#the sandman female character

[azi-sings-calliope]

The Sandman female characters - why are they buried?

I'm gonna make a series of my thoughts on the female Sandman characters, both critiques of how they're treated and appreciation posts for them. (These are just my opinions, everyone is entitled to their own) Hope you enjoy!

Also tagging @thesandwomen because I'm also very curious to hear your takes on her.

Part 1: Rose Walker

As a character, she gets an obscene amount of hate. Even her actress was bullied terribly when the show came out (which is a whole other issue).

The thing with Rose Walker is that she's strong, complex, powerful, but not in necessarily always visible ways.

She's making her own way in life, traumatized but loving, ambitious and creative. Her inner dialogue and workings is complex and tragic but not in always... I guess cinematic or traditional ways.

She shows the realistic side of someone, specifically someone growing up through tragedy.

She's endlessly creative but she's cursed as this Vortex which destroys and she can't escape that, unless she dies. While she's going through all this she's dragged for not being more dynamic or charismatic.

I found Rose Walkers character to be awfully realistic, because in my eyes, a way of interpreting her story is that one of a young woman, growing up, promising and creative, has been pushed down by society and other people's actions against her. She's creative, loving, ambitious, searching for her brother and making a life for herself. But then she's pulled down into this Vortex, this series of awful and inexplicable events where things are happening around her, she knows she's causing it, and she can't stop it, and the only way to solve it is to die and leave a life she has fought for so hard.

Strange people are telling her what to do, she doesn't understand it entirely, but she does it to the best of her ability. She pushes back at them (Dream and the Corinthian) at times, because what else can she do?

In the end, she ends up with one of her last living relatives dying in front of her and realizing there was no other way for it to turn out. And she's hated, because throughout these events, she isn't entertaining enough.

I'm not someone best suited to talk on the racism that undoubtedly impacted how the fandom impacted the character, but it's worth noting that racism certainly played a role.

Rose Walker shows the sides of a character, specifically a young, strong woman character that I feel like isn't often marketed.

Some of those who claim "girl power" dislike her because she isn't what they're used to seeing. I'm not claiming that she's revolutionary, I'm saying that she IS that type of character, portrayed perhaps more realistically.

She is powerful but she's not cocky and smiley and she won't punch you in the face. Female characters are only perhaps worth paying attention to if they have any qualities that are surface level beneficial or amusing to the audience.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Rose Walker is disliked because she's realistic, she has no amusing qualities.

Female characters often have stock marketable traits, such as humour, physical strength, or maybe magical. It's almost as if they're being paraded around, but not as a celebration but as a freak show. These are fake empowerment characters, and I feel like a lot of the basis for initial main female characters in big media pieces was written like this.

Rose Walker has marketable traits, but mixed in there are the real thoughts of a young woman, panicked and trapped and loving, and deeply honest. And it's honesty people don't like.

A young woman's struggle isn't fun to watch, it's not funny, there's no action, it's realistic.

I'm not trying to call her the female character of all time, I'm just trying to articulate my thoughts.

Rose Walker can make people uncomfortable. A female character not being pushed into the box of marketable, but real.

I think it's telling that we as a fandom dismissed her because of her lack of marketable qualities, because if you look deeper into the character, there's so much more.

Anyway, I hope this didn't come off as too rant-y, and thanks for reading!

[thelastofthebookworms]

Please reblog if you want others to vote. I'll make polls with other female characters (co)-written by Neil Gaiman, don't hesitate to mention your favorites if you don't find them here.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster 8

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter Warnings: SMUT A/N: So... I did a sneaky in this chapter. First one to guess correctly gets a 500 word Sandman drabble (you can give me a prompt or let me go wild - your choice). This is the biggest tender!fuck I've ever seen. Like damn. It's an important beat between chapter arcs, and there are some themes/hints ya'll should really take note of. For reasons. All I want for my birthday are comments, my dears! <3 Thank you for your ongoing support.

8. Seal

What happened?

Creeping out of the fog, she swept together the distant pieces of her waking mind, looking for a thought, or a plan, or…

What happened?

She’d had a wonderful dream. Safe. Warm. Happy. If she could fall back asleep and drop back into that place – those arms – she would, but a sleeping mind never followed the same course. She was waking, and it was over.

But she didn’t remember going to bed.

That was all right. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten drunk or collapsed after days without sleep. Not a problem.

But –

She hadn’t set her wards.

Her eyes snapped open, and her hand sprang out, reaching for the bag of black salt she always kept near her bed in the van. Anything could come, anything could already be there. As she jerked to consciousness, full of half-remembered terror – the mirror, the unseelie, her skin, the dress – long fingers caught her flailing hand. They wove seamlessly between her own, pulling her attention down to starry eyes. Soft lips pressed to her knuckles, calling her back from the brink of delirium.

“All is well.” Morpheus’ thumb rubbed along her throbbing pulse, distracting her from her panic with tactile affection. He read the beat as her memory settled, as she recalled where she was and what they’d shared. He must have felt the spiking rhythm, too, judging by his smirk.

He was beautiful. And definitely naked under the grey silk sheets that gathered over his waist.

She licked her lips, at a loss for words as the butterflies she thought she’d banished sprang back to life in her stomach.

“Hello.”

