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if i look back, i am lost
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@anachroniisms-archived
Outside of Axel, who else would you say you trust with your life?
“Trust? Jules, maybe? But she can be pretty useless. At the end of the day it’s just me. I don’t expect anybody else to give a shit.” @anachroniisms & @wrathfillcd
Who do you think is the best/worst in bed?
“I’m gonna humor you and answer this, but about people I haven’t actually slept with so it’s more fun. Worst lay… I’m gonna have to go with Marius just ‘cause I imagine he’d glare through the whole thing. Can you imagine the guy’s O face? I really can’t. Maybe some type of… No. No, I just can’t see it. Maybe he’d just glare harder, who the fuck knows? I’m not gonna think about this anymore, it’s disturbing me. Now for best lay… I’d bet on Andy. She has a bit of an attitude which usually means she’s either super aggressive or super submissive and I’m fine with both.” @anachroniisms
4. what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?
Oh he has a lot. Like coming home to the smell of burned food when his mother tried to cook. There was this particular patch of mold in their bathroom that looked like a giraffe. Hannah’s cheap perfume and just watching her spread this greasy red lipstick on. The sound of white noise whenever the tv was not working. Dried blood on his father’s fingernails. A flickering light bulb. The neighbor’s dog barking at him every time he returned home from school. Juliet’s coloring book. When he met Axel there was a jukebox playing Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline. Alyosha’s bed had this god awful squeak when they fucked on it. The smell of Rosie’s strawberry bubble bath foam. When he proposed to Cherry she was wearing pink. Pulling a leaf off Stephanie’s hair. The first guy he had sex with had a spiderman tattoo on his back. I could go on. @wrathfillcd & @anachroniisms& @stephaniedubois & @wandrlcst & @dysfcnctional & @thebabydcll
dadivosos:
the woman had been quiet possibly his best friend for the majority of his life , she knew him before the mess started. she was the one to kept him from completely falling through the cracks into hell. he always wondered why. why she had stayed with him all those years despite only getting pain in return. anton would give her shit , show up bloody , broken , bruised and she’d always accept him with open arms. he was eternally grateful. “ i was not supposed to make it past twenty to begin with. “ he paused as he thought of his works , “ you are here , not there. do not take it that way. “ he could see it in her eyes , always thinking , always worrying. he did the opposite , he planned but was spontaneous. it caused him a lot of trouble growing up and she often helped him get through it —- he only wished she would understand. but of course , he knew why she hesitated , he knew why she insisted on him going back but he couldn’t. it pained him. it reminded him of things lost. he missed her too much. “ they told you to find me did they not ? “ jaw clenched as his eyes began to water and he quickly looked away. he hated crying , even in front of her. “ did you know it was them who killed her ? they did it with their bare fucking hands and they will do the same to me. “ monitor began to steadily increase the need to scream and yell began to bubble inside of him but he restrained himself because of the pain. “ caito was not going to kill me. prove a point —- yes but not kill me. he does not seem the man to get his hands dirty but me —- you know what i have done. i go back to romania they will make me disappear and then you really will not be able to find me. “
“Please don’t ask me these questions, Anton. You won’t like the answers.” She said quietly.
For some reason, Juliet could not move. Or she could—just felt reluctant to. Her fingers curled into fists. She didn’t know the name for the feeling pumping through her now, the one akin to looking at a ledge and feeling the urge to jump. She knew she shouldn't jump. But she wanted to.
In the the end, it didn’t matter if Juliet moved or didn’t move, because Anton was already spiraling with his questions. Half in the light of the hospital lights, half in the light of the moon. And there - his face - were those -
And finally, Juliet could move.
She unclenched her fists and went straight to him at the sight of his tears. She felt her heart for the first time all night. Like it was trying to crawl out her throat and make its way back to him. Hands curled around the front of Anton’s hospital gown. Head buried itself into the crook of his neck.
The words were almost lost to the fabric of his clothes. A heavy sob moved through her throat and she stifled it. As she did, she realized it was not hers. It belonged to Anton. Juliet cried so Anton never had to. What good was that here and now, if Anton’s own stoic face threatened to twist with emotion? Maybe it was her turn to be the unflinching one.
