention and Growth in 2025

In today`s aggressive landscape, Loyalty Programs are not simply a “nice-to-have” — they`re essential. Whether you`re strolling a retail brand, a B2B business, or an eCommerce store, constructing a loyalty software that truly drives consumer retention and fuels increase can set you aside in 2025. So, how do you create a loyalty system that performs? Let's get down to it.

Why Loyalty Programs Matter More Than Ever

Today's customers have infinite choices at their disposal. In order to ensure they return, brands must form meaningful bonds. That is where loyalty programs are necessary. An intelligently designed loyalty rewards program is capable of turning infrequent buyers into loyalists — and loyalists spend more, refer others, and remain longer.

Here's why Loyalty Programs are essential in 2025:

Retention rather than acquisition: It's much less expensive to keep current customers than win new ones.

Decision-making based on data: A solid loyalty program gives you valuable insights into purchase behavior, taste, and trends.

Emotional affinity: Customers feel valued and appreciated when they're being rewarded regularly.

1. Establish Clear Goals

Don't dive into technology or point configurations until you set the "why" for your loyalty program:

Do you desire more frequent purchases?

Are you trying to enhance customer word-of-mouth referrals?

Want enhanced brand interaction?

Your objectives will set the stage for the remainder of your program structure.

2. Know Your Audience

Your understanding of your audience is central to a successful loyalty program. From surveys, buying history, and customer comments, find out what drives your customers. Not everybody wants discounts — some like early access, content, or experiences.

3. Design an Engaging Reward Structure

There's no one-fits-all format, but popular loyalty programs contain:

Points per purchase

Tiered benefits (e.g., Silver, Gold, Platinum)

Birthday benefits

Referral rewards

Keep it simple, straightforward, and easy to receive rewards.

4. Select the Right Loyalty Program Software

Invest in a strong loyalty program software that is able to track customer behavior, handle points, personalize experiences, and grow with your business. A flexible loyalty management platform also integrates with your CRM, POS, and marketing tools.

5. Promote Across All Channels

Your loyalty program won't be effective if nobody knows about it. Promote it on your site, within your stores, through email, and on all social media channels. Make it part of your brand narrative, not something tacked on as an afterthought.

6. Measure, Analyze, and Optimize

Monitor important statistics such as:

Enrollment rate

Redemption rate

Repeat purchase rate

Customer Lifetime Value (CLV)

Use that information to improve your rewards and drive engagement.

7. Keep Innovating

The best loyalty programs in 2025 are adaptive. Introduce new benefits, gamify the experience, or add seasonal rewards to refresh it.

Conclusion

A well-crafted loyalty program software isn`t pretty much discounts — it`s approximately constructing lasting relationships together with your customers. By combining the proper strategy, personalization, and technology, you may create a loyalty experience that reinforces each retention and growth.

Whether you’re just starting or looking to upgrade your current loyalty system, remember that loyalty is earned — not bought. Make every customer interaction count.

[pointsplus]

Introducing POINTS PLUS: Revolutionizing Retail Loyalty Programs

In an era where customer loyalty can make or break a business, innovative approaches to incentivize and reward consumers are paramount. Enter POINTS PLUS, a pioneering loyalty program designed to elevate the retail experience for both retailers and shoppers alike. More than just a points system, POINTS PLUS represents a paradigm shift in how businesses engage with their customers, fostering lasting relationships built on mutual benefit and satisfaction.

At its core, POINTS PLUS is a comprehensive platform that seamlessly integrates into retailers' existing operations, offering a range of features tailored to meet the evolving needs of today's marketplace. Whether it's a brick-and-mortar store or an online e-commerce platform, POINTS PLUS provides retailers with the tools they need to drive customer engagement, increase sales, and cultivate brand loyalty.

