cunningas: (other: flame in his hands)
"You," she sniffed and wiped ineffectually at her nose with a tissue, "are a pain in the ass."

He smiled, "you're only saying that because you're sick and hate it and need to take it out on someone."

She glared at him, "also 'cause it's true."

Likely he was just mollifying her but he did nod and repeat dutifully, "also because it's true."

Thus appeased, she turned her attention back to scowling and rubbing at the back of her neck, "feels like a damn rock," she muttered.

"I'm telling you, you could let me-"

She tossed one of her wadded up tissues at him, "fat lot of good you'd do."

A too-charming smile was her answer, "you never know till you do it."

"Don't you mean try?"

"Don't you think if I did I would have said so?"

"Mmmm," she went back to rubbing, this time on the other side of her neck. And apparently, he had no further comment, remaining silent. That should have been her first warning. But having a cold was hardly conducive to one's mental abilities so she let out a startled noise when a warm hand covered her own.

"I said," his voice sounded very close to her ear now, "let me do it." Maybe she tried to open her mouth to protest and maybe he put up a finger to forestall anything she might say. "Just let me do my work, dearling."

Slowly, she let her hand come down to her lap, he made a pleased sound and began massaging her neck and shoulders. His hands were strong and his fingers capable, he obviously knew exactly what he was doing as he carefully rubbed away tension. He didn't tell her to relax, knowing that to speak of the thing would merely draw her attention to how not-relaxed she was. She'd try too hard. She always did.

No, instead, he started telling her a story with no defineable beginning, middle, or end. It simply was as it meandered along, the sort of story that had lulled stronger souls than hers into rest. As he spun out the threads of the story, so to did the knots in her shoulders and neck unravel, so to did she slowly allow him to draw her down into sleep.

It was, he reflected, a good thing she'd been already sitting on the bed when he'd begun.
cunningas: (adrien: worn out)
The man who sits by the crossroads doesn't look particularly remarkable to any who pass him by. His clothing is, after all, rather shabby and held together by patches and prayer. He wears a wide-brimmed hat that looks like it may have once been a respectable shade of black but is now so faded and dust-covered that one would never guess. By his feet rests a travelsack, just as patched, faded, and dusty as the rest of his clothing and within it he carries all of his worldly possessions. Carefully, he keeps his foot over the bag's carrying strap so no enterprising thief might snatch it away easily. He wears no jewelry to flash and glitter though there is a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and when he smiles as he is prone to do, his teeth flash white on his face. Of everything that he wears, his boots are new, won the night before in a game of chance.

His chair is nothing more than an old crate, repurposed and he leans back on it, his shoulderblades against the wall behind him. All through the afternoon he sits, from noon until sundown and it is a rare moment indeed that doesn't see him with a small crowd arrayed about him. The man tells stories and often, as he does so, he performs tricks, small conjures, sleight of hand, minor miracles that awe and amaze his audience. For this entertainment, by the time the sun goes down, he has accumulated enough cash in dribs and drabs to get himself a decent bunk for the night.

Of course, not all of that cash was given to him by his adoring public but he'd never felt overly guilty about making use of his rather light fingers when the situation warrented it. And sometimes when it didn't.

The day being done and his money made, he picks up his travelsack and slings it over his shoulder. It should be galling, for him, living this life not out of choice but necessity. It certainly was, once, but he's grown accustomed. In some ways, it is that that galls, of all things. A rut he can't climb out of. Just another thing to ignore as he makes his way to the rooming-house that holds his bed for the night. He'll move on to another part of town the next day, wouldn't do to overstay his welcome.

Not unless he really felt like having an up close and personal chat with the Feds or something.

He pauses on the steps of the rooming house, mentally counting up his coin. He looks up at the building, then back down the street. He could stay in a cold, empty bed this night or...

...well, he's got enough for a girl, he might as well use it.




ooc: )
cunningas: (other: playing with fire)
[as requested by [livejournal.com profile] 21paths here.]

The creak of an old rocking chair. The smell of honeysuckle. Watching fireflies twinkle on the evening air.

