#it spoke to me

[smthaboutuss]

projecting my period cramps onto vox so I'm not suffering alone<3

[frenzyarts]

[im-stuck-in-fandom-hell]

[universesrising]

@a-big-chicken-nerd remind you of anyone, dingus

[whumpshaped]

Yk what I deeply enjoy? Whumpee who used magic for everything not being able to use it at all after the whumper harvested it. I saw you mention that lil tidbit abt that one ask abt the magic drain thing and it won’t leave my brain. So this is a continuation?? idk man.

It’s not like the magic is gone—Whumpee can still feel a well of power inside of them. they just for some reason can’t access it. maybe it’s a trauma response, maybe their body just needs to recover, maybe it’s permanent. Nobody knows.

but whumpee feels like half of themself. they feel broken. even after they had escaped whumper, whumper still had an iron grip on the power they had so aggressively sought. Caretaker watches Whumpee get quiet. Something they never used to be. They’re not eating much, and not gaining much weight back from the incident.

Sometimes caretaker finds them trying to use magic from peeking around corners—leaving whumpee feeling miserable and frustrated that the only reason they were useful in life was evading them.

Truth is, magic is a fickle thing and only when whumpee has accepted themself without it, will it start to come back.

tw past trauma, self-blame, self-deprecation, feelings of uselessness

Whumpee was sitting on the couch, bundled up in several blankets to keep their malnourished body warm. They still hadn't gotten used to it — the cold, the fatigue, the weakness. It was a constant uphill battle. A reminder of all the things they'd lost, things that had been taken from them by force, violently ripped away with nothing but a throbbing wound left in their place.

An invisible one. One they couldn't explain, couldn't show to a doctor, one characterised not by what it was but what it wasn't. It was impossible to grasp, and it seemed impossible to heal.

Nonetheless, they tried to fix it sometimes. They reached out towards objects far away, willing them to float into their hand. They tried to light candles with little sparks of magic. These had all been so normal, so natural before, and now they felt like insurmountable tasks. To anyone on the outside looking in, it must've looked like Whumpee was crazy for even trying; but they felt it. They felt the magic inside of them buzz to life whenever they called on it, hitting a glass wall every single time.

Sometimes they tried to ignore it, but that proved to be equally impossible. There was a constant nagging at the back of their mind, a pull to the life they'd had before and desperately wanted back. Magic had been easy, light, joyous, magic had been their everything. And they knew it was still there. It was calling on them just as much as they were calling on it.

"Come on," they whispered, squinting at one of the half-read books on the coffee table. "Just an inch. Just one."

The book didn't budge. It didn't rise into the air, it didn't even slide across the table towards them. Tears pricked Whumpee's eyes as they pushed and pushed and pushed, only for the core of their magic to deny them access again and again and again.

"Hey, Whumpee," Caretaker said softly, and they quickly looked away from the book, trying not to come across as too depressed.

"Hey."

"In the mood for some lunch?"

Whumpee deflated even further. Truth be told, they weren't. "Uh… thanks, but I think I'll just eat something later."

"You said that about breakfast," Caretaker said cautiously. "Not even a bit of soup? It's your favourite one, too. You must be hungry by now."

Whumpee hummed passively. "Not really."

"Okay, um…" They walked over to the couch and sat down, putting a gentle hand on Whumpee's shoulder. "Do you want to help me make the food at least? Maybe it'd help with the appetite."

"I don't know how to," they admitted quietly. "I don't know how to do anything. Not without… you know."

Magic.

Caretaker offered them a compassionate smile, rubbing their arm a little. "Well, maybe you'll have to learn like the rest of us peasants. I can teach you."

They didn't want to learn. They knew how to do things their way, and learning it all over again in a different, more difficult way sounded like torture to their exhausted mind and body. "Okay," they said anyway, terrified of being perceived as even more of a burden.

They were given the task of peeling potatoes; with a knife, like the average person. Caretaker gave them all the instructions on how to handle it safely, on how to make sure that the actual flesh of the thing didn't get thrown into the garbage, then left them to their own devices.

Their first attempt was humiliating. They took off several huge chunks of perfectly good food, before eventually taking off a chunk of their own finger. Caretaker was gentle when putting a bandaid on it, speaking to them like one would've done so with a child.

"You think you can try again?"

Whumpee grimaced. "I think… I think I should just go back to sleep."

Caretaker handed them the knife with a knowing look. "I think you should try again."

So they did. They moaned and groaned, complained and got frustrated, but they did try again. And the first time they were truly, earnestly happy with their skinless potato, the first time they held it up proudly and with a smile, they could feel a jolt of electricity shoot through their body.

Maybe there were different types of magic in the world. And maybe they could coax each other out.

