some kind of cowgirl

[biteswings]

FULL NAME — freya nilsen GENDER & PRONOUNS — cis woman, she/her SEXUALITY — bisexual AGE — twenty-seven ZODIAC — leo OCCUPATION — waitress at waterway diner NEIGHBORHOOD — weaver ridge LENGTH OF TIME IN BLUE HARBOR — local

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death tw, drug use tw, postpartum depression tw / freya comes from a family that has plagued blue harbor for years with their stunning reputation on both her father and mother’s side. death or jail was the common theme there. father, conrad ‘willie’ nilsen, was a menace and there was more than enough stories about him from his heyday. mother, holly koch, came from a family where everyone was constantly at each other’s throats. holly dealt with the drama of it all through defiance. she fell for willie hard and fast and was soon caught up in his world, drugs and petty crimes. as was common in both willie and holly’s families, an accidental teenage pregnancy was the next step. at first, willie was ecstatic and supportive in the way that he usually got. holly moved out of her family’s place with him at weaver ridge. of course, willie was flaky and asshole-ish and it only took him three months to disappear from town. a pregnant holly still caught up in love did her best during those months of pregnancy. she remained clean, worked to pay rent, and believed willie would be back any day. her younger sister, fiona, who adored and looked up to holly was there to help every step of the way. freya was eventually born and willie never showed up. holly fell into a deep postpartum depression and had to be moved back in home with her mother and her siblings. she couldn’t care for freya at all. a month and a half later, willie returned to blue harbor and holly was ecstatic despite the initial abandonment. and soon after that, both of them were gone, leaving freya behind. / end tw

it’s not as if her parents suddenly disappeared from existence, although freya prefers to pretend that they did. it’s easier to deal with them as nondescript figures in her life. and, at the end of the day, they ditched her. in reality, collect calls from correctional facilities let her figure out that her dad’s been locked up. memories of a woman in youth that looked so much like her and so much like fiona proved that holly was still in and out in blue harbor. freya also remembers that holly never acknowledged her as her own before disappearing once more. she never figured out if it was done purposefully or if it was because that’s just the way her mother functioned. that being said, all potential contact with either parent was short and brief and freya learned to not let it mean anything. there hasn’t been any substantial contact for years now either way. her dad’s in prison. her mother’s missing. 

freya grew up under the care of her grandmother at first, a bitter woman with a husband long dead, who resented having to look after this baby. that only lasted a handful of years ‘cause soon enough, she wasn’t fit and sent off to a nursing home. fiona, who was of age at that time, took guardianship of freya at whichever boyfriend’s home she was living in at the time.

fiona raising freya was more of a weird friendship/sibling sort of relationship rather than a proxy mother-daughter one. that meant freya had too much freedom, but it also meant there were a lot of screaming matches between the pair and a lot of times freya was left directionless. her aunt also loved serial dating so there were a lot of strange men in and out. not the most reputable guys either, but truth be told those men were providing them with financial support, so fiona was never quick to let them go despite the way things would go sour.

very independent. freya has a lot of practical smarts, although most of the time it’s used for nothing good (knows how to shoplift without getting caught, can talk her way out of most things, knows how to get what from who). she’s someone who does what she wants. discipline is foreign to her and god forbid if anyone tries it. in typical teenage fashion, heightened by the fact that life was set up for her to fail, she’s always had this aura of apathy. her general approach to life is to accept it as it is but make sure she’s having as much fun as possible. of course, as most people do, there was an inkling of yearning there. the shiny gold possibility that she didn’t have to become another nilsen-koch blue harbor deadbeat staple hung at the back of her mind. that she could possibly get out and have some dreams was encouraged by a few teachers. so she ended up trying as much as she could possibly try in her last few years of high school and proved to herself that she wasn’t completely useless. although, it was soon clear that getting into a good out-of-state college required more than just making an attempt — extracurriculars and money and other obvious yet non-obvious things that freya lacked. at the end of the day, her best option was a local college, which wasn’t a defeat by any means cause she had made it and it was college. still, she was stuck too close to blue harbor. she decided to major in business. good at numbers and can talk the talk baby.

