Xlili-lyraterx - Oneirataxia

You are the fire that lights my soul and keeps my heart warm at night.

- Christy Ann Martine

"I hate you" as...

A guilty confession. I don't want to, I didn't mean to, but now I do.

An angry shout. Fists clenched, fury bubbling up inside until it finally bursts out.

A surrender. Exhausted, inflectionless. This is what you wanted, and you finally got it.

A joke; I'm giggling and so are you, and the words are so soft no one takes them seriously.

A warning; I'd never say that to you, and you know it, and now you know that something is very, very wrong.

A way of snarking back and forth with you. You've done something annoying, and I say I hate you, but we both know I don't mean it.

Defiance; you've won and we both know it, and I cannot stop you, but I will look you straight in the eyes, even to the end.

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.

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Tips on Writing Your Own Fantastic Beasts

Give your beast relateable behaviors (without making them all “dogs”)

Have you guys ever noticed how many creatures are actually dogs in disguises? A dog in an alien body, a dog in a bug body, a dog in a dragon body, a dog in an alien body (because that happens so much). Everything is a dog! The cockroach from Wall-E, the alien from John Carter … staaahp!

I’m tired of seeing other creatures be really “dogs” dressed up. Let’s get imaginative, people. I mean, I get why filmmakers and writers do it. Dogs are very common pets, so we relate to them and their behaviors, often on a personal level. But THANK YOU J.K. Rowling for not giving us yet another dog -_- and giving us creatures with unique, yet still relateable demeanors!

And guess what? You don’t have to show a tail wagging or a scampering bow-wow to make a creature relateable. The reality is, we’ve all seen and encountered a variety of animals and animal behaviors. Nifflers love shiny things. Cool. So do most birds. Cockatiels will sometimes try to steal earrings or jewelry off you. Mine has pecked off all the sparkles on my sandals before I could wear them twice. But guess what? The Niffler wasn’t a bird in a Niffler body either. It had its own personality and body language.

I love when Newt tries to put Picket, the Bowtruckle, back on its tree, but it keeps moving from one hand to the other–how many times has that happened to us when trying to put a bug back on a plant? And Picket suffers from separation anxiety–like a lot of pets. But notice that no bug suffers from separation anxiety from humans. So the filmmakers put two different kinds of relateable behaviors in one creature, instead of making the creature a direct copy of one we already know (or, alternatively, a shallow, obvious combination of two very specific animals -_- ) Also, wasn’t the Occamy’s attentiveness with bugs something we’ve seen in animals before too? That’s a behavior I’ve seen with dogs (but again, the Occamy wasn’t a dog in an Occamy body like so many others.)

So you don’t have to make your beast a dog to be relateable. Dogs aren’t the only ones with endearing behaviors. Cats aren’t the only others. Brainstorm fresh but relateable behaviors and figure out how to implement them in your creatures, without making your creature an exact copy. It’s probably a good idea to also give them a behavior that is more foreign and alien. The Demiguise may resemble a monkey, but it can see into the near-future based on probability–no real animal does that. It also gives you something unique to play with. That, paired with their invisibility, make Demiguises very difficult to find and catch. Don’t forget that one of the draws of fantastic creatures for your audience is a sense of wonder (or occasionally horror).

Take advantage of animal behaviors and abilities

After you have some behaviors (and abilities), you’ll want to see how you can take advantage of them for interesting effect and possible conflicts. Fantastic Beasts did a great job of taking advantage of a variety of animal behaviors and abilities. I mentioned that in my review, but really, guys–really.

I talked about the Niffler and Bowtruckle above, but notice how each created a different kind of conflict? Chasing and trying to catch the Niffler is a nightmare! When Newt had to bargain with that goblin over Picket, it created a personal conflict of pain, because we knew how attached Picket was to Newt (k, am I the only one who totally fell in love with Eddie Redmayne’s rendition of Newt taking a moment to wipe his eyes and nose at that part, but soldiering on? It was perfection). But what would animals be without their whacky mating behaviors? We’ve probably all seen some weird ones on the Discovery channel. And the movie took advantage of that too, to create conflict. And of course it’s with an animal that can blow up. In fact, one of the reasons Erumpents are so rare is because the males frequently explode each during mating season.

The Occamy grows or shrinks to fit available space and Rowling took advantage of that too, having one grow to a huge size, which left the characters with the struggle of finding and getting it into something that would shrink it. The concept that certain animals grow to fit their habitat is nothing new, people claim fish and serpents do the same (which many argue against), so Rowling took that idea and brought it to the next level. And it had cool factor too.

Oh yeah, and lets not forget the one that was invisible.

Give your creature its own personality

Not all dogs have the same personality. Not even dogs of the same breed. Neither do fish. I keep an aquarium and I’ll tell you that even fish have different personalities. I had an algae eater once that was shy and would never want to go out and get food when all the other fish were eating it. The algae eater I have now is the exact opposite. It chases off all the other fish (and frog) from the food so it can eat it all. My parents have two dogs. One hates toys that have the texture of rubber. The other loves them. Picket is attached to Newt. The other Bowtruckles aren’t. When talking about the Erumpent, Newt acknowledges its own individuality. “Erumpent musk,” Newt says, “she’s mad for it.” Sure, all female Erumpents will be attracted to it, but his tone of voice suggests that perhaps this one in particular likes it intensely.

Your creature characters shouldn’t function as mere tools or possessions. Even the Swooping Evil, which is used awesomely and cleverly as an object, exhibits its own loyalty to Newt in choosing to listen to him over its yearning to eat brains.

Consider giving your creature a “factor”

I touched on this earlier, but with made-up creatures, it can be a great idea to give them a cool factor. The Swooping Evil is freaking cool. It’s like a yo-yo pokemon butterfly with a skull (by the way, notice that complex contradiction? A butterfly creature? With a skull head?). But it also creates a sense of wonder or horror in that it likes to eat people’s brains. I sometimes talk about the cool factor on my blog, but the reality is you can have other “factors” too. Frank the Thunderbird has a cool factor, but it’s kind of more of a “wow” factor. It’s a creature that audiences watch with a sense of awe. Not only is he gorgeous, but he’s majestic too.

You can have a cute factor. The Niffler is a perfect example of this. I saw the movie twice opening weekend, and both times the audience squealed over its cuteness, and online people are talking about how they wish they could buy one. You can have a horror factor. While this one didn’t technically come from a beast, the Obscurus had a horror factor. You could give one to a creature too. Just look at Aragog. Basically a factor is a strong feeling that your creature elicits. If it’s cool, it needs to be really cool. If it’s wow, it needs to be really wow. If it’s cute, it needs to be really cute.

Keep reading

I don’t know who needs to hear this but I just wanted to remind you that life isn’t a competition or a constant self-improvement project. You don’t have to be better or “prettier” or smarter than anyone else and you don’t have to overwork yourself to be deserving of rest. You are not behind. And it’s totally ok to find happiness or fulfillment in a life that others don’t understand. It’s ok if success looks different for you than it does to someone else. I just wanted to remind you that you are enough. You always have been. 🩷

So I just used ChatGPT for feedback for a writing piece. Just pasted the piece in and said 'critique this piece please'. (I have no-one else to get feedback from who I want to read this).

Since when is AI so.......so? ;-;

(I don't agree with AI being a replacement for a real person, this was just a spur of 'I want feedback').