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Venus
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therapy
A @Venus & @beetlemoth Collaboration
Featuring Freya & Xolotl
Featuring Freya & Xolotl
As soon as Freya had received Xolotl’s text message invitation to meet up, she knew what to expect and where the rest of her night would go. Sure: by running off with a guy, she was basically proving her friends’ point of being an eternal booty call. But what they didn’t know was that things between the Norse goddess and the Aztec god were different. There was a friendship involved-- one based on the first-hand knowledge of the feeling of loneliness, the yearning for long-lost lovers, secrets kept for centuries and a lifetime of appearances needing to be upheld in order to maintain a certain status or image. If there was someone else (other than the Roman god Pluto) that Freya cherished beyond measure, it was Xolotl.
Once she was safely nestled inside her SUV, the young woman tapped her phone screen a few times and placed a call to Xolotl. "Before I say yes or no to your proposal: do you plan on kicking me out tomorrow morning after tossing me some McDonald’s money on the kitchen counter for breakfast like a meth head you picked up at a bus stop?" she asked him, her voice bristling as she was clearly still peeved about Odin's actions that morning. Although she knew this wouldn’t be the case, she still needed to be certain beyond belief. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of her last meeting.
“Freya… Have I ever been the type?” Xolotl’s voice is droll, though not offended, and he arches a quizzical eyebrow even if Freya is not there to see it. Taking another sip of his wine, he watches the reflection in the glass pane before him, at his colleagues’ merrymaking. A few of them had started talking about going to a bar downtown, and he’d excused himself for the moment to take this call. “Stay however long you’d like.” I don’t care, he nearly says. “Where are you right now?”
Atta boy! the beaming beauty couldn’t help but call out in her head. In the many times she and Xolotl had been together, he had been nothing short of a gentleman-- a trait the Norse goddess had realized was rare for the gods. It was a welcome (and much needed) change of pace considering the morning’s mishap.
“I’m at the Jade Jaguar parking lot. I just finished having some drinks with Eros and Tlaz, but they’ve got other shit to do, so I’ll be free for the rest of the night,” the brunette answered, pulling down the sun visor to carefully inspect her reflection in the mirror. “Where do you want to meet up?”
Xolotl makes a humming noise when the Jade Jaguar is mentioned. He’s been there his fair share, mostly to catch up with his sister, sometimes to entertain clients, but he’s never really been interested in its services himself. Still, the liquor was good, and he appreciated Tlaz’s ability to run a business the way she does.
“Let’s see…” He trails off for a moment, turning his wrist around to glance down at the timepiece there: 9:37 P.M. Still early, then. No need to rush things. “How about that place downtown, the Amaranthine? It’s quiet, upscale —– I think we could use some of that, don’t you?”
“Ugh, fucking tell me about it!” she whined, thinking about the negative headspace she had found herself in. Quiet, upscale and quality time in Xolo's company was definitely something that could help boost her spirits. "Anyway, The Amaranthine sounds perfect! I'll see you soon, okay?"
At Freya’s response, Xolotl allows a faint smile to grace his lips. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
It doesn’t take long at all for Xolotl to get to the Amaranthine. The hard part was convincing his coworkers to go on celebrating without him. His car, a powerful yet understated Audi RS7, glides smoothly along the asphalt, easily maneuvering through evening traffic until finally making a right into a subterranean parking garage.
He stays in the car for a few more moments after shutting off the engine, feeling the rumble beneath the wheel, under his fingers, die down. When he finally does step out of the vehicle, the door shuts behind him with a muffled thump, and he starts making his way to the adjoining lift lobby. The heels of his Oxfords click softly with every step he takes, the only sound in the garage apart from the distant screech of tires and buzzing fluorescent lights.
All of that is completely silenced when he steps into the elevator, the doors sliding soundlessly closed after he presses the button for the fiftieth floor. Left alone with his thoughts, it’s all Xolotl can do to not try and question the wisdom of his decisions.
Was it a good idea, meeting Freya like this? It’s been some time since their last encounter, and yet, his memories of that time have yet to fade. Not the conversations between them, soft and low. Or the electric touch of Freya’s fingers against his skin. Truth be told, he doesn’t quite know how he’d ended up tangled up in this mess in the first place, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before the elevator reaches its destination.
The Amaranthine is located at the very top of the Marriott, overlooking much of the city and offering a scenic view of the iconic Space Needle. The place is dimly lit, though not uncomfortably so, with a large, glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling like a constellation. Everything else is equally as lavish —– plush armchairs, gilded flatware, and tables spaced far enough apart to ensure the patrons’ discussions remain private. It’s a popular haunt amongst the white-collar demographic of Seattle, catering to a variety of business meetings and other such liaisons.
Xolotl isn’t here for that, though, even if he does have a terrible habit of letting work encroach on his personal time.
No, he needed to relax, to let loose, somehow. And through some strange sequence of events, Freya had slowly become one of the only people he trusted to witness this other side of him, the side he usually kept hidden away like it’s something to be ashamed of.
Xolotl doesn’t falter, simply drawing in a bracing breath before making his way to the bar.
“What can I get you, sir?”
He takes a moment to consider. “Mezcal. On the rocks.”
The bartender nods and begins to prepare his drink. Unconsciously, Xolotl smooths a hand over the countertop — Calacatta marble, some part of his brain supplies — and his fingers start to drum a steady rhythm against its surface.
He didn’t have to wait long, though. By the time he was halfway through his drink, the long-haired brunette he’d been expecting was making her arrival to The Amaranthine.
One of the benefits of being a single woman with an active, unpredictable social life and no small children was that the spacious black Navigator Freya drove around doubled as a mobile dressing room whenever needed. The trunk and back seat held a selection of outfits for every occasion, ranging from sweats, hoodies and sneakers to evening gowns with matching Louboutines. Upon receiving Xolotl’s invitation to The Amaranthine, the young woman knew her current choice of wardrobe wouldn’t cut it, so she’d been quick in disposing of the slutty school girl outfit in favor of a long-sleeved, form fitting white mini dress with matching beige thigh-high boots. Appropriate enough for the upscale setting, but sexy enough to showcase her best attributes.
With that flirtatious smile in place, Freya made a beeline straight to where Xolotl was waiting for her. “Hey there, Hot Shot,” she greeted him as soon as she was within earshot, wrapping her arms around him for a brief hug and planting a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a seat on the empty booth next to him. “Long time no see, don’t you think? I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me. Work keeping you busy?”
Xolotl isn’t quite taken aback by the kiss — after all, there’s only one person he was expecting, and such an affectionate greeting was part and parcel of sharing an acquaintance with somebody like Freya — but he still finds himself tensing up a little, almost unwittingly. It’s familiar, somehow, yet unmistakably different, dredging up old memories like driftwood on the tide.
He can’t dwell on it for long, though, knows as well as anyone that the past is dangerous territory. So instead, he wills himself to set it aside, at least for the moment, and schools his features into something resembling amusement.
“I guess you could say that.” Xolotl doesn’t offer much by way of explanation, just lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He has been busy. Working. Thinking. Hephaestus’ death still weighed heavily on his mind, a constant reminder of the oppressive influence of the Colossus. But he doesn’t want to talk about that right now. Not with Freya, anyway. Even if the Norse goddess already knew about what happened, this was neither the time nor place.
He clears his throat, then, motions one of the servers over to take Freya’s order, whatever it may be. Xolotl only begins to speak once the two of them are alone again, voice low and steady. “You look good. How have you been?”
That observation made the young woman snort with disbelief. It was obvious that Xolotl wasn’t in a talkative mood, but his attempt at steering the conversation to her was comical. “Well, shit. If you still think I look good even when I’ve been poppin’ xanny bars like TicTacs all day, then I guess I really am a goddess of beauty after all,” she snorted, taking a sip of her cosmopolitan. “Which, by the way, should be enough for you to imagine just how excellent I’ve been doing today.”
“Well, excuse me for wanting a civil conversation.” Xolotl heaves out a laborious sigh, but it’s clear from the smile on his lips that any aggravation is purely for show. When Freya takes a sip of her drink, he mirrors her action after a second’s delay, bringing his own glass up to his lips. The mezcal tastes like smoke on his tongue and burns on the way down, a grounding sensation that reminds him of what they’re really here for.
Like a switch that’s been flipped, he suddenly grows serious. His gaze is steady, unwavering, though the ghost of a smile remains. “Really, though. If there’s something wrong, I’d like to hear about it.”
Instead of answering right away, Freya couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. After knowing each other for so long, the brunette knew she could be open and honest with Xolotl about anything that bothered her-- no matter how big or small. Anything she expressed to him would be received with no judgement, and the best attempts at guidance and comfort would be made. But when you spent your life putting up the façade of a carefree party girl, it was hard to open up even to those you trusted.
“It’s more of the same, really…” she began, shifting her eyes to the city skyline visible through the nearest window so Xolotl couldn’t see the regret in them. That made it easier for the story to flow out of Freya’s mouth like the rush of a river. “Odin texted me late last night, and instead of telling him to go fuck himself I dropped what I was doing to go over to his place, only to have him kick me out the next morning because ‘he had other things to focus on’,” she scoffed with distaste while shaking her head, feeling angry again just thinking about the incident. “And, I mean, I get that it’s my own fault for taking the bait in the first place. And, sure: I might have overreacted when I made a little scene before I left his place. But I was just so pissed, you know? I was upset that he treated me like I was this fleeting toy thing that he could just use up and toss away whenever he felt like it. As if being the mother of his favorite fucking child didn’t mean a thing anymore.”
Xolotl doesn’t say a word, but simply listens, rolling the deliciously cool glass between his fingers. The movement itself is smooth, well-practiced, an old habit he finds himself returning to every time he’s faced with a dilemma.
On the surface, Freya’s problems were vastly different from his own, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood. She spoke of resentment, of feeling unwanted, both of which he’d experienced at one point or another in his long, execrated existence.
Xolotl, god of lightning, sickness, and misfortune. He’d paid the price for his cowardice, and it still wasn’t enough to shake off the guilt that followed him everywhere he went. Always hungry. Always baring its teeth in a snarl.
A mangy stray snapping at his heels.
He tears himself out of his introspection with a cough.
“I can see why you’d be upset.” It’s a neutral response, broad and almost infuriating in its vagueness, but Xolotl wasn’t quite done yet. Of course, he didn’t know Odin personally — much of his business was conducted outside his sphere of influence, and he always worked to steer clear of any conflict both in and out of his pantheon — but the way Freya described his treatment of her was enough to stir up a twinge of annoyance within him, a sense of… displeasure.
“He doesn’t have any business acting that way.” Like a spoiled child, he wants to say, but doesn’t. His disdain for the Allfather was already evident in the way he spoke, how the syllables rolled off his tongue. And when he does begin to talk again, Xolotl leans forward a little in his seat, head inclined in an inquisitive gesture. “But if he wants to, why indulge him? You have better things to do, don’t you?”
"I just felt lonely. Like, really, really lonely. I thought seeing someone would help with that-- even if it was him," Freya admitted, rolling her eyes at how pathetic she sounded. But it was true, and there was no point in trying to hide or deny it. Pouting, she turned her sad eyes to Xolotl again. "I hate coming home to an empty house and a cold bed. It makes me feel so unwanted. So… Unloved. Like I always give out my everything when I really fall for someone, but end up getting absolutely nothing that matters in return. As pathetic as it sounds, there’s an empty space in my chest that’s starting to eat me alive, and I don't know how else to numb the pain of it."
His brow furrows at Freya’s admission. In all their years of acquaintance, Xolotl has never seen the Norse goddess this vulnerable, so achingly sincere, and to be honest, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
“I wish I knew what to tell you,” is all he can think of to say, but his mind continues to work, searching for something he can offer to Freya as a form of advice. To make up for the lull in conversation, he takes another sip of his drink, savouring it instead of finishing it all at once. Was this his way of stalling for time? Possibly. But Xolotl has always found it prudent to think before he speaks.
“Look, Freya. I’m no good at this, so… take it with a grain of salt.” It’s probably not a good sign, starting off with a disclaimer like this, but he powers through before doubt gets the better of him. The warm buzz steadily making its way through his system does its work lowering his inhibitions, thawing the cold, dispassionate facade he’d built his name upon. “I just don’t think you should be this concerned with being alone. And you’re not alone. You have people you trust, people who understand you.”
