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[conspecifics]

@dogboy*

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open season.

OPEN SEASON

@dogboy
24 / m / straight / 2♠️*

About Photos Questions Personality Compatibility

Details

My Self-Summary

His name is Kirma and he’s illiterate. I’m helping him fill this out, but honestly speaking, it’s a complete waste. Besides that, don’t you think his rank is unfairly high? Even though it’s still in the single digits, it’s not as if he wouldn’t be at home in the basement levels. If someone could send my complaints along to the house, I’d appreciate it.

My Future Plans

Surviving?

My Talents

Chasing sticks. Eating absurd quantities of garbage. Fouling up perfectly nice beds. Trampling flowers.

Favorite Books, Movies, Music, and Food

Meat.

My Ideal Partner

Someone skilled at training dogs.

Height 169cm / ~5’7 Body Type fine Smokes apparently Drinks i think so Drugs maybe Sign ? Education laughable Occupation unemployed Income unpaid Children none? Pets he is one Hobbies cooking

art credit: one. two. three. four. five.

01. WINE OR BEER

BEER

.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES

“WHAT'S A MIME”

.03 SHOWER OR BATH

NEITHER

.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS

PIRATES? WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THESE

.05 TITS OR ASS

.06 COFFEE OR TEA

.07 SPICY OR SWEET

.08 SUMMER OR WINTER

.09 LEATHER OR LACE

10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX

Personality Type
ISFP-A

ENERGY

73%

introverted

MIND

76%

observant

NATURE

66%

feeling

TACTICS

54%

prospecting

IDENTITY

75%

assertive

personality test. art credit.

hover for rating.

Comments

[conspecifics]

( fine!!!!!!!












just give him like three more days to calm down a little before sending this: )

You could have at least called me after.

[loosestrifes]

( Isn't he glad he's not blocked... )

Am I supposed to have thought that you'd want to speak to me, then?

[conspecifics]

( undecided tbh. )

Don’t act like you can’t see what the difference in those moments would be.



If there was ever a time I didn’t want to speak with you. We’d still be on our first lives.

[loosestrifes]

( Is he acting in this case, though... He frowns. )

Is it me you want to talk to? Or just anyone?

Well, I left you unblocked so that you could do whatever you wanted to, whenever you wanted to.

[conspecifics]

Are you saying you’d prefer it if I messaged someone else right now?

[loosestrifes]

I'm not talking about what I want right now.

[conspecifics]

That’s new.

( lmao. )

I’m doing what I want to. When I want to. At least in this moment.
But it doesn’t matter. I’ve also said what was worth saying already.

[loosestrifes]

This moment, and others before. My broken arm wasn't part of some pleading deal or business arrangement.

But there's no one that I have to get angry on my behalf. Perhaps Aventurine is right; he's awfully lucky. He seemed to get some joy out of rubbing it in my face.

So congratulations to you both. You can spend time together and pretend you're innocent victims in everything together, circling your self pity back and forth.

[conspecifics]

Neither was my hand.
Perhaps that's the real source of something like heresy. Not what the gods think but the people who witness it.

Because you did have someone. ( me, you dumb bitch! )

I know you still enter this hall often and not to come here. The only self pity I hear right now is yours.

[loosestrifes]

I couldn't care less what you or anyone else thinks.

You don't know a thing about me or my relationships, so don't start with that. Why are you tracking me anyway?

[conspecifics]

It isn't like it's difficult to.

[loosestrifes]

Jealous again?

( if he just pretends he's not bothered it'll come true )

[conspecifics]

I suppose it'd make you happy if I was.

But you couldn't care less about what I think. So feel free to draw your own conclusions.

[loosestrifes]

Oh, whatever. Did you message me just to fight with me again? I have more important things to do.

[conspecifics]

( sigh. )

Then go do them.

[conspecifics]

It isn’t.

( there’s not really any point of pretense, this deep into the game— yet here he is, following along. the second bottle he brings in gets thunked down onto the counter right next to the first, for lack of anywhere better to put it. there’s a moment, where his hand lingers, as if loathe to part with such a prize. in the end, he relents.

his attention turns towards the rest of the room, considering the differences. there’s no minibar in his version of a 10 suite, for one. perhaps in knowing kirma would be satisfied with less, that’s what he receives. perhaps in showing him he has less, it’s meant to make him want more. there is a certain irritation in it, to know that there is disparity among points that are meant to be “equal,” as much as that concept even exists in the heavily stratified structure of the peacock. when he rolls his eyes, they land on the corkscrew; there’s no direction given, but he picks it up all the same, out of assumption. )

It’s your house ( kinda. ), not mine.

