#OH YOU EVEN GOT THE CRACK IN THE CROWN! THAT DETAIL WAS ONLY EVER SHOWN IN AN ART PIECE AND NEVER WRITTEN OUT YET BUT YOU PAY ATTENTION WOW

[paranormal-peri]

OH MY GOD

I AM SPEECHLESS

THIS IS SO GOOD OMG

KICKING MY FEET SCREAMING AT THE WALL RN OMG

THANK YOU FOR BLESSING ME WITH THIS GIFT OMG OMG

I’ve been reading a the fic from @paranormal-peri and I really wanted to draw something inspired by chapter 4 “Birthday Cake”! The imagery and descriptions in this fic are so amazing and interesting to read I just had to do something based on it💕

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58008040/chapters/147677968

[draw-you-coward]

ikael gets schooled

~*~

ao3

“… And those are the basics of the precipitation cycle. Now I would like for you to, on the worksheet that I have given you, outline the details of each step. You may use your textbook as reference, but remember not to quote directly.”

Ryne nods and opens her textbook, running a finger down the page as she scans for a passage to start combing through. Ikael, watching her instead of their tutor for the day, wrinkles his nose.

No, this has gotten too complicated now. Ikael has changed his mind: he does not want to be educated anymore. Instead, he wants to stop the lesson and go do things that are more fun, like bake biscuits.

“Shtola, I have been working my brain very hard today I think and I need a break,” he entreats with the biggest, widest, most sincerest eyes he can muster. He even droops his ears for good measure—that is always guaranteed to work.

Y'shtola, however, only crosses her arms, raising one sardonic eyebrow until it disappears into her bangs. “Nice try. However, my name is not Thancred Waters, and I will not be so easily manipulated. Back to your worksheet, Kael, and when it is completely filled out and correct, I shall let you take your leave.”

Ikael whines. He does not appreciate Y'shtola’s unique ability to make him feel like a fumbling kit again, off threading dandelion crowns while the rest of his litter focused on the more practical skill of weaving baskets (Ikael can make baskets. He can make them by exchanging them for money, and it is a lot faster, not to mention better quality than what he would be able to do by hand). But after he had expressed a timid interest in joining Ryne in her studies, her nosy ears had perked up, and now she is busy bothering Ikael about rain and giving him headaches.

“The more you act like a petulant child, the more I will treat you like one,” Y'shtola says as if she can hear his thoughts. Her eyes soften, and she smiles gently. “Really, Ikael, if you are having trouble with the material, you need only ask for aid. There is no shame in it.”

Ikael bends his head, flipping open his textbook. She says that, he thinks as he skims through the pages without reading them, but he is sitting here with a child. The same child that he cooks dinner for, and takes care of when she is sick. What is worse is that he is not even caught up to her yet—she has a far better grasp of aetherical science than he does. And astromancy. And arcanima. And just about everything else.

“I’ve got it, it’s fine,” he says to Y'shtola. She is being exceptionally kind to him, taking the time to teach him as she is, and if he is being honest, she has the patience of a saint. He misses her dearly whenever he and Thancred are alone together for too long—they want greatly for her soothing rationality.

Ten minutes later and Ikael is still painstakingly scouring his textbook, brow furrowed. He slowly mouths the words of the current passage as he reads them, guiding himself by his forefinger.

“Y'shtola! I’ve finished.” Ryne sounds bright and proud next to him as she straightens in her seat. He hears her book shut, and swallows in an effort to ignore it, rereading the previous sentence about… evaporation for the third time.

“Very well done, Ryne!” he hears Y'shtola praise in a low voice. “Urianger was right, you are a star pupil. That is all I had planned for today’s lesson, so go enjoy the rest of the day off. Dismissed.”

Ikael’s ears pin to his head. Evaporation occurs when the heat generated by fire-aspected aether in the atmosphere vaporizes the surface of a body of water, he repeats to himself once more, slower and more firmly. Ryne’s chair scrapes back as she gets up, and he fights against a wince.

Evap—

“Ikael, do you want me to wait outside until you’re done?” Ryne peers at him from a few fulms away.

He makes himself look up and smile gently at her. “It’s alright, kitten. I may be a while, so go have fun, yeah? If I’m not back for dinner, tell Thancred to take you out.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be that long.” Ryne leans forward, and he dutifully kisses her on the forehead. “Okay, if you’re certain. I’ll see you later, Ikael!”

He returns her cheery wave as she leaves, then turns back to his work. Where was he…? Oh, right. Evaporation.

Ten more minutes and twice as many glances at the chronometer later, he hears Y'shtola sigh softly. He doesn’t glance up as she walks over, her footsteps muted on the wooden floorboards.

“Ikael, I know you are determined to finish this only by yourself,” she says, her voice kind. “But truly, I am here only to aid you. We can work through the parts you are having trouble with together.”

Of course she knows this process as if it is a simple thing, because she learned it all when she was Ryne’s age, or perhaps even younger. Ikael swallows down a sudden lump in his throat, gripping his pen tighter. “I can do it,” he says. “Don’t you—you can—I can do it.”

Measured breath, in, out. Blink firmly. Evaporation… is part of the process through which rain is formed. He understands that. He knows how that works. He must, after today. He… he knows…

“I-I just…” he mumbles, then stops. No. He can do it by himself.

“What is it? What do you not understand?” Y'shtola immediately kneels at his table, ears pricked. “You can tell me, it’s alright. I will help you.”

Ikael finally caves. He sniffs through a dry nose. “I-I just do not understand how it—it happens. Everything. How the—how the—steps. Connect.”

Y'shtola makes a considering noise, spreading a hand over his barely-filled worksheet to check his progress. Ikael feels his eyes heat, although her expression holds no judgment as she reads through it.

“I-I’m sorry I’m stupid,” he whispers.