It’s what he tells himself, too, when the nights grow lonely and the days are long. And if Xolotl ignores the longing, the rose-tinted haze of the past, he can almost bring himself to believe it. But now, he just reaches for Freya’s hand, lacing her fingers with his own.
“You are worth something, you know? More than you believe.”
Xolotl's comforting words, along with his gentle touch and his mere presence, had been a soothing balsam for Freya's aching heart. As aware as she was of her self-worth (too aware, some might say) and the existence of people who cared for her, it was always greatly appreciated to have a verbal confirmation come from a cherished individual such as the Aztec god. When the doubts and negativity tried to drown her mercilessly, it was easy to lose sight and perspective of the things and beings who really mattered. And it was in moments like these when Freya was eternally grateful to have people like Xolotl be the lifeboat to bring her back to the safety of the shore.
"Thank you, love. And I hope you know that so are you," she answered, downing the rest of her drink before setting the empty glass atop the bar to focus her complete attention onto the man in front of her. "You don't have to say it for me to know that, sometimes, you feel just as lonely as I do. But you're not, okay?" the girl said, gently cupping his cheek with her free hand before continuing. "Just know that if you ever need anything, I'll be here for you. Be it as friends or lovers, for a listening ear, a drink, or a good fuck, and no matter the time or place. Always."
Would she really? Xolotl found that hard to believe, or maybe he didn’t want to. He’s never liked having to depend on others, to have to hinge his hopes on the whims and inclinations of someone else. Too many moving parts. Uncertainties. Xolotl was a man who valued control, and maybe that’s why he’s better off alone. He knows that. And yet, he had been the one to contact Freya, hadn’t he? He had been the one to pick up his phone and bring the both of them here. What did that say about him, then?
A soft hand against his cheek stops the roiling maelstrom of his thoughts dead in its tracks.
For a long moment, he doesn’t draw back or move closer, just stops, like he’s unsure of what to do. There’s a strange flicker in his eyes, something dark and almost… confused. And then, he’s surging ahead, pressing his lips to Freya’s own in a heated kiss, who was kissing him back with the same amount of passion and intensity. He tastes the vodka on her lips, mingled with the smoky edge of mezcal. A hand comes up to rest against Freya’s face, like he’s trying to pull her closer, but he breaks the connection before long, jaw set in a rigid line.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t sound very apologetic at all. Xolotl shakes his head after a moment, breathing out a humorless huff of laughter. “You don’t have to worry about me, Fre. I get by just fine.”
“Bullshit,” came Freya’s fast reply-- her tone a little bit brasher than she'd intended, but she knew that it had proven to be one of the most effective ways to get through to her friend. “No one can do this alone. We all like to pretend that we can, but the reality of the situation is that not even the strongest can survive on their own. Now, the way I see it, is you have two options here, Hot Shot. One: you can cut the bullshit, stop lying to me and yourself, and we can go back to the room I'm almost certain you booked for us, to indulge in that therapy that will make us feel a hell of a lot less lonely. Or two: you can keep up the Superman charade, and we can both go home alone to spend another pathetic night wallowing in our own self misery. So, darling: what's it going to be?" she asked him, raising a questioning, defiant eyebrow in his direction.
Silently, Xolotl stares at Freya, thoughtful, as if he’s weighing his options. He could say no, that he’s not in the mood, and it would be true. He doesn’t know if he wants this, but at the same time, he doesn’t not want it either.
It’s… exasperating.
“You’re mouthy.” He says it in a way that’s more amused, more matter-of-fact than chiding. And somewhere deep within him, his sense of pride resents that. He hates how Freya believes she knows everything about him, hates how she’s right. Their relationship was one built on the back of mutual trust and shared desire for intimacy, though it came with one unsaid agreement: there would be no strings attached.
A wicked smile lit up the Norse goddess' features at Xolotl's observation. "I know," she smugly declared with a small shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Most women would be offended by that statement: even if the tone of voice suggested that no negative connotation was meant in the first place. But, of course, Freya wasn't like most women. She was anything but ordinary. "And if you let me, I'll remind you of just how mouthy I can really be."
Sighing, he leans back in his seat, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth gulp before turning back to Freya.
“Well, you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t have a suite booked for tonight.” At this, Xolotl offers Freya a derisory smirk, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “How about I take you home, and we just… see how things go?”
Excellent.
With that flirtatious smile still in place, Freya slid off her stool, placed her hands on Xolotl's thighs and seductively leaned forward. "Sounds like a plan," the brunette whispered in his ear before shifting her attention to his mouth. She let her warm breath tease the man before taking his lower lip between her teeth and gently nibbling it in that way she knew drove him to sin.
Xolotl can hardly resist rolling his eyes at Freya’s antics, but allows her to do as she pleases, shifting a little in his seat to give her more space to maneuver. It seemed to him that even after all these years, the Norse goddess — with all her sultry looks and honeyed words — hadn’t changed one bit.
“Freya…” he murmurs against her lips, and at the scrape of teeth, feels a bolt of molten heat shoot up his spine. All the while a part of him wonders: how did he end up here, in the middle of a busy bar, kissing Freya? As if on a tether, he pulls away suddenly, placing a firm hand on the side of Freya’s neck to still her movements, and looks her straight in the eye.
“Not here.” His words are quiet but clear, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. The hand he has on Freya’s neck shifts, moving to take her by the chin instead. For a moment, Xolotl is silent, dark and heavy-lidded eyes studying every inch of the goddess’ face, like he’s waiting for a reaction.
Just as she was skilled in the ways to provoke Xolotl, so was the Aztec god with the Norse goddess. There was nothing Freya loved more than a dominating man: one that could turn her into a puddle with a simple look. Xolotl knew this. His firm grasp on the side of her neck, along with that authoritarian voice and those piercing dark eyes, were enough to send goosebumps down the young woman’s sunkissed skin. Lust immediately clouded her hazel eyes, and her craving for him multiplied-- no doubt with a little persuasion from the drinks she’d partaken in earlier). Whatever the case, it was obvious that Freya, in all of her submissive glory, would do as she was told in order to get what she so desperately wanted.
“Wait for me at the elevators. I’m gonna pay for our drinks.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. With a satisfied smirk and a playful wink, Freya pulled away from Xolotl and strutted away in the direction of the elevators.
Xolotl keeps a watchful eye on Freya’s retreating figure, waits until she’s halfway across the floor to summon a server with the universal gesture for “check, please.” He takes only a cursory look at the tab before passing his credit card to the server along with a ten dollar bill that they pocket with practiced efficiency and a grateful nod.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be right back with your card.”
As promised, the server doesn’t take long to return, and Xolotl finds his way to Freya soon after. When he approaches, he touches a hand to her lower back, though he only allows it to linger there for a moment before drawing away to call the elevator.
“You ready to go?”
Freya eagerly nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered in her politest, most innocent tone of voice before stepping into the luxurious hotel elevator and closing the doors behind them once her companion had entered.
It’s only a short drive to Xolotl’s place: a sleek, modern building of steel and glass. It’s late enough that the corridors are empty, elevators vacant, and they’re able to make it to his front door without any strange looks.
Xolotl easily finds his keys in his pockets, unlocking the door and allowing Freya to enter first. “After you.”
The apartment is furnished exactly as you’d expect it to be — all hard angles and muted grays — like something out of a catalogue. But there are a few touches here and there that make it clear exactly who the apartment belongs to. The faint, smoky aroma of incense in the air. The rug on the floor, woven in dizzyingly intricate patterns. And the shining disc of copper on the living room wall, ancient and etched with the shape of a man with the head of a bird.
As someone who had visited this particular apartment more than a fair few times, Freya knew exactly what to do and where everything was. After carefully placing her Chanel handbag on top of the kitchen countertop, the brunette took stealthy steps in the direction of Xolotl’s back. And when he finally turned around, she wasted no time in grabbing him by his tie and pulling him into the nearest corner, pinning her body against the wall with his and locking her lust-filled hazel eyes with his own again.
"Is this private enough for you?” she purred, lightly grazing his lips with her own as she spoke. The anticipation was building up, and the sexual tension between them grew thick. It would be Xolotl’s next move that would define the direction of the rest of this night.
Xolotl doesn’t stop Freya when she moves for him, humming out a quiet noise of agreement. If he were not willing, he would have stopped her right then and there. If he were not willing, he would not have let her pin herself with his body against the wall so easily. But he was, and now, with her back flush against the cool, hard surface of the wall and Freya’s hot breath on his lips, Xolotl can hardly stop himself from running his hands over every inch of her skin.
It was still too soon for that, though, too soon; and Xolotl wasn’t the type to rush things.
They had the entire night, after all.
As a concession, he reaches up to brush a hand against the underside of Freya’s arm, fingers ghosting over the surface of her skin in a featherlight touch.
“Better. I don’t like people staring.” Xolotl’s voice has dropped an octave now, low with a hidden, dangerous edge. His hands slip lower as well, coming to rest against Freya’s hips. “This is between you and me, Freya.”
Then, Xolotl closes what little distance remains between them, claiming the goddess’ mouth in a deep, languid kiss, and little by little, begins to trail off to the side. First to the corner of her lips, the edge of her jaw, and finally the soft, golden expanse of her delicate neck. When he draws his lips across her skin, he feels the steady rhythm of her pulse thrumming just beneath the surface.
“Only you and me.”
Once she was safely nestled inside her SUV, the young woman tapped her phone screen a few times and placed a call to Xolotl. "Before I say yes or no to your proposal: do you plan on kicking me out tomorrow morning after tossing me some McDonald’s money on the kitchen counter for breakfast like a meth head you picked up at a bus stop?" she asked him, her voice bristling as she was clearly still peeved about Odin's actions that morning. Although she knew this wouldn’t be the case, she still needed to be certain beyond belief. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of her last meeting.
“Freya… Have I ever been the type?” Xolotl’s voice is droll, though not offended, and he arches a quizzical eyebrow even if Freya is not there to see it. Taking another sip of his wine, he watches the reflection in the glass pane before him, at his colleagues’ merrymaking. A few of them had started talking about going to a bar downtown, and he’d excused himself for the moment to take this call. “Stay however long you’d like.” I don’t care, he nearly says. “Where are you right now?”
Atta boy! the beaming beauty couldn’t help but call out in her head. In the many times she and Xolotl had been together, he had been nothing short of a gentleman-- a trait the Norse goddess had realized was rare for the gods. It was a welcome (and much needed) change of pace considering the morning’s mishap.
“I’m at the Jade Jaguar parking lot. I just finished having some drinks with Eros and Tlaz, but they’ve got other shit to do, so I’ll be free for the rest of the night,” the brunette answered, pulling down the sun visor to carefully inspect her reflection in the mirror. “Where do you want to meet up?”
Xolotl makes a humming noise when the Jade Jaguar is mentioned. He’s been there his fair share, mostly to catch up with his sister, sometimes to entertain clients, but he’s never really been interested in its services himself. Still, the liquor was good, and he appreciated Tlaz’s ability to run a business the way she does.
“Let’s see…” He trails off for a moment, turning his wrist around to glance down at the timepiece there: 9:37 P.M. Still early, then. No need to rush things. “How about that place downtown, the Amaranthine? It’s quiet, upscale —– I think we could use some of that, don’t you?”
“Ugh, fucking tell me about it!” she whined, thinking about the negative headspace she had found herself in. Quiet, upscale and quality time in Xolo's company was definitely something that could help boost her spirits. "Anyway, The Amaranthine sounds perfect! I'll see you soon, okay?"
At Freya’s response, Xolotl allows a faint smile to grace his lips. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
It doesn’t take long at all for Xolotl to get to the Amaranthine. The hard part was convincing his coworkers to go on celebrating without him. His car, a powerful yet understated Audi RS7, glides smoothly along the asphalt, easily maneuvering through evening traffic until finally making a right into a subterranean parking garage.
He stays in the car for a few more moments after shutting off the engine, feeling the rumble beneath the wheel, under his fingers, die down. When he finally does step out of the vehicle, the door shuts behind him with a muffled thump, and he starts making his way to the adjoining lift lobby. The heels of his Oxfords click softly with every step he takes, the only sound in the garage apart from the distant screech of tires and buzzing fluorescent lights.
All of that is completely silenced when he steps into the elevator, the doors sliding soundlessly closed after he presses the button for the fiftieth floor. Left alone with his thoughts, it’s all Xolotl can do to not try and question the wisdom of his decisions.