Yes. Excellent. Definitely the most romantic greeting after waking up for the first time in a lover’s bed. In her fucking eldritch soulmate’s apparent love nest, actually. So far as she could tell, they weren’t even in a room. She could see him easily, but beyond the place where they were lying, she could only see vague, bushy shapes that could’ve been clouds or trees. Lights flickered in them. Maybe stars. Possibly fireflies.

No visible exits. Not even a floor, in fact.

Though it wasn’t like she was in a rush to leave.

“Hello.”

Following his gentle tug, she sank back to rest on her side, facing him.

He was so beautiful. She’d already thought it, but damn if it wasn’t worth thinking twice. With his disheveled raven hair and self-satisfied expression, he looked at least half as debauched as she felt.

Which reminded her.

Oh shit.

She was naked, too.

Her free hand moved towards the sheets that had fallen all the way to her thighs when she sat up, but his disapproving pout made her second guess herself.

Covering bare skin was instinctual. Especially after everything she’d suffered in –

No, no. Not thinking of that. She physically shook her head to banish the flashes of pain and fear trying to manifest.

She was safe. She was happy. Her Dream was real, and she could be vulnerable with him in this world apart. Nothing would hunt her here. Nothing would dare. He would avenge and protect her.

Carefully, consciously, she let her hand drift from the sheets, and Morpheus smiled in the wake of her decision.

“My love,” he purred, looping an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, “I want you.”

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing under her ear and finding new places her blood pounded under her skin. She found herself trying to remember language, how to speak in anything but sighs. Prince of Stories. Right. Whatever. Prince of Carnal Brainmelt more like. He made it impossible to think, working little bites over her flesh as he continued his eager assault, leaving her squirming, and desperate, and tongue-tied.

Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them burning far below her skin. Below flesh and bone. Stars were only cold because of their distance, and she was much too close to see them as anything but suns. She knew it was reckless to look, to stare back and let the heat blind her, but…

She couldn’t pull away now, even if she wanted to. He didn’t need prison bars and pansies to trap her.

Panting, she finally strung together an answer. “I want you, too.”

Her words brought him back to her lips, and he wasted no time licking into her mouth, sharing his heated groans. One hand slipped around to cradle her head. The one he’d used to reel her in crept down, brushing along her waist, squeezing her hip, and settling on her thigh. Strong fingers pulled her leg over his hip, and she groaned back into their kiss as his clear desire brushed her clit.

He didn’t press, only dragging himself through her folds as he explored her mouth. When she stopped for breath, he kissed under her chin, palm flexing just over her knee. She writhed with his slow strokes, enjoying the moment but far from satisfied.

“I need you.” Kissing his brow, his cheek, his lips, she sang her yearning. “I need you, Morpheus.”

Her words found him and burned the way his eyes flamed in her soul. She saw them kindling in his gaze as he pulled away to watch her face, swallowing every flicker of expression as he teased her entrance. And pushed inside.

The world hummed.

It was all beginnings and endings and discoveries. Dream was himself, and she was with him.

He moved so slowly, and she clung tight, shaking as the pleasure built with the inexorable pace of sunrise. Clutching his shoulder, his back, she fought to keep breathing, to keep her head above water as he pushed and pulled inside. Gods. He’d drown her, and she’d gladly find death here in his arms.

“You asked what I want.” He wasn’t as helpless to his physical manifestation as she was to her human body, but his rough voice proved how she affected him, and a sunburst of pride glowed in her breast. “Perhaps I was dishonest with myself. I want the measure of your dreams and your waking hours, too.”

He hunted for her fear, waiting for the golden moment to snap under the weight of his confession. His searching eyes flicked over hers, desperate but guarded. She didn’t know what to say. If she could say anything. But she wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t threatening her – this was an invitation. And she could only invite him back, let him feel the truths she couldn’t name yet.

Her hands settled on his face, trying to soothe the needles of anxiety, his anticipated despair. She offered more kisses, pulling at his lips, welcoming and reciprocating each touch in an effort to reach deeper. Too feel even more.

His grip on her thigh tightened, and he rolled half over her, leaving his sedate, almost drowsy lovemaking behind. Still tender, but openly needy, he picked up speed, using the new angle to his advantage.

She thought she’d been breathless before – fuck.

“I want… a life. A story. You.” He was begging. Commanding. On the cusp of claiming his own dream.

He didn’t take. He shared. They gave and met in true union, tasting elements beyond bodies to melt through time embrace destiny. A snare of their wyrds. A welcome loss wrapped in discovery.

Her heart would burst. There wasn’t enough of her to hold the love for something so vast as her monster, her Morpheus, and as he hiked her leg even higher on his waist, she grabbed him by the hair. She needed him. She needed his kiss, his breath, or she’d fall apart. He obliged, but she knew she’d go to pieces regardless.

As his thrusts grew more erratic, she broke.

The most exquisite destruction.

He pushed as deep as he could reach as she pulled out his own end, but he didn’t give her space to breathe. Rolling again so she was half draped – entirely boneless – over his chest, he kept his defiantly hard length inside. She’d have rest, but no peace.

Stroking her hair, he murmured into the crown of her head, “Stay, my love. I’m not ready to let you go.”

[morpheusbaby3]

I love how Morpheus is The Sandman but he is constantly humiliated or berated by women. I especially like when Lucienne does this, in canon or in fanfics.

