#ask freya

[littlefreya]

Do you think Syverson would like it if his girlfriend gets a tattoo of his name on her wrist?

Disclaimer: Logan is not Sy’s real name (he doesn’t have one in the film). I came up with this name for him in Lines in the Sand. However, it’s not the same Sy from that story, nor from Feral Collision. :)

Pure cotton candy fluff.

Please comment and reblog 🖤

****

“Now that’s jinxing it, darlin’!” The Captain huffed, displeased at the fresh marking that decorated his girl’s wrist.

A deep frown crested his tanned brow as he inspected it closely, tilting her wrist back and forth.

‘Logan’ it read in big black accented letters. It wasn’t even a good tattoo to begin with. Trashy style, like the one his friends at the unit had. Did she get it at some walk-in studio at the train station? Knowing the reckless imp she is, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“I thought you’d like it…” she answered sheepishly, her voice somewhat vulnerable.

Sy lifted his gaze to meet hers, his big blue eyes softening as he noticed the concern and guilt sufracing her face. Carefully, he cradled her hand between his labour-coarse palms and drew it to his chest.

“Oh, darlin’, don't get me wrong. I love it that you did it for me, but…”

“But?”

“You know what they say about couples who get one another’s names inked, right? They end up breaking up and then you are left with that mistake haunting you for the rest of your life. I don’t want that. I don’t want us ever breaking up…” Sy explained, his voice carrying gently as he took her little palm and brought it to his lips. He kissed each one of her fingers, the bristle of his beard grazing her skin and making her chuckle.

“Is that a wedding proposal?” she jested.

Sy's heart jumped to his throat. For a moment there he wondered if she knew about the ring hidden in his old duffle bag. Looking at her pretty little face, staring at him with fervent anticipation, he considered asking her now, in the heat of the moment. But his impish little love deserved more than a mid-noon proposal.

“Now don’t push it, missy,” he warned playfully and booped her nose. “Now let’s get that tattoo taken care of and put some ointment on it”

[thedemonofcat]

Don't get me wrong, I love the fics where Jaskier walks up to witchers and demands attention/protection.

But where are my fics where Geralt plops Jaskier in another witcher's camp with a list of care instructions and a promise to be back in a week?

I love this idea, and the detailed list of steps for taking care of Jaskier is impressive.

1. Make sure Jaskier gets at least three meals a day. Keep snacks handy, or he’ll end up chewing on random plants found along the way.

2. To ensure a better morning, Jaskier prefers sleeping in a tavern bed. If you're staying at one, make sure the bard gets to bed before midnight—watch out for encores.

3. When camping outdoors, give Jaskier the softer pillow for a more restful night.

4. Jaskier thrives on attention and conversation. Engage with him frequently, or he'll sulk. He loves telling stories, even if they're exaggerated—just play along.

5. Keep a close eye on him in crowds. He has a habit of causing trouble or flirting with the wrong people. If he starts a brawl, get him out of there quickly.

6. Don’t let him wander off alone—he has a knack for getting lost or into trouble. Always keep him within sight.

7. Jaskier might be immortal, but it’s best not to test that theory.

[comikbook]

hello all…u should send me asks about her…i need to develop her more

[almostfoxglove]

I’m on ep 3 of Rivals. Pls give us some thots you’ve had about our hunk of a man Declan. 🙏🏻

OZZIEEEEE oh my god I am UNWELL over declan o'hara. the full circle moment of aidan turner in being human plastered all over tumblr Back In The Day (feels old) and thinking, at the time, 'he's okay I guess' to being back on tumblr now and fucking foaming at the mouth over him has been... humbling. to say the least.

some thots:

1) that man really said "I don't care what you did or what you do you're my wife and I will still choose you and fuck the life out of you every way I know how and at every opportunity" like excUSEEEE MEEE SIRRR????? E X C U S E M E

2) that man's a munch I mean it's just canon but stamina. for. hours. will edge himself into eternity to get you off six times before he lets you touch him dear god