Was it a good idea, meeting Freya like this? It’s been some time since their last encounter, and yet, his memories of that time have yet to fade. Not the conversations between them, soft and low. Or the electric touch of Freya’s fingers against his skin. Truth be told, he doesn’t quite know how he’d ended up tangled up in this mess in the first place, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before the elevator reaches its destination.
The Amaranthine is located at the very top of the Marriott, overlooking much of the city and offering a scenic view of the iconic Space Needle. The place is dimly lit, though not uncomfortably so, with a large, glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling like a constellation. Everything else is equally as lavish —– plush armchairs, gilded flatware, and tables spaced far enough apart to ensure the patrons’ discussions remain private. It’s a popular haunt amongst the white-collar demographic of Seattle, catering to a variety of business meetings and other such liaisons.
Xolotl isn’t here for that, though, even if he does have a terrible habit of letting work encroach on his personal time.
No, he needed to relax, to let loose, somehow. And through some strange sequence of events, Freya had slowly become one of the only people he trusted to witness this other side of him, the side he usually kept hidden away like it’s something to be ashamed of.
Xolotl doesn’t falter, simply drawing in a bracing breath before making his way to the bar.
“What can I get you, sir?”
He takes a moment to consider. “Mezcal. On the rocks.”
The bartender nods and begins to prepare his drink. Unconsciously, Xolotl smooths a hand over the countertop — Calacatta marble, some part of his brain supplies — and his fingers start to drum a steady rhythm against its surface.
He didn’t have to wait long, though. By the time he was halfway through his drink, the long-haired brunette he’d been expecting was making her arrival to The Amaranthine.
One of the benefits of being a single woman with an active, unpredictable social life and no small children was that the spacious black Navigator Freya drove around doubled as a mobile dressing room whenever needed. The trunk and back seat held a selection of outfits for every occasion, ranging from sweats, hoodies and sneakers to evening gowns with matching Louboutines. Upon receiving Xolotl’s invitation to The Amaranthine, the young woman knew her current choice of wardrobe wouldn’t cut it, so she’d been quick in disposing of the slutty school girl outfit in favor of a long-sleeved, form fitting white mini dress with matching beige thigh-high boots. Appropriate enough for the upscale setting, but sexy enough to showcase her best attributes.
With that flirtatious smile in place, Freya made a beeline straight to where Xolotl was waiting for her. “Hey there, Hot Shot,” she greeted him as soon as she was within earshot, wrapping her arms around him for a brief hug and planting a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a seat on the empty booth next to him. “Long time no see, don’t you think? I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me. Work keeping you busy?”
Xolotl isn’t quite taken aback by the kiss — after all, there’s only one person he was expecting, and such an affectionate greeting was part and parcel of sharing an acquaintance with somebody like Freya — but he still finds himself tensing up a little, almost unwittingly. It’s familiar, somehow, yet unmistakably different, dredging up old memories like driftwood on the tide.
He can’t dwell on it for long, though, knows as well as anyone that the past is dangerous territory. So instead, he wills himself to set it aside, at least for the moment, and schools his features into something resembling amusement.
“I guess you could say that.” Xolotl doesn’t offer much by way of explanation, just lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He has been busy. Working. Thinking. Hephaestus’ death still weighed heavily on his mind, a constant reminder of the oppressive influence of the Colossus. But he doesn’t want to talk about that right now. Not with Freya, anyway. Even if the Norse goddess already knew about what happened, this was neither the time nor place.
He clears his throat, then, motions one of the servers over to take Freya’s order, whatever it may be. Xolotl only begins to speak once the two of them are alone again, voice low and steady. “You look good. How have you been?”
That observation made the young woman snort with disbelief. It was obvious that Xolotl wasn’t in a talkative mood, but his attempt at steering the conversation to her was comical. “Well, shit. If you still think I look good even when I’ve been poppin’ xanny bars like TicTacs all day, then I guess I really am a goddess of beauty after all,” she snorted, taking a sip of her cosmopolitan. “Which, by the way, should be enough for you to imagine just how excellent I’ve been doing today.”
“Well, excuse me for wanting a civil conversation.” Xolotl heaves out a laborious sigh, but it’s clear from the smile on his lips that any aggravation is purely for show. When Freya takes a sip of her drink, he mirrors her action after a second’s delay, bringing his own glass up to his lips. The mezcal tastes like smoke on his tongue and burns on the way down, a grounding sensation that reminds him of what they’re really here for.
Like a switch that’s been flipped, he suddenly grows serious. His gaze is steady, unwavering, though the ghost of a smile remains. “Really, though. If there’s something wrong, I’d like to hear about it.”
Instead of answering right away, Freya couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. After knowing each other for so long, the brunette knew she could be open and honest with Xolotl about anything that bothered her-- no matter how big or small. Anything she expressed to him would be received with no judgement, and the best attempts at guidance and comfort would be made. But when you spent your life putting up the façade of a carefree party girl, it was hard to open up even to those you trusted.
“It’s more of the same, really…” she began, shifting her eyes to the city skyline visible through the nearest window so Xolotl couldn’t see the regret in them. That made it easier for the story to flow out of Freya’s mouth like the rush of a river. “Odin texted me late last night, and instead of telling him to go fuck himself I dropped what I was doing to go over to his place, only to have him kick me out the next morning because ‘he had other things to focus on’,” she scoffed with distaste while shaking her head, feeling angry again just thinking about the incident. “And, I mean, I get that it’s my own fault for taking the bait in the first place. And, sure: I might have overreacted when I made a little scene before I left his place. But I was just so pissed, you know? I was upset that he treated me like I was this fleeting toy thing that he could just use up and toss away whenever he felt like it. As if being the mother of his favorite fucking child didn’t mean a thing anymore.”
Xolotl doesn’t say a word, but simply listens, rolling the deliciously cool glass between his fingers. The movement itself is smooth, well-practiced, an old habit he finds himself returning to every time he’s faced with a dilemma.
On the surface, Freya’s problems were vastly different from his own, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood. She spoke of resentment, of feeling unwanted, both of which he’d experienced at one point or another in his long, execrated existence.
Xolotl, god of lightning, sickness, and misfortune. He’d paid the price for his cowardice, and it still wasn’t enough to shake off the guilt that followed him everywhere he went. Always hungry. Always baring its teeth in a snarl.
A mangy stray snapping at his heels.
He tears himself out of his introspection with a cough.
“I can see why you’d be upset.” It’s a neutral response, broad and almost infuriating in its vagueness, but Xolotl wasn’t quite done yet. Of course, he didn’t know Odin personally — much of his business was conducted outside his sphere of influence, and he always worked to steer clear of any conflict both in and out of his pantheon — but the way Freya described his treatment of her was enough to stir up a twinge of annoyance within him, a sense of… displeasure.
“He doesn’t have any business acting that way.” Like a spoiled child, he wants to say, but doesn’t. His disdain for the Allfather was already evident in the way he spoke, how the syllables rolled off his tongue. And when he does begin to talk again, Xolotl leans forward a little in his seat, head inclined in an inquisitive gesture. “But if he wants to, why indulge him? You have better things to do, don’t you?”
"I just felt lonely. Like, really, really lonely. I thought seeing someone would help with that-- even if it was him," Freya admitted, rolling her eyes at how pathetic she sounded. But it was true, and there was no point in trying to hide or deny it. Pouting, she turned her sad eyes to Xolotl again. "I hate coming home to an empty house and a cold bed. It makes me feel so unwanted. So… Unloved. Like I always give out my everything when I really fall for someone, but end up getting absolutely nothing that matters in return. As pathetic as it sounds, there’s an empty space in my chest that’s starting to eat me alive, and I don't know how else to numb the pain of it."
His brow furrows at Freya’s admission. In all their years of acquaintance, Xolotl has never seen the Norse goddess this vulnerable, so achingly sincere, and to be honest, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
“I wish I knew what to tell you,” is all he can think of to say, but his mind continues to work, searching for something he can offer to Freya as a form of advice. To make up for the lull in conversation, he takes another sip of his drink, savouring it instead of finishing it all at once. Was this his way of stalling for time? Possibly. But Xolotl has always found it prudent to think before he speaks.
“Look, Freya. I’m no good at this, so… take it with a grain of salt.” It’s probably not a good sign, starting off with a disclaimer like this, but he powers through before doubt gets the better of him. The warm buzz steadily making its way through his system does its work lowering his inhibitions, thawing the cold, dispassionate facade he’d built his name upon. “I just don’t think you should be this concerned with being alone. And you’re not alone. You have people you trust, people who understand you.”
It’s what he tells himself, too, when the nights grow lonely and the days are long. And if Xolotl ignores the longing, the rose-tinted haze of the past, he can almost bring himself to believe it. But now, he just reaches for Freya’s hand, lacing her fingers with his own.
“You are worth something, you know? More than you believe.”
Xolotl's comforting words, along with his gentle touch and his mere presence, had been a soothing balsam for Freya's aching heart. As aware as she was of her self-worth (too aware, some might say) and the existence of people who cared for her, it was always greatly appreciated to have a verbal confirmation come from a cherished individual such as the Aztec god. When the doubts and negativity tried to drown her mercilessly, it was easy to lose sight and perspective of the things and beings who really mattered. And it was in moments like these when Freya was eternally grateful to have people like Xolotl be the lifeboat to bring her back to the safety of the shore.
"Thank you, love. And I hope you know that so are you," she answered, downing the rest of her drink before setting the empty glass atop the bar to focus her complete attention onto the man in front of her. "You don't have to say it for me to know that, sometimes, you feel just as lonely as I do. But you're not, okay?" the girl said, gently cupping his cheek with her free hand before continuing. "Just know that if you ever need anything, I'll be here for you. Be it as friends or lovers, for a listening ear, a drink, or a good fuck, and no matter the time or place. Always."
Would she really? Xolotl found that hard to believe, or maybe he didn’t want to. He’s never liked having to depend on others, to have to hinge his hopes on the whims and inclinations of someone else. Too many moving parts. Uncertainties. Xolotl was a man who valued control, and maybe that’s why he’s better off alone. He knows that. And yet, he had been the one to contact Freya, hadn’t he? He had been the one to pick up his phone and bring the both of them here. What did that say about him, then?
A soft hand against his cheek stops the roiling maelstrom of his thoughts dead in its tracks.
For a long moment, he doesn’t draw back or move closer, just stops, like he’s unsure of what to do. There’s a strange flicker in his eyes, something dark and almost… confused. And then, he’s surging ahead, pressing his lips to Freya’s own in a heated kiss, who was kissing him back with the same amount of passion and intensity. He tastes the vodka on her lips, mingled with the smoky edge of mezcal. A hand comes up to rest against Freya’s face, like he’s trying to pull her closer, but he breaks the connection before long, jaw set in a rigid line.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t sound very apologetic at all. Xolotl shakes his head after a moment, breathing out a humorless huff of laughter. “You don’t have to worry about me, Fre. I get by just fine.”
“Bullshit,” came Freya’s fast reply-- her tone a little bit brasher than she'd intended, but she knew that it had proven to be one of the most effective ways to get through to her friend. “No one can do this alone. We all like to pretend that we can, but the reality of the situation is that not even the strongest can survive on their own. Now, the way I see it, is you have two options here, Hot Shot. One: you can cut the bullshit, stop lying to me and yourself, and we can go back to the room I'm almost certain you booked for us, to indulge in that therapy that will make us feel a hell of a lot less lonely. Or two: you can keep up the Superman charade, and we can both go home alone to spend another pathetic night wallowing in our own self misery. So, darling: what's it going to be?" she asked him, raising a questioning, defiant eyebrow in his direction.
Silently, Xolotl stares at Freya, thoughtful, as if he’s weighing his options. He could say no, that he’s not in the mood, and it would be true. He doesn’t know if he wants this, but at the same time, he doesn’t not want it either.
It’s… exasperating.
“You’re mouthy.” He says it in a way that’s more amused, more matter-of-fact than chiding. And somewhere deep within him, his sense of pride resents that. He hates how Freya believes she knows everything about him, hates how she’s right. Their relationship was one built on the back of mutual trust and shared desire for intimacy, though it came with one unsaid agreement: there would be no strings attached.
A wicked smile lit up the Norse goddess' features at Xolotl's observation. "I know," she smugly declared with a small shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Most women would be offended by that statement: even if the tone of voice suggested that no negative connotation was meant in the first place. But, of course, Freya wasn't like most women. She was anything but ordinary. "And if you let me, I'll remind you of just how mouthy I can really be."
