abstaining from voting in the dropping the @ vote (gotta love democracy) because although i do wanna know who he is to block him and never interact w him even tangentially, at the same time i fear just saying it publicly woud be undistinguishable from a callout and may get him harrassment that i think you deep down don't want him getting, bc even if he's a cunt and SHOULD be killed with hammers and fire and strung around for everyone to spit on him, people going to him and calling him names and slurs and telling him to kill himself is just. not it. idk if i'm making any sense?
Yeah exactly that's why I am torn on whether I'd do it. But that's also why I WANT TO like the first part you pointed out. And one could be like well 🧐 the alternative is simple simply tell ppl who ask you but 1) I HATE DMS & 2) I still will not know who does what, right? Like if someone dresses up as a white knight and goes galloping to be like KYS!!!!! i won't know until it happens.
Though if I do I'll simply make it a post no pizzazz no proof on the post itself not even context and won't let it be reblogged so it's really just a thing that stays Here. Because I don't want things to blow up out of proportion but I want, well, I have spoken enough about what I want.
It is night in a new world, and you've lost a dear friend.
notes & etc: reader, lee scoresby, and john parry. oneshot. HDM series. canon compliant with events of book 2. ambiguous relationships. angst!! more writer commentary at the end. 584 words. on Ao3 here
It’s unreasonable to have expected your choices to take you down any other path than this. You were always going to find yourself here.
Mist touches your skin, permeating through the relatively thin layers of your clothing and down through to your bones. You’d like to say that the cold air numbs your distress, shocks you enough to calm down and jolt out of it, but… truthfully, it has little effect on why you’re here, crying and swallowing shaky gulps of air with your arms around yourself and a silver turquoise ring in your fist. You don’t notice the osprey dæmon that soars overhead.
The soft sound of familiar footsteps draws another shuddering breath into your lungs, your hand wiping shaky and surreptitiously—you hope—at your cooling tears. You want to greet him, as you normally would, but you know your voice would betray you. Although, if he’s here right now, he already knows, and you’re taking much too long to say anything anyhow, and he’d be an idiot not to know anyway—
He comes to a stop near your shoulder.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says in that smooth, enigmatically charming voice of his. “Sayan saw you, and I thought you might appreciate an ear.”
Your dry chuckle is exceptionally soggy, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself, breathing it out through your lips with closed eyes.
“Jopari,” you greet, looking out at the foreign stars. “It has been an exceptionally trying time. I don’t think I was ready.”
“Ah,” he says, and you can hear the rueful smile in the sound. “I don’t think most of us are.”
You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “John.”
You’ve come to know him well over these last years. Sayan can journey far, that’s true, but even a shaman with a witches dæmon is reluctant to part too far with their own very self, and shamans and witches alike need unassuming individuals to be their knowing eyes and hands in far off lands. None of you would never have gotten this far otherwise. So you understand immediately.
“You knew Lee would…” your throat closes up on the words.
“I did. I'm sorry.”
The tears come fresh, the heat of the saltwater on your face due to more than mere thermodynamics. It’s as if the anger at the man by your side is finding the only escape it can, through the water of your eyes, leaving room for growing dismay.
“Come back to the camp,” he says, nothing but gentle. “You’ll catch cold and we’ve a ways to go yet.”
You turn away again, looking down at the small furry body of your dæmon by your boot.
“Ah, so I will be continuing on further?” You regret the spiteful comment as soon as it leaves your mouth.
“This is not the world you’ll stop in,” John Parry says, cryptic as ever.
You turn to face him, the stones making their small sounds underfoot. He looks at you, sharp eyes apologetic. “I know you were close with Mr. Scoresby,” he says. “If there had been another way—”
“Then we wouldn’t win, in the end, would we?”
One side of his mouth lifts, once again rueful.
You sigh, and nod. The two of you walk back to your small, humble camp, and John, Jopari, Stanislaus Grumman and all his names, sits with you in silence by the fire. Before you know it, he will be dead, and you will be left behind to tell his son about him.
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i have sooo much fun facts about this reader in my head all of a sudden. in my mind they were a little bit in love with lee (a longtime friend) and john (platonically? romantically? we'll never know about either of these for either fella and neither will they bc theyre kinda messed up about it all!!) and they work with john and the witches towards asriel's big plan to Kill God. yippee!!
Do you think Ian and mickey will ever be apart of Yevgenys Life again
hmmm honestly? probably not. maybe somewhere down the line, if they decide to have kids together, they might wonder about him. i wouldn't be surprised if ian wanted to check on him or something - to see where and how he is. but if mickey (rightfully) has any hesitation, i don't think ian would do it. if the show kept going and didn't suck asjkjhk i could even see it being a storyline - ian wants to know, maybe mickey doesn't (or has more conflicting emotions about it all), and they both have to reconcile with that. i don't think mickey was ever really interested in parenting yev, and i 100% don't blame him for that.
either way, whether they get any update or not, i don't think it would be the same as before. i kinda feel like they've let him go, and i imagine that he's healthy and safe and loved where he is. if svetlana felt otherwise, i bet she'd be dragging mickey back kicking and screaming 😤 i do appreciate how fics explore this, but ultimately i don't think he'd be incorporated in any major way. maybe when he's older? idk idk! what do you think?
If he had to pick! It'd be the way that within Penacony, the way that imagination can quite literally spark to life. To Caelus it always felt like that lost part of the spirit that only had so many menus to be drawn into the waking world. Normally through artwork, writings, films, so on and so forth. It was always just an medium or a mirror to see it played out to the best of it's ability.
So what about folks who have imaginary friends? Ideas and don't really pursue the skills to bring them to the limelight? It can genuinely just come to be. To him, that's amazing as all hell! For someone who has a growing appreciation for adventure by the day, learning about one of the most nebulous and hidden sides of people stirs some excitement within him.
While vivid wonders can immediately be ignited into conception, and he's all for it, types like him also immediately come to see the raw scales of the negatives. Yet, there too lies a certain, haunting beauty in seeing that writhe into life through unanticipated and often horrific forms.
Caelus often aligned the idea as to how the Fragmentum paints upon the waking world. Except while the designs may be 1 for 1 but distorted variants, in the same vein, the empowered scale they re-release abominations into the world feels like there's a form of alignment to take into account.
While Theresa Fowler and Randy Cunningham are having struggles with their shyness, both unaware of the others' intentions, Howard has a little problem with their new member Abe, who is giving out signals of interest in Howard.
It's complicated, and even more complicated since the four of them have to be together for their rehearsals as The New 30 Seconds to Math, adding Fowler on Vocals and Hunter on Guitar.
AAAAAAAAND on Monster and Robot attacks with Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja and Abel Hunter: 9th Grade Demon Hunter.
