Jul 27, 2020
downloaded an art app today bc i want to learn how to draw, and i was in a big Myriad Misadventures mood after posting chapter 13 so uhhhh here’s sigyn
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Colombia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Arab Emirates
downloaded an art app today bc i want to learn how to draw, and i was in a big Myriad Misadventures mood after posting chapter 13 so uhhhh here’s sigyn
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-To-Be - Chapter 1
AO3 | Next
Summary: The Choosing was just the beginning. After a year-long whirlwind of interviews, wedding plans, and attempts to get your family to warm up to your (gulp!) fiancé, you’re ready to be married, once and for all. But you aren’t the only one who’s been busy. There are, after all, those who have remained skeptical of Loki’s true intentions for Midgard, even after his confession. And they’re not going to give up their cause without a fight.
SEQUEL to "The Myriad Misadventures of Midgardian Queen-In-Training"
Word Count: 1394
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
A/N: The first 6 chapters are up on AO3/Wattpad, if you’re interested in more. See you next update!
Queen-To-Be - Chapter 1
You would think that, after spending the better part of the last three years living in a quasi-Bachelor-esque reality show, you’d be used to cameras by now. Right?
“Two minutes to rolling!”
Far from it. Instead, you’re practically squirming in your seat, your gaze drifting away from Ricky Morgenstern’s face and towards the blinking red light to your left—and, even worse, the live studio audience behind it.
“You’ve nothing to worry about, you know.” A hand closes over your own on the arm of your chair. “They adore you.”
You glance up to your right, and immediately calm a bit at the sight of those sharp, clever eyes. “Easy for you to say.”
Loki squeezes your hand gently, dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. It really is easy for him to say, because at the very least you know they adore him. How could they not? Even dressed as simply as he is, in a fitted green tee and black jeans (a look more casual than even you’re used to), he’s not just endearing, he’s stunning—all cheekbones and cropped curls and open-mouth grins.
You’re back in modern clothing too, though you’re surprised to see more than a few audience members wearing outfits that more closely resemble any number of your “day dresses” from your competition days. Nothing so intricate as Meg’s embroidery work, but still. It’s strange, wearing pants again. Not necessarily a bad change, but something to get used to. (You’re still wearing your hair up, though, and a delicate circlet on top, almost too thin to be caught by the cameras. Some old habits die harder than others.)
Ashley Marino smiles at you kindly as she takes her seat. “You ready?”
Your stomach drops. You'd known this was coming, but now that you actually have to directly face the judgement of the crowd—a crowd that, for once, is face-to-face, not random names on the other end of a screen—you'd rather be anywhere but here.
Still, a queen—or whatever kind of public figure you are now—must do many unpleasant things for the good of their people. And so you nod.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
“And we’re live in three, two…” The cameraman gives a signal, and Ashley launches in.
“Welcome to Good Evening, America. I’m Ashley Marino, this is Ricky Morgenstern, and today we have perhaps our most highly anticipated guests in the history of the show.” You fix your best cheery-but-not-too-bright smile to your face and keep your eyes fixed on Ashley and Richard as the camera pans over. “I hope you’ll all join us in welcoming his formerly royal highness Loki and his lovely fiancée (Y/N)!”
The round of applause that rises is certainly enthusiastic enough. To be honest, it takes you by surprise. It’s been barely a week since the proposal, and your interactions with the outside world have been limited—you haven’t even seen your family yet. This is your first big television interview since (and, based on the schedule your newly-hired publicist sent over this morning, the first of many).
When the cheers die down, you dial up the smile a few notches, bringing your focus back to Ashley and Richard. “Thank you for having us!” You squeeze Loki’s hand, and he nods.
“Yes, we are both most grateful to be here.”
“The pleasure is ours.”
"Now, (Y/N),” Richard begins. “If I may, you have stunned the entire planet with your rapid development these past two weeks, absolutely taken our breath away."
You laugh in a way that you hope comes across as more witty than nervous. "Development? I'm not a character in a book. I haven't changed so drastically, not really. I've just become more relevant to the, um, plot."
He chuckles. "Yes, well, real as you are, many have been calling your love story a fairytale. My daughter went nuts when I told her I'd be interviewing you—she's six," he explains. "She always calls you 'the princess.'"
"Wow. That's really sweet." You raise a hand to your hair, trying not to disturb the intricate braids as, one by one, you pull out the hairpins and remove the circlet. "Hold on a sec..."
Well, you try to remove it. But either it got caught in your hair or you missed a pin, because it doesn't quite come off.
Ack, next time I - ow - wear one with so many damn rhinestones, I'll have to make sure I - ah - wear my hair down - ouch!
After a few seconds of wrestling with your hair—several times you have to bat away Loki's hands—you hand your headpiece to a bemused-looking Richard Morgenstern. "Here. For your daughter."
You feel a slight pressure on your head, and can't help but smile to see, out of the corner of your eye, Loki trying to smooth down your hair where it must have come loose from your battle with the circlet. You lean up to peck his cheek, an action that receives a collective "awww" from the audience.
"No need to be embarrassed!" laughs Ashley Marino as you blush. “It’s wonderful, seeing that the chemistry we all fell in love with on screen wasn’t just the result of a good edit!”
You laugh at that, and you hear more clapping. Scanning the audience, you realize that Loki was right: this is a room full of people who were—are—rooting for you. Rooting for you not in spite of your awkward moments, but because of them. And with that, it’s much easier to calm your racing heart and let the conversation flow.
