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the steps to get the best commissions.

─ except kinich can't make a guide when a "random" person keeps getting the good ones.

"so you're the one getting my commissions."

art creds: Chil_a_Su

kinich x reader

fluff

lowercase intended!

──────────────────────

kinich is infamous for his utilitarian approach to life. he only does commissions when the reward is satisfactory. but when he does accept a commission, he does it pretty damn well. so when a traveling journalist from fontaine heard about this pragmatic individual he wanted to write a report about him! for some miracle, the renowned kinich actually agreed to his report, albeit, he had to pay a hefty price in exchange.

Step 1: find a commission worth taking. 5/14

"usually i calculate how long the commission would take and what resources i need to put into it," kinich says to the reporter, crossing his arms while scanning the commission board for any worth taking. "i see! what happens if the one who posts the commission can't pay?" the reporter asks, writing down kinich's words rapidly.

"well-"

"you don't want to know! haha!" kinich's companion, ajaw exclaims loudly.

"oh um- i see!" the journalist sweats at his words.

shooing away ajaw, kinich turns to the journalist, "don't mind him, most people can pay since they need a deposit to post a commission."

"that's great! the adventurer's guild knows how to make a profit, haha." the journalist laughs while kinich was observing the board.

"hm, it seems like there aren't any commissions worth taking today." kinich faces the fontainian again. "do you mind finishing your report tomorrow?"

"aw man! well if there isn't a commission that isn't piquing your interest i'll meet you at the commission board tomorrow." the journalist sighs dramatically before walking away to find more people to write about.

"are all fontainians that dramatic?" ajaw clicks his tongue, seeing the journalist bothering other people.

"probably."

━━

Step 1: find a commission worth taking. 5/15

as kinich scans the board again a small sigh escapes his mouth. "sorry, the commissions here aren't that great today either."

"ah, that's fine." the journalist thinks for a moment before coming up with an idea, "actually, do you just want to write down what you do in a commission? you can keep it brief." seeing kinich's unamused expression he adds on, "I'll pay extra."

"deal."

━━

Step 1: find a commission worth taking. 5/16

"are you serious?!" ajaw yells angrily at kinich. which he only glares at the dragon in response.

"I'm telling you, we'll have to come back another day."

looking at kinich in shock, ajaw's face turns red in an instant, "UGHHHHHH!! just take a random commission!" ajaw cries, rolling around in the air in frustration.

"no, I don't want to waste my time." he waves off ajaw before walking away.

━━

Step 1: find a commission worth taking. 5/17

"..." the amber-eyed man stares at the board in disappointment once again.

kinich was a bit irked.

I mean, I guess he has an unofficial vacation going on because of the lack of worthwhile commissions. but that journalist did pay him a good amount of mora for a report on how he does commissions, so he'll make sure that fontainian is so satisfied he'll start getting commissions from fontaine.

"oh, no commissions again? that's so saaadd!" ajaw yells dramatically, sighing very loudly.

and he thought fontainians were dramatic.

━━

Step 1: find a fucking commission worth taking. 5/18

as kinich scans the commission board, one catches his eye.

WAYOB MANIFESTATION SPOTTED NEAR AMELYALCO WATERS.

REWARD: 50,000 MORA

oh? this one's worth taking.

kinich reaches to grab the flyer, yet a hand rips it out from the board before he can even touch it. he turns to the owner of hand, who's smiling happily at the commission in their hands.

"hey you," kinich gives you a tap on the shoulder, causing you to whip your head at him in confusion.

"so you're the one getting my commissions." he chuckles, yet it doesn't sound like it was evoked from amusement.

it sounded like it was due to annoyance.

"uh? your commissions??" you stare at him baffled. he stretches his hand towards you, motioning you to hand over the flyer.

"i need that," he states in a matter-of-fact tone. causing you to instantly whip your hand up high-

like that'll do anything...

kinich deadpans at you, "wow, it's so high maybe you should have it after all."

"y-yeah! it's mine okay?!" you exclaim, flustered over the stupid act you pulled before trying to rush out.

"hold on," he grabs your hand, "you're not going anywhere."

"well i am going somewhere!" you try yanking your hand but to avail, it doesn't budge.

"I'll pay you 5,000 mora if you give me that commission," he responds.

"nuh uh! I don't need money!" you exclaim, shaking your head profusely.

"10,000."

"NO!"

"15,000."

"NO! aren't you gonna lose profit??" you look at him, baffled by the increasing price points.

"mm, you're right. but look," he lets go of your hand, "I'll pay you the reward money for that commission and you give it to me." kinich says, with ajaw nodding profusely in the back.

'HUUUH?! but I wanna fight!" you cried, "it's not about the money it's for the love of the game!"

kinich stares at you with the same, but the twitch of his hand shows the effects of your proclamation.

"hmph. fine, keep it." he gives you a strange look before walking away.

━━

Step 1: find a commission worth taking. 5/19

as kinich heads over to the commission board once again, he spots a familiar figure.

it was you, holding a flyer in hand, pacing around the board for no reason. but after you spot him you instantly perk up.

"oh, you! random stranger from yesterday!" you run over to kinich, flyer in hand, "so um, i felt kinda bad about yesterday.. so here." you hand over the flyer to kinich.

"thank you, but," he walks closer to you, the distance between you two getting smaller and smaller, "if you're sorry then do this commission with me." he smacks the flyer lightly on your forehead.

"really?!" you look at him in surprise.

"yes really, this is the only time i'm ever going to do a joint commission, so do you want to go or not?" kinich crosses his arms, looking at you expectantly.

"I'll go!"

