assortedmutts

[assortedmutts]

i don’t write on tumblr anymore and am no longer active on this blog, but i am still writing on discord and google docs! 

you can find my rp guidelines, which also include writing samples and character sheets, HERE;  and you’re welcome to send me a friend request here:

or write to me here:

#( tbd )

[assortedmutts]

#( saul shapiro ) #typical #actually maybe not #depending on the day #his reply could be either 'absolutely so am i' or 'stick it up your tuches' #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

remember the time i could still be assed to paint gorgeous shit? yeah me too

#( the mercenary ) #( mun's art ) #ran across the painting process for this in my art folder #and for a year old painting(?) i still like it a lot #someday i'll pick up my beautiful watercolor palette again and paint some more shit #but today is not that day #his hair looks especially good here #if i could only remember which shades i used for it #also the way that turtleneck hugs that thicc ass necc

[assortedmutts]

Birds in a hands

#( the mercenary ) #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

New Sprezzatura

#( saul shapiro ) #🥵 #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

@anoranzas asked: “i don’t want to owe anybody anything.” shosh

From this meme.

“It’s not a big deal,” says Shosh over her shoulder as she watches the water turn a dark shade of amber in her glass teapot. Her striped orange tabby, Methuselah, comes sniffing around the kitchen counter, and she casts Beatriz a quick glance as she picks him up and turns to gently toss him back to the floor. He returns, immediately, to sniff and rub against Shoshana’s ankles. “My brother throws these events all the time, he practically lives for it. Anyone who’s anybody’s gonna be there and I’m sure they’ll be gagging to see a real-life woman in attendance, for a change. Roll out the red carpet and everything.”

She collects two mismatched ceramic glasses and a small jar of sugar and carries them to the beaten old coffee table before which Beatriz is sat. Judith, a mixed Russian blue, hops onto the couch’s armrest and regards Beatriz with curbed curiosity, her head slightly tilted.

“You don’t think I’ll hold this over your head, do you?” Shosh settles, albeit temporarily, into the opposite armchair and gathers her overflowing floral skirt into her lap. Whether she is humored or indignant remains to be seen, the corner of her lips tugged sideways in a hesitant smile. “Because, if you do, I have to tell you,” she touches her hand to her chest in a somewhat-melodramatic gesture, “I am genuinely offended.”

#anoranzas #anoranzas 002 #( answered ) #( answered: anoranzas ) #( thread: shoshana shapiro )

[assortedmutts]

#( the mercenary ) #typical #the emotional capacity of a six year old #absolutely in love with his haughty hen who yells at him and bosses him around

[assortedmutts]

@suncuts asked: "You’re a part of who I am." (Daniel to Saul🥺)

From this meme.

Having slowly melted into the couch over the past hour, Saul, red-faced and glaze-eyed, is now fully horizontal, knees folded together and tucked aside, head against the cushions. His choice of socks for the day is a rather subdued, checkered green pattern, to match the skinny bottle-green tie now hanging loosely from an equally-skinny neck.

He regards Daniel through strands of black hair hanging in his heavy-hooded eyes, seeing glasses askew. A glass of 2014 Chateau Meyney carefully balanced atop his chest rises and falls with every breath, its stem delicately clutched between his fingers.

His brow creases, then smooths over; cheeks fill with air, like a squirrel’s - then hollow with a sigh. His whipping wit seems to have left him: the pause which passes between them not laden, but unusual.

“Don’t say that ‘f you don’t mean it.” Instantly regretting his words, Saul clicks his tongue as though to protest - but is unable to help himself, nevertheless. “Only, you resist it like you’re trying to avoid the fuck’n plague. It’s -- y’know what,” he sighs, waving his hand dismissively, “I don’t mean to start another debate. Makht keyn khiluk.”

#suncuts #suncuts: daniel taimur #suncuts: daniel taimur 006 #( answered ) #( answered: suncuts: ) #( thread: saul shapiro ) #hover over the yiddish for english translation <3

[assortedmutts]

suncuts​:

Exhaustion doesn’t feel like hunger or tiredness, but like a low tank of gas and a high rate of error.