“Speak about yourself in that manner again, Ikael Jelaar, and I will bend you over my knee.” Y'shtola’s voice cracks like a whip. “You are not stupid. You are an incredibly intelligent, talented individual who only struggles with a few measly things, as everyone does. That is final, and I will weather no protests.”

Ikael swipes the back of his thumb over his eye. “Okay,” he mumbles.

Y'shtola smiles, and he smiles back tentatively. “Very well. Now it seems to me that the issue stems from you thinking of the process as a series of separate concepts, rather than an interconnected cycle. Let’s start at another step, and work through the rest.”

With the gift of Y'shtola’s elaborated explanations, nudges, and unending patience, Ikael slowly but surely makes his way through the worksheet. Half a bell later sees him carefully scratching out his last sentence, excitement at having finished tamped down in order for his handwriting to be more legible. Y'shtola had said that she can barely make it out with only her aethersight, and he feels bad.

They are interrupted by a knock on the door. It opens to pop Thancred's head out. “May I come in? I am here to collect,” he says.

Y'shtola beckons him inside. “We have almost finished,” she replies, and maybe Ikael is just imagining it, but he thinks there is a hint of pride in her voice. “Ikael has been working very hard.”

Oh, Ikael is going to cry again. He gives her a watery smile, which she returns warmly.

“Is that so?” Thancred wanders over. He glances at Ikael’s worksheet, wrinkled with eraser marks and a little damp in places. “Ah, the water cycle! Taking an interest in our elemental endeavors, are we?”

“I am almost done, wait,” Ikael mumbles. He takes a deep breath, frowns in concentration, and reads over what he wrote: … occurs when perpetchooal perpetual fire-aspected aether heats the water into vapour. Then it goes into the air to become

“Clouds,” he mutters, and writes that down.

He passes the paper to Y'shtola to check his work. She focuses for a moment, before a smile blooms across her face. “Excellent,” she praises.

Ikael flushes, eyes warming. Y'shtola smoothes down his ears, petting through his hair.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says to Thancred. “Perhaps… Well, I may as well ask him, since he is right here. Ikael, I think that perhaps you would benefit from having your lessons held separately from Ryne. Not only to deal with the issue of repeating material, but also to provide a more suitable learning environment. What do you think?”

Ikael could weep. “Yes,” he replies. That would help immensely. He is grateful Y'shtola is kind enough to not directly point out the most obvious issue: that it is more than a little humiliating, as a grown adult, to learn alongside to a young girl who is much farther along than he is.

However, this means at least double the time and effort taken from Y'shtola and Urianger, not to mention an additional schedule for Thancred to adjust around. Ikael looks up at him, ears folding.

“If that is… alright with you,” he says softly. “I understand if you think it is too much of a hassle.”

“Nonsense.” Thancred crosses his arms. “Nothing you deem worthwhile doing is a hassle, Ikael. What you want is as important to us, as a group, as it is to you.”

“To aid with matters of scheduling, and seeing as you suddenly have plenty of free time, Thancred, now that your business with Eden is for the moment concluded,” Y'shtola says, “I have a proposition. I would ask you to join Urianger and I to be Ikael’s tutor, at least in matters where you are passably proficient.”

Thancred's arms loosen. He blinks in surprise. “You think I could…?”

“I know you think it is terribly odious to be interested in academia, but you actually have quite a knack for some subjects. Or at least you have shown to when you let your ridiculous façade of impenetrable aloofness slip. Subjects other than espionage. Perhaps you could teach Ikael the basics of bioscience?”

Thancred opens his mouth, an odd expression on his face. He catches Ikael’s wide, hopeful eyes, and shuts it. “Bioscience,” he mutters. “The role and manipulation of the aether within one’s body. Yes, I suppose I could provide a bit of insight…”

“Please, Thancred,” Ikael blurts. “I will be very grateful and I will bake you everything you want all the time and I will tell everyone that you are very impressive and smart and cool instead of the story of when you lost your smalls at Clearmelt.”

“But you will tell me that one,” Y'shtola says. “Later.”

“I…” Thancred is looking at Ikael. He widens his eyes as much as he can, folds down his ears, sticks out his bottom lip just a little…

“Of course I will help you, Ikael,” Thancred says, exactly three and a half seconds later. A new record. “It would be remiss of me to deny your desire for an education. The three of us can meet later to discuss the splitting of subjects.”

“Wow,” says Y'shtola. “That is… actually quite impressive. I don’t think he even needed to say anything.”

Thancred glances at her. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She rises from her chair, ruffling Ikael’s hair one lats time. “You and I will hold a meeting with Urianger on how best to accommodate Ikael’s learning style. And how to unwrap you from around his little finger enough to not give into his every demand. He will want to spend the entire lesson talking about picking rolanberries instead of learning, and you will not let him, Thancred.”

Thancred scoffs, blissfully ignorant to how easy he is to manipulate. Ikael only stares up at him innocently, already thinking about how to wheedle his way into “compromises.” Yes, he is sure this will be quite fun.

~*~

[azulamakesmeblank]

12 things Katara and Aang remember from their first Christmas together as husband and wife

This is for the Kataang mini week!! @fehnandas

I've never written in this format before, and honestly, it’s kind of challenging. There are definitely a few faults, but I really enjoyed coming up with the ideas!

I hope anyone reading has had a wonderful Christmas!

(Bulk text in italics is going back to the present tense, kind of like a flashback)

1: Katara had imagined Aang, with the goofy kid in him, would've been the one to wake her the moment the winter sun broke above the horizon; so she was surprised that it had been her eyes that fluttered open at the crack of dawn to find her husband, mouth slightly agape in the most adorable manner, sleeping soundly by her side.

2: She had waited. She had. And although she always loved to watch him as he slept, there had been no time for that. It was Christmas! Holding back her excitement proved... impossible.

That’s when she brought her lips to his ear, tracing patterns across his bare chest in order to wake him in the sweetest way possible.

Or to try to, at least - Katara’s patience was wearing thin.

3: Aang could recall the voice of an angel pulling him from his slumber that morning.

“Come on, sleepyhead... time to wake up...”

“Hmm...?” Her eyes widened with anticipation.

But when he took too long to fully come around, she had dropped her gentle methods of awakening her love and climbed out of bed, allowing the excitement to take over as she pulled him with her by the wrist - “It’s Christmas!” - resulting in the most painful awakening for him when he fell to the ground -

“ARGH!” - with a loud, painful sounding thud.

“Oh, sweetie! I’m so sorry!”

4: Aang (despite being the severely injured one) had made them tea. In the glow of the slowly rising sun, she had huddled close to his side on their couch, basking in the warmth of the crackling fire (and his body) with her eyes on him almost constantly.

From time to time, her free hand, absentmindedly stroking the pendant of her betrothal necklace delicately, caught his eye. He simply smiled and sipped his tea, loving the feel of her arm wrapped around him.

“I love you.” She hummed into his shoulder, a soft kiss against it, sealing the words there forever, and Katara soon feeling the reward of his lips pressing gently onto the crown of her head, coaxing her eyes to shut. It took no time at all for him to recite the words back to her.

5: Her gift to him had been something quite impossible to forget; especially since he’s never taken it off.

“Open it.”

Aang eyed the box curiously, constantly returning his gaze to hers that were eager and filled with anticipation. They sat across from each other, just by the fire, when he finally gave in and carefully untied the golden ribbon so neatly wrapped around a small navy box. Katara was more excited than he was, the grin on her face putting his to shame.

Once it was finally opened, all Aang could do was stare. It had to have cost a lot of money.

“Katara, this... this is just... where did you-?”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He almost laughed in disbelief at her ridiculously stupid question, moving to pull the thick golden band from the box carefully, a certain gleam from the inside of the band catching his eye as he turned it in his fingers. “I love it Katara. I absolutely love it. But-”

“Oh shush up about the price of things, would you?” She reached out to him, beckoning him closer with her bottom lip between her teeth. “...Did you read the inside?” She said after a quiet moment of her admiring him and him admiring the ring.

He nodded, watching as she took his hand in hers and slid the golden band on to his finger with ease - with a quiet sigh of relief that it fit.

“I figured, since I have my necklace, it’d be nice for you to have something, too.”

“...Thank you. Seriously, thank you.” He beamed, leaning forward to capture her lips in a kiss of gratitude and unadulterated love. “So much.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ll never take it off.” She suddenly felt a wave of emotion as he held her face in his hands, grey eyes shining in the glow of the fire and pulling her in. “I love you. Now and forever.”

Just as the engraving on the ring says. I love you. Now and Forever.

6: Somehow, in the midst of the gift exchange and the confessions of love and the excitement and happiness of it all, they had ended up dancing.

Neither of them could recall who had proposed the idea, even now, but when they swayed to the beat of their hearts, her head against his chest, hands resting on his shoulders and his hands holding her waist with the most content look on both their faces, the couple couldn’t remember ever feeling this at peace.

7: Ending up in a breathless, but most exquisite afterglow such as this was something Katara hadn’t anticipated. The sound of his heartbeat was music to her ears - always had and always would be - as she lay against his slightly heaving chest and basked in the warmth of his skin against hers. She asked herself how an innocent dance around their living room had lead to this, her love still inside her where she decided he truly belonged and his nails raking so delightfully across her scalp.

With a blush, she remembered: maybe her wondering hands were to blame.

It had been a moment she could never forget.

8: Their friends came over for dinner - Katara and Aang’s idea - because surely their first Christmas as husband and wife was something to be celebrated on a grandiose scale! Even the Fire Lord and his wife had vowed that they would be the first to arrive. Though, not everything had gone to plan.

The newlyweds had planned the dinner out to a tee, each element perfected weeks before. Katara would not let anything distract her; apart from her husband, of course, who so often leaned over her shoulder to place a sweet (and admittedly distracting) kiss to her lips, or her cheek, or her jaw in such a bittersweet way instead of chopping the vegetables she had shoved in his direction. She hoped the task would occupy him, but she knew the love of her life better than that.

“Aang, I swear to the spirits, didn’t you get enough earlier?” she giggled, trying her best to focus on seasoning the vegetable broth steaming in a pot in front her and not his hot, wet kisses burning against her neck.

“Not quite...” He hummed against her skin making a shiver run down her spine, arms wrapping possessively (and teasingly) around her waist. “I’ve got plenty of room for dessert.”

9: The Avatar, remembered now with a laugh, that he had underestimated her willpower completely.

“Pass me the carrots, please,”

Aang let out a heavy, bored breath. “Sure.” And she smirked at him deviously, taking the plate from his hands.

“Thanks, sweetie,”

“No problem.” He mumbled, making his way back to his seat at the counter, resuming his chopping.

Aang’s ministrations had gotten him absolutely nowhere. He got nothing but an instant mood killer when she dumped ice down his pants, saying something along the lines of “If you make me mess up you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”

That sure shut him up.

10: First it was toph as presentable as always, then it was Sokka and his wife, Suki, and then, despite their promise, strode in the Fire Lord and Lady themselves. Little did they know at the time how dinner would turn out.

Zuko, noticed Aang and Katara with a shared laugh, was under the illusion they were right on time, although the abrupt image of a crowded table and filled glasses drained his self-pride instantly.

Mai gave a heavy sigh of embarrassment, leaving his side to take her seat. “If only you didn’t take so long to do your hair, Zuko, then we would have been on time.”