For consumers, POINTS PLUS promises a rewarding shopping experience like no other. Gone are the days of fragmented loyalty programs with limited benefits. With POINTS PLUS, shoppers have access to a unified rewards ecosystem that spans across multiple retailers, allowing them to earn and redeem points seamlessly across their favorite brands. From exclusive discounts and promotions to personalized offers based on purchasing behavior, POINTS PLUS empowers consumers to maximize the value of their shopping experience.

One of the key differentiators of POINTS PLUS is its emphasis on customization and flexibility. Unlike traditional loyalty programs that follow a one-size-fits-all approach, POINTS PLUS enables retailers to tailor rewards and incentives to suit the unique preferences and behaviors of their customer base. Whether it's offering bonus points on specific products, organizing member-only events, or providing personalized recommendations, POINTS PLUS empowers retailers to deliver a personalized shopping experience that resonates with their customers on a deeper level.

Moreover, POINTS PLUS leverages cutting-edge technology, including artificial intelligence and data analytics, to optimize performance and drive results. By harnessing the power of data, retailers can gain valuable insights into consumer behavior, preferences, and trends, allowing them to make informed decisions that drive business growth. From identifying emerging market opportunities to refining marketing strategies, POINTS PLUS provides retailers with the tools they need to stay ahead of the curve in today's competitive landscape.

But perhaps the most compelling aspect of POINTS PLUS is its focus on building genuine relationships between retailers and consumers. In an age where trust and authenticity are paramount, POINTS PLUS fosters a sense of community and belonging, where customers feel valued and appreciated for their loyalty. By rewarding repeat purchases and incentivizing engagement, POINTS PLUS creates a virtuous cycle of loyalty that benefits both retailers and consumers alike.

[vanityangel]

SOLO SIKOA WWE BACKLASH (MAY 10, 2025)

[the-great-rat-attorney]

one thing i really like about herlock (as a proper sherlock holmes adaptation) is that he chessmasters so much of what happens - he clearly manipulates ryuu into doing this, and ryuu goes from "i don't care much about the tour for myself but it's too sad that susato can't go" to "i will become a lawyer. i have to" within like three minutes.

it just happens that he is manipulating people with the absolute best and kindest intentions and that he personally likes outcomes that benefit everyone, but as the original holmes says, it is fortunate for the community that he's not a criminal.

[tennessoui]

prompt --- meeting in prison au (maybe Anakin is serving a few years for crossing the line in defense of his mom and Obi-Wan is a volunteer teacher/lawyer?)

[this is in response to a prompt game i reblogged a year ago, but hey! wanted some dark obi-wan this evening so i'm finally getting around to it!] [warnings for hints of non-con typical for a prison trope fic where one is a pretty boy, also for dub-con and power imbalance] [obi-wan is another prisoner here] [supposedly] [2k]

It’s not actually something one asks here, which comes as a surprise to Anakin. He’d thought—well, he’d always assumed that was just something you traded in prison, like deathsticks and dirty holos maybe. Information, what are you in for.

Anakin had been worried that first night in his cell, mind shuffling through a cascade of concerns and memories and landing on one that seemed inconsequential, stacked as it was against the other contents of his life, but gripped him with a fear he hadn’t felt since he was small. What would he say, when they asked him what he was in for? 

Massacre is what’s written on the record. It’s some variation of the truth as well, though Anakin can’t even remember his own crime. Just the sting of the sand, the heat of the dying day, the blood on his hands. Mostly true, though Anakin thinks of it still as justice. Vengeance. The reality of bartering on Tatooine. A life for a life. A village for a mother. 

He could say massacre. As far as crimes go, it’s one that carries weight, could earn him a certain amount of respect among his fellow criminals. 

But then they would ask him how he did it. He isn’t necessarily small, but he’s hardly a man. Nineteen years old and lanky with it. His master used to assure him that he would grow sturdier with age, grow into his frame. 

His master hadn’t even looked at him once during the trial. It had been the security guards on Coruscant who had cut his braid.

So his fellow criminals would ask how he did it, how he killed an entire village of Tuskens when he is nothing but a nineteen year old boy.

