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walder-138 · 5 months ago

Note

Hey, pookie! 👁️👄👁️ You got mail 💌

And 🖤 for Marlene!

Hi honey bun! Guess who's back from the dead!

Let's hop right into it! Don't want to keep you waiting any longer

OZWALD CLANCY:

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring/confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex. Melissa.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend. / I'm your daddy now

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

ANNIKA VORONOVA (she's a little hater)

attractiveness:

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

level of friendship:

first impression of them:

current impression of them:

DR. ABBEY FOSTER

attractiveness:

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

level of friendship:

first impression of them:

current impression of them:

#thanks for the ask!#oc #call of duty oc #annika voronova #call of duty #call of duty cold war #bell cod #bell oc #oz clancy #cod #oc: marlene monroe #moots OC #yippie

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shakespeareanqueer · 4 years ago

Text

Mail-Order Bride

Pairing: Loki x F!Asgardian!Reader 💌 Arranged marriage AU

Summary: You’re set to marry a stranger today, but your heart still belongs to the trickster god, Why did he never write you back?

Word count: 3,509 words 💌 Contents: Arranged marriage, some angst but a happy ending I promise

A/N: Hi hi hi! This is one of a bunch of Loki fic ideas I came up with all at the same time a few months ago, and I managed to get this one to fit into a writing challenge as an excuse to actually write it. It’s for AngryBirdcr’s 200 Writing Challenge; my prompt was Arranged Marriage AU.

I’ll reblog with a link to my masterlist, tagging my taglist (which is open!), and tagging AngryBirdcr and linking the challenge.

You sat staring at your reflection in the mirror, a numbness radiating through your chest. Your makeup was impeccably done, your hair done up in an elaborate bun. You looked like a portrait of yourself. Like a doll.

“Are you ready, my lady?”

Your best friend and attending lady, Dagmar, patiently waited behind you, holding a lacy veil in her hands. It wasn’t a white veil, like was typical on Midgard. No, this veil was black, like a mourner’s veil, which felt more appropriate anyway. But you were resigned. It was a long time since you had dreamed of your wedding day with any sense of hope or longing. Nearly fifty years.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, immobile.

This was no ordinary veil. On top of its morbid hue, it had magical properties. It completely obscured your sight such that your entire field of vision would become black and void, as if you were profoundly blind.

You continued to stare at yourself in the mirror until the final moment, so that the last thing you would see would be your single, free self before the darkness descended.

It seemed a fitting metaphor.

Dagmar took your arm and helped you to standing. If you had been more nervous, your hands might have shaken or your legs might have been unsteady, your step uncertain and fumbling. But as it was, you were completely and utterly numb. Unfeeling. You let Dagmar guide you through the room and out the door, down some corridor or other you couldn’t see a whit of. You were gliding, moving through invisible space as if in a dream, where you could neither see nor feel the distance you were traveling.

By the time Dagmar stopped walking, you had absolutely no concept of where you were relative to where you had been. You might as well have been in a perfectly dark and perfectly silent void in the vacuum of space. But then a set of great double doors were pushed open and your ears became flooded with murmurs and gasps and both shushing, both aggressive and gentle.

You could hear Dagmar’s breathing pick up beside you. She had no reason to be anxious; she wasn’t the one signing her life away to some stranger. But you knew she was less than comfortable with large crowds, so you patted the arm yours was wound through comfortingly. She began to lead you up the aisle—you could tell because a light buzz of noise walled you in from both sides. Had you been nervous, it would have felt oppressive, like it was trapping you, caging you in, pushing in on you further and further as the aisle narrowed towards its end.

Dagmar paused and whispered, “Step.” You lifted your foot slightly higher than necessary and when you brought it down again you were on a slightly raised platform a few inches off the ground. From there, it was only a few more steps until Dagmar released your arm. Then she delicately maneuvered you with her hands on your waist to turn you at a ninety degree angle.

After you were positioned, a pair of large, strong hands took yours in his. Your unknown betrothed. Though your first instinct was to shy away, the hands were oddly warm and comforting in yours.

A cleric of some kind began to intone the service. “Welcome, friends, to this sacred meeting,” he droned.

As the cleric spoke on, you felt your mysterious intended’s thumb tenderly brush along the slightly-protruding scar on the back of your right hand. It wouldn’t have raised any alarms with you, except it felt automatic. Like a studied movement. Like he knew he would find the scar precisely where he did.