Sighing, he leans back in his seat, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth gulp before turning back to Freya.
“Well, you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t have a suite booked for tonight.” At this, Xolotl offers Freya a derisory smirk, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “How about I take you home, and we just… see how things go?”
Excellent.
With that flirtatious smile still in place, Freya slid off her stool, placed her hands on Xolotl's thighs and seductively leaned forward. "Sounds like a plan," the brunette whispered in his ear before shifting her attention to his mouth. She let her warm breath tease the man before taking his lower lip between her teeth and gently nibbling it in that way she knew drove him to sin.
Xolotl can hardly resist rolling his eyes at Freya’s antics, but allows her to do as she pleases, shifting a little in his seat to give her more space to maneuver. It seemed to him that even after all these years, the Norse goddess — with all her sultry looks and honeyed words — hadn’t changed one bit.
“Freya…” he murmurs against her lips, and at the scrape of teeth, feels a bolt of molten heat shoot up his spine. All the while a part of him wonders: how did he end up here, in the middle of a busy bar, kissing Freya? As if on a tether, he pulls away suddenly, placing a firm hand on the side of Freya’s neck to still her movements, and looks her straight in the eye.
“Not here.” His words are quiet but clear, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. The hand he has on Freya’s neck shifts, moving to take her by the chin instead. For a moment, Xolotl is silent, dark and heavy-lidded eyes studying every inch of the goddess’ face, like he’s waiting for a reaction.
Just as she was skilled in the ways to provoke Xolotl, so was the Aztec god with the Norse goddess. There was nothing Freya loved more than a dominating man: one that could turn her into a puddle with a simple look. Xolotl knew this. His firm grasp on the side of her neck, along with that authoritarian voice and those piercing dark eyes, were enough to send goosebumps down the young woman’s sunkissed skin. Lust immediately clouded her hazel eyes, and her craving for him multiplied-- no doubt with a little persuasion from the drinks she’d partaken in earlier). Whatever the case, it was obvious that Freya, in all of her submissive glory, would do as she was told in order to get what she so desperately wanted.
“Wait for me at the elevators. I’m gonna pay for our drinks.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. With a satisfied smirk and a playful wink, Freya pulled away from Xolotl and strutted away in the direction of the elevators.
Xolotl keeps a watchful eye on Freya’s retreating figure, waits until she’s halfway across the floor to summon a server with the universal gesture for “check, please.” He takes only a cursory look at the tab before passing his credit card to the server along with a ten dollar bill that they pocket with practiced efficiency and a grateful nod.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be right back with your card.”
As promised, the server doesn’t take long to return, and Xolotl finds his way to Freya soon after. When he approaches, he touches a hand to her lower back, though he only allows it to linger there for a moment before drawing away to call the elevator.
“You ready to go?”
Freya eagerly nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered in her politest, most innocent tone of voice before stepping into the luxurious hotel elevator and closing the doors behind them once her companion had entered.
It’s only a short drive to Xolotl’s place: a sleek, modern building of steel and glass. It’s late enough that the corridors are empty, elevators vacant, and they’re able to make it to his front door without any strange looks.
Xolotl easily finds his keys in his pockets, unlocking the door and allowing Freya to enter first. “After you.”
The apartment is furnished exactly as you’d expect it to be — all hard angles and muted grays — like something out of a catalogue. But there are a few touches here and there that make it clear exactly who the apartment belongs to. The faint, smoky aroma of incense in the air. The rug on the floor, woven in dizzyingly intricate patterns. And the shining disc of copper on the living room wall, ancient and etched with the shape of a man with the head of a bird.
As someone who had visited this particular apartment more than a fair few times, Freya knew exactly what to do and where everything was. After carefully placing her Chanel handbag on top of the kitchen countertop, the brunette took stealthy steps in the direction of Xolotl’s back. And when he finally turned around, she wasted no time in grabbing him by his tie and pulling him into the nearest corner, pinning her body against the wall with his and locking her lust-filled hazel eyes with his own again.
"Is this private enough for you?” she purred, lightly grazing his lips with her own as she spoke. The anticipation was building up, and the sexual tension between them grew thick. It would be Xolotl’s next move that would define the direction of the rest of this night.
Xolotl doesn’t stop Freya when she moves for him, humming out a quiet noise of agreement. If he were not willing, he would have stopped her right then and there. If he were not willing, he would not have let her pin herself with his body against the wall so easily. But he was, and now, with her back flush against the cool, hard surface of the wall and Freya’s hot breath on his lips, Xolotl can hardly stop himself from running his hands over every inch of her skin.
It was still too soon for that, though, too soon; and Xolotl wasn’t the type to rush things.
They had the entire night, after all.
As a concession, he reaches up to brush a hand against the underside of Freya’s arm, fingers ghosting over the surface of her skin in a featherlight touch.
“Better. I don’t like people staring.” Xolotl’s voice has dropped an octave now, low with a hidden, dangerous edge. His hands slip lower as well, coming to rest against Freya’s hips. “This is between you and me, Freya.”
Then, Xolotl closes what little distance remains between them, claiming the goddess’ mouth in a deep, languid kiss, and little by little, begins to trail off to the side. First to the corner of her lips, the edge of her jaw, and finally the soft, golden expanse of her delicate neck. When he draws his lips across her skin, he feels the steady rhythm of her pulse thrumming just beneath the surface.
“Only you and me.”
a mother always knows
A @Venus & @smarty0114 Collaboration
Featuring Themis & Hera
Featuring Themis & Hera
Themis.
To this day, the name filled Hera with envy. Zeus’ first counsellor, the Goddess of Divine Justice, who never seemed to see that it was Hera who deserved justice most of all. Now, her son was dead, and as far as she was aware, the Titan goddess hadn’t raised a finger. It disgusted her, the shirking of responsibility. If anyone should be concerned with the murder of a god-- a Grecian, at that-- it should be the Mistress of the Scales.
Night had fallen by the time Hera pulled up to Themis’ home, a humble apartment in the suburbs of Seattle. It was hardly quaint to anyone except Hera, but the Queen of the Gods always found some way to look down on her fellow Olympians. Her face was steel, cold and unyielding as she stepped from her car and strutted up the stairs to rap her hand against the wooden door. Her visit was unannounced, but the possibility that no one would be home hadn’t crossed her mind. Hera was used to a world where people answered her demands and were available whenever she needed. She rarely had time to think about the needs of others.
After spending most of the day between the sheets of Themis’ bed and watching movies together, Thor had excused himself after getting an emergency work call from a client, leaving his girlfriend to her own devices. The man’s cheerful presence had been enough to ward off that dreadful nausea that always seemed to bother her these days, but in his absence it returned with a vengeance. Whatever plans that she had of going out for a walk or even going to the quaint little coffee shop nearby to catch up with her work email flew out the window. Instead, Themis found herself bedridden once again, with a bottle of ginger ale on her nightstand and a bucket at the ready next to her convalescent figure.
By the time evening rolled around, Themis had mustered just enough strength to eat an acceptable amount of dinner and get a shower. Dressed in a matching short nightgown and robe set of navy blue and white lace, the young goddess had been getting ready to retreat for the night when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she walked the short trek to the entryway and took a look through the peephole at who on Earth would possibly be dropping by at this time of day. And when she saw who it was, her disbelief was strong enough for the blonde to unlock the door and swing it open.
“Hera?” Themis exclaimed with her hand still on the door handle, momentarily forgetting her illness in favor of the utter shock now coursing through her body. Out of all the gods and goddesses she would expect for a visit, Zeus’ wife was definitely at the bottom of the list. The Queen of the Gods had never held any positive feelings towards her, and it was obvious she and Themis were cordial with each other at most whenever forced to interact. Hera showing up at her doorstep-- and at this time of day, no less-- was certainly not the best of omens to start off her evening. “What are you doing at my house?”
Hera’s gaze trailed up and down Themis’ body, taking in this new look for the lady of divine justice. There was something in the air… what was it? A scent she couldn’t quite place, a fleeting feeling that felt so familiar… She’d clearly caught her in the midst of her nighttime routine. Perfect. Catching people off guard was a specialty of Hera’s. “I’m here to discuss your shirking of responsibilities,” Hera said, cold as ever. “Should we talk out here, or will I be graced with the interior of your home as well?” Hera’s confidence (or arrogance, depending on who you asked) had returned in full force, spurred on by her mission for vengeance. It was clear that she would be having this discussion, whether Themis liked it or not.
The tone of voice Hera was taking with her made Themis raise a haughty, defiant eyebrow towards the older woman. It was one thing to show up at her house unannounced, but quite a different one to turn up making accusations of neglect. It was rude, disrespectful and definitely not the way to gain entrance to somebody’s home. But the way Hera was carrying herself spoke of a fierce determination of someone who wouldn’t vacate the premises until she was heard… In the end, did Themis really have a choice?
Without uttering a single word, she swung the door open and stepped aside, motioning for her unwelcome guest to step inside. Once Hera had entered the apartment, the blonde closed the door, and turned to her visitor with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “So. To what do I owe the honor and great pleasure of being graced with your unannounced presence? And at my home in the evening, no less,” Themis began, the sarcasm ringing clear in her voice. She took position in front of where Hera stood, squaring her shoulders and never once taking her eyes away from hers. She wasn’t afraid or the least bit intimidated by the woman like the rest of the Olympians were.
“I take it you’ve heard about my son,” Hera said. She cast her eyes down for just a moment at the mention of Hephaestus, a rare flash of weakness, gone as quickly as it had come. “I’m sure the mortals are throwing everything they can at it, given his celebrity status, but it would bring me peace of mind to know I had someone on the inside.” Still, that feeling was following her, a tugging in her gut. Could she… No... Her senses were just on the fritz, still reeling from her time under Hathor’s trance. That had to be it.
Well that made Themis feel like shit. Where was that patience and sympathy she normally had for the loved ones of homicide victims? Here was the queen of the gods: swallowing her pride to seek her assistance with one of the most horrific events a mother could ever face; a collateral victim of her son’s murder. And what had Themis done? Get defensive and jump to conclusions when Hera, Zeus and the rest of their children deserved truth and justice as much as the departed did. Shame on her.
With her demeanor now humbled and much more approachable, Themis took a seat on the beige sofa in the living room and gestured for her guest to occupy the chair directly in front of her if she so wished. “I’m aware of the situation… And let me take this moment to say I am so, so sorry for your loss. I can’t even fathom the amount of pain and heartbreak you must be feeling at this time,” the blonde said gently with a solemn expression. She was and had never been a mother, but could only imagine the suffering Hera must be going through. “Before we get to discussing the case any further, can I get you anything to eat or drink for your troubles?”
Hera nodded, solemn in her grief. “I appreciate it,” Hera said, her tone still cool despite Themis’ moment of warmth. In truth, the words meant more than she could say. So many had brushed her pain aside, it was comforting to have someone who sympathized. “A glass of wine?” Hera suggested, exhaustion lacing her words with a sense of exasperation. She was spiralling, no matter how gilded she made herself seem.
"Sure!” Themis replied in a significantly brighter tone, rising from the couch and gracefully making her way to the cozy kitchen to fetch some refreshments for her guest. She pulled out two glasses of wine and a small wooden cheese board from one of the cabinets before moving towards the wine cooler and addressing Hera again. "Is there any particular flavor you prefer?” the blonde asked, pausing to smile at one of the many polaroids of her and Thor that decorated the refrigerator door before peering inside the cooler. "I’ve got most of them here, actually: sauvignon, moscato, pinot noir, cabernet, merlot… Pick your poison.”
“Sauvignon,” Hera said, following Themis into the kitchen. Her voice trailed off as her attention fell on the polaroids hanging off the fridge. Themis and a man, smiling, arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. Suddenly, the gears, rusted still with pain and mourning, began turning again. The tugging in her gut, the feeling in the air. How could she have been so blind? Had grief addled her that much?
Without warning, Hera spun Themis around, and brought a hand down to hover, just above her stomach. Her eyes closed, and she reached out, extending the tendrils of her immortal soul outwards until she found what she was looking for; the beginnings of a new life. Two, in fact. Hera’s eyes shot open, lips pursed together in curiosity. “You’re pregnant,” she said, the softest she’d ever been with the mistress of justice.
Themis, who had been in the process of uncorking the sauvignon bottle per Hera’s request, flinched in startelement when she felt the older woman spin her around. Eyes wide with alarm, she watched as her guest placed her hand a few inches from her stomach and shut her eyes, as if focusing all of her attention. She’d been ready to politely pull away and dismiss Hera as having gone insane with grief when the woman opened her eyes again and dropped a bombshell so unexpected all Themis could do was giggle in disbelief.