[goodmusicandcheapbeer]

SINCE IT’S FREAKY FRIDAY YALL

somewhat nsfw under cut :0

I SWEAR IT LOOKED AT ME FIRST

[cinnabarts]

as long as you don't derez me in the morning

[quackurucho]

[mourningskvader]

Watching Death Takes a Holiday for the umpteenth time in three days solely because I like Fredric March’s monocle.

[allhailthedumpsterfire]

"The awful things we do to make the head go quiet,"

Hozier (To Someone From A Warm Climate)

[notetaeker]

April 4, 2023 - Tuesday | Ramadan Challenge 🌙 12-13/30

Day 12: Most challenging thing about Ramadan and how do you try to overcome it

For me it's always that time of the month that's the most challenging thing. My motivation always dips and whatever I am doing doesn't do it for me anymore </3 I always try but it often feels like stepping out of Ramadan for a week ;_; Honestly it's the same this year but I'm trying to not let my baseline drop and at least keep listening to lectures + doing dhikr + looking thru the annotations in my Islamic books.

Day 13: Have you ever completed the qur'an? Ever? What abt during Ramadan?

Not in Ramadan, not yet 😭 I'm always super motivated in the beginning but always fall behind when I can’t pray. I’ve continued reading after Ramadan though + completed it that way! Alhamdulillah 🌱

[mcnuggyy]

real 🫡

[banannabethchase]

Warmth - also on AO3

~

Pete wakes up in Kingston's bed. No, literally. Like, next to Kingston.

~

Brennan saying that Pete had the best sleep of his life that time after he and Kingston made up gave me Thoughts okay. Rated T for Too Much Fluff.

~

Pete yawns and rolls over, startling when he bumps into someone warm and solid. His eyes fly open, and it’s not panic, not quite. His first thought is he fell into bed with Priya again, and then that, maybe, everything in the past few weeks had been a dream.

But, like something of Nod is poking him, he knows none of it is a dream.

The locs poking out from under the covers prove it.

It’s Kingston. Kingston is next to him.

Pete managed to get into Kingston’s bed.

“Pete?” Kingston asks, mumbling this way out of sleep in a way that seems illegal for Pete to see. “You okay, man?”

“I’m so sorry.” Pete’s mind starts racing. He guesses Sofia might take him in, but she’s in Staten Island and Pete really hates the idea of being A Man Who Shows Up In Sofia’s House right after she finds out her husband is dead. “I’ll go. I’m so sorry.”

“Pete, come on.”

It takes a second for Pete to realize what’s happening. Kingston has reached out and grabbed him at the wrist, a grip tight enough to know it matters but loose enough to break at the briefest twitch of his wrist. “Don’t panic. It’s okay.” His smile is soft and sleepy, and Pete feels something unexpected and warm well in his chest. He hasn’t felt this way in a while, and definitely not when looking at Kingston of all people. “You wanna come snuggle?”

Pete is well aware that the correct answer is, “No thank you, but your hospitality is greatly appreciated so I will return to the other bed you offered me.” He shouldn’t allow himself to want this. Not after how much trouble Kingston’s already gone to for him. He should say no.

Instead, he gingerly settles into the bed with an awkward amount of distance between himself and Kingston. He feels himself drawn to the warmth, to the comfort. His withdrawals haven’t been too bad the past few days, probably because he’s done so many random drugs he never got full dependence on one, but this. This is bringing up an addict’s need for something he thought he’d moved past. Warmth. Solace. Somebody who can convince him that they really care, regardless of how.

“You can come in closer, Pete,” Kingston says. His voice is warm as the blankets, and Pete is really, really tired.

He scoots in, but can’t make himself look at Kingston’s face. Back to Kingston’s front, he says, “Thanks, man.”

There’s a brief period of silence and tension before Kingston presses in closer. “Is this okay?” Kingston asks. His arm is warm around Pete’s waist, the same as the bed, and it shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. Pete shouldn’t let this feel so comfortable.

“Yeah,” Pete mumbles. He can already feel himself drifting off to sleep again. He snuggles back against Kingston. He hasn’t been held like this in a long, long time. And it hasn’t felt this safe in even longer. “Thanks, man.”

“I told you, Pete,” Kingston says, with a hint of a chuckle in the back of his voice, “I got you.”

The next time Pete wakes up, his face is buried into the crook of Kingston’s neck and his arm is thrown over Kingston’s waist. His leg, he realizes with belated panic, is in between Kingston’s, and there’s not a lot else that could be. There’s a tiny bit of sunlight streaming in. It’s early enough Pete could pretend to be actually awake. It’s more sleep than he’s gotten in one night in ages, either way.

Gingerly, he extricates himself.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Kingston mumbles. “I’m comfortable right here.”

“Are you sure?” Pete isn’t sure why he’s asking. He’s still mostly asleep.

“Pete.” Kingston’s voice has a level of command in it that Pete finds himself surprised to like. “You’re my guest and my friend. I wouldn’t invite you into my bed unless I was sure.”