kind of always has her foot out the door though. it didn’t take long for freya to fall back into old habits because her life is her life. there’s always a lack of money, another toxic man fiona’s caught up with, another wrench thrown in the works. her education became spacey and full of cracks. she never made it to graduation, dropping out a few semesters in. unfortunate bc she’s the kind of person who could accomplish things if she cared or tried, but the problem is that she does not and no, she will not ask for help <3 she refuses to take anything seriously.

instead of school, she spent time on the road. she had it in her mind to visit her dad in prison in louisiana, not knowing really why she had that urge. maybe it was to properly meet him, ask about her mother, curse him out. but, she never ended up making it out there. instead she got caught up in a few things and with a few people and at the end of the day she once again just didn’t follow through.

now back at blue harbor, freya’s at her usual job at waterway diner as a waitress. she’s moved out of fiona’s place, mostly bc freya was sick of dealing with her aunt’s disgusting boyfriends, and settled into some shit apt she could afford in weaver ridge.

[graham-oswald]

“freya,” graham greeted her by raising his rocks glass in a “cheers” gesture. in a town like blue harbor, lifers had a way of running into each other around every corner and in any cranny. he never really had to do any social media stalking to find out what his high school classmates were up to. a trip to the grocery store was enough to fill in the blanks. “i don’t think my friend behind the bar would be too fond of your interior design prowess…” graham poked his chin toward alec who was working tonight. “what were you going to add to the barrage of ‘fuck x-person’ or ‘y-person was heres?’” his eyes wandered down to the wood which was covered with a mix of vulgar insults, names who had come and gone through town, and notes app worthy poetry. “better than the stalls of blue harbor high, though,” graham commented, glad he no longer had to wash his hands in a rusty sink and look in a mirror with rumors and insults worse than anything carved into the table here. “did you ever write anything on those walls?”

[biteswings]

If Freya had to guess who approached her, Graham would've been one of the last names (if at all) to have come up, not due to any compelling or malicious reason but because of how their lives had diverged, creating cracks that even their shared town couldn't fill. Even now, at The Pour House, Graham stood out amongst the other occupants in the way he always had: a silver spoon amongst plastic cutlery if she wanted to throw a corny metaphor his way. Still, he was familiar. "En garde!" She addressed in return, jutting out the key she held at him before breaking out into a smile. One that then stopped short as she followed Graham's gesture toward Alec. Freya hadn't noticed him amid, well, everything, but she kept her reaction blank as her shoulders fell into a shrug. "That's 'cause he lacks taste. But, no, I was actually writing Mrs. Freya Oswald with tiny hearts all around because I'm in love with you, Graham. Always have been. Obsessed." She fluttered her eyelashes at him before a short giggle fell past her lips. Her hand moved to cover the remaining un-scratched letters. "Uh, that's a secret, but also, absolutely. How else would I let the student body know that Mr. Willard was a huge perv? How about you? Were you the one who ranked yourself as the hottest in grade twelve? Be honest."

[guiltsweptarc]

there's a constant loneliness that clings to babe - not inherited, but earned - her trailing shadow, the figure in her doorway. she's always felt it, felt where it was sewn to her - felt it's pull on her hair like a bully's playground teasing. maybe it began when her grandfather died - when she realized that death wasn't just an intangible thought, or a presence to be felt in an empty room. it was - palpable, with real hands and real claws and real, white - hot, ice - cold pain that shot up and down her nerves. like fucking sciatica. it wasn't even something she could admire, like the taxidermy she'd always been so eager to learn; there was no art to her mourning. in her grief - in her uncle's, her brothers'. just an emptiness. babe had to fill that space herself; had to find a meaning in - anything, really. anything she could get. she's always been over - indulgent; but now she's just plain gluttonous. taking anything, everything, she can get her hands on - whether it's people, or drugs, or reckless entertainment. takes it in and consumes it; nothing left but marrowless bone. maybe that's why her boyfriend cheated on her - she took too much. was too much, even for him. the thought makes her sick; makes her want to shed her skin and metamorphize into something else. somebody else. someone who could handle the loneliness, who didn't consume everything in her path. instead - she goes to the pour house. a classic, really; there for all of her breakups, and all of her get back togethers. she's blacked out inside that bar too many times to count; but the warmth is familiar, sheds the late - fall chill from her shoulders as she steps inside and, as if by instinct, bounds over to freya. "well, yeah - but like, it's our shithole," babe's grin is wide, instant - like the thoughts that swirl around her mind like the eye of a cartoon lollipop aren't present anymore, "it's like - ugly cute! cozy ugly, or whatever. we should call hgtv, surprise the owner with like, a totally - super - epic bar makeover. like, when they would take a kid's interest in, like, horses - and create an entire stable in their bedroom and be like, surprise! you have a horse now! it can't go down stairs so good luck!" she hops onto the bar stool next to the blonde, all jangling jewelry. "it could be, like - twilight themed! bring the pnw to the, like - whatever region we are! honestly, can i tell you a secret?" leans in close, a faux whisper on her breath, "i think the owner - calahan? - is a vampire. like, i swear it! i've definitely seen his skin sparkle and gleam before, and like, i totally had to cover my eyes because i was like, woah, am i the volturi right now? are we in italy? should i call bella?"

