* / STRONGER

private margaret hart from true detective

[coffeentional-deactivated201909]

Haunted Houses - True Detective

S1.E6

[knowsfirst]

♪ hello from the other siiii iii  iii i de !! ♫ hey friends. so listen, i know you know how this works, but, ya know, if we’re MUTUALS and you’d like to have a lengthy ominous STARTER written by yours truly, JUST HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON and i’ll write it out for you. also you can always jump into my ASK / IM and talk about gruesome plot ideas or some horrible angsty wishlist you wanna share, i’m game friends, seriously. come talk to me. i love plotting man, put me to the test. hope we all get to RP together. love you all.  - - - COFFEE

[swedenblog]

Visit Original Link

Your Heart Is As Black As Night - Melody Gardot

[bertinelli]

you know why the story’s always the same? because it only went down the one way.

[knowsfirst]

from   the   dusty   mesa  ,   her   looming   shadow   grows  ,   hidden   in   the   branches   of   the   poison   creosote  .   she   twines   her   spines   up   slowly   towards   the   boiling   sun   and   when   I   touched   her   skin  ,   MY FINGERS RAN WITH BLOOD.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

The stars are alive, but not as fine as the cherries I’m eating alone.

Cesare Pavese, tr. by Roberta L. Payne, from “Mania for Solitude,”  c. 1933 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[knowsfirst]

“Choose your victim.”

* DARK THRILLING & / OR CRIMINAL STARTERS : OPEN

maggie  glanced   around   the   bar   with   a   small   grin   dancing  across   her   lips,   threatening   to   break   into   a   full  smile.   stella   gibson   always   seemed   to   be   in   control  of   the   world   around   her.   like   she   was UNTOUCHABLE. even  as   they   sat   there   by   the   counter   having   an  afternoon   beer,   she   seemed   to   know   exactly   how   to  tug   the   strings   of   the   world   around   her   in   order  for   it   to   succumb   to   her   will.   maggie ADMIRED that  sort   of   serenity   in   a   woman.   liked   to   think   she  too   could   be   that POWERFUL. green   eyes  glanced   across   the   dozens   of   tables   around   them,  glancing   at   men,   noticing   them   …   stella   wanted   to  prove   a   point.   that   maggie   was   still   attractive   to  others.   that   she   could   get   a   man   if   she   really  wanted   to. that   she   didn’t   need   marty  to   make   her   feel   good. and   she   did   spot  a   man   with   greying   hair   and   gentle   brown   eyes   that looked   back   at   her.   maggie   appreciated   that   ; BEING  SEEN. but   she   thought   of   marty,   doing   his  damn   best,   trying   to   get   his   life   back   on   track  for   her   sake,   trying   to   quit   drinking   and   be   there for   the   girls.   she   thought   of   how HARD it  was   for   him   to   prove   to   maggie   he   was   still   a  good   man   ...   how   it   wasn’t   working   out   the   way  he   wanted.   the   palms   of   her   hands   felt DIRTY all  of   a   sudden.   maggie   hart   rubbed   them   over   her  pants.      ❛       i   don’t   know   stella,   i   don’t  think   i   wanna   play   this   game   anymore.    ❜       marty  wasn’t   the BEST husband   in   the  world. but,   god,   he   did   try.   and   that ought   to   be   worth SOME credit.

[knowsfirst]

cohleric‌:

(  KNOWSFIRST  cont .  )

        seeing  her  put  a  certain  kind  of  spark  around  her  image.   an  unexplained  shimmering  of  light  firing  only  in  his  mind’s  eye.   surely  other  people  saw  it  when  they  saw  maggie  hart.   she  could  have  been  a  constant  beauty  in  many  people’s  lives.   neighbors,   teachers,   grocery  store  clerks.   all  of  which  were  mostly  men  who  saw  her  on  a  casual  basis  and  fell  distantly  in  love  with  the  simple  things  she  did.   rust  could  see  her  looking  at  a  can  of  peas  down  some  lonely  aisle.  and  the  same  shimmering,   dazzling  light  he  saw  her  in  now.   only  the  way  he  saw  her  was  an  explained  phenomenon  of  misfiring  brain  synapses.   there  wasn’t  any  love  there.   despite  knowing  somewhere,   deep  down,   it  was  the  same  reaction  he  had  whenever  he  saw  claire  all  those  years  ago.

         rust  was  wearing  that  dusty  brown  jacket.   he  looked  more  spruced  up  than  he  had  before  —    but  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,   like  he  had  been  sleeping,    or  crying.    it  had  been  neither,   in  fact.   he  hadn’t  slept  in   two  days  and  an  empty  bottle  of  codeine  was  shoved  underneath  the  passenger  seat  of  his  truck.   it  would  be  one  of  those  revealing  nights,   he  could  feel  it  when  he  slipped  into  the  seat  next  to  her.    rust  was  already  feeling  exposed  here,  despite  the  crowded  space.   she  saw  him,   often.   saw  through  him   —    she  saw  through  everybody.  maybe  that’s  what  made  her  so  awfully  sad. 