And he would have nothing to say. Because being a Jedi…even just a Jedi padawan, even just a failed, ex-Jedi…it would attract too much attention. Too much of the wrong sort of attention. After all, the Jedi Order was probably responsible for half the prison sentences of the criminals here, and Anakin doesn’t think that any criminal would be able to just set that aside. Even if Anakin had barely had a hand in any sort of galactic-wide justice.

Even if the Jedi Order and Anakin don’t exactly agree on what justice is.

So he’d been afraid, that first night in his cell. Afraid and made powerless by the Force suppression cuffs locked tight around each wrist. Afraid that they would ask, that others would find out that he used to be a Jedi and punish him for it. Beat him as if they could beat their captors through him.

But no one asked.

Apparently, information like that isn’t shared or bartered. No one actually seemed that interested. And no one asked that first day. Not that first week. Oh, Anakin was told sometimes what other people did, how they came to be here, the length of their sentence. But only by the criminal themselves. There were rumors he heard about others, sometimes. That was all.

It eases some of the fear he feels that first week, that no one calls him as a Jedi, that no one seems to care about his past.

And with that fear taken care of, he has room to realize something else.

He’s pretty—and those in his cellblock have taken to noticing.

It’s nothing much at first. Lingering stares on his face, his lips, during mealtime. Lingering stares during the communal sonics. Out in the rec rooms. In the yards. He has no cellmate, at least, an empty bunk on top of him at night.

Thank the Force for small mercies.

Lingering stares turn into loud whispers that make Anakin want to scream. Perhaps the Force suppression bracelets smother his connection with the Force, but they do little to dim his Force-gifted hearing. It’s indecent. It’s skin crawling, what they say.

It’s also incredibly useful. Surprisingly so.

“Don’t know why I gotta respect some sleemo’s claim,” he hears from across the yards as he bends down to put the weights he’d been using back on their rack. “Man’s not even in the block and the boy’s mouth’s made for it.”

“You don’t have to,” someone else says in response as Anakin forces himself to keep his shoulders relaxed and low. He feels like prey. A piece of meat, ready for the taking. “That’s your grave dug though. It’s not just any sleemo. It’s fucking Sol who’s got his name on him.” 

“Fucking Sol,” the guy repeats with angry passion. “Been here two months and he thinks he owns the place.”

Two months. Where was Anakin two months ago? On Coruscant. At the beginning of his trial. Realizing too late that he’d done something he would not be able to undo. 

“--cut off a guy’s arm with a sharpened piece of plastoid,” the other man is saying when Anakin tunes back in. “Cause he was fucking bored. He can own this shithole all he wants. I’m not getting on the wrong side of him. Even for a round at Skywalker’s ass.”

Anakin beats a hasty retreat from the yards after that, though he can’t help but turn the new information over in his head.

He’d been wondering when the heated stares from the other prisoners would turn into attempts to—touch him. It’d been growing as a fear in the back of his mind. Without the Force, his defenses were shot. He was strong and well-muscled, but some of his fellow prisoners could almost certainly hold him down.

But apparently—they won’t.

Because someone else—some mysterious prisoner, Sol—already has first dibs.

The thought makes Anakin shiver, and it keeps him up for half the night. 

“You’re up rather late,” a voice murmurs through the cell wall a few hours into his restless pacing. The sound jolts Anakin into sudden stillness. “Oh, no, please don’t stop on my account, darling,” the voice says.

Anakin blinks. That’s a Coruscanti accent, though the prison is located in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the mid-rim. “What do you want?” he snaps automatically, arms crossing as he stares at the wall in front of him. On edge. Prey. Powerless.

“To talk,” the man says. “Obviously.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow of their own accord and he steps closer. “No one’s been in that cell before,” he states. “You’re new.”

“Oh, well done, you,” the man replies in a tone Anakin can’t decide is grating or pleasing. “You’re an observant one, aren’t you, Anakin?”

“How did you know my name?”

