81 - 100 of 739 Bookmarked Items in Rustin "Rust" Cohle
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Maybe the ambiguity Marty feels is a reflection more on himself than anything that has to do with the other man, but part of him still can’t shake the idea that he and Rust believe in something. Mutual illusions, his inner philosopher says in an all too familiar voice, and Marty physically turns his head to move away from the thought.
Maybe it’s just that neither of them have figured out what to call it yet.
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His Christmas list would be blank, not because he’s short of things to want but he’s somehow forgotten how.
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- Part 3 of hunger and haunt
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Crash is in thirteen places at once, thirteen pieces, and today is the day. Today has to be the day. The whine of static in his ears and the way the coke hones the corners of his vision sharper than Ginger’s Bowie knife. The way if this ain’t the end of it then he’ll beg for Miles’s bullet, maybe. He’ll beg for it.
— 1993. Crash and the end of days.
Series
- Part 2 of hunger and haunt
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If I could snap my fingers and make one fanfic official canon, some secret long lost filmed episode that resurfaces: it would be this one. HAUNTED by this Crash, this Rust, this Morales, even this Ginger, and the relationships between them. Impossible for me to think of this one without thinking of lost causes.
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Morales has no incentive to care beyond base pay and overtime and right now he’s pulling his plate away as Crash coughs up another shred of lung. And Crash says, You gonna pull me?
And Morales says no. So.
— 1992. Crash keeps some things to himself.
Series
- Part 1 of hunger and haunt
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Is he denying his programming, Crash wonders, or is he living it to its lasting extremity? Do they all live for this the way he does?
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Post-finale.
Rust deals with trauma and tries to navigate the new, less hateful rhythm in his relationship with Marty.
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out come the gaunt ghosts of your thoughts
transmutes
Summary:Post-finale.
Rust deals with trauma and tries to navigate the new, less hateful rhythm in his relationship with Marty.
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You've been living in Vermilion Parish your whole life, lost somewhere between the freeways and bayous, and the 9 to 5 monotony—going nowhere fast. Nobody warned you to get lost before it gets ugly, because anyone who might've didn't know you soon enough to say it.
But you get by, and in that getting by you cross paths with another lost soul. A detective whose made it is his charge to keep bad men from the door.
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Rolling down his car window, Rust asks, “y’alright?”
She blinks at him, nervous. Like any woman might be to a man who stopped for them on the side of the road. “What–?” She tries to ask, her voice hoarse with lack of use. “What road is this?”
Rust gives her an answer and she repeats it three times. It’s clear she doesn’t like what he says and the sour look it draws across her face reminds him of Marty. He doesn’t want to just sit and stare at her and put pieces together for something they both lack context for, calling out, “I’m Rust, by the way.”
A beat of silence follows as she considers how to respond. She thinks too long about her answer, giving Rust a name he doesn’t believe and tastes like lavender in his mouth.
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“What’s wrong girl, look like you’ve seen a ghost,” her dad jokes, lifting a heavy paw to pinch color back into her cheek.
“Haven’t I?” she asks, not looking away from Crash, sitting there like he isn’t fucking dead.
“Sig,” Crash greets simply, over casual, lifting his chin and bottle of Jameson.
“Aw, come on, Sour, smile for the man—” the corners of her mouth twitch at the order, Sig is very good at listening to her dad. “I told Crash you’d be over the moon to see him again.”
“‘Course I am,” she agrees immediately, trying to look embarrassed enough to let the men have a chuckle at the expense of her girlhood crush which, looking at him now, she hasn’t grown out of. Sig kicks a dusty biker boot in her way as she trips over her dad’s road captains, the heat of the fire too close to her bare legs. Crash’s face is carefully blank but Sig is pissed enough to perch on his thigh, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him, soft. Fingers in his hair, Sig presses her cheek to Crash’s to whisper in his ear, “You fucking moron.”
Series
- Part 1 of RIDERS IN THE SKY
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Back in those hungrier days, Rust kept time on a choke chain.