         he  nodded  when  he  finally  heard  her.   their  shoulders  nearly  touched.   that  feeling  of  being  overly  aware  of  their  closeness  returned.   constantly  aware  of  her  presence  here,   their  appearance  in  the  dark  dive.        he  leaned  back  away,   fetching  a  cigarette  and  signaled  for  the  bartender.   would  he  be  drinking  now  too,   then   ?    SAD  SONGS,   he  put  a  cigarette  between  his  lips  and  leaned  on  his  elbows.      ❛   i  don’t  think  people  come  here  to  talk.   ❜   and  he  revealed  the  smallest  of  smiles.      they  come  to  drink  and  warm  up.   he  cast  his  gaze  toward  the  dizzying  swarm  of  dancers  and  the  smile  had  gone.     ❛  but  we  can  dance,    if  y’want.  ❜

@knowsfirst

the  signal   to   the   bartender   doesn’t   go   unnoticed.   maggie   glanced   towards   the   rows   of   bottles   sitting   somewhere   behind   the   counter   and   slowly   set   down   her beer.   she’d   look   away   from   that   too   because   rust   didn’t   drink   and   because   she   trusted   rust,   above   everyone   else,   to   have   some SELF-CONTROL. but  not   too   much   ...   otherwise   he   might   not   have   accepted   to   meet   up   with   her   when   marty   wasn’t   around.  not   after   last   time.  ——    her   husband   wouldn’t   allow   himself   to   spend  time   with   her   and   would   rather   think   of   maggie   feeling   lonely   than INFATUATED with   anyone   besides   him.   she   watched   rust’s   heavily-hooded   eyes   examine   their   surroundings   in   a   detached   manner.   like   that   world bored him.   like   the   only   world   that   mattered   was   the   one   where missing  girls   and   gunpowder were   real. THERE   WAS   NO   ROOM   FOR   THAT   THERE. only   good   things   were   allowed.   or   at   least VERSIONS of   them.   slim   fingers   drew   lines   over   the   bottle’s   condensation.   maggie   was   aiming   at   a   stickman   figure   but   it   remained HEADLESS.

   ❛     really?      ❜        she chuckled lightly at detective cohle’s suggestion. she had seen him dance before, back when she had fixed him a date with jennifer. he hadn’t looked very comfortable then but the memory always brought a smile to maggie’s lips. she found herself thinking of that night OFTEN.      ❛     i wouldn’t want to make you suffer.      ❜       maggie shrugged.      ❛     at least not too much.      ❜       there’s a small genuine laugh there. she knew that wasn’t the evening rust had planned. too crowded, too loud ... a closed space filled with temptations too great and too dangerous for men as wounded as rustin. maggie glanced towards the bartender again. she tried to stay on focus. rust was an adult; she didn’t NEED to police him. but maybe she should. hell, maybe she should police herself. WHAT WERE THEY DOING THERE?    ❛     the girls have been asking about you.      ❜        she mentioned while turning to face rust again. that wasn’t a question. but there was something in her tone encouraging him to speak. 

[odiledecaray]

Girls always know before boys. Because they have to. 

[knowsfirst]

“Hey, how drunk are you?”

* DARK THRILLING & / OR CRIMINAL STARTERS : OPEN

maggie  held   the   phone   against   her   ear   and   felt   a   shiver run   down   her   spine   when   hearing   camille   preaker’s  voice   on   the   other   side   of   the   line.   she   glanced  over   her   shoulder,   making   sure   her   girls   weren’t  planning   on   sneaking   out   of   their   beds   and   coming  downstairs   because,   whenever   camille   called,   things   that one   oughtn’t   think   about   too   much   had   a   tendency  to   become   too REAL. the  girls   were   growing   out   of   their   princess   phase,   she  didn’t   want   them   to   think   the   world   to   be THIS  UGLY ; not  yet.                  ❛            i’m  not.         ❜               she   admitted   with   a   smile.     ❛    got   a shift   in   a   few   hours.   guess   that   port   wine’s  gonna   be   sleeping   alone   again.    ❜             maggie   chuckled   softly   and   for   a   moment   she  thought   that   maybe   camille   had   called   for   a  chat. nothing  more. that  maybe   this   could   be   a   thing   in   her   life   ;  casual   talking   in   which   no   one   was OUT  FOR   BLOOD. but  women   very   rarely   lived   out   their   lives   without  ever   becoming SCARRED ... one  way   or   the   other. the  nurse’s   green   eyes   shifted   across   her   coffee   table,  trying   to   imagine   where   the   redhead   might   be.   and  no   matter   the   scenario   she   pictures   (   a   bar,   an  empty   office,   her   bed   ),    maggie ALWAYS sees  her   alone.   the   thought   is   almost   too   sad   to   bare,  so   she   doesn’t.   her   finger   draws   small   circles  over   her   leg   as   the   silence   settles   between   the  two.   none   wanted   to   take   the   next   step   in   that  conversation   ;   reality   was A-KNOCKING at  their   doors   and   none   of   them   were   prepared   to  answer. this  wasn’t   a   courtesy   call. when  maggie   speaks   again,   there   are   no   smiles   to   be  found. 

