Found This Today

A messy Dream. Literally messy

Wishful Drinking

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.

Or, drunk shenanigans galore!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.

Listen.

You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.

Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”

You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business. 

Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.

With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.

The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.

But then shots had been ordered.

And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.

And you bought yourself two drinks.

And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.

This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?

“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.

Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off. 

When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.

“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.

And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.

It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.

“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.

“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.

“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.

 It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now—that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.

“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”

“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.

“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”

Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes. 

“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”

He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”

“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.

“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.

“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.

“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!” 

You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.

“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”

“You put yourself in this state?”

“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”

“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”

You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”

Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?

Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.” 

You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.

“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.

He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”

“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.

“That is not a good answer.”

“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.

“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”

“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”

Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.

“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.

“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.

When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”

“Are you well enough to move?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though. 

You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.

Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”

“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.

His face softens. “Of course I did.”

You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”

Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?” 

You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”

He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.

Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.

“You are still under the influence,” he notes.

“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”

“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.

“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”

“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.

Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.

“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”

He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.

You don’t think you ever will.

Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask,  “Will you carry me?” 

“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”

“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”

“Always,” he promises.

And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.

Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”

“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.” 

Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.

Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”

You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.

“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”

“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”

“And did you?”

“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.

“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”

“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”

He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”

“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”

“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.

“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.

“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”

“No.”

“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”

Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”

“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.

“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”

You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”

“What?”

“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.

“Ugh, you’re no fun!”

“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”

“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”

You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Ten

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Angst, Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.3k

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She has not shown herself to you, because she does not wish to.

Lucienne’s words haunted Morpheus in an Endless pain he felt within his being. He had expected you to seek him out the moment he returned as you had always been faithfully by his side. Not to mention he had made a promise to you that he was not able to keep. Surely you were upset by that. No, he had expected everything to be as it was when he had left. He’d been wrong. Lucienne changed. Cain and Abel changed. Fiddler’s Green changed. It was a naive notion to think that you wouldn’t change. Stewing in his morose thoughts, Morpheus decided he had brooded long enough. It was time he tracked you down, for Morpheus needed your comforting presence, even if you held nothing but animosity towards him. Even if all you’d allow was for the Endless to merely gaze upon you, that would be enough.

Rising from his throne, Morpheus stepped down the stairs and strode for the one place that would have the most clues regarding your whereabouts. Your studio. Striding through the palace, Morpheus pondered your absence some more, disturbed by your lack of appearance. Did you not love him as he thought you did? Had he not made his affections clear to you? Jessamy had certainly threatened him plenty over his intentions towards you. 106 years. How much could a person change in that time? Had your love dissipated and resentment taken shelter? Were you angry? Were you unconsolable? Did you want nothing to do with him and the palace after Jessamy’s death? Did you hate him? Perhaps you did if you refused his company.

He reached the door to your studio and paused. He couldn’t feel your presence within, but several light orbs were softly illuminated indicating that you had been within your studio recently. Opening the door, Morpheus stepped into your art studio and ventured forwards. There were paintings and sketches scattered throughout the studio, you were clearly still painting and drawing… but all of your works now held a darker tone. Your artwork reflected a darkened mind crippled by pain, agony.

Walking around your work bench, Morpheus eyed the luxurious bed, expecting to see your nest of pillows, feathers, and down. But all he saw was a neatly made bed, devoid of indication that anyone used it. The studio was used, yes, but clearly you did not use it as you once had. He looked closer at your sketches, many of which were sketches of Jessamy, beautifully sketched and detailed. Your skill had only increased. It only felt like a night ago in which you were just starting to learn how to draw in your new body.

“You look quite concentrated, little one,” Morpheus observed as he sat for you while you struggled to hold a pencil with your foot and draw his likeness. You growled under your breath and spit out a few curses which made Morpheus’s lips twitch. He doubted you noticed, but you truly came alive when you were focused on your art. The melancholy on your face faded and a spark of determination sparkled within the depths of your black eyes.

“That’s because I still sometimes have a hard time grasping this stupid pencil,” You huffed back, gripping  the small instrument in your tiny foot. You hopped several places and flapped your wings. “I can control it pretty well at times but then it get’s away from me and everything starts going awry!”