That is, until you reach the part you’d been dreading:
"Now, we're going to be taking the first set of questions from our audience."
And just like that, your pulse spikes once more.
"Anyone?” Ashley scans the mob for raised hands, pointing at random. "Yes?"
A thin woman stands up, with intelligent eyes and a sleek, inky black bob. "Hi! I just have to say, I was a huge fan of the show.” You smile politely, not at all expecting for her to hit you with this: “How has your relationship been affected by the age difference?”
Even as you tense up, you feel a fair amount of self-assuredness—this, at least, is a question you can easily answer. “As you all know, I’m just about twenty, while Loki is...it’s one thousand and fifty I believe?” You look to him for confirmation, and he nots, eliciting a quiet rush of disapproving murmurs from the audience. You raise a hand, silencing them. “I do understand the objections. However, I would also take into consideration that, on Asgard, the average life expectancy is around five thousand years, give or take a century or so. Put in terms of total life expectancy, the two of us aren’t actually very far apart at all.”
There is scattered applause—enough to let you know you said the right thing, although you don’t feel ready to relax just yet. If that’s the first question, who knows what’s yet to come?
Another viewer rises. “When are you getting married?” Before either or Loki can so much as open your mouths, she presses on, “Are you planning on having children?”
You feel your jaw drop at that last bit. “Well, I...we…”
The truth was, you haven’t yet discussed it. You know that Loki didn’t expect you to have children—he had told you as much a few months ago, before the proposal, back when you were still convinced that he had resigned himself to a marriage of convenience. But has that changed, now that your relationship has gone from platonic to decidedly less-than-platonic?
The truth is, you don’t know if you ever want kids. Certainly not now, at nineteen. You know Loki wouldn’t particularly care if you decided you wanted to be childless forever—considering he already gave up the monarchy and his secret mind control secret in order to win you over, you doubt that children would be a dealbreaker.
That being said, it’s not exactly a conversation you want to have in front of a live studio audience.
Loki comes to your rescue. “In spite of our proportionally similar ages, we are cognizant of (Y/N)’s relative youth, when compared to the average age of marriage for most Midgardians today. Due to this, we have had some discussions of perhaps postponing the wedding a few years.”
Wait, what?
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 1
Why did I decide 4.5 years and 53 chapters in to try and post this directly on Tumblr? I honestly don’t know. I’ll try to space out the chapter posts a bit between other posts/reblogs, so hopefully this won’t be as painful a process as I fear!
AO3 | Next
Summary: In an AU where Loki DID take over the world by the end of The Avengers, you (the reader) receive a letter on your sixteenth birthday informing you that you are eligible to be considered for The Choosing, a one-time-only, televised event in which the new King of Midgard will select a wife.
Eight girls. One crown. Who will win?
Word Count: 1115
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
A/N: Keep in mind—I started writing this story my sophomore year of high school, when I was 15 or 16. A lot of it is cringe-y. A lot of my views and values has changed since then. That being said, I hope you enjoy anyway!
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 1
The letter comes at the worst time imaginable.
The envelope is plain, if a bit large compared to the average letter. What first catches your attention is that it is addressed to you. Not Mom or Dad, not Erik or Carlie, but you. Okay, so it’s technically addressed "To The Parent/Guardian of (Y/N),” but still! It doesn’t have a return address, which doesn’t strike you as particularly strange, until you tear into the envelope and notice two things:
The heavy, creamy stationery.
The insignia. The smooth, calligraphy-curly insignia, drawn in deep, shiny, green ink.
“Mom!”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“C’mere!”
You shove the letter and envelope at her. “It was addressed to me - kinda - but I didn’t read it. I just saw the - ”
“Insignia,” she breathes. Her eyes widen as she scans the page.
You expect her to tell you what’s going on as soon as her gaze reaches the bottom of the page. Instead, you watch as she reads it again. And again. The third time she goes to reread it, you can’t stand waiting any longer. “Mom!”
“Sweetheart.” She looks up at you, eyes filled with dread. But instead of explaining, she shakes her head, stuffing the paper back into the envelope. “It’s nothing we need to worry about right now. Go get dressed.”
“What?” You can’t believe it. “No! Mom, come on. I know it’s about me. I have a right to know!” You extend an arm, but she pulls the letter just out of reach. You play the only card you have left. “It’s my birthday.”
At that, you see her resolve weaken a little bit. But it’s not enough. “Exactly. You deserve to have a nice evening out, and this can wait until tomorrow.”
“Let’s compromise. Open it at dinner. As a family,” you add.
At long last, she nods. “All right.” A split second later, her expression has gone from serious to playful as she leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “Now go change. And decide where you want dinner from. Your birthday, your choice."
(Yep. The letter arrives on the day you turned sixteen. Because you couldn't have been born one freaking day later.)
You run upstairs, grabbing a dress at random from your closet and yanking it on over your least-worn nude tights. Any minute, you know, your mom will leave to pick Carlie up from soccer practice.
Sure enough, you hear the tell-tale slam and click of the front door. You let out a sigh of relief when, upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, you see her pocketbook hanging from the back door, the envelope peeking out.
It takes you an infuriatingly long time to pull out and unfold the letter, shaky as your hands are, but you finally manage it. Beneath the insignia, it reads:
Dear Ms. (LN),
It is recorded that, as of (DD/MM), you are a heterosexual female between the ages of sixteen and thirty. As is such, you have been marked as eligible to participate in an exciting event in our realm’s history - The Choosing.