Grant had been right. Port Gibson really was too beautiful to burn. For now..




He should have wanted to burn it to ash and cinder. He had, once. Wanted to.

But now as he looked upon his former home, there was only a sort of hollow ache where his rage had once been.




They'd asked for it. Idiot children, in their makeup and their costumes and playing their games. They'd asked for it and he should have given it to them. Exactly what they'd wished for. Teach them the lesson of being careful.

Instead, he taught them another lesson. Disillusionment.

He wasn't in the mood for granting wishes.




"Not even once?"

"Not even," he affirmed.

"Wow."

"Why wow?"

"I just always thought the giant butter Jesus to be just the sort of thing you'd get a kick out of burning."

"Actually, I've been considering adding a few giant pieces of toast with the Virgin Mary's face on them. And possibly syrup. Or jam."




There's an adorable little house on an adorable little street in an adorable little neighborhood in an adorable little town that Loki's never heard of.

Perhaps if he had, the urge would be there. But he hadn't. He's never even seen it.

No temptation, therefore.

But if he had seen it? That bitch'd go up in flames faster than London in 1666.
cunningas: (adrien: eff you!)
[as requested by [livejournal.com profile] rude_not_ginger here]

The scenery was quite beautiful. A bit desolate, perhaps, but no less lovely for it. Standing there on the windswept plain with nothing as far as the eye could see but this grass the faintest shade of violet -- tinged with cerulean undertones -- even Loki might admit a certain feeling of smallness.

If he'd been alone.

But there beside him stood the Doctor. Who was looking rather expectantly at him.

Loki just made a face. "Okay, maybe we did make a wrong turn at Albedis 9. But you like wandering into new places!"




The first thing someone might notice when the entered the kitchen was the small mountain of plastic wrappers piled on the counter.

But most people would probably first notice Loki cheerfully wiping a bit of cream away from another man's mouth with his thumb and then rather suggestively licking it off. "You're right," he commented, "the banana creme ones are pretty tasty."




There'd been a bit of a tussle, obviously. And the TARDIS certainly looked rather worse for wear because of it.

He'd only made an innocent little comment about catnip.

And possibly he'd waved some in front of the Doctor's nose.

All in good fun!

So maybe it was a little hard for Loki to sound completely sincere while the Doctor was sitting on him and twisting his arm. He might, actually, have been on the verge of laughter as he admitted, "you're right, you're right! It was a terrible thing of me to say!"




He'd never, actually, say it. Some things he just didn't say.

Then again, some things didn't need to be said. Were better left unsaid, anyroad.




"Say it."

"Why?"

"Because it's true!"

"That's supposed to convince me?"

"I have a sonic screwdriver and I'm not afraid to use it!"

".....sigh. Fine. You're right, you're right, I know you you're right. There. I said it. In singsong, even."

"What am I right about?"

"If you don't now, then you obviously aren'-"

"Loki!"

"....Can you hear my eyes rolling? Because they totally, totally are. And you're giving me that look again. Sonic screwdriver, not afraid, right...anyway. Yes, you're right, the Harry/Hermione ship has totally sailed. There. I said it. Happy? Hmph."
cunningas: (adrien: with some brunette chick)
[as requested by [livejournal.com profile] antigone_grace here]

Two pairs of eyes, one set blue and the other green, stared up at him imploringly. Big, adorable eyes glimmering with tears threatening to pour down chubby little cheeks at any moment. Those eyes would put any puppy dog to shame.

He didn't stand a chance.

Loki sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Vali, Narvi, Daddy wouldn't dream of eating the," tasty, succulent, "lamb."

"Or the dee!" one little voice piped up.

Sigh. "Or the deer."

Doomed. He was doomed. Why did he have kids again?




The problem, Loki decided, with seducing some of these New Age-y types of women was that you ended up eating a lot of strange things. And having to act like you enjoyed it.

He looked down at his plate and groaned inwardly. The tofu shaped like turkey was the worst. And a crime against nature, at that.