You let out a caw of frustration and threw the misbehaving pencil across the room. It was much easier to paint, in your opinion, than to draw. You’d taken to the brush much quicker than the pencil, and your frustrations were starting to get the better of you. Morpheus rose from his seat and walked over to where you were standing, trying not to let your frustrations get the better of you.

“Why am I even doing this?” You asked with an exaggerated sigh. Morpheus lifted a finger to your beak and tilted your head up.

“Because you are determined, Adrienne,” He reminded you with a small smile. “And you are not one to give up so easily, your perseverance has brought you this far, has it not?”

You eyed your lord, seeing his provocative eyebrow raise. It ruffled your feathers and you huffed.

“I never said I was gonna give up, I just—I feel like I am not making any progress and it’s been decades.”

“And you have eons more to hone your skill, for I shall always look forward to your creations.” You eyed him carefully. Sometimes you really wished that you had your human body rather than a birds.

Don’t be envious. Don’t be envious. It wasn’t like the dreams and nightmares throughout the realm had the pleasure of painting Morpheus’s portrait with the Endless sitting right in front of them. It wasn’t like the Endless actively sought out their company.

“Fine, fine, sit back down I’m almost done with your general profile.” You ordered, having no issue ordering the Endless around. Morpheus, pleased that you had finally perked up, returned to his seat and watched as you fluttered to where your thrown pencil had ended up. Grasping it in your foot once more, you swooped back up to the easel and focused back on your sketch.

You were not a conventional lover, certainly if your relationship with him had grown more intimate. But at the time your company had been more than enough for him. Now all Morpheus wanted was to hear your comforting voice and see the familiar splash of midnight and pearl. Even if it was only to hear your thoughts of envy and yearning for what you had once had. He also owed you an apology. Not just for the fact that he had broken his promise to return with an hour, but your sister had been killed while in his service. It had been voluntary, but you would still feel betrayed.

Morpheus was about to leave the studio, not having garnered any new information from inspecting your studio, but then caught sight of a brighter light peeking out the trim of the small closet. Curiosity peaked, for why would you have the closet light so bright compared to the rest of your studio? Morpheus drew the slightly cracked door open and found his answer. Compared to the rest of the studio, the closet was far more homely and lived in. Down and feathers littered the floor, and there was a nest tucked in the corner. That was where you slept. But what Morpheus took notice most of all, was the obsessive amount of drawings of Jessamy.

They were everywhere, pinned on the walls, stacked on shelves, stuffed between books on a small bookshelf. He moved over to a stack that sat next to a bowl full of charcoal, clearly being used. On the top of the pile was a sketch of himself with Jessamy, the drawn lines darkened and clear, sharp. His eyes were the only hint of color on the page, an illuminating blue. By far your best work yet, not even Morpheus had seen you draw this beautifully. As Morpheus stared at the sketch, he spotted something at the edge of the page that should not be there. A charcoal fingerprint.

All who knew you, who lived within the palace, knew to never touch your artwork unless permission was given. Who would even think to enter a place so small and intimate, one you took shelter in, and touch your work? Certainly with charcoal on their fingers? Morpheus reached for a journal he had given you, inscribed with your name in gold lettering, and opened it. More pictures of him and Jessamy greeted his gaze. It was just as obsessive, and Morpheus could see your mental breakdown over the years. But even as he witnessed your breakdown through your drawings his eyes kept returning to the fingerprint upon your sketch. So journal and sketch in hand, he strode from your studio and headed for the library, determined to finally get answers.

Lucienne had been speaking with Mervyn about the newly rejuvenated gardens when their lord came striding into the library with a swirl of anger. Her brown eyes saw that he carried a leather-bound journal she often saw you drawing in, and a piece of parchment.

“Sir,” Lucienne greeted, trying to keep herself calm. “Is there something you need?” Morpheus strode up to her and held up a charcoal drawing of him with Jessamy perched on his shoulder. “Ah, I see you have discovered Adrienne’s artwork? She has much improved over the last century.” Lucienne said pleasantly, ignoring the charcoal fingerprint on the edge.

“Tell me, Lucienne, who enters Adrienne’s studio and touches her work when we all know that is an egregious event?” Morpheus asked, his voice poised with a lethal edge of a dagger. Both Mervyn and Lucienne shifted where they stood.

