#「 ( thatch ; ic ) 」

[ssselthrovv]

— “Dear Mr. Whitmore, I hope this "piece of proof" is enough for you. Sure convinced me. Thanks, from both of us.”

Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)

[irishmansdaughter]

[cosmicxblossoms]

“Try it. Come on, I swear it won’t poison you.” [Ace to Thatch<33]

"If this does poison me or make me sick consider your late night trips to the kitchen for snacks revoked Ace." Of course he wouldn't bar him from the kitchen forever, just until he got over it if trying this did make him sick. But Ace was kind enough to share something he usually ate and as a good friend he should give it a try, grabbing a spoon to give the ghost pepper jelly a taste. The jelly did have a nice color to it and it appears to have been well made, something that Thatch always appreciated when looking at foods made on various islands they docked at. However, when the commander went to eat it he knew he immediately regretted this decision, his head pressed against the counter as he could already feel the heat from the ghost peppers. "I immediately regret this ace, why did I let you talk me into eating this?!"

[stardustedstories]

@missallanea asked: CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS HOUR !! Milo, there is a timeline out there that refers to you as the King of Atlantis. Would you agree with that assessment? Are you truly a King? And if so… what qualifications do you have to lead a people you have only recently become a part of?

Milo blinks at the sudden question, turning it over in his head. There's a timeline that refers to him as the King of Atlantis? It's not the "alternate timelines exist" that throws him; it's the "King of Atlantis" part that does.

"Well, no," he says with a little laugh. "I guess I could be considered the "Royal Consort," if an official title is needed, but no, I'm not the king. Kida's the ruler of Atlantis, and I'm her husband." Something that still astounds him at times, if he's being honest with himself.

"I may consider the Atlanteans my people just as much as I did back home--more, really, at this point, but I was still an outsider, someone they welcomed into their home, allowed to learn their ways and become part of them."

He pauses for a moment, as though thinking, and then adds, bright smile on his face, "Now, if you were asking if I could be considered the Linguist of Atlantis, then I would wear that title proudly."

Atlantis was his home; the people accepted him as one of them, but he would always be second to Kida, second to any naturally-born citizen. Perhaps one day, if he lived as long as Kida had, by this point, he would know all there was to know about the culture and feel comfortable with the idea of being called "King." But for now, he's content with just being Kida's husband.

[xamassed]

⟬ @summerxmelodies ⟭

❝ s-scared? me? i’m not..scared. ❞ (for Thatch, maybe he spooked her with the Yami Yami no Mi?)

She claimed she wasn't scared, but he wasn't convinced. She had to be startled at the least because whether or not he would admit it, he was. Tucked in the back of a small and unsuspecting cave, roiling wisps of darkness hugging at his gaunt frame, he thought he was hidden.

Here, he was meant to be safe.

Here, he could brood and think and regret every mistake he'd made since that night.

That was impossible to do, however, when his one and only haven on this island had been encroached upon. Of all the places she could have wandered, of all the people she could have encountered on a whim — why did it have to be him?

"Get out." Came his feeble, barely-there voice. The shadows shuddered in tandem, as if they themselves were aggravated.

Then, lower and more feral than before. "Get. Out."

[imitormusa]

'what are u going to do stab me?'

[us-smash-archive]

@Marco when are you going to nut up and finally ask Freya to be your lady? @Thatch if those two weren't together could you see having Freya as your girlfriend?

Thatch: already answered here! X

"I don't know when are you going to show your face and ask the questions face to face?"

[ktheqw]

from the tropical north snow and ice greet a stranger no racism to be known

a calm freedom watching the sea_thatch with new eyes noises so foreign

to appreciate the difference coming to love the ways of ice and snow no longer foreign, my home

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[wcrldcffantasy]

Zen was feeling a headache coming on as he was listening to all this, then pinched the bridge of his nose. Fymryn almost stepped back for a moment with unsureness, but the King soon stood up.

"You all might not understand it now, but I am trying to fix the very mistake that the Li family, what Madame Yue, had failed to accomplish. I'd rather not rush anything," He looks at Faith for this before looking at Hiccup, "Nor am I going to stop..."

Hiccup was about to say something when the doors suddenly burst open and everyone turned to see a scared looking guard rushing towards Zen, leaning in and whispered frantically in his ear.

"...What?"

The guard was stepping back with a nod, and Zen's facial expression darkened. This confused Hiccup for a moment, before he then saw Seiya coming in afterwards, almost having this...amused yet sarcastic smile on his face, almost as if he heard some bad news as a joke. This was when Zen snapped his head towards his old friend and narrowed his eyes.

