#oh god i had to check what day it was

[randomminty]

Multiple onos. And a singular grusha

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

You ever think about what's gonna happen when the Welcome Home website updates in December? Hopefully, at least for what I think, we'll get to see the fabled Julierella! Or any visual parts of the show in general. Probably something fit for the holiday spirit.

Maybe wondering about their relatives and loved ones living outside the neighborhood, and the fact that the residents haven't left to see them in some time.

Stuff like that! Maybe even some new recipes!

i try not to think about it or i'll become so nervoucited that i'll get nauseous

[moregraceful]

someone cold emailed me to ask if i was going to a writer's conference in los angeles and was putting together a panel or caucus for queer poets or if i knew anyone who was...buddy you are severely overestimating how much i network with other poets (i don't) and how often i attend writer's conferences (never) 😭

[bunnihearted]

.

[savetheghost]

save do you have any tips for managing migraines

uhhhhhh lessee

personally i have prescriptions for it cause mine screwed my brain up but obvious ones like proper rest + maybe log what you eat and see if theres any correlation + general put nutrients in your body stuff which is actually kind of hard to keep track of

i have some REALLY WEIRD scent based triggers so i have to stay away from ammonia-like scents and eucalyptus cause those will put my ass out flat IMMEDIATELY, thats not an everyone thing but maybe note if theres sensory stuff around you that might be a trigger

for me warm toned lights and screen tints are way better than cool tones/white light and if youve got light colored eyes wear amber tinted sunglasses outdoors

water + salty snack > pedialite > gatorade and depending on caffeine sensitivity maybe moderate that cause it can either help or hurt, kinda depends on the person, but water and saltines will get you electrolytes and its cheap as fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck even if it doesnt taste as great as gatorade

sunlight on your skin and not in your eyeballs

also vitamin d just in general helps but its way better to actually use the sun for that than trying to digest it so like just 10ish minutes in the sun is what my neurologist recommended on top of taking 2000mg tablets

thats what ive got off the top of my head

[apple-os]

ppl who like making friends solely with one-note cardboard boxes who will hang out with them when it's convenient and never open up about who they are as people and what their lives are like dni

[deityofhearts]

y’all know how you follow really cool ppl and it’s like “wow you’re so cool I hope you never follow me/we don’t become mutuals because you’d find out i am entirely uncool and unhinged”

[widevibratobitch]

.

[angryborzois]

NO WAY??? I PUT THE INO EDIT ON MY INSTA STORY BECAUSE I LOVED IT SO MUCH AND THE CREATOR ACTUALLY VISITED MY STORY AND LIKED IT 😭😭😭

[snailfen]

finally looked into All of paulo interlude 5. we gonna talk about how ghetsis is holding a child hostage again. he does Not have the best track record,

[catfishofoldin99colours]

I :) hate :) calling people :)

[bi-demon-ium]

37 72

falling asleep together/sharing a bed + hiding face in neck/shoulders (nicholas/milligan) (ao3.)

All but collapsing in a shitty motel room was just the sort of way to end the week they’d been having.

Mr. Benedict had gotten a tip from his shrinking network of contacts about possible information on a company that worked out of Harbor Island—but they were based a city away, and so they had to travel.

It had been simple enough from there—information-gathering, a bit of light infiltration, but nothing dangerous, right?

And then, naturally, everything had gone horribly wrong.

They’d gotten out safely—if barely—but Milligan had had a worryingly close call with a rather large group of foes, and Mr. Benedict was certainly hiding bruises.

(He was actually concerningly good at hiding injuries, but couldn’t help the occasional wince, nor the conspicuous way he tugged his sleeves down to cover his wrists.)

The motel was far enough away that it was unlikely they had to worry about pursuers, but it was also, unfortunately, in the opposite direction of the house. They had another long journey ahead of them tomorrow.

But that was tomorrow. For now, it was over. They could rest.

The room was… not exactly amazing.

There were two beds, dingy but decently sized. It was small, but fairly clean. There was a small bathroom, a single closet, and a little fridge.

Well, both of them had slept in worse places. Besides. It wasn’t a prison cell or the trunk of a car. It would do.