“I— I am not aware that anyone has entered Adrienne’s studio without permission let alone touched her work. We know she does not like it when her work is touched.” Lucienne replied evenly, reverting back to what was well known about you. “Not even to admire…” Morpheus shifted his gaze to Mervyn.

“And have you, Mervyn, witnessed anyone trespassing these halls? Surely you have seen something, as Adrienne does not possess hands.” He was enunciating his words now, his patience dwindling at the lack of information on you. Where were you? Why had you not appeared before him? Did you truly hate him? Did you despise him for Jessamy’s death? Were you in such anger that you would refuse to grace his presence ever again? Mervyn rubbed the back of his head, not knowing what to say. The promise he made to you all those years ago to treat Adrienne as dead was still strong… but lie to his lord? That he could not do.

“Well…” Mervyn sighed dramatically. “No one has gone into her studio who shouldn’t have, I can tell you that. She’d eat ‘em alive if they did… kinda anal about keeping people out actually. She’s gotten mean the past few decades,” He muttered while Lucienne forced herself to not facepalm herself in front of Morpheus. Mean. Adrienne had gotten mean. That was the first piece of true information Morpheus had gotten since coming home. But how could you have turned mean? You didn’t hold one mean bone in your entire body.

“Mervyn,” Your quiet, flat voice shattered the tension between the trio as you came striding into the library. The pumpkin headed janitor looked at you as you came to a stop. Your hair was ruffled and your clothes looked hastily put on. “I retrieved the sprite lantern from the relieving arch.” You announced. “If you want the Hesperides to stop throwing the lantern up there, may I suggest moving it? They despise each other.”

“Move it?” Melvyn repeated, insulted at the idea. “The whole point of having the spite lantern there is because of the water— ah fuck, I’m really gonna have to find a new place for the lantern, ain’t I?”

“Indeed,” You echoed, knowing that the janitor hated when he had to shift the homes of the residents of the palace around. They were quite persnickety about their place of home. You contemplated where the sprite lantern could be moved. “Perhaps the east end garden? I believe Lord Morpheus put in a new pond there.”

“Yeah, yeah, good idea,” Mervyn agreed before glancing at Morpheus. “Speaking of which, you met whitey here?” He asked, jerking his stick thumb at you. “She’s kind of mean and never smiles, not that she can, but is one hell of a worker to have around. She’s kept this place running while you were gone.”

You blinked at Mervyn before looking at Lord Morpheus.

“We have met before, though never the chance to formally speak,” You confirmed, then gave Mervyn an unimpressed look. “And I believe you mistake my frankness for me being mean, because that would imply emotions which you are aware that I do not experience.” As you stared at Mervyn who was scowling at you, you felt Morpheus gaze wearing heavily on your body. “If you will excuse me, retrieving the sprite lantern from the receiving arch is not the only task I have do to this day,” You said before giving your lord a respectful nod. “Lord Morpheus,”

You strode out of the library, heading for your next task. Morpheus stared at your back as you strode away, still feeling like there was something off about you. No, there was. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, and it wasn’t that you lacked empathy. It was something else. Something about you was hauntingly familiar, yet entirely foreign.

“Where did she come from?” He asked, settling his gaze back on Lucienne and Mervyn. They shifted uncomfortably. “She might be a resident of the Dreaming, but I have no memory of her. So tell me, exactly where did she come from? You say she has maintained my palace diligently all these years, yet I do not know her.”

“I just realized that I left the sprinkler on in the desert garden so I’m just gunna…” Mervyn rambled while edging his way out of the library, Morpheus made no comment, his eyes locked with Lucienne’s, who was staring back and trying not to be daunted. A nearly impossible task, even for her.

“Only a creature with wings, is capable of retrieving something from the relieving arch,” Morpheus stated, his eyes now hard. He was done asking questions. Yes, done with asking questions, worrying about where you were, wondering if you hated him, needing you… and would now demand answers. He demanded to know where you were, he demanded your presence. The secrets had gone on long enough. Even if you did in fact hate him, he still demanded your presence. “I expect Adrienne in my throne room tomorrow morning at ten o’clock exactly,” Morpheus decreed, then his eyes glowed silver in warning. “Or I shall summon her directly with my sand regardless of her wishes.” With that he strode away, coat billowing just as much as his anger.

