I've had this Dreaming The Proposal AU sitting in my drafts for a while. Then @voukkake comes out with this art and I figured it was time to brush off the dust and share what I'd written lol. This is seriously all I'm going to write so if anyone is interested I'm begging you to pick this up. I'm dying to read Dream awkwardly interacting with Hob's family (also @valiantstarlights suggestion that Betty White is Destiny?? ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT). Anyway...
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Dream is about to be deported because his visa application has been denied. He is in the middle of a meeting with his lawyers when Hob, his secretary, pops in the room to inform Dream of a very important phone call and Dream comes up with the insane plan to marry Hob to keep his immigration status.
He gestures for Hob to come over and Hob, clueless, wanders into the room and stands next to Dream, who takes him by the arm and tugs him just a little bit further to stand awkwardly close.
Dream announces their engagement and Hob stands there, shell shocked and feels his mouth moving against his will. That yeah, they are getting married. They are in love, sure. It isn’t until they leave the office, following Dream back to his, that Hob’s brain seems to come back online.
“What just happened in there?”
Dream grouses, head down, already back to his work as if nothing happened. Like he didn’t just use Hob as a pawn in his scheme to get around his denied visa application.
“They were going to make Morningstar editor-in-chief.” Is all Dream says, disdain dripping from every word. He still hasn’t looked up.
Hob stands there, still as a statue. His head is swimming with words, with emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… and a small tiny flicker of undeniable interest that he hastily stomps out.
He manages to put the pieces together rather quickly though, while Dream continues sifting through paperwork.
“This is illegal,” Hob manages to croak out, brows furrowing.
“Oh, please. The government looks for terrorists, not book publishers.” Dream’s head is still down in his paperwork.
Hob blinks, taking a step up to Dream’s desk. “I'm not marrying you.”
“Sure you are.” Dream sets aside a stack of papers and finally gives Hob his attention. “Because if you don't, your dreams of ‘touching millions of lives with the written word’ are dead.”
Hob’s jaw drops. That was a line, corny as it was, that he’d used in the panel interview for this job. Three years ago.
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“Were you not in that room? I could get fined, I’ll go to jail over this. If you want me on this deal, you will promote me to editor.”
Without even glancing up from his phone, Dream scoffs.
“Absolutely not.”
“Well then I guess you’re screwed. Buh-bye.” Hob turns with a flourish and has to bite back a grin at how Dream splutters behind him and grabs him by the arm.
“Fine– fine! Editor.” His face seems to go through the five stages of grief. He drops his hold on Hob.
“And You’ll publish my manuscript.” Hob throws in. In for a penny.
Dream’s brows narrow and he shakes as if he’s physically controlling the urge to stamp his foot.
“Sure. I’ll publish your hack manuscript.”
“Good.” Hob slips his hands in his pants pockets, staring at Dream, deciding on one last nail in the coffin.
“Now do it properly.”
Dream cocks an eyebrow. “Do what properly?”
“Propose. Like you mean it.”
Dream’s entire body seizes up, but he manages not to let it show, distracting himself by slipping his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks and clasping his hands in front of him.
“Will you marry me?”
“No.” Hob, the arrogant bastard, is visibly biting back a smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”
Dream takes a long, steadying breath through his nose.
“Hob Gadling. Will you–”
“And get on your knees.”
Dream absolutely refuses to decipher the thrill that shoots through his body at Hob’s command. Instead he keeps his mask of irritation and indifference on as he scans the crowd around them. They are still outside the courthouse, and the concrete sidewalk is going to potentially tear Dream’s Hugo Boss black wool pants.
So he carefully lowers himself, scowling as the smirk on Hob’s face only widens as Dream slowly settles onto the ground.
Once he’s as comfortable as Dream’s going to get, he clears his throat.
“Hob Gadling,” he glares at his subordinate from under his lashes. “Will you fucking marry me?”
Hob curls his lips in mock consideration, looking up past Dream’s head. He rocks back on his heels and nods with a forlorn sigh.
“Okay.” He still hasn’t met Dream’s gaze. “Could've done without the sarcasm but it will do. See you at the airport tomorrow.”
And turns and walks away, leaving Dream to fend for himself on the ground.
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oh this is a little overdue since i found out about 2 weeks ago but ive been processing so at any rate
I would like to send a profound and heartfelt
FUCK YOU
to the dozens of doctors I’ve had over the years (starting, according to my parents, before I could even remember) who have written me off for decades as a hypochondriac with attention seeking behavior, bipolar, psychosomatic manifestations—you fucking name it, they’re fucking said it—
because after finally having had fucking enough, with enough life experience to know that my abysmal health was not normal, had never been normal, and was not my fucking fault
I requested and thoroughly combed through my own fucking medical records, did my own fucking research, twisted as many arms as I had to for an evaluation and blood test
and low and fucking behold!!!
the geneticist that I finally managed to see diagnosed me with one of the most obvious and pervasive cases of a
Connective Tissue Disorder
that he’d seen in 50 years.
So, doctors, how about instead of always assuming children and woman are lying or overreacting or causing their own problems, you…
Do Your Fucking Job
and reign in your pride and your idiotic desire to prove that you know it all and instead exhaust all your resources, including an actual look at your patient’s medical history and sending them fucking elsewhere if you don’t know what’s wrong.
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alright. know what? with Secrets of the Obscure right around the corner and plenty of new Mists-related sky island settings coming with it, I'll just bite the bullet and interest-check a little something I've been turning in my head for a long, long while.
would YOU be interested in a Mists-based GW2 roleplay guild that uses a lore compliant multiverse system to allow canon, canon-adjacent, lore-breaking, and otherwise 'contradictory' muses to coexist in the same setting?
simply put: every writer's cast would be set in their own self-contained universe. as such, everyone could bring whatever muses they want with their own personal headcanons, and no one could dictate what is or isn't canon for anyone else. so long as your muses are GW2-based, you're good to go! bring your Commanders, bring your canon-divergent OCs, bring your canon muses-- and yes, even the ones that are 'supposed' to be dead. who can say what might have happened in a strange world far across the Mists, after all?
neutral hubs and in-character safety guardrails would be in place to keep all muses on a relatively even playing field regardless of their power, history, and prestige, too. play hardball if you like, but it might not end quite the way you'd hope. the main rule would be to maintain good OOC etiquette at all times: no godmodding, no metagaming, no theft, don't blend IC and OOC, and so-on.
if that sounds like something you might have interest in, please interact with this post! and if you've got questions or concerns, I'd love to hear them; feel free to send an ask or a DM, or just reply to this post!
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