#loki open

[firxinmys0ul-blog]

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[architectofmytorment]

      There was something he’d come to enjoy about the ritual of preparing tea, something that he did both as Gunnar and apparently, as Loki. His hair was free, raven locks so fine they might of been thin but in such an amount that the curtain of black was thick and lush as it brushed the lines of his collar bones.

      Loki was dressed comfortably in a loose, light weight cotton top, and a pair of slender fitting leather trousers, akin to what he wore back in Asgard. He leaned over the pot, having dispensed leaves into it and reached across the stove to retrieve the kettle. Steam wafted over his face, and he closed his eyes briefly, confident in his ability to pour the scalding liquid without burning himself.

      The tea steeped and he enjoyed the quiet. It would not last. He walked in this world and all he could bring was chaos. It was inevitable, and he was good at it. If they would not love him, they would fear him. The only ones he had loved had long turned their back on him for what he had done and what he would do, again and again, the never ending cycle.

      He took no milk or sugar, pouring the tea into a delicate china mug, and bringing it to his lips as he liquid burned them and scalded his tongue, leaning against the counter.