mcsochists

[mcsochists]

Shiloh.

        what always seemed to feel settled with shiloh–what always kept him from resorting instantly to walking away and not giving a shit about whether they moved in the roundabout manner in which they did–was that freya, like him, had fallen so weightlessly into a routine; something to hold onto and come back to. he could lose her in an instant, he knew. in the same way that it was entirely possible for her to lose him. but the likelihood of that ever happening was slim to none, if only due to the fact that they, like tightly stretched rubber bands, couldn’t help but crash back into each other once enough pressure had inevitably manifested between them. but the one thing that managed to always aggravate shiloh–what made him want to prolong the distance they mutually imposed between them, this time for his own good–was when freya pulled something reminiscent of this on him. when she’d give him some rendition of the silent treatment, or when she’d try ruthlessly to push him into this divot of recognizing that, for some reason, to her, he was an inconvenience unless she was ready to need him back–as though they had to be desperate to want each other. she had to try so hard to prolong pushing him away, and while he knew that the strength of her tide was something he was too dedicated to stop fighting against, feeling that idiotic at the mercy of her words always made his insides turn annoyedly. she put herself first, sure–and that’s what he hoped she’d do for the rest of her life. but it all urged shiloh wonder if he’d have to one day muster some semblance of strength to just call it quits for the both of them. of course, shiloh needed freya in the same way he needed something sturdy beneath him at all times. so losing her ‘for their own good’ wasn’t a thought he ever entertained for more than an angered millisecond. which is why, when he resorted to calling her a pet name, it was for the sake of getting something–anything vocal out of her yet. just prove that you both still care.

        he let her sharp sweetheart rebuttal go, knowing that he had accomplished something, at least; had gotten her to talk. on their own, her insults were rarely a legitimate topic of interest to him. it’s when she answered in quick, cold snaps, that his eyes began to narrow instinctively. then the content of her speech began to spill over, and shiloh almost forgot why he hadn’t just retired to his own apartment and saved her the apparent plight. “barged in here?” his voice reiterated the hostile nature of the words he knew–hoped–she couldn’t really mean. she just wanted a fight she knew she could get from him, right? the implication alone that they were some brand of estranged frenemies made his body tense. he wanted to laugh it off and take her veiled incentive to leave-but-stay-but-leave into his own hands all at once. but god save shiloh if he wasn’t the type to rely, always, on freya’s cue. “you know, i just fucking got here, freya. i could go back to my place and keep my shit to myself, no problem–” he almost choked on his words, then, shaking his head to keep them from finding an unwanted place in his chest. “so if you’re pissed and you want me to get the hell out, then just tell me you want me to get the hell out.” carefully, he pulled his hand back from where she had been cleaning it in front of her. “please, just–” he was newfoundedly exasperated, “–glue. i can do it myself, clean the carpet, and be on my way. i’m not asking to be some fucking inconvenient stray dog in your apartment.”

     ‘just in case’ seemed to be the common excuse shared silently between the two of them, spoken not with words but with non-verbal intentions behind their not-so-great actions towards the other. one last kiss, one last smirk, one last slap, one last snarled word.. it didn’t matter what it was, so long as they both were aware that it was given just in case. she knew it before she’d even responded to his wry compliment, heard it in the mocking lilt behind the word and she’d acknowledged it in giving him the response he’d been expecting. they’d mastered a rhythm of expectation, an endless give and take that kept them both from losing their minds completely. it was exhausting, though, this endless cycle of push and pull and ebb and flow between them — she thought the sea must feel similarly, to long for rest from the constant rise and crash of waves, waiting impatiently for some level of calm on its surface — and she’d become so well practiced in self-denial that it had become second nature to refuse them both happiness the moment she began to lose control of her emotions. she often wondered what it would be like if she didn’t actively go out of her way to try and make him hate her, but she’d always come up short, having only more of the same to compare it to. it wasn’t strength that urged her to keep him at a distance as much as possible — even she knew that, despite priding herself on her own self-sufficiency — but absolutely crippling terror that he’d leave her one day, not knowing what it was she did to make him not want her anymore. better to give him a reason, she figured, better to be the one to choose why he’d leave than be left wondering. so she’d continue to rage, to poke and prod and grind at his nerves whenever he got too close to the soft bits behind her ribs. it’s better this way, she thinks forcefully to herself as she tightens her hold on his hand, every part of her in disagreement with the notion. you’re both safer this way.

