We'll arrange something

[grinded]

Arranged Marriage Turned More To have and to hold, you said, till death do us part, all while the sharp, swinging pendulum of obligation hung overhead. But how could you have truly meant those words? This union has been tainted from the start, forever bearing the chains of an arranged marriage. It would be understandable if you couldn't bear to look at your new life partner, eternal reminder of your stolen future that they are, much less like them. Much less love them... Still, things can change. You could realize that they are in the same boat as you or, that when compared to others around you, they are the lesser of evils. Perhaps you even open up to the idea of a friendship; at the very least, an alliance may be in order to become a power couple in a perilous world. From that innocent decision or sense of self-preservation, a new feelings sparks. Something like affection. Something, you realize in the wake of speeding heartbeats, like love. Will you acknowledge this? Can the two of you have a happily ever after - happier than if you'd met in another fashion - or will you hold firm in your distaste? how to play. - Everybody loves "couples forged by less-than-ideal circumstances" tropes! - Comment with your character, prefs, all that good stuff. - Reply to others. - IDEC where you set your threads, it's wide open. Fantasy world with hairy hobbits, old-timey lands, future AUs, do a space marriage for all I care. I'm sure they're still getting married in Star Wars or whatever.

Comments

snow white | snow white and the huntsman | ota

[deathfavors]

[ I am utter trash for forced pairings becoming ride-or-die lovers and power couples.

ship ideas, preferences, characters most wanted, and other goodies. ]

Laurent of Vere | Captive Prince | M/M

[prince_of_vere]

[Available either as the reigning king needing a consort, the king's younger brother being married off for political alliance, or the regent's disgraced nephew being married into exile to get rid of him.]

Remy de Reynard | OC

[mandagot]

[High-energy fox demi-god being married off for his father's political machinations. Likes books, baked goods, and the occult. Other magical entities preferred, or mortals high-ranking enough to interest a demi-god.]

[dweomer]

( ooc; How about Reynard marrying Remy off to a fae king notorious enough to be called a devil of the sea? Even worse, he's fond of canine forms. But he's actually quite nice, or at least a bit of a clown. And he'd share his books with Remy. )

[mandagot]

[Sounds fun! Remy will warm up quickly if there are books.]

[dweomer]

Foxes annoyed Davy. They did what they damn well pleased, and that was generally his job. In particular, though he had agreed to Reynard's proposal of marriage to the little tod, he had not agreed to Reynard simply depositing the boy in his domain, the domain he hardly ever visited. Davy, however, had been alerted because all fae were connected to their realms and the scent of demigod quickly reached his nose.

He growled faintly and slipped through a shadow, into a crack in space, and slipped into his domain. Without him constantly there to shape it, it took form by its own will into a manor house full of shifting corridors and stairways. The whole place shuddered with his renewed presence.

He hadn't even had time to prepare a welcome.

Davy's form shimmered and in its place, a shaggy black wolf began to bound through the halls, sniffing out the scent of fox. Where would the little lordling wander off to?

Tyrion Lannister ✧ ASOIAF ✧ M/F

[smallprince]

here goes lmk if you want anything changed!

[hlaefdige]

[ Éomer was never meant to be Queen.

The crown was to fall to her cousin, Thédored, and then to his heirs after him, and she was never supposed to have to worry about any of this. But her cousin never married, never produced an heir, and so when he was killed at the Fords of Isen, it was up to Éomer to take his place as the next in line for the throne. A very small part of her hoped her uncle might remarry after the war, that he might have another child, another son, and she could escape the terrible weight of responsibility that was looming on her horizon, but the rest of her knew that was never going to happen. And sure enough, on the ruins of the Pelennor, her uncle met his death and she met her destiny. The crown of Rohan.

Most of the War remains something of a blur, in hindsight. Important decisions were made in the space of a heartbeat, and lives were changed in less. It felt to her that one day, she was standing in the Meduseld, watching her uncle cast off the heavy weight of enchantment and stand as tall and strong as the man she remembered from her childhood, and the next, she was standing in front of the gates of Edoras, watching as her uncle's bier was lowered into the ground as Éowyn wailed the traditional lament of burial.