3) this man is an exhibitionistttttttt like his hand's up your dress at the dinner table when friends are over. he's fucking you in the bathroom at the lavish party with his hand over your mouth so you can't scream. he's got the remote to the vibrator in your panties in his pocket at the theatre and cranks that fucker to the max setting at the quietest moment on stage :,)

in short: I should be institutionalized. god speed with the remaining episodes please come scream at me anytime :,,)

[katkeyboardmastah]

A Freya doodle while we wait for KHML news

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Surprise Visit Pt 2 (Thor X Son!Reader)

Characters: Thor Odinson X Son!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: None

Pt 1

Request: Hi, I'm just finish Poco's udon world, and right of the batch I thought what if Poco is Thor's son, Poco has some of his feature too and I remember your fic Surprise Visit. Can you please do a Part 2 of it?🥺 reader is like Thor but he quite shy and always bring with books that his mother read before bed they bonding by activities together Thor bring him to Asgard to meet his grandparents Loki read them books, tell them stories, show and teach them magic (Harry Potter) with Freyaa and all fluff❤

The first few days after finally meeting your dad had been awkward to say the least. You were spending almost every waking moment either with him, or your uncle. You had expected that Loki would be a lot more awkward with you- or straight up wouldn’t like you from the get go, but it ended up being kind of the opposite. Thor had been a bit too eager from the get go to play the fatherly role, and you found it unnerving, and when Thor realised that (with help from Clint and Steve pointing it out for him) he backed up and started to just try and get to know you, your interests, your dislikes, and take things a little slower. Loki, on the other hand, was nowhere near as pushy, gave you space, and didn’t force conversation on to you. Eventually though, you ended up finding something to bond with Loki over; Books. 

You had been interested in the books he read, even if you couldn’t read the language, and worked up the courage to ask him about it, and after an explanation, he asked what kind of books you liked, and it was a start of an actual long and meaningful conversation. Loki took that, and hinted that Thor should look into those books. The next day, Thor showed up to your room with a pile of books in his arms and a grin on his face. 

Things since then had got a lot better between you and your dad. Instead of forcing it, or acting the part for the sake of it, Thor had naturally fallen into the father role that made it a comfortable change for you. Thor had little interest in books, but you had the ritual with him now of him buying a book for you, you read it, and after every chapter, you give him a rundown of what happened in detail, and you’d discuss it. You’d opened up a bit with him over the weeks, about what your life was like growing up with mum, holidays, key memories for you, and the rituals you two had- including reading books before bed together, which was where your love for books came from. Thor soon got you some of the books you mentioned, so you could do it with him. You got into a nice rhythm of living with and being around your dad and uncle, to the point where you were expecting it when an advancement was suggested. 

“How do you feel about going to Asgard with Loki and I, tomorrow?” Thor asked, as you were tidying up after another late night discussion about a book you had been reading- this one actually a recommendation from your Uncle Loki. You stopped what you were doing, and looked over at Thor, who waited patiently. 

“Uh… sure. Okay.” You agreed hesitantly, and immediately his face lit up. You had long guessed this conversation would happen, so you had time to prepare for it, though you knew that was actually impossible. What could prepare you for going to the land of gods- where you know you didn’t belong, even if Thor was your father? “Do… Do they know about me?” You asked cautiously. 

“Of course!” He immediately answered. “As soon as I returned to Agard after we met, I told mother and father about you, and my friends! I wanted to tell the entire kingdom, but mother- your grandmother, insisted we wait till you met them all first before telling the rest of Asgard. Freya, your grandmother, is the most eager to meet you.” He gushed to you. You’d heard a lot about your grandparents through both Thor and Loki. Admittedly, Thor was the only one who talked about Odin, and while Loki didn’t talk much about them, when he did, it was always about Freya, about how she was also a bit of a bookworm, and how she taught him magic.

You got up early the next morning, mostly due to struggling to sleep from the anticipation, and you didn’t have to wait for either your dad or uncle to be ready either, though you couldn’t tell if it was due to excitement or nerves, or maybe they were both feeling those things- your dad the excitement, and Loki the nerves. It didn’t help that your dad was a raving optimist, and your uncle was a pessimist, so you couldn’t tell who was feeling the right way, so you just adopted a bit of each of their emotions. Cautiously excited.