Without even realizing what you were doing, your fingers instinctively curled in, almost in reciprocation, to brush along your groom’s palm. When you realized what you were doing, you felt silly. Of course it wouldn’t be there.

But it was. The pads of your fingers found the raised scar running perpendicular to his “life line,” as the Midgardians called it. You gasped as memories flooded into your head:

Daggers are produced out of thin air in a not-so-subtle stint to impress you and those daggers are then flipped in an attempt at a fancy trick. But the timing is not gotten quite right, and a blade drags a thin scratch along the delicate tissue of his pale hand. You tend to it gently. He tosses out flirtatious comments that even a scar would be worth it for this chance to hold your hand.

Less pleasant flashbacks accompanied these sweet ones.

A king’s sharp nail digs into your own hand as he pulls you away, berating you as nothing more than a petty distraction for his son.

A comforting ritual is formed of running one’s fingers along the other’s scar, and it remains a calming, centering habit upheld for years, until finally the aforementioned king manages to separate you for good.

Which is why the scenario popping into the front of your mind, teasing you like a lure on a fishing hook, was absolutely, utterly, completely impossible.

But then, what was the likelihood of the scar being exactly the same, in exactly the same place? Less or greater than the likelihood of a king dying in war or of a heart attack or merely of old age, and a more pliant mother agreeing to a joyous reunion? Your heart began to hammer in your chest, and you could feel your hopes rising dangerously.

You chastised yourself, reminded yourself to keep a level head and not get carried away with fantasies.

You didn’t even notice when the cleric prompted you to speak. You had to be jarred out of your reverie by your groom squeezing your hands and the room falling deathly silent. You spoke the customary words without hesitation, surprising yourself with your eagerness:

“I so promise.”

“And does the groom promise to to protect, cherish, honor, respect and strive to love this bride? Everything that is hers? That is to say, everything that she owns and everything that she is?”

As he answered, he ran his fingertips over your scar again. This time, it was undeniably purposeful.

“I so promise.”

His voice was even deeper than you remember, but it had the same intonation, the same resonance, and the same sincerity. You felt tears building up in your eyes behind your veil.

But by the time that veil was lifted a few seconds later, you had schooled your expression and your face was hardened. You did not even gasp at how regal his appearance had become, how his mischievous ways had etched his laugh lines into the space around his eyes, how his long raven hair gleamed in the light of the chandeliers.

Your stoic expression startled your groom, whose grin was wide and cheery and expectant. He leaned forward for the ceremonial kiss but you remained stock still, which makes the interaction about as awkward as you had predicted it would be when you had no idea to whom you were to be married.

The cleric cleared his throat, which only served to underscore the tension among those at the altar, not cut through it as perhaps intended. “By request of the groom, celebrations have been postponed until tomorrow evening, while the couple spends their first night together in their new, shared chambers.” Some awkward applause trickled around the large assembly.

You exited the grand hall just as stiffly as you had entered, only this time your arm was threaded through your groom’s instead of your attendant’s.

You walked down the hall in silence, Loki occasionally sneaking a peak at you through the corner of his eye. Your gaze remained steadily forward, your expression impassive.

When you reached the chambers you were to thereafter share with your new husband, you noticed that all of your possessions had been moved in already. You walked over to the fire place and numbly stood, staring at the jumping flames, the turmoil in your brain and heart nearly unintelligible and entirely unreadable on your face.

Loki came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. While your first instinct was actually to melt back into him, you caused yourself to stiffen in his embrace. He held you just a moment then released you, only to spin you sideways and step in front of you so he could admire your beauty in the glow of the leaping fire.

He sighed as his eyes raked over your features. You looked just as beautiful as he remembered, only a few more wrinkles added prestige and maturity to your appearance. You looked positively regal; his perfect princess bride.

“Oh how I have missed you, my dove,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss you. But you skirted out of the way, and he nearly fell over into the fire. You whisked through the room, your gown flowing behind you, to stand near the bed where you crossed your arms and gazed at the floor sullenly.

“What is wrong, my dove?” Loki asked, crossing to you, his brow furrowed in concern and confusion.

“Stop calling me that!” you snapped. He stopped in his tracks halfway to you. You started pacing up and down the length of the width of the room, your footprints leaving a track of trampled-down fur on the carpets spread across the Asgardian oak floors. “You can’t even handle a long-distance relationship, and you think you are ready for marriage?” You were practically screaming, but not quite.