They were both so exhausted and had little supplies at the moment, so it was really just a matter of stripping down a few layers—Nicholas had taken off his shoes and his blazer (now disheveled and smudged and with a hole in it) and undone a few buttons on his shirt, and Milligan had similarly removed his vest and shoes—and collapsing on their respective beds.

It was dark, and quiet.

They sat in silence staring at the ceiling.

Neither of them were really sleeping, despite the exhaustion. Milligan found he was still achy, and restless, and unable to stop thinking about—well. everything.

The mission (Nicholas’s frightened eyes when he’d been surrounded and nearly dragged away, how he’d gone limp—and the men surrounding Milligan, too, fighting and fighting and nearly being overwhelmed, nearly losing everything) and old, old wounds (drowning, drowning, cold water and his leg going numb, falling from a great height, feeling helpless and lost as something he needs to save, to protect, is just out of reach, the feeling of something important slipping through his fingers and from his mind like fine sand, of animals and moss and dirt, of yelling and thrown garbage and cold cruelty—) and the memories blend together until he’s just—

Lying there. Staring at the ceiling. Unable to sleep.

He tries to distract himself, but can’t. He feels cold. And, despite the fact he can hear Mr. Benedict’s breathing—quiet and even, although not deep—he feels alone.

(The memories blend together until he’s drowning and falling and frightened eyes swim out of view, someone he’s failed to save, he reaches for them but his hands grasp nothing, his arms close around nothing but cold water, rough hands and the bite of an eel and men surround him, cold metal pressed to his skull, he hears Nicholas cry out his name—)

He feels weak, for letting this affect him. He wants to—he wants to feel warm, to know Nicholas, at least, is safe, that they’re both safe and he is here, here, not there.

Abruptly, he realizes what, exactly, he’s wishing for. He wants to hold him, or perhaps be held, or—just to be close to another person. To Mr. Benedict in particular, who was safe and okay and only several feet away but his brain refused to believe it.

It’s. Weird, right? It’s probably weird?

…but then, it had been a long, bad day. They were both tense and tired and still shaken—a little frightened, even—and. well. both of them have always found touch grounding.

(Milligan discovered it early on, during a particularly bad nightmare, one late night dozing off in the study. He only calmed when Nicholas’s hands—shaking as they frantically and uncertainly hovered—gripped his shoulders, and then, upon realizing, then cupped his face.

Nicholas, on the other hand, had known for a very long time. He just never mentioned it. Milligan discovered this, too, upon noticing that he utterly melted in a rather impulsive hug.)

It would be grounding. And he’s exhausted and they have a long journey ahead tomorrow and Milligan will most likely need to drive and he has to rest first.

And—somehow, Milligan doesn’t think Mr. Benedict would mind. He certainly wasn’t the judgmental type.

(He’s awake, too. Milligan can tell by how he quietly stirs, over and over, trying not to make noise but clearly restless.)

…he shouldn’t. He probably shouldn’t.

(Cold, cold water. Rough hands, fists. Frightened eyes. A bite to the leg.)

He needs to sleep. To get them both home safely.

(Moss, dirt. The squeaking of rats. Disdain, yelling, disbelief. Fear.)

It takes him a little while to work up the courage.

Just say it. Just say it.

“Mr. Benedict,” Milligan says into the darkness, quiet, in case he really isn’t awake, but it’s only a moment before he hears Mr. Benedict’s soft voice answer, not even altogether that sleepy.

“…yes?”

Milligan realizes that there is no way to ask that isn’t extremely awkward, but it’s too late to back out, and anyway, he’s—he’s so tired. He’s exhausted, and Nicholas is right there, barely even out of reach, and Milligan just wants to rest. He wants to remember that they’re both safe and whole and warm, and that no one is drowning.

“…would you.” he pauses, thinking of any better way to phrase this, but nothing comes to mind, “…would it be more comfortable if. we were. together?”

There’s a beat of silence. Mr. Benedict’s surprise is almost audible.

“Neither of us are sleeping well,” Milligan says lamely. “I…”

And then Nicholas says, sounding very quiet and like he’s hunched in on himself, “You don’t—I wouldn’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf.”

Milligan blinks. “…what?”