     freya doesn’t apologize; it’s practically a staple of her personality, but god, if she didn’t feel the guilt festering in her chest. no one else could make that particular knife twist between her ribs, could plant a seed of remorse in her mind for crossing that line ( no one even came close to meaning enough to her as he did, much to her constant frustration. it didn’t confuse her, as she was very well aware of why she cared so much, of why he had become the single person in her life who had her complete and utter trust — that was a frightening thought, trusting, but yes, it frustrated her to no end ). she was a walking, talking contradiction of a person, doing things and saying things she knows good and well she’ll immediately regret but doing them anyways without even a moment’s hesitation — masochism at its finest. “ y’know, barged? walked in unannounced? figured you’d be familiar with the term considering i do the same to you all the time. ” admittedly not an apology ( one would not be coming ), but her tone was casual enough to hopefully convey a makeshift olive branch. she was at her most comfortable when they were fighting or arguing or disagreeing, but it still felt so wrong at times to deliberately pour salt in his wounds. pausing in her ministrations, her gaze slowly met his as she raised a brow at him, a spark of mirth in the corner of her eye. “ sit still, ” she replied calmly, noting the flush in his cheeks and along his neck as his irritation boiled into anger. she’d be lying if she said she didn’t admire him in a rage, but she’d rather he not disappear so soon after finally showing up again. swallowing the lump in her throat, she offered a smirk as she ran a hand through the unkempt hair on his forehead. “ i don’t want you to get the hell out, ” she offered, dropping her hand and returning her attention to repairing his hand. “ not right now, at least. ” sighing, she scowled at her own stupidity, hands moving almost unconsciously as she grit her teeth against the next words out of her mouth. “ you know i go for the jugular first and ask questions later. ” amusement seemed to be in a state of constant flux with her tonight, as she grinned, tying off the last of the bandage around his knuckles. “ also known as the most obvious commonality between me and you. ”

[mcsochists]

“She’s the type of person to look you right in the eye when she lies, but not one to look you right in the eye when her heart is involved.”

— It’s not that she’s faint of heart, she’d just rather it stop than skip a beat because she’s not one for feeling weak. (via she-lives-to-write)

[mcsochists]

[mcsochists]

Shiloh.

        it was the midnight between saturday and sunday, and floor f was quiet compared to the drunken rage shiloh had brought home clenched in two sturdy, warm fists. he had been out working all day–chains wrapped around wrists and ankles in a way that he didn’t mind most of the time. routine was his artifice of solace, being expected and therefore needed in a world that was insignificant to so many others was medicine for open wounds he would never admit existed. but at the end of it all tended to be the shakiness of his mother’s unpredictability more often than not. and, in shiloh’s defense, it wasn’t every day that he was robbed of the peace that accompanied his own personal concoction of chaos: robbed of everything freya brought to him. twenty-four hours without so much as a word from her. it wasn’t new, and he wasn’t bothered by it initially. they could do well with time apart, after all–especially since he was technically honoring the unspecified amount of time they’d give each other to breathe after a big fight. that is, he was fine with it all until he realized how he had foolishly let himself get out of hand without her voice in his ear to knock him down a few pegs and hold his head high all at once. she had a funny way of getting on his nerves enough to slow him down. 

        regardless, he had driven home tonight like a reckless idiot, leaving the black tar tread of tires in his loud wake as he pulled into the medina parking lot, and was now heading up to his room, until he realized that he was letting his injured hand fall to his side, blood dripping from a decent gash between two of his knuckles, as he his free hand to turn the knob of freya’s constantly unlocked door located directly across from his own constantly locked one.  

        when the door swung open and then closed behind him, he was still looking down in lieu of some apology they too often read in each other’s body language rather than listened fall from each other’s lips. maybe that meant that they were abusing each other’s presence; maybe that meant that they mirrored each other too well to dabble in niceties neither of them believed in. either way, when she opened the door he was already surrendering, his clenched jaw keeping him steady as he leaned against the frame of her closed door and took a deep breath, his eyes still down, “i’m dripping on the goddamn carpet–” his words were full of unintended malice despite the fact that they read, at face value, as apologetic; malice that was clearly not directed at her, but even so. accompanying it all, though, was desperation that only seemed to arise in his tone when it came to two people in particular: one of which was in front of him. he laughed then, a cruel tinge to the sound as he let memories of the evening flood his thickened mind once more. “she kicked me out of the fucking bar, freya–” he could have done something bold like translate his desperation into a physical reaction just then, but instead he just squeezed his fist once again and took in a shaky breath until his eyes landed on freya. he wanted, suddenly, to forget; to feel better; to let her in. “i socked some guy for… for tryin’ to grab her wrist and pull her to him at the bar–i can’t let some fucking lowlife rando touch her like that when i’m right there–” he was chuckling again, every breath short and every fist clench causing more blood to drip, “how was i supposed to know that it was some new fuckin’ man of the week?” shiloh shook his head then, closing his eyes and using his clean hand to pinch between his furrowed brows. his voice lowered and his tone evened out as he tried to shake the anger building up between his shoulder blades. “you got any glue i can use for this, beautiful?”