You honestly wasn’t sure what to expect when you actually got there, or even the process of getting there in the first place, but as soon as you left the Bifrost, you were in awe. Sure, they had told you all about Asguard- the rainbow path that led to it, the great kingdom, the beauty of it all, but none of that was in comparison to what you were actually seeing. You remained in stunned silence the entire walk up the bridge, actually entering into Asguard, past the several hundred people who came to welcome them back and ask about you, up until your father actually called for you, after seeing you distracted by something else further away. You turned, seeing several people stood with your father and uncle, looking at you smiling. “Y/N, these are my friends, Fandrall, Hogun, Volstagg, and Sif.” Your father introduced you.

“So this is the little prince?” Sif questioned with a smile. 

“Little? Thor, you said he was a boy! Give it a few years and he’ll be ready to be king!” Volstagg laughed, though the mention of such a role made you look at Loki quickly, and then your dad. 

“He is a boy! The very idea of being king is still a long way away- you make it sound like he’ll outlive me.” Thor defended. 

“Speaking of Kings.” Loki spoke up, placing  hand on Thor’s shoulder. 

“Right! Haven’t had the chance to introduce him to the rest of his family. We’ll pick this up later, promise.” Thor told them motioning you over, and guiding you deeper into the kingdom, down several expansive corridors, before you turned a corner, and spotted a group of women talking in the hallway ahead, and your father and uncle stopped. “Loki, stay here with Y/N.” Thor requested, before going towards the group, and you looked up at Loki confused, who patted you on the shoulder. You watched as your father approached the group, made some small talk, before all the women except one left down another hallway, and Thor stepped to the side, motioning the woman towards you and Loki, and you realised who she must be. Freya. Your grandmother. 

As soon as she saw you properly, she smiled warmly, hands clasped and pressed against her chest with excitement, and any fear you had- fear of not being liked, or not meeting their standards, of being a disappointment, being looked down on for being half human- it all faded. You could feel the love and acceptance radiating off the woman as she reached out her hands, and took your own. “Y/N, words cannot describe the absolute joy I feel to finally be in your presence finally after all of Thor’s descriptions.” Freya told you, gently squeezing your hands, and you couldn’t help but smile too. 

“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you too from dad and uncle Loki.” You told her, and her smile grew, before she pulled you closer and wrapped an arm around you. 

“Thor- Loki, go tell your father that you’re here with Y/N- I’ll give Y/N a tour of the palace- we’ll be in the library when you’re done. We have a lot to talk about.” Freya decided, already walking away with you, and you didn’t fight it, leaving with her. 

Thor and Loki did as ordered, finding their father, letting them know they’d also brought you, and after a bit of back and forth questioning where exactly you were, and Loki explaining their mother had already stolen you away herself, and Odin simply sighed, and got up to follow his sons to head to the Library. 

By the time they met back up with you and Freya, you and her were already getting along like a house on fire- she’d asked about your mother, her health, your childhood, her own expieriences that related when raising Thor and Loki, and when she heard about your little tradition with Thor with books, she picked out a book for you to take home to read, and to keep. You felt comfortable enough with her to ask about Loki and Odin’s relationship, the comment Thor’s friends made about being King one day and how you weren’t big on the idea, and also how according to how your dad and Loki talked about Odin, you were much more worried about meeting him than her. Freya had answers your questions, reassured you of your worries, and promised Odin would be on his best behaviour, and she helped your first meeting with Odin a lot from the get go. 

As soon as Freya saw her husband, she stood first, smiling. “Odin, thank you for joining us. I was just about to ask Y/N if they’d like a private family dinner. What do you think?” Freya asked him, wrapping an arm around you again, and you smiled nervously at your grandfather, who was a lot more intimidating than you had anticipated. Odin didn’t talk at first, stepping a little closer, and you panicked internally, not knowing what to do, if you were supposed to do something- but Freya had kept her arm around you, gently rubbing your arm in reassurance. 

“That can certainly be arranged. It’ll let us get to know our grandson. Thor, will you come with me to make the arrangements?” He asked, of his oldest, who nodded. “See you at dinner, Y/N.” He told you, before making his leave, Thor smiling at you, before following after him. 

