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#i guess this is my niche now?
valeriianz · 8 months
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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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mugwot · 3 months
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funnyjokespunperson
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drawing--dead · 7 months
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polycrew tv night
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alphadog · 1 month
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spin q&a, 2009
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personishfive · 1 year
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in which ann takamaki is there
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persephonesque · 1 year
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abigail hobbs & hannibal lecter + sun-bleached flies, ethel cain
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hephaestuscrew · 2 months
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Thinking 'If I had a nickel for every time a podcast production company was named after the fictional sinister corporation that plays a major role in their first audio drama, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice' thoughts about Third Sight Media (Greater Boston) and Hartlife NFP (Our Fair City).
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xsvftlx · 9 months
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just a couple of supernatural entities gems from different sides courts
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captnbas · 2 years
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it’s 3am i will not explain myself further thank you and goodnight
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lenievi · 10 months
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There was a message on La'an's PADD. The sender was Lieutenant James Kirk.
a Lieutenant Kirk/La'an fic~ T. ~4300 words.
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Ever since the finale of Strange New Worlds season 1, I've been (not so) low-key into Kirk/La'an, so when the trailers for season 2 dropped, I was over the moon that I was getting crumbs. I got more than crumbs~
This fic is my personal wish fulfillment, but I hope you'll enjoy it too! Before anyone brings it up, in this 'verse, Kirk isn't dating Carol Marcus.
The title is from Christina Chong's song Twin Flames. It's got Kirk/La'an vibes~
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boundinparchment · 13 days
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….sometimes, it’s about logging off and talking to people and not about pointing fingers and claiming moral superiority over fiction.
I wish people understood that you can just choose to block and not engage. You can read a thing, like it or dislike it, and then choose to back out at any time. And that can all happen privately, without blasting thoughts into the void.
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falmerbrook · 9 months
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// venting weird fandom feelings
I feel like I must be the only person who gets stressed af when I see someone else post their headcanons/theories for something i already have a lot of headcanons/theories about. Like, “oh shit someone else already did it now I can’t :(. If I post mine I’m stomping on their turf” or like I feel like mine are now wrong because clearly this person knows more about the topic than me or knows something I don’t. Which is wild because I should be excited when I see people who like the same things I do, but instead I feel weirdly territorial. I just have an odd inferiority complex about it
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optiwashere · 6 months
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Limbs by Agalloch is an unbelievably Shadowheart song on every level.
An opening of heavy delay, notes crashing together in melodious harmony and chilling dissonance. A drum fill to bring in the slow, marching rhythm underneath as progress must be made. She has a mission after all, and there's no time to think of anything else. An octave lead to highlight the high-level dissonance floating on top of the plain power chord rhythm and basic drum pattern. The obvious masking what's hidden beneath layers and layers of denial and brainwashing.
The double stops interspersed through the last bit of the intro to give the impression of more complexity than there really is behind it all. Behind the façade. Layering everything together into this crescendo that, when revealed, leads to a mournful piano.
A haunting lead guitar melody, a reminder of what she should be. It builds and builds to another crashing rhythm with vocals on top. A voice whispering in her ear. Guidance to perform for her great manipulator.
The texture of the soul is a liquid that casts a vermillion flood // From a wound carved as an oath; it fills the river bank a sanguine fog // These arms were meant to be lost. Hacked, severed, and forgotten // The texture of time is a whisper that echoes across the flood.
Then it all comes to a screeching halt in the Shadowfell. The acoustic guitar plays, simple but provocative in that simplicity. What choice will she make?
P.S. I am so incredibly normal
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sisterdivinium · 8 months
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Who among us will create a WN internet forum as if it were 2003, I wonder...
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skitskatdacat63 · 8 months
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Something about the boy king statue i find immensely funny:
It's so depressingly funny to me that in royal families, the first son is really the only child that's valued. And so that boy king statue I posted a while ago, that was created as a set along with another statue. The emperor, Leopold I, commissioned a set of statues of him and his first son, Joseph I, when he was elected as heir:
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But Joseph I didn't really end up emperor for too long because he died prematurely. So then his younger brother Charles VI becomes emperor. What does he do? Commissions the same exact artist, twenty years later, to make a statue of him in the same style. Bro was really healing his own childhood trauma 😭😭😭
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tricell-inc · 11 months
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resident evil four
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