"What? No!" she answered without hesitation, shaking her head with a smile and quickly dismissing Hera’s reading. "I mean, sure: I've been a little bit sick for some time now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pregnant… Right?” she asked her, doubt starting to creep in and casting a shadow over her face. Was she really pregnant? Was that why she’d been so sick all the time lately. No, it couldn’t be. “It’s probably undiagnosed lactose intolerance or something. Maybe the milk and creamer I put in my coffee’s messing with me.”
Hera shook her head, stone faced and confident in her read. Now that she’d pinned down what she was sensing, she couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish. “Themis, a mother always knows.” She reached out again, once more connecting to the lives that were just forming, two possibilities awash in the sea of fate. “Twins but… only half-siblings. Their fathers are different,” Hera said, fixing Themis with a stare that held it’s fair share of judgement.
If Hera’s soft demeanor and the possibility of being pregnant wasn’t enough of a shock for the blonde goddess, the news that the growing children, plural, inside of her had been fathered by different men left her at a loss for words. Themis was quiet for a long moment, eyes wide as she tried to process all of this information at once. And when she was finally able to formulate words again, her voice was hoarse with distress.
“If the fathers are different, that means one child is Thor’s, and the other one is--” she trailed off, feeling her eyes slowly fill up with tears while her bottom lip dangerously trembled. There was only one other person who could have donated his part of the DNA to make that second child... And that man just happened to be her boyfriend’s father. “Odin's.”
Fuck...
All of a sudden, an overwhelming wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. Themis’ knees felt weak, her legs seemingly unable to carry both the weight of her body and the one who now rested on her shoulders. The world around her began to spin, morphing together into indiscernible shapes. She reached out and grabbed the countertop to steady herself, but the smooth surface slipped under her touch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Hera's voice asking if she was okay before her eyelids fluttered closed as she began to fall.
Hera moved with a surprising grace and agility, hands closing behind Themis back, catching her before she could crash against the tile floor. Gently, like she was handling one of her own children, she led Themis to the couch, and left her sitting there, only to return with a glass of water.
The tables had been flipped. She’d come here for Themis’ help, only to find that it was Themis who needed her aid. She pursed her lips, carefully choosing her new path. She took an armchair across from the couch, resting her arms on the sides as if it were a throne. “It seems we both have reason to help each other now...” she said, her voice soft, but certain, purposeful.
The voice of a queen.
To this day, the name filled Hera with envy. Zeus’ first counsellor, the Goddess of Divine Justice, who never seemed to see that it was Hera who deserved justice most of all. Now, her son was dead, and as far as she was aware, the Titan goddess hadn’t raised a finger. It disgusted her, the shirking of responsibility. If anyone should be concerned with the murder of a god-- a Grecian, at that-- it should be the Mistress of the Scales.
Night had fallen by the time Hera pulled up to Themis’ home, a humble apartment in the suburbs of Seattle. It was hardly quaint to anyone except Hera, but the Queen of the Gods always found some way to look down on her fellow Olympians. Her face was steel, cold and unyielding as she stepped from her car and strutted up the stairs to rap her hand against the wooden door. Her visit was unannounced, but the possibility that no one would be home hadn’t crossed her mind. Hera was used to a world where people answered her demands and were available whenever she needed. She rarely had time to think about the needs of others.
After spending most of the day between the sheets of Themis’ bed and watching movies together, Thor had excused himself after getting an emergency work call from a client, leaving his girlfriend to her own devices. The man’s cheerful presence had been enough to ward off that dreadful nausea that always seemed to bother her these days, but in his absence it returned with a vengeance. Whatever plans that she had of going out for a walk or even going to the quaint little coffee shop nearby to catch up with her work email flew out the window. Instead, Themis found herself bedridden once again, with a bottle of ginger ale on her nightstand and a bucket at the ready next to her convalescent figure.
By the time evening rolled around, Themis had mustered just enough strength to eat an acceptable amount of dinner and get a shower. Dressed in a matching short nightgown and robe set of navy blue and white lace, the young goddess had been getting ready to retreat for the night when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she walked the short trek to the entryway and took a look through the peephole at who on Earth would possibly be dropping by at this time of day. And when she saw who it was, her disbelief was strong enough for the blonde to unlock the door and swing it open.
“Hera?” Themis exclaimed with her hand still on the door handle, momentarily forgetting her illness in favor of the utter shock now coursing through her body. Out of all the gods and goddesses she would expect for a visit, Zeus’ wife was definitely at the bottom of the list. The Queen of the Gods had never held any positive feelings towards her, and it was obvious she and Themis were cordial with each other at most whenever forced to interact. Hera showing up at her doorstep-- and at this time of day, no less-- was certainly not the best of omens to start off her evening. “What are you doing at my house?”
Hera’s gaze trailed up and down Themis’ body, taking in this new look for the lady of divine justice. There was something in the air… what was it? A scent she couldn’t quite place, a fleeting feeling that felt so familiar… She’d clearly caught her in the midst of her nighttime routine. Perfect. Catching people off guard was a specialty of Hera’s. “I’m here to discuss your shirking of responsibilities,” Hera said, cold as ever. “Should we talk out here, or will I be graced with the interior of your home as well?” Hera’s confidence (or arrogance, depending on who you asked) had returned in full force, spurred on by her mission for vengeance. It was clear that she would be having this discussion, whether Themis liked it or not.
The tone of voice Hera was taking with her made Themis raise a haughty, defiant eyebrow towards the older woman. It was one thing to show up at her house unannounced, but quite a different one to turn up making accusations of neglect. It was rude, disrespectful and definitely not the way to gain entrance to somebody’s home. But the way Hera was carrying herself spoke of a fierce determination of someone who wouldn’t vacate the premises until she was heard… In the end, did Themis really have a choice?
Without uttering a single word, she swung the door open and stepped aside, motioning for her unwelcome guest to step inside. Once Hera had entered the apartment, the blonde closed the door, and turned to her visitor with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “So. To what do I owe the honor and great pleasure of being graced with your unannounced presence? And at my home in the evening, no less,” Themis began, the sarcasm ringing clear in her voice. She took position in front of where Hera stood, squaring her shoulders and never once taking her eyes away from hers. She wasn’t afraid or the least bit intimidated by the woman like the rest of the Olympians were.
“I take it you’ve heard about my son,” Hera said. She cast her eyes down for just a moment at the mention of Hephaestus, a rare flash of weakness, gone as quickly as it had come. “I’m sure the mortals are throwing everything they can at it, given his celebrity status, but it would bring me peace of mind to know I had someone on the inside.” Still, that feeling was following her, a tugging in her gut. Could she… No... Her senses were just on the fritz, still reeling from her time under Hathor’s trance. That had to be it.
Well that made Themis feel like shit. Where was that patience and sympathy she normally had for the loved ones of homicide victims? Here was the queen of the gods: swallowing her pride to seek her assistance with one of the most horrific events a mother could ever face; a collateral victim of her son’s murder. And what had Themis done? Get defensive and jump to conclusions when Hera, Zeus and the rest of their children deserved truth and justice as much as the departed did. Shame on her.
With her demeanor now humbled and much more approachable, Themis took a seat on the beige sofa in the living room and gestured for her guest to occupy the chair directly in front of her if she so wished. “I’m aware of the situation… And let me take this moment to say I am so, so sorry for your loss. I can’t even fathom the amount of pain and heartbreak you must be feeling at this time,” the blonde said gently with a solemn expression. She was and had never been a mother, but could only imagine the suffering Hera must be going through. “Before we get to discussing the case any further, can I get you anything to eat or drink for your troubles?”
Hera nodded, solemn in her grief. “I appreciate it,” Hera said, her tone still cool despite Themis’ moment of warmth. In truth, the words meant more than she could say. So many had brushed her pain aside, it was comforting to have someone who sympathized. “A glass of wine?” Hera suggested, exhaustion lacing her words with a sense of exasperation. She was spiralling, no matter how gilded she made herself seem.
"Sure!” Themis replied in a significantly brighter tone, rising from the couch and gracefully making her way to the cozy kitchen to fetch some refreshments for her guest. She pulled out two glasses of wine and a small wooden cheese board from one of the cabinets before moving towards the wine cooler and addressing Hera again. "Is there any particular flavor you prefer?” the blonde asked, pausing to smile at one of the many polaroids of her and Thor that decorated the refrigerator door before peering inside the cooler. "I’ve got most of them here, actually: sauvignon, moscato, pinot noir, cabernet, merlot… Pick your poison.”
“Sauvignon,” Hera said, following Themis into the kitchen. Her voice trailed off as her attention fell on the polaroids hanging off the fridge. Themis and a man, smiling, arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. Suddenly, the gears, rusted still with pain and mourning, began turning again. The tugging in her gut, the feeling in the air. How could she have been so blind? Had grief addled her that much?
Without warning, Hera spun Themis around, and brought a hand down to hover, just above her stomach. Her eyes closed, and she reached out, extending the tendrils of her immortal soul outwards until she found what she was looking for; the beginnings of a new life. Two, in fact. Hera’s eyes shot open, lips pursed together in curiosity. “You’re pregnant,” she said, the softest she’d ever been with the mistress of justice.
Themis, who had been in the process of uncorking the sauvignon bottle per Hera’s request, flinched in startelement when she felt the older woman spin her around. Eyes wide with alarm, she watched as her guest placed her hand a few inches from her stomach and shut her eyes, as if focusing all of her attention. She’d been ready to politely pull away and dismiss Hera as having gone insane with grief when the woman opened her eyes again and dropped a bombshell so unexpected all Themis could do was giggle in disbelief.
"What? No!" she answered without hesitation, shaking her head with a smile and quickly dismissing Hera’s reading. "I mean, sure: I've been a little bit sick for some time now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pregnant… Right?” she asked her, doubt starting to creep in and casting a shadow over her face. Was she really pregnant? Was that why she’d been so sick all the time lately. No, it couldn’t be. “It’s probably undiagnosed lactose intolerance or something. Maybe the milk and creamer I put in my coffee’s messing with me.”
Hera shook her head, stone faced and confident in her read. Now that she’d pinned down what she was sensing, she couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish. “Themis, a mother always knows.” She reached out again, once more connecting to the lives that were just forming, two possibilities awash in the sea of fate. “Twins but… only half-siblings. Their fathers are different,” Hera said, fixing Themis with a stare that held it’s fair share of judgement.
If Hera’s soft demeanor and the possibility of being pregnant wasn’t enough of a shock for the blonde goddess, the news that the growing children, plural, inside of her had been fathered by different men left her at a loss for words. Themis was quiet for a long moment, eyes wide as she tried to process all of this information at once. And when she was finally able to formulate words again, her voice was hoarse with distress.
“If the fathers are different, that means one child is Thor’s, and the other one is--” she trailed off, feeling her eyes slowly fill up with tears while her bottom lip dangerously trembled. There was only one other person who could have donated his part of the DNA to make that second child... And that man just happened to be her boyfriend’s father. “Odin's.”
Fuck...
All of a sudden, an overwhelming wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. Themis’ knees felt weak, her legs seemingly unable to carry both the weight of her body and the one who now rested on her shoulders. The world around her began to spin, morphing together into indiscernible shapes. She reached out and grabbed the countertop to steady herself, but the smooth surface slipped under her touch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Hera's voice asking if she was okay before her eyelids fluttered closed as she began to fall.
Hera moved with a surprising grace and agility, hands closing behind Themis back, catching her before she could crash against the tile floor. Gently, like she was handling one of her own children, she led Themis to the couch, and left her sitting there, only to return with a glass of water.
The tables had been flipped. She’d come here for Themis’ help, only to find that it was Themis who needed her aid. She pursed her lips, carefully choosing her new path. She took an armchair across from the couch, resting her arms on the sides as if it were a throne. “It seems we both have reason to help each other now...” she said, her voice soft, but certain, purposeful.
The voice of a queen.
balanced breakfast
sᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏғғ ʀɪɢʜᴛ
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Anyone who deemed breakfast as the most important meal of the day should be awarded a medal. That was some golden shit right there. Odin sat there tongue laving up his morning meal, on bent knees, haunches flexed under the strain of performing in such a position for extended periods of time. He wasn't as young and spry as he used to be, gods be damned. But with age comes experience; and no one could say that Odin didn't have plenty of experience.
Mind drifted for only a moment trying to register exactly how it was he came to be here on the floor in his kitchen, while his first love laid spread out like a morning buffet across the treated counter. He remembers dipping into his personal reserves, snatching up a few bottles, nothing new just feeling the need to unwind. Besides, who was anyone to stop him? Though the further he sank into the bottom of the bottle, ice cubes not even having a chance to melt and cut the drink, that was when roamed his penthouse reminiscing on the 'old times'; at least that's how he explained it to Freya in a text, summoning her asking her to come over. She was always one to take commands well.
He snapped back to the present, eyes closing at the taste of her on his lips, dripping down his chin onto the countertop. A high-pitched noise rang out through the apartment prompting him to stand finally, wiping his face with tongue and the back of his hand. A devious smirk sent her way as he took notice of the small tremors passing through her.
"Morning gorgeous." Two consecutive phone notifications sounded somewhere within the home, Odin's interest was on his own though that didn't stop the eye roll as he reached for it on the other side of the kitchen.
“Holy shit...”
To say that Freya had been surprised to receive Odin’s text message the night before would be an understatement. After their controversial break-up God knew how long ago, she had taken extraordinary measures to ensure that their interactions would either be avoided or kept to a minimum. For centuries, the Norse goddess had done her part: keeping her distance while mentally judging and crucifying the hell out of his questionable actions. But when her phone had lit up with his name on the screen the night before, she was back to being that starry-eyed, dumbstruck eighteen year-old girl who would drop everything to make sure her love was thoroughly satisfied. Sure-- she’d pretended to be annoyed to have been contacted out of the blue like this, and put on a rather convincing little act of sheer outrage. How did he have the nerve to even speak to her after what he’d done, what the hell did he want with her, what was the point of asking her over, and so on. But not even fifteen minutes later, Freya was on his lap with her dress pulled up to her midriff, and soon after their garments laid forgotten on the living room floor as the exes were passionately tangled up together, doing good on his promise of ‘reminiscing of the old days’. Their 'catching up' had kept them up in his bedroom until dawn, and had resumed in the kitchen after only a few hours of sleep.
“I have to admit it: you’ve still fucking got it, old man…” Freya confessed with a satisfied smile as she tried to catch her breath, her eyes shut and her voice still hoarse from earlier exclamations. He was great back during their first time together almost a lifetime ago in their beloved Asgard, when she was still nothing but a virginal maiden. And he was even better now, when they were both
Odin wore smug like it was tailored just for him. His eyes didn't stray too far from the beauty that is Freya, there was a reason she held domain over so many. "Well, this old man rocked your world not once, but twice," came his reply as he scoffed at the nickname she bestowed upon him. "And let us not forget your recent... reward for behaving all night," Odin took pleasure in reminding her of their recent encounter and watching the unbridled lust cloud her eyes as he did so. There was something about her that Odin couldn't find elsewhere. Something so obedient and pliable and raw. It's been difficult to replicate, but not impossible to replace -- his mind wandering to a certain charlatan. A specific someone flashing across his mind, a different head of dark locks trailing kisses like venom, scathing retorts falling from his mouth as they came together as only they could. Odin found the temperature of his skin rising with every heated thought as if fire ran through his veins. Odin turned from Freya, still catching her breath, and opened his messages making sure to send a quick something to the one occupying the forefront of his thoughts before opening and examining the Roman's email.
To: midnight trickster🗡️❤️
the rat poison was a nice touch. care to come over and try again? maybe grab some lunch before hand? neat trick by the way (:
"The 'King of Gods' has requested my appearance to a charity ball later this month? How unique of them. I'm sure you received the same invite." The tone that dripped from his lips was that of indifference. Balls and other charity events weren't his cup of mead. If anything the ones that were conducted in private back rooms with a glass of fine scotch or whiskey and thick cigar were more preferable. Even those of the rager variety caught his attention more than some stuffy waltz. Alas, the invite was sent to more than just the other Gods and therefore Arik Börson must make an appearance. Even if he was supposed to be retired.... Didn't he have upper management for shit like this?
“What are you talking about?” Freya asked curiously, finally finding the strength to slide off from the countertop and drag herself with shaky legs to where her purse waited in the living room. She plopped down on Odin’s couch, grabbed her bag and fished for her phone inside it. Eventually, she pulled out the device, unlocked it and quickly read through the email. “Huh. It looks like we are…” the brunette mused, tongue in cheek as she reread the invitation a few more times. “But an email invitation to a black tie event? That is so tacky. The Romans are usually so damn arrogant and far up their asses with most things, you would think Jupiter here would at least put a little more effort and send out actual paper invitations if the event’s as grand as he’s making it out to be.”
Odin already had some suspicion as to the original constructor behind the email, because like she pointed out, the Romans took pleasure in flaunting their status to everyone with an ear and eye to appreciate it. He scoffed instead in reply to her words, though agreed with them nonetheless. "Perhaps it was a fly of the cuff moment. One never can tell what goes on in the heads of the Romans. Least of all Jupiter." A scowl crossed his brow before he pressed on, no one seemed to understand the inner workings of Jupiter - not even his siblings were privy to that kind of knowledge. The wrinkles were gone as quickly as they appeared as he found himself opening the fridge and grabbing a decanter of orange and mango juice, pouring himself two glasses. Making his way towards her spot on his couch he extended one glass to her, "Her drikker du opp, drink up."
A beat passed as he drank his juice in peace, eyes refused to stray too long from the goddess sprawled out on his sofa sipping from the crystal clutched in her hand. From the expanse of her neck, down to her chest and then coming to rest on her legs. If there was one thing for certain Odin knew, it was that Freya was among the most beautiful of women to grace the sight of all. Snapping himself from his daydream of just hours past, he downed his drink clearing his throat breaking the ample silence that had fallen between them. There was hardly any room for idle chitchat to be had when it came to the two of them. "It was good seeing you again, gorgeous and while our evening, and breakfast were absolutely wonderful, I've got business to attend to. Du skal reise hjem og hvile, you should really go home and get some rest."
If the Freya of Asgard had been the one to find herself in this scenario, she would've been disappointed and hurt to realize she'd been treated as a booty call to merely satisfy her baby daddy's passing fancies. But the Freya that roamed the earth as Astrid Wexler knew better than that. She wasn't the same clueless young woman that had fallen in love with the Allfather all those centuries ago. Of course, that didn't mean she agreed with the haste with which she was being dismissed with. She hadn’t expected them to be all cuddles and sunshines and rainbows (especially considering this was the first time they had been alone together in a lifetime). But she definitely wasn’t expecting this kind of rushed goodbye, either. She took it all in stride, of course, and tried her best to be the better person in all of this. But for someone as petty as Freya, there was no chance of holding back from taking at least one jab at her ex.
"So after all the work I put in last night and earlier today, you mean to tell me I'm not even getting fed for it?" she asked, glaring up at him in a mock outrage that Odin would recognize as her sort of joking around with him. "You cheap old bastard."
Odin just chuckled at the biting banter she threw around so easily. They have had this kind of rapport since the fall. Times were rough until they rekindled in a way at that point in time. “If you really want some food you can always stop at McDonald’s on your way out?” The jab was all in jest a complete involuntary reaction to her, a testament of what she does to him. Drives him up the walls, and not always in the best of ways. Taking a few bills from his clip he waved them in the air to catch her attention before placing them on the countertop she was laying on just minutes before. “It’ll even be my treat. But I really do have other things to focus on this morning, so the sooner you get back home, the sooner I can get a start on my day.” As if on cue, Sága came trotting up to him, nuzzling his hand asking for her specially prepared breakfast before her routine walk. The Agouti husky turned her attention to the woman still seated on the couch as if she too were expecting her to get up and leave.
The mention of McDonald’s made Freya grimace, her beautiful face wrinkling up with disgust even if she knew that was Odin's way of clapping back at her joke. She had just looked up from her phone and opened her mouth to make some comment about how she would rather starve than eat McDonald's when, once again, the man emphasized his urgent need for her to leave his home, which only served to infuriate Freya even further.
“I heard you the first time, Grandpa. No need to rush me,” she grumbled, angrily rising from the couch and stomping to the mirror right next to the front door, promptly ignoring the money her ex had laid out for her… As if she'd been some escort he'd hired for the night and not the mother of his son and a woman he had once said to love.
Last night was a fucking mistake…
Freya scanned her reflection for a few seconds, taking in the evidence of the past night's sins: the tear tracks of black mascara running down her cheeks, the smudged eyeliner, the flushed cheeks and the remains of her liquid lipstick (which, considering how much her mouth had been put to use, had lasted a surprisingly long amount of time) before jumping straight into damage control. Without wasting any more time, the young woman wiped the mascara from her cheeks, hid the racoon eyes behind oversized Chanel sunglasses, reapplied her lipstick and ran her fingers through the mess that was her brown hair until it was presentable enough. Only after she was satisfied with the result did she turn back to Odin-- and although her scowl of annoyance was hidden behind the glasses, the venom in her words was certainly not to be missed.
“Not that there will ever be a next time-- but if there is, be enough of a gentleman to let me know exactly what time I need to be gone by instead of being an asshole and kicking me out like you just did. Though I know that ‘being a gentleman’ is asking way too much of someone like you,” she spat, squaring her shoulders while turning the knob of the front door and swinging it open. “Oh, and keep your goddamn money to yourself. I'm not some cheap whore you picked up on the side of the road, and I certainly didn’t fuck you for the cash. I can take very good care of myself. And while you're at it? Do us both a favor: get your phone, lose my number, and go be a patronizing dick to someone else. Believe me: I am not the one you want to mess with again.”
And with one last glorious display of a pink-manicured middle finger in the air towards her ex, Freya turned on her heel and stormed out of the penthouse, making sure to loudly slam the door behind her.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
collab: @KZOMBI3 mentions: @fledermaus
For several months, a certain Norse God had been moonlighting as what most have called “The Hooded Man”. In his neighborhood and those that surrounded where he lived, The Hooded Man was something of a myth. His identity hasn’t been uncovered by nobody, not the police that swore to protect the city from scum that threaten its safety, not the lawyers who were supposed to keep those locked up, and not the media who don’t care unless their politicians pay them to care.
Indeed, Thor’s midnight activities were out of his love for those without the benefit of being privileged and rich.
As much as he was devoted to his day job, which involved doing what he did at night but with more legality attached to it, he felt it wasn’t enough and it wouldn’t be as long as the mafia kept a presence in the city. So, whenever he saw a chance, Thor seized the night for himself and protected those who needed his help.
As it just so happened, however, his “help” took him away from a relaxing night spent with a certain someone who, by all rights, should have been more important than the call he received from one of his clients. Thor did what he could but now he had the most dangerous task a man like him in his situation could ever have--
Sneaking back in and hoping he didn’t wake up the only other person who the criminals feared more than The Hooded Man.
The creaking sound of a front door being carefully opened and closed gently coaxed Themis away from her slumber. The blonde’s eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, slowly adjusting themselves to the brightness in the small bedroom before ultimately opening up in greeting to the new day. After a moment of allowing her body to begin the process of waking, the young woman slowly propped herself up into a seating position, but immediately regretted her decision as that strong wave of nausea and dizziness that had been plaguing her for nearly a month now struck again. Grimacing and groaning softly, Themis closed her eyes and allowed her head to gently fall backwards onto the pillow again.
Walking down the hallway that led to his bedroom, Thor was hoping to sneak back into bed, maybe catch an hour or two of sleep, but he noticed Themis was up and she somehow looked worse than the drug dealer he caved into the ground looked. “You’re up early. Today’s your day off, isn’t it? Go ahead and go back to sleep if you want to!” Thor’s hope was that his encouragement would work so he could get a few extra hours himself, or, ya know, just a few hours in general.
"If only your bedroom wasn't as bright as it is…" the woman grumbled, finding the strength in Thor’s presence to successfully pull herself up into that seating position she had attempted before. "Thor, darling: have you ever considered investing in some blackout curtains? They do wonders for your beauty sleep."
He scoffed jokingly, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, in front of Themis. “But I look just fine!” He joked, knowing that how he looked and how he felt were complete strangers to each other. “Besides, it’s not normally this bright in Seattle. Usually you get woken up to a majestic family of clouds that let the sun peak through just enough to light up the room. It’s part of the reason I made this room my bedroom.”