Note: sometimes commissions can be done by two to maximize profits.

but kinich wouldn't admit he proposed the idea of a joint commission since he found your determination cute.

oh well, it won't be the last time he does joint commissions, contrary to what he said.

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Important steps to follow when the hiring of a company for a Casino Party for your Next Casino Fundraiser

After being involved in the Deposit Pulsa Tanpa Potongan and event planning industry for a number of years, I have received from clients some tragic stories about what happened during their casino fundraising event. I'd like to relay on to you the seven actions you need to take to ensure that you have an event that is successful at the casino and find the most reputable casino party service to host your event.

Step 1. The organizing committee. The most important stage in planning your event and you should assign a person to each of the tasks to be completed to organize your event. This could includes the Law and obtaining the necessary permits, finding the right location and catering services for the event, securing sponsors to cover expenses, obtaining gifts from friends and family, locating the right casino, and who is responsible for handling the cash. It's impossible for one person to manage all of the above tasks. The most effective method is to make the same person be responsible for each task, leaving them alone to accomplish the job, and have them report their progress each and time to the person to oversee the event. There will be plenty of time to finish each task. A ideal time to begin is about 4-6 months prior to the date of the event.

Step 2. The law and obtaining your fundraising license and township permission. Remember that gambling is not legal, and playing casino games in your fundraising event is considered gambling. This is vital since a casino-themed fundraiser isn't the same as organizing a car wash to raise money. Since gambling is illegal, there are authorities from the state who are responsible for combating illegal gambling, which means that your casino event is an exemption from the gambling laws. Let's consider New Jersey as an example. State organization ABC (Alcoholic Beverage Control)is accountable for identifying and stop illegal gambling. however their handbook doesn't mention illegal gambling, or even any exceptions to gambling laws. it just says gambling and there's been instances where ABC's investigators tried to stop a fundraiser for a casino by claiming that they were gambling. The issue was resolved prior to the event's date due to the second aspect I'd like to remind you of. Although your casino event is gambling , and gambling is illegal, you come within the exceptions to gambling laws imposed by the state statute. The state of New Jersey the state legislature passed a law allowing casinos to gamble and established the Casino Control Commission to oversee the gambling activity. They also enacted a law to permit casino-related fundraisers and also created the legally-licensed Games of Chance Control Commission to supervise casino fundraising. The lesson I would like you to learn from this is to ensure that your casino event is legal, you need to know the law and obtain the appropriate permits and township approvals for the event. The fact that you're an 501(c)3 non-profit and has car washes to raise money doesn't necessarily mean you should have an event at a casino because it seems like it would be a good idea. Therefore, at this point, you need to know that it's an excellent idea to contact the state's Office of the Attorney General to inquire about the legal requirements in your state that allow the casino event.

Step 3. Step 3. Best casino business. The licensing requirements required by your state might also require the casino being licensed. There have been instances wherein New Jersey where a non profit company was referred to as Casino Party Company and neither party had a clue about the rules, which led to the event being halted and the imposing of fines. Every state is unique however in New Jersey the casino company and all dealers must be licensed as a casino fundraiser. The most important thing to remember is to learn about the requirements on your own by contacting the state authorities. Then you can contact the casino firms and ask whether they need to host a casino-related fundraiser. A reliable casino party business will inquire if you are licensed and in a position to send the necessary forms to get the license. They should be able to guide you through every step of getting your license and obtaining the township's approval. If they are unable to assist you in understanding the regulations, they might not know them and it could cause a catastrophe that is waiting to occur.

Step 4. Who's actually running your event? Be aware that there are casino-themed event companies that advertise locally, and others who advertise nationally. I have found that local businesses are the most suitable for you as the national corporations may not be aware of the laws applicable to you. The worst part is that the national corporations won't be able to host your event. The way they handle it is to contact local businesses to get a price from them, and then put hundreds of dollars to the cost to answer your phone call. The local company will be hosting the event and will provide you with a price which is lower than the national business. If you take a look at every firm, you'll notice photos of famous actors and revelers playing in a casino on the home page of their site. Do not bother with the content that is designed to entice you as it's not necessary. If you are receiving price estimates from casino-related companies, you might receive three or four quotes that are within the same range. However, there are one or two that are significantly more expensive than the other. Let's look at an example. let's say you got estimates that included $1000 $1200, and $2000. It's not logical that three quotes were within the same price range, but one quote was higher , which is because the quote that is very high comes from a national firm that is not going to hold the event as they will phone the local company that provided you with the lower estimate at the beginning Then, add the extra amount to the total.

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hunt // miya osamu & miya atsumu

tw ⇢ dub-con, dom/sub themes, the twins are third years, threesome, mild violence, power imbalance, degradation/name calling, spit roasting, coercion, unprotected sex, objectification, throat bulge, face fucking, asphyxiation, daddy kink, fauxcest(?), spanking

wc ⇢ 6.4k

The first pale brushstrokes of dawn were just beginning to tint the horizon outside the high windows of the gymnasium when you arrived. The cavernous space was cloaked in deep indigo shadows, the air holding that crisp, still silence that always precedes the break of a new day.

You exhaled a wispy plume that dissipated rapidly as you moved across the hardwood court, footfalls echoing in the emptiness. Despite the early hour, a current of restless energy thrummed through your limbs, propelled by a mixture of pre-practice excitement and anticipation for the upcoming day's regimen.

Depositing your gym bag by the benches, you straightened and began your ritual of scanning the space - mentally mapping out adjustments to equipment positioning and other preparations for when the rest of the team began trickling in. Temporarily losing yourself in those pragmatic thoughts, you startled violently when a pair of strong arms materialized from behind to engulf your waist in an inescapably snug embrace.