[biteswings]

Babe’s presence feels like a champagne buzz. Like the real shit Freya and Stuart would throw back abhorrent amounts of at the country club during their escapades, the kind that didn’t leave you with a splitting headache and gnawing stomach the day after. Light and air. Fun without consequence. She was the kind of companion Freya was constantly seeking, even if she didn’t know it herself. The genuine grin plastered onto her features was enough of a tell. “You’re right, it is,” the blonde agrees, digging deeper into the wood as if Babe’s words were of encouragement rather than anything else. Freya let their speech surround her, fill her thoughts, and replace the ones that had hung heavy until they pushed her into the bar and to this spot. “Love the enthusiasm, but let’s be real: if HGTV got wind of this place, it’d be shut down in about three seconds. The walls are rotting with this new mega-mold. That’s why everything looks kinda yellow, and it’s also why you feel so high just lounging about for five minutes or so. It’s the moldy fumes. A scientific marvel waiting to happen, but won’t because we’re gatekeepers. And because daddy Calahan will suck any naysayers dry – not just in the horny way,”  she adds at a pitch louder in turn, throwing a wink at a group drinking nearby. “He doesn’t sparkle, though. That’s just the fungi fucking with your eyes.” A shrug, and she glances down at the scratched-out mess that remains before her, now done. Nothing was absolved, even if she tricked herself into thinking it was. “Two shots of vodka, please,” she calls as the bartender passes. Once in hand, she pushes one toward Babe before raising her own. “A toast to horses and sparkling cock?”

[eclvpses]

If there was anyone Abel still felt real remorse towards, it was Freya. When he’d first met her, he’d been so blown away by everything about her it only felt right that he’d fall for her that same day. She was free-spirited and strong-willed, carefree and frankly more than a bit careless. Freya was uncaged and disengaged, and Abel both envied and admired her. He’d tried his best to give off the same energy when he’d been younger, but it’d never stuck - he’d always think too hard about whether he was doing or saying the wrong thing, but Freya openly admitted to speaking or acting without thinking or worrying about consequence. When she’d agreed to go out with him, he’d thought he’d heard her wrong. She was miles out of his league, and though he never told her, the beginning of their relationship had been an amalgamation of all of Abel’s anxieties. He’d liked her so much and so pathetically, he was sure it showed on everything he did. He could never voice it, because that was far too intimidating, but if he could, all he had wanted was to spend every second of his free time with her. Life just had a funny way of crash landing over every good thing he had, though he figured it was his own fault for getting comfortable when he knew nothing this perfect ever lasted.

“Oh?” Freya was still remarkably outlandish, that much hadn’t changed. Not that he would want it to, the same startled laugh bubbling out of him without permission, as a brow rose in question. “Jesus. He’s getting off, you’re getting off - does anyone actually work here?” Of course he meant in a completely different way for Freya, but it still made him suddenly reticent, breaking eye contact just for some reprieve. Where Abel was usually timid, Freya had always been bold - stepping into his space then to take his coffee and try it for herself. He felt oddly touched and extremely nostalgic, having her surround him again, remembering his coffee order and teasing him relentlessly for it. “I’m glad it has your approval,” he mumbled, taking a barely visible step back - he couldn’t think clearly with her in his space like this. “but they did forget the ice cube. It’s fine, I’m a patient man.” Which wasn’t entirely accurate, but had always been so where she was involved.

