#and i'll thank you for it

[astrhae]

hi so i just read your hanahaki fic and it ruined me and like i am actually crying it was so so so good but also i read your deleted scene with jespers pov and that was amazing too!! and i saw that you said that you had another deleted scene and i would love to see that too (and any others that you have) if you wanted to share them?

(also i actually adore the entire vibe of your blog it's so pretty)

hi hello thank you so much *slides tissues over* i'm so glad you liked the fic so much and that you liked the deleted scenes too!! there are... quite a lot of them that i literally made an "appendix" section in my word document 😅 this fic truly was a monster to write because of how many scenes and jumps there were, and while that was a whole lot of fun, i also had to test and remove many, many scenes too keep it manageable. most of the deleted scenes are just dialogue without much prose to them though, because i had a Vibe but then realised the fic was going to be too long --- but here's a deleted scene that i polished up just for you 💙 it's in jesper's POV too because you all really are enabling me to write more of that 💕

---------------------------------

“You kept it,” Jesper stared at Wylan.

Wylan’s gaze skittered away, hands clasped behind his back as they stood there, side by side, at the threshold of the mansion’s storeroom. He looked every bit a mercher, now: all the soft lines Jesper used to tease him about were gone, replaced by a gauntness from the sickness.

It had been a month – a month since the embassy, since Wylan had lied still on the bed, and the Shu Princess’ fiancée had come under the cover of the night. Do it, Jesper had told her to save Wylan’s life.

They’ve gone too far for me to save him, she had warned Jesper. This might not work – he might never feel again, never –

Do it, Jesper had repeated. Wylan had wanted this, had counted his own life worth more than his heart, and Jesper had to agree. Jesper had to be grateful that Grisha didn’t get sick: if Wylan came out of this not being able to love, then at least Wylan came out of this.

Then Jesper would still love him, anyway, whatever happened.

So she had done it, and Jesper had watched as a delirious, barely conscious Wylan had coughed and coughed – Wylan wouldn’t remember it, later, feverish and shivering, from both the sickness and the canal waters, and Jesper had promised, over and over again: I love you, I love you, I love you.

And Wylan, eyes clouded with fever, had tipped his head blindly toward Jesper’s voice, and apologized.

Now – now, a month since, Wylan was still recovering. He showed no signs that he remembered any of it. Jesper had been careful not to linger, unsure if Wylan wanted him, but he had stayed in one of the guest rooms that Marya had forced him into.

They ate meals together, Wylan staring at Jesper silently all the while before he disappeared again into his rooms, closing himself off as Kaz scrambled to keep the business afloat and Jesper tried to keep out of the way. With Nikolai and Zoya pleased that things had gone as smoothly as they could, Jesper wasn’t expected back in Ravka anytime soon, and he stayed in Ketterdam to pick up what pieces he could, trying to at last keep his promises.

Marya showed him the cracks in the house – the places where paint had started peeling, floorboards creaking, the carriage rattling, and Jesper placed his hand over them. He placed his hand, and called on his blessings: an act of prayer, an act of penance. He couldn’t heal the places where Wylan’s ribs had cracked from the roots that had wrapped around them, but he could at least fix the foundations. Could at least strengthen them.

He hadn’t known what to expect when Wylan had called for him earlier today.

He certainly hadn’t expected Wylan to lead him up to the attic, to show him a room full of everything he’d left behind. All the coins he’d turned into lopsided keys sitting in a jar by the far end of the room, the bullet fragments and shrapnel from his failed attempts at distracting himself. The mess of a canvas from when Jesper had tried to paint for Wylan, all those years ago, eighteen and too young to understand the weight of it. The weight of this.

His powers reached out to them all, now, the room a riot of metal and memory and color, all his hats and all the ledgers from his debts –

Wylan had kept it: all the good things, and the bad.

“I wanted to burn them,” Wylan spoke to him for the first time in weeks. “I wanted to burn it all.”

Jesper took a step inside, his feet leaving footsteps in the dust. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“I broke some of them,” Wylan admitted, staying at the threshold, gaze shifting toward the broken glasses to their right, the shredded fabric, the shattered frames. “But I – I didn’t have anything left.”

When Jesper had left – so quickly he’d terrified even himself – he hadn’t had to time to bring much. He had thought it was for the better: a new start, without all his things, all his memories trapping him. He turned around to face Wylan, now, their past in scattered pieces around them.