"Mornin', beautiful," Atsumu's unmistakable timbre purred against the sensitive whorls of your ear with just the barest ghosting rasp of his lips. "You're here bright and early as always, I see."

You stiffened instinctively at the sudden intimate contact, pulse kicking up several rungs as his masculine warmth and clean, musky scent enveloped you. But the rigid tension swiftly transmuted into a full-body shiver that had your bones turning to blessed friction as Atsumu tugged your back flush against the solid wall of his chest and abdomen.

"A-Atsumu!" You managed in a higher register edged with uncertainty, head spinning slightly from the sheer overwhelming physicality of him pressing in on all sides. "You startled me. I didn't hear you coming."

His low chuckle vibrated straight through to your core in delicious reverberations, stirring something molten and unfurling in your depths despite your best efforts to tamp it down. Every instinct screamed at you to put space between your bodies for propriety's sake. Yet you remained rooted, unresisting, as he dipped his aristocratic nose to the juncture of your neck and shoulder on an indulgent inhale.

"Mmm, and I like the way you say my name," he rumbled in a tone somehow darker and more possessive than his usual playful candor. "All breathy and needy already...makes me wonder what other sweet sounds I could coax out of those pretty lips with just a bit of effort."

Heat blossomed beneath your skin at the suggestive undercurrent laced through his words. You parted your lips to offer protestation, but the syllables shriveled up stillborn as a new figure slowly materialized from the encroaching shadows in your peripheral vision.

Osamu prowled from the deeper recesses of the gym, broad shoulders set in a prowling line and every measured footfall reeking of tremendous coiled power barely restrained. His quicksilver gaze flickered over every inch of you with hypnotic, ineffable intensity —as if he could see straight through the thin barrier of your clothing to map every swell and plane hidden beneath. A wicked curve tugged at the corner of his sinful mouth as he lazily closed the remaining distance.

"Looks like somebody's keen on starting the day's...activities...a little early. And without me, for that matter." He tutted in a low rumble thrumming with dark undercurrents of untapped promise. "That's hardly fair to leave your favorite out in the cold like that now, is it, 'Tsumu?"

Atsumu issued a scoffing sound of feigned indignation. "Maybe if ya got your lazy ass outta bed at a decent hour once in a while..." But there was an edge of smoldering hunger flickering behind his dilated stare that stole the casual bite from his retort.

Osamu paid him no mind, attention rapidly narrowing down to your flushed, discomfited form instead. You swallowed hard as he crossed those final few agonizing paces to loom over you—near enough that the woodsy, petrichor-tinged musk of his skin set your senses reeling in visceral recognition. He radiated such intense, alpha virility in casual, unconscious waves that your instincts flailed between contradictory urges of fight-or-flight and something more primal, less defined.

Then he raised one large palm in a disarmingly tender gesture, tracing the whorled curves of your hair before tucking an errant strand behind your ear with exquisite tenderness. The calloused pads of his fingertips grazed your feverish cheek in the process, catalyzing a shuddering exhalation as fresh tingles ricocheted outwards from the point of contact.

"Well? Don't we at least get a good mornin' in return, gorgeous?" Osamu rumbled in dark, honeyed prompting raspy from the depths of his broad chest.

You swallowed convulsively, mouth suddenly bone dry despite the slick sheen of perspiration beading across your upper lip. Up close, you saw his pupils were blown wide, ringed in quicksilver shards of gunmetal and liquid mercury. That inscrutable yet smoldering perusal felt like physical gravity weighing you down into aching quiescence.

"G-Good morning, Osamu," you somehow managed in a reedy tone edging towards breathy submission. The hand not currently imprisoned against Atsumu's sculpted abdomen drifted upwards as if beyond your own volition until your fingers encountered the rugged jut of Osamu's stubbled jawline.

A muscle ticked in that sharply defined line of tendon and masculine ridges as he fought back a wolfish grin that would have revealed too much. Osamu exhaled a slow, measured breath, the barest perceptible shiver cascading down his powerfully corded frame. Then, just when you thought his mercurial focus would utterly unravel you into deconstructed fragments, his thumb traced the ripe-plum arc of your parted lips with devastating precision.

"Such a good girl," he husked in liquid smoke tones dripping darkly sensual implications. "So unfailingly polite, even under...duress. Tell me, darlin'...how much of that pretty manners would it take to make you come undone into a hot little mess for us?"

You could only gape at Osamu in stunned disbelief, mind struggling to process the blatant indecency threaded through his graveled words. A confused furrow etched your brow as you floundered for some semblance of rational grounding against the surging tides of unfurling yearning uncorking in your core.

"W-What do you mean?" The stammered rejoinder emerged in a tone just north of a strangled whisper—half plea and half entreaty for lucidity.

Rather than grant elaboration, Osamu's lush mouth only curved higher at the corners in a sinful facsimile of reassurance thoroughly undermined by the intensity blazing behind his frittered silver stare.

"Don't worry that gorgeous head of yours over the details, pretty girl." Atsumu's smoky rasp materialized against the wild flutter of your pulse point, every consonant seeming to skim callused fingertips of heated friction down your hyper-sensitized skin. The arm still anchoring you immobile against him constricted incrementally tighter. "We're just teasin' you a bit, that's all."

Despite the nonchalance professed in his words, the underlying message carried the unmistakable weight of something darker...heavier with unspoken promises sewn into the subvocal vibrations thrumming through your intertwined bodies where you pressed flush back-to-front.

