[ prophecies were just another form of manipulation. telling someone that they should be doing something will ensure two outcomes: that they don't do it, or that they piece together enough to follow. he hated them, not as much as he hated fate, but close enough to cause a little boil of his belly in response.

with a dramatic sigh, he takes her hand, making a show of peeking under the bandages before he casually unravels it to expose the burn beneath. ]

Maybe. [ Loki tips his head, thoughtful. ] It's always in the back of your mind, isn't it? Like someone's forcing you one way or another.

[ his fingers are long, like his limbs. he's all smooth edges and hidden curves. his fingers are neither calloused nor soft, but deft and thoughtful, like they're reading the creases and crevices that they find. sliding between her palm and her fingers, his thumb pushes up so he can take a casual look at the burn, curious, like he's placing a memory.

there was something he always wanted to ask her. ]

What do you want?