#grapes of wrath tag

[beauzos]

my one regret with that Grapes of Wrath fic i wrote was that when i described the guy who gave Connie a lift that i didn't spend a page's worth of words describing him. i failed John Steinbeck by being normal about describing characters 😔

[pianokantzart]

Then again, if parents named me Grape I'd turn to villainy too.

✨ Environemental Storytelling ✨

[veresiine]

I'm really happy to see Sousou no Frieren gaining popularity. It means that there will be more people I can share the experience of The Macht Arc with.

I'm pretty sure the anime hasn't gotten there yet, because the screaming has not reached my dash through osmosis, but I look forward to the day when it does.

That arc changed me. I can never look at lighting a cigarette the same way. The phrase "partner in crime" will never be the same to me. I love the bastard & bastard action, and above all, Frieren's Clarity of Purpose underneath all her antics and eccentricities.

It's a wonderful experience when you resonate with all the characters involved in a complicated conflict and they're all extremely well-written and the foreshadowing is powerful but the story could still go one of several ways, and no matter how it goes, you know it will hurt.

It did hurt. I loved it.

I can't wait to see other people screaming and crying over it as well. We can all be in pain together =)

[tartetasin]

someone liked one of my earlier zanhisa drawings, and woaw… all the memories of when we were first deciding which name to stick with… its coming back to me …

[fastasyoucan1999]

tag ppl you’d like to get to know better!

thank u @1997eitheror hi!

last song: i broke my own rule / they might be giants

currently watching: btvs

currently reading: bag of bones / stephen king :/ (i wish i knew how to quit him 🤠🚬) but i have a very pretty 70s edition of grapes of wrath lined up next :^)

current obsession: cds…. got so much cds this summer they’re all so beautiful

tagging @woundedsaint @truelovewaitsmp3 @loseraccount @boydykepdf @forlorngarden @dykefever @gaewaren

[jpegcompressor]

i think dark academia should actually include coding. idgaf if it's not kafkaesque or whatever, coding makes me feel like an evil wizard who is committing several crimes against humanity and loving every minute of it. it is dark academia. to me.

[rachedurst]

btw if anyone wants to be friends on goodreads hit me up....

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Prompt: The Last Lines

Choose one of the last lines of these literary works, and either create a new story/poem or continue writing the story...

“He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.” —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)

“After all, tomorrow is another day.” —Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind (1936)

“She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.” —John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)

“Are there any questions?” —Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale (1985)

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” —Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises (1926)

“She called in her soul to come and see.” —Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

“There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.” —Kate Chopin, The Awakening (1899)

“It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” —J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)

“The eyes and faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.” —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (1963)

If this writing prompt inspires you in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

more last lines

[frost-queen]

The moment I knew // part 3 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @omgsuperstarg, @cayt0123, @powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @omgsuperstarg

Summary: Now that Tewkesbury has given away his ring, his grandmother confronts him about where it is. Conflicted about what to do Tewkesbury has to make a desicion. Ask for his ring back and stop his grandmother from bothering him or let you keep it and live his life in agony of his grandmother's wrath. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 part 8 & part 9 & part 10 ]

Tewkesbury yawned loud while going down the stairs. His arms flopped at the rhythm of him thundering the last few steps down. A servant who was stationed in the hallway bowed to him making Tewkesbury sigh soft. He made a turn heading for the dining room. He needn’t to touch the doorknob as the door got opened for him. It made him roll his eyes as he was very well capable of opening a door by himself. As the doors opened he straightened his posture, plastering on a smile.

He casually walked inside being greeted by his grandmother. – “Ah Tewkesbury!” – she said loudly with a fork up in the air. On her lap sat a little dog. – “Grandmother.” – Tewkesbury replied taking a stiff bow. She wasn’t paying much attention to it, but Tewkesbury knew if he didn’t she would surely comment about his lacking manners. He went around the table to a seat near his grandmother who sat at the head of the table.

His chair got pulled back for him. Tewkesbury eyed the dog on her lap. The vicious lapdog barked at him, making him flinch. He never liked that dog. Tewkesbury nearly barked back at it just out of spite, hadn’t his grandmother not shushed the dog. She plucked something off her plate offering it to the dog. The dog licked at it making Tewkesbury make a face out of disgust.

He sat down as his chair got pushed closer to the table. Her dog snarled at him. His grandmother snapped her finger pointing at her glass. A servant came closer to pour more in her glass. Now that her attention was elsewhere mocked Tewkesbury the dog. He pulled his nose up to it, baring his teeth. He then bit at the dog to frighten it. The dog whimpered laying itself down. Tewkesbury chuckled counting this as a victory.

His plate got set down making him look picky at it. With his fork he started to divide the food. Something inside of him had hoped for something sweet for breakfast, yet he was once again disappointed. He shouldn’t complain though, there were various fruits to pick from on his plate. If only he liked them all equally. He pricked in a grape with his fork. His grandmother quirked her eyebrow up. – “Where is your ring?” – she asked plainly. – “What ring?” – Tewkesbury replied with not much thought.

“The ring your father gave you.” – She stated raising her eyebrow even higher. Tewkesbury turned his hand a bit more to him, looking at his bare hand. Where once was a ring, was none now. He swallowed closing his hand as he knew exactly where it was. Hanging around the neck of Y/n Bridgerton. The one his heart flutters for but he couldn’t say that. So he had to come up with an excuse. – “I must’ve taken it off for a bath and forgot to put it back on.” – he said.

“You never take it off.” – His grandmother persisted on. – “I did now.” – Tewkesbury said annoyed back at her. His grandmother seemed shocked for a second by the tone in his voice. She placed her napkin down with a cold stare. – “Then fetch it!” – she insisted upon. Tewkesbury took a quick breath, staring down at his plate. He knew he couldn’t just fetch it. – “I can’t remember where I put it.” – he mumbled. – “You’ve lost it?” – she shrieked out making the dog bark at her sudden movement.

“No!” – Tewkesbury called back bothered. – “I simply misplaced it!” – he rephrased. – “That is still exactly the same thing!” – his grandmother made clear. Tewkesbury felt himself get worked up over this. – “That ring is the only thing you might have of your father! I suggest you find it quickly for I do not tolerate negligence!” – she said firm. Tewkesbury shoved his chair loudly back, getting up in a haste. – “I’ll do so!” – he bit at her. He firmly turned his back at her heading out of the dining room.

Whatever his grandmother shouted at him, he couldn’t hear over the loud barking of that stupid dog. Perhaps it was for the better as it would only hurt his feelings. Angered he rushed back up to his room. In there he needed to out some steam. He grabbed one of his pillows throwing it onto the ground. Sighing loud he let himself fall down on his bed. Hands rubbing down his face. He let himself fall back on the bed, staring up to ceiling. He took a deep breath, conflicted. His fingers touching the bare skin around his ring finger where once his ring was.

Turning his head to the wall, he saw it all before him. The moment he gave you his ring. In that moment he had hesitated to give it. It was indeed his father’s ring. One of the few things he truly had of him. He knew his grandmother would eventually notice and make a fuss over it. To be fair she makes a fuss over almost everything. He just didn’t think she would notice to soon after last nights gathering at Lord and Lady Wattlesbrook.

Then again his entire heart screamed for him to give it to you. Perhaps in a way to already claim you as his before anything real would go down. He knew very well how predatory the social season was. Lords talking trash behind each other’s back to lure the girl of their liking into their trap. To ensure them to themselves. There was nothing more dangerous than a bunch of ill loved men falling for the same girl. Tewkesbury wasn’t a fool.

He knew you’d most likely be the season’s diamond when you would debut. It was so clear. He didn’t need to look at any other girl to know you were the fairest. Both in heart as in beauty. Therefor he had given you his ring, knowing you would stay true to it just as much as him. Sighing deep he knew he had to find his ring fast for his grandmother would not stop complaining about it till she saw it around his finger again.