Jesper didn’t need any of this. He just needed –

“I would have come home,” Jesper promised again, confession turned into sin, into vice, because even now, he still loved Wylan like an addiction. Like benediction. “I would have come home, if you asked.”

“And you would have resented me for it,” Wylan’s smile was a knife. Jesper wasn’t sure if it was a knife meant to cut Jesper, or himself. Did it matter? Either way, they both hurt.

His powers itched, needing to reach out, crawling beneath his skin, clawing at it. Grisha didn’t get sick: their fevers just burnt through bone, through soul – their powers demanding more than they could give. Wylan couldn’t love again. Not after the sickness. That was fine: Jesper would love him enough for the both of them.

“I already did, a little,” Jesper admitted, because hadn’t Wylan wanted him honest? “I resented you, but I missed you more.”

Wylan studied the floor. Eyes fixed at the distance between them.

“You stayed,” Wylan whispered.

“Do you want me to?”

He had stayed in Ravka for himself, but for Wylan too. He would stay here for himself, and for Wylan too. He owed it to them both to see whatever was left between them through: Wylan wasn’t a debt to be repaid, or a broken thing for Jesper to fix. He was a chance that Jesper wouldn’t let himself lose. Not again.

A strangled noise escaped Wylan, so similar to the cough that Jesper flinched at it –

“I want you to stop hurting,” Wylan said, just as he had all those years ago, when push became shove became fall. And then – “I want to stop hurting.”

Jesper stumbled forward, stumbled closer, pulled into orbit – pulled out of it, until distance became touch and his hand reached for Wylan’s – and Wylan’s reached for his, trembling, trembling, trying.

“I want you to be happy,” Jesper took the words, and made them his own. Made them his wish. “I want to be happy, too.”

Because he was selfish, because he was certain. Because he was trying, too.

[bread-tab]

i'm trying to ease myself out of the habit of being negative on social media. if i need to vent i can do that in my journal and have an internal dialogue or seek out a sympathetic friend/partner. i have them. i don't need to yell into the void, i just like it. (in a sense of "like" that doesn't hold any actual enjoyment, only a vague sense of validation that plays into avoidance tendencies.)

one of my biggest issues is getting into a feedback loop of depression; i feel bad, so i isolate myself, so i feel worse. i've learned through trial and error that a lot of the time when i'm upset and feel like "i need to be alone" what i actually need is to be around someone who will give me space to sort myself out.

i don't have a problem with other people using a public blog as their place to complain or do a little cathartic screaming. i think it's usually a neutral thing, sometimes even helpful. i've figured out a lot of my own issues using this site as a rubber duck. i've blogged my way through some of the worst times in my life, when i couldn't talk to anyone.

and for now, somehow, those times are over.

i'm just watching my habits spool out, as i get older and they start to span years and decades, and i'm thinking, do i want to be doing this same old thing in ten years? in three? do i really want to be doing it this year, even? the time slips away quickly. i may as well stop now

i think i am getting tired of airing my dirty laundry. i think i will start taking it down to the river and letting it soak on the cool pebbles

[strawberryamanita]

Observation #1: The prefix "a-" means "none", such as in "asexual", "apolitical" and "Atheism".

Observation #2: The word "unicorn" is a combination of "uni", meaning "one", and "cornus", meaning "horn".

Conclusion:

This is an acorn.

[bitterly-almond]

more Kuina lived AU with some slight changes

it feels like every time i draw her she gets bigger. i still want zoro to have wado as a symbol of their promise so i gave kuina the nidai to go with zoro's sandai :))

[egophiliac]

WAIT when did he get FANGS

[barghest-land]

drawings from paleo expedition to dagestan, done right on the trip. sometimes messy when it was cold and rainy, but i won't correct it. i think it's cool to leave it just the way it was done, and not retouch it after. there will be more drawings later, but those will be done from home

[pants-lint]

Just had a Thought and now I'm curious. What's you guy's strangest comfort media? It doesn't have to be strange as in like creepy/fucked up/whatever, it can just be smthn a lil odd.

[jesncin]

Two FAce Attorney for DC Gotcha for Gaza! (prompts closed!) Okay the prompt was just to draw Two Face but I've had this joke in my mind for so long that I had to draw it heheh

[mikonez]

A bit of world hopping

[deathricedrawn]

i'm ready to try

[gotchibam]

Shiny Shinx ko-fi doodle for Dylan!