The pause that follows is loaded.

“That wasn’t said how I intended it,” Kingston says.

“What, you’re not planning on ravishing me?” The words are out of Pete’s mouth before he can stop them.

“Don’t act like I haven’t thought about it,” Kingston chuckles. His fingers trace along the back of Pete’s arm. “But I’m not in my twenties anymore. Can’t go making rash decisions with my friends anymore, can I.”

“Was that, like, a thing in the 90s with you?” Pete asks. “Hooking up with guys?”

“From time to time,” Kingston says. “When the mood struck us, I mean. And it wasn’t hooking up. It meant more than that. We cared for each other.” He turns to Pete and grins. “What, you spent this whole time thinking I was some boring, straight, old guy?”

“Most people, to be fair, are boring, straight old guys,” Pete points out. “And I wasn’t gonna, like. Ask.”

“Did you wonder, though?” There’s no laughter in Kingston’s eyes. Just simple curiosity. “About me?”

“I wonder,” Pete says, and the words come out of him so quickly he doesn’t know how to stop them, and doesn’t know if he wants to, “that about anybody I’m attracted to.”

Pete swallows as realization dawns on Kingston’s face, the disbelief slowly dissolving into…something. Pete’s not sure. “If I kissed you, right now, no strings, no expectations,” Kingston says slowly, “what would you do?”

Pete exhales, shakily, as he looks right into Kingston’s eyes. “I’d kiss you right back, old man.”

It doesn’t have to mean anything. And that’s why it’s so comforting. Kingston leans in, and it’s the most innocent press of lips Pete’s ever felt. From demanding boys expecting him to be someone else when Pete was their date to a shitty rural high school excuse for a dance, to Priya’s kisses full of fury and manufactured drama, to the men and women he dated before her. Nothing has felt this honest before.

There’s no compulsion to perform, no feeling like he has to do something after this. This is the whole moment. He’s right here and he doesn’t have to be anywhere else.

He doesn’t know when they stop kissing, only that he wakes up much later that morning with Kingston’s head pillowed on his chest and light streaming in from the window.

“Morning,” Kingston says. “Could tell you woke up by the snoring stopping. You should really look into a sleep study.”

“Fuck off,” Pete laughs. He squeezes at Kingston’s shoulder. “Best sleep I’ve had in years, dude.”

“Me too,” Kingston says. He sits up, some of the exhaustion Pete has come to know in his eyes gone. “I’ve gotta go get in the shower, but I’ll be making breakfast when I’m done, meet up with the gang later this morning.” He smiles, soft, and Pete remembers the gentle press of those lips.

Pete smiles back. It’s the first morning in years he can remember where his only craving is a cup of coffee and good conversation.

He jumps into the shower once Kingston is done, trying his best to not wonder if his shampoo or body wash is what gave off the woodsy scent from the night before. Pete brought his own stuff from that one box, a three in one body wash that he got in protest once he and Priya broke up, but he finds himself reconsidering after an accidentally on purpose confirmation that it’s the body wash. He won’t get the exact same brand or the exact same scent, but something close. Something that needs a little effort. Something worth the effort.

There’s a steaming mug of black coffee on the table in front of an empty seat next to Kingston.

“I get mine from Cosmo’s usually,” Kingston says, “but my mama always taught me to be a good host.” He winks, and Pete feels himself blush.

“Way to woo a guy,” Pete says, mostly to his coffee. He takes a sip and winces. “Jesus, do you not believe in sugar?!”

“It’s black coffee!”

“It’s tar,” Pete laughs. “Do I need to be worried about your eggs and toast, too?”

“Ungrateful.” Kingston reaches out and ruffle’s Pete’s hair. Pete probably imagined the tiny little tug at the end. “See if I do anything for you again.”

They eat breakfast and Pete is proven wrong by delicious eggs and good conversation, and they two them stop by Cosmo’s before meeting the rest of the team to plan for the day.

“This is coffee,” Pete says. “See how it’s brown, and not tar black?”

“You watch it,” Kingston says. His smile is better than the coffee. “But I’ll give Cosmo your compliments.”

They walk into the coffee shop where they’re all meeting up last, and slide into two chairs at the end of the already comfortably crowded booth.

“You two look cozy,” Sofia says, and she’s almost too knowing about it for Pete’s tastes. “Sleep well?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in years,” Pete and Kingston say at the same time. They look at each other, grin, and look away.

“Okay, somebody’s going to have to explain that when we’ve saved the world.” Misty points between the two of them.

“Not right now,” Kugrash chastises. “You all forget we’re trying to keep people from dying?”

The conversation shifts back to the serious in seconds. But Pete’s warm the whole day despite the New York winter chill. And he doesn’t think it’s just from Kingston’s coffee.

[creatureoftheclouds]

[greencheekconure27]

Wooden Easter egg I bought at the annual plant market two weeks ago