The intimate knowledge that the twins encircling you could surely detect each minute shiver and microexpression telegraphing the muted shockwaves coruscating through your undefended form sent a fresh cyclone of mortified heat spiraling beneath your skin. You tried in vain to extricate yourself, twisting weakly against Atsumu's immovable restraint even as Osamu shifted to cage you further—one calloused palm settling at your hip to imprison you between their overheated, devastating proximities.

"What's your rush, babygirl?" The tendril of dark velvet snaked from Osamu's tongue to tangle insidiously against your senses. "Practice doesn't officially start for a little while yet. We've got plenty of time to get...acquainted first."

You registered the steady thrum of your pulse kicking up several staccato notches, senses rendered hyper-lucid from the neuropathic datastream of details flooding your frenzied awareness. The damp sweeping graze of Osamu's thumb inscribing needful arcs against the jut of your hipbone through the thin practice skirt's fabric. The branded heat scorching from Atsumu's palms where they anchored your ribs and solar plexus in an inexorable arc of possession from behind. The mingling, intoxicating musk of their purely masculine essences cloying the air you struggled to inhale in shallow, panicked sips.

"I...I should go set up the equipment," you managed in a withering tone edged with desperation as every instinct screamed at you to flee this rapidly overheating situation. "The rest of the team will be arriving any minute and—"

"Shhh, shhh." Atsumu clicked his tongue, somehow both languid and laced with authority in the subtlest undercurrent. "Always so focused on responsbilities, ain't ya, sweetheart? That's one of my favorite things about ya."

You felt your breath hitch despite your best efforts at control, spine stiffening infinitesimally as those final two syllables ricocheted around your rattled psyche with the resonance of an implosion detonating at your core. If Atsumu sensed your fracture, he allowed no outward indication beyond the barest constriction at the corners of his hooded cognac stare.

"One of the many things, that is..." Osamu's sibilant murmur filled the ringing void of suspension as he reclaimed your scattered focus once more. He continued studying you with a raptor's immutability, the cryptic leather-and-whiskey of his irises glittering like thunderclouds roiling with unreleased potential.

A hollow, pregnant pause stretched in the intimate keeper charged between the three of you. The hair prickling along your nape felt electrified as if by static cling. Realization began to slowly, ponderously blossom that some irrevocable line had been crossed beyond innocuous flirtatious norms into newer, more fraught territory.

Then, as abruptly as the suspended tension reached fever pitch, the twins eased back in an unhurried dilation of space around you once more. You instinctively swayed, robbed of the immovable anchors of their presences. Your lungs attempted to greedily gulp replenishing oxygen as though they had been deprived during your interment in their encompassing sphere.

"Well go on and handle your setup then, sweetheart," Atsumu purred, edged in indolent nonchalance yet subtly underscored with that same thrumming promise. The tip of his tongue flicked out to trace the pout of his lower lip ever so briefly, heated regard never wavering from your thunderstruck features. "We'll just be over here enjoying the view and biding our time."

A rasping, slightly garbled sound of confirmation attempted to spill from your constricted vocal cords, but all that emerged was a submissive whine slipping unbidden past your defenses before you could abort it. Heat blossomed in a scorching flare across your cheekbones and down your throat at the betraying display of responsiveness despite your internal lassitude.

That seemed to be all the twin's predatory instincts required to ignite their searing focus anew in that fleeting moment. When you finally managed to process putting one rubbery foot in front of the other towards the storage lockers, you could feel their piercing scrutiny track every faltering step in your wake like dual pinpoint lasers of atomic intensity.

Within the safety of the equipment room only partially shielded from their view, you finally managed to draw a full, steadying lungful of air purged of their singularly overwhelming masculine presence. You braced yourself against the cool metal of the lockers, squeezed your eyes shut, and fought to regain equilibrium through sheer stubborn force of will.

But that polished, rich baritone continued echoing through your synapses in an inescapable resounding loop:

"We'll be seein' ya real soon..."

The cool evening breeze carried the faint tang of honeysuckle and freshly turned earth as you walked between the twins, their solid forms engulfing you on either side. Atsumu's arm remained looped possessively around your shoulders, the sculpted muscles of his bicep brushing againstyour arm with each unhurried stride in a heated line of contact.

Osamu's palm scorched the small of your back through the thin cotton of your uniform, long fingers splaying wide in an unmistakable claim of possession. You could feel the thrumming warmth of his body resonating against you with each rolling step in time with your shared gait.

Despite the innocuous setting of darkening twilight shadows stretching long across the sleepy neighborhood streets, the very air surrounding the three of you seemed to subtly intensify and charge with pulsating tension. An intangible aura settled like an electrified static cling, catalyzing each tiny hair along your forearms and nape to prickle into alertness.

The twins' earlier behavior at the gym had already stoked banked embers of confusion and unwitting arousal flickering through your depths into smoldering life. But with every casual brush of their forms against yours, each lingering graze of fingertips and weighted look exchanged over your head, those embers swiftly blazed hotter and brighter.

You shifted unconsciously, trying to alleviate the tension rapidly transmuting into a liquid, unfurling ache low in your belly. But any subtle attempt at increasing the infinitesimal space between your bodies was swiftly negated by Osamu's broad palm applying a deeper furrow of pressure against your spine. His actions were accompanied by a low, subvocal rumble of dark amusement that seemed to reverberate straight through to your core and set fresh ripples of contradiction shivering through you.

They were penning you in, separating you from any sense of personal space or autonomy by sheer inexorable degree—and somehow, you lacked the wherewithal to mount any objections beyond feeble token protests.

It wasn't until the trio of you had fully diverged from the main street onto a narrow side path cutting through a small copse of towering oaks that you found your voice again, throatiness undermining what pitiful scraps of composure you might've mastered.