Date Published: 7/5/23

Last Edit: 7/5/23

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Seven years after, I see you again 😚

How to Write Stakes that Aren't Life vs. Death

Writing strong stakes is critical for any story. But a question that often comes up for newer writers is, "How do I create stakes other than life vs. death?" Or essentially, "How do I write stakes that aren't life or death, yet are still effective?"

"Stakes" refer to what your character has to lose, what is at risk in the story. And obviously, potentially losing one's life, is a pretty big risk.

To address the questions, let's first look at why life vs. death stakes are so effective. 

I know, it sounds obvious, like common sense even, and you may be rolling your eyes. 

But understanding why they almost always work, will help you see how to create other similar stakes.

The thing about death is, it has a finality to it that almost nothing else has. 

No one can come back from the dead.

That's it.

Death is the end of the road.

Done.

Gone.

Game over.

. . . Except that unlike "Game over," you can't restart the game.

In storytelling, this is one of the main reasons many of us want to grab life vs. death stakes. Everyone reading the book innately understands this. Death is final, you can't come back from that. It's a "point of no return." It can't be undone.

Great stakes will create a similar effect. 

It's not literally life or death. But to some degree, there exists a figurative life-or-death situation.

For example, in The Office, after Michael accidentally hits Meredith with his car, he organizes a fun run on her behalf. Michael is driven by the desire to be liked by others. And after he hits Meredith, people don't like him. (I am simplifying the actual story just a bit.) With the fun run, he's hoping to redeem himself. He wants to be liked (or even admired) by others. To Michael, that hinges on his success with the fun run. If it's a success, people will like him again. If it's a failure, they won't (or they will dislike him even more).

There are seemingly only two outcomes: Success = liked. Failure = (forever) disliked.

From Michael's perspective, he can't have both.

Whichever path the fun run takes, the other path "dies." 

You can't go back in time and change the outcome of the fun run. 

It's final. 

End of the road. 

Done. 

Gone.

The situation also, to some degree, feels like figurative life or death to Michael. He's driven to be liked, and that makes him feel alive. If he's disliked, it feels like "death." It mars him psychologically, and he feels like he can't come back from that. It feels like the end of the road.

The Office is not a high-stakes story (which is one of the reasons I'm using it), but it still has effective stakes that convey why what's happening (the fun run) matters (liked vs. disliked), which is something all good stakes do.

This example also shows two components related to crafting effective stakes: plot and character.

Let's dig a bit deeper into each.

One of Two Paths Forward

If you've been following me for a while, you may know that I like to define stakes as potential consequences. It's what could happen, if a condition is met. As such, any stake should be able to fit into an "If . . . then . . ." sentence.

If the fun run is a success, then Michael will be liked.

If the fun run is a failure, then Michael will be disliked.

Others may argue the stake is only what is at risk in the story--and that's fair.

But notice when we lay out potential consequences, they convey (directly or indirectly) what is at risk. In the example sentences above, we see that Michael's popularity (or the lack thereof) is what is at risk.

Potential consequences convey what will happen if a specific outcome is reached. And this lays out at least two possible paths forward.

If X happens, then Y happens.

Which also implies, if X doesn't happen, then Y doesn't happen.

Or, we may be more specific and say, if X doesn't happen, then Z happens.

In any case, by laying out the potential consequences, we lay out two paths forward.

I like to imagine it as laying down railroad tracks, which shows the paths the train could go. 

But notice the train can't travel down two paths at the same time.

It's an either-or situation.

That's what we want to set up in our stories, when it comes to stakes.

Covering every aspect of this topic is beyond the scope of this article, but at the basic level, it works like this.

The character has a goal (of which there are three types). Something opposes that goal (antagonist). And this creates conflict, which escalates.

There should be consequences tied to getting or not getting the goal.

If the character gets the goal, Y happens.

For example, if Harry successfully stops Voldemort from getting the Sorcerer's Stone, the Wizarding World will be saved.

If the character doesn't get the goal, then Z happens.

For example, if Harry fails to stop Voldemort from getting the Sorcerer's Stone, then Voldemort will return to power and the Wizarding World won't be saved.

These are potential consequences that the writer should convey before, or at least near the start of, the conflict.

Notice they also convey what's at risk (the Wizarding World's safety).

So these are the pathways the story could go.

But we can only travel down one.

We can't go two directions at once.