“Darling, the whole prison knows your name, I’m sure,” the man says with a chuckle that makes Anakin’s skin dimple. Fear? “Though I would hazard to say I know a little bit more than they do.”

“What do you mean.”

“Your past, darling. Your Jedi roots.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anakin snaps, even as his heart rate picks up. Jedi. He hasn’t heard that word in ages. He never wanted to hear it again. This man knows. This man knows.

Danger. Danger.

“I can hear your pulse from here, Anakin,” the man says, sounding calm. Sounding amused. Anakin blinks at the wall in front of him. Danger. Danger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says again.

“Hm,” the man says. “You’re afraid, I take it. Of others finding out.”

Anakin pinches his lips together, quiet. Silent.

“No need for that though,” the man says, as if this is a conversation between two friends—not one of Anakin’s worst nightmares brought to life. “You are under my protection.”

The words make Anakin’s stomach drop. “Sol.”

“To some,” the man—Sol—agrees. “I’d rather like it if you called me Obi-Wan though. Obi-Wan Kenobi. For now at least.”

Anakin sneers though the other man can’t see it. His heart races even faster now. Sol—one of the most dangerous men in the prison, if not the most dangerous one. Sol—the man whose name carries enough weight that he was able to claim Anakin as his own—what, bitch? What, plaything?---even from another block of the prison.

Sol, who somehow managed to get transferred between blocks, to the cell right next to Anakin’s own.

Who wants Anakin. 

For what?

“What do you want from me?” Anakin whispers. He clears his throat, tries again, louder this time and more insistent. “What do you want from me?” “I do think that is for me to know, darling, and for you to find out,” Sol—Kenobi—replies, tone light. Amused still. “But we can start with the simplest thing. Tomorrow morning, during our recreational hour in the yard, I would like you to come to me.”

“No kriffing way—”

“So you would like them to know of your past, darling? I’m sure I could forget myself. I’m sure I could…renege my claim rather easily. If you would prefer a more…brutal touch. Touches.”

Anakin’s skin crawls. The meaning and the threat in Kenobi’s words is clear. Either Anakin does as he is told or the other man will take away the protection currently keeping Anakin unmolested. And he’ll tell the others that Anakin was a Jedi. How many would jump at the chance to fuck a Jedi?

It’s not an option. It’s not a future Anakin would survive. He knows this.

But can he really—submit himself to another man, to this man? This dangerous, cruel man?  

“I don’t know anything about you,” he says roughly. “I don’t…”

“You will learn,” Kenobi says, dark promise coloring his words. “I will be beneath the chromometer. Tomorrow in the yard. You will come to me then.”

“Do you wish for me to crawl?” Anakin snarls, anger and powerlessness raging through him. His fist hits the wall between him and his executioner. It changes nothing. 

“Did I ask you to?” Kenobi snaps back, voice sharp as a blade. A moment passes. Another. The man lets out a breath and then says, “I do not want a dog, Anakin.”

“Then what do you want?” Anakin asks again, voice breaking under the weight of it all. He has always hated traps. He has always hated being powerless. Imprisoned.

Kenobi is silent as he appears to mull over the question. “I want an apprentice.”

Anakin has no idea what to say to that, and so he says nothing. Kenobi too is quiet. He remains so for the rest of the night.

In the morning, when Anakin is released from his cell after a sleepless night, he looks automatically to his left, but the door to Kenobi’s cell stays shut with no indication that there’s anyone in there.

He comforts himself with the thought that perhaps he imagined the whole affair up until the moment he is led into the yards during the morning rec hour.

It is immediately and painfully obvious which of the prisoners is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Sol. Even without the instructions that he’d been given, Anakin thinks he would be able to pick out the other man, just from how the others treat him.

Sol stands alone, back against the far side’s prison wall, ankles crossed and a deathstick in his hand. No one gets within several meters of him, giving him a wide berth. Out of respect? Fear? Both?

Anakin swallows.