Scratching at the back of his neck, Abel wanted to continue playing along, but it felt like a risk. Say the wrong thing and the interaction was over - he’d never been funny or quick on his feet the way Freya was, so he figured it was better to stick with what he did know. “No scam. Just wanted to say hi.” He tried to reason, though he suddenly felt a bit foolish. Just because he still selfishly craved her company didn’t mean she felt the same, but he was still desperate for it all the same in a way he could usually bite back. “I actually just got off not long ago, too.” Brain catching up with his own words a moment later, he preemptively placed a gentle hand over Freya’s mouth before she could jump in. “Off of work.” He explained, flashing her an amused grin, before carefully dropping his hold on her. Abel hadn’t even realised what he’d been doing, but he clearly was still circling in her orbit without thinking about it. “Are you headed home? I can walk you - I'd like to, if that's okay.”

[biteswings]

Living without expectation was a mantra deeply ingrained in the Nilsen lineage, a faulty excuse for why Freya never entirely rid herself of the circumstances that built her life. It felt as if each break repaired just exposed another loose wire, another moldy beam, another reason why she would fail. Admission of even the fact that Freya was so affected felt like a failure. The admission that Abel had managed to fit himself inside all of those broken pieces, create something so warm and safe that his absence ruined something that she hadn’t known existed in the first place, felt like a failure. She didn’t know if she held resentment toward herself or him. Either way, it was a feeling tucked away. She had never expected them to last, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a sliver of hope. None of that showed, though, even if a part of Freya felt like it could be a well-needed release if she did or said something. The risk outweighed everything, though; it always did. She focused on the small triumphs, no matter how meaningless they seemed in comparison. He was here for her (whatever the reason), and she could still catch him off-guard without chasing him away. “In a way, yes. The Waterway Diner is actually a front for a sex club. It’s one big orgy every night. I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to figure out. So innocent.” Freya’s smile widened, head tilted to the side, the night’s exhaustion slipping away like it did in the past in his presence. She couldn’t help but latch onto his habits, always the same – the white-knuckled squeeze of his cane, the lowered register in his tone, his downcast gaze. You’re enchanted by him, Fiona had once said. Freya sucked in her cheeks to neutralize her features, thankful that he had looked away.  Freya held back from the absurd urge to bite or kiss with his hand over her lips, but the grin returned as always. Her brows raised slightly as she considered him, but not for too long. “If saving children all night wasn’t enough chivalry for you, you can definitely walk little ol’ me home. We can even stop by the soup kitchen and volunteer for a bit if that gets you going,” she teased, but also, despite herself, turned quickly toward her path home to make sure her expression didn’t betray anything. The warmth crawling up her face was warning enough. Matching her pace with Abel so they remained shoulder-to-shoulder, and because Freya didn’t want him to over-exert himself, a conscious choice that was never too obvious or obnoxious, she let a moment or two pass before stealing a glance. She yearned to dig in and look for the answers she had told herself she didn’t want. Freya shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and looked ahead once more. “Weaver Ridge might be even more a shithole than before —,” before meaning when they were together, not that Freya assumed he hadn’t been in the neighborhood since, “There’s a deer carcass just rotting away on the main road. Been there for weeks now as an FYI. Smells like shit. I’ve named it Carl. Other than that, things are pretty much the same,” she offers. It’s more of a blanket statement than anything else. “How about you?” She asks in place of, what’s new with you?

[tvandfilm]

Reese Witherspoon as Vanessa FREEWAY (1996)

[guiltsweptarc]

FOR:   freya ( @biteswings ). DETAILS:   honestly. they're probably drinking lbr here...

"do you think i'm fugly? like - fucking ugly. like, incel levels of fugly?" it's a drunken lament, one spoken as they sprawl halfway off the curb, a bottle of vodka in their hand. they don't even like vodka; it's for the effect. their voice is watery. "like - does my shit stink, and i'm not even the fart?" it's the same thing once a month; gabe is the anti - narcissus for exactly three days before thinking themselves a regular adonis once again. this month, freya is victim to it. "fuck -" they roll themselves back up into a sitting position, suddenly; it's like watching a turtle right itself after landing shell - first but on 2x speed. gabe's hands find freya's shoulders, holding the blonde firm with frantic eyes, "i'm not like - that fucking freak, alf, right? that blonde fucker who keeps lamenting about how he can't get any pussy even though he wears spongebob mafia shirts and lives in his mom's basement? i'll end it now, freya - god, please - i swear to god -"

[biteswings]