This creates a sense of either-or, similar to life or death. (Although admittedly, in my example, if Voldemort returns to power, there will eventually be death involved, but, generally speaking . . . )

This will also create a sense of finality, in the same way death does.

Figuratively speaking, the path we don't travel on "dies," because it is no longer an option. We can't go back and get on that train track. We've passed it. (We now have to deal with the consequences.)

When we hit an outcome--a condition--the pathway is selected.

Harry successfully stops Voldemort, so the Wizarding World is saved.

Harry successfully stopping Voldemort is also a turning point (a.k.a. a plot turn). It turns the direction of the story, it turns the story onto the path we laid out (since its condition was met).

With this, I like to think of the turning point as being the track that switches the direction of the train.

This switch also creates what some in the community call a "point of no return." (We can't go back and go down a different path. It's done. We are on a different trajectory now. (And yes, I am simplifying a bit.))

Stakes don't literally have to be life or death. But you need to set them up so that the pathways the story could go, look like either-or pathways. You need to set them up, so that outcomes can't be easily, foreseeably undone.

So let's look at a less dramatic example.

Your character needs to deliver an invitation to a royal wedding (goal). This isn't a life-or-death situation. In fact, it arguably sounds a little boring.

But when we tie potential consequences to it, not only does it become more interesting, but whether or not the character successfully does this, matters, because it changes the path, the trajectory of the story.

So, maybe we say . . . 

If Melinda successfully delivers the invitation, then she'll be able to go to the royal wedding as well, which is where she'll have the chance to meet her hero.

I would need to communicate more contextual info to make this more effective. I would need to explain more about the stakes. Let's say her aunt said she'd take Melinda as her +1, if Melinda does this task for her (because the aunt really doesn't want to, because she has some high-priority things she needs to get done). Melinda's hero is from another continent, and she'll likely never have the opportunity to meet this person again. We could build it out more, so that she wants to get feedback on a project from her hero, and doing that could change Melinda's career path for the better.

We could even make her vocational situation more dire. If her current project isn't a success, then she'll be doomed to work for her father as his secretary (which she'd hate).

Now a lot hinges on successfully delivering this invitation.

If she successfully delivers the invitation, then Melinda can go to the wedding and get feedback from her hero, which will result in her not having to work for her father.

If she fails to deliver the invitation, not only will she not get to meet her hero at the wedding, but she'll have to work a job she can't stand.

Two paths forward.

She can't travel down both.

Now, we give her a lot of obstacles (antagonists) in the way of her delivering this invitation, so we have conflict (which should escalate).

Whether or not she delivers the invitation, is a turning point, because it turns the direction of the story, it turns her pathway. (Simplistically speaking, I could get more complex.) It's in some sense "a point of no return."

You can make almost any goal work, even a boring one, if you tie proper stakes to it.

The goal to survive (life vs. death stakes) is innately immediately effective, because we already understand it holds a "point of no return." If you die, you don't come back from that. There will also eventually be a point where, if you reach your goal, you won't be at risk of dying (at least, simplistically speaking, you won't die right at that moment.) 

For other situations, you often need to build out and explain the stakes, for them to feel meaningful. You may need to provide contextual information, and you may need to walk the potential consequences out further so the audience understands everything that is at risk.

Let's talk about this from a character angle though . . . 

Putting the Right Thing at Risk

One of the reasons the fun run Office example works, is because the writers put at risk what Michael cares about most: being liked. It's what motivates the majority of his actions on the show. It's what drives him. It's the want that he holds closest to his heart, his deepest personal desire.

Because it matters so much to him, the personal risk feels greater.

Michael feels, on some level, he will "die" psychologically, if he isn't liked or admired. (Which is also why he feels he will "die" if he is alone. (Even if he, himself, isn't fully conscious of either of these points.))

When the character cares about something that deeply, whether or not the character gets it, matters more.

Main characters should have at least one major want that drives them--something they want desperately, something they keep close to their hearts and deep in their psyches. It's often their most defining motivator. Michael wants to be liked. Harry wants to be where he belongs and is loved (the Wizarding World). Katniss wants to survive. Barbie wants to maintain a perfect life. Luke wants to become something great. Shrek wants to be alone so he can avoid judgment. 

When we put any of those at risk, it raises the stakes.