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Fics and Poems

The list gets updated regularly, and I love your comments and thoughts (no, it’s not weird to interact, it’s what fandom is about)…

Fics

Lupē (one-shot for Sandman Rarepair Fest, Ao3) or Tumblr (completed, 615 words, Calliope/Morpheus)

The Self-Love, Sex and Pursuit of the Helm Novels: A Tragicomedy in Three Movements (Ao3) (crack fic in progress, ~4,500/app. 7,000 words, Morpheus/The Helm)

The Light of Stars Tumblr Master Post or straight to Ao3 (completed long fic, ~ 75,000 words, Morpheus/OFC)

Snow Globes and Whisky (one-shot for Christmas, links in with “The Light of Stars”) (Ao3) (completed, ~2,500 words, Morpheus/OFC)

As It Was Before The Otherness Came (one-shot for Sandman Femslash Weekend) (Ao3) or Tumblr (completed, ~3,700 words, Johanna Constantine/Rachel Moodie)

Poetry

Aftermath and Dreams of Light (poems for Sandman Rarepair Fest)

Ode to Death and Requiem (poems for Death Appreciation Week)

Sandtober/Inktober 2023 Haikus (Ao3) or Tumblr (completed)

Incandescent Light (the prompt poem/vignette hybrid that sparked The Lightbif Stars)

Series

Check out the ongoing Dream’s Therapist—a tragicomedy straight from the therapist’s couch…

To avoid disappointment: I don't write for the big ships because

a) I am generally not a shipper and

b) they tend to be m/m, and as a bi woman, my main interest is writing m/f and f/f. It is important to me to write female protagonists, and I prefer to write from a female point of view—her feelings/wants/desires and sexuality without the detour of projecting them onto a man.

Apart from that, I love myself a good crack fic and rare pairs, and you will definitely find those. I only started writing fanfic in 2022, and I spent most of that time writing a longfic called "The Light of Stars". I am fairly proud I saw it through, and the sequel is in the making (apparently, people liked it: Can I just say how excited and grateful I was when someone gifted me the Literary Badge? Thank you, you know who you are 🥹).

TLoS is a Morpheus x OFC fic, but it is not a self-insert or Y/N-fic. I am fairly prickly about that distinction because fandom's tendency to throw them into the same pot regularly drives me up the wall. I write OCs professionally (albeit in a language other than English), so the assumption that they are all straightforward self-inserts always seemed fairly odd to me…

I also love writing short-form poetry—you might find the odd one here, too.

Link to full pinned post with all my stuff

[asimperingswannsong]

A Helpful List of Links:

Wednesday:

Larissa Weems/Alcina Dimitrescu

Rosemary’s Mother 1 2 3 4 5 6

Larissa Weems/Wednesday Addams

Larissa’s Reluctant Romance 1 2 3 4 5 6

Larissa Weems/Ceto (OFC)

Fluffer Fluff 1 2

Larissa Weems/Reader (Requested)

Another Dismal Dance 1

Sandman:

Lucifer Morningstar/Alcina Dimitrescu

The Lightbringer Helps a Lady Drown 1

Game of Thrones:

Brienne of Tarth/Lyla Mooten (OFC)

A Spouse for a Ser? 1 2 3 4 5

Star Wars:

Captain Phasma/Torbi

Torbi’s Journey 1

Flux Gourmet:

Jan Stevens/Deslys (OFC)

The Silent Type: 1 2

The Darkest Minds

Lady Jane/Artemis Carvall (OFC)

Arte’s Intruder 1 2

Personal History of David Copperfield

Jane Murdstone/Almitra Hobbes (OFC)

Miss Murdstone’s Crooked Path 1

Non-Gwen Content

*until someone in charge rectifies this by casting her*

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu (RE8)/ Hetaera Hofer (OFC)

Abject Devotion 1 2 3 4

[b-plot-butch]

"lucienne and death aren't shown as anything other than the supporters of white male characters in the show so that's why i only write them as such in fic" so what. not only is that FALSE, there isn't any graphic tentacle porn in canon either and that doesn't stop anyone from writing it, does it?

[greeneyedsigma]

Having talked about Sandman, allow me to tell you about how I imagine Frost. Female Frost specifically, because whenever a game gives me a faceless pair of arms, I tend to project myself onto them...and I am a shameless genderbender, lol. This is going to be another long one.

Sergeant Deena "Frost" Westbrook

33 years old

Pale skin, pale blonde hair and white/blue eyes. One of the two reasons people call her Frost. (The other reason is because she's the master of the icy stare and icy silence.)

5'9, on the curvy side. The military being the highly sexist place that it is, she's been given shit for...just wearing a regular old uniform. Once accused of "being obscene" by a colonel who could keep his eyes (or his hands) to himself. Busty through the chest and muscular thick through hips, thighs and ass. To quote Sandman (in response to the Colonel's bullshit), "Don't give her shit just cause she fills the uniform out a little bit better than the rest of us. She's wearing a regulation uniform with no issues. Just because you can't look at a woman without getting hard doesn't mean Frost should be punished."

She joined the military when she was 23, shortly after she finished college. Enlisting rather than going to OCS (officer candidate school) was a big old middle finger to her dad, General Abraham Westbrook. He wanted her to become an officer, to make him look good, to do the same song and dance as her brothers, plus the added desire for her to hook a high-ranked officer husband (sexism again, thanks, Dad). He disapproved of her enlisting. He disapproved of her joining Delta Force. And he most certainly disapproved of her relationship with Sandman. Frost doesn't really talk to her dad anymore.