This part of the night is what made things worth it. The brief hour when Freya was the perfect amount of drunk without teetering over the edge (at least, not yet). Her thoughts were floaty and light, her laughter authentic without the hollowness that usually crept in if you listened close enough. She's examining a large, yellowed maple leaf under her foot, adding enough pressure to crack its' perfect surface as Gabe bemoaned beside her. It was a satisfying break, but the success inadvertently caused a twinge in her chest, or maybe it was the way Gabe grabbed her, forcing her to pay attention to the conversation. Freya shot them a lazy grin and shook off their grip to move her hands to either side of their face, pressing a markedly noisy kiss to each cheek. "You're perfect, you're beautiful, you look like Linda fuckin' Evangelista. I'm not the praying type, but by God, I'm on my knees each night, begging that I get reborn as a twink with a tight ass and a large cock so I might have a chance with you. Just one chance." Freya now clasps her hands over her chest, features contorted with as much earnestness as she could muster. "Hmm, Alf…Alf. I didn't fuck him, did I?" She asks, now distracted, picking up the bottle of vodka that Gabe had abandoned to take a sip. "I think that was the other incel. I didn't really fuck him, though. I can't remember. Long story short, you're better than that bitch. And all the bitches. All the bitches in the world don't come close to even one strand of your pubic hair. Wait, did you fuck Alf? It's cool. I've done worse. No reason to jump off a bridge about it, baby."

[biteswings]

where: the pour house who: open

When November came, a chill fully settled in, bringing with it winds and rains, the taste of winter, like it always did. And as always, things seemed a bit more harsh in Weaver Ridge, the rotten root that kills the whole tree. While other neighborhoods were getting a start on pie competitions and Christmas lights, a knock-off inflatable zombie Snoopy with eyes too humanoid blew in front of Freya like a tumbleweed. Fitting. She stopped to watch despite the way her wet clothes clung to her skin like sharp icicles, traveling deeper into bone. She kind of liked the way it made her feel – both the fucked-up Snoopy and the cold. As if on purpose, the sky split open with thunder as the inflatable finally hit and flattened against the outside of The Pour House. R.I.P. zombie dog. She shrugged and followed heed – Freya’s own version of what she considered divine intervention. A fan of bars aplenty, she didn’t venture into The Pour House often. If Blue Harbor was a radioactive map of the most-fucked-up-reminders-of-your-life, Freya’s internal Geiger scale was always off the charts there, even if she’d never admit it. Besides, rum could help warm things up – warm her up. She didn’t go for the rum first, though. Instead, Freya veered towards the bar stool on the far left. Years ago, at that spot, she had discovered her parents’ initials carved into the table, surrounded by a heart and all. It had unsettled her then, so Freya ignored it until now. Now she dug her keys out of her pockets and scratched at the engraved wood because it didn’t deserve to exist if they didn’t exist. She felt the presence of someone else before they made themselves known. “I’m helping re-decorate. This place is a shithole,” she said, expecting admonishment.

[eclvpses]

When Leo had woken that morning, he’d been horrified when his phone read 8:16 AM, quick maths telling him he’d gotten around a solid whole hour of sleep. It felt like it, too - his eyes stung every time he blinked, stomach and head both swimming. Usually Leo couldn’t palate any food during a hangover, but he felt a bit desperate at that moment, slapping together the world's most haphazard sandwich in the hopes that it’d bring his body back to homeostasis. “That’s about to be the most fucked up baby that’s ever existed.” Leo rationalised, handing over his food to Freya, despite the wrinkle in his nose indicating it wasn’t exactly good. As Freya took a bite, Leo leaned over to give her a fond kiss at the side of her head - it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to join him as his plus one to the party last night, but he’d appreciated her company all the same. “Fuck, I don’t even know.” Pinching at the corner, as if afraid it’d bite him, Leo lifted the top layer of bread to peer at its contents. It’d started as a fluffernutter, but eventually he’d gotten sidetracked. There were chips and something else in there that he didn’t actually remember adding - also, he hadn’t actually found any marshmallow fluff, so it really was an abomination of his own doing. “I couldn’t find any Advil and my head’s fuckin’ killing me. But there’s a convenience store down the street, I think. Hey, did you end up hooking up with that dude last night? No judgement from me, y’know, but. Yikes, Freya. I’ve slept with a handful of ugly people but he was fugly. You’re way out of his league.”