closed starter for @mcsochists.

     freya had learned early on that, should she continue her cycle of isolation, the throbbing of a metronome would accompany her every waking moment.. but it didn’t mean she had to like it. even as the garbled words of a news anchor reported from the corner of the room, she couldn’t help but feel as if the pounding in her head would happily drown it out should she give it the chance. trapped in a cage of her own making, she found herself shackled to the unsteady reliability of each passing fix, wrists and ankles tired and raw with the effort to pull herself free ( maybe things would be simpler if she simply gave in ). it wasn’t loneliness closing in on her — at least, she didn’t think it was, considering she’d been on her own so long it was strange not to be alone — but still, the walls seemed to pulse and bleed, swallowing sound, light and even the air in the room around her. pressing her knuckles into her eyes, she frowned, wishing shiloh didn’t work so goddamn much. though she’d deny it ( to him, to herself ), the rest of the world seemed to b l u r as if trapped on the other side of a foggy window pane whenever he was within view.

     it was disgusting, she knew, to think such ridiculous things about someone she’d often fantasized about strangling in his sleep, but he had always stood in sharp, clear focus in the middle of a cross-faded haze. her fingers, always cold to the touch as if irony hadn’t had enough fun at her expense, always seemed to ache the longer she went without seeing him ( leaving her in varying positions of restraint, hands tucked and clenched and forced into immobility to keep the shaking at bay ). she was a masochist to the very marrow of her bones, knowing she needed him, knowing she’d lose her mind without him, but refusing to own up to the weakness. self preservation had been her priority for so long, it felt wrong to admit that she wasn’t enough on her own anymore.

     anger, though, was a decent distraction, she’d found. it came easily and festered and rotted into something horrible and ugly and she relished in its release. so often it was aimed in shiloh’s direction that it became the easiest way to force some semblance of false distance between them, satisfying her desperation for solitude in a flash, but fading like a match in the wind. arguments and shouted words weren’t enough anymore ( hadn’t been for years ), so she’d resorted to shoves and slaps and heavy objects directed at his head — which, incidentally had been exactly why she hadn’t seen him for just over a day.

     watching him let himself into her apartment didn’t come as a surprise ( what had started off being weeks apart had slowly turned to days & she had a sneaking suspicion that soon it wouldn’t exceed a handful of hours ), but it was definitely a relief, though you wouldn’t have known from the apathy written across her features. bleary eyes trailed along his form from the unkempt hair on his head to the scuffed shoes, a pattering of fresh blood soaking into the canvas. it wasn’t unusual to find him broken and bloody and all too happy to flash a smug grin in her direction, though she personally found it more amusing when their roles were reversed in this little spout of playacting — her fingers, though nimble and deft, were meant to handle carburetors, not needles. this, however ( listening to his meticulous recounting of the events leading up to him showing up to her apartment in need of stitches ) was so familiar that she’d turned to the bathroom the moment she’d seen the damage, his voice following her as she pulled the first aid kit from behind the mirror. she didn’t interrupt him as he fumed, her lips instead twisted in annoyance both on his behalf and on her own. only showing himself when he needed something from her; how fucking typical of every goddamn man she’d ever known. but then..this was shiloh. he didn’t want anything from her that she wouldn’t willingly offer. her fingers pressed deliberately into his wound at his last words, the look of irritation contorting into one of contempt as she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “ use a pet name again and this’ll be the least of your worries, sweetheart. ” shaking her head, she dropped her gaze back to her task, wetting a towel to wash the blood from his skin. “ you’re cleaning my carpet yourself this time. ” she didn’t comment on his mom, didn’t comment on his wound, didn’t comment on anything that she knew would set him off on another tangent of which she didn’t particularly care to bear witness to. “ the floor cleaners already think i’m a serial killer from the last time you barged in here gushing like a fuckin’ fountain and i’d prefer not to give them more probable cause to have me arrested for your murder. ”

[mcsochists]

[mcsochists]

*record scratch* *freeze frame* yep, that’s me. VJNOKM i’m noelle, i’m twenty1, my timezone is est, i use she/her pronouns & small disclaimer: i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing, okay!! just keep that in mind when you .. read this .. “ intro ” i whipped up in half an hour. anywhen! if u wanna plot, feel free to hmu on discord at [mournful bagpipe music]#2581 or yk use the lil chat thing on tumblr if u aint got discord NVJOF. MOVING ON.. 

freya’s pinterest board(s): here!