"And the main reason why I adore the Seattle weather: the cool, cloudy days, with the near-daily rainfall and thunderstorms. It definitely beats the time where we lived in Istanbul," she admitted, grimacing at the vivid memory of the despicable heat of the turkish city.
“That’s another thing we can agree on,” he said, smiling at Themis, in hopes that his pearly whites, which thankfully weren’t harmed last night, would bring her some form of comfort. She appeared to be in dire need of it. “I much prefer the cool breeze of a spring morning than being in the dry, sickly heat. It makes me fortunate in these times where we must live in Midgard that we do so in a place with a versatile touch of Freyr. Without him, it’ll be Istanbul worldwide,” The thought of that made him want to cringe.
“Oh, God. That sounds like a nightmare…” Themis groaned, cringing hard at the thought of having to live in a world where there was no need for warm sweaters, hot drinks or cozy blankets. The subject, however, brought a question to the forefront of her mind-- especially when taking into consideration her host’s choice of wardrobe. “Where were you, anyway? It was the sound of the front door what woke me,” she told him, scooting closer to Thor’s imposing figure to affectionately wrap her arms around him, resting the side of her face against his broad back.
He knew what the easy answer to her question was: just saying that he was kicking the face of drug dealers into the pavement. But to say that would have to admit to, of all people, the ADA, that you, a guy who gets hired to protect people, was out breaking the law. Granted, it was a lot of fun and Thor really enjoyed the feeling when his fist cracks the jaw of scumbags who sell dimebags to kids. But, given how out of whack Themis looked, that news would most likely worsen her condition (he was assuming).
“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I had to run and do a few early morning errands. One of my guys screwed up some of the paperwork for one of our clients and I had to deal with it.” Truth was that did happen...last week. “I did go by the bakery around the corner and picked a few bagels. If you think you’re feeling well enough to eat, their everything bagel is better than anything in the city.”
Although she was still feeling off, the mention of food made Themis’ stomach grumble. She unentangled herself from Thor and was about to stand up when a blip from her phone alerted her to a new notification. Curious, the woman grabbed the device from where it had been resting on the nearest nightstand, unlocked it, and opened the email. The sender was Jupiter from the Roman pantheon, extending an invitation to a black tie event in fourteen days' time. Upon scanning the recipient list, Themis noticed the message had been sent to all gods and goddesses of every pantheon present on Earth.
"So apparently Jupiter's inviting us to a ball in two weeks?" the blonde announced, looking up at Thor with a dubious frown. "I'm not sure if it's a wise idea considering how... confrontational the conclave was. Or at least that's what Bastet told me, anyway." From the way tensions had built up and boiled over at the Seattle Library a few days previously, Themis was certainly not sorry that her illness and the return of the jury with the veredict for her case had caused her to miss the event.
Thor nodded, confirming he heard about how eventful the Conclave was. Part of him dreaded hearing from Morrigan about missing it but he had better things to do-- or rather, better faces to punch. But the issue of Jupiter’s black tie party hung over his head like a rain cloud he didn’t have any hand in creating. “Well, Jupiter has never been known for being wise. All of that money has to compensate for something, right?” Thor forced himself to laugh before letting out a sigh. “But I guess it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t show up. Maybe I can trash his place at some point. I’m sure that’ll be fun.”
"Thor--" came Themis' stern voice, although her tone was accompanied by a small smile. "I thought we had agreed on no more fighting? That you would be on your very best behavior?"
“Only when it came to starting fights, but the second I get provoked, there’s no way I’m leaving it unfinished.” Again, another forced laugh came from his lips, while Themis continued to smile as she shook her head. “Anyway, what do you think? Are you going to bother attending? You Greeks are pretty anti-Roman, aren’t you?”
"Honestly? I could care less about what pantheon anyone belongs to as long as they're good, decent people," she said matter-of-factly with a small shrug. "But I will say that I haven't got the slightest bit of interest in attending that ball. There are some wounds better left untouched for a while, and some faces better left unseen in order for oneself to truly heal from secrets, lies and betrayal." She was, of course, referring to the painful event that had led her to the arms of the man now sitting in front of her.
By this point, he turned to face her. “I understand not wanting to be among certain companies. I’m fairly certain there are a few who would be in their happiest mindsets if neither one of us showed up, but why give them that satisfaction?” His question was rhetorical as he continued, “The way I see it is this is the perfect opportunity to cast waves. But if it makes you feel better, if they start trouble, I’ll just beat the ever living daylights out of anyone who gives you or I the wrong look.” He desperately wanted to be given an excuse to kick some ass in the house of the Romans.
"Admit it, Thor: you just want an excuse to pull out that hammer of yours and go apeshit bashing people's skulls in," Themis said with a good-natured laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek before resting her chin on his shoulder. "We both know you could care less about any sort of opinion these individuals may have of you. It's the fighter in you the one who's begging to be let out of the cage again."
“Who says I need my hammer?” He laughed, letting a moment pass before addressing the other thing she correctly pointed out. “I won’t lie to you: I would give justice to those who escape it. There’s a part of me that wishes it was Istanbul again where I was free to fight until my heart’s content, but I know in this…progressive society, that’s considered to be a crime. It’s part of my reason why I started Heidrun. It’s why I do what the biased police around here refuse to do. It’s not a lot and I wish I could just wind back time, but it’s all I can really do.”
"There's a saying I like to keep at the forefront of my mind in regards to my livelihood: rules are the only thing that separates us from the animals," the woman mused, staring out into the open bedroom window for a second before turning her warm, hazel eyes in his direction. "And as an ADA, it is my duty to justly enforce these laws to the best of my ability. But I'm not oblivious to the fact that we live in a world where most things belong to a shade of gray, and are not simply black or white. And when I'm unable to carry out justice to the lengths it deserves to be, I'm glad we have you to finish the job. No guilty party will go unpunished by us. It's why we make such a great team."
He just sat there, looking at her, hearing what she had to say about...well, everything. About how she, an ADA of all people, was admitting the system wasn’t perfect; about how she,the ADA, didn’t outright condemn someone like him expressing a desire to sometimes take justice into his own hands. It made him feel validated. And not just because of his nightly activities. In all the time he had known Themis, of course, he knew why he was so attracted to her. She appealed to a lot of his ideals and, let’s face it: she’s heavenly, too. But it was also about what she represented, and how that part of him that wanted to protect those in need of it aligned with her desire to deliver justice to those who deserve it.
“I knew there was a reason why we always found our way back to each other.” He found himself admitting, cracking both a smile and a laugh. He took her hands into his. “I hope you know this is why I love you. Your ability to stand firm on what you believe in but also not shy to admit that sometimes personal justice can be an option is why we’ve always stayed connected throughout the centuries.”
"So you only love me for my morals? How utterly boring," she joked, the corners of her mouth curling upward with the hint of a playful smile and her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Come on now, Themis,” Thor spoke as his hand left hers and firmly grabbed her thigh. He massaged it as he gently kissed her. Whether or not she was feeling good, Thor loved her regardless. “It goes without saying I have a deep fondness for more than just your morals-- as I’m sure you adore me for more than just my honor code.” He leaned in for another kiss, leaving out the gentleness this time.
“I mean, I won’t lie: those muscles of yours certainly help your case,” she teased, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows at Thor before letting out a giggle and returning his kiss with that level of passion and enthusiasm only he brought out of her.
The God of Thunder’s lips curled into a confident smile and he let his hands explore her legs some more. “What evidence do you have to back this up, counselor? The Jury would love to know.” Thor traced his arms from her legs to her lower back, gently tugging Themis closer to him so her...evidence could be presented to the court.
Themis' laugh echoed across the room-- a sound as bright as the rays of light peeking through the clouds outside. "If I present my facts to the court, then I risk everyone else falling in love with you too," she explained, standing up just long enough to take a seat in his lap and wrapping her arms around him once more. "I can't take that risk... I don't want to lose you," the blonde admitted, and the unexpected honesty and vulnerability of her statement forced Themis to bite her lower lip and avert her eyes.
And that was the last thing he expected to see; for her to speak so earnestly and truthfully. He was expecting some kind of comment about his muscles, some innuendo about other parts of his body -- maybe with a reference to Mjölnir. But to his genuine surprise, she chose a road that he often found himself wanting to go down as well. Still, part of his astute mind that always was wondering about what might happen next.
Following that mindset, he brought one arm from behind her back, raising it up to her chin, and grasped it gently, hoping this gesture would encourage her to allow her eyes to follow his voice. “And I don’t want to lose you either.” His voice was low and their opposing cheeks touched as he felt the warmth of her skin, subtle shocks of static electricity traveling from his being to hers.
She gently rested her forehead against his, finding comfort in his warmth and their physical contact. Even though Themis was certain his intentions were honest and true, a part of her begged for the verbal reassurance of what she knew in her heart. "I love you, Thor. I love you so, so much. Just… Please don't break my heart…" she whispered, leaning back just enough to look up at him with scared, pleading eyes.
It was in that moment that both of them knew what this moment represented. It wasn’t the admissions of deep adoration they held for each other for centuries nor the years of times they’ve remained as more than just friends but never crossing the invisible line drawn in the sand. No, it wasn’t about either of those things but rather about this moment being the true test of what exactly meant most to them. Thor knew this and it was confirmed to him, just now, that she knew it too. As sure as he was that Themis, proud Greek Goddess and ADA of King’s COunty, was scared shitless out of her mind, fearful of something far worse than an irreversible death, so was Thor of the fact that what he said right now would change the entire dynamic of their relationship -- the dynamic that, up until this point, had always been a casual friends with benefits arrangement. But something had changed and Thor couldn’t push it aside any longer. It was now or never.
So the God of Thunder surrendered himself entirely to the moment and locked eyes with Themis in his best attempt to give her the confirmation she needed. “On my honor as a God of Asgard and as a man who has always loved you: I will never break your heart, Themis, and there’ll never be a day where my love for you wanes.” He pulled her into a tight hug for the extra reassurance he couldn’t help but feel they both needed.
The insecurities, uncertainties, doubts and even the illness she'd been battling against, was momentarily forgotten as Themis allowed herself to get wrapped up and lost in Thor's strong, loving embrace. His arms had always felt like home to her-- providing her with a peace and sense of security she hadn't experienced before. Themis felt unconditionally loved and safe with Thor, resting easy knowing that even if the world around them was suddenly on fire, he would rather die than let a single flame touch her.
Once their embrace had come to an end, Themis gently took Thor's face in her hands. Their eyes met for a moment, forest green with stormy blue, before she made the promise that would seal their fates together forever.
"And you will have me… Until my last, dying breath..." the goddess swore to her lover, letting her ageless promise hang in the air before pulling Thor into the brazen kiss that would lead them to passionately come together as one.
Indeed, Thor’s midnight activities were out of his love for those without the benefit of being privileged and rich.
As much as he was devoted to his day job, which involved doing what he did at night but with more legality attached to it, he felt it wasn’t enough and it wouldn’t be as long as the mafia kept a presence in the city. So, whenever he saw a chance, Thor seized the night for himself and protected those who needed his help.
As it just so happened, however, his “help” took him away from a relaxing night spent with a certain someone who, by all rights, should have been more important than the call he received from one of his clients. Thor did what he could but now he had the most dangerous task a man like him in his situation could ever have--
Sneaking back in and hoping he didn’t wake up the only other person who the criminals feared more than The Hooded Man.
The creaking sound of a front door being carefully opened and closed gently coaxed Themis away from her slumber. The blonde’s eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, slowly adjusting themselves to the brightness in the small bedroom before ultimately opening up in greeting to the new day. After a moment of allowing her body to begin the process of waking, the young woman slowly propped herself up into a seating position, but immediately regretted her decision as that strong wave of nausea and dizziness that had been plaguing her for nearly a month now struck again. Grimacing and groaning softly, Themis closed her eyes and allowed her head to gently fall backwards onto the pillow again.
Walking down the hallway that led to his bedroom, Thor was hoping to sneak back into bed, maybe catch an hour or two of sleep, but he noticed Themis was up and she somehow looked worse than the drug dealer he caved into the ground looked. “You’re up early. Today’s your day off, isn’t it? Go ahead and go back to sleep if you want to!” Thor’s hope was that his encouragement would work so he could get a few extra hours himself, or, ya know, just a few hours in general.
"If only your bedroom wasn't as bright as it is…" the woman grumbled, finding the strength in Thor’s presence to successfully pull herself up into that seating position she had attempted before. "Thor, darling: have you ever considered investing in some blackout curtains? They do wonders for your beauty sleep."