"T-This isn't the way to my place..." The words emerged reedy and plaintive, drenched in naked bewilderment as you craned your neck to better take in your shadowed surroundings.

Tree boughs nudged by the lazy breeze creaked in spectral oscillations, filtering the winking corona of evening's first stars into ethereal dappling across the loamy footpath. A beat-up wrought iron gate practically consumed by clutching alabaster tendrils of resilient ivy stood askew just a few yards ahead marking what looked to be the entrance to...

"A park? But I thought you were taking me home," you pressed in rising confusion and...something darker, more viscous that you couldn't quite put a name to.

The weight of Atsumu's arm tightened infinitesimally with an implied air of coalescent possession. When he angled his head towards you, lips brushing the fragile whorls of your ear with lush friction, his deep baritone seemed to bottomlessly resonate with dark carnal promise.

"We are takin' you home, sweetheart... just a scenic slow-spin 'fore arrivin' at the final destination, that's all."

His lush mouth brushed the whorl of your ear in a sensual ellipsis contrasted by the rapacious weight of his words in a way that had you swaying dizzily on your feet. The bone-deep confusion stratified even as it transmuted into a molten unfurling low in your core that had nothing whatsoever to do with innocence.

"Seems our dear bunny could use a crash refresher in what exactly 'home' means for her pretty lil' self from now on," Osamu rumbled from your opposite side with dark promise.

His index finger traced a scorching path along the deliciously oversensitive topography of your nape, raising pearls of shivering friction before splaying wide to engulf the line of your throat with devastating possession. You couldn't restrain the tremulous whimper spilling past your lips as his palm constricted incrementally, effectively pinning you between two raging long smoldering bonfires.

The shrouded emerald of Osamu's regard trapped yours in an immobilizing tractor beam of simmering intensity barely leashed by restraint's fraying threads.

"So responsive already," he husked with a gravel-rough edge in his timber's darker registers that portended unspeakable profanities.

You sensed Atsumu's chin dipping in a subtle crowing nod despite being unable to break away from his twin's hypnotic scrutiny. Then both of them were crowding your personal space with covetous slow burning hunger radiating off them in palpable thermal waves catalyzing each atom of your loaded stillness into a bristling crest of profound awareness.

"Time to take our sweet lil' homemaker on a field trip," Osamu's parting grin delivered in a slantwise murmur reeked of unholy benediction as the twins began towing you along once more in their combined wake.

The twins didn't so much walk you further into the secluded park as simply propel you along in their combined wake, your sense of personal autonomy steadily dissolving like mist burning off beneath dawn's first blazing incursions.

You moved in a haze of prickling contradiction—every instinct screaming at you to resist being led so deeply astray, juxtaposed with those cloying tendrils of primal submission unfurling through your marrow at each scorching point of contact. It was as if their overwhelming presences exerted their own gravitational fields of influence that overrode independence of thought or mobility.

The rough gravel path crunched beneath your stumbling footfalls, interrupted only by occasional drafts of humid night wind gusting through the shadowed tree canopies overhead. Silhouettes of twisted oaks and looming hedgerows took on increasingly abstracted, dreamlike contours the further you ventured from the park's fringe dwellings.

At some point, Osamu relieved his twin of stewarding your docile form—his larger palm mapping intricate spirals along the dips and flares of your waist and hip through cotton layers in a blatant seal of ownership. Meanwhile, Atsumu assumed point, leading your small procession past a seemingly endless succession of looming oak sentinels and into near-total immersion within night's clutching vestry.

The pervasive gloom suited the enveloping metamorphosis occurring in the atmosphere around you. What had initially blossomed as playful, heated flirtation was now rapidly transmuting into something far more primal...darker and slipperier, etched in discordant minor keys of need and unvarnished id.

Somehow, you'd wandered into the heart of the park's tangled bower by the time both twins slowed to a predatory prowl, easing you to a halt before some kind of crumbling, vine-choked gazebo structure. The tang of humus and creeping must cloistered the air from the wreckage's interior as the scudding clouds overhead briefly parted to drench the scene in lurid moonlight.

"Seems like the perfect place for our lil' bunny's first lessons in her new place," Atsumu rumbled in a voice gone viscously, unhurriedly prurient.

Osamu simply grunted a baritone concurrence against the nape of your neck, the humid brand of his lips and tongue flickering out to tease your thundering pulsepoint into frantic pulsing arrhythmia. Fresh streaks of slick friction trailed scorching in his wake, his free palm shamelessly mapping your abdomen while yanking your hips back to grind your body flush against what could only be described as devastating evidence of his arousal.

"As much as I want to just take what's mine right here," he purred in a voice rendered somehow even more dangerously silken by its hungered gravel, "perhaps somewhere more...accommodatin' is in order for our lil' initiate's debasement."

The eroded gazebo groaned around you in winded rebuke of the lurid imaginings those words profaned into being. You distantly recognized the shrill peeping in your ears as thin streams of panicked panting slipping from your own constricted vocals.

But even the moss-choked pavilion surrounding you felt like the thin shroud of propriety was rapidly disintegrating between the twins' steadily intensifying thrall. Their hands and mouths issued obscene benedictions putting the ancient metaphysical principles required for unholy desecrations to shame.

"Mmm, awfully gallant of you 'Samu..." Atsumu chuckled with profane avuncularity against your nape while simultaneously cupping the underside of your jaw to angle you up and into the unyielding vice of his heated stare. "But you might be wastin' your sweet concerns over modesty or deflowerment. Pretty sure this lil' wildflower is already well on her way to bein' ruined for any but us."