Conflicted he groaned loud. A part of him wanted to leave it with you, just to taunt his grandmother. The grandmother that drove him crazy. He barely couldn’t wait to debut, marry, and claim lordship of his late father’s estate. The second he would be, he’d set her out. Give her a comfortable home far away from him so she couldn’t interfere with his life any longer.

It wasn’t cruel considering how she treated him. Conducting his life as if he wouldn’t have a say into it for himself. Then again another part of him wanted to have that ring back as quickly as possible. That part of him that feared his grandmother’s wraith. He knew just how miserable she could make his life. He sure didn’t want things to escalate.

The only cruel thing about it would be asking for his ring back from you. He couldn’t possibly imagine how you would react. Would you see it as a rejection of his love? A withdraw of his promise. Would you hate him and turn your attention to other boys? The thought alone made him panic. He got back up wiping his hand down his face. What was he to do? What to do indeed?

Tewkesbury got into the carriage. His grandmother already seated with that darn dog of hers on her lap. – “Did you find it already?” – was the first thing she asked. – “No.” – Tewkesbury sighed out knowing he couldn’t avoid it. His grandmother gave him a scowl that made him almost want to disappear. He sat himself down before her as the door got closed behind him. – “Have you looked properly?” – she asked as the carriage got in motion. – “Yes.” – he answered.

“Clearly not. If so I would see a well worth ring around your finger.” – she pointed briefly at him. – “I’ll look later more.” – he said moving his hand up in defeat. Exhaling deep as there was no point in arguing with her. It had only taken a few words of her to ruin his entire mood. Eager to just turn the carriage around and make an escape for it. Her dog snarled at him. His grandmother shushing it loudly. The dog laid down on her lap with a soft meek. Tewkesbury turned his head to the outside, staring out of the frame. In the distance he could see the park. The carriage came to a stop.

The door got opened by the footman. Tewkesbury got out first, taking in a deep breath. His grandmother followed with her dog. She sat her dog down, holding his leash. – “I am going for my walk.” – she said stroking some wrinkles out of her dress. – “Stay close!” – she called out. Tewkesbury took a deep breath following his grandmother a few paces behind her. He watched her dog walk for a moment before turning his attention around him. On the grass fields away from the gravely path they walked upon were people taking a stroll. A couple with their infant having a picknick.

He saw how caring the parents were with their child, making him yearn for that kind of attention. It has been a long time since anyone had given that to him. Surely not his grandmother. She lacked the capacity to do so. A bit further were two men discussing something over by the pond. Some children playing tag and running around wildly. His grandmother stopped as her dog had to pee. Tewkesbury also stopped staring at the green fields. A few younglings were playing hoops not far from him. One of the children missed to catch the hoop as it flew further on. It landed by Tewkesbury’s feet making him look down to it.

The child came running over as Tewkesbury bend to pick it up. – “If I please may sir.” – she asked nicely holding her hands out. Tewkesbury smiled at her, giving her back the hoop. She smiled back at him before running back to her friends happily. – “Tewkesbury!” – his grandmother called out furious. He sighed deep following her once more. There was no pleasure to the stroll. The stroll wasn’t even for him, it was for that darn dog that she needed to let out.

From afar called an elderly lady to his grandmother. His grandmother called back to her. She looked over her shoulder to Tewkesbury who was looking around. – “Take your leave!” – she hissed at him. – “What?” – Tewkesbury blurted out, caught off guard. – “I said take your leave!” – she repeated loudly seeing the lady approach. She didn’t have to say that again as Tewkesbury parted from her. Over his shoulder he saw his grandmother meet with the lady all happy. It made him smirk, thanking the lady silently for his freedom.

Tewkesbury walked a bit back eyeing a bench. He sat down on it, watching the pond down the hill. A few children were feeding the ducklings. He took a breath at ease, leaning back against the bench. His moment of calmness was brief as he got startled by a pair of hands blocking his sight. – “Who am I?” – he heard before he could throw the hands from before him. Instantly his heart leaped in the air making him grab the hands that were blocking his vision. – “That voice only belongs to the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met.” – he said lowering the hands.

He let his head fall back, looking up to the most magnificent pair of eyes. – “Midday Miss Bridgerton.” – he said smiling up. – “Midday Viscount.” – you answered with a smile of your own. Tewkesbury let go of your hands as you moved around the bench to sit with him. – “Are you here alone?” – you asked. He shook his head. – “My grandmother’s over there.” – he gestured in her direction making you look. – “Same.” – you said making him quirk his eyebrow up. – “Well not my grandmother, but my mother is over there with my younger siblings.” – you gestured behind you making him look.

“The moment I saw you, I had to come over.” – you spoke smiling happily. – “How did you know it was I?” – he questioned with a smirk. – “I recognize you anywhere.” – you told him. That made him smile, looking down at your chest to where his ring would hang. It made him wonder. Swallowing nervously he wasn’t sure if he should ask you about it. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head away.

You had slightly an idea what it was about, so you pulled at the string around your neck, revealing his ring. – “I still have it if you wondered.” – you said showing it to him. He smiled, simply smiled at you in response. – “Is…is something the matter Viscount Tewkesbury?” – you asked worried. He smiled faintly at you, shaking his head. You knew something bothered him from the way he avoided eye contact. You removed the ring from around your neck, holding it out to him after a second of hesitation and sadness.

“What… what are you doing Miss Y/n?” – he said blinking in shock at his ring twirling in front of his eyes. – “You require it don’t you?” – you responded. – “No…I…” – he answered nervously making you grab his hand and lay it open before you. – “You require it Viscount.” – you said placing the ring down in his hand with the cord. – “Do not worry I understand.” – you added closing his hand on it. – “I am not mad or disappointed. I simply understand that you require it. Don’t pity me for I can’t bare to see you so saddened as this.” – you moved his hand closer to his chest, letting go of it.

Tewkesbury stared stunned at his closed hand with the ring in it, then up to you. He smiled at you, taking your hand. – “This does not mean I renounce my promise!” -  he made clear as you nodded. – “I should not ask this of you, I gave it willingly with my heart yet my grandmother…” – his words drifted away such as his gaze. – “You didn’t ask.” – you reminded him with a kind smile.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. – “If your grandmother requires you to wear it, I understand completely Viscount.” – you told him looking back to where his grandmother was. Tewkesbury nodded his head with a deep inhale. – “I’ll… I’ll give you something else!” – he exclaimed grasping your hands. He looked frantically around, his eyes falling onto something. He bend down to pick it up, laying your hand out to take it. He placed it down in your hand making you stare confused at it. – “An acorn?” – you said. – “Not just any acorn. The acorn of my love.” – he replied closing your hand on it.

“An acorn it is then.” – you chuckled holding it close to your heart. – “I still very much want what I promised before.” – he made clear so you wouldn’t forget. You hummed loud with a nod. – “Me too… if you haven’t already changed your mind on me.” – you said making him frown deep. – “Change my mind? Y/n I think I have just fallen more in love with you just now. This.” – he showed you his closed hand with the ring in. – “This would save me a lot of trouble and you gave it willingly knowing I didn’t break my promise.” – he called out.

“Tewkesbury!” – he suddenly heard loud. He sighed deep knowing his time of freedom was gone. He took your hand tightly, smiling at you. You smiled back at him, letting your eyes speak for you. He got up bowing respectfully at you. You watched him return to his grandmother. He glanced one more time over his shoulder to you before continuing.

