reds-writings

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#no one speak #i’m going thru something #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout

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His shitty attitude and grabbable waist have bewitched me

#rust cohle fr

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Sketch 🤠

#don’t mind me slipping back into my arthur morgan phase #the parasites want me to #art #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan

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Yoshinori Mitzutani, Birds

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Sylvie Vartan photographed by Jean-Marie Périer, 1963

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ron simple in livingsculpture - paul cooper (2001)

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hello! i am gonna be closing requests for the time being while i work through the ones i’ve received and hopefully get another chapter of jj out eventually!

(general asks/inquiries are still open!)

i might hop off for a little just to take a bit of a mental break ♥️

#red speaks #reds-writings #i am a little mentally drained #and feel like my writing lately has been just okay #just wanna take more time with pushing stuff out so i feel more confident about my work is all!

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Your post about Rust dealing with reader's insecurities made me thinks about how during a fight Rust will always hit exactly where it hurts. Maybe won't be even sorry about that later.

This is so true. When he’s truly at his worst he has to tear people down to bring them to his level of misery. He’s got his toxic qualities! With being as perceptive as he is he clocks everything about a person (good and bad).

I think depending on the relationship and who he’s hurt he does happen to feel sorry but can be too prideful to admit it. His relationship with Marty being a key example. All that went down in 02 and the things he spat in retaliation to everyone and everything working against him (then the betrayal with Maggie) are things he seems to regret but finds no use to ask for forgiveness about.

I like to think it goes hand in hand that with the things he believes in and carries out when it comes to his regards towards human nature. Benevolence isn’t deserved and everyone has their choices. He can’t be selfish enough to expect grace. It’s not that he isn’t sorry or completely unfeeling but that he won’t bother trying to validate his remorse by outright saying sorry like normal and expecting things to be okay.

When he viciously lashes out I think he takes whatever reaction (physical or verbal) as his penance in specific cases or flees to burden himself with an extremely solitary existence

(I say this as if I don’t make him apologize constantly to jj!reader PLS)

#reds-writings #red speaks #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #anon ask #writer blog #rust thoughts #he’s got his ugly sides ain’t no doubt about it #poor coping skills would ya look at that #tax man more like the sad man

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hii!! can i request

10. lashing out even though they know they will regret it from the angst prompts for rust

here's some sunny and rust angst! felt like it was fitting for when she first starts helping rust!

The pointed silence bleeding from you was more unnerving than Rust thought it could be. He had lashed out, shamefully so he’d regretfully admit. Marty had pissed him off a great deal earlier today and the fact that he always had to be hovered over one way or another was igniting a frenzy of feeling particularly fucking agitated. He loathed feeling so helpless. Whether it was a fragile sense of masculinity that had been subconsciously engrained within him or he was just being a dick because he could would be a question for the ages. 

The clinking sounds of dishes that the flow of sink water couldn’t drown out made him feel guiltier by the minute. It was the lack of routinely nonsensical humming during any simple task that made an impact. Your spark had been put out for the afternoon. 

And he was the rotten asshole who did it. 

Over what? All because you had to help him eat due to muscles of his own still on the mend from being stuck in a shitty hospital bed for weeks on end? There was certainly no need to harshly shove you away along with the plate of carefully crafted lunch you prepared to the floor in a heaping mess with spiteful curses. His resentful act had you frozen in place. Rust wasn’t the first patient to be so callous when you were just trying to do your job but it hurt all the same. He was a tough nut to crack so far in the two weeks you’ve been with him but today it was made clear your efforts might not ever be valued. 

The minute wobble of your lower lip was nearly imperceptible but the glaze that took form over your eyes sure wasn’t. Hating to be seen so emotionally exposed, you wordlessly stood up to grab a few paper towels to hopelessly clean up Marty’s rug. There’d be a big stain but you were sure Rust was due for more of a verbal lashing than you would be once you relayed the day’s events. 

God, this job didn’t pay nearly enough as it should with some of the crap you had to put up with. 

Rust kept his uneasy gaze on the TV in front of him. Old football highlights sounded foreign to his ears as he had trouble fighting away wanting to grovel for his mistreatment towards you. The most undeserving of receiving anything in the shape of cruelty. Marty would have him by the fucking ear, that much was true, but that bothered him less than his current predicament of trying to formulate a formal apology. One that wasn’t tinged with predictable apathy or a mashup of bumbling words. 