This is not the man he thought he’d be when he was younger. This is not who he wanted to become.

But somehow he is here. Somehow this is the man he has become. Somehow, after a decade of freedom, he has been found by a new master.

Sol’s eyes flash golden in the weak sunlight as he watches Anakin approach him slowly. He tilts his face to examine him, to look at Anakin examining him in turn. His beard is neat and well-kept, as red as his rather long coppery hair. His smile is crooked when Anakin stops in front of him. He’s shorter than Anakin. It feels like a hollow victory, especially when the man plucks his death stick from his mouth and places it between Anakin’s lips.

“Good boy,” Obi-Wan purrs and Anakin feels a roar of emotions roar up in him at the words. Sickness. Hatred. Anger. 

And strangely, out of place and unexpected, a thrill of excitement.

[tonguetyd]

Maybe the seize/behold and burn mark and differently spaced seals are connected?

Walk with me here.

House Veridian is established, must endure, “unvanquished branch” right? Whereas Feathered Host is breaking cycles and seizing things

What if FH is like the rebellious branch splitting off from HV? And the contribution was seized by the rebellion and that’s why it’s burned at the bottom - it wasn’t mean to be theirs. And that’s why the seal is in the corner. It’s not planned out and precise. It’s stamped at the last second.

If so, FH may be smaller in numbers but boy to people love a rebel. Might even convince people to switch sides if true

[girlwiththegreenhat]

in spite of everything i have never been more convinced that kitt is completely in love with michael actually. the car, he yearns

[wyvernquill]

I'm rewatching Anastasia and this convo would really fit in your AU

Hob: look, Murphy, I'm just trying to help Murphy: do you really think I'm an Endless, Hob?

Hob: you know I do.

Murphy: then stop bossing me around

I'm sorry, this ask is already over a year old, but I finally got around to writing a scene based on it! (Plus some Murphy&Gil bits I wanted to put in somewhere, anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

[Mild warning for contemplation of one's potential death, and having once lost the will to life - I wouldn't call it suicidal ideation, it doesn't quite go there, but I figured I'd better be safe than sorry.]

Link to Anastasia AU Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

“Hob.” Murphy interrupts, eyes flashing with frustration.

(Today’s how-to-be-a-Dream-Lord lessons are not going well - not that any of them have, but this one is a particular catastrophe. Gil has already given up on their contrary charge for the evening, and with the way Murphy’s shoulders are up and tension bristles between them, Hob is unlikely to make much more headway tonight.)

“Tell me. Do you truly believe I am him? The Prince of Stories? The Dream King?”

“Yes,” Hob lies, easily, unflinchingly, and with a smile on his face. A good lie has to be treated like the truth, and maybe, one day, it’ll actually turn into one. They’ve been trying so very hard to teach Murphy this, he should know it by now. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps,” Murphy spits, and despite his feral arrogance, despite the way he holds his head high and squares his slender shoulders, it’s not the regal indignation of a King, but the helpless tantrum of an angry child who’s failing in class. “You ought to finally treat me with the fucking deference an Endless is owed, Hob Gadling!”

(There are tears in his pale-blueish eyes, Hob can see them, can hear the crack in Murphy’s hoarse voice.

Nobody has treated this man with respect in all the years he remembers, that much is obvious. Nobody but his birds. And he knows, they all know, that he’s no prince, that his blood runs red, not blue - runs at all, come to think of it. Endless don’t bleed.

But he wants to be. He wishes he was. Murphy is not Dream of the Endless, but he is ravenous for the spoils of such a role. Desperate to be respected, to be worshipped and revered, desperate to be owed the sort of treatment he has never received.

Hob ought to be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of that helpless hunger for kindness and decency… and he will be. For the rest of his immortal life, he’ll live with the shame of what he did to cheat Death, and still not regret it.)