You smiled back at him before getting up yourself and heading back to your mother and younger siblings. Tewkesbury removed the cord from around his ring, tugging it away. He then put his father’s ring back on. He wondered how long it would take her to notice this time that it had returned. Bringing his hand to his chest, his desire to marry you one day grew immensely.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[cerise-on-top]

Thank you so so much for the tag @gazspookiebear <3

rules: answer + tag 6 people you want to know/catch up with

favorite color: purple

last song: Closer by Nine Inch Nails (I am so sorry)

currently reading: Grapes of Wrath

currently watching: Dungeon Meshi (I hope there will be more than 24 episodes...)

currently craving: A nice and warm hug (Or for my hiccups to go away)

coffee or tea: coffee

I don't have six people to tag, but I would like to tag the following, but no pressure, as per usual! @theyadorekai1 @narislvr @wrylu @callsignhood @ryan-velikan and anyone else, who wants to do this ^^

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg <3

Rules To Break

Jotun!Prince!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Princess!Reader

Summary: Prince Loki of Jotunheim - son of King Laufey and heir to the throne is assigned to train a bunch of Asgardian men, in order to turn them into warriors. What happens when Odin's daughter, Princess Y/N crosses his paths in ways he would've never expected? While the Prince is completely unaware, the Princess struggles to keep up her several masquerades...

Warnings for this Chapter: Odin being the best father ever *coughs*, swear words, mutual pining?

Word Count: 2k

a/n: Okay... First things first. I split the originally last chapter up in two, so that means there's gonna be another chapter after that! 🥳

Divider by the lovely @fictive-sl0th 💚

Tagging: (Y'all in the comments again!)

Ice Flower Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter Four / Chapter Six

Chapter Five

Almost Four Months Later

You sighed, as you sat down on the windowsill with your book in hands, watching the birds fly by and the sun shining down on Asgard. You could see the blooming trees and flowers of the royal gardens from here. It was beautiful - if you were only allowed to go outside.

After what had happened at the training camp almost four months ago, your father was more than just angry. His wrath was so big, that he didn't talk to you for over two weeks. Your punishment was cruel. You weren't allowed to leave the palace - for at least a whole year. You had to stay in your room and were only allowed to come out for breakfast, lunch or dinner. It was horrible - and yet you had no other choice than to accept it. In the time you weren't eating, reading, sleeping or staring aimlessly out of the window, you were thinking... Thinking about the traitorous asshole which called himself prince Loki Laufeyson. You hated him for what he did. At least a part of you did. The other part was still reminiscing about the intimate moments you shared with him at that damn lake. You just weren't able to get him off your mind. He was always present – in some way.

A knock against the door of your chamber brought you back to reality. You looked up, "Yes?" and clapped your book shut. The door opened slowly, revealing your dear friend Estrid. She was carrying a tray with two small golden bowls. In one were nuts, in the other grapes. "I thought you could need something to eat, my princess." Estrid was your saviour. Your ray of sunshine on cloudy days. "Thank you." You smiled up at her, as she placed the delicacies on your desk beside the window. The young woman gave you a nod, and stayed for a moment, looking at you intensely. "What?" You asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Something is on your mind, I can tell. Or rather someone...?" Of course you told Estrid what happened back in the camp and the lake. She was your best friend after all. You sighed, defeated, rubbing the heels of your palms in your eyes. "I just can't forget him, Estrid. Even after four months, he's constantly on my mind, bothering me. I just don't know why..." The maid cocked her head, smiling. "If I may be so bold to say this, but-" "No, no, no. No. We already had this conversation – twice! I told you. I am not in love!" Your friend giggled. "Well, your mind can't seem to forget prince Loki... and the way you are denying it so vehemently, I think it's very clear that you are in love, your highness."

You just scoffed, shaking your head. "Why won't you just admit that you fell in love with him?" "Because I do not love him, Estrid, I-" You cut off your own sentence, averting your eyes; jaw clenching. "You what, my princess?" Estrid asked, stepping closer. "May I?" She gestured to the free space beside you on the little sofa. "You may." You gave her the permission to sit down beside you - what she did. "I understand you, Y/N, but I also don't understand you. Where lies the problem? Loki is everything your father wants as a future husband for you - as far as I'm concerned. He is a prince, future king. He's of status. The son of his closest ally. He's a warrior - a fighter. Why not give in to the love? Marry him." You swallowed at her words. Yes, you asked yourself. What even is the problem? Estrid wasn't wrong, was she?

"I-I don't know, I... I highly doubt that he feels the same." The maid placed a hand on your shoulder, smiling. "I highly doubt that he doesn't feel the same. After what you told me..." She said, standing up. "This sounds like a story of love to me." Her lips curled in another smile, before she left the room; closing the door silently behind her.

"And therefore, the next hunt is planned to be-" Laufey's eyes landed on his son's, who sat across him at the table. He was staring aimlessly across the dining hall, poking around in his meal. The king frowned. It wasn't the first time his son seemed to be very absent-minded. It happened a lot recently. "Loki." No reaction. The king balled his hand to a fist and slammed his fist on the stoney table, causing the prince to flinch. His gaze landed immediately on his father. "Have you heard a single word I just said?" Loki nodded, eagerly, "Of course, I-" but the critical gaze of Laufey silenced him. He knew. "Haven't, father. Apologies." The king shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "What is bothering your mind, son? You've been absent-minded all the time recently. Tell me - and don't say it is nothing!" Loki swallowed hard. He knew exactly what was bothering him. He hoped to hide it from his father, but it was no use. He couldn't. So why deny it longer?

"I..." Loki started, clearing his throat. "I am afraid I fell in love, father... And now I can't stop myself from thinking about her." Laufey looked at Loki like he had just seen a ghost; completely in disbelief. His son falling in love? A thing the king never thought possible. "You are what?" He needed to hear it again to truly believe it. "In love, father... I'm in love." The king blinked, still a bit taken aback. "Well, I'm surprised, but happy for you, son. I do hope she is of royal blood, though. Or well, at least of high status. I won't allow you to court a mere mai-" "She is, father." Loki jumped to interrupt him. "You even know her. Princess Y/N, daughter of Odin." Laufey's eyes widened. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. "Princess Y/N?" The young Jotun nodded. "Did you meet her on your trip to Asgard?" "Yes, but that is a story for another time. I have to go to her. I have to see her; talk to her. My heart is aching; in desperate need to see her." Loki closed his eyes for a moment as he paused, before taking a deep breath. "And... And I wish to marry her. Please, father." Laufey was still kind of shocked, but nevertheless gave his blessings. "You may - but this isn't just my decision. You have to speak to the Allfather; ask for the princess's hand in marriage." The prince nodded. "I will, father, I will. Do I have your permission to leave tomorrow morning for Asgard?" "You have my permission, son."

Loki wasn't able to find sleep that night. A trillion thoughts were running at lighting speed through his head; thinking through every possible scenario. What if Odin rejects me and won't allow me to marry her? What if I'm not enough for her in his eyes? What if she's already promised to someone else? What if she doesn't love me? But the signs have been clear, haven't they? Or did I read them wrong? What if she doesn't want to marry me? What if I screwed it up with rejecting her like I did?

His mind just wasn't able to settle down and rest. So, he tossed and turned; literally waiting for the morning to arrive. When it did, the young prince was up early, of course. Standing up with the sunrise, he prepared everything for his journey and visited his father, before he left.

"I'll be going now, father." Laufey gave him a nod, just having some breakfast. "Good luck, my son. Princess Y/N will be a good future wife and queen." Loki nodded approvingly. "She will. I'm certain of it." Taking a small bow, the prince backed up, on his way to leave, when the king held him back. "And son?" Loki looked over his shoulder, expectantly. "Yes?" "I'm proud of you. After every discussion we have been through… You, finding love is a true blessing." He couldn't help but smile at his father's words. "Thank you."

Not much later, Loki stepped out of the Bifrost, faced with the guard of Asgard - Heimdall. The Æsir gave him a nod and a bow. "I saw you coming, prince Loki." Loki winked at him. "I bet you did. Is the Allfather...?" "In the palace, yes." "Thank you." So, Loki made his way to the palace. After explaining to the guards that he was here to talk with Odin, they let him in and another guard accompanied him to the golden doors of the throne room.