“In the meantime.” Freya spoke up once the two were quite a distance away. “Y/N, want to learn some magic?” She asked. 

“Mother, I don’t know about that…” Loki fussed. 

“Just beginning spells, nothing serious… we’ll save that for later. Maybe you could mentor Y/N as well when back on Midgard.” She suggested, and you realised that maybe, just maybe… Loki got some of his mischief from his mother. 

“Am I able to do magic? Since I’m half human?” You questioned. 

“I believe so, it’s worth a try. You coming Loki?” Freya questioned her son, who simply sighed, and followed after, deciding to be apart of his mother’s antics, knowing that Thor might lose his mind when he finds out about this. 

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my Gif

TAGS: @insanityismysanity12345 @klanceiscannon14 @marvelhoeingismyhobby @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort  @freyathehuntress @abbybills22-blog @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp @rebellionofthecattle @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

[akelafang]

Can't help but imagine Arthur and Merlin playing matchmaker for their children the way Violet Bridgerton does hers. Arthur introducing them to people he thinks they'll take an interest in. Merlin subtly pushing them to the right action when courting drama pops up. Both of them ensuring that, while there are some matches that are more beneficial for the kingdom, their children know that their parents will not force them into a marriage they are not happy with and it's okay to choose a love match over an alliance with a neighboring kingdom

Will: Papa you're not mad about me choosing Bonnie over Princess Lola are you? Arthur: Son I changed several laws so that I could marry my manservant, I have no room to judge. At least Bonnie's the daughter of 2 knights, the council will have much less to complain about compared to my choice of spouse. My only issue is did she have to be Gwaine's daughter?

Merlin: Tell me, is there a reason you tend to throw Sir Moris around on the training grounds so much? Morgan: If this is your way of asking if I fancy Sir Moris and I'm pulling his pigtails instead of dealing with it properly then I'm sorry to tell you but you're off the mark on this one mama. I have more maturity than my lizard-brain little brothers. Merlin: Then why do you always push yourself so much harder when he's at training? The only other difference is that when he's not there his sister's not...oh Morgan are you trying to show off to Elise by beating up her brother when she watches training? Morgan: ...Maybe. Merlin: Alright, let me give you some advice on how to charm her without sending her family members to see Gaius.

Random Lord: My son has quite the talent for forging and metalwork. He's been asking to become an apprentice for my local smith. Arthur: Really? My second son Tristan is a talented bladesmith, he makes all his weapons himself. We should introduce them to each other.

Merlin: You certainly don't look ready for tonight's feast Freya: I'm not going down I'm...feeling sick Merlin: Ah, I'm quite familiar with this sickness. However you're not going to find the cure by moping in your bed all night. Freya: But going into the banquet hall will only make it worse. How can I face Lady Roslin after today? She hates me. Merlin: Did she say that? Freya: ... Merlin: Well her family leaves tomorrow, tonight might be your last chance to find out for sure

[ursiday]

do you have any bits of backstory about Freya her design is so pretty

Yees I've come up with a bit, I'm kind of just making up lore for these ocs as I go along lol. Like I mentioned in the tags she is Agnes's ex, they went to college together and were a couple for many years. Freya is an attorney and is very smart but prefers to surround herself with talented and successful people in more of a manegerial/influential role. I would almost liken her to an Iago type of character but probably not quite so evil lol

Freya became generally close to Agnes's family who are well-to-do and politically influential, she acts as their legal council and also kinda ended up becoming Agnes's agent while she played the viola professionally. Thats a big part of the reason they broke up because Agnes had a bit of an explosive episode resulting in her breaking away from her lifestyle and family

[lacm-ac]

Tyr and Týr are in the same room and have to convince Freya that the other one is Odin and HE'S the real Týr.

Odin got got.

[andreal831]

you had said a few times in your metas that Elijah taking after Dahlia than his parents was something that made Esther (and by extension Mikael) awkward and more distant with him. but why did it never extended to Kol?

Wouldn't his preference for witchcraft, especially the dark arts, mischievous, cunning and outgoing traits make him more comparable to Dahlia, than say Elijah's warmer and paternal nature?

To me, it's the immediacy of it.