The sound of water suddenly shut off and the soft padding of your feet drew close again. His eyes darted towards your choice of socks for the day. Adorned with cartoonish succulents, a joke scrawled out near your calves: ‘What’s up succas?’ They were awful, but you had been excited to present them as soon as you stepped through the door this morning. It just made him feel more shitty. 

“Would you like for me to leave early today? I can have someone else come in for your night doses and bandage dressing.” You’d never sounded so prim. It was jarring. 

He fumbled for a strong answer, “...N-no.”

“Would you like me to sit away and give you space for the remainder of the day?” 

Your posture was set in a stiff cast. Unease infiltrated the room, growing thicker by the second as his brain wracked through all its confusion and veining remorse. You were like a different person. Forced into the protocol of taking residence as an even-keeled, unfeeling nurse. You wouldn’t allow him the image of being thrown off-kilter by his meanness. You could only let people walk all over you for so long in these instances even if shoving away instinctual kindness and immediate forgiveness hurt. 

“No.” He tried and failed at sounding more resolute. What was wrong with him? 

You didn’t say anything, visibly deflating as you pressed a thumb to the space between your brows. It was clear he had you at a loss of what to do but he couldn’t hold you as an awkward hostage any longer. 

“I’m sorry.” It felt as if he had to force it out of his windpipe. Uncomfortable and unsure.

“Okay…”

“It was rude of me to-...behave as I did.” His eyes were everywhere but yours. If you weren’t so drained you’d giggle at the absurdity of Rust looking so timid. You straightened up to do your best at upholding your firm resolve. 

“There’s no excuse for it. It won’t happen again.” He pushed out and you just nodded. A teeny smile teasing the edge of your lips. You were getting a kick out of this. 

“You’re not bad to…” He hesitated and you waited.

That spark was coming back. 

“...have around.” It might’ve been impossible for him to look more embarrassed than he did from his spot on the couch. You put a hand to your mouth to suppress your growing grin, turning to the side in mock thought over his apology. It wasn’t the most graceful but you figured it was something coming from him. Turning back to him you yielded,

“I will humbly accept this apology. But we have to watch whatever I wanna watch before I leave tonight. The girliest of picks to make me feel better.”

He mulled it over but knew there was no winning right away, “Sure.”

You wiggled in a mini burst of victory before plopping down on the couch, still conscious of his need for space, and smiled as you got comfortable. 

“I’m thinking along the lines of Pretty in Pink. Oh! Maybe Roman Holiday-...” You rambled on about the movies you planned on torturing him with that he’d positively pretend to sleep through.

He was going to need help from whatever higher power was willing for him to navigate the colorful force that was you. 

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #anon ask #writer blog #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #blurb #drabble #sunny universe #request

[reds-writings]

how do you think rust would be with a lover that isn’t comfortable in her body? like she shies away from his touch at first, hides behind her clothes, and makes subtle comments about her body/face wherever he’s around

Given that I will always swear by the fact he's more of an actions-over-words guy in a relationship I feel like he'd take a more low-key approach. With his extreme observance, no self-deprecating comment can be made in passing without him subconsciously tucking it away for later. Mans would have trouble controlling a grimace at hearing your subtle comments of distaste towards yourself.

If there's a certain feature or part of yourself you're not the biggest fan of he's taking the time to pay extra care and attention to wordlessly. BODY WORSHIP AND SILENT DOTING AFFECTION I'M TELLING YOUUUUUUUU! Intentful touches and kisses should they not be too overwhelming for you. He takes you in with such reverence that it would make even the most unshakeable shy away.

I believe that Rust isn't all that picky so to speak about the physical as someone like Marty might be. Feminine beauty is divine all the same to him. He doesn't find himself all that worthy for what few delights life does have to occasionally offer but he will never be ungrateful towards the opportunity to indulge in the infinite beauty that is you. Sometimes he may be blunt enough to directly shoot down any self-conscious thoughts you have (not in a way that's dismissive or angry of course!). Just plain simple. He's naturally a pusher but with you, his intent is never to make you feel uncomfortable or unheard. His delivery of compliments are made to sound like facts that cannot and should not be argued. Like water is wet. You are ethereal. That is that.

#red speaks #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #anon ask #writer blog #reds-writings #rust cohle x reader

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i love your blog more than i’ve loved anything on earth before.. can you maybe write something about 1995 rust and reader working a late night together and taking an awkward and romantically charged truck ride to the bar together?? oh im a fool for some good old yearning. hope you’re doing well i love what ya do

ahhh! thank you so much! i too love some good ol' yearning so i whipped some up quick! enjoy, darlin! (this takes place in the middle of the first of many and the start of something new and jj)

“We oughta call it a night.” Your voice rang out in the empty space of the precinct. It had to be bordering nine thirty and your body was begging for release from your hunched-over position, having been pouring over a surplus of articles for the past couple of hours. The slope of Rust’s shoulders jerked slightly as if forgetting where he was or that you had decided to hang back with him in the first place.