Nicholas sounds, if anything, even more uncomfortable. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to…” He’s squirming; Milligan can hear the covers rustling.

Millian stills. After a moment he says, with some amount of realization in his tone, “You… want physical reassurance?”

Another beat.

“…I have lasted a long time without,” Nicholas says finally, which is extremely depressing.

(What he was intending to get across was, so clearly, I don’t need it, and am fine. What he was getting across was so clearly I need it very badly.)

“Nicholas,” says Milligan at last, after processing that for a moment, and he thinks he’s startled Nicholas for a second time that night. “I was not asking for you.”

“…oh,” says Nicholas, and he sounds very small indeed.

“But I am glad, then,” Milligan says, “If. it helps.”

“…oh,” says Nicholas again.

There’s a moment of silence, then shuffling as he sits up. “Then. ah. yes, yes, I wouldn’t… yes. Shall I…?”

Milligan silently lifts the covers in answer.

He shuffles out of the bed—barefoot—then.

Nicholas, very hesitantly, settles next to Milligan in the bed. Milligan pulls the covers over them.

They’re fully clothed, and—perhaps it should be awkward. No, it really should be awkward.

But Milligan wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer, and Nicholas all but melts into his side with a little content sigh, turning over to bury his face in the juncture of Milligan’s neck and shoulder.

Milligan can feel the tip of his nose pressed to his collarbone. He relaxes into Milligan’s chest, tension bleeding from his body remarkably fast.

Milligan, too, can’t help but relax. He feels much warmer now.

"Thank you," says Milligan softly into the darkness.

Nicholas doesn't open his eyes. "I think we've established that this is quite mutually beneficial," he says wryly. But after a moment he says, far more quietly, "...but you're welcome."

(Always, he thinks, but doesn't say. You're always welcome.)

Milligan stares up at the ceiling still, feeling Nicholas’s breathing, the warmth of him pressed close. He’s relaxed, no longer shifting restlessly, instead lying slumped against Milligan almost bonelessly. Not asleep, yet, but clearly much closer to it even after what must be only a minute.

He’s safe. Safe and sound and whole. Both of them are.

The physical reminder—both of where they are (safe, in a small, dingy motel room, and together, far from water or cliffs or roves of people intent on harming them)and the fact that they’re both quite safe (Nicholas is fine, not dead or drowned, Milligan escaped that place and those waters and has a home, now)—it’s enough to leech away the remaining tension from Milligan, too.

Even the awkwardness couldn’t survive long: it’s too comfortable, and warm, and safe. Nicholas fits under his arm and pressed close, hiding his face in Milligan’s shoulder, like he belongs there. One arm, slowly—not carefully, but more as if not realizing, like unconsciously hugging a pillow—drapes itself around Milligan’s waist, too, and Nicholas shifts just a little to curl closer.

He's already half asleep, which isn’t common for him. Rather ironically, he never seemed to sleep well, or at least, not for long. But now his breathing was already getting deeper, even and slow.

Milligan lets his hand drift up to gently bury his fingers in Nicholas’s curls, dragging his fingertips up along his scalp. He hums a little, tilting his head into the touch, and Milligan closes his eyes. He runs a hand through Nicholas’s hair.

Holding him, being held in return.

It’s warm.

.

(They wake in the morning tangled up together and close. Neither of them have ever slept so deeply, and in fact, end up oversleeping past when they’d planned to leave.)

.

(When Nicholas wakes, warm, an arm around him, holding someone close and being held, it feels like a dream, hazy and unreal. He doesn’t want to wake up, to extract himself from Milligan’s arms and untangle themselves. So he drifts off again. Surely it can wait?)

(He’s never slept so long, or so without nightmares. He vaguely recalls—the memory is fuzzy and warm—the phantom feeling of hands in his hair.)

.

(They don’t really talk about it the next day, or afterwards. But the next time everything goes so horribly wrong, Milligan silently offers Nicholas a place next to him in bed, and Nicholas goes without thinking.)

[lunarsapphism]

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[iron-niffler]

that's it my physics class is REALLY starting to piss me off

[corvidinthewoods]

i am once again feelin the urge to convert but i dont think im at a place in my life where it’s feasible

[risingsunresistance]

literally deo