Elijah was born mere months after Dahlia took Freya away. The pain was still fresh for Esther. And then instead of the golden haired daughter, she got a dark haired boy who was calm and quiet, much like Dahlia. She hadn't even gotten the chance to mourn her daughter when they moved to an unknown land with unknown people and she had Elijah quickly after. Kol wasn't born for years after that. And he was born after Klaus, which, in Esther's own words, healed their family.

Esther was in a much better mental place when she had Kol. She had Klaus and Ansel and had settled into her place in the new world.

I also think Finn and Kol's hair darkened as they got older, just based on these two photos up top. Elijah appears to be the only one that grew up with that dark hair. Kol's hair as a kid was still brown, but not as dark.

But to your point about personality, I think Elijah reminded Esther more of Dahlia than Kol did. From what we can see, Dahlia was a parental figure to Esther, just as Elijah was to his siblings. Dahlia wasn't wild and reckless like Kol. Rather, she was willing to do anything for family and loyal to a fault. Kol is a lot more free-spirited and thrill seeking, while Dahlia didn't like that in Esther. Kol likely reminded Esther of a younger version of herself, while Elijah was the younger version of Dahlia.

Thanks for the ask!

[littlefreya]

Called OUT

Ooops 👀 that’s definitely us

[thedemonofcat]

“It’s strange.”

“Hmmmm?”

“I’ve been on the road most of my life,” Jaskier says, “yet you’re the only witcher I’ve ever met. You would think I’d have stumbled upon at least one other.”

Geralt chews slowly, thinking of how strongly Jaskier smells of his territorial pheromones. How his kind were careful to treat one another’s mates with caution, lest they inadvertently cause conflict within their dwindling numbers.

He hadn’t thought about it before, but other witchers probably assume Jaskier is his mate and act accordingly.

Geralt shrugs. “It’s a big continent.”

It was bound to happen sooner or later: Geralt and Jaskier would eventually cross paths with one of Geralt's brothers. As it turned out, it was Eskel—which, Geralt thought, was probably the best possible outcome.

“Nice to meet you,” Jaskier said warmly, extending a hand to Eskel with a friendly smile. He didn’t notice the quick glance Eskel shot Geralt’s way, as if seeking permission to shake his hand. Geralt gave a subtle nod, signaling it was fine.

As Eskel took Jaskier’s hand, Geralt unconsciously moved a little closer, his presence protective.

“It’s good to finally meet Geralt’s mate,” Eskel said.

“Geralt’s what?” Jaskier asked, bewildered.

[sidneycarter]

love the idea that post The Situation thomas is just increasingly obtuse when it comes to jimmy's feelings.

so when one day mrs hughes mentions in passing at how much easier it is to handle james now he's settled down, thomas is incredibly confused. and a little bit heartbroken too of course.

it gets even stranger when on valentine's day alfred sulkily asks jimmy how many cards he's sent that year and jimmy merely shrugs and smirks. mrs patmore chastises them for gossiping and announces that surely, jimmy's only got one to be sending.

then one night, most of the staff are enjoying a rare night off in the pub. as usual, a host of pretty girls surround jimmy, and one particularly brave one asks jimmy if he's got any plans on one of his half days. jimmy throws her a cheeky wink and says "sorry, darling, but i'm spoken for."

thomas starts feeling really rather hurt. he's known all along that this would happen eventually - that jimmy would eventually move on and find a nice village lass, but it still stings to hear it. somehow, it hurts even more knowing that clearly jimmy has fallen for someone but he hasn't even told thomas.

thomas puts on a brave face and elbows daisy in the side. "d'ya hear that? jimmy's kept that quiet 'asn't he?"

daisy looks at him with a frown and cocks her head to the side. "well, not really--" but before she can say anything else she's swept up into the rowdy conversation of the table.

a few weeks later, thomas and jimmy are alone in the servants hall, with thomas reading the paper in his rocking chair and jimmy tapping out melodies on the piano. the tune he's playing is sweet and gentle, and thomas finds himself swaying his head along. as the song draws to a close, a gentle round of applause sounds from the doorway.

baxter stands smiling. "let me call you sweetheart is one of my favourites. it was beautiful, jimmy."

