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@psychosfere-blog
Cursedoath .
she had become rather used to questions such as these from rust. they were not new, but they had become refreshing, if she was to be honest or frank. it was nice not to have blame and resentment and hatred slung at her as though it was her fault a person took the path that they chose — of course that never changed the people who resorted to such beliefs about her. a person’s life was like a tree to her, or even perhaps a city being built; and depending on the preferred, and working metaphor? she was no more than an observer or a bystander simply watching as the branches grew from each decision to a new direction, a new branch, or as each road was mapped out, forking off with the person’s choices.
❛ hmm, ❜ she gave a thoughtful little hum before she collected the whole of her response to his inquiry, ❛ — some days? yeah. it’s definitely exhausting to watch some folks make the same mistakes over and over and over… but sometimes it’s kinda painful not to be able intervene, the most i can do is suggest, i can’t really instigate or push an outcome. ❜
If asked, he’d say yes, he’s got himself a very curious nature. Somethin’ like a rat sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong. Might’ve been why he’d first taken a job as police in the first place. He probably had that underlying, subconscious hope he’d one day shove his face in some poison and die out--- naturally stop polluting the earth with his sad excuse of an existence. What normal curious men think about, for sure.
❛ what happens if you’ve got a real--- hankering to just fuck someone’s life up ? don’t seem like there’s any sort of court for people like you. ❜
biqassdick:
❛ The mask of self-deception was no longer a mask for me, it was a part of me. Night lifted it, laying bare the stifled truth below; but there was no one to see except myself, and when day broke the mask fell back again of its own accord. ❜
rust cohle in the walking dead would mostly be rust gloating about how he was right about the apocalypse
We, just as ourselves, are fadin’ away. If the sun don’t swallow us whole first, we’re gonna dig our roads straight into our graves. When we get there— won’t be anythin’ left to fade. Nothin’ but air and a life that never mattered.
Worstself .
If little birds could be taken at their word - which is really a just matter of the bread to shell ratio, which he has down to a key - this Cohle has sprinted laps upon tarmac-morality’s worth of marathons, well before Semyon’s intercession. In short, tact was now unnecessary. Lines were drawn.
“When the time comes, I will ask of you a favour.”
He always picked words over wealth. That’s how we separate the lessers from the highers. That’s how Darwin did it: Descent of fucking man. Any other devil would’a sold him down the river with those worn out ululations, holes in holy pockets, back to where he came from.
Anyone but Frank.
“That day may never come; but it might.”
He wants little to nothing to do with this life and it’s negotiations anymore. With the way his days are dwindling away and taking his purpose with them, dragging him down and down and down into the pit he’s slowly becoming, Rust wonders if this is his existential cue to just go on. He remembers that brief conversation with Marty, even after they’d established the boundaries of what he could and couldn’t wax between them. I lack the constitution for suicide. Still does, sticking true to himself decades later, but he finds it’s nice to think about his own death, knowing there’ll eventually be a way to escape himself and what’s expected of him as goddamn homo sapien.
Rust gives nothing in his drooping, dog-eyed expression as he leans forward on a tattooed elbow and clearly paints his reservations for Semyon.
❛ indefinite blackmail don’t sound so bad. ❜
IT NEEDS TO DIE BEFORE IT CAN BE R E B O R N.
We, just as ourselves, are fading away. If the sun don’t swallow us whole first, we’re gonna dig our roads straight into our graves. When we get there--- won’t be anythin’ left to fade. Nothin’ but air and a life that never mattered.
the response time was, frankly, astounding. they’d been approached before, only for questioning, and all as a result of his sister’s reckless actions. but it was never anything more than that. noah would smile calmly, nod, and be as helpful as he possibly could, veiling his sister as she crept through the darkness at his back, just waiting to do something RASH to bait their accuser like it was really just fun and games.. this is what his life had come down too– COVERING FOR HER. being her protector was no easy task ( one he took willingly ) but there were limits to even his seemingly ENDLESS patience. ❛ i’m sorry, i wasn’t aware– but, please, come in. would you like anything to drink? ❜ he projected a sliver of uneasiness in his speech. always just enough to seem nervous, but not guilty.
There it is--- that feeling of entrapment. There’s things out there that he doesn’t know how to explain in just his words: the shadow- men that linger just out of sight, brushing against his back when he walks into the room or the color of the air around them. Rust watc- hes the man with the same consideration he does anyone else, sun- ken in gaze picking over what he’s wearing, what he says, and how he says it. He really wants a beer.
❛ ’m fine. thank you. mr. wolfe, i’m sure you don’t got a lot’a free time on your hands so i’ll make it quick. you heard about the two women, and their friend, who were murdered 'bout a block from here ? ❜
Maybe it’s the caged animals or the heavy metal spikes that touch his boots every few feet, but he feels trapped and in a dangerous spot. He’s got his book under his arm and his pencils in his pocket, staring up at the snapped high wire. Following logic, his gaze slowly drops to the ground, mouth twisted, to the three dead men haphazardly covered by horse blankets. Blood seeps into the straw beneath them.
❛ ma’am, what can you tell me about this set up ? what sort’a safety precautions do you take ‘fore and after the show ? ❜
&. | lionsbleed
anonymously tell me what you think of my character portrayal.
emma had gotten HUNGRY, again. her insatiable thirst had left holes in her methods, tasking him to disposal of her MESS. it was never about controlling her. only PROTECTING her. so his anger fell quickly in the wake of CONCERN. his nerves hung in turmoil, nervous fingers working at the joints of his fingers. never hunt close to home. it was their one rule; BROKEN. the roll of his thumb against his open palm was calming, finding some tendril of order, stringing from the chaos. the door opened and his attention rose, hands resting, unwavering, against the flat surface of his desk. and in one smooth motion, he found himself on his feet, a EFFIGY of patience and composure, the likes of which his sister could never understand. ❛ oh do we… have an appointment? ❜
closed; psychosfere
Unsurprisingly, news about it was slow to hit his vein. People tend to steer him away from the messy shit after the Dora Lange case, seein’ as it left him winded and hungry for too much. Well, two DBs and a bloody landscape pointing in a multitude of directions suits his appetite just fine.
He approaches the door and the taste of cold sweat and crushed lilac wafts across his tongue as his gaze sweeps across its muted ext- erior, pungent enough to make him swallow and chew his cheek. He has that natural sense of foreboding, like he’s close to something but still only watching it from the end of his long rope.
❛ i called your front desk this mornin’ . Detective Cohle, LSPD. ❜
This just in: if you’re someone who thinks rust cohle is either a) a socoipath or b) completely set apart from his emotions, you need to sit the fuck down. Obviously, rust has a sense of humor, even if it’s buried beneath a lot of bullshit and sour faces, and obviously he knows how to handle other people. he’s not a fucking sociopath, though i can see where one might draw that conclusion, with the way he seems a little too obsessed with himself and his own philosophies and the living alone. but putting those things aside for a second, rust does know how to care about other people, even if it tires him the fuck out. when maggie used him ( not hating on maggie, she did what she had to do ) to get to marty, who by then was a sort of friend and partner, it pissed him the fuck off. because it’s easy to see he cares at least a little bit about them. in fact, he probably cares more than most people. emotional overload can also lead to distancing yourself from people. and dont even get me started on the fucking synesthesia and the visions and what that must do to a man’s emotional psyche. He’s always been like this, if you recall that conversation he had with marty in the car. He’s always had the visions, he’s always smelled and tasted sunsets, and he’s always been different. rust fucking understands emotions, whether they’re his own or someone else’s, and he certainly has them, he just covers it up under thinly veiled fuckery.
Black Crow King