"Prince Loki, son of Laufey..." Started Odin, as he laid his eyes upon the Jotun prince. "What brings you here on such a beautiful day? I hope nothing bad." Loki shook his head and got down on one knee, taking a deep bow, just like it was taught to him; upholding his good manners. "Rather the opposite, Allfather... I hope to bring good news." The king of Asgard gave the Jotun a nod, "Speak." looking at him expectantly. Loki swallowed and took a deep breath. Was that nervosity he felt? "I wish to marry your daughter, princess Y/N." Odin's expression changed. He couldn't hide that he was more than surprised. "You wish to marry my daughter?" "Yes, your highness." The king looked at the prince for quite a few seconds, literally staring him down, before he spoke up again. "Well... You are a of status - a prince, with good manners. A great leader and warrior, future king and the son of my greatest ally... How could I turn such an offer down? You may marry my daughter, prince." Loki couldn't suppress the bright smile which threatened to cross his face. So, he lowered his head in order to hide it. "Thank you, Allfather. I promise to be a good husband for her - but... I have got one more wish. Am I allowed to speak?" "Speak." "I... I don't want this marriage to be arranged." That was Loki's 'condition'.

Yes, he loved you and yes, his father and your father agreed to this, but he didn't want to force you into marrying him. If you didn't love him and didn't want this, the prince wished to accept your decision. Sure, he would be heartbroken, but forcing you to be his wife - to love him, wouldn't change a thing. Loki wanted you to be happy - even if that was the prize he had to pay. He would pay it in a heartbeat.

An almost high-pitched laugh escaped the Allfather's lips, as if Loki just said something scandalous. "You wish this marriage to not be arranged?!" Loki nodded. "Yes, my king. I beg of you." "Why?" "I want princess Y/N to be happy and not bound to a man she doesn't love, because..." The prince paused for a moment, took another deep breath. "Because I truly love your daughter. With all my heart." Once again, Odin just stared at him for a moment. "I owe you and your father. You trained my people to become excellent warriors. Therefore, I'll agree. If my daughter doesn't wish to marry you, she won't." Odin's answer took a load of Loki's mind. He was definitely relieved; took another bow. "Thank you. May I go and speak to her?" "Of course. After all, she is your future wife - perhaps."

That was, what Loki did. A guard led him all the way to your chambers. "I thank you. Leave now." The guard obeyed, bowed and turned to leave. Loki had to take a few deep breaths, before he was ready to knock on your door. Before he was brave enough to knock on your door. After all, a lot had happened between you and him. Not to mention that it was kind of his fault, that you were trapped in your room. He regretted it, but he also had no other choice back then and was hurt as well... Nevertheless, he had to talk to you and take a chance. Otherwise, Loki feared to die, because his heart was aching so painfully for you. So, he knocked; and when your delicate, sweet voice echoed from the other side of the door and told him to come in, a pleasant shiver ran down his spine. It was almost therapeutic to hear your voice again. Taking a last deep breath, the prince stepped inside.

[beauzos]

I love Noah Joad so much. Most underrated Joad aside from Rosa

[zzoomacroom]

Rain Is Coming Down, but the Clouds Will Surely Pass (Chapter 5)

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Dreamling, Retired Dream, Multi-chapter, Mpreg, Fluff, Smut, Angst

(Start from chapter 1 here)

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5/12 (~6700 words)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags: Retired Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Trans Dream, Fluff, Smut, Angst

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Chapter 5: 26 Weeks

Today they have a rendezvous with Death.

Hob goes through his mental checklist: he’s put the kettle on and washed the nice cups—the ones for company—and the apple crumble he nabbed from the pub is warming in the oven. He fiddles with the charcuterie board he’s cobbled together, rearranging the cheeses, grapes, and little dishes of olives for the dozenth time this afternoon. He stands back to survey his work, then checks his watch. Almost time. It’ll have to do.

He’s got nothing to be nervous about, really. He’s always happy to see his sister-in-law, despite his aversion to her function, and he knows there’s no need to try and impress her (not that he’s put together a particularly impressive spread, although he hopes it comes across at least somewhat classy). Whatever news or offers she may have regarding their child’s mortality, she’ll let them know regardless of which cup her tea is served in. Even so, his stomach has been roiling all day, and he suspects the prickles of sweat on the back of his neck can’t be blamed on the fact that he’s got the oven on in this suffocating August heat.

He triple-checks that he flicked the kettle on and wipes his damp palms on a tea towel before making his way down the hall. He breathes a sigh of relief at the immediate drop in temperature as he steps into their newly air-conditioned bedroom, where he’s greeted with the sight of his husband frowning at the full-length mirror and fussing with the hem of his shirt. Hob meets his eyes in the reflection as he settles behind him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Morpheus is wearing all black today, he notices. Hob isn’t sure what to make of that, or if there’s anything to make of it at all. It’s not his old uniform of skinny jeans, dramatic coat, and Doc Martens, but he still cuts a striking figure in his soft black joggers and flowy tunic accented with abstract splashes of gold and silver.

“Hey there, handsome,” Hob smiles. “All set?”

(Continue reading below or on ao3)

Morpheus gulps and nods. “Yes. I believe so.”

He’s looking more than a bit peaky, and under any other circumstances Hob would suggest they cancel their plans, even at the risk of suffering the wrathful pout Morpheus would no doubt inflict upon him for daring to presume any weakness in his constitution. But this is important, and they’ve already put it off long enough. This will be Morpheus’ first time seeing his sister since last Christmas; Death keeps a very busy schedule, and Morpheus has been reluctant to call on her for reasons that Hob mostly understands, though he may not fully agree with all of them.

“It’s going to be fine, love. I know it will,” Hob says, stroking and cradling his husband’s belly in an attempt to reassure them both. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together, eh?”

Morpheus nods again, sighs resolutely, and shuffles to the chest of drawers where he keeps his makeshift “gallery,” which consists of an ornate antique jewelry box filled with an array of trinkets they picked up at a flea market. The whole thing is adorable, in Hob’s opinion. There’s a tiny leather-bound notebook, a silver ankh pendant, a tarnished gold heart-shaped locket that neither of them ever managed to open, a single earring with a stylized fish hook, and a large glass marble swirled with a psychedelic rainbow of clashing day-glo colors. No need for Dream’s sigil (where would they even find anything like it?) as Morpheus is a natural lucid dreamer and could easily contact Daniel if he ever needed to. Not that he often calls on any of them, but Hob knows that he feels more secure having the option.

Morpheus removes the ankh from the box and sets it on top of the chest of drawers, staring intently at it as he drums his fingers on the wooden surface. Not quite ready then, evidently. Hob stills his restless fingers by taking his hand—he’s shaking, poor darling—and wrapping him in a hug, gently rocking them from side to side.

He may try to hide it, but it’s obvious to Hob that Morpheus is a nervous wreck. His morning sickness has lasted well into the afternoon, and he’s been hovering restlessly around the flat all day—fidgeting, tidying this and rearranging that, checking his hair every ten minutes, and so on. He’s afraid. Hob empathizes; they’re finally getting an answer to the question that’s been hanging over them for months. What if it’s not the answer they want to hear?

But besides that, Morpheus is apparently worried that Death will scold him or generally disapprove of his recent life choices. It’s quite sweet, really, the way he holds his sister in such high esteem. And it’s understandable; Death is absolutely lovely—when he finally met her for the first time, Hob had been pleasantly surprised to find that he liked her right away. Even more shockingly, she liked him too, despite all the things he’s said about her over the years. He’d felt like a right tit apologizing for calling her stupid, but she’d only laughed and told him he had been forgiven the moment he made her brother smile.