Never let it wander too far ahead, and gave it a hard jerk when it lingered back where the real danger was. No amount of training gave him cause to trust it. Even when it meandered at his side, he got antsy. Time could get underfoot, tangle his legs, trip him up.
Best thing to do was fill its belly til it trudged the circular track, fat and placid.
So, as it were, he kept time fed and busy those first few months in Louisiana.
In which Rust's circle intersects with that of a female detective.
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He’s tense like he’s ready to bolt for the door to chase down the new lead but looks to the girl first. Whatever is communicated silently between them isn’t made privy to Marty before she nods, slips off her seat, and comes behind the bar to finish putting the beers in the fridge. Marty is sure he’s not meant to see how Rust ruffles her hair in lieu of a goodbye.
He thinks about it, waiting in his car, how Rust didn’t introduce them. A man out of practice with marking his territory.
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- Part 1 of LOST DOGS
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The heat is sticky, there's voodoo in the trees, and she's only being paid minimum wage. Any change in routine would be welcome at this point, in the deadzone of her 20s.
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- Part 1 of The Creeping Woods
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Überraschung, gut geschriebener reader insert ist tatsächlich lesbar! isabella ist bartenderin und rust kriegt noch ein zweites kind, sex lieber skippen
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Rust meets a woman worth him.
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She needs this assignment to go smoothly, no matter what. Too much rests on it - her mental stability, his life - for anything to derail it.
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cross-posted @haliotropes on tumblr
Rust. What a fitting name for a man who seems so weathered. Too nervous still to put out her cigarette, Kenny holds it with slightly trembling fingers and lifts her sunglasses. While the action technically doesn't violate a specific rule, it sure as hell feels like it.
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1995. Dora Lange is found murdered outside of Erath, Louisiana. This strange act of violence and obeisance brings together three wandering souls: Marty Hart, veteran detective of the Lafayette CID; Rust Cohle, new transfer from Texas who has more secrets than answers- for now; and Kennedy Marsden, a beat journalist who takes a little too much interest in death.
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A/N: I'll be posting one-shots and Rustin x Readers as well, but I'd like to try a long form fic. Warnings that apply: canon typical everything, descriptions of psychosis and nondescript mental disorders, medication, alcoholism, etc etc. I promise Rust will get the love he deserves, though I do also think he gets it from Marty 🩷 -
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Rust Cohle never expected to see her again, despite his waking dreams and hallucinations often featuring her visage or voice, but when Mia came back into his life after the death of his cover as Crash, it felt like there was something more to the universe than just his nihilistic view.
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THE IDLER WHEEL is wiser than the driver of the screw. by ohnoitsnina
Fandoms: True Detective (TV 2014)
25 Dec 2023
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It takes a moment, pregnant with the chorus of cicadas, crickets and other night-creatures, before he steps back neatly to allow me in.
Series
- Part 1 of THE IDLER WHEEL
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Everyone's running from something, but we come alive when we find someone who can match our pace.
Hunter Evans moves to Lousiana to escape. A town where no one knows her becomes a sanctuary, until her path crosses with Detective Rustin Cohle and two planets are set on a collision course that cannot be undone. -
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When Dora Lange is found posed in ritual fashion in rural Louisiana, reclusive academic Dr Evelyn March is brought in as a consultant to assist Detectives Rust Cohle and Marty Hart. But what begins as symbolic analysis quickly spirals into something darker.
Drawn into the world of revivalist ministries, sacred performance, and weaponised theology, Evelyn uncovers a culture where pain is sanctified, identity is erased, and salvation is indistinguishable from surveillance.
As the investigation deepens, so does her own entanglement - with the case, with the detectives, and with the past she’s tried to bury.
A slow-burn Southern Gothic procedural with academic bones and haunted edges that follows Season 1 of True Detective.
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Rust rubs his thumb over the spine of his notebook. “Not the end of the day yet.”
It’s 4:43 by the clock on Marty’s dashboard. “Near enough,” he says, and when Rust still doesn’t move, “Get the hell out of my car so I can go home and see my kids.”
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如果Rust听从了Marty的建议，愿意做一些无聊的社交。
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