His mother. She... deep down she knew. Juliet had avoided looking that particular beast in the face. She’d draped herself in black lace for so long, had been the one to give Alina a funeral. Juliet was the one to dig deep into the earth and plant flowers at her grave. Alina had been such a strong person, had been her best friend’s mother. For her to be robbed or life so young, it was the least Juliet could do. So yes, Juliet knew Alina was dead she just had never known why. ( Or had been too busy searching for Anton to dig deeper )
The sudden knowledge that Alina had been murdered was a stab to Juliet’s gut. The Daggers. Of course they had. Anger stirred in her, made her sway, but Juliet grounded herself by clinging to Anton tighter.
“So they didn’t kill you this time, but who’s to say about the next time? Or the time after that? If you’re not going to listen to me, at least think about she would want Anton. She’d want you to stay safe.”
Prisoners (2013) dir. Denis Villeneuve
“SHIT!” cassidy suddenly shouted when she turned and realised her son had walked away. “goddamn it, fuckfuckfuckfuck!” she whispered over and over as she left her basket in the aisle and hurried off to find the two year old. her heart was pounding in her chest and this would be the one thing to screw her entire life up here. taking a deep breath, she retraced her steps before making her way across the store, asking if anyone had seen the little boy in the photo on her phone. why didn’t she just keep him in the cart? she was internally beating herself to a pulp until she turned the corner into an aisle and suddenly gasped, tears glistening in her eyes when she saw max standing in front of a brunette cassidy didn’t know, but she looked familiar?
“maxwell riggin!” she called out and the little boy turned, grinning up at his mother before she was dropping to her knees and gathering him up in her arms. “you don’t walk away from mummy like that!” cassidy whispered as she looked him over before wiping beneath her eyes and looking up at the woman, “i’m so sorry. i literally turned around for a bloody moment… you really will be the death of me like your aunt shiloh. i swear to god,” she breathes and gets to her feet. max was giggling and reaching out for the other woman and cassidy just kisses his little palm.
“again, i’m so, so sorry. he was throwing a fit about sitting in the cart and… i didn’t need him screaming. i also don’t need him to be kidnapped, either, so i would prefer the screaming at this point.” cassidy takes another deep breath as she tries to calm herself down and she kisses the top of her son’s head. “i’m cassidy – thank you for watching him.” she shoots the stranger a smile and looked down at her son, smiling through leftover tears as he says ‘mum’ over and over and kisses her cheek. // @anachroniisms - ANDY.
There were are lot of reasons Andy was bad with kids. When the small child came up to her in the supermarket and grabbed her hand (presumably thinking she was his mother), she nearly knocked the small one down.
That was the first reason. The second was that Andy was absolutely terrible at talking to children as if they were children. She had this habit of speaking to them as if they were tiny adults. She looked down at the stranger. Blinked once, twice, before saying:
“Hey. Um. I’m not your mother. You lost, kid?”
The child stared up at her, confusion scribbled all over his face. Realization quickly dawned on its tiny face and it was like watching the sun crest over a mountain ridge. The toddler’s face screwed up with absolute discomfort and it was like watching a train crash in slow motion. Andy opened her own mouth to protest -
“Oh, No. No. No. No. Aw, shit. Please don’t cry.”
She glanced around the aisle frantically for something to shove into its hands - maybe even into his mouth to suck on a like pacifier - and it absolutely did not help that she was in the liquor aisle. In that moment, Andy was reminded why she and her ex-husband had specifically decided to stay away from having children as she reached for a tall, colorful tequila bottle.
And then - suddenly - luck struck like lightning. A woman barreled down the aisle and scooped the child into her arms. Literally as Andy was about to hand the kid a tequila bottle to entertain himself with. Andy quickly put the bottle back on the shelf. Then, her eyes snapped back to the woman and narrowed. For a second, that old cop instinct in her wanted to demand this woman prove that she was actually the kid’s mom. That this wasn’t some ploy or kidnapping -
But the more the woman spoke, the more Andy put the pieces together. There were plenty of dots to connect here. Shiloh. Riggin. Maxwell. Ah. Andy peered down at the tot. Shiloh’s nephew?