One of the reasons she did not wish to be Queen was that she did not want to have the fate of her entire people rested in her lap. After the War, everyone's attention turned to rebuilding what was destroyed, the farms that were razed, the herds that were scattered or slaughtered. It became quite evident, quite quickly, that without foreign interference, Rohan would not survive the winter. Too much of the planting season had passed before peace was won, and too many of her menfolk were slain, there simply weren't enough hands to restore the destroyed farms and sow the seeds needed for harvest. Grain would have to be imported.

But from where?

Éomer refused to go begging to her friends, knowing full well that Gondor, too, was struggling to feed her people after such devastation was wrought on it, and she would rather slit her own throat than try trading with the Haradrim.

In the end, she looked West, to the island nations that were able to keep themselves free of the spreading Shadow of Mordor. She has had little dealings with them, herself, but rumors of the quality of Rohirric horseflesh have spread far and wide, and she fully planned to capitalize on the reputation of her people in order to win them stores for the winter. Though it pained her to do so, she opened up negotiations to win herself a husband, a man with enough gold in his coffers to help her provide for her war-torn and impoverished nation. She was glad to settle for a second son, a man who would not try to contest her right to her crown, a husband who would come live with her instead of expecting her to abandon her country and move to a foreign land to be some sort of bauble trotted out at parties to show off, a barbarian princess taught to dress and act like civilized folk.

It hadn't much mattered to her what her husband looked like, or how old he was, but she would be lying if she said she was nor surprised when what appeared to be a hobbit stepped off the boat and came to greet her welcoming party. An uncommonly tall woman even among her own people, Éomer frankly towered over her husband-to-be, and she could see quite easily in the set of his jaw that he expected her to be dismayed by his stature.

Since she lived to be contrary, Éomer made absolutely no mention of it, and took secret pleasure in the surprise on the faces of the men around her. As if made any difference how tall her husband stood, when all she truly needed him for was for his seed in her belly and his coin in her purse.

The wedding was held in Rohan, her people used enough to halflings that her husband's stature raised no more than a few eyebrows, and despite a few awkward moments, everything went off without a hitch, and soon life settled back to normal. She had instructed her bard to teach her husband the Rohirric language, ensured that he would not begrudge her her continued presence leading her army — some men objected to shieldmaidens on principle, especially foreign men — and then more or less left him to his own devices. She was busy enough rebuilding the herds, retraining her army, patrolling her borders. She did not need to babysit a grown man, no pun intended.

It is the aftermath of one such of these patrols that brings Éomer breezing into their chambers this day, her hair windswept and snow still dusting the fur settled about her shoulders, her blood high in her cheeks and her breath still clinging to a touch of frost. ] Hûsbonda, [ she greets, trailing her fingers across his shoulder as she passes behind him and swings her cloak off, letting it drape over the back of a chair for the snow to evaporate before seeing to her armor. ] I take it you are well?

[smallprince]

A marriage? For some reason I feel sorry for my future wife. But at least this is a way out of this town and away from certain people. While Tyrion was listen to his father he was having his own thoughts about what would await him. Here his father sat on the throne, talking about a chance for the kingdom and for him to finally settle down. I'm getting kicked out to spend the rest of my life among unciviled people. I bet you're glad that you don't have to endure my presence any longer.

If he had been alone with his father, he would have tried to talk him out of this idea or at least had stopped him from using sugar-coated arguments why this marriage is a good thing.

To him it was a bit odd that he, the future husband had to move. Perhaps this was just the tradition, that was common for this folk from the other side, with their mysterious land of shadows and darkness.

While he was waiting for the day when he had to bid his father goodbye, Tyrion devoted most of his reading time to books about the foreign country he would soon call his home. Now and then he caught himself imaging that it could be possible turn out better than he was imaging now. At least they might not stare at me, like people here in Westeros. I've read that there lives a species of people who are all small and would get tabled as "draws" here.