“What in the nine realms do you mean, ‘Can’t handle a long-distance relationship?’” Loki asked, his voice wavering with emotion but not raised in volume even a bit. His inability to yell at you, even in a heated argument, always used to get on your nerves, and now that was all rushing back.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?!” you screeched. “Nearly fifty years and not a single letter! That is what I mean!”

Loki took a firm step towards you, his face deathly serious. “Now that is simply absurd. I wrote thousands of letters, all addressed to the Asgardian embassy on Jotunheimm, despite never once receiving a reply.”

You stopped short in your pacing and stared at him. “I watched my father check the mail every day. There was never a single thing from you, Loki. Despite the fact that I personally made sure all my hundreds of letters—no exaggeration—made it to the messenger.”

Loki cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “This reeks of my father,” he muttered. Then he grabbed your hand and yanked you out the door, striding down the hallway with you jogging to keep up.

“How did you get your father to agree to our match anyway?” you asked. “When I discovered it was you, I figured he must be dead.”

“What? No, he was right there, you didn’t see him?” Loki mumbled, still striding with immense purpose with his lanky legs, making it very difficult to keep up with him.s

“I was a little distracted once the veil was taken off, which wasn’t for very long,” you pointed out.

“Fair,” Loki conceded. He stopped in the middle of the hall and you nearly crashed into him. He looked down at you softly. “My mother died.”

You gazed up at his blue eyes with softness for the first time in nearly ten years. “Oh, Loki, I’m so sorry.”

“When my mother died,” Loki continued, his voice soft, “I told my father that if he wanted to see a grandchild before he croaked, he would have to agree to bring you back from Jotunnheim to be my bride. Oh, he has spent the last several years trying to hoist various Asgardian and Vanaheim and even Alfheim ladies and princesses and noblewomen on me, but I have remained firm. Thor is in love with some Midgardian woman who dumped him, but he spends most of his time down there now and so Odin has given up on him. He knows I’m his last chance for a full-godly Asgardian heir, so he finally acquiesced.” Loki gave a small smile and squeezed your hand. “I thought you’d be as excited as I was.”

You squeezed his hand back. “I am excited, your highness. I promise I am. I just… The letters…”

“Ah yes, the letters!” Loki exclaimed, then began dragging you down the hall once again. “By the way, none of that ‘your highness’ nonsense now. You are my wife; that makes you a princess.”

“An odd notion, truly.” You shook your head. “Never would I have dreamed.” Loki stopped short again and you nearly cursed at him for his short attention span and ability to cease all motion so quickly. “You never once dreamed of marrying me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Of course I dreamed of marrying you!” you exclaimed. “I just figured the more likely scenario, with your father despising me as he did, was that we would run away, you would denounce the crown, and we would live off on a farm somewhere.” You shrugged.

He smiled and pulled you in by your waist, laying his cheek atop your head and just holding you. “That does sound nice,” he admitted. After a few moments of just standing in the middle of the corridor in each other’s arms, he spoke up again. “I was not exaggerating, by the way.”

“What?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look up into his face.

“I said I wrote you thousands of letters and you accused me of exaggerating. But you have been gone 17,554 days, and I wrote you nearly every day. I missed only a few. The day Thor was banished, the day Thor returned, the days...” He shuddered at some memory but did not finish articulating it. “And the day my mother died. But other than that, pretty much every day.”

Your breath caught in your throat when you realized he knew precisely how many days it had been since you parted. You had long since lost count.

“Loki, I…” you began. Then you swallowed, and started again. “I wrote you every day, too, at first. Then, it dwindled to once a week.” You licked your lips and shuffled your feet a little. “Then, as I grew more and more disheartened, and… it hurt to even think about… It went down to a few times a year. Your birthday. The winter solstice. Our so-called anniversary…”

A small smile flickered across Loki’s face. “The anniversary of our first kiss,” he affirmed. “I do not blame you, love. It is not your fault.” His face hardened. “It is my father’s.”

In an instant, you were sprinting down the corridor once again to keep up with Loki as he ran, the advantage of his long legs greatly unfair.

Your mind couldn’t help but flash back to your childhood, happy in these golden halls to run beside Loki, race down the corridors to the library or the great hall or the royal dining room. An instinctive giggle rose in your throat, brought on by the onslaught of those memories.

