#CW: pain?

[valiantstarlights]

[Wedding Planner AU] Part 2: On the Restaurant's Balcony Area.

Tagging: @unfortunatelyevent @usernamesareoverratedseriously and @mademoisellemacabre , all of whom have expressed wanting to read more of this AU. I hope you like it. 🖤

--

"I was thinking the wedding should take place just as the sun starts to dip into the horizon, and the reception be held right after," Mrs. Nyx Endless says, then titters. "Of course, the reception would last until morning. We have to make sure that all our hundreds of guests are happy until they leave, and that would be whatever time they decide to leave. I'm thinking an open bar and two dozen new hors d'oeuvres every half an hour. We'd absolutely hate to bore anyone."

Hob nods and notes all of those down, saying nothing but already cursing internally. A sunset wedding alone is going to be hell to arrange. He'd have to consult actual meteorologists for it, and then pray to a hundred different gods to make sure it's not going to be rainy, cloudy, or whatever the hell England's weather is planning to do on that date. And two dozen new hors d'oeuvres every half an hour? Christ.

"A sunset wedding sounds marvellous, Nyx," Mrs. Muse agrees. "The golden hues of the sun would complement the golden theme of the wedding. And, of course, Calliope must look like Midas's daughter herself."

Hob nods dutifully again and notes that down, careful to keep his face blank, then bites the insides of his cheeks so he doesn't laugh in Mrs. Muse's face at that unfortunate reference.

Were Ms. Calliope to look like Midas's daughter herself, then Dream would be marrying a silent, golden statue. But then again, maybe he would prefer that. Lord knows he'd want someone as different from Hob as he could get, who everyone and their 3rd butler knows is just one dirty, stinking, unworthy, flea-bitten mongrel.

"I..." Calliope hesitates, then looks around for support. Hob pointedly does not notice how she toys with Dream's fingers, and how Dream squeezes her hand back. It looked like an automatic, intimate gesture. A silent conversation where meanings are translated almost instantaneously because of how well one understands the other. Hob looks steadfastly down at his notes and wills his own hands not to shake. "I would just like to have a simple garden wedding, actually."

Mrs. Muse tuts at her. "Nonsense, darling. A 'simple garden wedding' will not be the most talked-about event of the season. No, we'll have to have your wedding on a beach, somewhere lovely with white sand, and you'll be bedecked in topaz and sapphires like a goddess."

Mrs. Endless gasps in excitement. "Oh, Mnemosyne, that's such a brilliant idea! Sweet Calliope would look absolutely stunning in topaz and sapphire jewelry, while Dream could wear some matching blue and yellow roses pinned on his lapel."

Hob, again, says nothing to that and only notes everything down. In Calliope's previously empty column, he writes down '(simple) garden wedding.' In Mrs. Muse's column, he adds 'white sand beach wedding, sapphire and topaz jewelry (lots).' In Mrs. Endless's column, he adds 'blue and yellow roses pinned on groom's lapel.'

(Hob doesn't think he can write Dream's name yet. He thinks even that will hurt him.)

Dream has yet to say anything, and his column is as empty as the promises he once made to Hob. "And you, Mr. Endless?" Hob asks his notes. "Do you have any preferences?"

Dream takes a moment to even acknowledge that he has been asked a question. Hob thinks this is because Dream's father, that old curmudgeonly bastard, just died a year ago, and Dream is probably used to others saying, 'Mr. Endless' and the title referring only to his father. Well tough luck, because Hob isn't about to call him Young Master Dream or whatever their staff calls the Endless children.

"Anything Calliope wants," is what he finally says, voice still sounding the same, so hypnotizing and deep, if a bit hoarse, like he wasn't used to talking anymore. His eyes remain on the mostly full plate in front of him. He has barely eaten the previous courses, and his small square of chocolate cake with raspberry filling (decorated with gold leaf and a small gravity-defying chocolate sculpture of a bird in flight) had only been played with to create the illusion that he took a bite.