The first time he saw here, he was surprised in more than one way. Did you know how tall she is, father? I guess you did and this is just a more beautiful way to mock me. For a split second he thought about the day he had met Gregor Clegane, the man who made everyone feel small. "I can't deny that I'm a small man M'Lady but I can assure you that I have a big heart and I'm not a coward." He had fought in a couple of battles and had made it out alive. Sure, Tyrion wasn't a fighter with sword or battle axe in the first place but he didn't flinch away from a fight. But his biggest weapon was his mind.

All in all he enjoyed his wedding, the wine was good and the food was exotic and worth trying. Still he was his own company for most of the time since he didn't spoke the Rohrriric language. Something that would soon change. At first it was a pain for him to learn a new language at his age, but it helped a lot to be surrounded from it the whole day.

Tyrion sat in their chamber, bend over a book about the history of Rohan. In Westeros the king is aways busy and the queen is the one who needs to find ways to entertain herself until they can spend time together and here it is the other way round. I'm used to spending time on my own but somehow I don't know a lot about my wife. She is different from all the women in Westeros I've met. In a good way.

He shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts. What had he expected to find here? A woman who would truly fall in love with him and not his gold. Displeased he pursed his lips. Why was he thinking about that song. He laid his right hand over his left, realising that his hand was warm.

Suddenly the door to their chamber opened and Èomer stepped in, her fingers touched his shoulder, lightly as a feather. He turned around. "M'Lady. I can't complain. How is the rebuild going?" Just now he realised that there were still a few snowflakes on the fur of her coat. "Does it snows often in Rohan?" he asked.
In Westeros snow had been a bad omen and he associated it with the wall, a place he had visited once. Deep inside Tyrion knew that this question hadn't been necessary, since he had read a lot about Rohan since he had arrived here but he wanted to have a normal conversation with her.

She is a beautiful daughter of this counter, maybe she can make me like the country as well. It is still foreign to me but I can't deny that it isn't worth a second look.

To encourage her, to join him for a conversation he put on a welcoming smile.

[hlaefdige]

When she had first heard that there were places in which it never snowed, or snowed for years at a time, Éomer had been utterly flabbergasted. To think such a thing might be true, and not just some fantasy thought up in the minds of clever bards!

No, she much preferred to live her life the way she is most used to, with the seasons each taking their turn falling on the plains, as regular and predictable as clockwork.

"Well enough," she replies, carefully setting her sword belt aside, then unclasping her vambraces and her greaves. They will need to be tended to, starting to show the wear and tear that all leather armor does after continued use, but for now she is focused on other things. "The Westfold is slowly rebuilding, although we will not know how much progress has truly been made until the thaws come and planting can begin anew."

Grunting as she undoes the stiff buckles at her sides that hold the plates of her armor together, she continues. "Aye, every year. It will get worse as we approach Yule."

The armor stand in the corner is placed there for a good reason, one of three in a cluster, because with a great heave, she hefts the heavy steel and leather contraption off of her body, ducking her head so she can hoist it off of herself and deposit it on the waiting wooden stand. Then it is time for her scale mail, and then finally the chain mail. This item, she leaves off the stand, instead draping it over the chair with her cloak for the moment as she moves through the room, towards the wardrobe by their bed.

"It is why there are so many babies born at the start of the harvest," she explains, smirking to herself as she pulls open the heavy doors of the wardrobe and goes searching for a suitable robe to wear once she takes off her gambeson and unbinds her breasts. "There is nothing else to do when you are snowed in."

Eren Jaeger | Shingeki no Kyojin | M/M

[preciousbrat]

Eran | Pathfinder D&D 3.5 OC

[of_divinity]

éomer, daughter of éomund (63) | tolkien legendarium

[hlaefdige]

Mary Crawley | Downton Abbey | M/F

[thequitecontrary]

Abel | Starfighter (Comic) | M/M

[reliantnav]

minsu oh | original

[foxtrots]

Lucrezia Borgia | The Borgias | f/m

[envyof]

[ info is in her journal! ]

Ishtar | Fate/Grand Order

[ninanna]

[cult]

[ "there's no need to raise dungeons anymore." one says.
"you have to help us, this is your home!" another insists.
and lastly, "no human deserves you so please appease the gods."

now judal loves this village, it's always been his home even after he was taken away at a young age. he's still connected by the bonds and the rukh here too, it can't be helped. but he didn't fall too far from the apple tree with the frilly articles of clothing they presented to him to wear. this isn't the ideal form of fashion that he likes but he understands that it's to help in some way because he's too busy making unappealing sounds due to the fabric than to ask questions.

but all he needed to know was that the final push into the alter of the gods with two older couples musing that they wished they could make it to the marriage ceremony. now wait a damn minute — is what he would say had the large doors behind him not shut instantly. with his brows furrowing, the magi quickly turns around and brings the side of his fist to hit against the door but that does nothing but cause the gold jewelry he wears to clatter together. ]

What do you MEAN marriage? [ he's too young, too pretty and just too him to be tied down? he's not marrying no damn statue, he knows that for sure. judal won't dare use his nails to settle between the cracks to try and pry it open, he's a magician of sorts — so he's weak, he can't do too much but he'll get in trouble for blowing up the door, huh. ] This is stupid. [ is what he thinks, but he turns back around to get a good look at this place, it's bigger inside than outside which he guesses would be a great spot for the gods or whatever. moving forward, he looks around the area trying to find something interesting or a telltale sign of anything that'll help him get out but the many narrowing halls and how the sun peeks through the top to illuminate the biggest part of the room — he's sure there must be something bigger. ]

Okay, I'm bored as hell. Anyone here? Do I wait here and starve? Marriage, my ass.

[ninanna]

[At first there seems to be no answer to his questions. The temple appears quiet and lonely save for the large harvest offering at the altar with bookends of burning incense. It isn't until he starts to wander off that he might feel a presence other than his own in the room. A voice calls out from above:]

Are you my bride?

[If he turns to face her he'll find a slim and young looking woman floating in the air. She's dressed in expensive silks and gold jewelry. Her hair is dark and rich. It disobeys gravity just as she does making it spread out around her like a lion's mane. In fact he's probably noticed a few of her symbols around the temple already: the eight pointed star and the lion.]

[cult]

[ there's a snap of his fingers as he thinks on her question, anyone would answer correctly — signing themselves over willingly and or begrudgingly. instead, in his place, he's not as stupid as the others so he shakes his head as he gives her a look over. the immense power that radiates from her form and within this great body of a home, it all pieces together. even the intricate symbols that kept appearing. ]

No. You must have missed him, I got lost.

[ what was the rule? not to use his magic inside of here or something, either way — he feels like if he has to take another step he'll die. but does she need to see that? ] But you could be a good helper, how the hell do I get out these lost catacombs.

[ sigh, help him god. ]

((Locked to magpiemythos))

[shieldborne]

Sometimes, a threat comes along that is more than one team can handle. A nightmare that's a cut above the usual disasters. Sometimes it's a disaster that could end not only the planet but the universe surrounding it. And then sometimes even something that bad gets even worse and other dimensions get pulled into the shit-show.

He should be used to these things by now. Steve has told himself repeatedly there's no way he's ever going to retire. He's in this work for good or ill until he dies with his boots on, and if he's lucky no one will be able to identify the body to bring him back or retroengineer the serum that's made his body able to match his fighting spirit. This is different, though; they've reached across to multiple parallel dimensions for aid, and while Steve is not the person to handle metaphysics or quantum mechanics, he's also unwilling to sit back and let Bruce and Tony and Thor shoulder all the burdens. He doesn't follow the equations, barely grasps the concept of parallel realities without his head hurting, but he understands they're building a complicated quantum net that should be able to protect their universe and the others involved in forming it.