"...Is what this fool said true? Are they...?"

"Didn't see this coming did you, Zen? Ironic isn't it?" Seiya had a wry smirk on his face as Hiccup stared at him, and the former hero tilted his head as he gave out a dry chuckle, "The rightful heirs are alive."

"I hope Tsubasa-nii is okay...I can feel him somewhere..."

A young woman sighed as she looked towards her companion, a male buck that just moved protectively towards her and nuzzled his snout against her cheek as if to tell her that everything will be alright.

"Thank you for the warm encouragement, Bambi. You're right. I'm positive that we'll be reunited with my brother soon!"

"Princess Hime! I think someone has seen where Prince Tsubasa went!"

The brown haired princess blinked her emerald green eyes as she looked towards three people walking her way, and she softened, "Good work, Amiboshi! But do you really think that Tsubasa-nii really is nearby in this town?"

"Well Sano-san thinks so! He and Lady Maria have already talked to the citizens here and they have said they have seen a young man with the same description as His Highness!" The greenish blond haired man said enthusiastically, "It seems he's also travelling with companions! They could be our friends!"

"Now hold on, kiddo," A very tall brown haired man stepped forward while holding his large stoned sword, as he then looked around, "We dunno if it's really Tsubasa or not...besides, seems this town is a little skittish when we mentioned his name and the little missy's."

Sano was a bit weirded out, honestly. To think that he woke up in a strange world, thinking he was in heaven...and only to realize he was actually alive...and found quickly his companion and the missing princess that he thought perished along with her family.

'Man...if only Lord Anos was alive to see this...'

"Mister Sano is correct, Ami. We have to be careful. This isn't like the Demon Realm where we could take things easy," A blonde haired young woman spoke and sat down next to Hime on the bench then smiled at her gently, "Don't worry, Princess. I'm sure your brother is somewhere around here..."

Hime softened and then looked up at the skies for a moment, Bambi resting his head onto her shoulder as the princess stroked his snout gently, "I really do hope so Maria..."

"Yeah so...pretty much there's just a lot to take in, and we totally get it," Alphonse breathed out as he watched Davion's expression, seeing the man holding Yun closely in his arms with a contemplative look, "...Sir Davion, I know...you think of the what ifs but—"

"It's not just the what ifs, Alphonse," Davion spoke quietly as he glanced at him and his brother, then sighed, "I really missed a lot. And I feel like if I wasn't careless back then...if I could've prevented things and clung to life for Yun—"

"With all due respect, the world would've been the same. M-Maybe even worse than it ever will be, the flow of time with the butterfly effect of our choices are honestly unpredictable."

Davion raised a brow at the new voice and looked up to see two people come in...and he didn't recognize them at all. He looked to Edward for an explanation, who coughed and straightened himself.

"You know how Wonderland almost ripped a lot of holes in the fabric of space and time? Well, apparently one of them was called a Mirrorverse. And there are some individuals that leaked out...like these two—"

"I think we can introduce ourselves from here, Edward," A young man with a mop of ginger brown hair in glasses spoke up, coughing as he then pressed said glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Milo James Thatch...b-believe it or not, I am from Atlantis. I-I mean, my late wife the Queen had brought me to live with her and all but since the fall of the City I didn't know what to do a-and I was brought here--"

"Ahh, l-let's not go into too much detail there, Milo," Another young man stepped up, rubbing the side of his neck as he calmed his friend down before looking at Davion with a sheepish grin, "I'm Eric. Kinda a fallen Prince turned sailor travelling the seas and...found Milo and ended up here. It's thanks to Mister Yun and his group that rescued us before we were taken by some weirdos that wanted to trap us."

"Trap you?" Davion asked.

"M-More like capture us for questioning and possible experimentation since apparently they saw my necklace and thought I held some power they were looking for...huh." Milo hummed as he then tilted his head, "Also, I never did think I'd meet another white haired and blue eyed person that wasn't Atlantian,"

Edward shrugged as he was then looking at Davion, "Anyways, Milo and Eric are kinda one of us now. But I know this has been a whole thing and...I guess you'd need to rest, catch up with Yun and Beelzebub?"

Davion nodded his head slowly, "I...suppose being resurrected is kinda surreal to me still..."

Beelzebub winced when Edward mentioned Yue but thanked Mother Lilith for his husband's not losing his cool. "Zen's lately shown the signs of what Wonderland's White Queen was about: apathy."