As the fifth anniversary of his rule approaches, our great leader has seen it fit to take a wife. Eight women will be selected from a lottery to compete for his hand in marriage. If you are the recipient of this letter, you are required to fill out the attached forms and submit them to your nearest government office by no later than a week from the day on which you received this letter.
Your king and government thank you for your service.
You’ve never been one for screaming at surprises. Instead, you have a tendency of going into shock, acting kind of dazed as your mind slowly absorbs whatever new piece of information it was being bombarded with. Which is what you do now.
“Heterosexual female between the ages of sixteen and thirty.” I’m a heterosexual female. I’m fifteen. I mean, I’m sixteen. I’m a sixteen-year-old straight girl…”The Choosing?” What the hell is The Choosing? And “Our great leader?” Who...oh. OH. Right.
Honestly, after the Battle of New York, life has pretty much gone on as usual, besides the whole thing with psycho-alien-king-guy taking over the world. You’ve never followed politics, and besides the fact that you miss your once-frequent trips into the city - Mom doesn’t want you there alone while all the renovations are going on - you’ve been too busy to notice any major changes. You still go to school and participate in your usual extracurriculars and stay up too late Skyping your friends. You have done quite a bit of online research - about Loki and the nine realms and what exactly went down during the Battle of New York and how apparently he's some kind of Norse god - so you aren’t completely ignorant, but after a while you’ve just fallen back into your normal routine.
But now, this letter…
So, Him. Psycho-alien-king-guy. Loki. Our great leader. Um, keep reading...wife. Eight women. Marriage. Competing? What, like The Bachelorette? Or The Bachelor, I guess, in this case...recipient of this letter, that’s me. Fill out the form...why? What service are they thanking me for? Are they just trying to ensure they have enough viewers for The Bachelor: Alien Royalty Edition?
Finally, it clicks.
Oh, my God.
Oh. My. God.
They want you. They’re rounding up potential candidates to star in their little reality marriage competition, and they want you.
But...I’m too young! I just barely made the age cutoff! That's so unfair! You rack your brain for more reasons why you should be exempt from this ridiculous "lottery" - as though that'll make any difference. I’m not even over the age of consent! In New York, I mean. If I was in California or Ohio or something, that would be a different story, but this is New York, so I still have a year before...or did they change the age of consent when they changed the government and stuff? Again, you didn’t really paid any attention to the news when all of that was going on. Or ever, really.
Later, you check Google and see that yes, the age of consent is still eighteen pretty much worldwide, something you might have found interesting and mildly amusing under different circumstances.
Like if you had a boyfriend, for instance.
Which you didn’t. Ever.
But these circumstances...the government wants you to marry a guy you’ve never met. Or compete to marry a guy you’ve never met, anyway...and based on what you know about Loki from your research thus far (Frost Giant? Trickster God? Psychopath?), you’re more than a little scared.
Okay, let's be honest: you are absolutely terrified.
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 63
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 63
AO3 | Previous | Next
Word Count: 1293
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
Taglist (lmk if you want to be added!): @lokis-girl-in-mischief
Chapter 63
“America is your home country, correct?”
“Yeah, I - and you’re from Germany? You’re from Germany.”
She laughs - not meanly, just a light chuckle. “Yes, Stuttgart.” You must look bewildered, because she goes ahead and clarifies. “My city.”
At sixteen, new to the palace and terrorized by Rosa and terrified out of your mind, you hadn’t had much time to wonder why the name of some random city in Germany had sounded so familiar.
But now you know.
*******************************************
Loki looks at you like you’ve just spoken in gibberish. “What?”
“Her hometown.” You recalls clips of newsreels from years ago: his manic gaze, a horned helmet and glowing staff, screaming at a crowd of terrified civilians to kneel before him. They hadn’t shown much footage past that, but they had announced an estimated twenty or so casualties. Known casualties. You remember that much. “The first invasion - Loki, you went to Germany, be-before New York.”
“That’s right, darling. Remember, Your Majesty? Although, why would you - I was just another head bent to the ground. My father didn’t bend, though. He refused to kneel, and you - you - ” She swallows. “I’ve waited so long for this, you know. I changed my wardrobe, my speech patterns, my whole lifestyle to get here, to the top of the polls, so I could take from you what you took from my father .” She’s practically spitting now. "But now...now I see. Taking your life won’t do anything, will it? Instead, I think - ”
And now her hand, the same hand you’ve seen pen elegant speeches and coax melodies from an out-of-tune piano and brush tears from Sapphire’s cheeks - now her hand is on you . It’s so much stronger than you remember, gripping your upper arm with a deadly force, swinging you around so that you’re held against her as she holds the knife just below your chin.
I probably should have seen that coming... but it’s a little late for should haves at this point.
“R-Rhea.” You swallow as she presses the blade into your skin - gently.
She was always so gentle, there was no way I could have known.
“Ah, ah, ah.” She delivers a sharp look to the approaching guards, who have now frozen in place after a gesture from Loki. “You so much as point a weapon at me, and I slit her throat.”
You try again. “Please, h-hear me out.”
