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: 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


cunningas: (Default)

December 2013

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