Their friend’s blush was awfully hard to miss. “Mai, that isn’t true and you know it! Tell them that isn’t true!”

It had indeed been very, very true. His perfect top knot definitely showed for it.

11: Someone had brought sweetened rice wine.

Someone.

It didn’t really matter who... but Katara knew fine well her brother had an affinity for trying to get his friends drunk. Her and Aang had been able to pace themselves; however, not as much could be said for the rest of their friends, who, after and mid-way through dinner (which was very favourable and went down extremely well), had polished off at least three bottles of the stuff between them, reducing themselves down to a pack of mumbling, stuttering and hilariously laughable drunkards.

Zuko, who had been the worst of all, laid face down on the table, and Mai, for once, had actually shown some kind of emotion that night thanks to the alcohol in her system as she dazedly laughed at her incapacitated husband. That was another thing hard to forget. Despite their slightly drink induced states, it was hard for the couple to forget the details.

Their table was surrounded by lowered gazes and sloppy sentences, but best of all, some of the most joyous laughter Katara and Aang had ever heard from their friends. It had been going strong all night and was showing no signs of stopping. Everyone was lightening up. Especially Sokka, who didn’t stop to torment the young couple any time they shared a kiss or two. Katara’s eyes grew wide, however, and she ceased from her whispers in her husband's ear when her brother stood up on unsteady legs, eyes directed right to her and Aang.

“To my little sister and her questionable choice of husband-”

“Sokka!”

“I’m only messing with you, little sister, chill out!”��

Aang gave her a smile that told her not to worry, but he was feeling a little flustered when Sokka spoke next - this reaction, he couldn’t blame on the wine.

“Now, Aang...” He slurred with a glass full of wine, all eyes and ears (except Zuko’s) on him. “Considering you love my sister very much-” Katara nudged his shoulder, taking his hand under the table and giving it a squeeze when he turned to kiss her hairline. “A fact you make sure everyone knows with the constant oogies in our faces...” He took another swig from the glass in his hand, Katara frowning a little but Aang laughing it off. “I wanna make a request that you two hurry it along and get to the baby-making!”

Aang went scarlet. Katara was just short of water whipping her brother in the face. Suki was covering her mouth in an attempt to hide the smile. Toph was howling. Zuko was still sleeping and Mai was... well she looked disgusted. And a little green. “...I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Mai!” Suki scolded, the smile disappearing, and Sokka getting a little frustrated - but too slow to actually say anything about it - that he had been interrupted.

“No, not because of what he said, because of the wi-” And in a split second she was gone and sprinting straight to the sink... followed by the most unpleasant sounds. Just then Zuko lifted his head with a groan.

“Oh, not you too-!”

But he simply slammed it down on the table again, a sigh of relief from Katara. Though that relief was gone quicker than it came when Sokka- “I’m ready to be an Uncle! For crying out loud I’m begging you guys... please!” He looked like a little kid and sounded like one, too.

Her brother was actually crying, and Aang couldn’t help but laugh at the awkwardness of it all. “I mean come on guys... don’t you think I’ve been waiting long enough?!”

The couple had been a blushing mess, but no matter how awkward the conversation had been, it had sparked a question between them. One that has still remained unanswered - though still, it was undeniable. They were simply waiting for the right moment.

After Sokka’s commotion, Katara had turned to him for a moment. Aang watched her as she gazed at him, the smallest of smiles on her lips, and he noticed how her eyes lingered for a moment, just looking at him. Until she turned away and the moment was over like that.

They hadn’t talked about having kids that much, but that moment. That lingering moment. That had felt like a full-blown conversation between them.

One that wasn’t finished.

And after some more talking, some more laughs, and (regrettably for some) more drinking, the Royals were brought to their room, a fed up Suki dragged the mumbling mess that was her boyfriend to theirs, and Toph in her blurry state settled for the bathtub, Katara and Aang were left alone with a half-full bottle of wine.

Suggesting that they drink it by the fire was an idea Aang easily obliged to. Aang got on the couch first and sat sideways with his feet kicked up, Katara eagerly taking the space between his legs and enjoying to feel of his chest rising and falling so peacefully with each breath against her back. She took the first swig, passing the bottle back to his hand that wasn’t wrapped protectively around her waist, stroking her side every now and then. “Classy,” He chuckled, doing exactly as she did, though his swig was a little less generous.

Neither of them was tired, and so they got comfortable.

12: Katara and Aang could both remember, even past the haze that had settled in their minds at the time, how they kissed, and laughed, and reminisced on the first few months of their lives together; all through the night. They thanked each other. For everything. For being there, for making every day that much better, for brightening up the darkest of times and for loving the other unconditionally, swearing to do exactly that for the rest of their lives. Aang remembered how her hands (and words) had taken a turn with one motive in mind; something about making up for earlier that day but in the end, a kiss was enough.

A lengthy one, thick with the influence of alcohol.

They had finished the wine as the fire burned down to a few smouldering flames, but there was no need for it to be lit again. His arms had been wrapped so tightly around her, katara adoring the feeling, and she had been buried into his chest with their legs entangled on the small couch, so secure and so close that they easily kept each other warm without the fire. They remembered the feeling of utter comfort.

His eyes drifted shut, fingers raking through her hair as the slow and steady symphony of her breathing relaxed him further. “Merry Christmas, sweetie. I love you.” She smiled, eyes fluttering closed.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

Their loving embrace had sent them into deepest slumber: never moving, never waking and without any nightmares to ail their sleep. They remembered what a good sleep it had been. And they knew it was a Christmas they would never forget.

[spideyxchelle]

Princess Michelle’s land has been invaded. And to save her country she   knows what is expected of her, she knows she is set to marry a man she   does not know, hardly respects and hates for forcing her homeland to its  knees. Affection cannot grow in the face of war. Not even when the face of that war has the most gorgeous eyes she has ever seen. 

In the twelve days that his wife had single-handedly defeated her father and won the war, Michelle had not woken. Her coma hung like a velvet curtain of walking death and, so, in winning the war, the prince seemingly lost everything. Peter did not dare leave her bedside for fear that if he did, if he abandoned his vigil for even a moment, she might slip effortlessly into the night and never return. The vigil was harder work than he could have imagined as he was not fit to attend to her. He had sustained his own injuries that his sister-in-law, Nebula, had plainly called irreversible. The jagged scar that licked from his collarbone to his navel was a grim reminder of Thanos’ impossibly heavy boot from the battlefield. Yet, the pain he had endured in battle was nothing compared to torture of his watch.

When he limped into the medical bay the morning after the war under the support of Quill’s shoulder, the healers had fussed over their prince. They had flurried over to him and tried to stabilize his own wounds. He had swatted them away with an impatient hand and dropped to his knees at Michelle’s side. The prince had taken up her hand and pressed kisses against each knuckle as a soft offering of what he had been unable to give her on the battlefield when their fingers had almost touched.

The following twelve days were purgatory. There was no solace or grief. The prince was resigned to the in-between, to the waiting, and it was maddening.

“Peter,” Gamora whispered at dusk on the twelfth day, “your people need to see their prince.” He shook his head. She sighed, “Karin needs to be flown. You have duties to attend to. Michelle would—”

“Don’t,” he cracked on his command, “Don’t tell me what she would want.”

Gamora sat beside her brother-in-law and tucked a gentle arm around him. Peter’s shoulders immediately fell. He was Atlas, holding the world on his narrow shoulders, and Gamora made the weight impossibly heavy. She made him pause and consider the hopelessness of his task. He was waiting for a miracle that might never happen. After all of their suffering, after all of their fighting, he might lose his wife.

Peter choked out a rough sob. Gamora pulled him closer into her arms.

When the crying began, it was impossible to stop. The dam that had been keeping his emotions behind an iron door melted away and the feelings rushed out of him like wildfire. It burned up everything in him that was hopeful and patient. “I can’t lose her,” he fought for breath. “Oh god, what will I do if I lose her?”

Gamora rocked the prince back and forth in her arms and Peter felt like a little boy again. He remembered Ben Parker, the tutor that had shown him more fatherly affection than King Anthony had ever been able to muster, and he mourned all at once for many things. He mourned for his childhood, his innocence, his kingdom and he mourned for Michelle. All that she was and would ever be to him if he lost her now.

“Keep faith she will wake,” Gamora hushed him. It did little to calm his raging spirit, but her soft tones did soothe his sobbing. “But,” she treaded cautiously, “you cannot stand watch forever, my Prince. You must rule. You must fly. You must show strength for your people.”

“I don’t know how,” he admitted with a voice as breakable as porcelain.

Gamora faithfully kissed his brow, “You will learn to bare it. As we all must.”

It took three more days, but on the fifteenth day of his watch, Peter kissed his wife and returned to the world without her. For their kingdom. For their people. And for his wife, for Michelle.

As days turned to months and months turned into years, Princess Michelle became more legend than girl. The village children of the Starklands whispered about the sleeping beauty in the Prince’s tower. It was rumored that she was beautiful and that she donned a peculiar black veil. Some of the children even whispered that she was once the daughter of the evil King Thanos that drank the blood of his people.

These were the romantic stories that peasants spun around their firepits late at night.

The prince never spoke of his wife. Those that had known of the short marriage of their Crown Prince Peter to a Thanosian Princess only knew that she had flown into battle and never returned. And when the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Two Kingdoms came around, Michelle was more a half-forgotten memory to the people of the Starklands than a real, breathing girl.

But Peter never forgot. Every night he trudged the long steps up the tower to watch over his wife’s strange sleeping state. She did not move or twitch or open her eyes. Yet, she breathed and, for that reason, as the years grew long, he hoped. And with that hope he sat obediently by her beside and spun a picture of the life she was missing. He spoke to her about his day and regaled her with stories about Karin and the riders. He told her about Gamora and Quill. And when Gamora gave birth to her son, he described the baby in perfect detail.

It was half a life, but the Prince was dedicated to the woman that had stolen his heart with one half-smile on the tourney grounds the first morning they met. There would be no moving forward for him. Not until she woke.

On his twenty-fourth birthday—five years, six months, and eleven days after the Battle of the Two Kingdoms—Peter climbed his usual path up the steps to his wife’s monument. The walk was long, but it always gave him time to prepare his heart to see her sleeping. The shock never abated. Seeing her immobile in her bed was always like the first time, the raw pain of the sight radiated bone deep. The walk allowed him the time to smother out his overeager heart’s dream to see her awake, to see her smile.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose before he reached for the knob on the door. Birthdays and holidays were always the worst days to see her slumber. There was so much she was missing and it was a knife to his heart that he was the one that had to endure life without her. In the secret recesses on his heart, he often wished that he was bound to the magical voodoo of an eternal sleep and that his wife was free to live and laugh and lead. She was made for royalty. He had always been an imperfect ruler, a scrappy prince with less sense than a hotblooded dragon. Whereas she was a goddess. A deity. A ruler for the ages.

The prince was just a boy that was inexplicably lucky to have had her love for the few days she granted it to him. He selfishly had hoped for more.

The door swung open and Peter’s entire life crashed around him.

She was gone. His wife was stolen.

Peter rushed to the bed and ran his palms against the linens. They were still warm. She was freshly gone. His face fell to the tempting storm of savagery. Someone or something had taken his wife. He turned on his heel and clomped down the steps shouting for help, for aid, for his men to ready themselves.