He looked as if he had swallowed a bitter lemon as he prepared to speak. "It's bad, Dav." he said. After taking a deep breath, he thanked Alphonse for the reports and handed them to Citalee, who placed a comforting hand on his king's shoulder. "We lost a lot of allies and friends, and when news would reach us that they've been spotted...well..."

"They were not the ones Their Majesties knew." Citalee replied, sorrow lacing his softer voice. "The price to bring back the dead is extremely high, something I'm sure you're well aware of, Sir Davion. and one cannot be guaranteed that the soul of the departed will return intact, such as your own. The soul may not even be the departed's either."

Yun then spoke, his voice calm and sage-like, hinting that the ancient primal who had slumbered within him was now in control. "Zen then began to descend into what you may call madness, but not in Wonderland's sense. Wakanuki's powers do indeed take a heavy toll on one's mental health, as does being under the constant pressure of being the heir of the Time Witch's powers. Mix in that he has become better known as the White King...well, no matter. The tides have turned. Our game is not over."

Beelzebub and Citalee looked at one another with a bit of worry, but as Yun hadn't really moved and seemed to be content with sitting in Davion's lap, they felt it was best to wait til Yun fell asleep, and THEN they would brief Davion on what happened after Yun beheaded the Red Queen.

Citalee then brought up to Davion that the children were safe, Stephan and Li were with their eldest brother down at the cottage by the sea with the twins. "I think Onyx said in his letter that he just arrived."

"That's a declaration of war on Hell!" Fjord shouted as Howelette paled upon hearing Zen's words. "The Red Queen's subjects fell under Emperor Yun's jurisdiction upon him decapitating her!" As much as Fjord may fear his queen's brother, even he was horrified that Zen would go that far to ensure that there would be no more threats to Yue, or them for that matter.

That was when he realized something.

Yun had not been seen since the first century of Zen's reign. Now everyone thought he was off licking his wounds, grieving for losing Davion, and that might all be true, even Fjord felt for his queen's brother; Yun did lose his husband and nearly his children.

But something didn't add up because Fjord now realized that something was clearly wrong with the Emperor of Hell. "All this time...you've kept him imprisoned within Hell's borders. Within his own castle til he found a way to visit Sir Davion's grotto."

"That is where the likes of the Key of Armageddon belongs, is that not so?" A voice came from Zen's right as both Fjord and Howlette backed up to Hiccup's side. "Akhir has awakened, his vassal, his temple now infected with the Wonderland Madness, those who sided with him desired nothing but our own Empress of Heaven's blood. Must I remind you that he has sworn that he will KILL not only her but King Zen as well?"

The angel, one of the original virtues, spoke as she came into the light, her light blue hair dull but her ice blue eyes, those that held nothing but a cold and icy demeanor, judged the trio harshly. She then set her sights upon Zen. "But now that Emperor Yun has escaped and made himself known, it is best to do some damage control. Sir Davion will not placate him for long."

"Nothing is going to placate Emperor Yun, Faith. He was unjustly imprisoned while still grieving the loss of his love, and you made sure that he didn't have the chance to get to Princess Acheron's side when he went postal."

Then, it dawned on the fairie, and she had to stop herself from launching at the angel. "You...You damned bitch...You made sure that Ash was the catalyst! You hurt that innocent-"

"Innocent? Ash MURDERED an entire neighborhood back in 1899. The only reason he even has Percy now is because of our Empress's mercy and misplaced love for the boy."

[rumglazedpeaches]

Stolen from candlecoo

Rules: Make a new post and spell out your url with song titles, then tag as many people as there are letters in your url. 

R - Rise by The Glitch Mob U - Unbreakable by Aviva M - My oh My by Camila Cabello G - Guy.Exe by Superfruit L - Look what you made me do by Taylor Swift A - Arcade by Duncan Laurence Z - (Couldn't find one that started with Z so using this space as a freebie) Rockabye by Clean Bandit E - Everybody loves me by OneRepublic D - Discord by The living Tombstone P - Partners in crime by Set it off E - Enemy by Imagine Dragons A - Angels by Vicetone C - Castle by Halsey H - House of memories by Panic at the Disco E - Everything Black by Unlike Pluto S - Somewhere only we know by Keane

Tagging: @freedomsrebels

[stardustedstories]

The Princes Bride Sentence Starters // Accepting

@missallanea asked: ❛ please understand, i hold you in the highest respect. ❜ / kida @ milo, you can hear the "but" coming a mile away

Mr. Whitmore had told them about another phenomenon that could potentially be linked to Atlantis, this time in New York City. Apparently, there had been sightings of moving statues? That was what one of the reports said, though another one mentioned "unholy abominations," which could amount to anything, depending on your perspective.