. . . Because the characters not getting their deepest, heartfelt desires, has big personal ramifications on their psyches.

If what matters most to Shrek in his world is to be alone, and other fairytale creatures are being sent to his swamp, then the potential consequences are threatening what he holds most dear to his heart. Life as he knows it will figuratively "die" if he doesn't put a stop to it. (Of course, in order to complete his character arc, he has to be willing to let that part of him "die" so he can become something greater, someone more "whole.") It feels figuratively like "life or death" to him.

Ironically, putting the character's deepest desire at risk, can often be more effective than life or death stakes, because if you handled this right, you made sure to give the character a want that he will do almost anything to try to fulfill--even risk death for. Harry is willing to risk death to save the place where he is loved. Barbie is willing to risk death (well, at least her "life") in the real world to get her perfect life back. Luke is willing to risk death to become or be part of something great. Shrek is willing to risk death to get his swamp back (facing a dragon). 

Recently I saw another great example of this while rewatching The Umbrella Academy. Hazel and Cha Cha kidnap Klaus and torture and threaten to kill him (to try to get information from him). But the torture and threats have no effect on him. In fact, Klaus gets off on it. Hazel and Cha Cha are at a loss as to how to break him.

While this is going on, Klaus eventually comes down from a drug-induced high. His superpower is that he can see and talk to the dead, but he hates that he has this ability--in fact, he's been traumatized by it (in a literal "ghost" story). It's actually the reason he's a drug addict to begin with. When he's high, he can't see or hear ghosts. Avoiding them is his deepest desire.

Torture and death don't break Klaus. What breaks Klaus is being unable to get away from the ghosts. It's only when Hazel discovers his stash of drugs and starts destroying it, that Klaus gets desperate. Not only are the drugs expensive (and he's broke), but worse, without them, Klaus has to face his greatest fear. He has to be surrounded by the dead. This is the exact opposite of his deepest desire.

In fact, to Klaus, this is something worse than death.

Some things are worse than death. And often, those things include your character's deepest desire, the want he holds closest to his heart.

Now sometimes, those things may overlap (like with Katniss being driven to survive), but most of the time, they will be different things. If you think about yourself, there are probably some things you would risk death for. Your first thought is probably your loved ones, and that is another risk you could consider for your characters, but I also bet, if we took that away as an option, you could think of a few other things, like a belief or way of life. Something you would uphold or defend when it's threatened. Something that would get you to do what you wouldn't ordinarily do, if it was at risk.

From there we create pathways again. Barbie can choose to risk the real world to get her perfect life back, or she can choose to remain in Barbieland and have her perfect life continue to deteriorate. She can't have both. Klaus can give up any information he has to try to save his remaining drugs, or he can resist and suffer a plague of ghosts. Shrek can let the fairytale creatures "kill off" his way of life, or he can go on a quest that could get rid of them.

This is still simplistically speaking, but the point is, you've put what the character cares deeply about at risk, and have laid out two paths forward, and the character can only choose one. She can't go in two directions at once.

Stakes don't literally need to be life vs. death to be effective, and in fact, as I've pointed out, some things are worse than death. One of those things is whatever the character wants most.

The idea is to lay out potential consequences--different pathways that appear as either-or trajectories. Either the story goes down path Y or it goes down path Z. The character then has to deal with the consequences of the path; she can't travel in reverse. She can try to diminish or compensate for the consequences (if they are undesirable), but she can't go back and change the track her train is on.

For most stakes that aren't life vs. death, you will need to convey to the audience what those potential pathways are, because they won't be built in like they are for life-or-death situations. One way to do this, is to literally write "If . . . then . . . " sentences into the story ("If X happens, then Y happens"), but you can convey them indirectly as well. The point is that you do communicate them to the audience, because if you don't, the audience won't see or feel the stakes, and so they won't be effective. And in that case, they will never be as impactful as life vs. death stakes.

Also, if you're interested in learning more about my take on stakes, I'm teaching a class on it at the Storymakers conference this May (virtual tickets are available for those who can't attend in person). I also get more into stakes (and plot) in my online writing course, The Triarchy Method (though the course is currently full, I'll offer it again in the future, so I still wanted to mention it. 😉).

Happy Writing!

A Wave Breaking #wave #waves #breaking #wavebreaking