[cute-sucker]

all i can think about is boxer!rafe with his cute clumsy gf??

𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

rafe being a boxer did not help your situation as an unnaturally clumsy person.

you're always on the brink of failing down, head face first into concrete, or something even worse. you feel like an idiot every single day as you try to get through obstacles that face your everyday life.

going up the stairs? yes, you have fallen going up the stairs.

going down the stairs? check that off the list too. that was done a hot minute ago. it's all a blur to you, but when you and rafe first got into a relationship it was alarming the amount of bruises you got.

it was strange to be with someone so coordinated as him, as if every single on his moves was coordinated. you had watched him box and every move deliberate. power and strength oozed off of him, and you wondered what you even offered in the relationship. after all he was the one taking care of you.

he could tell when you were about to fall - his hand stuck out to catch you, he could tell when you were going to trip, hands reaching for your shoulders. you would always give him a cute smile afterwards, and a welcoming kiss.

but there were other times when you felt worse about it, crying to him about how incompetent you were, "can't do it, rafe. i'm so, so clumsy," and you could tell that he was fighting the urge to laugh as you pouted.

"nah. i like it," he would mutter, before gently smudging your lipstick with his finger as he tilted down to give you a peck, "keeps me on my toes."

and yet there were times when being clumsy did not help at all.

you were snuggled to his side, smelling his hoodie in deeply before sighing. the movie was playing in the background as he held you close to his chest, as a soft humming escaped your lips. it was a moment you knew you would always remember, and you raised your arms to stretch.

little to your knowledge the sleeves of your shirt went down to uncover a litter of blue and green bruises. they looked fairly recent but still were blossoming on your skin. unbeknownst to you, rafe's eyes quickly traveled to your arms.

"hey? you good?" he sputtered out, and you gave him a smitten nod, burrowing deeper into his chest. rafe looked even more concerned, readjusting - which forced you to get up as a short whine left your mouth.

he tugged at your sweatshirt, "what the hell was that?"

you furrowed your eyebrows, "what the hell was what? you have to be more specific rafe-" you hated this, and even though you didn't know what he was talking about there was this inkling of fear that stuck into your heart.

rafe let out a grunt, before pulling away down your sleeves again, and then he pointed at the bruises, "these? who hurt you?"

dumbfounded you stared at your arms, and then looked at rafe - his eyes practically bugging out of their sockets, jaw clenched as if a vein was about to burst and you couldn't help but start giggling.

"hey. hey, focus," a hand reached for your jaw as you stared into his steely eyes. suddenly you saw another side of him, the rafe that everyone talked about. the one that could knock out a guy with one punch, the one that came home with bloody knuckles and a chewed mouth guard. and yet it was the same rafe that slept in your bed comfortably and whispered your name gently as if he wanted to etch it on his heart.

that rafe.

you had zoned out again before you noticed his furious expression, and then an unpleasant smile that crossed on his face. it looked as if he was trying to feign being calm, and you felt tears prick your eyes.

"rafe-"

"no crying. c'mon baby, just give me a name."

now you were chuckling through tears, and he gave him an incredulous look.

finally he pecked your lips, his words oddly sweet, "listen. i've always told you i'm gonna protect you right. it's jeff isn't it-" his words came out sharp, and you knew exactly who he was talking about - your boss at the restaurant you worked at who complained about your inability to do anything right.

but that was definitely not it.

"rafe!" you finally sputtered, "rafe it's me."

finally he stopped, his mouth gaping open, "what do you mean it's you sweets?"

you huffed, looking down at your arms, "i'm so darn clumsy that i have bruises everywhere. i always check before i go to bed, yk' to check how many i have."

rafe's concern quickly shifted to a mix of frustration and worry as he examined the bruises on your arms, letting soft clucks. he let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning to you with a furrowed brow.

"sweetheart, you have to be more careful," he said, his tone tinged with annoyance but softened by genuine concern, and then he finally tugged you in closer as you started to protest.

"we'll talk about this later. maybe you'll start boxing, huh? you'll be my little champ."

𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

taglist for all my fics; @wearemadeofstardust0

taglist for boxer!rafe: @maybankslover @vogueprincess @spookyscaryspoon

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[jajatoc]

Just like a person, the Town is a process. It's movement. In this town, people can make the impossible, for it is a machine. A border-breaking machine.

[shushmal]

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

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