cunningas: (adrien: lookit my hat!)
The writer has graciously re-upped me back to a paid account.

However, I now have 20 spots open to use for icons and she doesn't wish to use any of the old ones.

Anyone care to help a god out here?

a story

Aug. 5th, 2008 09:49 pm
cunningas: (other: wide grin and a smile)
He was laughing at her, she knew it.

Oh, it wasn't out loud. He didn't want to have something thrown at his head -- for all the good it'd do, she thought uncharitably. But he was laughing at her, nonetheless, she knew what that twinkle in his too-green eyes meant.

"You could help me find it."

"Oh no," he said, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter, "I wouldn't even know where to begin looking."

She let out a frustrated snort and pushed a lock of hair from her eyes, "uh huh. You think I know? Ever since the move. Can't find anything." It was possible she was dangerously close to sulking.

He walked over behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Is it really something to get so worked up over, lovely?"

"Don't start charming me," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "I'm working up a good snit here."

He chuckled and she could feel the vibrations of it against her back, "oh, forgive me. I hadn't noticed."

There was no point in directly replying to that. So she merely stated accusingly, "if you'd just gotten some of those invisible servants to keep everything neat-"

Now he was laughing as he spun her around to face him. "Oh yes, it's all my fault, isn't it? Invisible servants, hmm? Would you like a castle with that?"

She made a face at him, trying not to crack a smile. He'd totally ruined her snit. Or maybe she'd let him ruin it. Whichever. "It couldn't hurt."

"I'll see what I-... Hmmm, lovely?"


He was looking over her shoulder, "isn't that your checkbook lying on top of your purse?"

Her eyes widened and she whirled about, disbelief evident on her features, "but I totally looked there! Twice!"

He started laughing again.

The result of this conversation )
cunningas: (quotes: chaos == creation)
So, as I mentioned a while back about turning people into lolcats....

Well it's been done.

Feel free to have your pup(s) get changed for however short or long a time you wish. Now, later, whenever. Post a link here or in Methos' post so we can keep up with you. Go forth and have fun!

[for Anya]

May. 11th, 2008 02:18 pm
cunningas: (Default)
"Let's get this party started then, shall we?"
cunningas: (Default)
"And," he says as they arrive in his house in Boston, "here we are."

The house has the feeling of some place that hasn't been lived in for a rather long time, though there's no dust to be seen anywhere. The furnishings are nice and all, but nothing exceptional.
cunningas: (Default)
So...if Loki turned people into LOLcats. Would anyone want to play?

EDIT: Obviously this would be for great crack and nothing else. (and...pimp the idea to friends who need some crack in their lives)
cunningas: (adrien: give me a break)
She'd figured out the ritual ages ago. Or, at least, she was fairly certain she had. The only way to find out was by actually trying it and she didn't dare do that while she didn't have the house to herself. Unfortunately, her parents almost never went out anywhere and when they did, they tried to only do it when they wouldn't be leaving their only daughter alone. Typical, over-protective parental units. Finally, though, she'd convinced them that, at sixteen, she was more than old enough to spend a few hours in the house by herself on a Friday night and they deserved to have a night out together, didn't they? It had taken all of the persuasive skills she could drum up but they did, indeed, actually agree and now she was completely alone.

(But not for long.)

[fake cut to [ profile] whatyouimagine post. prequel to one posted the other day]
cunningas: (adrien: eff you!)
"I am not an extremist," he declared for the world to hear.

His companion, an almost too-young girl trying to make herself look too-old with her piercings and hair dye and leather and ink tittered into her hands. Well, she likely would have murdered anyone -- imagined murdering them, at least -- who claimed she had tittered because of course she'd done something more dignified. Like snorting. Made an amused sound. Something like that. She followed up the not-tittering with rolling her eyes and raising her eyebrows in a sardonic gesture she certainly must have learned from him, "and I'm Mother Teresa," she drawled.

(Loki smiled at her, the sort of smile with too many teeth...)

[fake cut to the actual post in [ profile] whatyouimagine]
cunningas: (adrien: fought)
It had been Odin's idea. Loki wouldn't have presumed to suggest. Hint at? Well. Yes. But come right out and ask? Never. Odin, though, understood that. Understood him. They were, after all, far too much alike for anyone's own good -- and probably more than anyone would like to admit. But still, when the All-father took Loki's hand in his and mingled their blood, Loki couldn't help but feel a pleased sort of pride. Odin knew what he was -- knew all too well -- and still wanted to make him his brother. That meant more to him than Loki could ever -- would ever -- say.

He hadn't, quite, known what to think of the Thunderer at first. Sure, he liked his mead, which Loki could certainly appreciate but Thor was...

...was...well, not dull, exactly but... well, he might call Thor an easy mark. Except for the strength of his grip and a certain look in his eyes that suggested there was more going on in there than one might suspect at first glance. And he was loyal and honorable and all sorts of things Loki wasn't.

And still, they got along famously.

They all thought Loki'd hated him. Which wasn't true and never had been or would be. He didn't hate Baldr -- far from it -- but that didn't stop Loki from doing what needed to be done. Or so he'd believed, at the time.

Narvi and Vali couldn't readily be separated into one entity. His beautiful, charming, maddening sons. They took after their father just enough for Loki to contemplate tearing his hair out more than once when they were growing up. But they took after their mother just enough that he'd loved them from the time he first saw them. And that love was his downfall -- and theirs -- for what would happen to his sons wouldn't have been nearly as effective of a punishment of their father if he hadn't loved them.

If he hadn't loved them, perhaps they would still be alive.

One of her hands was stretched way up above his head, holding something, but she brushed a sweat-damp lock of his hair out of his eyes with the other. She was smiling tenderly down at him and he tried to return that smile with one of his own. He would have, except it hurt too much to move even his lips. He had to imagine how hideous he looked, now, all skin drawn taut over bone, covered in dried blood and scar tissue. But she could still look at him like that and that gave him a warm strength he clung to, desperately, no matter how long he was Bound, had been Bound, would be Bound.

She leaned down and carefully gave his forehead a gentle kiss and whispered, "I love you." She knew he needed to hear it.

He did smile, then, through the pain. A fierce, bright smile that lit up the gloomy cavern around them. He loved her, too.

The battle was joined. Clash of the Titans. Well...not quite. But Clash of the Jotnar didn't have quite the same ring. Not that Loki had time to think of this. Not when there was blood and darkness and gore and fire all around him.

Not when his gaze met Heimdall's across the battlefield. He didn't even remember charging to meet the Watchman of the Gods. He was just there, his steel clashing against Heimdall's, mutual fury and hatred mirrored in each god's eyes. Neither of them would walk away from this. That was just fine with Loki.


wordcount: 600
cunningas: (adrien: with some blonde chick)
Loki somehow managed to lounge on his barstool, even though it had no back and he must have been defying gravity. Of course, defiance was a big thing with him, whether it was gravity or other authority figures. He took a long swallow of his drink and cast a disgusted look on the young woman he was watching. She wasn't that bad to look at, dark blonde hair and summer-blue eyes -- he totally had a type, but let's just ignore that, shall we? It was also obvious she wasn't here of her own choosing. Not with the way she was sitting there, hardly making eye contact with anyone, smiling nervously when she didn't have a choice about it. Not with the way she was dressed, a touch out of style, not like the trendy, giggling girls surrounding the bar.

But he could see something else about her that none of the others could. That she obviously couldn't either. A spark. Just waiting for the right tinder. She was one of his, he knew. She just didn't know it yet.

She could have anyone in here, if she wanted them, if she tossed her hair the right way, flashed her eyes. There was a wildcat in there, waiting to come out and play with some fire. He finished his drink and grinned to himself as he slid out of his seat with a predator's grace.

And you know, it really was a waste to let it stay hidden like that.

She just needed a little nudge.

wordcount: 253
cunningas: (adrien: eff you!)
- other: looking into the abyss - I use it for those times when talking about something I'd rather not. Or something like that. It's sort of an emo icon, don't you think?
- adrien: posing for an arty photo in black - also kind of emo. But my mun thinks it's pretty.
- adrien: shadowed - Just for being menacing and mysterious.
- adrien: i'm crazy remember? - Just what it says. *grins*
- adrien: just get in the car bitch - My mun says that's what I look like I'm saying in the icon. And sometimes you just need to be...forceful.
- adrien: angst, adrien: anguish - I don't think I've actually used this one for anything. But one day I might need to, i guess.
cunningas: (adrien: smug bastard)
Nobody's asked about them, but if anybody wants me to ask about six of their icons, go for it.
cunningas: (adrien: give me a break)
He's sitting on someone's front stoop, smoking a cigarette because it won't kill him and enjoying the cool night's breeze. Okay, maybe it's less sitting and more sprawling, his long legs stretched out onto the sidewalk. It's probably a good thing it isn't busy here or he'd have tripped someone by now.

He'd say it was their own damn fault for not watching where they were going.

He'd be right, but they wouldn't see it that way. It doesn't matter, though, since there's no one hurrying along the sidewalk to be tripped up by him. Not yet. He exhales another cloud of smoke, shrugs, and stubs what's left of his cigarette out onto the concrete beside him. Twinkie'sd be more fun than smoking. At least they tasted good. And there were far more bawdy jokes to be made about them.

If anyone were to be looking at him, they might not see much. He was just a guy. Albeit, just a guy half blocking the sidewalk. Nothing terribly interesting about the clothes he wore and under the dark of night, no one would notice the odd shade of his hair. His hair was a dark red that, while it didn't scream that it had been dyed, also just didn't seem quite...natural. He'd insist it was. They wouldn't notice his eyes, either. At least not until they got up close. They were green, always green, and were what made him almost always look as if he was laughing at someone's expense. At the great cosmic joke. Even when he was angry, there was something about them that would seem eternally amused.

It was a good act to pull off, if you could do it.

But no one would think, to look at him, to be afraid. To cower or to kneel or to pour libations or to pray or just offer up a sweet or two.

That really kinda sucked.

Not that he was into the whole blind devotion deal but a little worship never hurt a god.

No one would think, either, to look at him that he was a god.

That he was a murderer of gods.

A thief.

A liar.

A father.

A husband.

Okay, maybe the ladies would look at him and think he'd be a great lay -- and they'd be right -- and not a few of the men either but other than that?

He's just a guy, really.

Just Loki.

Go on over and see.

Muse: Loki
Fandom: Norse Mythology
Wordcount 396


Nov. 26th, 2007 06:44 pm
cunningas: (quotes: chaos == creation)
Henry Miller - "Chaos is the score upon which reality is written."
cunningas: (adrien: i'm crazy remember?)
Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

In November I gave [ profile] most_amazing a kidney (1000 points). In August I saved a busload of nuns in Angola (326 points). In June I broke [ profile] killingsoftly's X-Box (-12 points). Last Tuesday I stole [ profile] swift_wings's purse (-30 points). In January I pulled [ profile] msg_ina_bottle's hair (-5 points).

Overall, I've been nice (1279 points). For Christmas I deserve an Easy-Bake Oven!


Write your letter to Santa! Enter your LJ username:
cunningas: (other: looking into the abyss)
[taken from Ten and Reinette :)]

o1. Cares more than he lets on, about a lot of things.
o2. Doesn't care quite so much about some things as he pretends to. Yes, that includes the apparent obsession with twinkies.
o3. Understands the concept of mortality far better than perhaps any other god except Baldr who died.
o4. Does the unexpected because it's expected.
o5. Does the expected because it's unexpected.
o6. Sometimes does both at once.
o7. Is far more likely to have a lover than a love. Or several.
o8. Unless you're his wife, whom he does love, even if he sucks at showing it.
o9. Bitterly regrets what happened to all of his children.
1o. Bitterly resents what happened to him.
11. Will not hesitate to take up arms during Ragnarok. Has no plan for it to turn out like all the stories say, however.
12. Is quite nice, most of the time, but that's really so you'll let your guard down.
13. Isn't, really, all that nice. Even though he cares and regrets things.
14. It's not in his nature.
15. But your guess is as good as mine as to how to describe exactly what his nature is.
16. Can often be cruel, but it's not usually cruelty for it's own sake.
17. Then again, often what he does isn't done for its own sake. He's always got some surreptitous, underlying motive.
18. Is fiercely possessive of all things he claims as his. Even if he smiles and says he's sharing. That's not a real smile and he'll come back for what's his sooner or later.
19. Wants desperately to be remembered by as many people as possible. That's part of why he cultivates himself as someone memorable. And part of why so many of his relationships are with Immortals of one sort or another.
2o. Hates being forgotten or overlooked.
cunningas: (quotes: chaos == creation)
So I've been nominated for "Muse you most want to see as opposite sex for a week!" this month in the Tammies. Is that the best you can come up with?

ETA: Apparently, there was some shenanigans happening in the voting of the original post (I salute you! Except you all got caught. Tsk. Bad form.) So there's a new post. Go vote for civ_barbarian instead of me.


cunningas: (Default)

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