Hob hates that he still notices these things. Notices these things and worry. That it still makes him want to drag Dream to the nearest hole-in-the-wall restaurant he knows where they serve cheap but hearty meals that fill your stomach as the cozy atmosphere fills your soul.

"Dream," Mrs. Endless scolds. "Will it kill you to sound enthusiastic? This is your wedding, too, you know!"

Mrs. Muse hushes her friend and coos at Dream. "Oh, Nyx, please, it's fine." To her daughter, she says, "Did you hear that, Calliope? Dream says, 'Anything you want,' so you better want something truly spectacular! My, what a good man your son is, Nyx," she continues, seemingly not noticing how Mrs. Endless is continuing to scold Dream through her eyes. "So sweet and accommodating."

Mrs. Muse then turns to Hob like he is just another lady in her court during rich-people tea time. Like they were close and she isn't thinking about how his mere presence is polluting the very air she breathes. "Isn't he just the sweetest, Mr. Gadling?"

Hob thinks about his boyfriend Dream from years ago and how he is in the mornings, wearing nothing but Hob's ratty jumpers, his messy hair that looks like a bird's nest, his eyes soft and blinking sleep away, smiling at Hob like he's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He thinks about Dream's gentle, addicting little kisses that Hob only token protests at because finals week is coming up and they need to study and not fuck like rabbits again. He thinks of Dream saying, 'yes,' saying, 'I love you, Hob,' saying, 'I'll love you forever.'

Hob nods politely, showing Mrs. Muse his most impersonal smile and speaking in his most professional voice. "I'm sure he is."

[chadepitanga]

there's something so raw and soul crushing about spending your late childhood+teen years suicidal then growing up and actually wanting to live, after an ungodly effort, only to see your health deteriorate because of chronic illness.

[gallusrostromegalus]

In the latest installment of me Terrorizing Medical Professionals, I got my Wisdom Teeth extracted because one decided to be an asshole and the other 3 were pending assholery, and demonstrated to my dentist that it's entirely possible to out-metabolize Ketamine if you start moving ASAP and also have a freakishly powerful liver.

So yesterday I had my one-month Checkup. It went pretty great, and the dentist asked if any part of my mouth was bothering me.

"Yeah, there's a sharp bit of bone coming out through the side from the extraction in my lower right jaw. The bone spur itself doesn't hurt, but it keeps cutting my tongue, so can you just pull it?" "Oh. Sure! Let me go get everything to do that." she said, and went to go get the tools for the extraction.

...Then there was some kind of confusion at the front desk I could overhear, with someone showing up with an urgent problem and they had to juggle the available staff, so she came back a bit later with the Pliers, said something about something taking "long enough" and went in.

It came out in two pieces, and the most discomfort I had was like, a 3/10 from the extraction itself, but mostly from keeping my mouth open.

...About halfway through, the Hygienist came in, apologizing for being late getting back from the front desk.

"Oh good, you have her the Novocaine!" the hygienist sighs with relief.

"What?" Said my dentist.

"What?" said the hygienist.

Both of them turn to look at the very full syringe on the tool table behind me.

"Honestly this is bothering me way less than the shot would." I said, lightly dribbling blood, and they both turn to me in horror.

"I really hate needles." I explain.

"What." says the dentist.

"Woah." Says the hygienist. "You would have done great in like, The Civil War."

Which is probably the funniest thing anyone's every said about my dangerously high pain tolerance.

Anyway, it was a one-off issue, and a non-issue for me because I think a normal person would have stopped her, so I go back in August if she doesn't recommend me to someone else for terrifying her twice in as many visits.

[thegreendiamondart]

I have a bit more progress than this but im cooking up a lil something

[raphaerolo]

Get this man medical attention and a hug

[pile-of-skulls]

I know puppy I know it hurts, you can take it though. No no no don't cry baby boy I've got you, just lay there and take it. That's it, I know, you're so good for me, you can be such a good mutt for me can't you? Let me hear you whimper, puppy.

