#nevergoodenoughforodin

Leave a “Drink Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about my character taking shots with yours.

        “It was a wicked and wiiiiiiild wind, blew down the doors to let me in…" Bruce sang, laying down on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Earlier, he’d decided to go to a bar with Loki, which had turned out to be a very, very bad idea. Loki had dared him to match every drink the god took and Bruce had momentarily forgotten how high Loki’s tolerance was.

                    Thus, very, very, bad idea.

        Presently, Loki was on the floor beneath the table, humming contentedly and occasionally sipping on vodka as Bruce sang to him.

        “… Just a puppet on a lonelyyyyyyyy string. Oh, who would ever wanna be king? … I hear Jerusalem bells are ringin’, Roman Ca’vvary choirs are singin’…”

       Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends. And Bruce still had no idea why he was singing that song or laying on a table. By the time they’d left the bar, Bruce was very, very tipsy and by the time he got home, Loki was supporting his full-on drunk ass.

       ”Never an honeeest—" He stopped suddenly, tapping his lower lip. "Loki?" A non-commital grunt sounded from beneath him. "You still love me drunk, right?"

       ”Yes, Bruce, I love you drunk.” And though Bruce couldn’t see it, he heard the smile on Loki’s lips.

Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

(screw you. I cried so hard I couldn’t edit this one and just moved on as quickly as possible.)

One last night. This was it, the one thing he never wanted to do, but had to. If he didn’t kill Loki, they would.

He felt sick. Bruce had done everything he could with Loki that entire week, showering him in all the love and affection that he felt for the god. But now… Now he didn’t have a choice.

Loki was asleep next to him, and rightly so. Bruce had put him through endless cycles of cuddling and wrestling and playfully flirting, and, most obviously, sex. But the scientist was awake, dreading the time. The clock on his nightstand changed from 12:59am to 1:00am and he heard the grandfather clock chiming the hour from the hallway. A single tear fell from his eye as he felt his body being taken over by someone— no, something— else. I’m so sorry, love, I’m so, so sorry. As though he were watching from the view of someone else, he saw his hands go out, nudging his lover to rouse him from sleep. Loki responded by rolling over, cuddling into him, and his hands nudged him more purposefully until Loki opened one eye.

"What do you want?" He mumbled, a mild irritation marking his features.

"Come outside with me." The words were soft, gentle, charming. The same tone one would use to lead a lamb to the slaughter. That was what he was doing, right? Killing his lamb.

"Why?" Loki questioned, now more awake and marked by confusion. His head raised from the pillow a bit as he looked up into Bruce’s eyes. "Are you okay?"

He felt his head bob up and down in a nod and then he was getting out of bed and putting a pair of pants on, motioning for Loki to follow. The trickster simply used magic to put on pants and then Bruce saw himself walking out of the room and leading Loki out the back.

And that was where he wished he could close his eyes.

Loki had been a few paces behind him, already so tired from earlier, and he watched as his form dashed away into the bushes. Then he was losing control and Bruce felt his heart breaking but he couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t look away from what was about to unfold. It was a nightmare, and one he’d never forget and never wake up from.

Loki finally appeared outside, looking around for Bruce. When the Hulk emerged, the fear in those emerald eyes was burned into his memory. In a quick movement, the Hulk reached out a large, green hand and grabbed Loki. “Bru—”

Crack.

Bruce screamed.

The screaming didn’t stop when Loki was thrown onto the broken stub of a branch, impaled onto the tree. He was still screaming when he gained control of his body again and he stopped himself, climbing the tree and bringing Loki’s body down as gently as he can. The god was laid out in the backyard and Bruce knew he was dead and that no magic could save him now. Oh, my lover, my soul, the heart that is mine…

So he did what any insane person would do and ripped his garden apart, gathering every flower and adorning Loki’s body with them until he couldn’t see the blood anymore. His tears were the dew that coated the petals and he didn’t go back inside, didn’t leave him. How could he? How could one go on when their heart had stopped beating. So he stayed. He stayed and sang to him and pressed kisses to Loki’s cold face, telling him how much he loved him and about his favourite memories, recounting their whole relationship until he passed out, lips pressed to the crook of his lover’s pale neck.

Leave a “Paint Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character drawing a picture of yours [like one of your french girls~ be it painting them or drawing them, maybe offering a picture of them as a gift, feel free to specify.]

        In general, no one really knew about his hidden talent. It was something obvious that no one ever really thought about — until Loki found his sketchbook and ran down the stairs, waving it in his hands. “Bruce! You never told me you drew!” He exclaimed, almost seeming mad, but also seeming too excited to really be mad.

        Bruce put down his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I can draw, sort of. I mean, I had to draw out stuff for Anatomy and I drew blueprints and orbital sketches later… Why? Do you need me to paint a mural?” He joked, not expecting Loki’s answer.

