#rust cohle — closed starter.

[downs1de]

PROMPTS FOR LIES, DECEIT, AND VILLAINY

@godstrayed: "I've never lied, not even once." (From Angel)

It’s ironic that a man Rust only knows as Agent A and who works for a foreign agency is telling him that he has never lied. The humor of reality makes the detective chuckle—an incredulous laugh that matches the look on his face.

"You know…"

Rust exhales, reaching for his corduroy jacket pocket to pull out a cigarette to light as he continues.

"I’ve met a lot of people who said they never lied. Most of them were lying when they said it."

[temeryte]

Spotify Wrapped inspired starters + @sanguisamoris

In the dimly lit corner of a bar on the outskirts of Lafayette, Rust sits hunched over a scarred wooden table, a cigarette between his fingers. The atmosphere of the room, thick with the haze of smoke and the hum of conversation, seems to cling to him like Louisiana's humidity.

A small pile of documents lay scattered on the table, an open notebook and a marker on top. Each page of the handwritten book carries the weight of investigations, scribbles, and annotations that reveal the shades of darkness Rust faces every time the sun rises in the eastern sky—sometimes when it falls, too.

Michael, a familiar face in his late-night, sleepless escapades, slides into the seat opposite him, the clink of ice in his glass catching Rust's attention as he places his drink in the only spot Rust wasn't occupying yet.

Rust stares at the drop of condensation that falls from the rim of the glass and makes its way onto the wood. He hasn't had anything to drink since he first settled in; his coffee is long gone, and he's perched. This would be a perfect time to have a beer—he heard the bartender refill the minifridge moments before. But when Michael offers to buy him one, it takes what's left of his strength to pass up on it.

"I don't want a piece of that."

Rust mutters, his voice hoarse. As if to help quench his thirst, he falls for another of his vices, bringing the cigarette back onto his lips, where he takes a drag and then exhales the smoke between them, flicking the ash into his empty cup.

"I know there's no peace in that."

[serabellyms]

  PLOTTED STARTER !     ⤷ @downs1de ✧ rustin cohle.

Finally, finally, she'd been able to take some leave. It was difficult, given the intensity of her training, but now that there were final evaluations for those who'd be deemed N7 status (and her passing all of the previous levels with flying colours), she had time to wait until she'd know whether she'd been chosen for such an esteemed vocation. It'd been a difficult journey, and so far... she'd passed. Now, she had a chance to take a break, and she’d sent a message to Rust, letting him know where she was staying if he’d like to come visit. She hadn’t received a message back, but she figured he’d see it eventually.

What she didn’t expect was hearing a knock at her door late at night. She was up in a flash, grabbing her sweater and pulling it over her head to conceal the garish scars that marred her arms and shoulders. Who would be coming at this hour? She hadn’t received any messages; surely if it was emergent, one of her COs or her training officers would’ve sent her a message. Raising a hand, she pulled her pistol close with her biotics, setting it out of sight in case of an intruder, but somewhere she’d know where it was. No need for her to answer the door holding it; she didn’t exactly need a gun to defend herself, after all.

Opening the door, she was... surprised at what she saw. Dishevelled was one way to describe it; clothing rumpled, tie loosened, and a half-abused bouquet of flowers that looked like it'd been bought hours ago. The only saving grace was his hair; it always looked like that, a little tousled. The rest was easy to figure out; even if she couldn't smell the alcohol yet, she certainly knew the look of a man who'd had one too many drinks.

At least he'd taken a cab, identified by the car that was leaving now that she'd opened the door. Oh, god, what did you do? At least he looked... okay, for the most part. No bruises or cuts, which mean no fights, but something had happened. Sighing softly, she reached for his arm to gently coax him inside, resigning herself to... whatever this was. If he'd come to her in this state, there had to be a reason he'd picked her over everyone else.

"C'mon," she encouraged, guiding him to the couch. "Do you... want some coffee, or do you just want to sleep it off?" Either option didn't matter to her; she doubted she'd be sleeping much, given she'd be too damn busy worrying. Once he was sitting, she pulled two glasses from the cupboards, filling them both with water; if nothing else, she’d get him to drink at least one glass of water, and she herself probably needed one. Of course, water wasn’t the only thing she grabbed; reaching into the fridge, she juggled one of her usual electrolyte drinks, knowing that ought to be a hell of a hangover cure for a non-biotic.

Setting the glass down in front of him as well as the bottle, she took a seat next to him, sipping the second glass of water herself. “Drink. The water first, then that. It’ll at least save you from being dehydrated in the morning. They’re, uh—they give them to us after… long stints groundside.” Hopefully he wasn’t apt enough to notice her cover-up; she’d yet to tell him about their real purpose: to keep biotic soldiers hydrated, given the amount of calories and electrolytes burned in combat generating and controlling mass effect fields.

[pessimisticsarc]

NAVIGATION

RUST COHLE

Aesthetics Art Backstory Desires Headcanons Introspection Physique Isms Soundtrack Visage Wardrobe

TIMELINE

18–23 24–26 32 33–38 40–48 49 Present Day Undercover

PLACES

Alaska Carcosa Louisiana Texas

RELATIONSHIPS

Claire Morgan Martin Hart Sophia Cohle Travis Cohle

DYNAMICS

Family Friendships Relationships

UNIVERSES

Main Berserk Fatherhood Soulless Supernatural Lost Boys The Walking Dead

ACTIVITY

Answered Closed Starter Crack Dashboard Commentary Dashboard Games Interactions Open Starter Prompts

OUT OF CHARACTER

Character Spam Edits Funny OOC Pinned Promotions Saved Self Promotions Wishlist

[vivalavillain]

{Closed starter for @inprometheanfire. For Rust.}

Louisiana was a beast wholly other than any he’d ever experienced in his long life. The rich culture and storied history were almost alive in every inch of the place, like something palpable you could measure in the air. It lead Paul to wandering rather more often than perhaps was wise, as he enjoyed getting lost in the city surrounding his hotel. It wasn’t as intense as some of the more major cities, but there was life and a thriving community where he stayed and it brought him joy to see it around him.

