Victoria Sainte Maxime Whore ❤️

About Lyon

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya bout this “whore” business—hah, what a mess! I’m Loki, y’know, smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” and all that jazz. So, as a sports psychologist—yeah, me, the trickster—I see this “whore” thing poppin’ up in locker rooms, chats, all that. Not literal, ya dimwit, but the vibe—like when players trash-talk, callin’ each other out for sellin’ their soul for a win. “You’re a whore for that trophy!” they’d yell, and I’d smirk, thinkin’, *Oh, mortals, so predictable.*

Sainte-Maxime

Then, we hit up the beach. The sun is blazin’, and I’m feelin’ good. But then, I see this guy trying to impress a girl. He’s flexin’ and strutting like he’s in a music video. I’m like, “Dude, chill. You’re not that cool.” But hey, who am I to judge?

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