So Hob doesn’t quite share his husband’s fear; he can’t imagine that Death will be anything but happy for them. Morpheus firmly believes he’s done some great wrong just by living his bloody life—the same life his sister enthusiastically bestowed on him specifically so he could finally live after countless lonely, miserable eons of being slowly crushed under the weight of his duties. It’s like—what’s that thing his students are always saying? Like he’s trying to get a good grade in being human, something that’s both normal to want and possible to achieve.

It doesn’t matter whether or not Morpheus’ fear is rational, though. Either way, it’s clearly eating him up inside; he’s so tense, the muscles in his back taut and rigid, unwilling to be soothed as Hob runs his hands up and down his spine. “I can’t do this,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can. I know you can,” Hob whispers, bringing one hand up to the back of his head and caressing his silken hair. “My strong, brave, beautiful husband. You’ve got this, dove.”

Hob pulls back just enough to give Morpheus the most encouraging smile he can muster, although it’s probably not all that convincing. Even if he’s not anticipating a dressing-down from Death, Hob can’t help but be a bit wary of her. As much as he likes Death the Person, his distaste for Death the Actual Thing is so deeply ingrained as to be instinctual, and he’s always a little on edge before her visits. And then there’s that thought he’s been trying in vain to bury for the past four months, clawing its way to the surface once more.

What if the baby is mortal? What if they have to bury another child someday?

Well. They’ll find out, won’t they? Better to rip the band-aid off now. Hob presses himself against his husband and breathes deeply, encouraging him to do the same. “Breathe with me, love. That’s it. I’ve got you, darling. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

Morpheus heaves a shuddering breath before extricating himself from Hob’s embrace and picking up the ankh again. “Sister,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving. “I hold your sigil—”

His invocation is interrupted by a deafening whoosh of wind followed by a flurry of wings, like a bevy of doves startled into sudden flight.

“I’m here!” a cheery voice calls out from the sitting room.

Morpheus gives Hob a pleading look, and Hob strokes his trembling shoulders with sweaty palms. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss the deep furrow between his husband’s brows.

There’s a noise from behind them—a faint huff of laughter followed by a tiny “aww.” Hob turns to see a kind face surrounded by a profusion of sable curls peeking through the bedroom door.

“Will you lovebirds get out here?” Death grins, sighing in mock exasperation. “As adorable as this is, I’m afraid I haven’t got much time to spare.”

Hob feels his neck flushing with embarrassment, and Morpheus looks like a deer caught in the headlights after having just sucked on a lemon. He opens his mouth to rejoin, but before he can speak, a shrill beep sounds from down the hall.

“Ah. That’ll be the crumble,” Hob says sheepishly. “I’ll just go and fix the tea while you two get settled, yeah?” He squeezes his husband’s arm apologetically before heading towards the kitchen. On his way out the door, he ducks to give his sister-in-law a friendly peck on the cheek. “Good to see you again, love. How’ve you been?”

“A bit worried about my brother,” she replies. “But I see that he’s in good hands.” She turns to Morpheus, beaming as she takes his hands in her own and surveys him up and down. “Look at you! I hardly recognize you, little brother,” she coos. “You look so…”

“Pregnant?” Morpheus deadpans.

“Alive!” she laughs, putting an arm around his back and herding him towards the sitting room. “Human! You look great, Morpheus. You really do.” Morpheus scoffs, but does not hold back the small, pleased smile that creeps onto his face as he lets his sister drag him to the sofa.

Most of Hob's worry drains away at Death's enthusiastic reaction, bleeding out of him like the inky clouds seeping into steaming water as he makes the tea. He hopes his husband is feeling the same. Morpheus rarely talks about it, but Hob knows he still feels awful about Orpheus, and about Daniel and Lyta, and a thousand other things. And he thinks his sister is going to tell him he’s wrong for starting a new family after all that. Hob gets it, he really does. He often wonders what Eleanor and Robyn would say if they could see him now. Would they be hurt that he’s “replacing” them? Would they hate him? And what would they say about all the other cruel, horrific, unforgivable things he’s done? Someone like him probably shouldn’t have a family at all…

He exhales heavily, shaking his head as he loads up a tray with their tea and nibbles. Now is not the time to go down that road.

He walks into the sitting room just in time to see Death giving her brother a playful punch to the arm before pulling him in for a hug. “...No, you idiot! Of course I’m happy for you! And it’s obvious you’re happy, so stop moping, will you?” she huffs, clutching his narrow shoulders tightly.

“Thank you, my sister,” Morpheus mutters bashfully. “As usual, your words are a balm to my conscience.”

Hob can only stand in the doorway, grinning and shrieking internally at how cute they are. His anxiety dissipates further at seeing his husband so obviously relieved; just as he suspected, Morpheus had no need to worry about any judgment on Death’s part. Hob is so caught up in witnessing this rare display of Endless sibling affection that he momentarily forgets the reason for his sister-in-law’s visit and the very real possibility that she may have bad news for them.

He ambles over to the sofa, only spilling a few drops of tea as he sets the tray on the coffee table. “Tea and a bite to eat, if anyone’s interested,” Hob announces, furtively scanning the room to be sure he didn’t miss any of Morpheus’ risqué artwork when he tidied up earlier. Fortunately, the only paintings visible are perfectly inoffensive sunsets and still lifes, and Hob feels slightly more at ease as he nestles into his husband’s side. He doesn’t fail to notice the way Morpheus melts into him, the knots in his shoulders unwinding as Hob slings his arm around him.

“Thank you, Hob. This looks lovely,” Death says, taking her tea and a generous portion of the crumble. “So,” she continues after taking a bite, glancing between them with a ‘let’s get down to brass tacks’ expression on her face. Right, this is it, Hob thinks, tightening his grip on his husband’s shoulder. “Are you having a baby shower?”

“Er…” Hob begins, just as Morpheus splutters and nearly chokes on his tea. Not what either of them expected her to say, evidently. “We hadn’t planned on it,” he says dimly, looking at his husband and finding him equally nonplussed.

“But you have to have one!” Death insists. “It’s been ages since you’ve seen the rest of the family, and they’re all excited about their new niece or nephew. Del’s been beside herself. Literally; you know how she gets. And everyone in the Dreaming—”

“Sister,” Morpheus interrupts, rolling his eyes in amusement, “I do not think that will be necessary.”

“It’s sweet, but we really don’t need any more baby stuff,” Hob chimes in, hoping to rescue his husband from the mortifying ordeal of spending time with family. While it sounds like quite a nice idea to Hob, he knows Morpheus has been less keen than ever on socializing lately (which is saying something; it’s getting to be concerning, really). “Suze—er, friend of ours, think you met her at the Christmas party—anyway, she’s given us loads of things her grandkids have outgrown. We’ve already got more than we know what to do with.”

“Nonsense,” Death asserts. “I’ll talk to Lucienne about it. I’d throw it in my realm, but it doesn’t exactly have the right atmosphere for a baby shower, you know? I’m sure Daniel won’t mind us having a little get-together in the Dreaming.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this,” Morpheus says wearily.

“Nope!” his sister replies brightly.

“Very well,” Morpheus grumbles, looking resigned as he nibbles a morsel of Gouda. “As long as you promise it will indeed be only a ‘little get-together.’”

“Of course! Just the family and inner circle; forty, fifty people tops.”

Morpheus groans dramatically and throws his head back against the cushions, and Hob can’t hold back his snort of laughter. It’s absurdly endearing, the way they act like a pair of perfectly normal human siblings; anyone else witnessing this conversation would never guess that one’s an all-powerful cosmic being and the other used to be just as cosmic and all-powerful.

“Well, I think it sounds wonderful. Thanks, D,” Hob says, earning him a betrayed glare from his husband. Hob shrugs and smiles ruefully at him. It would do Morpheus good to get out of the flat, although if the party’s in the Dreaming they technically won’t be leaving their bed—which, come to think of it, might actually convince him to go along with it. And it would be rude to reject the offer, especially when their child’s future might be hanging in the balance. Speaking of which, Hob is eager to get that conversation over with, but he’s not sure how exactly he should broach the subject. “So, er…”

“You want to know if the baby will be denied my gift,” Death says gently.