[title]

Do you ever feel like you're narrating your own life, watching it play in front of you like an episode of television?

Brigette Lundy-Paine as Maddy I Saw the TV Glow (2024), directed by Jane Schoenbrun

[guardianspirits13]

Rest in Peace to the Dead Boy Detectives 💙❤️

(Still images below the cut)

also @netflix your kneecaps are MINE unless you bring back my boys >:(

[esper-atus]

is that all they can do—die? (more isat x rosencrantz & guildenstern are dead)

[creek-ink]

did some ugly crying expression practice with toby angst

-

trying to experiment w my style, its getting boringgg

[lorelxlz]

tw // eye pulling and mild body horror

not quite human anymore

[5ftboy]

I SAW THE TV GLOW dir. JANE SCHOENBRUN starring BRIGETTE LUNDY-PAINE & JUSTICE SMITH

[abbeyofcyn]

Krang infection 43

PREV

Masterpost

NEXT

[saewokhrisz]

131

[kathaynesart]

And now watch it all fall apart.

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Thank you everyone for your patience as I recuperate from Covid. I tested negative and am now just recuperating from the lasting effects. Honestly, this update is one I probably could have skipped, but I love me a good heist plan. Plus I just wanted to have some fun with this holiday special and if that means extending it a bit longer, then so be it.

[moonstruckme]

apple pie please <3 would love something with remus and #30. 7k is so well deserved and your writing has served as inspiration for me to finally do my own. many thanks for giving us all comfort through your words :)

I'm so happy for you that you're writing! Thank you my love <33

³⁰⁾ trembling hands

cw: chronic pain

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 495 words

Remus is in pain. But when isn’t he, really. It’s only flaring up now, in his bones and in all the places where his bones grate up against each other and, for some godforsaken reason, in his eyes (though that might just be because he’s tired). It relieves the eye ache at least somewhat to close them, but he can’t do that because you’ve got him all spellbound and stupid with how precious you look asleep on his chest. 

You’re only on the couch with him in solidarity, so Remus can hardly blame you for drifting off when his Saturday is full of such scintillating activities as quietly reading and waiting for the next time he can take painkillers. Your hand is trapped underneath your cheek, sandwiched between your face and Remus’ chest like you’re trying to feel his heartbeat. You look very relaxed. It fills him with both pride and a weird sort of envy, wishing he could join but happy that if one of you is able to relax it’s you. One of your eyebrows is all ruffled from being rubbed against the fabric of his shirt, and a few strands of hair have fallen in front of your face so that they’re rustled by your breaths like blades of grass in a soft wind. 

Remus lifts a trembling hand, moving them away. You stir with the unhurried ease of someone who knows they’re waking up somewhere safe, your eyelashes fluttering and then opening. 

You look up at him for a handful of moments, your lips gradually turning down into a frown. “It’s gotten worse,” you say. 

Remus doesn’t know what gave him away. “A little,” he admits. 

Your frown worsens. It spreads to your eyebrows, which hook upwards compassionately. “I’m sorry,” you say, lifting your face. Your hand gives his chest a couple of short rubs, consoling. “It’d probably help if I wasn’t laying on you, yeah?”

“No,” Remus lies. He’s not sure which comfort he values more at the moment, the physical kind or the funny, intangible sort that comes from having you in his arms. You might at least stay until he figures it out.

But you get up anyway, as gently as you can, your knee digging into the cushion beside his hip. You look at the clock in the kitchen. “You could’ve taken pills half an hour ago.” You sound sorry, your hand finding his forehead to brush some hair away from his face, a useless but tender touch. “You should have woken me.” 

You’re gone before Remus can reply, bustling down the hall and returning soon with a glass of water and two pills cupped in your hand. He tries not to look too eager as he takes them, though just the action of swallowing them down brings some relief, the promise of real respite in only a handful of minutes. He’s more than happy to have given up a few of them to lay with you.