She's a jack of all trades when it comes to weapons and skills. If Sandman needs something done, Frost is his go-to.

She has a low tolerance for sexist bullshit. Upon meeting Graves for the first time, she put him into an armbar for calling her "darlin'" and asking her to "be a doll and grab me a coffee." Sandman doesn't even ask if he sees her kicking somebody's ass. Knows she can handle it. Price told Graves it was his own fault. (There exists a list, unbeknownst to Frost, Sandman keeps of men on his shitlist for being douches to Frost. He updates it regularly)

Would pay money to see Sandman in a pair of sweats and nothing else. She is very open about what she likes. And what she likes is Sandman's butt. Once drunkenly invited Price to join her and Sandman in bed. When told later, after she sobered up, stood by that invitation.

[beautifulsnake2162020]

Title for my Phantom of the Opera fanfic

There are going to be some Sandman elements (but POTO is still the main lore of the story).

To those who wants more details of the story and who don't mind getting spoiled more details are below the Keep Reading line.

Okay so for those of you who want more details and who don't mind getting spoiled:

1.) So Female OC is essentially Sensuality of the Endless and is the second daughter of Dream of the Endless (from Sandman) and my other OC Life Incarnate:

2.) Among her siblings she is the one seen as the monster among her enemies and all the otherworldly beings (Gods, Spirits, Aliens, etc) in general because as the personification of Sensation she is generally blamed for the irrationality and erraticness of feelings and yet she is also near irresistable (like her older relative Desire);

3.) A common anecdote about her is that you are luckier if you are a mortal because she has more room for mercy, while if you are a God there is only more room for cruelty;

4.) The distinction between her and Desire of the Endless is that she only represents sensation "Sometimes feelings are nothing more than fleeting visitors." You may feel pain but you may not desire or want it - that's the difference between Sensuality and Desire;

5.) Her domain also includes how a being perceives the world (Perception is reality - Josh Scherer 2024 "Try guys ruin Ravioli - Phoning it in"), so a being's ability to see, to hear, to sense pain, to find equilibrium and sense temperature - that's under her domain;

6.) The reason why I made her as Erik's partner/soul mate is because I like the dichotomy of Erik because of his experiences couldn't help but doubt whether someone genuinely romantically loves him because of his hideous face and so he has to resort to actions that make him monsterous to the point wherein he sees himself as either the Faust figure - desperate to feel the worldly delights even if it means selling his soul to the devil himself; or the Devil himself and he is just awaiting for his soul to go there. Meanwhile Sensuality, one of the most attractive beings in the Universe and who can form herself into anything her desired suitor wants - after the initial wave of infatuation from her suitors they end up blaming her or resenting her (I'll show more in the fic), and the few whom she wanted to make as her consort ends up always rejecting her. Both of them question whether someone genuinely romantically loves them or if it is mere pity, compassion, infatuation, or ambition;

7.) This is why it's a polyamorous fanfic - Sensuality is intentionally pushing Erik towards other people so that he will know whether or not his feelings for her are actual romantic love or if it's merely the effects of her nature and domain;

8.) To the Sandman fans who points out that there is a prohibition of the Endless falling in love with mortals otherwise said mortal is doomed - don't worry I made a loophole. Since her mom is Life Incarnate whose very job is to be within the cycle of Life, Death and Rebirth, Sensuality and her siblings could fall in love with mortals as long as it is within a mortal lifetime (Desire and Despair messes with Sensuality's head about this in the story); and finally

9.) I like the idea of two sets of soulmates (Erik and Sensuality; and Raoul and Christine) balancing each other out and entering into a fourway marriage. I fell in love with several Erik x Christine x Raoul fanfics but I also couldn't help but worry that Erik is sometimes left out of this throuple. So I made yet another self-insert to help remedy the situation.

That's all I could divulge without simply writing the plot summary here.

[mobumi]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

Hi! Sorry for the late reply, i started to write my answer and completely forgot about it. It's been in my drafts for months, i feel so bad omg! 😭 It was also really difficult to choose and i have only two female characters i am truly ashamed... But thank you very much for this ask, it was fun!

Here's my top 10! 😊

1. Mob/Kageyama Shigeo (Mob Psycho 100 - Anime)

I love him so much! I think he has the most wonderful character development in any anime i've watched! He has such a pure soul and compared to other shonen MCs, he just wants to be a normal teenager and be happy. So much growth and strength with this character, i love it! The series finale was incredible and I was so happy for my boy🥹

2. Megumi Fushiguro (Jujutsu Kaisen - Anime)

I think he's an interesting character with so much potential for the future. I love the way he always appears reserved and cold but he's actually a softie on the inside and how his own sense of justice contrasts with Yuji. He's just a pretty cool character and stronger than he appears to be and he cares so much about his friends. Haven't read the manga but currently watching season 2 so I'm excited about what's in store for him!

3. Dream of the Endless (The Sandman - TV)

New favorite character alert!! Not a surprise 'cause my favorites are always the cold and broody ones tbh I just love how Dream is so imperfect and still learning and his whole vibe, the long black coat and the emo hair like he's in a indie rock band is just chef's kiss! Incredible character on the show, so charismatic and mesmerizing.