        In reply, Loki blushed a lovely shade of pink that caused Bruce to blush as well. “Actually… I wanted you to draw… Me,” he suggested, eyes dropping to the floor. With a sigh, Bruce reached forward and eased the sketchbook out of his hands, ducking a bit to catch Loki’s eyes. “I’m not very good, you know…” Loki reached forward and took the sketchbook back, turning to a certain page and offering it back to Bruce. He remembered this, remembered drawing the curve of Loki’s shoulder and part of his chest in detail right after Loki left the first time they were together. “This is me, I know it is. That’s my shoulder. You drew the scar I have there, this one,” he pointed out a little white line, over-exaggerated in the drawing. “That’s how I know it’s me.”

       ”Loki…” Bruce tried to argue and then didn’t, realizing he’d never win this game. “Okay, yeah, sure. Let me finish up here and then I’ll meet you in the library.” Loki smiled and then took the book with him as he left, humming Brahms’s Symphony No. 3 on the way out.

       3 hours later, Bruce made his way up to the library and was entirely surprised at Loki’s appearance. A dark red flush swam up his neck and to the tips of his ears, washing his face in a color that could rival Rudolph’s nose. He nearly dropped his pencils, but then regained his composure. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, right?

       Loki had left the sketchbook open to a blank page and Bruce took it up gingerly. “Ah, going for a specific angle or is anywhere fine?” The god’s bare shoulders raised and dropped in a shrug. “Whatever you think is best, doctor.” Bruce suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and paced in front of Loki a few times before pulling a chair up to the perfect spot. He started with a sketch of the settee that Loki was carefully draped over, setting his parameters before starting a basic outline of Loki’s body, placing in muscles and the shadows of his ribs before beginning in detail. His eyes were first, then the rest of his face and hair and then Bruce just drew as he went, eyes flicking between Loki’s body and the paper in front of him until he finished.

       ”Done,” he said with an air of finality, lips twitching in a hardly contained grin and Loki stood and walked over to look at the piece, not bothering to clothe himself. He handed the sketch to Loki and then quickly got up and exited the room, bursting into laughter once he was beyond the door.

       ”You ass!” He heard the muffled indignation and only laughed harder as he ran downstairs, hearing Loki’s footsteps scrambling after him. He found himself cornered and then tackled onto a couch by a still-naked Loki, all the while laughing — much to Loki’s chagrin. His laughter quieted into a giggle and when he looked up again, Loki had a tiny grin on his face. “You were supposed to draw what you saw and you mostly definitely did not see a blanket draped over my legs,” he chided, smacking Bruce in the arm lightly. “Told you I wasn’t any good,” Bruce countered, tilting his head a bit before leaning in a pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Besides, if you hadn’t been naked, it wouldn’t have been a problem.”

Flirty something (Not on the list. Genderbent Bruce and Loki cause I need it. Lady Loki is Lana and fem!Bruce is Brooke, in case you weren’t going to pick up on that.)

        Brooke had taken her day off as an opportunity to invite Lana over. The mystery museum girl that she’d run into again (nearly impossible in New York) at a candle shop had grown on her, in more than one way. Cafe’s were regular meeting places now and Brooke thought they had known each other long enough to have her come over.

              And she had said yes.

       So she lit candles and placed them everywhere, making the whole place smell like warm vanilla and then set out the tea, just in time for her to knock. Her stomach did a little flip of nervousness and she smoothed over her sweater, checking over her appearance before answering with a smile. “Hey, come in. It’s cold out there.”

       Lana entered with a smile of her own, eyes glancing around the place as she walked in. “Wow, Brooke. This is absolutely great. I love your house,” she commented, shedding her coat. Brooke took the coat and hung it up before leading her into the living room. “I made tea, if that’s okay, and, uh, yeah… How was your day?”

       Such a stiff beginning to conversation, but Lana took it well. Words couldn’t describe how interested she was in the woman in front of her, and how glad she was that things went so well. Tea was had, books were discussed, laughs were shared. Perfect. And slightly cliche, but still excellent.

       They ended up on the couch together, on opposite sides with separate blankets over their legs, talking about nothing in particular, when she felt the other’s socked foot nudge against hers. With all intent of moving her feet away, Brooke accidentally rubbed the bottom of Lana’s foot with hers, causing the other woman to giggle and pull her feet away quickly.

       An awkward moment passed between them where they just stared at each other, faces flushed pink, until Brooke leaned forward. “You’re… Ticklish?” And then she pounced on the other woman, fingers wiggling against her sides, her neck, anywhere that made her squirm and giggle. Lana tried to fight her off before counter-attacking, her slender fingers jabbing against Brooke’s own ribs until both of them were laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.

       ”Truce!” Lana shouted and Brooke stopped, still on top of her. Their legs were something of a tangled mess and Brooke blushed as she realized her thigh was settled right between Lana’s legs. Both of them were breathing hard and staring at each other, unsure of what to do. Lana broke eye contact first and Brooke took the opportunity to lean in a bit, catching her eye again.