When he was young, Loki had wanted to try something new. Different. He'd tried going Vegetarian before the word had been invented.

He made it three days.

Well, two and a half.

Well, two.

Or so. Give or take. More or less.




Aesir could not survive by Twinkies and rum alone.

But he could certainly give it a shot.




For a time, Loki couldn't quite shake that habit of grazing after he bought Sleipnir to Asgard.

And the less said about the periodic urges to snort, whinny, and sleep standing up the better.
cunningas: (adrien: pleased)
As requested by [livejournal.com profile] kingcreevey here.

The first time had been wholly unplanned. He'd taken to wandering in Diagon Alley and his attention had been caught by a small boy with bright eyes and, at the time, rather disheveled hair. Truly, his attention had been caught by what the boy had been watching with those bright eyes of his. Pandemonium. Utter chaos right there in Flourish and Blotts. In fact, it looked like something had quite possibly exploded. And when the boy had started looking as very innocent as possible, that was when Loki had thought to himself here's one to keep an eye on.




[borrowing Dennis' AU!Companion!Verse with the Doctor]

The second time had been wholly unplanned as well. And it had actually been before the first. So it was the first for Loki but the second for Dennis. Which...

...well, it was every day a strange blue box appeared in Asgard bearing a man in a brown coat and a boy who asked several dozen questions a second and could quite possibly try even Sigyn's patience. Though she'd certainly quietened him down with a cake. And once more Loki'd thought, here's one that bears watching as he'd sat down across from the boy and introduced himself.




here there be a spoiler for Deathly Hallows )




When they meet again, Dennis has grown out of the small boy he'd once known. Quieter, perhaps, just a touch. But more in that you could see how much he was thinking about what he saw. Making connections. Loki, for his part was much the same as he'd always been. Always would be. Whichever.

Of course, he was also clutching some Dark artifact he'd felt it meet to *ahem* liberate from the Department of Mysteries. And with a cheeky grin and jaunty salute to Dennis, he disappeared, leaving the young Unspeakable to have to explain how that red-haired man had seemed to know him. And managed to disapparate away from a place with spells specifically in place to prevent just that.




Their encounter on the Knight Bus was entirely planned. By Loki. Who happily bounces aboard and settles down beside Dennis without so much as a by-your-leave. He might have also intimated something about stalking the poor boy.

Or he might have just made some inocuous comment about the weather in Bristol. It was hard to tell, sometimes, with him.

Unless, of course, you were Dennis.
cunningas: (leapfrog)
Claim a Loki and suggest a pairing if you wish and you will get a short ficlety thing of joy. As a Loki is claimed he will be crossed off the list.

Innocent!Loki - Comeuppance featuring Thor for [livejournal.com profile] rogersmith_bigo
Playful!Loki - Boys Just Wanna Have Fun for [livejournal.com profile] diminished_9th
Bored!Loki - Mommy, I'm Boooooored with Vale for [livejournal.com profile] facelorran
Chocolate!Loki - Best. Idea. Ever. for [livejournal.com profile] lady_karasu_24
Vodka!Loki - Sprite (with Hermes?) for [livejournal.com profile] msg_ina_bottle
Boggled!Loki - Loki Created teh Internetz! for [livejournal.com profile] g_shadowslayer
Snuggle!Loki - Vengeance is Loki's for [livejournal.com profile] _fredless
TipToe!Loki Who Stole the Cookies from the Cookie Jar? - for [livejournal.com profile] argentumlingua
Whiny!Loki - Whatever Loki Wants, Loki Gets for [livejournal.com profile] atia
StuckInBed!Loki and Cute!Loki - This Happens Way Too Often for [livejournal.com profile] antigone_grace
ChooseYourOwn!Loki
BeatenAtHisOwnGame!Loki - Loki-Ball - for [livejournal.com profile] on_holy_ground
ooohyummyears!Loki - Bliss is in the Ears - for [livejournal.com profile] harmonia_dotcom

Profile

cunningas: (Default)
Loki

December 2013

S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
29 3031    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 01:30 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios