brutulist

[brutulist]

nacho varga the man you are

[brutulist]

hiatus ! i started work ( yippie! ) but it's very demanding, so give this a like & i'll shoot you my discord, mayhaps we can even write some fun little things on there while i commute. i'll be back after may 14th !

[brutulist]

Salam sheikh, hope you’re having a blessed ramadan. I was wondering whether it’s permissible in Islam to perform ninjutsu if one were isekai’ed to the world of Naruto or if it would be considered shirk. Jazakhallah khair

[brutulist]

ramadan kareem! i hope you all have a blessed month

[brutulist]

@damnatius ( . . . ) EVERYTHING'S DERAILING .

the soil beneath their feet is soft,  gently gives under the pressure of their steps,   the path,   a yet untrodden trail off the main road from town,  is moon - plated,  blades of grass are frosted under silver beams.   brutus adjusts the shovel that digs into his shoulder,   throws a cursory glance over at beth who trudges along.   the past few months have been   . . .   how can he even begin to describe the status of what they have when they refuse to name it,   when the duration of the investigation,   and the time spent in her presence,  feel like a slide down a marble slope that ends in a headbutt which sees him sprawled on his back with a halo of dancing stars beth plucks from around his head.   it's been a kinetic whirlwind to say the least,   and tonight is no different.

'   it's not too bad,   '   he means the night,   but she understands it differently,   the way she always does,   untying his discursive knots with deft fingers and a defter tongue —   (  he can vouch  ).

'   everything's derailing,  '   they had stopped,   and brutus eyes the turned over earth as beth speaks.   he could hear the faintest,  almost ghostly promise of more in her voice.   he'd started detecting it after the second month,   the bells tethered to her vocal cords,   all he had to do was tug in the right places to hear them ring.   too bad he was lousy with a map,   best he could manage to get out of her was a sarcastic comment or a snort.

'  c'mon,  childs,   where's your sense of adventure?   could've sworn you were the outdoorsy type,   '   he sinks the spade of his shovel into the earth,   pushes it down with the sole of his shoe.

'   there's a difference between hiking and digging up an alleged grave,   '   he doesn't need to see it to know her comment is embellished by an eye roll,   at this point he had developed a seventh sense  —  the beth sense.   he can reconstruct her minute gestures and habits without the need to actually see her,   of course,   he chalks it up to his detective prowess and nothing else.

' if i didn't know better, i'd think you were stalling, you can't get away with making me do all the work, childs, ' he dumps a pile of dirt with a huff, glances back up at her and this time opts to flash a smile, trademarked. ' c’mon, what’s more romantic? moonlit night, you, me, an illegal grave site . . . '

[brutulist]

do u love me

going against my family 2 propose 2 u rn

[brutulist]

LIGHTS,   CAMERA,   AAAAND  ACTION   !    . . .   ZOOM  ON  :   MARI  DAI   . . .   the  darling  du  jour,   she  bursts  onto  the  scene  with  shirley  temple  sweetness,   cross - my - heart - and - hope - to - die  sincerity,   tears  so  thick  and  heavy  they’re  almost  minerals.   against  this  display  of  emotion,   hank  operates  in  the  cramped  space  of  memory   ;   the  awkward  hand  that  tentatively  hovers  above  her  shoulder  is  straight  out  of  the  fly - paper  paged  manuals  on  social  skills  he’d  tossed  aside  during  his  first  year  of  college,   and  the  midnight  reruns  of  csi  episodes.   it  doesn’t  take  him  long  to  fall  back  on  the  tired  big  time  cop  routine,   to  start  catering  to  the  red  of  his  blood,   the  blue  of  his  uniform  (  nevermind  the  civilian clothes  ),   and  the  white  of  her  innocence.     ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  audience,   meet  hank  schrader   :   an  overinflated  balloon  floating  whichever  way  the  mari  dai  - driven  wind  blew.    ‘   whoa,  whoa,  whoa,  now  hold  on  just  a  minute,   ‘    he  scratches  a  furrowed  eyebrow  with  his  thumb,   pinpoints  her  with  his  gaze  —   ‘   who  died  and  made  them  the  pull - it - sir  or  whatever  prize  committee,   heh?   ’    laughter  is  almost  a  reflex,   but  the  smile  remains  in  the  aftermath.   ‘   tell  you  what,   you  say  the  word,  and  i’ll  go  talk  to  'them,  yeah?   tell  ‘em  straight,   mano - a - mano  ’

@brutulist / HANK SCHRADER — ❛ I CAN TELL YOU'RE UPSET , WHAT HAPPENED ?

she paints herself like rain : tears rolling , a quiet cry , and a little bit of shelter to keep herself steady . it's a beautiful act , something akin to nobility . ( she thinks hank will like it . men like him love a damsel in distress , love to save and save and save — reaping the rewards of their ego at the cost of their sight . ) a watery gaze refuses to meet his , trembling lip becoming something of a side effect . a planned parting of lips , a hesitated word , and then nothing at all . [ take the bait , idiot . ] what happened , what happened , what happened . . . hank says this as if he is anyone to divulge to , as if he is a safe space in the pseudo storm she allows him to see . mari swallows a smile , pretends it is a sob instead . she sets her words like bait , structured carefully to tempt the savior that hank tries to be . ' i s — sent a draft of . . of my novel out . ' a sniffle , wiping at her nose . ' they s — said it wasn't accurate , wasn't something th — they wanted to publish . but it's — ' she shakes her head , almost as if abandoning the thought . ' google can o — only help so much , i guess . ' the trap is set , the bait dangling over the man's head , and mari imagines herself posed ; knife in hand , drawing every word outward like surgery . ( she'll find his weak spot eventually . )

[brutulist]

INVISIBLE LIFE .. an assortment of quotes from the invisible life of addie larue by V.E. schwab .

perhaps an enemy's company is better than none.

never pray to the gods that answer after dark.

what is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?

there is a defiance in being a dreamer.

nothing is all good or all bad. life is messier than that.

don't you remember, when you were nothing but shadow and smoke?

the old gods may be great, but they are neither kind nor merciful.

do not mistake this kindness. i simply want to be the one who breaks you.

i do not want to die as i have lived, which is no life at all.

was any of it real?

you are not capable of love.

if you loved me, you would have let me go by now.

love is hungry. love is selfish.

want is for children. this is need, and need is painful but patient.

were the moments of beauty worth the years of pain?

it is sad to forget. but it's a lonely thing to be forgotten.

i confess, i do not want a master, and i have yet to find an equal.

you belong to me.. with me.

the rise isn't worth the fall.

you can't make people love you. if it isn't a choice, it isn't real.

it is easier to be alone among so many people.

i know your heart my dear, i know when it falters.

it will hurt and it will pass. all things do.

you move among them like a ghost.

you have called and i have come.

[brutulist]

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE SENTENCE STARTERS  :   quotes taken from the 1986 novel ‘howl’s moving castle’ by diana wynne jones.

“i  think  we  ought  to  live  happily  ever  after.”

“i  hope  your  bacon  burns.”

“you  must  admit  i  have  a  right  to  live  in  a  pigsty  if  i  want.”

“yes,  you  are  nosy.  you’re  dreadfully  nosy,  horribly  bossy,  appallingly  clean.”

“control  yourself.”

“i’m  going  up  to  my  room  now,  where  i  may  die.”

“if  i  give  you  a  hint  and  tell  you  it’s  a  hint  it  will  be  information.”

“you’ll  exploit  me.”

“i’m  dying  of  boredom.  —  or  maybe  just  dying.”

“i’m  dying  of  boredom.”

“go  to  bed,  you  fool.  you’re  drunk.”

“i  assure  you,  my  friends,  i  am  cone  sold  stober.”

