#and dilly

[scherzersblueeye]

imagine you’re a hockey player and you start shit right in front of zdeno chara

like. death wish? maybe?

[idanwyn-et-al]

My discord is doing a “good/neutral/bad” ending writing project, so here’s Idan’s good ending. Other endings to come after I stop weeooing.

Finally, after all these years, her countless acts of Ceigybet---the sail prayers---paid off. Llymlaen was singing to her, loud enough that Seran could hear, even through the clouds of white hair sprouted from his inner ears. They sat on the shores of Mist, outside of Syntblyss; it had changed little over the decades, save to add framed pictures of Idan’s articles; Seran’s conquests, both of the sword and the soul; Okuni’s bookshop, complete with a smudged definitely-yokai in the corner; Claire and Percevains making silly faces in front of a restored Firmament; Nachtiyrn half-blocking out the camera even as he grinned around his thumb; Falkgara laughing wildly from the bow of an experimental ship wrought by Zakuro, who was also grinning wildly, clinging to Odile’s legs, the rest of the Elezen woman just out of frame; Lu’rath zapping Idan’s foot with a better-placed bolt of blue levin than hers could ever hope to be. The Nixie sailed well and welcomed many guests, and when she was passed to the next in line, Idanwyn took only her photos to Syntblyss. She would cook there frequently, mostly for neighbors; so few were the folks who remembered the calamity nowadays, and it gave them just enough to talk about while they enjoyed her omelettes, her tea cakes with creme fraiche, her oversized bowls of the ramen she’d learned to love in her youth. 

 Seran laughed at her as she felt her heart’s beat slow---’slow as a mermaid, love, that’s why they call us that, remember?’ her long-dead mother’s voice sang from the waves. She breathed deep, drawing her husband’s laughter into her lungs with the salt, the memory, the certainty of death that is only given to those who imminently face it.

The Ala Mhigan man stood, his muscles weathered but still hardy like the gnarled trees of his homeland, and sat beside his wife in the rising tide. When the tide receded, no bodies remained; only two silver rings bearing blue stones, a beachside cottage full of memories,  and a cloud of dancing fireflies above the waves.