                 ❛         where  are   you,   camille?  ❜            

[anarqa]

[marineer]

Visit Original Link

The Handsome Family - Far From Any Road

“True Detective” OST

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I lived with all my senses, well aware / That this was perfect, and it would not last;

Edna St. Vincent Millay, from The Collected Poems; “Two Sonnets,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[knowsfirst]

“Why are we here?”

* DARK THRILLING & / OR CRIMINAL STARTERS : OPEN

Self-consciousness  hits   her   like   a   pile   of   bricks. All  of   a   sudden   everything   in   the   bar   feels   like   a  trap.   The   dim   lights,   the   live   band,   the   drinks   …  Rust’s   question   had   broken   whatever   spell   Maggie  had willingly gotten  herself   under.   The   one   that   had   convinced   her   that this, all  of   this,  was   acceptable:   The   green   dress   she   wore   back   when Marty   took   her   out   on   dates,   the   red   lipstick,   the  cigarette   dangling   from   her   fingers   that   made   her  feel   as   if   she   was   fifteen   again,   trying   to   impress  the   older   kids   ... 

Maggie  didn’t   see   anything   wrong   with   it. But   she  still   tugged   her   skirt   over   her   thighs. For  some   reason,   she   imagined   Marty   walking   into   that  bar   and   spotting   the   two   of   them   sitting   by   the  counter.   She   imagined   what   shade   his   face   would   turn to   and   how BADLY he  would   react   and   he’d   tell   her   to   get   in   the  car   and   ask   her   why   she   was   sneaking   out   to   have a   beer   with   his   partner   without   him.   She   imagined  all   of   this   …   But   felt heartbroken when  coming   to   the   conclusion   that   it   would   never   come  true. Marty  wasn’t   thinking   of   her   right   now. The  band   played a  song   Maggie   knew   by   heart but   twisted   into  something   sad   and   broken. 

She  looked   at   Rust.

            ❛           Talk.       ❜           Her   answer   came   out  as   a   demand,   muffled   under   the   singer’s   voice.   She had   seen   them   both   reflected   on   her   kitchen’s  window   more   than   once,   washing   dishes   and   drying   them  out   while   the   girls’   laughter   echoed   through   the  house.   Their   gazes   had   met   more   than   once,   out  there,   on   the   other   side   of   the   looking   glass.   Two half-faded   things,   spectating   a   life   that was  not   their   own.  The   singer   wept   Maggie’s   song   louder.   The   brunette leaned   over   so   that   Rust   could   hear   her   better.   She   could   smell   his   aftershave.                   ❛         To  talk   !        ❜                She   said,  louder.                ❛           I don’t   know   !   The   kids   are   at   a   sleepover,  Marty’s   working, you’re  here … WHY  NOT   ?        ❜             Maggie   ignored   the  way   her   throat   dried   out   after   that nonchalant  remark. She  grabbed   her   bottle   and   took   a   big   sip.   People  slow   danced   all   around   them   to   the  tangled   mess   that   was   that   Cash   cover. 

Maggie  had   to   look   away.

[memesandthings]

DARK, THRILLING, AND/OR CRIMINAL SENTENCE STARTERS: PT1.

“I’m scared.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Are you scared?”

“Is this even legal?”

“Just trust me.”

“We’re locked in!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s too dark in here.”

“Why are we here?”

“They have a gun…”

“They have a knife…”

“Grab what you need, and let’s go.”

“Be quiet. Don’t let them see you.”

“Choose your victim.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“They’re coming for us.”

“How do you know how to do that?”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“We’re getting out of here unseen.”

“Something moved over there.”

“Do you have the stuff?”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“It’s not safe here.”

“This is your fault.”

“We’ve gotta go. Now.”

“Hey, how drunk are you?”

“Hey, how high are you?”

“Is that… a dead body?”

“We’re not alone in here…”

“What do you need me to do?”

“It’s not safe here, you should go.”

“I can’t believe you stole that!”

“Hey, stay close to me. Got it?”

[knowsfirst]

from   the   dusty   mesa  ,   her   looming   shadow   grows  ,   hidden   in   the   branches   of   the   poison   creosote  .   she   twines   her   spines   up   slowly   towards   the   boiling   sun   and   when   I   touched   her   skin  ,   MY FINGERS RAN WITH BLOOD.

[bertinelli]

it was january 3, 1995, my daughter’s birthday. i remember.