Morpheus stiffens in Hob’s embrace. Hob gulps. “Yeah, well, we’ve er. Been wondering, is all. Will—I mean, should the baby be immortal? Don’t imagine there’s much precedent for this sort of thing, is there?” he chuckles, tugging nervously at his ear.

“You’d be surprised,” she smirks. “How about this: the baby will grow up normally, the same as any other human child, and they’ll have my protection until they’re old enough to decide what they want. Then it will be up to them whether or not they want to live forever. They’ll get the same deal I’ve given the two of you unless they choose otherwise. And they may choose to be mortal; you’ll have to be prepared for that possibility.”

Hob lets out a shaky breath. Right. That seems fair. Death’s offer is simultaneously a load off his mind and a whole new source of worry. He can’t imagine any child of his would choose not to live forever, but he supposes it would only be right to give them the option. And at least now they can take solace in the fact that they know what to expect.

Hob takes his husband’s hand and meets his eyes, raising his eyebrows in silent query. Morpheus responds with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. All good, then.

“Thank you, sister. That is a generous offer, and a great comfort,” he pronounces.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s really good to hear,” Hob agrees. “Thank you, Death. Er, I don’t know how we can repay you, but—”

“Don’t be silly,” Death interjects with a wave of her hand. “You’re family. You don’t owe me anything. So. Now that that’s taken care of, tell me, how are you handling prenatal care? Have you been going to Eileithyia again?”

“Yes,” Morpheus says shortly, suddenly taciturn once more. He pops an olive into his mouth, apparently unwilling to elaborate further. It’s still an understandably sore subject, which Death is well aware of, and Hob feels a flash of mild irritation with his sister-in-law for bringing it up.

“She’s been coming to us, actually. Can’t beat the convenience,” Hob chimes in, awkwardly attempting to lighten the mood.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Death replies. “She’s the best there is—on Earth, anyway—and it’s good that you’re mending fences.”

Morpheus scowls at that but doesn’t dispute her words, and Hob squeezes his hand in a silent show of support. He’s glad, too, that his husband just happened to know the ideal person to help them with their medical dilemma, even if they weren’t on the best of terms to start with. Because of course he knows the actual Greek goddess of childbirth and midwifery, and of course there was bad blood between them.

“What do you mean we can’t ask her? She sounds perfect.”

For weeks now, Hob has been agonizing over finding a doctor with a halfway-decent bedside manner who can treat Morpheus and the baby under the radar without asking too many questions. Morpheus hasn’t been much help; if he had his way, they’d avoid that whole mess altogether and he’d lock himself in the bedroom to give birth alone, like a stray cat. So Hob has had his work cut out for him.

And now his husband is presenting him with the answer to all their problems, yet he’s saying they can’t go to her. There’s a story here, Hob’s sure of it, but he’s a little afraid to hear it. “What happened, dove?” he asks softly.

Morpheus sighs—a heavy, creaking thing like an ancient tree toppling over. “She delivered Orpheus,” he murmurs, so quietly that Hob can scarcely hear him over the muffled din of the crowd downstairs. “She is a lady-in-waiting to the Kindly Ones. And a sister of Calliope.”

Ah. Hob can see how that would complicate things. Still, he’s been racking his brain trying to come up with a better solution and consistently coming up blank. “I understand, darling, but are you sure—”

"There is more,” Morpheus interrupts, staring down at his lap. “She—I… sent a dream to her. A portent of things to come. Her son was to be offered up as a champion in battle. Sosipolis—the child—he… he was only a babe, still at his mother’s breast. I…” he trails off, his voice rough.

“Oh, love,” Hob whispers, taking his husband’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“It was not my wish for him to die. You must understand,” Morpheus pleads, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “visions of the future are on the border between dreams and Destiny. I was, in essence, only an unwitting messenger—less than that; I was… merely the paper on which the message was written. Nevertheless…”

“Sweetheart,” Hob says, bringing his hand to his husband’s chin and lifting it to look him in the eye, “I know I’m biased, but this sounds like another one of those stories where you blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Like you said, you were only the messenger. Besides, she chose to do what the dream told her, so it sounds like that was on her.”

“She is a servant of the Fates. She would be a fool to ignore Destiny.”

“Well, then maybe she ought to have taken it up with him,” Hob replies, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. He’s only met Destiny once, and he didn’t much care for him. No sense of humor whatsoever on that one, and he apparently has a history of letting Morpheus take the blame for things that have little to do with him.

“Even so. I… could have been kinder to her.” Morpheus sighs and shakes his head. “When the battle began, the child was transformed into an enormous serpent, and the invaders fled in fear. The serpent survived, but… it was no longer Sosipolis. Not in any way that mattered. Eileithyia came to me then, grief-stricken and enraged. I took no responsibility for my part in her tragedy. Even the boon I offered her was a paltry consolation; I told her to kill the serpent, and her son’s soul would live on in the Dreaming. He would remain a child, and she would never again see him in the Waking World. It was not in my power to offer her more.”

Recognition dawns on Hob as he listens to Morpheus’ tale. He vaguely recalls reading this story in some mythology textbook or other—the bit about the boy turning into a serpent rings a bell, anyway—although at the time, of course, he’d had no idea of his then-stranger-now-husband’s role in the whole thing. It’s always a bit mind-boggling to hear about all the legends, historical events, and even celestial phenomena he’s been involved in, especially when Morpheus talks about them like they happened down the road last Tuesday. Hob is never quite sure what to say, and now is no different.

“Er, that… that just sounds like a tough situation all around, love. And it sounds like you tried to make the best of it; hell, I’d have taken you up on the offer if I were her,” Hob says, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s bony knuckles.

“She did not share your sentiments. She was insulted by the proposition, and she… she told me that she hoped I would know the same pain one day.” Morpheus sniffs and smirks bitterly, his lower lip trembling. “I suppose she ultimately got her wish. In her grief, she eventually killed the serpent. She took some comfort in the dreams of her son, but it was not the same. He was not as he should have been. He should have lived, he…” his voice wobbles as he trails off, and Hob finds himself blinking back tears as he pulls him close, stroking up and down his back.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the parallels to Orpheus, and to Daniel. Hob thinks of Robyn, of the daughter who died before she could ever live, of the child he left behind and never knew. A tangled thread of grief and regret that winds through both of their lives, the same story cropping up again and again… It can’t go that way this time. He won’t let it.

“I’m so sorry, dove. You’re right, things didn’t turn out the way they should’ve. But you did your best. And I understand why you don’t want to ask her for help. We’ll find someone else, I promise.”

In the end, the best candidate Hob managed to find had been a veterinarian with a discreet side practice treating human patients. When he had brought it up to Morpheus, well… if looks could kill and Hob could die, he’d have been reduced to a pile of ash on the spot. He’d almost made a joke about the vet being perfect for his angry cat of a husband, but he didn’t fancy sleeping on the sofa for the next century, so he’d kept his mouth shut.

“I suppose,” Morpheus had conceded through gritted teeth, “I would be willing to speak to Eileithyia. If there is truly no better option.”

Contacting the goddess turned out to be fairly straightforward. Morpheus called on her in much the same way he would call one of his siblings, while holding a talisman that Hob didn’t recognize from the gallery—a small stone figurine that looked a bit like the Venus of Willendorf, apparently the same one he used when he was pregnant with Orpheus. Hob had found it touching that he’d kept it all this time, although Morpheus admitted he hadn’t actually held onto it and had retrieved it from his own dreams with some help from Lucienne. To Hob’s credit, he had only been slightly mystified at this pronouncement and made a mental note to remember that trick the next time he loses his keys.