The promise stitched into his rapacious tarryweavingwords hit you like a psychic hammer, jarring loose another plosive whimper from your constricted windpipe.

Then Osamu pivoted you in a scintillating blur, yanking your back flush against his chest which just allowed Atsumu's lush mouth to plunder the exquisite wreck of your swollen, panting lips while he nonchalantly aided his twin in stripping you of your obstinately clinging garments.

The twins moved with predatory precision, stripping you of your clothing with an almost ritualistic deliberation that allowed no space for objection or resistance. Their hands branded scorching paths over each newly exposed expanse of flesh, mapping your curves and valleys with ravenous entitlement.

Osamu's calloused palms shackled your wrists behind your back as he plastered his solid frame against you from behind, the uncompromising ridge of his cock grinding against the cleft of your ass through the barrier of his clothing. You trembled overtly, a piteous whine vibrating against Atsumu's marauding tongue as he thoroughly plundered the defenseless cavern of your mouth.

"Such a responsive little thing," Atsumu husked in approval once he finally allowed you a desperate gasp of air. His quicksilver stare glittered with unholy promise in the wash of pale moonlight as he leisurely took in your mostly-bared state with shameless appraisal. "Fuck, darlin', you have any idea how long we've been waiting to get you just like this? All trussed up and shakin' apart with sweet little need written across every tremblin' inch of you..."

You shook your head in a dizzying micro-motion, drowning beneath the roiling tsunami of their combined intensity. Osamu chuckled against the nape of your neck in rich wickedness, subtly rocking his hips to grind the brand of his cock deeper between your parted legs.

"'Course she hasn't the faintest idea," he rumbled in amusement, large palms sliding up to engulf the generous swells of your breasts in scalding possession. "Pretty lil' thing was too busy playing the wide-eyed innocent to notice the way her teasing glances and pretty lips were drivin' us half-mad with want."

Reflexively, your back arched into the rough exploration of his achingly dexterous hands working your tender nipples into stiffened points between finger and thumb. The resultant mewling cry spilled shamelessly from your parted lips, only to be swallowed by Atsumu capturing your mouth once more in a soul-searing brand of possession.

His tongue swept with conquistador's dominion, staking rapacious claim to every untried crevice and plane until you spiraled into boneless quiescence within their encompassing immensity. Rough denim rasped against your over-sensitized skin with each shift of their bodies, stoking subliminal friction into merciless sublimation.

"No more playin' coy now, babydoll," Atsumu growled against the slick, swollen want of your lips before winding his fingers into your hair to yank your head back with cruel precision. His stare pinned you immobile beneath its thrall as he allowed the broad crown of his cock to grind against your bared abdomen in a sensual ellipsis.

"You're ours now, sweetheart—body, soul, and any other part of your pretty lil' self that tries to pretend it can resist givin' us everything we crave."

Osamu rumbled in agreement, the graveled brand of his lips blackening tingling lasers of sweet unraveling along the side of your arched neck.

"Mm, think I hear our bunny pleading to sample just how thorough her new masters' attentions aim to be. Say the words, little dove...beg for what that delicious little body won't stop tremblin' in wanton cravings for. Beg Daddy and Uncle 'Tsumu to give it to you good..."

The twins seemed wholly unconcerned with decorum as they backed you further into the secluded gazebo, hands continuing to roam and caress in undisguised possession. Their nearness and intensity was utterly overwhelming, suffocating in its profane dominance over your senses.

"Look at you, pretty girl," Atsumu purred, the rumbling timbre of his voice laced with dark promise. "Flushed and breathless already just from our touch. You may have played the innocent before, but your body knows exactly what it craves from us."

Osamu chuckled, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "She doesn't have to say a word, 'Tsumu. We can read every one of her wanton little needs written in the way she trembles for more."

You shuddered at their words, at the implication that they could so thoroughly unravel you with just the barest of contact. A whimpering sound slipped free, one you didn't quite recognize as your own amidst the thundering of your pulse.

The twins shared a loaded look over your form, a silent interaction heavy with meaning. Then, almost casually, Atsumu reached out and plucked at one of the few remaining scraps of fabric still clinging to your flushed skin. With a deft tug, he stripped it away entirely, leaving you bared before their insistent perusal.

A desperate keening built in your throat as you instinctively moved to cover yourself, a last vestige of modesty surfacing. But the twins were having none of it. Strong hands captured your wrists, holding them immobile at your sides as they drank in every quivering inch.

"No hiding now, bunny," Osamu rumbled, the endearment carrying a darker edge you'd never heard before. "You're ours, all ours to admire and fuck as we see fit. And we intend to admire every luscious curve until you're sobbing with need."

The words alone were enough to have you squirming helplessly between them, the very air itself seeming to throb with their smoldering possession. This was far beyond mere flirtation or teasing now. There would be no going back once you fully surrendered to the rapacious hunger written in every line of the twins' bodies.

But even as uncertainty flickered, a deeper, more primal part of you thrilled at the thought of belonging so completely to them. Of giving yourself over and letting them take everything they craved. You wanted it with a ferocity that terrified and excited you in equal measure.

So when Atsumu trailed a scorching path down your body, callused palm settling between your parted thighs, you didn't resist. A guttural moan tore free as he stroked over your slick pussy, eyes blazing like gemstone flames.

"That's our girl," he growled in approval. "Gonna make you feel so good, kitten. Gonna show you exactly why you were made for us and us alone..."

With those words, he lowered his mouth to your breast, sucking and laving the hardened bud with devastating precision. It was as if a livewire connected between his hot, wet tongue and the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core. Every teasing flick and swirling suck sent a fresh wave of electricity shuddering through your veins, stoking the burning embers in your belly to molten life.