4. Five (The Umbrella Academy - TV)

At this point, there's a pattern here. Maybe it's because i'm an INTJ myself, but Five seems like he's very INTJ to me. It's just the whole attitude and the way he calculates and plans everything, very rational and precise, sarcastic and (though pretty mean sometimes), exactly how i like my characters! All his scenes are top tier and his power is very cool (not explored enough on the show unfortunately.)

5. Minho (The Maze Runner - Book series)

The sarcastic character? Asian as main? Hell yes! Finally more Asian representation and not stereotyped! The book series would have not been as good without him! I was pretty gutted when he was barely there in the Death Cure movie, but Ki Hong Lee was so great as Minho, he perfectly captured his smug and smartass attitude that I fell in love with. He's also very courageous and loyal to his friends which I love too. Overall a very cool character!

6. Deadpool/ Wade Wilson (Deadpool - Comics/Movies)

Deadpool is just Deadpool... Bro he's just vibing killing people or whatever. He's completely unhinged, crazy, over the top and just a fun ride. Pansexual king! What else can I say, he's just one of my favorite comic book characters ❤️

7. Miles Morales (Spiderman - Comics/Movies)

Another comic book character in my list. Miles is a cool addition to the Spiderverse and the movies they made are just INCREDIBLE! The animation, everything is top notch. Also Miles is very relatable and has an intesresting development. You get attached to him quickly and he's just so lovable, idk he's my son, i stan.

8. Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf - TV)

Honestly asfghjkl!! I've always loved this character, more so when i was a teenager watching Teen Wolf. Looking back now, the show was not that good but at the time I was pretty obsessed. Stiles was everything i loved about a character: funny, sarcastic, entertaining, likable... He made the show a lot better and kept me watching! He's low on this list only because i'm not into Teen Wolf as much as i was back in the day.

9. Sana Bakkoush (Skam - TV)

She's so cool?? I wish i had been like that when i was a teenager, well for the most part lol. I really like her unbothered attitude and her snarky comments. She is fierce, not afraid to say what she thinks and is loyal to her friends and trustworthy. She's a teenager who has still a lot to learn but she's already wise for her age and just a good character overall. I really like female characters who are confident and charismatic! Her season wasn't perfect, but for me she was the best character in the whole series 😊

10. Sidney Adamu (The Bear - TV)

She's last on the list mostly because she's a new favorite, but she's very cool. I can relate to her, she's fresh and real, she knows her worth, she's courageous, hard-working and just very lovable as a character! Sydney captivated me from the beginning and her scenes were always my favorites. Haven't finished season 2 yet but I can't wait to see where her character goes! ✨

[sleekervae]

A Pirate's Life | Pirate Radio [1]

So... I fell down a Sandman rabbit hole... and then I fell down the Tom Sturridge rabbit hole. And then through him I found my new favourite movie, Pirate Radio (aka The Boat that Rocked) and I seriously recommend ya'll go check it out! Anyway, I fell in love with Carl -- he's just the softest little bean 🥺 -- and I was compelled to write something just to get it out of my system. I might write for the sandman in the future too but for now... please enjoy this baby pirate being the sweetest thing since cherry pie.

If you haven't watched the movie, I suggest watching it before reading this. And if you haven't, I tried to give as much context as possible for everything. But you should still watch the movie because it's fucking amazing!

Thank you for coming to my ted talk...

Pairing: Carl x OC Fem Reader

Summary: Young Carl forges a profound friendship with the bitter tart of the Radio Rock tanker.

Summer 1966

Sharp shivers raced down Carl's spine, his heaviest coat had provided him little to no protection against the sloshing, violent waters that splattered across his ferry ride. And yet, being inside the rickety old tanker was little relief. What more could he expect from a tanker ship, though? He only prayed that Quentin, his god father, was good enough to maybe provide him with a hot meal or a cup of tea.

The heavy metal door swung open with a vile squeal and Quentin led his god son down the metal stairs, minding him to watch his step should he slip in his soaked wellies. He was introduced to the entire team, or just barely so, as they all continued to go about their tasks while giving the lad fleeting glances.

The star of their enterprise, The Count, held his own charismatic charm that Carl found himself envious of, while his new roomie, Thick Kevin, was as delightfully daft as a door nail. Dave was a partier, if not unorthodox in some of the things he did for sheer amusement. Felicity seemed sweet, if not a little overwhelmed from the excess of male energy in her constance presence.

And then there was Sally. Carl didn't even spot her at first; she was curled up in the back of the sitting room with a wool blanket thrown over her legs, her nose buried in a book, and a cigarette balanced between her lips.

"Sitting in the corner and being delightfully antisocial is our vinyl librarian, Sally," She hardly looked up when Quentin called her up to introduce her. She didn't see much to be impressed by anyway; the boy was lankier than a toothpick, slouched and jittery with his fringe practically curtaining over his eyes.

Despite her aloofness, young Carl couldn't help but take a second -- well, fourth -- glance at Sally. She had a face that he could liken to a pixie, and it was difficult to pick off whether or not she was older or younger than him. Regardless, she exuded a confidence and maturity that was way beyond years for most girls her age. She was easily the most strikingly beautiful thing he had laid eyes on -- though considering his lack of experience with women, that wasn't saying much.

Carl glanced aimlessly around the ship, quite taken with the extensive radio booths for the boys' segments as Kevin led him down the deck to the room they would be sharing.