Eileithyia—who now runs a small private practice in Thessaloniki for people going through difficult pregnancies—had graciously responded to Morpheus’ call and agreed to meet with them at the pub that weekend.

“I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” Hob asks, his leg bouncing involuntarily beneath the table. Not their usual table, but a booth in the back where they will, in theory, have a modicum of privacy.

“For the third time, yes,” Morpheus sighs beside him.

“Sorry, I’m just—”

“Don’t say nervous,” Morpheus snaps. He looks perfectly composed, his shoulders straight and his face that familiar old mask of aloof neutrality that had taken Hob centuries to crack, but Hob knows his husband would rather be literally anywhere else right now (including Hell, probably).

“Sorry,” Hob mutters, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Morpheus gently bumps Hob’s shoulder with his own, and Hob smiles and knocks their knees together in reply.

They sit there in silence for a few long, tense minutes. Hob sips his beer while Morpheus barely touches his lemonade. Hob has never been a particularly introspective bloke, but he’s been making a sincere effort to be better about that, which is exactly why he’s now frantically trying to calculate how he should behave around the literal goddess they’ll be meeting. What’s the right combination of deference, gratitude, and affected nonchalance to avoid embarrassing his husband and himself? He ought to be used to this sort of thing by now, but the giddy thrill of meeting divine beings in pubs never really wears off.

Before he can overthink it any further, a woman slides into the seat across from them. She’s beautiful, in a surprisingly down-to-earth way, and looks casually sophisticated in her long white blouse and loose-cut trousers. She looks like any other middle-aged woman, so much so that Hob is about to politely inform her that they’re actually saving that seat, when—

“Eileithyia,” Morpheus says. “Thank you for coming.”

“Oneiros,” she responds with a curt nod. “You look well.”

“Robert Gadling—er, call me Hob. We really appreciate you coming all this way,” Hob interjects, reaching his hand out before wondering, a split second too late, if Greek gods shake hands or if he looks like an arsehole right now. Fortunately, Eileithyia grasps his hand across the table and shakes it firmly while giving him an appraising look.

“A pleasure to meet you, Hob Gadling. You are the father, I presume?” she asks. Her voice is low and pleasantly accented, with an authoritative and decidedly maternal tone to it.

“Guilty as charged, ma’am,” Hob replies with an awkward laugh.

Suze appears and takes the goddess’ drink order (black coffee), cheerfully oblivious to the fact that she’s speaking to a millennia-old deity, and once she’s gone Eileithyia leans back in her seat, folding her arms on the table. She seems a very no-nonsense sort of person, with shrewd hazel eyes and salt-and-pepper hair swept back into an elegant bun. Nevertheless, her stern gaze is softened by laugh lines, and she actually reminds Hob a bit of his own mother, what little he remembers of her. Formidable, but kind.

Right now, she appears to be waiting for one of them to say something. She doesn’t exactly look happy to be here, but the fact that she was willing to come all the way from Greece must be a good sign, right? Even if she did magically teleport.

Hob clears his throat to begin making awkward small talk, but Morpheus speaks first. “Eileithyia. I… owe you an apology. I am. Sorry,” he says haltingly, like the words are being wrenched from him against his will.

Eileithyia raises her eyebrows. “I have never known you to apologize to anyone. It seems Calliope spoke truly. You have changed, Oneiros.”

Morpheus blanches at the mention of his ex-wife, but he nods and cracks a wry half-smile. “Indeed. I have experienced several significant changes as of late.”

Eileithyia’s face softens as her eyes drift down to Morpheus’ midsection, just barely beginning to swell, and Hob can’t hold back the proud grin that blooms on his face. It’s true—Morpheus has changed, for the better in Hob’s opinion. And he knows very well how hard it is for his husband to apologize; the man’s held grudges for billions of years, so this is big.

“Very well. Apology accepted,” the goddess declares. “In truth, I forgave you long ago. Besides,” she adds gently, “my feud was with Dream of the Endless, and you are no longer that.”

Morpheus’ shoulders sag, in relief or regret or maybe both. “I— thank you. That means… a great deal,” he murmurs.

“So, will you be able to help us, then?” Hob asks.

Eileithyia takes a long sip of coffee before answering. “My abilities are much diminished. There are fewer and fewer worshipers; my shrines have fallen into ruin. However, as long as there are those who pray for a safe pregnancy, I retain some of my power.” Hob nods as she speaks, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation, one that he fully understands and that doesn’t sound like a passage from Homer. “Regardless,” she shrugs, “I am also a certified midwife. I doubt there will be much need for divine intervention.”

“Well, even so, you’ve got at least one new acolyte,” Hob chuckles. “I’ll be lighting a candle every day, or… making an offering? Er, how does this work, exactly?”

“I also take cash,” she says, smiling for the first time since her arrival. “But only in euros. None of your funny English money.”

Hob bursts into surprised laughter. “Yeah, alright, we can do that,” he says, shaking his head in bemusement.

“You are sixteen and a half weeks along,” the goddess says, turning to Morpheus. “We’ll start with visits every four weeks. I will come to you; I imagine that will be simpler than you coming to Thessaloniki. You can accommodate a home birth?”

“I—Yes. That… that would be ideal,” Morpheus replies, looking rather nonplussed.

“Good. We will increase to bi-monthly visits in the third trimester. Possibly once a week if there are any complications, though I don’t sense anything now.” Eileithyia looks Morpheus up and down, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It’s not twins. Do you want to know the sex?”

Hob gapes at her. “You can tell all that just from looking? And you say your powers are diminished?” The goddess simply smirks and shrugs in reply.

“We would prefer not to know the sex,” Morpheus says, and Hob nods in agreement. “Thank you, Eileithyia. Truly. I… I was not sure you would be willing to speak to me again.”

“I would not turn down an expecting parent in need,” Eileithyia assures him. “I am glad you called for me.”

“I’ve got to say, this is all just fantastic news. We’ve been tearing our hair out trying to find a doctor, so we’re really grateful for your help. What a relief, eh darling?” Hob beams, putting an arm around his husband’s shoulders.

Eileithyia surveys the both of them, her expression thawing into something tender and wistful. “Your man cares deeply for you, Oneiros. I am happy for you.”

Morpheus smiles—a full, broad smile that shows his teeth and lights up his whole face. “Yes,” he replies softly, tilting his head to face Hob. “He is a good man. I am lucky to have him.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” Hob splutters, his face heating as he tugs at his ear with his free hand. “I’m the lucky one.”

They hammer out the finer details of the agreement, and Hob can feel his husband relaxing further with each question that’s answered. Apparently fathers are not typically welcome at appointments—something about sacred mysteries and arcane knowledge or some such—which Hob isn’t thrilled about, but they at least manage to talk Eileithyia into letting him be present at the birth.

After they’ve discussed and planned and finished their drinks, a muffled chime sounds from somewhere nearby. The goddess pulls a mobile phone from her pocket and frowns at it. “Ah. A patient is going into labor. I must be going.”

The two men thank her again and say their goodbyes, and as she turns to leave Morpheus calls out to her. “Eileithyia, I… If you speak to Calliope before I do, would you… give her my regards?”

Eileithyia nods and smiles warmly at him before vanishing into the crowd.

So everything worked out brilliantly after all, and Hob couldn’t be prouder of Morpheus for burying that two-thousand-year-old hatchet.

“Yeah, Eileithyia’s been a life-saver,” Hob says, nodding in agreement with his sister-in-law. “If it weren’t for her, we would’ve had to go with one of my, er… underground contacts. And they’re all either glorified drug dealers or so-called ‘doctors’ with questionable credentials whose usual gigs involve extracting bullets from mobsters. And of course anything through the NHS is out of the question.”

“Of course. Can’t have your secret getting out,” Death winks.