“ H-h-hear m-me out, ” she mocks. “You can’t even get through three words without stuttering.”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“Well, I gave up my life, my time, and a good portion of my sanity to get this far, so maybe, just maybe, I might be just the teeny, tiniest bit invested in this. And you..." She pulls your back tighter to her chest, and you tense up. "Little Lady (Y/N). You were the only thing in the way of my plan, do you know that?"
"You knew he wasn't proposing to you," you choke out. "You lied. "
"I figured if I could get you to think he had abandoned you, you'd leave. For good this time."
“You’ve changed - ”
“No. He,” she snaps, jerking her chin at Loki, “he changed me.”
“The way we’ve changed him?”
She seems taken aback. “What?”
“Yes.” Loki speaks now. “Lady Rhea, you cannot imagine how…”
Her scoff rings uncomfortably close to your ear. “How what? How sorry you are?”
“At least.”
“Apologies won’t bring my father back, Your Majesty.”
“I know.” He takes a step forward, but stops when Rhea drags your back a step in response. “You have every right to be angry with me. But I swear, I was...I wasn’t myself, then.”
Rhea lets out a hysterical laugh. “I’m sure.”
“During the initial invasion of Midgard, my mind and actions were under the control of another.” He presses his lips together tightly. “A fact I should have been more transparent about in the years since.”
If you were in a movie, you’re certain this is the part where the audience of the ballroom would gasp. As it is, a murmur arises, diffusing the tense silence of before.
He's announcing this here ? After keeping it secret for so long?
All to save me?
“But you still...you…” She falters a moment, before steeling up again. “I don’t want excuses, I want my father back .” At this, her grip loosens a bit—not enough for you to pull away, but enough that you can breathe without fear of nicking yourself.
“My family is watching this, Rhea,” you whisper. “My parents. My brother. My little sister. We talked about them, remember? Erik? Carlie?”
“I remember.” You feel Rhea’s hands shaking now—not comforting, since one of them is still holding a knife to your bare throat. Your own hand, clutching at your dress, feels something hanging from it. Something hard and sharp and hidden in the billowing fabric of your skirt.
Yes.
“You know what it’s like to lose someone you love.” You keep talking, hoping it will distract her as you pull on the chain, sliding the fork up into your grasp. “Don’t take me from them . Please—”
Speech was clearly the wrong tactic, because she tightens her grip again. “He’s going to keep hurting people. He should have given up when he had the chance.”
“I am.”
Your eyes flick up to meet his.
He nods.
Rhea doesn't seem to get it at first. "What?"
"As current monarch of Midgard, it is my duty to act in the best interests of the realm.” He takes a deep breath. Without lifting his eyes from you and Rhea, he raises his voice so that it carries to the rest of the room. “After consulting with some trusted individuals, it's been determined that it would be in the best interests of the realm to relinquish my claim, and allow things to return to the way they were before my rule."
His eyes are determined, but behind that you see a layer of that softness you know. The sincerity. The same look he gave you yesterday when he asked you , “And if I weren’t king?”
This isn’t just something he’s saying to get you out of Rhea’s grasp.
He’s stepping down from the throne.
This seems to hit Rhea like a ton of bricks. The hand she has on your arm goes limp, and you summon up every last ounce of courage you have in your body.
Here goes nothing .
You jab the fork up between the knife and your neck, yanking the chain free of your dress. By some stroke of luck, the blade gets caught between the tines, and you twist it, knocking the knife out of Rhea’s hand and spinning yourself out of her grasp in a movement reminiscent of the Spider’s Waltz you danced in this very room, all those years ago.. The momentum nearly knocks you over, and as the guards descend upon Rhea, you find yourself stumbling forward into Loki’s arms.
He crushes you to his chest, and you return the embrace in kind, wrapping your arms around his waist.
“You’re stepping down?” you half-whisper. You don’t know how her hears you above all the commotion, but he pulls back a moment to catch your eyes in his.
“You said you didn’t know if you could remain your family’s daughter if you were to become my queen.” He cups your face in his hands, looking at you as though you were something unspeakably precious. “You said nothing of the sort with regards to becoming my wife.”
“You - for me?” The tears of fear turn to relief, now, spilling over as your hands find purchase over his. “I can’t believe you’d do that, I can’t believe you did that—”
“For you?” He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Anything.”
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 57
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 57
AO3 | Previous | Next
Word Count: 931
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
Taglist (brand new, so lmk if you want to be added!): @lokis-girl-in-mischief
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 57
Hey kiddo,
What the hell? Mom and Dad are flipping out, and I don't know what to tell them. They think I might have some idea of what's going on over there. Is this some kind of show you're putting on for the cameras? Please tell me it is.
Jesus, (Y/N), I hope you know what you're doing. And I thought the plan was to help him make a better choice out of the other three women? How does screwing His Royal Psychosis factor into that equation? For the money? You're down to the final four, maybe even less by the time you see this (and if you are playing him, maybe try to get permission to check your emails more than once a week, yeah?). You should be back by now.
Was the whole letting-you-choose-to-leave thing fake? If that’s the case, make him kick you out instead. Don't piss him off enough to kill you, but enough to get him to send you home. Just be your charming self, (Y/N), it's not that hard.
And please respond asap. The parental units are having a collective aneurysm.
Don't die,
Erik
(P.S.: Carlie says hi. She, of course, thinks this whole thing is terribly romantic. Is that really the example you want to be setting for her?)