“Maxwell, huh? I see dramatics run in the family.” Andy said. She shook her head. Of course this was Shiloh’s nephew. There were clear traces of her in him. And what was Shiloh’s sister’s name? Karen? Carly?
“No worries.” Andy said with a sigh. “As a reminder, I charge my babysitting rates by the hour…” A small grin. “Kidding. Of course. Please don’t leave me with your children. Ever. I’m surprised this went so well.”
She refused to look at the tequila bottle at sat at the edge of her vision and instead gave a short wave of greeting.
“Hey, I’m Andy. Friends with Shiloh. Cute kid you’ve got there.”
This last part came out a little awkward. It’s not a thing she had to say very often. That’s what you were supposed to say about people’s kids.... right?
sarpelui:
SHE’S A SNOTTY LITTLE THING WITH weak attempts at poison words . she was meant to be his kryptonite wasn’t she ? to destroy everything that he’d built — to take him down from his castle in the goddamn sky . yet each time they speak , she becomes more and more like him and he can’t tell if that’s to his benefit or hers . he’d have to wait and see how long the list became , something to sit on later , he supposed .
a more earnest smile is passed along to a passerby , the kind that matches the condolences he’s supposed to be offering in these times of sadness , even his eyes turn somber as they cast down to the ground in apology . the moment the smoke clears , however , he’s returned to the task at hand , a distant memory of the saddened face of the other guest and once more he’s honed in on something precious . ❛ you know , andrea —- i worry about you . ❜ a startling confession , if there was a lick of truth in it ❛ you’ve lost so many people , it’s almost like you’re trying to regain control over your own life in the process but … love , you’re starting to spiral ❜ what he leaves out is he can see it in the look in her eyes , the contention , the glory ridden need to be better than her target and instead he settles for a hapless shrug before grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter . convenient , he doesn’t even drink so he passes it to her with the warmest of smiles he can muster ❛ i think you need this more than i do . ❜ it pays no mind that she’s already turned down the strawberry ( he saw the way she looked at it , a poisonous fruit waiting to pull her in ) ❛ bite or no bite , after all —- i’ve always liked it a little rough . ❜
She doesn’t even bother saying ‘You don’t know me!’ at Coyle’s assessment. She barely knows herself, but if there’s one person out even has an inkling of who she is - Yeah. Andy’s been in a spiral for a long, long time.
She takes the champagne flute with a resigned sigh and, throws it back with in one swift motion. He’s not drinking, she knows that about him. It’s a note she’s made in the margin of some file, tucked between some sheafs of paper on her desk. She has millions littered all over her life like tiny scars.
Andy makes a face when he calls her ‘Andrea.’
“Please. Call me Andy. I think we’re at that point in our relationship, love.”
An odd thing for her to say, because even in her internal monologues (and boy, does she have those) she refers to him as Coyle and nothing more. She is ready to throw an acidic glare at him, but that particular dagger freezes mid-air. Oi. What? Is that a warm smile? It DISARMS her. She has no regard for his personal space - never has, never will - so she steps forward with disbelief and curiosity all muddled together and pokes at it. Just reaches forward and lets one of her fingers touch the corner of his mouth. She thinks of him like a pinned butterfly. The beat, beat, beat of his eyelashes are a steady drum reminding her that she is speaking to a mere mortal. She feels the upturned quirk of his lips.
“What the fuck is that? Is that a smile?”
Another note for the case file. A chuckle. At the mention of liking it rough, she considers scratching him with the finger that lingers near his mouth. Instead, she drops it and looks around for waiter. She’s going to need something stiffer than champagne if she’s going to have to pretend to schmooze with Madden Coyle and fake cry in front of her aunt’s friends all within the next hour.