Hob plasters a smile over his impatience and opens his mouth, gentle, calming words already on the tip of his tongue. Murphy is lonely and frightened and frustrated, that much is obvious. Fine. Hob knew it wouldn’t be easy, to teach their false Dream all he needs to know, and this is not an insurmountable roadblock. If Hob can only reassure him, earn his trust, be his friend, even, it will make everything much easier. Poor thing, lashing out like an injured animal. But Hob can surely coax him into-

Murphy recoils. Flinches back from the admittedly-half-faked warmth, his face, his entire bearing collapsing into itself like a heavy portcullis rattling shut.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pointing one of his stick-thin fingers at Hob’s face, “don’t you DARE! I have no need for your false pity, and I want no part of it! I want-” the white of his eyes is bloodshot, and in his terror, in his fury, in his desperation, awash in unshed tears “-I want out. This deal is off. Find some other poor sucker to teach how to play Endless, I won’t do it! I’ve had enough!”

And before Hob can say as much as a single word, Murphy has snatched up his coat and slipped out onto the rainy street, Matthew following - but not after awarding Hob with a colder glare than he would’ve thought a mere raven capable of.

Murphy does not manage to flee very far.

He is in an unfamiliar town, with no money, no valuables besides the clothes on his back that are now slightly finer than he used to be; and the winter is cold and deep and stifling. He gets no further than a handful of streets until he slows halfway across a bridge, shaking with cold more than anger, snowflakes dancing around him. It is a quiet, windless night - and it has always calmed him, to stand underneath the dark sky at night, and know that most of the city lies asleep around him.

Matthew settles on the bridge’s parapet, caws. Hops closer, cocks his head to one side. There is a clear question in his bearing, a what now? glinting in his eyes. Birds are open and honest - unlike humans. Liars and hypocrites all.

“...I do not know, Matthew.” Murphy admits quietly. He has taken the coat, but forgotten the scarf in his haste, so he tugs at his collar, to keep the cold air from trickling down his spine. “I truly don’t.”

He does not have the means to return to London on his own - and at the same time, does not have much desire to do so. He had nothing and no-one there, but for the birds. Pockets can be picked anywhere - he could make a new start in this nameless town.

…if only it weren’t winter.

Murphy shivers, feeling his bones rattle with it. The night is calm, but bitterly cold, and it will not end well for him, sitting in the snow until morning. In the dark of winter, he cannot afford a night without shelter, a day without a sure way to come by some food to keep his strengths up. In London, he would have known where to go. Here, he is helpless.

Damn Hob Gadling, and may Destruction take him! Murphy will have no other choice but to crawl back to him, and hope he’ll be kept on as Endless-impersonator. Hope, because Murphy’s made a right pig’s ear of it so far, slow and clumsy to learn, and outright refusing to play at nobility. He will always be a gutter rat, Murphy knows it. They can’t fashion him into a Dream King, and perhaps this flare of temper will prove to Hob once and for all that there is no point in trying.

There is no point in trying.

Murphy gives up on his collar, and rests his hands on the parapet. Matthew caws, and presses his head against his arm, a far better reassurance than Hob’s false smiles. It comforts Murphy, at least a little. He’s not alone, never alone - no matter how lonely he might feel.

Underneath them, a foreign river flows just fast enough to avoid the freeze. The water does not reflect any stars, but the snow dancing over the surface makes it almost look as if. His own reflection wavers and breaks across the waves.

(Some nights, he dreams of a darkened shore and a sea stretching far past the horizon, black waters that fold up into the night sky, indistinguishable from each other. Of a wooden pier, and galaxies swirling underneath.

Whenever he leans out too far, the reflected eyes he meets are not his own, and he wakes with a scream lodged in his throat.)

Murphy shivers again, and savours the last remnants of his pride, before it, too, will have to be cast into the dirt and abandoned.

“I believe you forgot this, young friend.”

Murphy’s head snaps up.

Dreams and nightmares approach without a whisper, perfectly silent at night if they choose to be. Gilbert is no exception; and if Murphy were to pay attention to anything but his heart racing like a startled hare, he would perhaps be a little distressed by the fact that there are no fresh footprints in the snow beside his own.