Your brother means well, and in a way you know he's right - Mom and Dad must be freaking out. They don't know anything that's happened to you until Friday rolls around, until Ashley Marino's cherry-pie voice greets them with a segment of palace life that, all too often, with the exception of the masquerade, only contains five to ten minutes footage of their daughter. Their daughter, who they’ve seen in person only once in three years, and with whom they didn’t exactly end their last visit on good terms. Nineteen is hardly ancient, but still - a lot has changed since you were sixteen.
Now, with half the contestants out, they can give more screen time to the girls who are left. You haven’t had many interactions with the camera, besides a few sound bites for commercials, maybe a group shot or two. That is, until last night.
God, you don’t even want to begin considering what your parents might be thinking. But they’ll be even more worried if you ignore them completely. Sighing, you swipe to the next email.
(Y/N),
Last night’s segment was a bit of a shock. Your father is coping. I don’t know what kind of arrangement you and His Majesty have made, but right now you need to focus on leaving. The other girls have gone back to their normal lives, it’s safe - you don’t have to pretend any more. I just want you home - we all do. Permanently this time. Please, sweetheart.
Love,
Mom
“Penny for your thoughts?”
You’re too distracted by the email to look up. “Hm?”
“That is the Midgardian expression, yes?”
“Sure, I’m—sorry. Just a bit distracted.” You lower the tablet to your lap and smile at him, giving him your full attention (or at least as much of it as you can muster). “What’s up?”
“The competition has gone on for long enough.”
“Long enough?” His real meaning sinks in. “You mean…”
“I wish to end it, yes.”
Your pulse picks up for a moment. He picked me?
It seems a fair assumption to make. You know now—assuming the others have been honest—that you’re the only one he’s kissed.
But you’re not going to lie—in spite of your bravado in standing up to Rosa, there’s still a part of you that worries. That doubts. You haven’t spoken to him since that kiss in the hallway; what if that was for show? For the cameras? What if the other girls have been more involved with him than they’ve let on?
This entire train of thought runs through your head in a matter of seconds. You quickly come to, and realize that he’s looking at you, clearly expecting a response.
You clear your throat. “You’re planning to end the competition.”
“Yes.”
“And take a wife,” you say cautiously, because your paranoid brain won’t believe anything that isn’t spelled out for you in plain words.
“Yes, and take a wife.”
Well. That confirms it.
“Wow.” What does this mean? Is it vain to assume it’s me? Is it naïve to assume it’s not? “I guess—you’re right, it’s time. I’m just...you know, surprised.”
“That wasn’t—well, I suppose it was part of it, but not all of what I came here to tell you.”
Tell you. Not ask, which you would assume to be the case if...well, if he’d chosen you.
The disappointment sinks in, swift and sharp, only tempered by your efforts to keep a calm demeanor.
You look back down at the screen. Mom’s letter. Asking—honestly, more demanding at this point—that you leave the palace at once. Guess that’s going to be easier and sooner than I’d thought. Perhaps it’s best after all, then, this turn of events.
So what if your first love turned out to be a dead end? You’re young. You’ll move on.
“It wasn’t?”
“No.”
You look back up at him, fighting back the ache in your heart. “Well?”
You can handle this. He’ll tell you he which if the other women he’s picked, and you’ll spend thirty seconds pretending to be happy for him. Actually being happy for him. And you’ll move on. And you’ll go home. And before you know it, your three years in the palace will be nothing more than a passing—
“I love you.”
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 55
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 55
AO3 | Previous | Next
Word Count: 1033
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
Taglist (brand new, so lmk if you want to be added!): @lokis-girl-in-mischief
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 55
As you walk down the hall to the foyer - you are determined not to get lost tonight - you cannot help but be relieved when you don't run into any of the other girls. You'd hate to hear what they have to say - if they recognized you, that is.
When you reach the king's quarters, even the guard at the door seems at first confused. "Uh, the king has a guest tonight, milady."
"Yes, I know. I am Lady (Y/N). His Majesty is expecting me for dinner."
He does a double take at your voice. "You - forgive me, Lady (Y/N)."
He hurries to bow while trying to push open the door, and for a moment you actually feel bad for startling him. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Please, no need for apologies. You're very good at your job."
He smiles, still slightly on edge. "Thank you." You enter the room, flinching slightly as you hear the door close behind you. The guard offers you his elbow, and you allow him to escort you across the room.
The table is small and round, placed beside a window. You almost cry in relief when you see the place setting - one fork, one knife. That's it. No dessert spoons, or fish forks, or -
"Lady (Y/N)."
For once, you don't flinch at the unexpected greeting. Instead, you take a deep breath, and calmly turn to face him. "Good evening."
His brow is furrowed as he appraises your appearance. "Your dress is...interesting."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Meg - my maid is a talented seamstress, and I was beginning to tire of the...monochromatic...nature of my wardrobe."
"I see you finally gave up on the underskirts," he observes dryly. "And yet the corset remains."
You tilt your head, giving him what you hope comes across as an enigmatic smile. "What can I say? It grew on me, especially now that I know how to properly lace it. The petticoats, however, were more hindrance than help." You gesture to the table. "May I sit down?" you ask in the sweetest voice you can muster.
Requesting to sit before he offers you a chair is in direct violation of Lady Amara's rules...but the cameramen don't know that. To correct you, especially given how "politely" you're behaving, would only make him look like even more of a control freak than before. You know it; he knows you know it. Still, he swallows back his anger and nods, offering up a tight-lipped smile. He pulls back a chair for you. "Of course. Please."