You arched against him, desperate for more, and Osamu's answering chuckle ghosted across the damp skin of your throat. "That's it, sweetheart, give in to the pleasure. We're going to show you just how good it can be when you let go and give in to what your body craves."

Atsumu's fingers continued their slow, maddening rhythm, and you writhed helplessly between them, a mewling, pleading mess. You felt him smirk against your skin, reveling in the power he held over you. "Mm, fuck, I love how you taste. I could eat you for hours, bunny. Make you come over and over again until you can't even remember your own name. Would you like that?"

Your response was a desperate, incoherent cry, hips bucking against his hand as you chased the white-hot peak of pleasure. Atsumu smirked, dark and wicked. "Oh, you'll be getting that and more, bunny. But first, I think you're ready to find out exactly why you're here."

With those words, he pulled away, leaving you shivering and bereft. You blinked up at him, uncomprehending, only to gasp as he and Osamu turned you around and bent you forward, your palms landing on the weathered wood of the gazebo's bench.

Your breath caught in your throat as Atsumu nudged your legs apart, baring your dripping heat to the night air. Behind you, Osamu's hand settled on the small of your back, a subtle yet unrelenting command. "Be a good girl and stay still, now."

You shivered as you felt Atsumu's calloused palms trail up the backs of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kneaded the firm flesh, thumbs dipping tantalizingly close to where you wanted them most.

"Look at you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So wet and eager, just begging to be filled. And we're going to fill you so good, bunny, gonna stuff you so full you won't even remember anything but the feeling of our cocks stretching you open."

He punctuated his words with a light slap to your ass, the sudden sting making you jolt. Osamu's fingers dug in harder, a warning to hold still, and you whimpered, the anticipation nearly unbearable.

Then, finally, you felt the blunt head of Atsumu's cock press against your entrance, and you couldn't help but cry out as he sank inside, stretching you open with a delicious burn. Your fingers clenched around the bench, and you bowed your head, panting as he slowly worked his way deeper, each inch sending fresh waves of pleasure rippling through you.

By the time he was fully sheathed inside you, you were a trembling mess, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation, and then he started to move, the slow, torturous slide of his cock pulling moans from deep within your throat.

Your fingers dug into the bench, and you hung your head, lost in the sensation of being fucked so thoroughly. Each thrust seemed to strike sparks deep within you, building the pressure until you were practically vibrating with need.

"Such a perfect little hole for my cock, so fucking tight," Atsumu murmured, his voice laced with lust. "We're going to use it so good, bunny, make you forget all about your old life and replace it with this. Just the feel of my cock pounding into your needy cunt, filling you up with my cum until it drips down your thighs."

He punctuated his words with sharp, stinging slaps to your ass, the pain sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. You arched into him, desperate for more, and he obliged, setting a punishing pace as he pounded into you.

Osamu watched it all, his own cock hard and heavy in his pants, the sight of his brother claiming what was rightfully his sending a possessive thrill through his veins. He could feel the tension building, his twin's thrusts becoming more erratic, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he came.

He waited until the last possible moment, then yanked Atsumu back, his twin's cock sliding out of you with a lewd pop. You whined, desperate for more, and he smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you're not done yet. Not until I've had a turn."

He ignored Atsumu’s protests as he pulled you up and spun you around, settling you on his lap as he sat down on the bench. You straddled his hips, the thick length of his cock nestled between your folds, and he reached up to cup your face, tilting it towards him. "Now be a good girl and show Daddy how grateful you are for his cock."

You hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, sinking down onto his length, the stretch nearly enough to make you see stars. You rocked your hips, taking him deeper, and Osamu's fingers tightened on your face, his gaze burning into yours. "That's it, sweetheart, take every inch. You were made for this, made for us to use and fill and pleasure. And you're going to learn just how good it can be when you're obedient and do as you're told."

You could only whimper, lost in the sensations as you rode him, each roll of your hips drawing fresh gasps and moans. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you arched your back, grinding against him, chasing the elusive peak.

Osamu's fingers dug into your skin, his breath coming in harsh pants as he matched your pace, driving his cock deeper and deeper. You could feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter, until finally, with a strangled cry, you tumbled over the edge, your whole body shaking with the force of your release.

Your nails raked across Osamu's skin, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck as his cock twitched inside you, pumping you full of his cum. The sensation drew out your climax, and you collapsed against him, the aftershocks rippling through you.

As you came down from the high, a bone-deep satisfaction settled over you, and you melted against him, spent and sated. He stroked your hair, murmuring soothing words as you caught your breath, and you closed your eyes, reveling in the moment.

In the silence, a low chuckle echoed, and you opened your eyes to see Atsumu watching you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like our lil' bunny is a quick learner. I'd say she's more than earned a reward, don't ya think?"

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forward, his gaze raking over you. "'Samu, bend her over, will ya? I wanna fuck he throat until she's droolin' with my cum."

Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to protest, but Osamu was already obeying, manhandling you until you were splayed along his thighs, your head hanging upside down as his fingers dug into your waist with the effort of holding you in that position. The new position put your face directly in line with Atsumu's cock, the thick shaft already glistening with precum.

He reached down, running a thumb along your lower lip, and you felt a surge of heat between your legs, unknowingly clenching around Osamu's still-hard cock. He groaned, his grip on your waist tightening, and Atsumu chuckled, his eyes dark with desire.

"I knew you'd enjoy bein' used like this, bunny. Now open wide and let me use that pretty little mouth."