Because of the Atlantean crystals that had been presented to them as a gift, the members of the original expedition to Atlantis continued to survive long after they likely should have succumbed to old age. They continued to meet up, both for social events, and to investigate the leads Mr. Whitmore sent their way.

It looked like the rest of their team was busy, which meant that it was just Milo and Kida on this trip. It had been a while since Milo had been to New York City, and apparently quite a bit had changed since then.

He and Kida had been discussing where they should start looking for Mr. Whitmore's lead, and they each had different opinions on the best place to begin.

Milo glanced over at Kida at her words, very clearly hearing the unspoken 'but' at the end of her sentence.

"But?" he prompted. "You don't think we should start with talking to the person Mr. Whitmore recommended?" Milo thought they ran in the same circles, which had to mean this David Xanatos was trustworthy, right?

[systemadministratorclu]

Right after Milo has just eaten a big bite of his.

"wHaT!?" He chokes/coughs out, the circuits on his gridsuit flickering, "I'm.....I'm EATING a PERSON!?" He looks sick. Like he's someone hearing what Soylent Green is after digging into a nice big portion of it.

He quickly remembers she's right there, and backpedals.

"I mean, your soul is absolutely delicious, thank you very much. I just.....I've always been opposed to eating people. The idea is......eugh." he shudders.

"That's right, you ungrateful shits. Whenever I make things like ice cream cones for you, you are eating part of my soul. So try to be a little bit more grateful! Ehehehehe."

[xamassed]

⟬ @xfestiviity​ ⟭

( Pomona to Thatch ) She feels as if she had been asleep for... a long time. To awaken out of the darkness and forget the weight of her troubles -- if but for a moment -- and walk into the light with one of her prized aprons just to see him again... every step was worth it. She smiled, giving a light tug on the other's scarf, and wrapped her arms around his. " Mm... what is for dinner tonight? Would you like some help? "

The tug to his scarf pulled his attention away, but the steady thump, thump, thump of his knife as it hit the cutting board continued despite his eyes moving towards her. The sight of her brightened his expression, the brown of his eyes growing honey-warm above a crooked smile.

“Nothing complicated. We had some meat left over that needs to be used, so I thought I’d make it into a stew. Heard we were heading towards an island with colder weather, so we can kill two birds with one stone.” He craned his head and nudged the tip of her nose with his. “But, please, stick around. I don’t know why, but it feels like I haven’t seen you in a while. . . I miss you.”

[imitormusa]

❝  have you even taken the time to let yourself feel it?  everything that’s been happening.  eventually,  you have to slow down and let it feel real.  ❞ ( to thatch from marco ! )

@taiixuan | CONVERSATIONAL  SENTENCE  STARTERS 

Waking up in the infirmary was never Thatch's favorite thing. It had happened a time or two in his career as a pirate but not for a long time. He was a Division Commander for the Whitebeard Pirates. He was one of the top members of a Yonko crew.

But he was only human.

He was lucky to be alive. He knew this. If the wound had been an inch to the left or even just a little deeper? He'd be dead. If someone hadn't stumbled upon the scene when they heard Thatch shout? He'd be gone. So many little moments added up for him to live but without just a single one? He wouldn't be here.

But Thatch wasn't one to sit around when there was work to be done. The day he was cleared for 'light duty', he was back to work. He was aware of his siblings watching his every move, ready to step in if need be but he ignored them as much as one could ignore hundreds of people. This had been tough on everyone, not just him and he knew this. But he had to focus on himself right now. His division was good but there were some things he had to do himself. He couldn't put off his duties forever. He didn't want to.

So here he was, sitting on the floor of the pantry with his breathing ragged and teeth clenched. One simple slip had knocked the air from his lungs and someone had gone to find Marco. In any other circumstance, Thatch would be ecstatic to see the older man but he was so. damn. tired. He loved Marco but he wasn't sure he could stand being looked at right now.

"Marco, I don't want to feel it," He sounded tired. Someone he had known for years and had considered a brother had tried to kill him. They had fought side by side for years. None of them had ever imagined anything like this happening. "I'm going to have to live with the threat of him coming back to kill me to get the fruit so can't I have a few more days? I want to focus on work. I want things to be normal again. I want Ace back but the kid is too damned stubborn to listen to any of us."

"Gods," His voice was thick with unshed tears. "All this over a damn fruit. I would've given it to him if he'd just asked..."