“typical!  i  break  my  neck  trying  to  get  here,  and  i  find  you  peacefully  tidying  up!”

“you  have  no  right  to  walk  into  people’s  castles  and  take  their  guitars.”

“it  is  quite  a  risk  to  spank  a  witch/wizard  for  getting  hysterical  about  their  hair.”

“a  heart’s  a  heavy  burden.”

“my  shining  dishonesty  will  be  the  salvation  of  me.”

“why  did  you  pretend  to  run  away?”

“i’m  a  coward.  only  way  i  can  do  something  this  frightening  is  to  tell  myself  i’m  not  doing  it.”

“i’ve  got  a  hangover.”

“no,  you  hit  your  head  on  the  floor.”

“he’s  fickle,  careless,  selfish  and  hysterical.  half  the  time  i  think  he  doesn’t  care  what  happens  to  anyone  as  long  as  he’s  alright.”

“is  that  all  you  can  do  in  the  face  of  tragedy?”

“is  that  all  you  can  do  in  the  face  of  tragedy?  make  toast!”

“they  said  'over  my  dead  body!’  so  i  took  them  at  their  word.”

“things  are  going  round  and  round  in  my  head  —  or  maybe  my  head  is  going  round  and  round  in  things.”

“a  fickle  heart  is  the  only  constant  in  this  world.”

“help  me,  someone!  i’m  dying  from  neglect  up  here.”

“interesting  things  did  seem  to  happen,  but  always  to  somebody  else.”

“i  must  apologize  for  trying  to  bite  you  so  often.”

“she  was  remorseless,  but  she  lacked  method.”

“you  are  a  terror,  aren’t  you?”

“now  i’ve  got  something  i  want  to  protect.  it’s  you.”

“tantrums  are  seldom  about  the  thing  they  appear  to  be  about.”

“some  of  your  are  pretending  to  notice  me  at  last.”

“doors  are  very  powerful  things.  things  are  different  on  either  side  of  them.”

“apply  your  fiendish  mind  to  the  matter.  or  even  think,  if  you  know  how.”

[brutulist]

better call saul (2015 - 2022) // being christlike - ted hughes

[brutulist]

what a privilege it was to matter to you . . . ft. @e1ght8all

[brutulist]

@eclipsedt : movie nights were an excuse. an excuse to drape a blanket over their laps. an excuse to share a bowl of snacks. an excuse to have the little game of tug before it gave her an excuse to lay against his side. an excuse to rest her head against his shoulder and to doze off, the movie entirely disregarded. only one problem … ' I’m cold. ' she murmurs, nearly half-asleep. she wants him to drape his arm over her shoulder.

WHATEVER THEY HAVE ( a friendship, right? ) IS A RESULT OF MANY SMALL MOVES : similar to an invasive species ( were they called hogweeds? ), he encroaches on her space day by day . . . it starts innocuously — a plant in his left hand, a paper bag of groceries in the other, and a smile that won’t take no for an answer. then there’s his trademark bibimbap and the chase around the kitchen armed with chopsticks and determination, somewhere among the many nubbins of trinkets, there’s the forgotten lighter ( totally not on purpose, what are you accusing him of? ) and the box of cigarettes on the windowsill, at one point, a loud crash and many porcelain shards later, he promises to buy her a new ashtray ( it’s yellow & honeybees decorate its edges, he makes a comment about how it fits the decor ). he’s already chosen a mug to call his own, and accuses her of theft when she uses it, nevermind that it's hers to begin with, but now it sits in the stream of luminous glow from the TV, steam curling into the air. she shifts, jabs an uncomfortable knee into his thigh ( she’d make a good fighter, he notes, but she’s more of a nurturer, the red of roses suits her better than that of spider lilies ) so he shifts, too, stretches his arms and yawns ( oldest trick in the book ) and rests his arm behind her . . . the voices from the TV are caught on a ruminative journey about life and love, they drone on and on, weaving into an auditory blanket that tucks them both in, almost puts her to sleep ( feel that? a head on his shoulders ), and then she speaks : it’s different than the colorful cast of the movie she’s chosen, softer and closer and makes the thump-thumping of his heart unnatural. ‘ really? i thought you were nurit, ‘ there’s something akin to pride that unrolls across the slopes of his words, and the smile that dangles from the end of his sentence feels almost feline in the satisfaction it brings him. but he’s been a teenager once, and still speaks the language of what they refuse to name, so he shifts again, his arm lowers from its comfortable position across the sofa and onto her shoulder ( she’s warm and it almost melts the thoughts right off the folds of his mind ) he faces forward, sparing her only a cursory glance.