You blink once, then, still smiling, cross to the other side of the table and seat yourself. His eyes widen, but only for a second before he regains his composure.
It’s a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.
***********************************************
Surprisingly, you make it through the soup and salad courses without anymore inflammatory (or even just annoying) remarks from either party
Once the entrée arrives, however...
“So, you say you enjoyed your hometown visit.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
He narrows his eyes at you, and you can’t help but smirk at his reaction to the emphasis you placed on his title. “Some of the ladies mentioned difficulty transitioning back into life with their families and friends. Was this something you experienced?”
You’re a bit taken aback by that. He knows exactly how difficult it was for you to go home. You know he knows.
“Oh, really?”
And you realize that he’s not going to let you off the hook that easily. Not after your moves with the dress, the sass, everything. For all his superalien wisdom, he’s every bit as petty as you are.
Is that the only reason he invited me here? To embarrass me and my family on camera?
Clearing his throat, he continues, “I seem to recall a conversation where you told me, quite plainly, that—”
"Shut up," you whisper. By some strange trick of the light, his eyes flash red. He opens his mouth, to reprimand you, maybe, but you're through with trying to play nice. "No, you know what? I'm not dealing with this." You take a deep breath, push away from the table, and begin the walk back to your room. You nearly twist an ankle trying to walk on the carpet in the stilettos.
“Lady (Y/N)—" You whirl around, not caring that the cameramen are standing not two feet behind him. "We had an agreement."
You laugh. "Yeah, well, that agreement was made void the second you started toying with my emotions. Invite me to dinner one day when you're not feeling like an insensitive jackass. Maybe, just maybe, I'll say yes."
"Watch your tongue."
"If I'm so outspoken, why bother keeping me around?"
"Would you like me to spell it out for you?"
"It would be a nice change!"
He strides up to you. "Do you really not know?" You blink, then shake your head. He sighs, reaching down to caress your cheek with cool fingers. "And here I'd thought you so clever."
And with that, he presses his lips against yours.
Just like that, the cameras may as well be in another realm. Your hands flutter up in response, one landing on his lapel and the other to cup his cheek. The anger of five minutes ago has turned into something new. You feel it in the way he pulls you in closer with a hand on the small of your back, the way he holds your face so gently in his palm, the way he moves his mouth against yours in a way that is somehow both endless and restrained. You feel it in your own movements - a slight arch of the torso, a more-than-slight weakening of the knees, a tilt of your head to the right so as to grant yourself better access to his lips.
It's a kiss that seems to last for seconds and lifetimes, all at once, and in that instant, you know you can't leave. You could never leave. Because he's here, and he's real. This kiss, this feeling - all real.
In a palace of lies, you might just have found the one thing that's true.
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 56
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 56
AO3 | Previous | Next
Word Count: 1661
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
A/N: i'm posting this from the train back to school (sad reaccs only), so i'm going to keep this brief so that i can post before my connection cuts out. but i love you all! it is snowing outside, but the reactions to this story have kept my heart so warm! keep the predictions coming, and expect the daily chapter update to continue from now until (eep!) the END of the story! ahhhhh
Taglist (brand new, so lmk if you want to be added!): @lokis-girl-in-mischief
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 56
You hadn’t realized they’d filmed the kiss.
Wedged in between Irina and Rhea on the couch, with Rosa just a pillow’s breadth away from you, you realized that none of the others have ever been portrayed as having any kind of physical relationship with Loki. Irina and Rhea tastefully avoided such questions, while Rosa...she said things, but in a joking manner. Not to be taken seriously. You, they’d left alone - it seemed like you weren’t the only one who’d thought you’d had no shot. But the day after the segment airs, you’re still wondering:
Were you the first one he kissed at all? Or just the first he kissed on camera?
********************************************
You get almost a full day’s peace and quiet before the storm begins.
"You just can't get enough, can you?"
You recognize the voice, but don't bother looking up. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rosa."
A soft green gel-tipped nail appears in your peripheral vision, clutching a sheaf of shiny, colorful papers. "Right. So you totally haven’t seen these.”
“What?” You grab the magazines from her. “Where did you get these?”
She snorts, flopping onto the chair across from you. “We all have our little secrets, I guess.”
You flip through the top one eagerly. There they are - the results of the most recent poll.
WHO DO YOU THINK WILL WIN THE CROWN?
Lady Rhea - 39%
You laugh. Is this really what Rosa’s so upset about? “Are you surprised? You know they love her.” She rolls her eyes in response, and you keep reading.
Lady (Y/N) - 38%
“What?” A few pages later - your page - there are more comments, scattered around a screenshot of Loki cradling your face in his hand. You read:
~ Lady (Y/N) is on FIRE!
~ I squealed out loud watching that kiss - soooo romantic! I honestly wasn't expecting him to kiss (Y/N) first, but now I hope he doesn't kiss anyone else! I can't imagine any of the other girls connecting with him like that.
Of course, not everyone’s opinions of you are quite so positive.
~ Everyone's talking about Lady (Y/N)'s "chemistry" with King Loki. One has to wonder though, is she even old enough to have even completed a college chemistry course? Her level of maturity would suggest not. She's nineteen, people!
But your supporters always come through, defending you with a vengeance.
~ I see people mentioning age. Clearly, she’s more than mature enough to be able to speak up for herself.
