The amount of yellow in this house is giving me a headache. The kitchen was the worst from all the places I had checked so far. Yellow refrigerator, yellow cabinets, yellow table, yellow chairs to match the fucking yellow table, and a used yellow dishwasher. I bet if the previous owner could, he would have had the sink yellow too. What was it with the shut in and yellow? As a child I was taught that yellow was a happy color, for smiley faces and the sun. But the man who owned the place before me put a bullet in his skull right above where I'm standing now. Ironic, in a sense.

I had no need to fear the place. He obviously wasn't a person who would take someone out too. I didn't need to skim the backyard for old war landmines or bear traps set up to take off little legs or catch a few animals that wandered in at night. He went out with a blast (HA!) and left all his ugly things here for others to deal with and that's how I ended up with a yellow, ugly house. But I will give him credit, he took care of this place and I promise I will as long as I own it.

The realtor, however, was reluctant to hand over the keys once I mentioned I had two little ones. She rambled on and on about children growing up in a house where someone has died. Personally, I believe death is the most natural thing to happen in ones lifetime. It can be cruel and brutal but in its true form it honest and kind. We all go through it, some earlier than others... Back to the woman who wasn't going to hand over the papers. After her long winded rant of concern I shut her up with a simple "What they don't know won't hurt them." I recall her sputtering for a moment before handing me the documents. Oh what a fool.

ooo

Death and all this place wasn't so bad compared to the more extreme places I've called home. On the rating system of awful memories and appearances; vindene gården* was the worst of the worst. I spent several years of my life there. But that is a story I will weave another day

ooo

The second was this little Hostel I lived in right after birthing Sleipnir. It was in a dark slum part of town that took in the scourge of humanity. All the little girls deemed whores and the boys who dealt drugs or were trouble makers (or sometimes mothers of their own,) assembled under one scummy building. I fit right in and no one ever paid me any trouble nor attention. I was just another nameless teen. I remember my room mate, Sif; a girl who ran away from home to have her lovers child. We shared a little room that smelled of day old cabbage and dust and got along just fine. She would watch Sleipnir while I searched for work, eventually the old librarian recognized me from when I used to live there. She gave me an internship there where I got to work with books all day. When I could finally make money I left that nameless little Hostel after saying good bye to dear Sif. I haven't really thought about it since.

ooo

"MAAAAAAMMMMMMAAAAA!" A scream from outside and my heart is racing. I might have been wrong about the bear trap thing from earlier but now is no time to reflect on the possibilities of malicious dealings. I'm running and in a few quick strides I'm outside and searching. It was Fenrir because Sleipnir is at the porch waiting for me to show up. I peer towards the place the noise came from and see a giant shadow blocking my view. Is a mythological creature trying to steal my child?

No. No. The darkness turns and come out from the shade. He might as well be a giant because he appears to be one. A mountain of pure muscle and flesh carries a puny boy in his meaty claws. Though I can't make out his face, I know some things. He is well over six feet tall and weighs more than two-hundred and fifty pounds easily. Though despite an awful brute, he is wearing a gray suit that almost matches my house. He steps out of the shadows and my breath hitches a bit. I'm no longer scared but intrigued. He is a demigod. The kind I remember from units on Greek Gods. Tan and sculpted to perfection. His firm jaw has an evenly trimmed beard that covers a nice patch of flesh that suits him. His hair is chopped short an styled to make him look young but professional. And then there are his eyes.

His eyes are what really catch my eye. They are the purest blue I have ever seen in all of my time on this Earth. They easily attract your attention and seem to spew out kindness and dull brute force that matches his body type. But the second part is an illusion for I can sense a deeper meaning behind those eyes of his. One giant mystery (yet again no pun intended.) He is close now. Smiling a perfect white smile. Who is he? A model? A professional fighter? No. None of that seems to fit him. Now, doth the beast speaketh?

"Not the best way to meet your new neighbor but I was on my way over when I saw this little guy trip over the old tree and bloody up his knee." His voice is electrifying, deep like a cats purr but also strong like hard alcohol. It's only now that he mentions it do I see Fenrir's knee is bleeding. It's not a wound that can't be taken care of with a few bandages and mother kisses, but it did frighten him. My poor babe. He seems all too comfortable in Mr. Beasts arms though. Great, he is good with kids. Especially my kids.

"Well thank you anyways, mister...?" I scoop up my baby who clings to my neck but keeps staring with wide and curious eyes at the man before us. I can feel Sleipnir hiding behind me, poking his head out only when he knows it's safe to.

"Thor Odinson." Fitting. He extends his meaty paw which I gladly accept.

"Loki Laufeyson," I hide a shiver as he keeps holding my hand. His palms are rough from physical work and almost, how do you say it, enticing. I never want it to end. "These two are my sons, Fenrir the lad you saved and my oldest behind me is Sleipnir." Sleipnir waves and Fenrir continues to stare. I nudge him. "What do you say to Mr. Odinson?"

"Thank you." He squeaks and the handsome oaf lets out a bellow of laughter loud enough to shake the Earth. He retracts his hand to ruffle Fenrir's red fluff of hair.

"You are very welcome young Fenrir. Please call me Thor though. Mr. Odinson is my father." Oh my this son of Odin is a charmer. Handsome, dashing, good with children, upbeat, looks like he might have a well paying job, has a better looking house, and seems mentally all there. Too perfect. There has to be a catch. There always is.

"When you have settled in you are all invited over to dine with my fiance and myself." Oh. Well then... I didn't want to pursue a relationship anyways. All the good ones are in stable and loving relationships with attractive women. Damn.

"Sounds lovely. If you don't mind Thor, I have a lot to do. Thank you for saving my baby." Please just get off of my death trap porch. He slowly takes the hint and his perfect smile never falters. He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives a friendly squeeze. Are those chills running up my spine? I believe so.

"Oh yes of course. Sorry. Until we meet again, Loki."

"Please call... me.. Mister-." He stalks off to the nice car parked next door and gives us one last wave before disappearing and letting me correct him. Damn you Thor Odinson.

*rough translation: The Winds Farm*