He scoffed jokingly, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, in front of Themis. “But I look just fine!” He joked, knowing that how he looked and how he felt were complete strangers to each other. “Besides, it’s not normally this bright in Seattle. Usually you get woken up to a majestic family of clouds that let the sun peak through just enough to light up the room. It’s part of the reason I made this room my bedroom.”
"And the main reason why I adore the Seattle weather: the cool, cloudy days, with the near-daily rainfall and thunderstorms. It definitely beats the time where we lived in Istanbul," she admitted, grimacing at the vivid memory of the despicable heat of the turkish city.
“That’s another thing we can agree on,” he said, smiling at Themis, in hopes that his pearly whites, which thankfully weren’t harmed last night, would bring her some form of comfort. She appeared to be in dire need of it. “I much prefer the cool breeze of a spring morning than being in the dry, sickly heat. It makes me fortunate in these times where we must live in Midgard that we do so in a place with a versatile touch of Freyr. Without him, it’ll be Istanbul worldwide,” The thought of that made him want to cringe.
“Oh, God. That sounds like a nightmare…” Themis groaned, cringing hard at the thought of having to live in a world where there was no need for warm sweaters, hot drinks or cozy blankets. The subject, however, brought a question to the forefront of her mind-- especially when taking into consideration her host’s choice of wardrobe. “Where were you, anyway? It was the sound of the front door what woke me,” she told him, scooting closer to Thor’s imposing figure to affectionately wrap her arms around him, resting the side of her face against his broad back.
He knew what the easy answer to her question was: just saying that he was kicking the face of drug dealers into the pavement. But to say that would have to admit to, of all people, the ADA, that you, a guy who gets hired to protect people, was out breaking the law. Granted, it was a lot of fun and Thor really enjoyed the feeling when his fist cracks the jaw of scumbags who sell dimebags to kids. But, given how out of whack Themis looked, that news would most likely worsen her condition (he was assuming).
“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I had to run and do a few early morning errands. One of my guys screwed up some of the paperwork for one of our clients and I had to deal with it.” Truth was that did happen...last week. “I did go by the bakery around the corner and picked a few bagels. If you think you’re feeling well enough to eat, their everything bagel is better than anything in the city.”
Although she was still feeling off, the mention of food made Themis’ stomach grumble. She unentangled herself from Thor and was about to stand up when a blip from her phone alerted her to a new notification. Curious, the woman grabbed the device from where it had been resting on the nearest nightstand, unlocked it, and opened the email. The sender was Jupiter from the Roman pantheon, extending an invitation to a black tie event in fourteen days' time. Upon scanning the recipient list, Themis noticed the message had been sent to all gods and goddesses of every pantheon present on Earth.
"So apparently Jupiter's inviting us to a ball in two weeks?" the blonde announced, looking up at Thor with a dubious frown. "I'm not sure if it's a wise idea considering how... confrontational the conclave was. Or at least that's what Bastet told me, anyway." From the way tensions had built up and boiled over at the Seattle Library a few days previously, Themis was certainly not sorry that her illness and the return of the jury with the veredict for her case had caused her to miss the event.
Thor nodded, confirming he heard about how eventful the Conclave was. Part of him dreaded hearing from Morrigan about missing it but he had better things to do-- or rather, better faces to punch. But the issue of Jupiter’s black tie party hung over his head like a rain cloud he didn’t have any hand in creating. “Well, Jupiter has never been known for being wise. All of that money has to compensate for something, right?” Thor forced himself to laugh before letting out a sigh. “But I guess it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t show up. Maybe I can trash his place at some point. I’m sure that’ll be fun.”
"Thor--" came Themis' stern voice, although her tone was accompanied by a small smile. "I thought we had agreed on no more fighting? That you would be on your very best behavior?"
“Only when it came to starting fights, but the second I get provoked, there’s no way I’m leaving it unfinished.” Again, another forced laugh came from his lips, while Themis continued to smile as she shook her head. “Anyway, what do you think? Are you going to bother attending? You Greeks are pretty anti-Roman, aren’t you?”
"Honestly? I could care less about what pantheon anyone belongs to as long as they're good, decent people," she said matter-of-factly with a small shrug. "But I will say that I haven't got the slightest bit of interest in attending that ball. There are some wounds better left untouched for a while, and some faces better left unseen in order for oneself to truly heal from secrets, lies and betrayal." She was, of course, referring to the painful event that had led her to the arms of the man now sitting in front of her.
By this point, he turned to face her. “I understand not wanting to be among certain companies. I’m fairly certain there are a few who would be in their happiest mindsets if neither one of us showed up, but why give them that satisfaction?” His question was rhetorical as he continued, “The way I see it is this is the perfect opportunity to cast waves. But if it makes you feel better, if they start trouble, I’ll just beat the ever living daylights out of anyone who gives you or I the wrong look.” He desperately wanted to be given an excuse to kick some ass in the house of the Romans.
"Admit it, Thor: you just want an excuse to pull out that hammer of yours and go apeshit bashing people's skulls in," Themis said with a good-natured laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek before resting her chin on his shoulder. "We both know you could care less about any sort of opinion these individuals may have of you. It's the fighter in you the one who's begging to be let out of the cage again."
“Who says I need my hammer?” He laughed, letting a moment pass before addressing the other thing she correctly pointed out. “I won’t lie to you: I would give justice to those who escape it. There’s a part of me that wishes it was Istanbul again where I was free to fight until my heart’s content, but I know in this…progressive society, that’s considered to be a crime. It’s part of my reason why I started Heidrun. It’s why I do what the biased police around here refuse to do. It’s not a lot and I wish I could just wind back time, but it’s all I can really do.”
"There's a saying I like to keep at the forefront of my mind in regards to my livelihood: rules are the only thing that separates us from the animals," the woman mused, staring out into the open bedroom window for a second before turning her warm, hazel eyes in his direction. "And as an ADA, it is my duty to justly enforce these laws to the best of my ability. But I'm not oblivious to the fact that we live in a world where most things belong to a shade of gray, and are not simply black or white. And when I'm unable to carry out justice to the lengths it deserves to be, I'm glad we have you to finish the job. No guilty party will go unpunished by us. It's why we make such a great team."
He just sat there, looking at her, hearing what she had to say about...well, everything. About how she, an ADA of all people, was admitting the system wasn’t perfect; about how she,the ADA, didn’t outright condemn someone like him expressing a desire to sometimes take justice into his own hands. It made him feel validated. And not just because of his nightly activities. In all the time he had known Themis, of course, he knew why he was so attracted to her. She appealed to a lot of his ideals and, let’s face it: she’s heavenly, too. But it was also about what she represented, and how that part of him that wanted to protect those in need of it aligned with her desire to deliver justice to those who deserve it.
“I knew there was a reason why we always found our way back to each other.” He found himself admitting, cracking both a smile and a laugh. He took her hands into his. “I hope you know this is why I love you. Your ability to stand firm on what you believe in but also not shy to admit that sometimes personal justice can be an option is why we’ve always stayed connected throughout the centuries.”
"So you only love me for my morals? How utterly boring," she joked, the corners of her mouth curling upward with the hint of a playful smile and her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Come on now, Themis,” Thor spoke as his hand left hers and firmly grabbed her thigh. He massaged it as he gently kissed her. Whether or not she was feeling good, Thor loved her regardless. “It goes without saying I have a deep fondness for more than just your morals-- as I’m sure you adore me for more than just my honor code.” He leaned in for another kiss, leaving out the gentleness this time.
“I mean, I won’t lie: those muscles of yours certainly help your case,” she teased, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows at Thor before letting out a giggle and returning his kiss with that level of passion and enthusiasm only he brought out of her.
The God of Thunder’s lips curled into a confident smile and he let his hands explore her legs some more. “What evidence do you have to back this up, counselor? The Jury would love to know.” Thor traced his arms from her legs to her lower back, gently tugging Themis closer to him so her...evidence could be presented to the court.
Themis' laugh echoed across the room-- a sound as bright as the rays of light peeking through the clouds outside. "If I present my facts to the court, then I risk everyone else falling in love with you too," she explained, standing up just long enough to take a seat in his lap and wrapping her arms around him once more. "I can't take that risk... I don't want to lose you," the blonde admitted, and the unexpected honesty and vulnerability of her statement forced Themis to bite her lower lip and avert her eyes.
And that was the last thing he expected to see; for her to speak so earnestly and truthfully. He was expecting some kind of comment about his muscles, some innuendo about other parts of his body -- maybe with a reference to Mjölnir. But to his genuine surprise, she chose a road that he often found himself wanting to go down as well. Still, part of his astute mind that always was wondering about what might happen next.
Following that mindset, he brought one arm from behind her back, raising it up to her chin, and grasped it gently, hoping this gesture would encourage her to allow her eyes to follow his voice. “And I don’t want to lose you either.” His voice was low and their opposing cheeks touched as he felt the warmth of her skin, subtle shocks of static electricity traveling from his being to hers.
She gently rested her forehead against his, finding comfort in his warmth and their physical contact. Even though Themis was certain his intentions were honest and true, a part of her begged for the verbal reassurance of what she knew in her heart. "I love you, Thor. I love you so, so much. Just… Please don't break my heart…" she whispered, leaning back just enough to look up at him with scared, pleading eyes.
It was in that moment that both of them knew what this moment represented. It wasn’t the admissions of deep adoration they held for each other for centuries nor the years of times they’ve remained as more than just friends but never crossing the invisible line drawn in the sand. No, it wasn’t about either of those things but rather about this moment being the true test of what exactly meant most to them. Thor knew this and it was confirmed to him, just now, that she knew it too. As sure as he was that Themis, proud Greek Goddess and ADA of King’s COunty, was scared shitless out of her mind, fearful of something far worse than an irreversible death, so was Thor of the fact that what he said right now would change the entire dynamic of their relationship -- the dynamic that, up until this point, had always been a casual friends with benefits arrangement. But something had changed and Thor couldn’t push it aside any longer. It was now or never.
So the God of Thunder surrendered himself entirely to the moment and locked eyes with Themis in his best attempt to give her the confirmation she needed. “On my honor as a God of Asgard and as a man who has always loved you: I will never break your heart, Themis, and there’ll never be a day where my love for you wanes.” He pulled her into a tight hug for the extra reassurance he couldn’t help but feel they both needed.
The insecurities, uncertainties, doubts and even the illness she'd been battling against, was momentarily forgotten as Themis allowed herself to get wrapped up and lost in Thor's strong, loving embrace. His arms had always felt like home to her-- providing her with a peace and sense of security she hadn't experienced before. Themis felt unconditionally loved and safe with Thor, resting easy knowing that even if the world around them was suddenly on fire, he would rather die than let a single flame touch her.
Once their embrace had come to an end, Themis gently took Thor's face in her hands. Their eyes met for a moment, forest green with stormy blue, before she made the promise that would seal their fates together forever.
"And you will have me… Until my last, dying breath..." the goddess swore to her lover, letting her ageless promise hang in the air before pulling Thor into the brazen kiss that would lead them to passionately come together as one.
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The argument with Leo had only served to further aggravate Soleil's rotten mood. While the rest of her classmates were starting to make their arrivals to the party downstairs, Shady was still lying in bed, staring daggers at the ceiling of her empty bedroom as if it was personally responsible for her suffering. Since they had known each other, Sol and Leo had gone through their fair share of 'confrontations', which mostly consisted of petty arguments over menial shit that were quickly forgiven and forgotten. However, this one felt different. Maybe it was because of the words exchanged, or because she knew that deep down they both meant what they had said. Either way, the clash had left the green-eyed girl's stomach bubbling with guilt and regret. No matter what negative thing she or any other person said about him, Leo Brooks was still her best friend. The last thing she wanted after this incident with Teddy was to lose another person she deeply cared about.
After a few more minutes of moping around feeling sorry for herself, Soleil decided to channel her feelings into something more productive. She quickly jumped up from the bed, changed into athletic wear, put on her wireless earphones and headed straight to her happy place. In no time, the sound of strong punches coming into contact with a heavy punching bag would fill the otherwise silent gymnasium.
After a few more minutes of moping around feeling sorry for herself, Soleil decided to channel her feelings into something more productive. She quickly jumped up from the bed, changed into athletic wear, put on her wireless earphones and headed straight to her happy place. In no time, the sound of strong punches coming into contact with a heavy punching bag would fill the otherwise silent gymnasium.
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