“Time is it?” He rumbled out, using the heel of his palm to rub at a tired eye. 

“9:37. You good to drop me off still?” You replied after a quick glance at your wrist. Your truck was still in the shop but you couldn’t complain much if it meant being around Rust a little extra. 

“Don’t worry about it. Sleep decides when it wants to find me. Even then it never really takes hold.” The casual admittance threaded with his perplexing way of describing what troubles him would never fail to bewilder you. 

“Well…if you ain’t sleepin’ anytime soon could you be persuaded to stop for a drink on the way back? My treat.” 

Rust had the humor to snort, a sharp and haughty sound, “If the company you keep makes a lady pay then they’re shit.” 

“The company I keep mostly nowadays consists of Marty and the feral cat taking up residence in my yard every now and then.” 

“Therein lies the problem.”

‘He likes to be spoiled. What can you do.” You shrugged playfully while beginning to gather your things. 

“The cat or Marty?” That finally made you shoot out a laugh and he squashed down the distant desire to preen at your amusement. 

Not fun outside of parties. Fuck you, Marty. 

“We’ll grab a drink or two.” He relinquished. You pumped a fist in the air in a small celebration of victory with a hushed hiss of a ‘yes!’ The day was long and you could use a beer paired with the continued company of the wiry enigma. 

As you mosied over to his truck and hopped in you batted your lashes in what dramatic fashion you could muster through your fatigue, “Free drinks and the voluntary companionship of Mr. Cohle? Gee, did I strike lucky-”

“I don't recall sayin' free.” He lit a cigarette with one hand and began to steer out of the lot with the other. It was concerning how such a mundane act could start to get you all hot and bothered. 

“With you stickin' your nose in my business about what friends I do and don’t have they became free, I believe there was the implication of mighty disdain towards makin’ a lady pay.” A dainty finger wagged in his direction.

“I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of a lady-” The swat of your quick hand at his arm served as an interruption to his bullshitting. He was funny. When he wanted to be. Maybe not hardly ever but sometimes the mood struck whenever the stars decided to align just right. You thought it foolish to think the odds were specifically in your favor during moments like these but seeing him even a little bit at ease couldn’t hold you back from running right into the arms of said foolishness itself. Marty would dub you delusional. He could also kiss your ass.

Plain and simple.

“Because of your outright boorishness, I will be demanding some top-shelf finery tonight.” You half-sassed while he blew smoke from his sloped nose at your theatrics. The way you could go from suppressed and professional to the feisty spitfire sitting beside him now would soon throw him on his ass sooner than preferred. His liability to stop it was growing weaker with each car ride despite everything in his mind screaming to bring it to a severe halt. He wanted you far away from him but wanted you in constant proximity a hairsbreadth more.

“Low shelf. Maybe.”

“Top or bust. Consider it initiation as my new form of company. Just how it goes, friend.” You jokingly admonished and it was considered final.

Friend. He detested the warmth that took siege over his being.

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #anon ask #writer blog #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #blurb #drabble #request #jj universe #they are so silly

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True Detective//1x02

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Afternoon Angels

Photography by Laura Marie Cieplik Art Direction by Arthur Morisset

[reds-writings]

OH MY GAWD YOU ARE SO FREAKIN TALENTED!

Seriously, every time you post, I immediately get this happy tingle inside. I think it’s basically a pavlov dog kind of instinct by now.

Everything you write feels so real. You take time with the details, with characterisation, you even write out the accents. It’s got this very meticulous quality to it, which is really rare and enthralling.

If you are feeling inspired by this prompt from the miscellaneous list, I would be thrilled to see what you can come up with

“The residual fear and anxiety after waking from a nightmare.”

thank you!! this is such a high compliment i am positively giddy. for this one i kinda did something different. reader gets comforted for once as opposed to rust! this drabble includes a bit of a sneak peek of what she went through after he left for alaska. fair to say it's a little heavy! hope you enjoy!