jimmy blushes prettily and stands, closing the piano lid. "thank you, mrs baxter. good night."

after he's gone from the room, baxter enters to fill herself a glass of water. she smiles fondly at thomas. "he's so smitten you know. head over heels." she rolls her eyes affectionately.

it takes months until thomas finally figures out the truth of what's going on. well, to say he figures it out is somewhat generous.

he's in the servants hall again, this time feeling a little despondent with a cup of tea. jimmy had gone to the pictures with alfred of all people, their friendship seemingly improved since jimmy's given up on chasing ivy's skirt. thomas is resolutely not waiting up to make sure jimmy gets home safe. anna is the only other person still up, and she sits opposite thomas stitching one of lady mary's hemlines in companionable silence.

thomas dwells on his own thoughts for a while, until anna rests her sewing on the table and fixes him with a worried look. "are you quite alright, mr barrow?"

"hm? oh, yes anna, i'm very well thank you." he takes a sip of his tea to hide his moue.

anna looks unconvinced. "thomas," she says seriously, "is it-- have you and jimmy had a falling out?"

that genuinely surprises thomas. for all his worry and sadness over jimmy's as yet unknown love interest, they'd never fallen out. "no, no, of course not. he's just busy, that's all, which is to be expected now he's, you know," thomas waves his cup vaguely in the air, "courting the mystery lady."

anna chokes on a laugh. "the mystery lady?"

"yes. he's-- he's courting someone, isn't he? everyone keeps saying that he's... or suggesting that he's taken with someone." Thomas adds somewhat bitterly, "seems quite serious if you ask me. not that he's told me anything about it of course."

anna stops giggling and looks at him oddly. "thomas you-- you can't mean--"

"-- do you know who she is, anna?" thomas interrupts a little desperately. he's becoming tired of it all and he just wants to know-- how bad it is, for how long he's going to have to tend to his broken heart.

"thomas. thomas, jimmy's sweetheart is-- well, it's you."

"me?" thomas has a brief, sickening memory of his feelings before, and how miss o'brien toyed with them so badly. but he knows in his gut, that anna would never, and could never do that. he knows she's being honest, as confusing and terrifying as the statement may be.

"yes." anna smiles. "he's like a little puppy when he's with you. surely you've noticed? he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. he wants to do everything you do, and it seems like every other conversation is all about what you've been telling him this week. he only ever plays love songs on the piano when you're in the room. he laughs at all your jokes and he's not even glanced in the direction of a girl since last year." anna shakes her head. "i thought you knew and were just letting him get used to it."

"no i didn't -- i didn't know, i thought," thomas can feel himself blushing, "i don't know what i thought."

anna stands with a stifled yawn. "you make each other very happy. if you really didn't know, i think you ought to talk to him. good night, mr barrow."

"good night anna. and thank you."

thomas is left in the still and quiet of the room, watching the steam spiral up from his cup. a private and hopeful smile spreads across his face. yes, he thinks, nodding his head, perhaps we should talk.

[almostfoxglove]

have Javier and reader ever talked about his relations when he was in Columbia? them being best friends and all. did she laugh it off? did she understand? I'm curious ☺️

HI SWEETHEART this made my day when I got it. I'm so sorry it took a while to answer but I hope you don't mind that I got a little carried away with this one... everything's weird and bad right now so I'm gonna post this and try to get some sleep - I hope you're taking care of yourself <3 thank you soso much for sending this ask, seriously it means the world. ily!! here's some tenderness for you.

javier confesses about colombia

an I'LL CARRY YOU drabble

Explicit (18+) | Javier Peña x f!reader | drabble 1.1k words CW: Allusion to canon-typical violence & trauma and two idiots being sickeningly in love.