The gate between their dimension and the most crucial of the others is unstable, and if they let it collapse, the whole plan fails. The solution proposed by their contacts in the other world is weirdly simple: a marriage of representatives designed to symbolize the marriage of their dimensions. As above, so below.

How the hell is that supposed to work? Steve is downright irritated with the idea; it actually seems stupid to him. Magical explanations mean less to him than the metaphysical discussions he sits through, but in the end enough of his team seems convinced it could work that he gives in, and agrees, and volunteers.

Who else could he ask, after all? This is uncomfortable, potentially a little coercive, and he'd rather take the brunt of that than ask anyone else to do it. So, on the appointed day, when they peel open the thin layer that divides his dimension from his marriage partner's, Steve Rogers is there in a white dress uniform, holding a box that contains not wedding rings but a pair of silvery bracelets. They're vibranium, not silver, and the technology built into them is designed to bolster the dimensional union. He and his partner are never permitted to take them off, once they're on.

[magpiemythos]

It makes sense. Bonds to be made in order to connect their dimensions, important bonds with those important to the fabric of their respective dimensions. Steve Rogers who makes it his life mission to defy odds, to become the symbol of hope for so many. Loki Laufeyson, a literal mythoform who had on many occasions nearly torn his dimension asunder only to die and be reborn as something new. He knew why he was volunteered for this. He knew why Odin agreed, why Thor, as uncertain as he was, agreed. Loki and his magic could easily cement the anchor they needed to make this work.

And as for why the Allmother had suggested him in the first place, he was well aware of what she was hoping for. That being tethered to someone else might be the tipping point. No matter the reasons she brought up, Loki knew better. But he wasn’t about to let her get her way. He knew better than to defy her on this, but his compliance might be seen as a little… malicious to some.

While the Midgardians involved in this ceremony might not get what was so bad, but they would certainly see the way Freyja stood so tense to one side of the Trickster, dressed in white fox fur and fine fabric that just emphasized the dark blue of his skin in this moment, looking every inch Jotun in a way that he knew would bother both the Asgardians of his home dimension as well as those of Steve’s. Certainly, his intended should see who he was marrying, after all, and if there was something slightly smug in Loki at the daggers his mother was glaring at him, well he’d certainly deny that his reasoning was anything other than earnest. And while he might be ill-advised to make the others uncomfortable, knowing the state of things, it could never be said that spite hadn’t driven Loki to make poor choices before.

“Steve Rogers, I presume.” He greeted the other, gaze skipping consideringly over him, the clean white uniform he wore, the box holding the vibranium bracelets he would be working his spells into. Technology and magic from both sides of the gate to help anchor it open no matter which side of things they were on.

[shieldborne]

Steve has no idea why the sudden chill has fallen across the assemblage. He glances back at his own team and raises an eyebrow as he sees their faces. Most of the humans look about how he feels: mildly uncomfortable, a little out of their depth. Thor, on the other hand, looks pale and even a little green with startlement, and behind him, the version of Loki with which Steve is actually familiar is clearly apoplectic. It seems likely that if he weren't behind Thor and between Bruce and Valkyrie he might be lunging to either leave or come right up and throttle his alternate self.

That's...actually intriguing, in a way. Clearly this version of Loki has made some kind of statement, showing up like this. And judging from the gleam in his red eyes, he knows it damn well.

Steve is perverse. He was ready to feel bad about this whole affair, highly uncomfortable with forcing himself on any other being, but in shocking their gathered witnesses, Loki has shown himself in control, at least in part. Inasmuch as any of them are. Steve kind of likes that. He gives him a slow smile, and bows, then offers his right hand. If Loki accepts, he'll bow again, to kiss the backs of his knuckles, and murmurs: "That's me. And you're Loki. You sure managed to make an entrance."

Bucky is right behind Steve, acting more or less as best man, and he seems as puzzled by the undercurrents as any of the Midgardians. Steve doesn't seem to object, though, and that's enough for his best friend, who gives Loki an awkward nod and something a little bit like a smile.

Nico Acosta | OC | M/F

[anoranza]