Nightmares visited you sparingly with the amount of attended therapy and self-care efforts you had made towards yourself over the past decade. It unfortunately hadn’t meant that they’d ever release your tired mind for good. Always involving the same scenario. July of 03. The Bayou. Those girls. Deafening gunfire riddling anything it could find. The searing pain of Lenny Broussard’s vengeful knife. You as the tragically doomed target. That stench of death burning your nostrils something sinister, stomach made to twist unforgivably. One way or another, you were forced to relive it on repeat in the inescapable realm of sleep. 

You’d had one tonight. It had maybe been a month or two since the last one but it shook you all the same. Ironically, the longer in between these nightmares the harder the come down was when they made their attack once again. Sweat stuck to you like some sickly second skin and your hands couldn’t cease their trembling no matter how hard you balled your fists. Defenses always remained high after these fits, like you’d somehow be unlucky enough to find yourself sent back in time to suffer the consequences of that failed raid in one torturously hellish loop. 

It had been raining hard outside for a while now. Using the violent downpour as white noise to helplessly quiet your unsteady mind, you had been curled in on yourself on the couch for God only knows how long now. The buzz of adrenaline had numbed your skin, keeping you locked in place like some petrified statue. The silent tears that once ran blood hot now stained your swollen face in a dry track as you fought off any lingering tremors. 

The sound of shuffling footsteps on hardwood had your aching muscles tightening up again and sinuses stinging with the threat of incoming saltwater. A hesitant hand came to rest on your hair, freezing in place at your sudden jolt at the contact. But you knew that touch. That veil of cigarette smoke and cologne that was so uniquely Rust. He hadn’t ever seen you like this before. Ever. The both of you hadn’t been able to really talk about all that he missed from Alaska. The window of opportunity had no room to present itself in the midst of you giving your all to making sure he healed successfully over the past several weeks.

His careful fingers brushed the curtain of hair obscuring your troubled face to tuck what they could behind your neck. He’d gotten a glimpse of some of the old scars from the gruesome attack here and there but you were careful to keep most out of view for his fragile sake. The one taking up most of the left side of your face often rendered him painfully remorseful whenever he really focused on it. An unmerciful marker to remind you both of the near-fatal blow that almost robbed you of life once and for all. His throat would always find itself tightening at the thought of having been so casually unaware of what horrors had occurred due to his ill-fated cowardice. From what he gathered, you had gone at it all alone minus the initial help from your sister living in New Orleans. Marty hadn’t offered much on the story. Whether it was because he didn’t feel like it was his place to share or he wasn’t around for much of it at the time, Rust hadn’t the nerve to ask. 

When you made no further shuddering movements, he gently maneuvered your trembling form into the haven of his lap. His other hand came to guide your head to his erratically beating heart. Discovering you so visibly small and frightened did plenty to set him off. You always cared for everyone else more than you ever would for yourself. It was a rare occurrence for him to be the one cradling you as opposed to any other scenario where it always seemed to be the other way around. 

“It’s okay, baby.” He kept his tone hushed as he gently rocked you back and forth. The tenderness of the notion had your body wracking in reviving sobs. All he could do was continue to sway and mumble words of comfort so that he may just ease your mind by a fraction. 

“We’re safe. You gotta breathe for me, baby. Breathe. Just like that.” Rust exaggerated inhaling and exhaling for you to follow. Soft kisses dotted your hairline as your hands unfurled to wrap around his sturdy midsection. If you had half the mind, you’d be embarrassed to find yourself balled up like some baby in your lover’s arms. You couldn’t find it in you to care one bit. No one could do what he was currently doing for you now in all the time you had been alone. 

Once your breaths had started to calm down again he moved your head so that he could see you more clearly despite still being shrouded in the dark. You were sure you were a grisly sight. Snotty, sniffly, puffy, and all. He didn’t give a shit about any of it. His heart burned all the brighter at the vulnerability you entrusted him with enough to display. The calloused pad of his thumb drew itself feather-light over your scar, making your eyes flutter shut. Not much about you had changed, not much could with an eternal beauty like yours, he decided. 

He brought himself down to kiss your marred cheek, then reverently once more to your forehead, before tugging you closer into his body as if to act as a shield against the world around you. 

“I’m sorry.” It seemed to be the only thing he could say lately. You just shook your head and nuzzled in as much as you were physically able, sticking to him like makeshift velcro. You just wanted to feel less at a distance from everything with him by your side. 

Rust was your tether and he’d be damned to ever let you go again. 

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #anon ask #writer blog #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #jj universe #drabble #blurb #request #true detective fanfic

[reds-writings]

Santuario de El Rocío, Huelva

Foto Antonio Íñigo 2024