“The princess! Someone has taken the princess,” he shouted with barely leashed ferocity. He was less man than beast. More violence than virtue. “HAS NO ONE HEARD ME! SOMEONE STOLE THE PRINCESS—”

“Mr. Parker,” said a twinkling and starkly unused voice. It was the voice that broke through his rage. “Would you stop shouting?”

His body stopped and his mind ceased to run. Every muscle in his body froze. And then, thawed like a wintery lake on the first day of Spring. The voice gave life like Spring. It made the harshness of Winter feel so, so very far away. He closed his eyes and a pesky tear fell down his face. Strangely, he could not recall the last time he had cried. Yet still, he was too afraid to turn around, to face the voice. It had been so long. He had forgotten what her voice had really sounded like. How could he have forgotten?

“Em,” he heaved.

The confusion in her voice was evident, “Why am I getting your back? And not your face, Prince?”

He relished in the timbre of her voice. The sound alleviated more burden than he had even realized he was holding. He had truly been Atlas all these years. Her stillness had quieted him, too.

“I’m afraid to turn around,” he breathed.

Her heard her laughter and he wanted to crush it to his chest for safe keeping. “Why?” she mused.

“Because if I turn around and you’re not really here, I don’t know what I’ll do.” He got down to the heart of the matter, “Five years is a long time to hope, Em.”

He heard the clack of her heels against the tiled floor and Peter tensed. Time was his mistress. It had been so for so long. So long. If this was a dream, he was content to live in it forever. He wanted to be where his wife dwelled.

And then, the comforting hand of his long-lost wife pressed against his back. Her warmth was a balm to the shattered fragments of his broken heart. It quieted the sorrow of his spirit. “Michelle,” he shivered.

She pressed her full lips between his two shoulder blades and smiled, “Five years is a long time. So, why are you so insistent on making the wait longer?”

“If I turn around and you aren’t there—”

“I’m here,” she assured him, running her hands up and down his arms. It was electric like the blue sparks of magic she had carelessly tossed out to end a war. In his mind’s eye, he can almost see her fall, again. Oh no, he could not bare that pain. To look was to know. And to know would only bring unspeakable happiness or unfathomable pain. Either way, he could never go back.

He screwed his eyes shut, committing himself to the unknown. But his other senses did not become muted. “Michelle,” he whispered helplessly, “Don’t.” Five years did not change her nature. She did not head his warning. He would not love her as desperately as he did if she were the kind of woman that did. Still, the clacking of her feet as she rounded his helpless form standing in the empty corridor made his pulse race. There were no witnesses to their reunion. His pride was glad of it. He would not be able to face his men if, when he opened his eyes, his wife was only a ghost. A lifeless phantom sent to haunt him.

His eyes fluttered open and the dusty feel of his eyelashes tickled his cheeks. His vision pieced together slowly in hues of pink and purple, then deep greens and blues.

Until finally, all that was left, was her.

Standing in front of him with the same determined glint to her eye that he had burned into his memory. Into his dreams.

He was born afresh. Alive again from the very sight of her. He audibly sobbed. Peter folded his wife into his weary arms. And, oh, she did not resist his handling and for that he was grateful. “Michelle,” he thrummed. “Em, you’re really here.”

She buried her nose in his shoulder and nodded, “I told you that I was…”

“You’re here,” he repeated with more relief.

“I heard you,” she whispered. “Every day. When you spoke to me, I heard you. And I wanted to talk back, but I couldn’t.” He felt the wetness of her own tears seep through his tunic, “You have to know I tried to get back to you.”

He nodded helplessly into the thick of her curls.

“And,” she continued with a teasing glint to her voice, “I noticed, husband, you put me in that silly black veil.”

“It amused me,” he quipped and clung to her more tightly.

Michelle laughed, again, but it was less carefree and more weighted than her last few laughs. It was as if the world was finally catching up with her. As if time was finally settling in. Or, more aptly, the time she had lost. “I suppose I should be grateful you did not recreate all of our first meeting.”

Peter clutched her arms, then her face, then her hands. He did not know what part of her he wanted to touch and explore more. It had been so long, nearly six years, since he had moments like these. He would never take them for granted, again. Life was a precious thing. Yet, life was infinitely more precious when he had someone to share it with—when he had Michelle.  

“Technically,” he corrected her, smoothing kisses against her brow and jaw and eyes, “It was our second meeting.”

“Too true, Mr. Parker,” she agreed.

Finally, vulnerably, defenselessly, he slanted his eager mouth over his wife’s lips. She gasped into the attention and her shaky hands fisted in the collar of his tunic. “Too long,” he muttered, bitten by her ardor. “Never leave me again,” he demanded.

“Never,” she keened. “Never ever.”

There was no bed, no prison of sheets that had possessed his wife for five years, when Peter caged her against the stone archway. There was only the curve of their two bodies that sounded like the desperate longing of five wasted years as they kissed. Their passion was a sad symphony that built and built until they carved out joy from all of the misery that the years had thrust on them. Royalty. Thanos. Their separation. It was all immaterial.

The music that looped in and out of impatient hands was transformative. They remembered what love felt like. What love tasted like. What life felt like with love they could touch, taste and feel.

“When you were gone, it was like the world had no light,” Peter moaned against her jaw.

Michelle tipped her head back, her curls spilled over her shoulder, “You brought me back. Little by little. Day by day. I followed your voice back to the light.” 

When she woke, the Sleeping Princess in the Tower became the Dragon Queen. As years passed, it was said that she rose her seven children on dragon-back and that her husband, known only as the Benevolent King, ruled at her side for fifty years.

After they died, their reign was immortalized with a strip of worn blue ribbon woven throughout the family crest above a set of golden thrones.

And when their children died— and their children’s children, and their children’s children’s children— The Dragon Queen and the Benevolent King morphed from history to myth. Minstrels sang their story in Great Halls and dirty taverns and around crackling firepits.