~ I love how Lady (Y/N) can call him on his BS and he’ll take it because he knows she’s right. Come on, I can’t be the only one who thinks she’d be a great queen!
~ Lady (Y/N), though she does have her moments, is wise beyond her years. Wishing her the best in and out of the palace.
“You could have at least told us before we saw it on TV.”
You wrinkle your brow. “Since when have you given me any reasons to trust you?”
“I’m kind of with Rosa on this one.” It’s Irina, closing the door quietly behind her. “This feels...wrong. We shouldn’t be keeping secrets from each other. It’s like sabotage.”
“Thank you!”
“It’s her business, though.” You look up with a start—you’d almost forgotten Rhea was in the room. She walks over, settling on the couch besides Irina.
“Thanks.” You start fidgeting with your hands. “I didn’t realize they’d gotten it on camera, anyway.” Rhea raises an eyebrow. “What?” Suddenly, you feel under as though you’re under siege. “I swear to God, I didn’t!”
“Right.” Rosa sounds thoroughly unconvinced. “Well, don’t go thinking you’re so special or anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that you aren’t the only one in it to win it.” She turns away with a “hmph” and a flip of her hair.
“Win what? Him? Or the crown?”
She glares at you. “Alright, Little Miss Holier-Than-Thou. What about you? Do you really think you’re the only girl he talks to? The only one he sees? Kisses? You’re a game to him. A stupid little girl that he can manipulate and play around with while he figures out who he’s really going to keep around.”
You shrug. “Say what you like, Rosa. All I know is that I didn’t see you up on that screen last night.”
She gapes at that, mouth hanging open like a codfish. “You - you know, I am so sick of your act.”
“My act?”
“Yes, your act! You pretend to be so innocent, sweet little (Y/N), ‘tee hee, look at me, I’m dumb enough to flip out on the king and lucky enough to get away with it!’ I’m telling you, he doesn’t care about you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“You haven’t seen - ”
“Girls,” Rhea interrupts, calm and regal as always. You and Rosa both shut up immediately. “Half of the girls we started out with aren’t here. The fact that we are makes the four of us special to begin with.” She keeps her voice low, though it carries in the quiet of the room. “Maybe we should stop fighting each other.”
Irina snorts. “Right, like that’s happening.”
“No, I’m serious. And here’s how we’ll start: we’ll go around and talk about our encounters with His Majesty.”
You and Rosa shoot each other one more glare before nodding. You feel the sting of tears as you sit back down (you hadn’t even noticed you’d stood up to begin with) - you hate being reprimanded. And some of what Rosa said hit home - what if he really doesn’t care? What if - you try to block out the image of him and Rosa, his fingers tangled in her hair, her legs around his waist as he kisses her against a wall. His lips on Irina’s, his hands circling her waist as he helps her dismount from one of her precious horses. Rhea doesn’t worry you, only because she seems far too conservative to allow such a thing to occur.
“What we speak of doesn’t have to be romantic or sexual in nature,” Rhea adds. “Anything. If you went on a date that wasn’t public knowledge. If you passed and spoke to him on the way to the stables. Things like that.”
“Oh. How far back is this going? I barely remember what I wore yesterday, forget what I said three years ago.”
Rosa rolls her eyes. “God, do you have to overthink everything?”
Irina stares daggers at her. “Okay, then. Show us how it’s done. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stories to tell.”
“Fine.” She takes a deep breath, and your heart sinks...until she releases it in a sigh. “I can’t even think of a good lie. Nothing, okay? Absolutely nothing happened.”
You’re surprised to hear tears in her voice.
After an uncomfortable moment, she speaks again. “All right, I’ve humiliated myself enough. You go, Irina.”
Irina shrugs, shaking her head. Then she hesitates, opening her mouth as though to confess something. “Actually, I’m going home today.”
“What?”
She nods. “I wanted to tell you all. In person.” Another shrug. “But nothing happened before then, anyway.
None of you know what to say.
Until, like ripping a Band-Aid off a wound, Rosa switches her attention back to you. “How the hell did you manage it, then?”
“Me?”
She rolls her eyes again. “Well, apparently you’re the only one who’s kissed him.”
“I don’t know. What, do you want a rundown on everything he’s said to me since...I don’t know, however long?” All three of them nod. “Okay. We danced at the first ball we ever went to, the masquerade. Remember?” They nod. “We always ran into each other in the hallway after that. I don’t know. Oh, and then...well, there was the attack on the castle.” The quiet turns somber as you remember that day. The panic. Lexi. “Anyway. We ended up hiding out together. We’ve been...friends, I guess, ever since.”
“Friends?” Irina repeats incredulously.
“And, to make a long story short, he kissed me after dinner last Saturday. And I might have yelled at him?”
“You yelled at him for kissing you?”
“...I mean, it was a little more complicated than that. Anyway, the next day he, um, invited me to dinner, and we argued again about that. During dinner he made a comment that struck a nerve. Like, on purpose, though. So I kind of went off on him for that.” You shrug. “But, um, you guys already know that part.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Rosa holds up a hand to stop you. “So he kissed you twice? I can’t...You didn’t even want to be here!”
“I don’t exactly get to leave whenever I want!”
“Aw, (Y/N) doesn’t get her way for once. Boo freaking hoo.”