It had been this habit of wandering that had gotten him into his first spot of trouble. He’d taken to traveling in his priestly habit-- something he’d never considered taking off before-- and attending the local Catholic church, just to surround himself in the holy atmosphere for a while as he prepared to return to Crockett Island. He’d come to know his fellow priests and the nuns who toiled away at the church on a semi-close basis which was, he learned, to his cost.

When the parish’s priest fell ill and needed to take time off from giving Mass, they hadn’t hesitated to ask him to step up and cover for him. He’d wanted to say no, to get back on his journey home where he was sorely needed, but the Angel had intoned in that ethereal voice of theirs that he needed to stay here, to help the community. He was more than a little begrudging of the request, but, ultimately, how could he refuse a command from God’s holy attendant? So, for a time, he would minister to the masses who came through his church door during the day and release the Angel at night.

It didn’t take long for the first body to be found. The local news called it graphic, horrifying, not for every viewer and Paul simply watched without guilt or remorse. It was God’s will be done as far as he was concerned and nothing to worry about. Until, of course, the fourth and fifth bodies were found in quick succession and the papers began writing about an animalistic serial killer. They hinted at something demonic, something feral, and cried foul on the police who they claimed did nothing. It was there, on the television late one night, that Paul first saw him. Rust Cohle, detective.

So when the man himself came waltzing into the church some days-- or was it weeks? Time seemed vague and dizzying these days-- after the discovery of the eighth body, Father Paul felt himself begin to sweat for the first time since their arrival. Mass had only just ended and the church was still filled with the parishioners who liked to stay for lengths of time afterward to chat with their neighbors and fellow Catholics. Paul himself was standing close to the entrance, shaking hands and bidding farewell to what had become his temporary church when Rust walked in. A cold spike slipped down his spine at the unwelcome sight but he hid it behind a gentle smile as he forced himself to focus on his people rather than the detective.

[detectiev]

(   *   &.   –   SHARP  OBJECTS  SENTENCE  STARTERS .

‘  it’s hotter than a whore in church today.  ’ / santino d'antonio if u want ! 🌹 @bruisedstare​

“  yeah. ” he agreed before taking a long drag of his cigarette. 

the other man’s skin glistened under the bar’s lights, just like everyone else’s. it was a particularly warm evening. folks were saying this could be the warmest summer yet. and because cohle felt his shirt glue to his back and a moistness building underneath his armpits despite the best efforts of a janky looking fan, he was inclined to agree. rust wasn’t from around those parts, he wasn’t used to the humidity. and neither was the guy lingering by the counter next to him.

he had money, that much was clear ( all it took was getting a whiff of the guy’s cologne for rust to tell ) . but the group of men standing close by, watching, and waiting, led the detective to believe that perhaps that man wasn’t just an unfortunate tourist. he took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled smoke. the damp bar was made only more miserable by the grey tobacco reeking cloud hoovering over everyone’s heads. 𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙼, rust thought. 

“  everything’s drying out around these parts.  ” cohle pointed out before killing that night’s sixth cigarette in an ugly little ashtray. “  makes vermin of all sorts come a’running, lookin’ for something to drink.  ” he turned to face the man then with a pointed look. he might have looked more tired than anything else but one thing rustin cohle didn’t radiate was friendliness.

[downs1de]

@markedwrath liked for a canon line starter

"What d'y'think the average IQ of this group is?"

"I think it's safe to say nobody here is goin' to be splittin' the atom."

[downs1de]

@florencc liked for a canon line starter

"If the common good has got to make up fairytales, then it's not good for anybody."

[downs1de]

@dutyworn liked for a canon line starter

"If the only thing keepin' a person decent is the expectation of divine reward, then..."

"That person's a piece of shit."

[downs1de]

PLAYLIST BASED STARTERS

@stupiidgood → Emily / Bowling For Soup

"It wasn't supposed to be like this—another dose of unhappiness."

"Gave it all and managed to get shot down yet again."

[downs1de]

PLAYLIST BASED STARTERS

@soulshares → Sweet Talk / The Killers

"I’m not lookin' for sweet talk, I’m lookin' for time."

"Top a tower and sleepwalk 'cause it hurts sometimes."

[downs1de]

PLAYLIST BASED STARTERS

@lawevades → SUNNYSIDE / I Don't Know How But They Found Me

"Listen—don't hesitate to take the blame."

"Surely somethin' will go wrong again."

[downs1de]

@draconisa liked for a canon line starter

"Certain linguistic anthropologists think that religion is a language virus that rewrites pathways in the brain."

"Dulls critical thinking."

[downs1de]

CARING FOR STUBBORN MUSES

@inhaunts: "How long has it last been since you slept?" (From Clarice)

"Does it matter?"

Not to him, at least. He has things to do, a case to solve; a couple of hours a night every other night is enough for him to function, supplemented by coffee, cigarettes, and greasy fucking food.

But it's probably the bags under his eyes that Clarice is worried about, growing a few millimeters a day—If she were Marty, she'd be used to it.

"Didn't call you over to chit-chat, Clarice. I have a new lead."

[downs1de]

@turnandface liked for a canon line starter

"You're not bad. It's not you."

"There's a weight, and it got its fishhooks in y'r heart and soul."

[downs1de]

PLAYLIST BASED STARTERS

@sanguisamoris → 100 Words / AFI

"Yesterday, I longed to die—fell to the ground and the ground caught me."

"Now today I question why I fell."