The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

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's bombarding it. 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 no, 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.

(A/N: heyyy teammmmm, just a heads up i started this story back when i was like 15/16 and hadn't figured out my sexuality yet, i'm leaving the contents of the letter unedited as is b/c i like keeping this story as like a time capsule of my writing style back then but yes i also cringe every time i read the ~hEteRoSExuAl~ part, apologies to all) (also dw there won't be author notes at the end of every chapter) (if you want those feel free to check out the story on ao3)