“I had a life before this!” Tears are pooling in the corners of your eyes, but the anger you feel is eating you up from the inside out and you can’t hold it in anymore. “My friends are out there worrying about final exams and spring fling plans, and I’m here. I guess I shouldn’t be complaining, though - I get to deal with court etiquette and alien attacks and everything else that’s been thrown at us. So yes, Rosa, I miss my life, and if I could have left three years ago, I would have.” You need to pause for a few moments just to compose yourself. “But that’s changed. I’m not leaving. You’re not going to just get rid of me.”
“Why?” She sticks out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Because you love him?”
“Yes.” You look her dead in the eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
For once, she doesn’t respond.
You pick up your book. “I’ll see you ladies tonight at dinner.” As you begin walking out, you hear her call out after you, but you ignore it, the blood still rushing in your ears.
Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 64 (Final Chapter!)
The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 64
AO3 | Previous
Word Count: 1293
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: T
Taglist (lmk if you want to be added!): @lokis-girl-in-mischief
Chapter 64
“Your Majesty!” A guard pushes through the crowds of chattering people. “That is, Your Lordship. Your—er, sir?”
You bite back a laugh. Loki announced he’d be abdicating the throne all of two minutes ago—you can’t blame this guard for being at a loss, as far as titles go. At least he’s making an effort.
“Yes?”
He bows his head, and presents you with a knife—the same one that was being held to your throat, also all of two minutes ago. “We were still unable to apprehend Lady Rhea, but we did find this at the entrance to the palace itself.”
You take the knife by the handle as the guard excuses himself. Loki is all but fuming. “I’ll go after her myself.”
“And do what? Throw her in jail?”
“She nearly killed you.”
“You—she’s grieving her father, Loki.” You can’t say you’re thrilled that Rhea somehow managed to escape the palace grounds, but you also can’t find it in your heart to condemn her outright. “Let her try to be happy.”
“She is armed and dangerous!” You hold up the knife and the fish fork in one hand, raising an eyebrow, and he sighs. “May I increase security, at the very least?”
“We can discuss it.” You lower hand (the knife-free one) to take his, smiling. “We have a lifetime, after all.”
**********************************************
Hey kiddo,
Well, tonight’s the night! I know you can’t answer this email until after the ball itself - for all I know, you'll be done packing your bags by the time you see this - but I just wanted to tell you, don’t worry. We all know he has to send you home. I don’t know how or why you made it to the top three, but at least the pay was good, right? I can’t wait to see you home, kiddo. You can tell us all about your crazy adventures and how the hell you managed to stick around so long.
- Erik
**********************************************
Dear (Y/N),
I think we both know who's getting sent home tonight. And it's not going to be you.
Erik and your father are convinced that it's all a ruse, or some deal you made to keep the earnings coming in, but I know you. You would have been out of there as soon as the masquerade ball ended, if you had it your way, money be damned, and I wish you had.
But you didn't.
I'm not writing this to shame you, or say I'm disappointed in any way - sweetheart, you've made me so, so proud, in every way imaginable. Throughout this whole ordeal, you have stayed (mostly) mature, fierce, and completely true to yourself. That’s not to say you haven’t changed. You have. I can see that. But you’re still you. You’re just a newer version - a version that is genuinely in love. At least, you genuinely believe you’re in love.
I know you two have had your ups and downs, and that your relationship is far from perfect. That’s okay. But this is your first relationship - and before whatever comes next, sweetie, you need to think: is this really what you want? Truly?
Sweetheart, you’re still so young. You can go to college, and write or dance or cure cancer or design clothes or do whatever you want to do. You have more than enough time to find love; you have a whole world ahead of you. Please don’t just throw it away.
Still Rooting For You,
Mom <3
**********************************************
Dear Mom,
I did what you said. I took some time for myself, and I thought about it, and you're right. I do have a whole world ahead of me. I'm just choosing to keep him in it.
Love,
(Y/N)
**********************************************
Erik,
When you read this, the segment will probably just have broadcast. And I know you're going to have trouble understanding why I made the choice I did. But before I explain, you need to know that it was exactly that: a choice. I was not coerced, bribed, threatened, blackmailed, or forced in any way, shape, or form, to do what I had to. You deserve to know that.
I still love you and Mom and Dad and Carlie, and you are all, obviously, invited to the wedding. I hope you come. I hope you understand.
Love,
(Y/N)
**********************************************
They do not understand.
Your family is still holding on to the feeling that you were taken from them, the feeling that you have been changed for the worse, rather than for the better. But that’s okay for now, you realize. It’s public, now, that Loki was a pawn in the invasion of New York, and you hope, you know that, with time, you’ll rebuild your relationship with Mom and Dad and Erik. Carlie, of course, is already positively ecstatic to receive the news that you are now engaged.
Engaged.
It’s a strange thing to process.
Stranger still, though, is the public—and political—reaction to Loki’s announcement that he’s planning to step down as king. Because in spite of his inauspicious beginning, there really have been some changes for the better. Reduced rates of everything from homelessness to hunger. Wars extinguished across the globe. And with the news that the initial invasion wasn’t his doing, public opinion has taken a sharp left turn from “benevolent despot” to “benevolent,” full stop.
It looks like you might end up being a queen, after all.
But there will be plenty of time for that. First, there are discussions to be had and treaties to draw up, charities to raise money for and (you’re sure) a thousand more table settings to learn.
And there will be other, sweeter things, too, between the policies and wedding plans. Deep green eyes and open-mouthed laughs, starfalls and stolen kisses, and a steady hand to hold through it all.
You’re ready.