( what does a dog care about cooties, anyway. there’s some struggle with the mechanism of the corkscrew, another moment of inexperience shining through, but it otherwise pops off with minimal effort.

finally his gaze slinks back to dabi, one ear twisted out to face him, as well: ) You first. ( as the person this was for. )

[erbe]

"Every time"?

[She's genuinely shocked that he'd say that after... everything, really. It shows on her face, and she even takes a half-step back away from Kirma.]

Are you expecting me to come back and just use your kitchen like it's a rent-a-stove?

[skinstitch]

Wouldn't call it a house.

( a soft mutter, less of a correction and more of an agreement, despite the difference. it's not like there's much in the suite that's personable, nothing that's quite like the personal touches he's seen in other rooms; the walls are dark, the furniture is dark, the bar is well-stocked, and that's about it in terms of things that suit his temperament. no books, no pictures, no trinkets collected here and there: he keeps mostly to the one bedroom, tucked into one side of the bed, and leaves here every day with the expectation that it won't exist when he comes back to it.

watching kirma fuss with the corkscrew reminds him. both of his hands disappear behind the bar, but only so that he can clatter an ashtray onto it, next to the bottles.

then there's two boxes of cigarettes, one already opened, and a lighter: not that he needs it, but maybe kirma would be more comfortable if he didn't use his quirk, here. )

Poisoned it? ( with a wry grin, teasing, but he reaches for the bottle anyways--without a second thought, he brings it to his lips, swallows down a chug of it, clanks it back to the counter. ) ...Yeah, definitely poisoned it.

( a pointed nudge, the bottle skidding on the counter. ) Now you. We could play a game, if you want. We liked that first game we played, huh?

[conspecifics]

( it's fine to be manhandled— welcomed, maybe, with the lack of resistance given, only a breathy noise of something bordering on impatience. certainly, there's no effort to slip out of aventurine's grasp. there is a pause all the same, a held breath in response to words that brush dangerously close to a desire that exists outside of the acceptance of the house's conceit that they have allowed to form around themselves. of course, it isn't that; and of course, in this moment, kirma thinks: it probably won't ever be.

funny, indeed.

such a thing is a brief blip in the space of their game, a hitch easily mistaken for being out of pleasure or desire. kirma's hands curl around the edge of the bench for a supporting brace, back arching in his new position to better push aventurine's cock deeper inside him. there's a crazy thought there— something like, if this is supposed to be mating season, that maybe if he fucks him hard enough he can make that into reality, leave him drooling and full of cum and ready for the next generation, right here in the middle of the vale. that definitely, absolutely is the house's idea, and not his, not what he wants, probably, but— )

More— ( is about all he gets to say, before there's teeth sinking into his shoulder, losing the rest of his demands to a shuddering gasp. a hand comes up to grab a fistful of aventurine's hair, keeping him from pulling away; a tacit encouragement to keep going, to bite deeper, to stain the wood so thoroughly none will ever be able to deny the transformation that happened here. )

[conspecifics]

( was it really that strange of an assumption? it's clear that he doesn't have any qualms with the idea; one ear tilts, and his eyes flick to the rent-a-stove in question. )

If it's a business, you'll need to keep doing it, won't you?

( and he shrugs, a little. it's not as if he's getting anything out of it, so if she'd rather cut and run, it's not as though that's an issue either— not once does it occur to him that the lack of benefit on his end might read as suspicious, confusing. such it is, being a dog. )

The fact that you're here at all means you're clearly not opposed to charity. ( so that's not the problem, either. )

[conspecifics]

( the lighter is what he goes for first. it takes examination, consideration; he turns it over in his hands, eyes narrowed in a sort of concentration, thumbing the switch and wrinkling his nose at the smell of butane. the rest is easily grasped, from there, even if the shape of the thing differs. so then, a light; a drag; and a slow turn of his gaze to the bottle, as he does not blow the smoke out as much as simply let it curl in a lazy rise up towards the ceiling. poisoned, huh. )

You can tell from the taste, is that it?