But it’s only Gilbert, kind-eyed and not-human, holding out Murphy’s scarf like a peace offering.

Murphy does not take it.

“Did Gadling send you?” he asks, wary.

“Robert informed me what had transpired between you two.” Gilbert admits. “But rest assured, I am here on nobody’s behalf but my own - and, well, yours. Frightfully nippy tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Murphy does not say. He trusts Gil as little as Hob, perhaps even less. A dream attempting to betray the memory of his master seems hardly like a paragon of virtue, and is perhaps even more suspicious than a deceitful human.

(He does, however, take the scarf now. It’s too cold to be stubborn, and when he winds it around his neck, it smells of sunshine on a summer meadow, warm and comforting.)

“And if you truly wish to leave… dear boy, I won’t stop you.” Murphy does not like the way Gilbert looks at him, as if trying to see someone else beneath his skin. He does not meet Murphy’s eyes, if he can help it. “In fact I would send you off with well-earned compensation for your time, and travel fare. Unless…”

Gil steps up to the parapet beside him.

“...unless I can convince you to stay…?”

“Why would you?” Murphy mutters, instead of why would I, if you’re offering to pay me off? “It should be perfectly obvious that I’ll never pass muster.”

“Ironically,” Gilbert smiles, but only at the man he pretends to see whenever he looks at Murphy, “it is well known among the former denizens of the Dreaming that His Lordship was often prone to very similar bouts of pessimism. I have faith in you, Murphy - and so does Robert Gadling. Please, do not leave. I rather doubt we will succeed without you.”

"You…" Murphy struggles with the words, the sentiment behind them lodging uncomfortably in his throat. "You have great respect, even love, for Dream of the Endless' memory. So why do you pretend? Why try to fool his siblings that I am him?"

For a moment, Gilbert seems ready to insist, as always, that Murphy is, or at least might be - but, to his credit, he does not play Murphy for a fool, in the end. Not this time. Not like Hob always, always does.

"You are quite correct. I loved His Lordship deeply, in a way that could never be understood by anyone but a dream and their creator." Gilbert sighs, his soft meadow-green eyes gazing far into the distance of better days, lined by old grief. "He made me to be the Heart of the Dreaming, and he was the Dreaming, so I knew his heart and self better than any other. The loss, when he… you cannot imagine it, young friend. I thought I would wither away and die. I thought that would be a mercy. To live as a dream in a universe that does not contain Dream of the Endless seemed entirely unthinkable, and to be quite frank, I did not think I would survive longer than a year at most in the Waking."

"I understand," says Murphy, quietly, and he does. He is no stranger to the feeling of being so untethered, only floating along with the end looming over him, death - not Death, no longer, the Endless have been cast from their domains - only biding its time.

(In the first year he can remember, Murphy did not think he would see another, either.)

"And yet, the year passed. And I lived." Gilbert smiles, faintly, taking off his glasses to polish them. "I suspect it was humanity which saved me, for all that they robbed me of my home and Lord, as well. I found… such joy, in this world. In my human form, wandering among them. Calling a few select individuals friends, even. Young Robert's companionship was a particular blessing, and I owe him more than he can ever know."

He sets the glasses back on his nose.

"Lord Morpheus is dead." Says Gilbert. Says it like fact, like something too absolute for the sort of dream-creature born of hypotheticals he is, like an unshakeable truth he has resigned himself to. His voice only barely breaks over the words. "And I shall grieve him for all the rest of my days… but I must live to mourn him. Life goes on, young friend, and we must all move along with it. And, well. I cannot speak for Robert's motivations, but the true reason why I have agreed to this mad scheme…"

Gilbert takes Murphy's freezing hands in his own. His fingertips are not lined quite right, they would not leave prints that look even remotely like those of a human - but aside from that, his grip is warm, avuncular, firm, reassuring.