He gets in John’s face, barely contained behind the prison bar-beams of his body. It’s funny how high he has to reach- just to shove a palm to the stone of John’s shoulder. It’s funny to him. The power - the power of him, illusory and real. It’s why he’d wanted him.

<<What pig fuck? Bitch?>>

<<Bald cunt?>>

<<Ah?>>

He is a Bengal tiger at the zoo, harassed for entertainment. A big, bad predator at rest is not the show Hordyenko came here to see.

But fuck John if he gives him the satisfaction.

His hand, the size of a frying pan, wraps around the entirety of Hordyenko’s face with ease before John shoves him back onto the mattress as though he was stuffed with straw, weighing nothing.

In a deep bass that is somewhere between honey and gravel, he tells him, “Put that deflated knob away before I rip it off, li’le man.”

#suncuts #suncuts: rifat hordyenko #suncuts: rifat hordyenko 001 #( thread: the mercenary ) #usfw

[assortedmutts]

suncuts​:

“Ngh-”

He won’t tap he’s got principles. Weird ones.

Relaxed by the tense pressure to his air-pipe, his smaller muscles slackening as he looks for escape. It doesn’t come, his reach is too short and the gloves are glorified scratch mittens. He’s in it, for the long haul, pinned to Harry’s oak tree torso.

“Which side of your family’s the gorillas??”

A snort and a huff and Taimur is let go of, Harry stepping back as one of his now-free hands rises to rub his sore jaw. His cheeks dimpled in a genuine smile, the tip of his tongue caught in his teeth, it would appear that the ginger giant is feeling particularly playful.

“I ain’t the one trynna punch above me weight,” he teases, smug, thinking the analogy to be particularly apt. “I was trynna go easy on you.”

#suncuts #suncuts: daniel taimur #daniel taimur 005 #( thread: the mercenary )

[assortedmutts]

anoranzas​:

what’s wrong, my love?

a good question, and one beatriz is wholly unprepared for. the sudden feeling of shosana’s cool hands on her cheeks has the opposite of the intended effect: beatriz does not wince or shudder, but her face takes on an expression of subtle bewilderment, and any answer she could have hoped to conjure evaporates from the recesses of her mind.

there is a pause while the two woman stare unabashedly. then beatriz places her own hands over the ones clasping her face, bringing them slowly down as she shakes her head. “nothing. nothing wrong, now. it’s only the necklace — i love it.”

the spell shoshana’s jewelry had cast is steadily dissipating. beatriz regains her awareness of the surrounding sights and sounds: tenacious shoppers haggling with exasperated artisans. the man in the next booth over acting as though he didn’t witness this strange, feminine display. what would elio say if he had been here to witness it, too? 

“i’m sorry,” she tells shoshana, trying a modest smile. “i must have frightened you.”

Shoshana shakes her head as though to decline the apology, her painted lips stretching in a thin, lopsided line. However, a playful smile soon takes its place as she seems to shrug the entire ordeal off and says, “Please - takes more than that to scare me.”

Her hands back in her possession, she presses both to the countertop as she leans against it, free at last to inspect the way her necklace sits on the other woman. It frames her quite nicely: the marble bust of an elegant, dignified woman from times past. 

“You’re really perfect for it - I wouldn’t want it to go to anybody else,” she notes, her tone light, her smile one of satisfaction. “For you, sixty bucks, special price.” Having intended to sell it for more than double, Shosh does not so much as blink.

#anoranzas #anoranzas 001 #( thread: shoshana shapiro )

[assortedmutts]

inrovina​:

“No.” The answer comes immediately, before Xeno can even allow Job’s words to fully sink in. There’s a lump forming in his throat as he stares at his friend and shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak again. All of a sudden, he feels like crying, finding himself blinking a little too hard and feeling all the more foolish for it. Of all the things that have happened for him to cry over, this should not be one of them. But Xeno can see the wet sheen over Job’s eyes, and the memory of that night is still burned into his mind, when the truths they had each tried so hard to hide finally came to light. He knows this is no small offer; the significance is not lost on him.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Xeno grips the frozen bag tighter as cold sinks into his bruised skin, knuckles whitening. “I’m not gonna let you do that to yourself,” he makes himself speak, acutely aware of the hoarseness in his voice which was not present a moment ago. It’s not just that he knows how much Job struggles with what he is able to do; it’s that Xeno understands it. He will not ask this of Job. “This is my fault, my problem. I won’t drag you into my shit.”