“Too right,” Hob agrees before downing the last of his tea. It’s a relief talking to someone who understands. “Only it’s a bit frustrating; not like we can tell any of our friends the real reason we’ve got a midwife making house calls instead of going to an obstetrician like normal people living in the 21st century. Suze keeps trying to talk us out of having a home birth. I think now she thinks we’re just artsy-granola-hippie types. What was it she was asking you the other day, darling?”

“She was impressing upon me the importance of vaccinating the baby,” Morpheus replies. “And reminding me that there is no shame in getting an epidural,” he adds with an endearingly perplexed frown, which only deepens as Death hides a snicker behind her teacup.

“And she’s certainly not wrong!” Hob says. “Still, better that we’ll be dealing with all that in the comfort of our own home. Speaking of the birth, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask your sister, dove?”

A tinge of pink appears on Morpheus’ cheekbones as Death leans forward, glancing between them expectantly. “Ah. Yes, I…” Morpheus begins, stumbling over his words. “Sister. Would you… be there? When the baby arrives?”

“It would be my honor, little brother,” she replies, her eyes shining. “Technically I’m present for every birth, but it’s lovely to be invited.” Morpheus nods, looking a little choked up himself, which naturally makes Hob’s eyes water too. “By the way,” Death continues, “are you planning on introducing the little one to mum and dad?”

Morpheus lets out a derisive bark of laughter. “No. No, I think not.”

“Probably for the best,” Death grins, shaking her head. “Oh, that reminds me, I was talking to Despair not too long ago, and she was saying…”

Hob quickly loses the thread of the conversation as the siblings discuss things that probably happened billions of years ago to people he’s never heard of. He simply watches the movements of his husband’s face, his brow gradually unfurrowing and his eyes creasing with laughter as he listens to his sister’s tales. He’s just so bloody beautiful, so extraordinary. Hob still can’t believe he’s his. He can’t believe he’s sitting here, in his flat, having tea with the former anthropomorphic personification of dreams and the current anthropomorphic personification of death, and they’re talking about literal stars that they know, and their midwife is a goddess, as is his husband’s ex, and…

And what is Hob, compared to all that? Just some bloke who became immortal by accident and knocked up someone so far out of his league they’re not even playing the same sport. The baby is going to be an incredible person, though. Hob is already sure of that. And then he’ll have two extraordinary people in his life, and he’ll still just be some doofus with nothing to offer.

His spiraling rumination is cut short as the two siblings erupt into laughter. Hob laughs along, even though he didn’t hear whatever was so funny. Still, it brings a genuine smile to his face to see Morpheus enjoying himself and looking so relaxed.

“Well,” Death sighs, stretching as she rises from her chair, “I’d better be on my way. Got another appointment nearby.”

“Oh! Wait, you’ve got to see the nursery before you leave,” Hob says, standing up with a groan and extending a hand to help Morpheus to his feet. “Mo’s mural is looking spectacular.”

“Next time. I promise,” she beams, pulling both men in for a hug. “It’s been wonderful to see you, brother. And you, Hob. I’m so happy for you both, really.”

“Thank you, my sister. For everything,” Morpheus murmurs.

Death kisses his temple and whispers something that draws a smile from Morpheus, then turns to Hob. “Take good care of him, Hob,” she says softly.

“I will,” Hob promises, nodding fervently. “Always.”

And then, with a blinding flash of blue light and a fluttering of wings, she’s gone.

Morpheus collapses back into the sofa cushions like his strings have been cut. He looks exhausted. Hob is right there with him. He settles back down beside his husband, gathering him into his lap as he begins to knead out the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Proud of you, love,” he whispers. “And hey, great news from your sister, eh? One less thing to stress about.”

“Mmm,” Morpheus purrs in agreement as he luxuriates in Hob’s touch. “Although I am not looking forward to this ‘baby shower’ of hers.”

“Party pooper,” Hob chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It won’t be too bad. I’ll set an alarm, wake you up if it gets too painful.”

“I will hold you to that,” Morpheus replies.

“How are you feeling, darling? Time for a nap, do you think?”

Morpheus considers this as Hob continues to work out the knots in his neck. “No,” he says finally, “I feel. Restless. And I am craving chips.”

“Why don’t we head downstairs for a bite, then? Probably do us both good to get out and work off this leftover adrenaline.”

Hob is half expecting Morpheus to insist on staying here while Hob goes and fetches him some chips (a frequent occurrence in the Gadling household), but to his surprise, his husband nods. “Yes. I think I would like that,” Morpheus says, moving to stand up.

“Brilliant!” Hob exclaims, with a bit more gusto than he’d intended, as he hauls them both to their feet. He can’t help it; getting his husband to leave the flat feels like almost as big a victory as the positive news they’ve just received. “Shall we?” He holds his arm out in an exaggerated show of gentlemanliness, and Morpheus takes it with a roll of his eyes that belies the adoring grin on his face.

Hob has a spring in his step as they make their way down to the pub, arm in arm. There’s nothing, he thinks, that could spoil his good mood right now.

Well. Almost nothing.

✨✨✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

[janiedean]

Five Characters Poll

@haljathefangirlcat tagged me for this a while ago and like... I've been neglecting here for reasons and it looked like a lovely way to kickstart things over again so thank you so much!!! If I can figure out how to make a poll...

Rules: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite!

I'm not gonna pick robb for asoiaf for once or it'd be too easy but anyway I'm here spinning the wheel and trying to do three obvious two less obvious

go forth and vote xD

and I have to tag five people uuuh

@lodessa @veraverorum @bigre-fichtre @mafaldinablabla @octopuscato @rxdscarf @cafeleningrad which is seven but I thought you'd find it fun

[fastasyoucan1999]

salems lot… oh we are so back

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

✨ Classic Novels Challenge ✨

🦇 Good morning, my beloved bookish bats!

💜 I saw @bookish.hope posted this #ClassicalLiteratureTag and figured it was perfect after winning this STUNNING edition of The Complete Novels of Jane Austen from @womanon and @canterburyclassics. Thank you so much for sending this my way! If you see this, consider yourself tagged.

✨ Why do you read classical literature? 🦇 It's a way to slip into simpler times; periods and places where today's problems don't exist.

✨ Classics you know little about: 🦇 Lol, there's a list. As much as I love classics, I tend to turn toward the same ones over and over again as comfort reads. To list a few I'm unfamiliar with...Tess of the d'Urbervilles, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, The Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men. I prefer classics (and contemporary fiction) written by women.

✨ Last classic you read: 🦇 Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

✨ First classic you read: 🦇 That's actually difficult, because I devoured books as a kid, long before the days of Goodreads. I THINK it was The Secret Garden, Little Women, or Sherlock Holmes. Or Alice in Wonderland. Or Black Beauty. I can't remember! Although, if we count Aesop's Fables and Charlotte's Web, those were definitely first.

✨ Your least favorite classic: 🦇 Lol, this is also a long list. Disclaimer first: I read a number of these for school, and though English was my favorite course and I LOVED analyzing text, there's something about NOT reading a book for leisure that changes your perception of it. So...The Great Gatsby, Lord of the Flies (UGH), The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Seeing a trend, here? Again, I prefer books about women written by women.

✨ Your favorite translated classic: 🦇 One Thousand and One Nights / Arabian Nights (also my all-time fave)

✨ Your favorite modern classic, 1900+: 🦇 Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

✨ A classic for children: 🦇 Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan

✨ Classics everyone should read: 🦇 Anything Jane Austen, Arabian Nights, The Picture of Dorian Gray, anything Shakespeare, anything Bronte, Frankenstein, Dracula, Alice in Wonderland, The Little Prince, The Grapes of Wrath, The Odyssey, Anna Karenina, The Scarlet Letter, The Complete Grimm's Fairy Tales, The Book Thief (see, I actually love classics).

💜 QOTD: What’s the last classic you read and loved? Or predictive text: I rather be ____