You never push back on anything but his blame. 

headcanons and full drabble below the cut!

in ICY, javi leaves to colombia (the first time) at twenty-eight (seen in part II). between that moment and when he returns aged thirty-six (seen in part I), they have no contact because her phone number changes, so when he calls her right after leaving (seen in dark heart), he thinks she's icing him out for good. *sobs gently*

we know he disappears again at the end of part I and doesn't return until he comes home for good at the end of part II. between those two meetings, they also have no contact - so his girl doesn't hear a thing about colombia (and by extension, all his sexual escapades), though she follows the news.

in the year after his return (all of part III) I don't think much of what happened down there comes up. javi's traumatized, still acclimating to civilian life while his girl's engaged *sobs harder*, and I imagine he's scared to admit his role in all the death and violence. if / when she asks, I think he keeps it pretty vague and chooses not to talk about the women he was involved with (they aren't together yet, after all)

POST-FINALE HOWEVER, javi tells her pretty much everything in little chunks at a time, including about all the women he slept with and what he knows of what became of them (I imagine the helena story is an especially tearful / difficult retelling, but it's important to him that she knows the truth). he's pretty terrified it'll scare her off, but I think we know her better than that.

here's a peek at what I imagine part of that conversation looked like <3

It’s the middle of the night and he’s not yet buying it, still has that little wrinkle above his nose that folds when he scowls cutting deep into his brow. Propped against the wall in his little twin bed, when you insist Javier’s dark eyes dodge yours and fall to the hands that knot themselves in his lap, anxious. But anxious is fine—just means he’s talking. Cutting off slabs of those missing years like meat from a bone for you to carry.

You’re grateful to be given anything at all. You know how deep trust like this really goes, unseen but branching. Mycelium underground. 

You never push back on anything but his blame. 

“Baby,” you say softly, and his jaw ticks as the word melts him a touch. 

His chin might flicker briefly like his body longs to cry, but if it does he wrestles it back before meeting you with dark, helpless eyes. “You don’t know,” he says, no cruelty in it. His voice not much more solid than a whisper and slaughtered red by guilt.

“Know you though,” you say.

The sigh that cuts out of him could shatter you. Javier turns to stretch out length-wise on the bed, his socked feet hanging off the end. You moved in weeks ago but haven’t gotten around to upgrading to a bigger mattress and part of you believes—though you’d never say it—that he’s waiting to get through all this first. Like the hurt of him needs to be here to do it: in the bed where you both once were small, held. So you allow it, take turns groaning in the daylight hours about your backs and hips and necks, and at night you hold each other ‘cause you have to, to fit in this little thing. Not that you wouldn’t, anyway. Not that either of you know how to sleep without the weight of the other’s body anymore. 

You always did sleep best beside him.

When he’s settled, you slip down to lie against him, propped up on one elbow with your torso folded over his and one arm draped across his hips. Javier sighs, pleased by the weight of you, and closes his eyes. 

“Was different there,” he says, after a long moment. “M’different now.” 

Outside the crickets are rioting again, ribbiting their threaded symphony. You push the hair back from his face—more pewter than ever but so familiar in its waves and curls—and watch the twitching of his face, all the microscopic ways he wrestles with some unnamed memory. 

You give him his time. All this patient, open air until he swallows and starts to say, “Didn’t do right—” 

It isn’t that his voice cracks, just that it stops all at once like someone’s lifted the needle off a record. Though you don’t know precisely what he’s trying to say, you sense its jagged outline. Can feel the memory slicing him anytime he speaks. Below you, Javier clears his throat. “Didn’t do right by them.”

Deep breath, then you push.

“Did you hurt them,” you ask, your voice quiet but solid, firm.

Though his brows fold low, his eyes stay closed. Swallows again. “No,” he says.

“Did you touch them without their consent,” you go on. “Do anything they didn’t want.”

“No,” Javier replies.

“Were you cruel?”

He shifts, uneasy. Mutters back a weak and whispered, “No.” Sometimes he has trouble with this one and stumbles over the answer, but tonight he’s got it right.

You know all this, of course. You’re not asking for you because you already know the answers—know him, whether he wants to admit it right now or not. Doesn’t matter that he’s different now; so are you. So is everybody. Tragedy doesn’t let a goddamn thing stay the same. And while you’ve always known you’ll never see nor fathom the whole, vicious picture—what living down there through years of violence laid ghost and seed beneath his skin—there’s not a bone in your body that believes him malicious. 