"And this room belongs to Nick," Kevin pointed out, "And Felicity has the room next to us. I like it because she's the quietest when the girls come to visit. You get more sleep that way with quiet neighbours,"

Carl's lip quivered a little as he spoke up, "W-What about Sally?" he asked.

"She stays with Felicity, but she's not a lez, if that's what you're thinking," Kevin shook his head, "Dave made that assumption once and he still has the scar to prove it,"

"Scar?" Carl cocked an eyebrow as Simon came to pass them in the hall.

"She clocked him," he pointed to his own chin, "Right there,"

"Not that he didn't have it coming," The older Irishmen chuckled heartily at the mention of their resident book worm, "Lemme' put it to ya this way, boy-o; don't get any ideas about Sally. She's off limits to all of us,"

"How come?" Carl asked.

Kevin leaned in close, as though to whisper a secret the walls themselves couldn't hear, "She sleeps with a screwdriver under her pillow,"

"She's not all sour lemons, though," Simon assured the startled boy, "Once you get to know her, she's a right good time. Pulled a hell of a prank on Angus a while back,"

"He didn't get any scars," Kevin informed sadly.

Regardless of warnings from all the lads, Carl found himself having quieter moments with Sally. He was taken aback when she greeted him on his first morning when they passed each other in the hall, and try as he might his voice was caught in his throat for too long to utter anything more than a simple 'hi'. More over they'd run into each other in the galley to fetch some tea. She's ask him how he was doing and he's reply with a jovial 'fine', as would she when he asked her the same. It seemed though that their conversation never spanned more than those few exchanged in the first weeks of Carl's stay.

Within the first two weeks of Carl's stay, the boys had invited a ferry of girls to come and visit for the weekend. The ever so young and innocent boy stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of his overly horny shipmates.

That was when he ran into his first real spot of trouble with Sally. Somehow, Dave had convinced him it would be good for him to pop his cherry quickly, and the older lad had devised a scheme to make the boy a man by tricking his own date into make believing that Carl was actually Dave making love to her. It was a long and arduous story, but Dave was convinced that just keeping the lights off would be enough to get them by.

Needless to say, Carl was shaking; the poor boy was so nervous! And Dave's pep talk in the loo did very little to calm him as he stripped off his pants and hurried down the hall, praying he wouldn't run into anybody.

Carl peeked into the room, finding it pitch black indeed. He slipped inside, assured that this was indeed Dave's room. However, his blood ran cold when he heard a familiar, feminine voice.

"Felicity?" and before he could register what he'd done, the lights flipped on, and he found himself stark bollock naked in front of a mortified Sally.

Needless to say, she screamed bloody fucking murder at the sight of him and Carl followed suit. Of course he had to get the wrong fucking door!

"What the fuck are you doing!?" her thick South Shields accent hollered at him, though she kept her eyes averted to the wall covered in various film and music posters.

Carl wished more than anything to have the ground open up and swallow him whole, put him out of his fucking misery. He tried to cover his modesty as best as he could with his hands, "I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Sally! Wrong room!" he babbled on with his apologies, trying to explain but tripping over his words more than a drunk at three in the morning

Sally, angered and embarrassed beyond anything, grabbed the first thing she could -- which happened to be a towel -- and tossed it at him so he could cover up, pointing sharply to her door, "Get the fuck out, Carl!"

"I'm sorry!" Carl begged as he backed out for the door, his eyes then training to the pillow on her bunk, "Please -- please don't stab me!"

Sally's hand flew to her mouth when he finally exited her room, her skin crawling and lungs gasping to catch a breath. She slapped at the rod to her bunk bed, in the back of her mind suspecting that Dave had something to do with this, "Fuck me!"

Only seconds later did the door open again, but much to Sally's relief it was only Felicity. She looked just as gobsmacked as Sally, "Did I hear screams? What happened?"

Sally simply shook her head, "Nothing, nothing. There was just an seventh grader in hear trying to find his willy,"

The next morning was humiliating, needless to say. Carl kept his head down best his could, steeping his tea and rolling his eyes as Dave went on and on about last night's sexual escapade. And though nobody spoke of it, he could tell from the glances and sniggers the boys were exchanging that they'd heard about what had happened with Sally. Carl wasn't sure what was worse; the fact that he'd gotten the wrong room or that he was about to dupe another hapless woman in the same span. He made a memo to himself, though: never ever again would he listen to Dave.

The chatter in the dining area came to a stall when Sally entered; bundled up in a turtle neck, plaid jacket and her grey slacks. Her dark long hair was tied messily atop her head and her latest read clenched tightly in her hand. Despite her clear irritation, she continued to be so effortlessly beautiful.

She inhaled sharply as she paused in front of the boys, glaring briefly at the portly Dave with a look that could've murdered him on the spot.

Kevin, ever so daft, proceeded to ask, "Sleep well, Sally?" Mark sniggered next to him, while Sally rolled her eyes and rushed to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She stopped momentarily when she saw Carl was already there, and the look on the poor boy's face was a grimace that begged for death -- or to be literally anywhere else in the world but here.

She was silent as she grabbed her usual mug and waited for the kettle. Carl seemed to be frozen on the spot, staring down into his tea mug and praying that the kettle would hurry and heat the water. He could feel her eyes on him, piercing, judging, probably calling him every name in the book in her mind. When she opened her mouth, he fully expected her to to lambast him again for last night, though instead, the words that flew from her mouth were sympathetic.