[brutulist]

if you were a waiting room, i would never see a doctor. i would sit there with my first aid kit and bleed. @brutulist.

[brutulist]

ocean vuong “let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence—but that violence, having passed through the fruit, failed to spoil it” vs richard siken “the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it”

[brutulist]

an independent & selective multi - muse writing blog for a collection of characters from the world of breaking bad and better call saul . extremely heavy content will be consistently present , tread lightly . twenty one and up only . read carrd before following : # BE WORSE , featuring muses such as mike ehrmantraut + walter white + saul goodman . established february , 2023 . AS PORTRAYED BY KOI .

[brutulist]

do you all ever think abt just HOW much the cartel have engraved themselves into nacho's life and his v being ? from the skull lodged in his shoulder to the salamanca blood transfusion, they've been slowly taking over his life but also his entire identity

[brutulist]

IT’S  A SIMPLE FORM OF COMMUNICATION   —   TIP OF THE BOTTLE GHOSTS OVER HIS LIPS,   HEAD TILTS TO THE SIDE,   A LAX SHIFT OF SHOULDERS  :   can’t argue with that.   julian says the quiet things out loud   :   they’re trapped,   plain & simple.   they can bare their teeth,   flash and snap fangs,   toothlessly bark,   but the leash only tightens,   and tightens,   and tightens.   there’s no metaphor to be found here,   about breaking chains,   or the poise of canines against a master’s neck,   and the baptism in blood that follows  :   born anew.   there’s only the uncomfortable truth,   the one nacho chews over and over and over in his head until it’s the only thing he can taste   :   the leash tightens,   the air is heavy.   his eyes flit over to julian.   ‘  uh-uh,   that won’t do,   ’   his index finger wags over the bottle before it tips over and he takes a generous sip.   ‘  if you’re gonna hide stuff,   you’re gonna need to do better than that,  hm.  '  he points at julian,   eye trained on them with the precision of a sharp - shooter  :   they’re all eagle - eyed around these parts, but his voice carries the instruction all the same, low and smooth.   ‘   here,  try this instead,   '   and it’s a smooth chain of events  :   one last gulp,   the lift of an arm,   the journey of the bottle in a graceful arch before it comes shattering with a crash against the concrete.   a sniff   ‘  go on, then.  ’

( IGNACIO VARGA ): YOU'VE BEEN QUIET. WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND? they're always quiet, these days. quiet and calculating. silent as they observe the fucked up world they got themself into. but that was less so the case with nacho, which made julian ask themself if they had let their guard down too much. admittedly, he's gotten quite a lot of julian's conversation, and looking at him now over their beer bottle, they make a mental note to work on that. the last thing they needed was to put their trust in the wrong people. even though jules didn't think nacho was like the rest of them, that could very well be surface level, a mask. they take a long and slow pull from their beer, licking a drop from their lips as they glance back at the man. if jules was being truthful, they'd tell the man they're thinking about their father - his drinking problem, and his heart condition, how much they hated money because it was the only thing keeping him and jules alive. ' doesn't matter, ' they respond instead, fingers running up and down along the condensation on their bottle. ' talking about it wouldn't change anything, ' jules adds after a moment, gray eyes moving down to the table between them. ' it's all fucked, ' they finish in spanish. @brutulist.