"I fear that his siblings will not be able to live on without him." Gilbert confesses, quietly. "They are not made to accept change and move on from a loss as monumental as what humanity has wrought upon them. To have you… not him, not entirely, but perhaps enough… it is my most solemn hope that it might give them some form of closure at long last."

"So that's what it is?" Murphy laughs, bitterly. "Charitable concern for the well-being of personifications of abstract concepts!?"

"No." Gilbert corrects mildly. "Love. For my creator's family."

Murphy scoffs. His chest aches with it.

"What you, hmm. What you must understand, about Lord Morpheus…" Gilbert seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "...is that, for all that he was often harsh and commanding, he was so very loving, always. My Lord loved with all his self, even if he would attempt to turn a cold shoulder to the world - and I think you are much like him in temperament, young Murphy.”

Murphy does not acknowledge that. He doesn't think he can.

“He loved his family, and he loved the Dreaming, and all the beings in it. I was his heart, or near as, you must recall, I knew the truth at the core of him.

Memories or not, love as he did, and you will be a credit to his name, and a comfort to all who knew him."

(Murphy does not have it in himself to love like Dream of the Endless did. He already struggles to love at all.

But perhaps, for the sake of the entity whose memory he will dishonour, he can try.)

“So. Will you come back and resume your lessons?” Gil asks, very gently. “You may leave, now or any other time, of course you may. But it would be to your benefit, as well as to that of many others, if you did not.”

“I’ll stay,” Murphy forces out. He could blame the way his hands shake on the cold. “For now.”

“Thank you, dear child. Thank you.” This time, when Gilbert smiles, it very nearly feels like it is directed at him, after all. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold, hm? And Matthew as well.”

Murphy lets Gilbert herd him back to their inn, sits through Hob Gadling’s apology and wonders if it was sincere - he can never tell, with this infuriating man - and continues to learn as much as possible about the life of Dream of the Endless.

But he’s slowly realising, if anything will convince the Endless siblings, then it certainly won’t be the trivia. He’ll have to learn to love like the Lord of Stories, for their deception to have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

(Oh, wonderful. As if this wasn’t difficult enough already…)

[ahb-writes]

Newsflash: Princess Crystel doesn't give a fuck.

(from Ellcia, 1992)

[t-u-i-t-c]

touma & kento 🤝 koh & canalo

🔥&⚡

[rosykims]

me pleading with astarion through the deluge of his act 1 disapproval like please i swear bro viera is evil yeah yeah i know shes super chill to everyone she encounters and is honest to a fault but. no, lissten, jsust listen hang on. shes LAWFUL evil man it still counts !!!! i know shes loyal and selfless to her allies and refuses to harm animals or children and will actively intervene on children's behalf BRO STOTP LAUGHIGN PLEASE I SWEAR and and um i know she respects ur autonomy nd doesnt let u ascend and has done literall.y all of the good options so by game mechanics shes indistinguishable to a hero character bbt. but i swear bro. bro i sw. where are you going

[realkaijuhavecurves]

They say it's my birthday

[techgeni]

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[scare-ard--sleigh]

oh but okay. oz as a victim of carmine, despite this being his choice

[asiangroups]

Consumers shift to simpler eating habits, less snacking: Kantar

Simpler eating habits, lesser shopping trips, use of fewer ingredients and less snacking are some of the consumers habits highlighted by Kantar as it released its UK's grocery market share data for February 2025.

Take-home sales at the grocers rose by 3.6 per cent over the four weeks to 23 February compared with one year ago, according to the latest data from Kantar released today (4).

As the five-year anniversary of the first Covid-19 lockdown approaches, Kantar has been looking into how consumers’ grocery habits have evolved – from lifestyle to loyalty.

Sally Ball, head of retail at Kantar, comments: “Back in 2020, we didn’t know just how big an impact the Covid-19 pandemic would have on our lives, but five years on we can get a picture of its lingering effects on consumers.

[retenzy]

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