And late at night, when these calm voices soothed the air, it was as if the whole world could hear their song.

[fireballofinsanity]

Super detailed question meme go! All questions with a two in them, for Aladdin's big sister~

Super detailed questions about your OCs

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Queen of Sindria and (eventually) Pacifist Queen! The first comes from marrying Sinbad, making her queen upon saying “I do”, pretty much, and she absolutely loves her role. Pacifist Queen is one that eventually comes to be due to her pacifist nature; unlike Sin, who desires peace but can also be slightly quick to the sword, she prefers to talk things out in a rational, easy manner unless otherwise shown she has no choice but to fight, and she’s pretty good at it. The result has the title rise up from gossip, and she embraces it wholeheartedly.

12. What is their favourite food?

Dumplings! Sera’s a woman that’s easy to please, and she knows a handful of different ways to make and prepare them. Fill one with pork and a blend of seasonings, cook it up, and hand it to her, and you’ll be her best friend for an entire day!

20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

In modern verses, Sera likes light music, like classical, because it’s often played in the shelters she’s lived/volunteered in to help calm down over-excited kids at night and generally ease everyone into a more relaxed state of mind towards bedtime. Over time, it became a favorite of hers, though she’s also fond of more upbeat tunes as well, using them in the Midnight Hour verse for her student’s performances.

In her Sindria’s Light/canon magiverse, she likes just about anything that plays during Sindria’s festivals, and more than anything, loves the lullabies and songs mothers sing to their kids.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

She’s patient to the most ridiculous levels, honestly. It’s something that eventually lends to the Pacifist Queen title- Someone could be screaming him her face and she’d still have a sweet smile, trying to talk things over calmly and rationally. But underneath all of that is a temper reserved for those who forget that despite being soft and sweet, Sera is a flower with thorns; If you cross her loved ones, you’ll live to regret it. She is merciful in that she won’t let Sin (or anyone really) physically harm someone past what’s absolutely required of the situation, but she will force them to sit in the palace dungeons for the rest of their lives, if the punishment calls for it. She’s still learning swordsmanship at the moment, but you best be sure she’ll use that blade when nessecary after her training is through if you even lay a single finger on her family… And Sin, Alibaba, and Aladdin aren’t her only family. She counts all her friends as family.

You better run, fool.

22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

Sera doesn’t usually insult anyone? If she has an issue with someone, she tries to keep it to herself, but on rare occasion might be found complaining to Sin or Ja'far about a particularly stressful person or situation. She doesn’t want to cause trouble, and knows all too well word can cut deeper than the sword in a moment of anger, and never be fixed.

Once in a serious battle, though, Sass master mode engages and she’ll generally sass anyone she’s against, and that includes calling them on their fashion, their hair, how they talk, etc- She’d never do it against some like, say, Sharrkan, even if they did somehow become enemies, because she respects him too much, but some random soldier or an enemy of Sindria is going to get the full force of it. Still, she doesn’t really have a favorite insult to use, just grabs at whatever she can.

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

She has a fairly good memory, closer to long-term, though she counts that as both a blessing and a curse. It means she’s not only remembering the good times, but all the bad of her past as well, though she’s generally able to force the bad into the darker corners of her mind and let them sit there. Meeting Sin made that a lot easier, too,

She’s better with faces than she is names, but that’s not to say she’s bad with either, really. It just means that the face will come to mind long before the name if she’s actually met them, and on several occasions she’s forgotten the name completely, but that’s been limited to those she’s met at diplomatic functions as Sindria’s queen and people she’s only met once or twice, or in a similar setting as a studio owner at busy performance venues in the Midnight Hour AU.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

Oh god- Sera has a very…. Non-existent pattern. No matter when she goes to bed, unless the room is kept dark and devoid of actual sunlight streaming in, she’s up at dawn to work, even if she’d just gone to bed an hour before. She’s been a little lax since marrying Sin, getting up not so much at the crack of dawn exactly but lounging a little for at most an hour, but she still tends to get up and get her morning chores done before occasionally crawling back into bed and snuggling until she has no choice but to get him out of bed. She’s a fairly moderate sleeper; certain noises can wake her ala a light sleeper would be, but she’s generally out cold.

She doesn’t snore, but she does rarely talk in her sleep, usually during a particularly vivid dream. As for what she sleeps on, she’s comfortable on anything. For nine years, she slept in trees and on the ground, so to sleep on something hard doesn’t faze her in the least, but after moving into the palace she came to really enjoy the incredibly soft mattress Sin made sure she had in her room… Though she likes his a lot more~!

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

Her sense of humor is pretty typical, really. She’ll laugh at jokes told over dinner with everyone else, giggle at someone doing something silly, or something Sin says just for a reason to make her smile. But she has moments where something not really funny could make her laugh; for example, in a current mini-thread with Ja'far telling her about how he has a secret remedy for hangovers, but won’t tell Sin and makes him suffer with them unless something important comes up, Sera is highly amused by this and wants to laugh, but has no idea why it’s so funny.

As for being funny herself, she can be, but it’s more of a light humor, poking at something someone’s said or an amusing situation. Her sassy side in battle is actually a lot funnier, since her generally pure humor comes down to the weirdest insults and comments, - She’s not above interrupting an opponent’s tirade to let him know he has a headache before headbutting him or hitting him over the head.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

She’s generally happy, but when overly so, like the day after receiving her crown from Sin, she dances about a fair bit more, hums an upbeat tune, giggle and smile even more than usual - she makes it more than obvious she’s in a good mood, even catching someone, be it staff, Sin, her brother or sister, even Ja'far, up into a dance with her.  There’s even an extra abundance of baked goods if she has the time to head to the kitchen, and always everyone’s favorites for an after-dinner treat.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad?