( just a bit of banter, eh. kirma also has little hesitation in lifting the bottle for himself, cigarette pinched between two fingers as he picks it up, only glancing back to meet dabi’s eyes for a brief moment before taking a swig. he sets it down with a small grimace, the corner of his mouth pulled to the side in mild displeasure. it could be worse.

it could be better.

not all vices are equal. this is something he’s learned, in being here; it isn’t as though he had much opportunity for anything resembling them back home. games certainly fall into this category, as well. everything has to be a gamble in a casino. even small interactions like these, the push and pull that comes with meeting someone halfway, or just past it— a fact that grates at him, a person who’s never been lucky. maybe more accurately: a person who’s never been lucky in the right ways. alas, he is but a guest, for this interaction. that’s why his response has to be to tilt his head, even as his attention focuses more on the ashtrays before them, his lips finding more comfort in the shape of a cigarette than moving to speak. )

Did we. ( a hum. that’s one way of putting it. ) And what did you have in mind, for today’s.

[skinstitch]

( faced with the option, he's not sure what he should go for. something that will take advantage of the feigned kindness, maybe, or the fact that kirma is even here at all; something that will make him regret being so kind, in the future. it's not as though he thinks it's a lesson that he has to teach him, necessarily, but maybe it's one that needs a reminder--for as nice as some of the people are, here, and perhaps even the majority, there are plenty of people just as shitty as the rest of the world, back home, in whoever's home. people who will take advantage of someone who goes so far as to sniff out a particular wine bottle, or obtain a cup of sugar for someone they hate otherwise. people who will weaponize that kind of loyalty, however short-served it is. and if he has to be one of those people, then whatever. he's been worse.

with a slow sigh, considering, he takes a cigarette himself, moving around the bar. his fingertips dance there, a small little lift to each, tufts of blue flame that start and stop before ending, once he's brought his hand to his mouth, to start the end of the cigarette; then, moving past kirma, he braces his hands on the bar counter and hauls himself up so that he can sit there, next to him but not next to him.

the bottles stay between them, at least. )

How about... the 'are you nervous' game. That's a good one.

( a small exhale of smoke, his gaze turned up towards the ceiling. )

You get between my legs, and you move your mouth up, asking me if I'm nervous every little bit. If I get nervous, I lose. If I don't, you have to keep going.

[relater]

[ There's a familiarity in it. It's folded into the space where he expects to be reprimanded and rebuffed, an expectation that almost brings him some misaligned comfort until it doesn't actually come. The pieces are there, but they don't fit. Kizuna is being a little unfair in the undertow of these emotions, paw in paw. His expression flashes momentarily; he can't argue that point. Instead, he takes a moment to try and break the surface before he suffocates, finding the familiar dog-shaped form against the light. ]

What's worse, do you suppose? Looking for something you can't find, or finding it in the wrong circumstances?

[ They're not idle questions, empathy pressing up from the beneath he pressure of a fellow black suit. That much he's aware of, even if the animosity is unmoored and difficult to pin down. It's not as though the emotions aren't his, but — the suits are funny things, wringing them like iron.

Regardless, it seems as though he's being at least a little rhetorical too. He hefts his paw gently, up and down. ]

Thank you for coming to get me.

[waged]

( and who's aventurine to deny such tempting request, overcome with his own instincts and desires as he is? there is a world out there where this is the path he has taken; one where he forgets the pain and misery he has lived through, embracing elation, welcoming the joys of life without a care in the world. it feels much like this, perhaps - accepting each one of his feelings, indulging in them, sinking down teeth into skin as requested, sucking on it, biting on marks left behind to add more marks on top of it.

it's a shame he can't sink teeth to every inch of kirma's body; though his imagination does him quite the favor in picturing how good he would have looked covered in bite marks, reddened and some dripping blood. underneath him, begging and wanting, with no room to run or escape, if the thought ever crossed his mind. in such unrealistic, wicked fantasy, maybe aventurine could babytrap him - wouldn't it be nice? to fuck kirma deep enough so many times he would have no choice but to give birth to the largest litter of golden puppies with avgin eyes the universe has seen—

lord.

allowing his imagination to run wild is enough to him, at least. the only warning kirma gets is a particularly sharp bite to his neck and the leverage pull of his tail, exerting little care as he pulls his ass further up so aventurine can spill deep inside of him. the ecstasy of it feels heavenly, almost, a particular feeling he so rarely feels. give enough time, and aventurine might even regret some of his actions here - but for now, out of breath as he is, he pulls back, pulls out, still holding onto kirma's tail but admiring the sight of him all the time. it's quite the masterpiece, if aventurine has ever seen one. )

Bunny or not, we should do this again. ( #BringTopAventurineBack ) You're cuter than I thought, too.

[erbe]

["Not opposed to Charity" sours her immediately. Rin's disbelief quickly shifts into something more aggressive.]

No. I only work transactionally. Charity is for people shameless enough to believe they'll never have any obligation to pay back.