[biteswings]

“Funny, though,” she offered without explanation, assuming Leo would know exactly why she found the prospect of them bringing a child into the world hilarious. She liked to think of it as their own brand of telepathy, a mutual understanding of stupidity. She wrinkled her nose at the kiss but smiled, leaning into the touch. “You beautiful fuck. You should be banned from all kitchens.” But despite her protests, Freya found herself taking another bite, better now that her taste buds had been shocked into oblivion by the soured alcohol. “No ibuprofen? What kinda shithole are we in? We used to be a proper country,” she remarked between bites. “I can’t help it, Leopold. I’m just not superficial like that. I don’t fuck people because they’re hot. I fuck them for what’s underneath, which in this case was a huge cock.” Admittedly, the details of the night were lost on Freya, not that she doubted what Leo said. She shot him a grin and shrugged. “Shouldn’t talk much, should you? I know what you’ve done, fucking Harlequin dolls and Stepford wives. I support you as always, though, because I have a kind heart.” She pushed herself off the couch, grunting with the effort. “Let’s get you medicated, baby. And I wanna hear all about what you got up to last night. I saw you sneaking off.”

[livebedroom]

Pauline wasn’t delusional. She woefully knew Freya well enough to know she had a better chance at winning a million-billion dollars and becoming the next Kanye West “muse” despite her lack in that criteria tittywise than a chance to get an apology from Freya. Didn't mean she didn’t still want it anyway. Almost pathetically so when she still stretches an expectant arm out too late in the night, hoping to find her there. An odd muscle memory when she's sure to avoid her in the places she remembered she'd frequent; a sharp pang in her chest at the flash of a blonde bob in Anywhere, Blue Harbour. A deer caught in the headlights in the way fight or flight instinct canceled out by the sensory head-fuck of her stupid laugh, a harsh tug of her jacket before she Bob Dylan walked past the diner on her hurried way over to Rust's, avoiding eye contact of any kind, sparing her heart that awful little pang. The disappointment she couldn't spare it now - why, of all fucking nights. “ Sure! Gosh, nice to hear from you again, Freya! ” Spat out through an incredulous scoff, because the remark stings but not in the way she thought it would. Not in the way she wanted it to, at least. “ Found a new roommate you're putting out on the streets yet or are you moving back to Fiona's? I know rent's tough. ” She didn't like letting resentment take hold of her that way, not even with Freya but it's a hard brick wall that girl puts up that she intends to leave a mark on, if even with a few measly scratches.

[biteswings]

Freya was used to blame, often vying for it with her actions as if proving to herself that she was a piece of shit made it easier to stomach the hole she found herself in. Self-dug and all, no one could destroy you if you've already destroyed yourself. Right now, though, she felt like she'd missed a spot. A soft, fleshy piece that marked out an 'X' right at the center of her chest, ready for Pauline to stab through if she wished. The slightest raise of her brows was Freya's only tell, though. "Ooh, ouch, Mommy. Are you going to tell me my parents ditched me because I'm an ungrateful little bitch next? That's so hot. More, please, more. Tell me I'm pathetic and useless. " Freya's earnest words drew a few eyes toward the pair, not that it mattered to her. She couldn't help but laugh, having amused herself if nothing else. "But, for real— I threw you out? Hm. Who knew? That's wild. I'm fine, though. I make enough extra cash selling home-stolen goods. Want some? Support small businesses."

[grinningdevils]

In the space of roughly ten seconds, Hudson experiences almost all of the emotions he has in his wheelhouse - annoyance, confusion, amusement and then back to annoyance at the jab to his ribs. "Ow, what the fuck..." he mutters, the blonde's follow up statement keeping him intrigued enough to play along. "You can't say don't look behind you, because now that's all I wanna do." The strength of his curiosity feels like it has his head on a string, desperately willing his muscles to turn around. You have to see what's going on. You have to know! To resist for this stranger's sake is almost more energy than he can be bothered to expend, but then he remembers what she's said. "Okay I'll bite, what are you offerin'?"