“Rough. Right, Well, I promise to be rough when the time comes. That said, we could always just cut to the chase and I could, you know, push you into one of those open graves outside. I’d even say a eulogy for you if you wanted.”
l-diavole:
❝ Is that so? ❞ Word on the street? What the fuck is she talking about? Better yet, who the fuck has she been talking to? He can feel a splitting headache approaching. ❝ Have you been asking about me? I’m touched. ❞
We cannot change the way that we were born. Whether you’re a firm believer in fate or have nothing to believe on, you will undoubtedly acknowledge this fact. Elias still resents it. He had tried his hardest to struggle his way through childhood, but fate decided to frown upon his endeavors. Far from being a whiny, lazy child, he often tried to clear his mind of all pointless and immature thoughts. But as he grew older and developed more self awareness, he came to discover that he was in control of his destiny. Unfortunately, he was still susceptible to the old bouts of weakness and doubt, even when he wanted to convince himself that he was above such sentimentality. Along with all that came his trust issues. Elias doesn’t not trust this Andy whatever, former US Marshall. But then again, the Savage does not trust most people. That’s something that you had to earn, like a right of passage. Most people failed miserably at it. The majority never got the opportunity to even try. It’s all in the way they move, talk, act, flinch, touch their hair, even blink. Certain individuals are more equipped at hiding their true emotions from the public. He has always been able to, even though it’s becoming harder recently. Doesn’t help that he has this girl snooping around his life like a starving animal desperately scavenging for its next meal. He needs to get rid of her. So maybe what she’s offering is not that terrible. He can study her, see how her mind works. And then bury her 6 feet under and seal her remains with concrete.
It was his sudden decline to insanity that’s been cracking that facade and now, it’s too late for him to put back the mask. Not that he really wants to. Humanity feels constricted. As if he’s locked up inside a cage with no room to breathe, keys out of reach, lights out, silent and cold. This is better, right? He can feel enlightened again. Those people he killed and destroyed were the catalyst for his discovery. They bleed the last part of humanity that Elias had left. And Andy wanted to throw him in a hole and leave him there to rot. He’s not fooled by this little game of hers. ❝ You’re willing to work with little ol’ me? Shake hands with the devil to get what you want? ❞ Of course he’s curious to know who this bigger monster was. Apparently someone she’s been unable to catch on her own. ❝ What do I say to what? You haven’t really asked me - have you? And when you do, be sure to say please. ❞
“Of course I’ve been asking about you. You didn’t just appear as number two on my kill list one day. Come by my place, I’ll read you the case file I have on you sometime.”
She really does have one of those. It sits in a room on one of the upper floors that is dedicated entirely to, for lack of a better term, her hunts. Elias’ file is tucked away like a treasure. Too much of Andy’s space is dedicated to her work. She remembers once, back when she was still living with her ex-husband, back when they were still a married couple, how they would tumble onto their bed, intertwined with each other, only to hear and feel the familiar crunch of the handful of manilla folders tucked under the sheets; ones Andy had snuck into her side of the bed for some late night reading. Each time she would let out a yelp, far more concerned with the status of the papers than anything she’d been tangled up in seconds before.
Her tunnel vision. It would be the death of her some day. Until then she’ll shake hands with the devil.
Speaking of -
Shake hands with the devil to get what you want. What particular phrasing. It is freeing. If the greatest trick the devil ever pulled is convincing the world he never existed and Elias is standing here confirming himself to be the devil… well, isn’t that just fucking poetic? An admission of guilt all on its own.
“Come on Elias. I asked you the second I walked in here, remember? I said: Do you want to be the Hannibal Lecter to my Clarice Starling? Do try to keep up.”
She doesn’t trust him one bit. Not a single cell in her body is inclined to let her guard down around this killer, but she needs help. She is outnumbered in this town.
“But if you need to me slow this down, I absolutely can.”
She steps up to him, into his space.
“I need you to help me kill this guy.”
She feels that same feeling she had when she was chasing him across New York, when she sat next to him on that bench here in Valdez just a few weeks ago. Like she is sitting next to a black hole.
“I need you to help me kill this guy named Madden Coyle.”
Her voice is lower now. Quiet in its pure dead seriousness. The grin is there, it is just a shade darker now. It is still in the space between them.