“Anyway,” Xeno cuts in again and attempts to force a smile, though it’s more a small, unnatural contortion of his lips than anything containing happiness. “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt that bad.” He hopes the persistent noise of the sizzling grill and humming vent will help to drown out the sound of the lie.

The look with which Job fixes Xeno is unusual - long and hard and silent, very much unlike him. Very much unhappy. The conflict between treating his millennia-old friend like the adult that he is, autonomous over his own body and life, and calling out his hypocritical bullshit (not gonna let Job do that to himself - as if! And what is Job supposed to do - let Xeno do that to himself?), is one he evidently has a hard time settling.

“You’re a godawful liar, you know,” he notes a moment later in what he hopes is an earnest tone devoid of anger or frustration, and turns his back to Xeno in order to attend his dinner. Cracking open one egg, then another, and letting them pour atop the greased grill, he continues over his shoulder: “It’s your life and I ain’t your pa or nothing, do whatever you want. Y’ain’t gone hear nothing outta me after this, but I do gotta tell you one thing: you ain’t asked me shit. I offered outta my own volition. That’s my problem and I volunteered to get dragged into it, or whatever.”

He glances back at Xeno: not upset, not quite disappointed, but weary. “You’re one’a my best friends and I love you, man - but if you don’t start lettin’ people in, they gone give up and leave. It ain’t a real friendship if you can’t lean on people when they let you.”

#inrovina #inrovina 001 #( thread: job edwards ) #um??? #idk what the fuck is happening #fucking Honesty Hour hosted by job edwards over here #honestly though xeo's had this coming for years

[assortedmutts]

the great offshore grounds, pt. 1.

dialogue prompts from the great offshore grounds: a novel by vanessa veselka.

i killed my better angels.

we should at least get drunk before we go.

i’m totally prepared to make an awkward situation more awkward.

do you think it’s too late for us to be something?

i always try to think about where i want to be, this time next year.

i’m proud of how you turned out. you’ll find your path.

i’m fine. i just don’t like being wrong.

everything is reparable, if you change your definition of ‘fixed’.

don’t look outside yourself for what you need.

you’re not chicken, are you?

i wear my ability to suffer consequences like a merit badge.

maybe it’s already too late for anything real to change.

come on, tell me. what do you want? i mean, for real?

i don’t want to owe anybody anything.

maybe this is what it looks like to flunk adulthood.

i’ve been reading a book about people like you.

you have to get on a raft and eat your friends. it’s the only way out of the problems you’ve created.

do you believe in destiny? do you think everybody has one?

the past is different for men than it is for women.

i don’t want to hear about magic.

i have absolutely no fear left, and that’s all i had before.

i’m not going to pay the ER when i’ve got a drawer full of neosporin and superglue.

you’re a part of who i am.

i still believe the universe is talking to me, but i no longer like what it is saying.

do you think it’s better to be left for someone, or for no one at all?

please don’t tell me anything. there’s nothing i need to know that i don’t know already. 

if someone shot at you, you’d apologize to them.

why are you doing this? what the fuck are you thinking?

i want to know what i’ve got in myself. i can’t tell. i could be anybody.

well, there’s no emoji for mythic ambivalence, so i use the red heart.

things don’t always feel how you think they’re going to feel.

there should be someplace for everybody to go.

set yourself on fire in a motel and marry the same woman three times. then you’ll have a sense of humor.

i don’t laugh because it’s funny, i laugh because it’s true.

no need to be nervous, it’s not like i’m going to hear anything new.

i was here in my dreams. we both were.

turns out you do all sorts of things for other people you’d never do if it were just you.

you made your own bed. i don’t feel sorry for you.

i don’t think i’ve ever felt free in my life.

you look exactly the same. how is that possible?