"Simon told me what happened," she said quietly, "So last night wasn't entirely your fault,"

Carl glanced at her from the corner of his eye, unsure whether or not she was putting him on. Though she didn't strike him as the type to laud him on for a laugh, her eyes were genuine and the corners of her lips were almost -- almost upturned in a tiny, sympathetic grin.

"So... so you're not angry, then?" he asked cautiously.

"No, I'm traumatized," she assured in short, "You're a git for having listened to Dave in the first place. But -- the blame isn't entirely on you,"

Carl nodded slowly, "Oh. Well... thanks for understanding, I guess,"

Sally then leaned over on the counter top, resting her elbows on the wood as she glanced ups t him curiously, "Can I ask you a question, though?"

"Sure," Carl shrugged, glancing at the tea pot once again. What the hell was it taking so long for?

"Did you... why did you think I was gonna stab you?" she asked, her voice just a key above a whisper.

Despite his pale complexion, Carl felt his face go red -- for maybe the tenth time in twelve hours, "Well... K-Kev told me about the screwdriver you keep... under your pillow,"

Much to his surprise, Sally began to chuckle, "Kevin told you that?" she was flabbergasted at the notion.

He tried to get himself to relax; she was smiling after all, the tension within her had de-escalated, "You don't have one?"

"I made that quip to Mark so he'd stop hounding at me. Not like it worked but... I have the door locked and a bunk mate," she explained, "Besides, Quentin made it very clear; any twat makes us girls uncomfortable then they walk the plank -- so to speak,"

"Fair," Carl agreed, "I'm really, really sorry, though. It won't ever happen again,"

"Damn right it won't," as she spoke, the kettle finally began to whistle. She reached to take it off the stove top and poured herself a cup, "Because I do like you. It'd be a shame to throw you overboard,"

In his heart he knew it was only a joke, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine as she took her mug and book and went for the table. Despite his fear, he called out for her again, and she turned on her heel swiftly.

"What're you reading?" he asked.

Sally paused momentarily, glancing at the cover of her new novel. No one on this boat -- not even Felicity -- had ever asked her about her books.

"Dune," she replied, "It's a science fiction thriller in a futuristic desert. It's got giant worms and shit,"

"Is it good?" Carl inquired.

"So far, yeah," she replied, "If you want, um, you can borrow it when I finish,"

Carl felt himself begin to smile, and his frigid exterior began to relax, "Sure. Yeah, I'd like that,"

"Cool," Sally nodded, sporting her own small grin, "Enjoy your tea, Carl,"

She went to take her seat at the table between Simon and Kevin, and Mark being Mark, he smirked with giddy at her.

"So Sally, I have to ask -- what were you doing with your lights off last night anyhow?" he asked.

The boys all turned in her directions, including Carl as he still kept stationing with the kettle. Sally sipped her tea idly before replying with the most fitting response.

"I was tryna get to sleep early so I wouldn't have to listen to you twats measure your cocks between the walls,"

A couple of weeks had passed, and Carl and Sally were getting more and more comfortable around each other. Sally found that Carl was more enjoyable to talk to out of the other lads, and more often than not she'd find herself seeking him out between takes in the broadcast. They chatted about everything; how they grew up to the things they hated most in school.

And Carl had learned quite a lot about Sally, more than the boys on the ship had learned. She had just turned the ripe ol' age of eighteen, grew up in Newcastle, and she was invited to come work on the tanker so she could escape her morally oppressive and abusive father who had more of a taste for mulled wine than a steady job. Neither of them were ultimately sure if they were being paid or not, but regardless they found life on Radio Rock to be all the more swell compared to their lives on the mainland.

Just as she'd promised, when Sally was done reading Dune, she passed it off to Carl to peak his interest. So he would take his torch beneath his blanket and read, becoming truly engrossed in the vast landscapes and vivid scenes of war, destruction, and love. And when morning came he would sit with Sally at the end of the long dining table, and they'd chat on and on about the story, and Sally was happy to answer any questions he had.

This didn't mean however that she herself had become an open book to Carl. Despite their blooming friendship she still kept him at an arms' length, and Carl was perplexed as to why when he had practically told her everything about him.

It was a gloomy autumn night when Quentin had called Carl up to come see him in his quarters -- because of course he had the nicest living quarters out of everyone. With Carl's eighteenth birthday coming up, Quentin had decided to gift him the gift of a good time -- with his niece. And of course, the shy but excitable lad jumped at the opportunity.

When he told Sally about it, she feigned her happiness because it was his birthday and she could tell that he was beaming like a kid on Christmas. However, the notion of it all turned her off -- after all it seemed like a bargain deal for a girl to come aboard a ship with her rich uncle, and all she'd have to do is have dinner with a stranger. There really was no promise of anything for Carl here. Nevertheless, Sally chose to keep her opinions to herself and wished him well as he dashed off to find something to wear.

Sally meanwhile continued to go through the boxes of older records, organizing the older pieces from the newer ones for The Count's segment. John approached her from behind, tapping her gently on the shoulder whilst he tried to untangle his headphones from around his neck.

"What's the crack with him?" he asked.

"Oh, the boy's becoming a man -- for real this time,"

Carl had put on his nicest shirt and a sweater over top, and his heart raced so quickly he feared it would leap out of his heart. His mind was racing, wondering what this girl, Marianne, would be like. Was she pretty? Would she like him? What if she thought him laughable, small or not even worth her time?