content warning: neglect, alcohol, drugs

freya lockhart has been a medina complex resident for seven years, now. they’re twenty-two years old, and they tend to find a way to turn every conversation into an argument. sometimes when i walk by F24, i hear suncity by khalid playing. lately, i’d say they’re pretty magnetic, but sometimes that’s overwhelmed by the fact that they’re callous. i mean, they usually pay their rent on time, though, and that’s most important fact here. the distorted and desaturated world on the other side of a rainy window pane, detatched glances cast from bleary and bloodshot eyes & fuzzy and distorted recollections of the night before.

right off the bat i want u to know that i’m illiterate

anyways, freya was born & raised in east la w/ her parents and a plethora of extended family/family friends less than a block away. money was Always tight, but the one thing they never really had to worry about was safety bc her dad was a gang leader in their area ( tho it was only rly seen as a gang by the police & the few people in their neighborhood who weren’t colombian lmao ). her dad, saul puentes was like the big man on campus around where they lived, but people liked to rail him for marrying a gringa. ‘we were in love’ is the story he liked to tell, but they were polar opposites — his main focus had always been keeping himself and his family safe, no matter the cost. she, on the other hand, wanted a life she could brag to her friends and colleagues about. clearly, there were some warring factors there.

things were.. how u say.. Tense for the first handful of years of freya’s life, though she thought the entire world of her papa ( saw him as a kinda Hero, especially w/ the way most people deferred to him ). like she’d known her parents weren’t exactly In Love with each other but she just figured that was how all adults acted ( leaving her Uninterested in being married from a young age lmao ).

it was when her dad got arrested that changed things. at first they figured it would blow over & he’d be home in no time, but as evidence kept stacking up, it became less and less likely that he’d be released ( freya was like 8 at the time ). freya’s mom, completely strung out and Over It at this point, packed her and freya’s things & tried to move them out, but freya was uhh Not Having It, like at all, so some of her extended family took her in when her mom gave up trying to fight freya into the cab ( honestly, her mom is a self-centered bitch with no regard for anyone but herself, but i digress )

in the years following, freya continued to visit her dad in prison, always parting with the same promise of freeing him one day ( his bail was set at some outrageous sum, so she’s literally been saving forever ). being so focused on that goal & completely disinterested in going to college, freya dropped right out of high school as soon as she turned 16 and moved into the medina apartments so she wasn’t freeloading off her dad’s friends anymore. when she leased the apt, she did so under her mother’s maiden name cos it’s better to be safe than sorry & bc her dad also had a lot of enemies lmao lbr

being a mechanic hadnt ever crossed her mind as something she’d be good at & even less something she’d enjoy. when she was fifteen, though, one of her cousins ( think, like, 5th cousins lmao ) offered to let her work at his garage instead of having to wait tables at a shitty diner or, even worse, babysit. at first she wasn’t too thrilled about it & it felt like she’d never get the hang of it, but with time, she found she really enjoyed the work, especially the reward of hearing the engine rumble when you start it up for the first time. she didn’t fall in love with it, though, until the charger. her cousin had the shell of a ‘69 dodge charger & told her that if she could fix it up, she could keep it. WELL, the next 4 years of scavenging and looting for parts eventually paid off, leaving her with a love for cars & the envy of muscled white guys everywhere.

a part of her life she’s much more public about, tho, is how much she loves to party. now, according to her, [shrek vc] parties have layers. there are the dull parties, where it’s frowned upon to drink more than champagne, there are club parties where it’s more dancing and drinking than doing hard drugs ( fun, but not the best ) & there’s the house party in which both alcohol and drugs are always available ( her personal favorite ). it doesnt stop there tho bc there are also layers to house parties! the absolute best kind of party, in her opinion, are valley parties. sure, there’s bound to be stuck up rich people with sticks so far up their asses they can’t bend to tie their shoes, but valley parties also have the best selection of top shelf liquor & entire rooms dedicated to doing lines. those parties are the absolute peak, in her opinion & she will never pass up an opportunity to attend.

personality wise .. well, let’s just say she doesn’t really have one ? unless you count being completely bitter and cynical about everything as a personality.. she’s very very short tempered and will not hesitate to make a scene if the need arises ( she loves to argue! loves to shout! so im sorry to all her neighbors! ). literally disagrees with everyone on everything for the hell of it and is the most stubborn personal alive. when her mind is made up u will absolutely never be able to change it so i mean good luck if u wanna try! adding on to the bitter thing.. she p much has it out for anyone who even thinks of lording themself over her ( @ her mom ) and pretending to be better than anyone else so she’d highkey start a fight with little to no provocation

im trying to think of other things that should be included on here but ? i cant vnjcomk feel free to ask me anything specific & hmu if u wanna plot!!

[mcsochists]

issa mf tag drop!!

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[mcsochists]

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

David Foster Wallace (via wordsnquotes)