At first he worried, but you don’t care about the bodies he lost himself in. All the women he held and had. Sort of surprised you too, but you didn’t learn of them until after you’d found each other again, for good this time, and so what was there to be afraid of? That there’d been, in the worst of his agony, warm hands and welcome bodies? 

No, you don’t care. Doesn’t matter the number. 

You’re glad that at least for small, clustered minutes, he wasn’t always alone.

“Did you try?” you ask. This is the big one, the one you know hurts most for him to hear. “To help them.”

In the turquoise cover of early night, Javier’s face crumples in. Forehead canyoned by lines, his eyes swallowed by miserable, crinkled Vs. You see no glossy tears slip loose but they must be in there, hidden under his lashes when for so long he holds his breath like he can’t trust his own lungs or own mind. While you wait, you lay one palm in the center of his chest and the shimmer of moonlight winks off your hand, reflected in the flat face of a garnet, making silver of red and pearl. It feels, for the moment it’s bright, a little like having his mother back. Like you can feel her in the room, holding him with you.

Javier’s heart hammers beneath your touch, then his hand bolts up to cover yours as if to keep you there. As if you’d ever pull away. “I—”

You press down gently, give him your warmth, your weight, and his hand tightens in kind.

“I wanted to,” he croaks.

“Did you try?”

And it breaks him, chokes him. One wet sound punches out of his chest but he’s tough, soft bits and all. Something in him’s always just known how to hold on. How to take it, for better or worse. But it’s for the better here, you’re certain. Because he won’t survive believing himself evil—you see that clearly, illuminated like a streetlamp casting gold over a night-dark road. If he doesn’t see that he tried, doesn’t let himself feel it, one of these days the guilt will kill him.

It’s just the one ragged breath, then he pebbles apart perfectly still. Steady, you leaden your weight on his sternum, press down a little harder, and Javier grips your hand with greater need. All his warring goes on quietly, invisible in all but his head.

“M’right here,” you tell him gently.

He nods, his eyes still shut. His breaths slow and agonizing.

“Right here,” you say.

Together you wait for the spell to pass, for the storm to clear, until finally the clouds part over him and he sucks one longer, deeper breath, dragging all the room’s air into his lungs. There it is, there he is, solidifying under your palm. Seaming back together, stained glass made new. 

“I tried,” Javier breathes.

His face unfurls and the deep lines once carved with a knife fall smooth. The wrinkles stay of course, all the evidence of his life, but they’re softer now. You trace the crows feet at the corner of his eyes with your thumb and find his skin hot and damp. 

“I know you did, baby,” you whisper to him. “You tried.”

Suddenly his arms fly up and crush you to his chest—so startled, you yelp and can’t help but chuckle as his grip tightens and tightens. You let him squeeze you, your arms trapped under his, and hum softly when you feel his nose against your hair. Carefully he inhales, then slow he exhales: something he’s picked up in his sessions, attended twice a month. Which is how you know that although he’s fallen silent, he’s busy in his mind reminding himself of frivolities. All the tiny bits he must have missed in those long, distant years he spent away from you, believing you hated him. 

You imagine cut grass and July sunshine, beer bottles ice cold on the porch with his pop,

and rolling cigarettes in the bed of the pickup at sixteen, laughing at the sour clouds choking out of you when you couldn’t hold your smoke,

and birthday parties,

and your hand, at every age, in his.

He knows better now, that you never hated him and never could. Knows too that you’ve loved him all the years he’s loved you and will all the years you have left.

Eventually you feel the air shift as he comes home into his body. With his chest smushed tight against the shell of your ear, you’re half asleep, adrift in the deep throb of his pulse. You feel his mustache, the graze of his lips, and the quiet murmur of his voice calling you another name. New, these last weeks. It still surprises you, the sweetness of mi amor on his tongue, in his mouth.

“Get some sleep,” Javier murmurs as his arms go slack around you without pulling away.

“Only if you do,” you mumble in reply, eyes feathering open just long enough to catch the last of the sky’s deep blue. Then they’re closed again. Everything is warm and black.

“M’right behind you,” he says, and soon you’re both asleep.

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[eightyuh]

Does Freya find ways to release her cuteness aggression around Glen?

[sky--phantom]

Thanks, I guess