The little she knows of what Sin’s suffered through as a kid and teen is something that can upset her a great deal when thought of, and knowing people are still suffering, seeing it in person, can bring her mood way down as well. Remembering her lost blood-related brother and sister can get her to break down into tears on the spot, and so can remembering Alibaba and Aladdin when she’s not seen then for a long time. These, among common things like hurt feelings, her fears being triggered (sitting through thunderstorms, for example), and horrible nightmares are the major reasons her mood would drop to one of sadness.

However, she often tries to hide her tears. When alone, she’ll curl into a small ball and hug her knees, or slump against a wall, even slump over her office desk if she’s in the middle of work and bury her face in her hands. If she breaks down around someone she trusts, she might lean against them and hope they’ll wrap an arm around her shoulders, though even if they don’t just being close to them helps, and Sin will instantly pull her into his arms and hold her until she calms down, rubbing her back and comforting her in a way she’s eternally grateful for, and she loves him even more for his gentle kindness.

But the majority of the time, unless she’s completely breaking down (Like standing at the marker she had made for her lost siblings and remembering them), she’ll wipe her tears away upon being found and insist she’s absolutely, perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong, she just got something in her eyes- It takes a gentle hand catching her wrist or shoulder before she can get away from them to let her cry more and get out what’s bothering her.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

As previously mentioned, thunderstorms are a major fear, but her biggest fear and worst nightmare is losing Sin and her family. Sindria is the first place she’s ever felt wanted and accepted, like she’s finally home for the first time in her entire life. Losing her family - Alibaba, Aladdin, and their friends, and especiallySin, who’s become her entire heart and the one thing tethering her to the light and making her the person she is now - would completely and utterly shatter her. If there’s one way to force her to fall into depravity, it’s taking them from her. Remove Sin from the world, and she’ll fall hard.

Generally, she’s also afraid of being alone, and very, very much afraid of most bugs. She’s also a hair above scared of snakes, which is a bit ironic, considering how close she’s gotten to Sharrkan and Ja'far, though the later is a viper in nickname and skills only, really. An easy way to get her to shut down completely and trigger a fight or flight reaction born from fear is to tie up her wrists/hands in a tight binding AND be someone she doesn’t know/trust.

When scared, she’ll hide behind someone she’s near, or jump away from whatever spooked her, maybe climb up onto someone/thing to get away from it. Thunderstorms specifically will send her into a terrified fit, prompting her to curl up, cover her ears, and scream, eyes squeezed closed and praying it’ll be over soon. If she’s with someone she trusts, ala one of the generals, she’ll cling to their arm or side for comfort, but with a loved one like Sin, her terror has her wanting to be as close to him as possible. If not stopped, she even goes as far as trying to squirm underneath his clothing; nothing is quite close enough until that storm is over… And this reaction often leads to him either drowning the sounds of the storm out with something else, or, on occasion, taking her to bed for a few heated rounds of lovemaking. Both are successful means of helping her through it, really.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?

Already answered!

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

Sera prefers to wear modest clothing; she’s of the belief that if someone is going to like her and want to get to know her better, or desire a relationship, they’re going to want it because they like her, not her body. She also dislikes showing off too much of her form to the world, especially when she’s a very thin woman, barely even at a healthy weight.

Ironically, her preferred dress as queen is a strapless  thing with a band that ensures it sits just on top of her bust, with a skirt that doesn’t quite reach her knees, and she also owns a rather skimpy outfit saved specifically for dancing during maharajan. She argues these are because she’s at home in Sindria and therefore more comfortable, but still acts the opposite in any other situation and with anything skimpier than those two outfits.

She generally buys her outfits from Sindria’s bazar, but has a fair number of dresses bought for her by Sin that were made specifically for her, like her wedding dress and a pink dress usually saved for diplomatic venues. Actually, the majority of her clothes were bought by Sin, forming a wardrobe he helped her choose when he realized she was living in nothing more than tatters for nine years before they even started dating.

As for sleepwear, she has a selection of nightgowns and nightshirts, including one of Sin’s that he gave her upon giving her her original bedroom in the palace’s Purple Leo tower, and a short, silky pink nightgown held up by long ribbons tied into bows atop her shoulders. Despite having such a selection and believing Sindria’s nights are far too cold, Sera sleeps stark naked, unless the night is exceptionally cold. This is a habit born after marrying, since Sin strips in his sleep and she finds it warmer to have skin on skin contact, as well as it being more comfortable to snuggle him in such a way on a lazy morning.

When it comes to makeup and her hair, she’s not fussy in the least; unless nessecary for a meeting or going to a diplomatic venue, she doesn’t do much with her hair except maybe braid it after bathing before bed or tie it up into a ponytail when needed, and doesn’t touch makeup aside from perhaps a slight bit of something to keep her lips from chapping, and this goes for all verses. When dressing up, she’ll go for a hint of color on her lips, maybe a bit of blush, and do up her hair in a bun or something slightly fancier.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Her dream in life is to end suffering and illness, seeking peace for reasons incredibly close to her husband’s. However, she prefers to go about attaining her dreams in a far different way, using methods of peace and talking things out rather than fighting. Though she and Sin have incredibly different ways of doing things seperately, when together they turn into a remarkable team, able to put both sides together in a method of problem solving all their own.

However, she would sacrifice everything for Sin and her home, especially her family. Rather than let any harm come to them, she’ll willingly walk unarmed into an active battlefield, especially means she can help someone, to protect them. And if it comes down to it, she will stand in front of them and offer her life in exchange for theirs, all without batting an eye. Even she’s not sure if it’s bravery or sheer stupidity, but she won’t let you hurt her loved ones.

Though she thinks it’s secret (it’s not), she wants to make Sin into the glorious king he rightfully is, and see his dreams come to be reality… Of course, in peaceful ways that will unite everyone, together.