Loki turned his head when he heard your beautiful voice ringing off the walls, and his eyes and teeth glimmered as he smiled broadly, overjoyed to see your mirth again. He'd missed it, and you, so terribly the better part of this half-century.

When you reached the throne room, you both stopped dead in your tracks. “How do you know he is in there?” you asked. “Might he not have gone to bed?”

Loki leaned his ear against the door, and when he pulled away he shook his head.

“He is still in there. Likely meeting with his advisors about how to patch a rocky relationship with Vanaheim since I refused to marry their princess.” You blinked at him and he shrugged. “She wasn’t you.”

You shook your head with a fond chuckle, then rose up to bestow a kiss upon his cheek. He beamed down at you, then schooled his expression with a shake of his head.

He grabbed your hand once again as he pushed open the big oak door. “Father!” he boomed.

“My son…” Odin said with some distaste. “I figured you would be in your chambers at this time… Producing that Asgardian grandchild you promised me.” The king’s eyes flickered over to you, but you refused to cower, though a little heat may have risen to your cheeks at the implication.

Loki said, “Father, I have written letters nearly every day of her absence to Lady Y/n.” He simply stated the fact, then watched his father’s face closely to gauge his reaction. Sure enough, Odin’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Aha!” Loki shouted. “An expression of guilt! You have intercepted them—admit it!”

Thor stepped forward then. Until then, you hadn’t even noticed him among the soldiers that were gathered around a map on a long table against one wall of the room perpendicular to the thrones. “Father!” he admonished. “Did you truly do such a thing?”

Odin stared right at his younger son, his lips drawn into a tight line. He waved his hand at the soldiers he had been meeting with, and they quickly scampered out of the room. Only once they were gone, did he respond to the questions posed to him.

“Yes. I intercepted your letters. I hoped if you both thought the other had forgotten, then the attachment would fade.”

“Father!” Thor chided again.

Odin sighed then, a long breath laden with years of exhaustion. “Once I had begun, I could hardly let up. If one of you mentioned any previous letter, then the plot would be exposed. And I never read any of the letters to see if that was the case.” He held his hands up in a surrender-like motion, as if not invading their privacy or snooping on their correspondence somehow made the withholding of their exchanges acceptable.

“Do you still have the letters?” Loki asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, then retrieve them!” Loki commanded.

The king remained where he was standing. “They will be outside your chambers by morning.”

Loki arched a brow and stared his father down.

You, wary of conflict, gripped your husband’s arm and murmured to him, “Then come, my love.” You gave a slight tug to his arm, though with his considerable strength (he was not as muscular as his brother, but his lean frame held plenty of power), your movements could not force him to budge. “Sounds like we will have some riveting reading tomorrow.”

Loki spent one more moment glaring at his father, then averted his gaze down to you and his expression softened before twisting into a smirk. “With all the letters I have written to you, dove, it will take much longer than a day to get through them all,” he said, placing his hand over yours on his arm and beginning to lead you out of the throne room.

“All right, it isn’t a competition,” you mumbled as you walked back down the corridor to your shared chambers. At your more leisurely pace, the journey was longer than before. “Besides, I had embassy duties; I couldn’t spend all day sitting around writing letters.”

“And I don’t have duties?” Loki scoffed. “I am a prince!”

You waved your hand. “Precisely! You’re a prince! All the time in the world.”

Loki laughed heartily, and the sound warmed your heart.

“All the time in the world to play with young ambassador’s daughters and make them fall in love with you,” you added.

“And fall in love with her in turn, it is important to add.” You arrived at your door, and like a true gentleman, he opened the door for you and gestured for you to enter first. “And that is not fair; all children have more time to play.” He shut the door behind him and turned towards you, his expression and tone more earnest now. “But even as I grew older, my love never wavered. I never forgot you, dove.”

You eyes averted to the floor, your eyelashes fluttering slightly. “I never forgot you either, Loki, but you cannot blame me for losing some hope. Everyone always said I was just a passing fancy and you would forget me once I left, and by all appearances…” You nearly started crying, all the painful memories of waiting for letters that never came flooding back into you.

Loki lifted your gaze to his with his fingers under your chin. “I do not blame you, dove, I could never. And I shall make certain that you never doubt my love again. I am yours and only yours for the rest of time, I swear to you.”

You smiled a watery smile and tilted your head, fighting back tears once again, though now they were of happiness. You felt an immense joy and an overwhelming love and a tremendous sense of hope for the future, side-by-side with your perfect prince.

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