Regardless of his worries, he exited out of his room and made his way up to Quentin's living quarters. He passed Sally on his way up, she was on her way down with a box of old records clutched in her arms.

"You look nice," she commented quickly.

"Thanks. I'm just going up to dinner," he replied, trying to play it off as casually as possible.

Sally refrained from biting her tongue, "Oh, with Quentin's niece? Was that tonight?"

"Yeah," he glanced down at the hastily kept together box, "what's all this?"

"Off season shite," she nodded swiftly, continuing to trot down the stairs, "Good luck with your date, yeah?"

Carl, being ever the young gentleman he was, tried to chase after her, "Hey, you need a hand?"

"No! No I'm good," she assured, stopping momentarily, "Compliment her shoes,"

"Excuse me?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Compliment her shoes. We like when boys notice our effort," she explained.

His eyes then averted to Sally's shoes. She was wearing a simple pair of converse, dark blue, worn down in the sole and laces. And yet they still complimented her dark slacks and jumper quite well. Her smile was kind, yet blunt, as she trotted down the well and Carl leaned over the rail, watching her disappear into the hull of the ship.

The night was going splendidly well, and from the moment Carl first laid eyes on Marianne, he was a sworn believer in the trope of love at first sight. And despite their being chaperoned by Quentin, the older gent was shockingly lenient when it came to giving Carl some alone time with his niece.

However, things inevitably took a turn when Dave became involved. From openly flirting with Marianne, to gobbing off about the condom Carl had sneaked away in his pocket, Carl was sure that he would strike out yet again. And then he was sure he was safe again when he tossed the condom out of the porthole, assuring his date that he was attracted her regardless of whether she would put out with him.

But the final blow came when Carl left her alone for not even ten minutes in search of another condom -- only to come back and find that Dave had swooped in and knicked Marianne out from under his nose. Regardless to say, he was crushed.

Sally wandered back into the studio at some point during the evening, exhausted but relieved to have finished moving the show's older inventory. She wasn't surprised to find Harold or John, John after all was setting up his late night news segment. However, she paused when she spotted Carl sitting alone in the sound booth, staring into space glumly.

She turned to the boys awaiting an answer, and all Harold had to say was 'Dave' before she could get the hint. She shook her head, seething to wonder just what it was that pompous pig had done now. Regardless, she didn't want to leave the poor kid alone like this. So she went into the kitchen to grab a tin of Bourbon biscuits and some chocolate milk. Regardless of whether it was a tempestuous break up or a bad day in general, chocolate always had a knack for making Sally feel better.

Music from Mark's current segment continued to play in the background. Sally approached Carl slowly, placing the plate of biscuits down before him and the glass of milk next to it. She sat down beside him, not that he bothered to glance her way. They sat in silence together, Carl was unsure whether he should spill his guts to Sally and Sally was unsure of what to say to him. She didn't ask him if he was okay, she knew fully well he wasn't, and she also knew she was going to tear a strip off of Dave in the morning for being such a twat.

And so she took a biscuit, dunked it in the milk, and took a bite; glancing his way momentarily before she opened her book and began to read -- or, pretended to read, anyway.

The cycle continued for a minute or two. Sally ate her biscuit, skimmed a few lines, and looked up at Carl now and again to gauge him. He glanced at the plate now and again, his resolve coming to a break as he swiftly reached over and took a biscuit. It was hard for Sally to contain her smile as she watched him eat. He gladly accepted the milk she offered him, laughing quietly when the end of the sopping biscuit she dipped nearly fell into her lap.

Mark watched them from his booth, the cigarette sizzling between his lips as he watched the pair smile together. Not that he would ever admit it, but he found them kind of sweet together. A coy smile dwindled at his lips as he switched his vinyl to the next track.

Eating biscuits like little children, Carl was surprised when Sally slung an arm around his shoulders to give him a hug, and she promised him that everything was going to be okay. He didn't feel alright, but he felt better just being with Sally. And she couldn't complain either, despite his demure and naive attitude, the lad was alright company. A breath of fresh air, one could say, from the booming testosterone-filled shenanigans of the other boys.

[oimoi-op]

About your tags on the Lucienne post: oh we usually aren't even half this nice LMAOOO I could be a lot meaner but like. Both our posting about her and also the anger and frustration comes from the same place of love for and fascination with her. There's so much to talk about it's insane

Literally tho like!!!!! she's such a compelling character on so many levels, yet a lot of the fandom reduces her to the "mom friend" or other similarly reductive if not misogynistic stereotypical roles so for me (someone not super involved in the fandom these days) it's so refreshing to see you and others discussing her on her own merits and not just an accessory/afterthought for someone's white slash ship lol

[thelastofthebookworms]

Yes, some characters are still missing. You can only have 10 options per poll. I'll make others, please keep mentioning female characters you'll like to see (yes, I noted Death already).

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush.  A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”

[morpheusbaby3]

I was watching Calliope's episode again and I understand more and more why Morpheus loved her.

She is indeed powerful. I'm not referring to magical power or her being a goddess, but she is a POWERFUL WOMAN.

[freytful]

Very much enjoy this blogpost i found from 2009 in which the author gets gender euphoria from having had the correct sandman opinions