@biteswings

[biteswings]

An intrinsic draw — that’s likely how Freya ended up finding the stupidest person at the club to rescue her, if she could even call it that. Not that she was annoyed. Instead, his antics elicited amusement, masking over the unease that had threatened to bubble over. Besides, he hadn’t shaken her off, so at the very least it wasn’t a waste. She pulls away from him, using her free hand to now cup his face and turn it completely to face hers — a gesture that betrayed intimacy to anyone looking onwards but was in actuality an attempt to keep him from blowing her cover. “Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs,” she offered. “Unless you’re straight edge. That’s cool. I can give you frozen pizza, a blowjob... five bucks?" Freya dropped her hand to his and gave it a tug while grabbing his beer with the other as a lure. “You have to escort me out of here first. Deal?”

[biteswings]

for: @saturdayfiction ( paulie ) where: stvtic

If you dug down deep enough, past all the days-old grime and chewed up gum, you’d find that Paulie’s sudden radio silence bothered Freya the tiniest bit. Freya’s life hadn’t completely turned around of course, mostly ‘cause there was nothing there to make a show of, but Paulie's absence was sort of like an unreachable mosquito bite. If she didn’t think about it, Freya could pretend it didn’t itch. Besides, it kind of sucked having to go from paying half rent to full rent. Although that wasn’t her first thought as she pushed beside Paulie at the bathroom sinks. It hadn't been until she popped a pill and leaned down to drink from the faucet that Freya caught the familiar glint of blue and mess of black hair. She straightened up, pulling the back of her hand against her mouth to wipe away any wetness. Her first thought, or feeling, was relief. Surprise. “Didn't skip town yet? Cool.” She didn't stop there, even though she should have. Freya, instead, glanced around Paulie’s periphery before catching her gaze. “Dracula decided not to put you on a leash tonight?” A pointed ask in implication despite the detachment in tone. 

[eclvpses]

for: @biteswings (freya) location: waterway diner

Even though Abel regularly bent over backwards to avoid pains of his past, they had a habit of coming up when he least expected it. In the form of Freya though, it was hard to be upset by it. It was 5am, far too early to be regaling about where their relationship went wrong - and she seemed to just be getting off a graveyard shift. Abel should let her go, takeaway coffee already in hand. There was no reason for him to linger. "Freya!" Her name spilled out of his mouth in the same bittersweet reflex that made his heart still lurch towards her. From a young age Abel had always been a bit hopeless, and apparently it still rang true. "Sorry - too loud. It's early." He scolded himself, flashing her a sheepish smile. "I just -," wanted to see you. That felt far too close to the truth to admit. "wanted to say hi? I guess? Are you just getting off?"

[biteswings]

There were some memories that felt like they weren’t actually Freya’s own. Memories filled with contentment, stability, and a touch of something too warm and too affectionate to be held by someone so hopeless and facetious. The aftermath of it all was embarrassing, drowned out by nights that were nothing but a blur. That part was the fuzzy middle before she was back to her old self, her real pre-Abel self. She told herself it was a mistake for breaking the cardinal rule that came chained with the Nilsen name: you’ll always be on your own. She knew better now. Yet, even if the memories didn’t feel like her own, they still lingered, tugging at her heart, especially during times like these. In those memories, Abel would always be there after she worked late, even on the days he didn’t himself, either taking her home or back to his place. She teased him for it at first, mostly due to her own discomfort and inability to compartmentalize that he did it because he cared. There was no ulterior motive. Or, at least she had thought so at that time. Freya snipped those threads of longing before they choked her out and blinked away her exhaustion. She brought herself back to the reality of now.  “Hi,” Freya greeted per his so-called request, lips curling despite the strangeness of it all. “Yep, just clocked out so if you need that coffee re-done you’ll have to wait ‘til George is done wanking it out in the back. Shouldn’t be long now. He’s only been needing two minutes since he got his antidepressants switched up. Proud of him,” she explained with a demeanor as serious as she’d imagined Abel would have going over a patient’s prognosis. Then as if to prod further, she took a couple steps forward, close enough to grab the coffee from his hand and take a sip. It hadn’t changed, she noted without intending to as the sweetness coated her tongue, the taste of the coffee itself faint. Freya felt stupid for finding that bit reassuring as it threw her off-guard. “Your coffee tastes fine. Well, fine considering your five-year-old tastebuds,” she offered the cup back to him. “Are you trying to scam us? Shameful, Doc.”