Andy sticks out her hand, for a take-no-prisoners handshake.
“Please.”
( Ugh. Does she make a face when she said that word? Perhaps. It certainly burns her tongue as it slips out. )
“Besides, do you really want to be number two on my kill list forever?”
ELIAS DUVAL & JULIET MANCINI ▶ relationship moodboard
@anachroniisms
shiloh loved andy’s home. even before she went inside to find her friend and drag her ass out, she made her way around the property. it was one of her favourite things to do. it reminded her of the places she and her siblings would sneak into back home. a sigh escapes her as she finally climbs the stairs and walks right into andy’s place. “i don’t know what you’re doing… but whatever it is, you need to drop it ‘n come with me!” the blonde moves into her office and she pulls the chair away from the desk, “let’s go! come on… no more work. for fuck’s sake, andy. i get bein’ a workaholic, but you need a life. i will get you a life tonight…” she tugs on the other woman’s hand, “come on. we’re goin’ for drinks and then we’re going to find something fun to do!” shiloh grins and she dances around. she felt good. she felt better than good.
tossing her bag over her shoulders, she hummed softly, “if i had the money, i’d buy this place from you and fix it up. i mean, i’d make sure it still kept…it’s feel. like it’s kind of falling apart? it just reminds me of being back home.” she shrugs her shoulders, “come on! i have a night off. i need to do something… i can’t just lay around, as much as any normal person probably would. i mean, i lay around enough when i work, honestly.” shiloh snorts and she runs her fingers through her hair.
“wanna go to sharp’s first?”
@anachroniisms - ANDY.
After the divorce, Andy’s ex-husband took the house and Andy found her way back to her mother’s estate out of necessity. She hated it. The decrepit place reminded her of all the best parts of her mother and all the worst parts of her father - and for what it was worth, her mother had no bad parts and her father had none that were good. There was so much unused space in here, she was often taken by the notion that maybe someone was just… hanging out inside her home unbeknownst to her and her housemate Ryker. Like now, when Shiloh waltzed in. Andy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Had Ryker left the front door open again? He really had to keep doing that. Her instinct was to to cling to the desk as she was dragged away - you’ll never take me alive! - but as soon as she recognized how ridiculous that impulse was, she forced her hand to pry itself away from her pen. It was an ordeal that took gargantuan effort.
“Trust me, this place is about three seconds from turning to dust you don’t want it. Plus there’s a room somewhere in here that has all my high school yearbooks and you really don’t want those.”
It was probably a good thing Shiloh was here to pull her away from her desk because when Andy finally used her friend’s entrance to steal a glance at the clock there was a good chunk of her that was genuinely surprised that it was five hours past the times she had originally thought it to be. How the fuck was it already 10pm?
“Hey! I have a life!”
She grabbed her flask of whiskey from the inside of her jacket pocket -
“Look, it’s right here -”
A quick shake showed her the inside of her whiskey flask was dry as a bone. Correction: she was out, completely. A peek in her drawer would show her that there were no full bottles to be found there either. Maybe a trip to Sharp’s wasn’t a bad idea after all. Andy gave a sigh and finally, finally relented.
“Shit. Nevermind. We’re definitely going to Sharp’s.”
She’d need it to be their first stop. She was fine with it being their only stop. Andy pushed herself out of her chair and shrugged on her leather jacket. She took note of the way Shiloh danced around the room and couldn’t help smiling a little at the sight. Yeah, maybe she did need this.
“Are you going to tell me what’s got you dancing or do you want me to guess?”
My father used to say, “Don’t raise your voice. Improve your argument.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu (via locsofpoetry)
ghosstts:
Before she can make a decision to run, Marius has another in mind. His hand wraps around her wrist, his grip tightens to keep her in place. She pulls, she fights, and does so even harder when she feels the buzzing in her purse begin once more. Marcelline knows it’s Christopher again. She wants nothing more than to grab her phone and to hear his voice, know that he is okay and everything else is too. She hopes this is a dream, that her subconscious dragged her through some horrible nightmare, but she’ll awakened to a Sunday dawn, with a cup of coffee and a kiss good morning. Marci and these fairytales, they are only going to fuck her up in the end.