#( meme ) #Specify muse pls! #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

aftermathed​:

          Victor gets it. He does. He understands adrenaline, pain, the sick, heart-pounding feeling of Death’s fingers snatching at your clothing as you run from him. His understanding does not in any way prevent the flinch that the Mercenary’s words produce in him, the jerk of apologetic movement as he does, automatically, as he’s told, his leg shooting off a warning stab of pain in response to the awkward angle. Stupid. That’s his own problem, though, along with his racing heart— he eases into a better position, still down on one knee, less close now, watches in quiet scrutiny until the man is ready to tell him what he needs. 

          It feels as if it takes forever, Victor stuck watching those heaving, desperate breaths with little he can do to help, but it does come. When Victor reaches out it is with open-palmed caution nonetheless, with no sudden movements as he retrieves the canteen from Merc’s belt and uncaps it, holding the object up in the man’s eyeline. “Here. Your arms working yet?” he asks, calm, even, unjudgmental. He wants neither to overstep if Merc would rather take over for himself, nor assume that he is yet capable of not spilling the water. Balance is a delicate thing.

Two comically-large hands rise to snatch the canteen from Victor’s and bring it to Merc’s mouth. They tremble, water staining the collar of his shirt; dripping down his beard; pooling in his eye sockets before they slip down his temples, like tears. There is no water as refreshing as the ones consumed right after getting shot. In a moment, when the pain begins to subside, the Mercenary will feel distinctly alive.

He lets the canteen drop to the ground beside him, water pooling on the pavement. Clocking in at 280 lbs., there is no chance that Trevor, alone, will be able to carry him back to safety.

“I need a moment,” he gurgles. Even now, he is unable to switch off the sarcasm in his tone. “Might be a good idea to provide some suppressive fire?”

#aftermathed #aftermathed: victor trevor #aftermathed: victor trevor 002 #( thread: the mercenary ) #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

aftermathed​:

           “I can, yeah. I don’t want to.” Temperance shrugs, flicks her head to get her hair out of her eyes. “I’m nosy and I don’t give a fuck, sooooooo.” It’s kind of reassuring, somehow, to know she’s not the only otherwise semi-functional person who can’t seem to keep a fridge full of food or cook anything she actually wants to eat from scratch. It’s not her fault she sucks at it and would rather eat snack foods all day anyway.

          Temperance adjusts the ice pack a little, sinks down in her chair in an attempt to get vaguely comfortable. She’s not, generally speaking, when staying still for more than five minutes at a time. “You gotta stop breaking so much shit, buddy. Cos what if I come over and wanna use it?”

“Yeah? You gone cook me dinner?” Vic’s expression mirrors the tone of his voice: seeped in doubt, one sharp eyebrow cocked in unspoken challenge, lips tugged in a crooked, smug smirk. “I ain’t looking to burn the place down, Leas. Shabby it might be, it is me ‘ome.” 

#aftermathed #aftermathed: temperance leas #aftermathed: temperance leas 006 #( thread: the mercenary ) #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

anne carson, plainwater: essays and poetry / raw (2016) / lara williams, supper club / nathan biehl - cover photograph for nightbitch, 2020 / noah b by michiyo yanagihara for metalmagazine.eu 2016 / stella lucia by bettina rheims for dazed magazine 2017 / kim sang in by j. dukhwa for ceci korea june 2016 / jenefer shute, life-size / guillermo lorca garcia-huidobro - the banquet, 2013-14 / alex lemon, another last day / samantha margherita - stem peels & pits collaboration with stephanie gonot, 2019 / anonymous - tantalus, 17th c. / ovid tr. henry t. riley, the story of erysichthon from metamorphoses / queen of the damned (2002) / jennifer’s body (2009) / margaret atwood, you are happy

hunger and rage

#( the mercenary ) #( queue )

[assortedmutts]

Olivier Richters for Men’s Health

#( the mercenary ) #oliv.ier ric.hters is merc's bodyclaim #and the fact that he's a bird dad #(seen top right git) #means everything to me #*gif