[gnaerlys]

From the moment Freya sat down, it wasn't hard to tell that she must've been exhausted — had a late night practically written and highlighted on her forehead— and it's enough to have Charity keep her distance. Offering about as much peace and quiet that the diner allowed until she couldn't stay away. The blonde being one of the very few people she's managed to get to know thus far, it's hard to not want to strike up some sort of conversation. "Yeah, sure .. I think I got somethin' for you," and then she's gone, only to return with a small bottle of half-used ibuprofen and glass of water to top it off. 'Cause lord knows Freya would probably need it. "And don't worry 'bout the tables. You can make it up to me by showin' me all the cool places in town .. and not just the ones you folks show all the tourist."

[biteswings]

The appearance of ibuprofen and water surprised Freya. Of course she had asked for them, but it was the simplicity of the action, without question or expectation, that felt a bit off. The stabbing at her temples cut her contemplation short. She knocked back a few pills followed by the entire glass of water, the coolness alleviating the heat at the back of her throat and in her chest. Not a complete cure, but hopefully the medication would kick in somewhat prior to service. Freya caught what was being said to her in the midst — Charity’s voice ping-ponging against her skull with its distinctive lilt and all. “Shit, thanks. The next cock I suck’ll be in your honor.” Crude as always, she peered at Charity, considering her request. “Do I give off tour guide vibes? That’s hot. Maybe I could get paid showing people where I vommed after I beat the local jello shot record — that street corner past the auto shop. You know with the memorial bench? Yeah, that's the place. Good times,” she reminisced, voice still hoarse although a bit more lively. Freya patted the space across from her. “Have a seat, Charity Castillo. Sure. I’ll give you a real tour. Bars? Best fucks? Where to shoplift? What’re you looking for? I got you.”

[biteswings]

for: @delicatedevils ( hudson ) where: stvtic

Paranoia is not typical of Freya but her gut has saved her from ending up in a ditch and countless other, worse shitholes, so she decides to listen. Skeevy men staring isn’t the problem of course, but she’s familiar with this one.  It was Dustin, one of her aunt’s exes, who was watching her. He would sell her down the river without a second thought and it would be easy enough considering the baggies of pills she had in her possession (and the fact that her eyes caught his during one transaction). A situation far too complicated for her to want to deal with. In an attempt to appear inconspicuous, Freya sidles up next to Hudson in the midst of the crowded space. She pulls her arm through his to remain in proximity and to allow her elbow to dig in into his ribs a bit. “Don’t look behind you,” she warns. “I need you to cover me. I can totally make it worth your time.”

[biteswings]

for: leo ( @eclvpses ) where: someone's house (?), the day after a party

“Please, gimme. I’m famished and pregnant. It’s yours,” words tumble out the best they can through cottonmouth as Freya reaches to pluck the spoils of whatever treat Leo was munching on beside her. Chewing sounds combined with the gnawing of her stomach was the final straw, forcing her up and awake despite every other part of her body aching in protest. She remembers a party filled with vague party-like details. It’s not important, though. It never is. Passing out is part of the course; having Leo there the morning after is a plus at least. She takes a bite out of his sandwich, feels the bread stick to the roof of her mouth, and grabs a nearby solo cup to wash down the unpleasantries, only wincing slightly at the warm vodka and juice. “What the fuck did you put in this?” Freya asks, blaming the sandwich instead of her own poor choices.

[gnaerlys]

for: @bluestarters

location: waterway diner.

“You know, I hate to be the barer of bad news ..” the waitress begins, smile on her lips as she gestures to the menu rested on the table, “But the menu ain't gonna change no matter how long you stare at it. ”

[biteswings]

Freya considers herself tenured at Waterway Diner, although she tries not to fuck up as best as she’s capable of; it’s a low threshold, really, crossed more times than not. Fixating on an unmoving spot  — SANDWICHES, splayed across the 2nd page of the menu, bolded and underlined  — she attempts to focus and alleviate her dizzying hangover prior to the evening crowd’s arrival. “Bruh,” she breaks her gaze away to squint at her newly minted co-worker. “Got any pills? I’ll give you the best tables tonight. I swear on Tucker’s ass. Anything anti-nausea, pain... fuckin’ Tums  — I’ll take ‘em all. I’m withering away.”

[utsukino]

“You’ll get nowhere with her. She belongs to the slippery species. All she seeks is fleeting contact.”

— Vladimir Nabokov (1899-1977), from “Wingstroke” in “Vladimir Nabokov. The Complete Short Stories” (via 89words)