This is reality. Being held against her will, by the same hands that taught her how to count. No one notices her struggle, the bistro has erupted into their own hysterics as the gunfire continues across the street. A sickening pit sprouts in her stomach. Who the fuck does this to someone? Who does this to their own child? There is no redemption for Marius, Marcelline understands this now. He had kicked Marcelline out all those years ago, and from a far, she still loved her father. Not anymore, no, Marci renounces him, tonight, she disowns him. He’s not a father, he’s a criminal, he’s a monster.
She wants nothing more than to grab that butter knife and gouge into his chest.
Her jaw clenches as her beloved ring glistens in his grasps, and disappears into his fabric. Marcelline considers going for the fork and piercing it into his clutches. He might let go. “Fuck you,” is the only answer she has for his question. She’s boiling over with rage like misery. “Let me save him,” she shouts at Marius, “Just let me save him!”
It’s only when her phone stops buzzing does Marcelline quit fighting so hard.
He releases her from the shackles of his grip when the phone stops buzzing, when it feels like the fight is drained from her. Finally. His hands return to his lap. Marius makes no gesture to return the ring. Almost dares her to ask, just so he has more of an excuse to get violent. Instead he folds his napkin into neat squares and places it on the table with the utmost regard to etiquette. Across the street there are sirens, loud, red and violent. Here, in this eatery, they are just far enough that they are cordoned off rather than evacuated. Marius pushes his chair away and stands to full height. Marceline is tall, like him, but in this moment he feels like he looms.
He returns to silence and is once more that marble statue that watches over the dead.
She is no daughter of his. She is weak, weak, weak. Perhaps Marceline will think twice before requesting five minutes with him from here on out.
Without another word, he leaves. Marius returns to life as it was, as if Marceline were never there.
{end}
sarpelui:
A RECKONING WAS BROUGHT DOWN ON him the moment caito’s car crashed . a deadly force that shook valdez to it’s core . he was a man on the outside in the present , a man that would sit upon his porch , watch the sunrise and breathe the fresh mountain air . retired . lord knew that there was no such thing , however . once a month a call would come in from old military contacts requesting his reenlistment , each one responded with the same verbal frown . the times had changed . a man from valdez does not go off to war when the war sits upon his doorsteps. in this case , it marches up with a ring of his doorbell .
he’d longed to be able to live by the mantra if you ignore it , it will go away but the incessant ringing of his phone would haunt him in his sleep . perhaps there was different news . jason was dead . petran — slaughtered . alas , it was just marius on the other line and without a word the phone beeped off , tossed without care back to it’s place on the counter . as his door opens he finds himself staring face to face with another image from his past . ❛ marius —- desperation isn’t a pretty look on you . ❜
“Ezra - retirement isn’t a pretty look on you.”
Marius quips back so easily, there’s no effort involved in the gesture. Why Ezra is so insistent on living all the way out here, away from everyone else, and playing -- what? House? It makes Marius want to take a leaf out of one of his daughters’ books and roll his eyes. Like a wolf, Ezra is determined to convince the world he is a sheep. Or more accurately, he is a lion, determined to convince the world he is something without teeth. WHAT A WASTE. Marius understands the importance of patience and waiting for those who are worth it, there’s a lot of value in the long-con, but on the whole the man is pretty bad at unhooking his claws from anything without letting it a bleed a little (read: a lot.)
Besides, he doesn’t want to unhook his claws from Ezra. If anything, he’s here to drag the other back in. Back to the Savages. Bleeding, if he must. Because it’s what is good for Ezra. Truly, Marius sees this as an act of ultimate friendship. So the man settles in and digs a little deeper. He has no intention of continuing the rest of this conversation on the porch and he has even less intention of leaving without getting what he wants.
He offers a cool thin-lipped smile as he invites himself in.
“I’ll have some tea, thanks. And any of that Talisker 18 if you still have it.”
jason, would u ever fuck marius?
❝ i would rather chop off my own dick and eat it. ❞ ( @anachroniisms )