Before you could reply, he pushed past your lips, his cock sliding deep into your throat, cutting off any sound. You gagged around him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and Osamu's grip tightened, grounding you.

"Relax, sweetheart, and let him use you. It feels good to be used, doesn't it? To know that your only purpose is to please us and be filled with our cum?"

The words were filthy and depraved, but you couldn't deny the truth of them. You were already growing wetter, and Atsumu's cock was hard and thick in your throat, cum-heavy balls pressed against your nose as he fucked your face. You could feel your throat bulging, and the obscene sight only fueled the fire burning within Atsumu.

"Fuck, 'Samu, look at that, she's takin' it so well, her lil' throat stuffed full of my cock." He pulled back, just enough to allow you a ragged gasp of air, and then he was plunging back in, watching as your throat stretched to accommodate him.

"This is all she's good for, being our lil' fucktoy to use and pleasure as we see fit." His fingers curled around your neck, feeling the outline of his cock through your skin, and his eyes blazed with lust.

"I can't wait to fill her up, to watch her belly swell with my cum. We'll breed her over and over until there's no doubt she's ours."

His words were like a physical touch, and you squirmed against Osamu, your pussy clenching around him as a wave of need washed over you. He was rocking into you, now, small movements that kept you stimulated without bringing you too close to the edge.

You moaned around Atsumu's cock, the vibrations causing him to hiss and jerk his hips. His eyes narrowed, and he reached down, gripping your throat and squeezing.

"Oh, bunny, are you gonna be a naughty girl and make me punish you?" He thrust hard, cutting off any response, and then he was coming, spilling down your throat as he groaned. You swallowed around him, the sensation sending him over the edge, and he pulled out, painting your face with the last of his cum.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn perfect, such a filthy little slut." He ran his thumb through the mess, rubbing it into your skin, and you moaned, the filthy degradation only serving to stoke your arousal higher.

Osamu's grip on you tightened, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his rhythm stuttering as he neared his own release. You rocked your hips, grinding against him, and his breath hitched, a low growl escaping his throat.

"Are you gonna come for us, sweetheart? Come while you're stuffed full of Daddy's cock, and Uncle 'Tsumu's cum is drippin' down your chin?"

His words were a litany of filthy depravity, and you were helpless to resist, falling apart under their combined attentions. Your pussy spasmed, clenching around him as another orgasm ripped through you, sending sparks flying across your vision.

Osamu snarled, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you in place, slamming into you with animalistic force. You could feel his cock twitching, the sensation amplified by the aftershocks still rippling through your core. With a final, guttural cry, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he pumped you full of his cum for the second time that night.

The three of you stayed there for a moment, locked in carnal embrace, the only sound the harsh pants of your breaths as you struggled to recover. Finally, Atsumu spoke, his voice laced with smug satisfaction.

"Mm, what do ya say, 'Samu, d'ya think our lil' bunny is gonna get the hang of havin' two big cocks stuffin' her tight lil' holes soon enough?"

You could only whimper, the mere suggestion of another round already sending heat pooling low in your belly. Osamu chuckled, his fingers stroking idly along your spine. "Oh, I think she'll be a fast learner, 'Tsumu. But don't worry, we'll make sure she gets plenty of practice. After all, we can't have her disappointing her new owners now, can we?"

As he spoke, his hand slid down, dipping between your legs to circle your sensitive clit, and you shuddered, already aching for more. You could feel his cock, still buried deep inside you, growing hard once again, and Atsumu's fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat was bared.

"No, we can't," he agreed, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. "Now be a good girl and let Daddy and Uncle 'Tsumu show you what a real fuckin' is like..."

[ninibeingdelulu]

Sicknesses

synopsis: you’re sick, so Toji take care of you

You woke, foggy-headed and more exhausted than when you'd tumbled into bed the night before. Your throat was raw and achy, like you'd spent the night swallowing razor blades by accident.

Cracking one eye open blearily, the weak morning light filtering through the curtains sent shooting pangs directly into your throbbing skull.

Ugh...yep, you knew that sickly feeling all too well. A nasty cold virus had burrowed its vicious claws into you overnight.

As you frantically tallied whether you were contagious enough to call off work for the day, the bedroom door suddenly creaked open.

Toji strode in already dressed for his missions, a black shirt and a grey sweatpants. Though he paused mid-stride, brows furrowing slightly at the disheveled pile of blankets where you huddled.

"You're still in bed?" His tone was clipped, bordering scolding - never a good sign from the notoriously blunt cursed speech user.

"That's unli-..."

Then Toji cocked his head ever so slightly, scrutinizing gaze sweeping over your undoubtedly pathetic, clammy visage peeking through the covers.

With narrowed eyes he zeroed in on your shallow breaths and glassy stare as the realization dawned.

"...Oh. You're sick."

Uttering a low huff, Toji abandoned his worm on the ground before crossing the room in several long strides.

You couldn't help flinching weakly as his broad form loomed over your cocoon, combat-calloused hands briskly yanking the sheets down to your chin.

Despite his constant barrage of eye-rolling impatience at your usual antics, Toji did possess one hugely redeeming quality. He'd always leap into action without hesitation when your welfare was genuinely at stake.

Sure enough, one thick palm was already pressing firmly yet gently against your clammy brow.

His flinty grey eyes roved critically over your pallid complexion, gauging for fever or any more concerning symptoms.

"Just a head cold from the looks of it," Toji muttered half to himself with a curt nod after assessing you thoroughly. "Nothing too serious yet."

Satisfied for the moment, he abruptly withdrew to stride from the room without another word.

You wilted back into the pillows, assuming he'd left for his job and feeling vaguely disappointed.

After all, what did you expect from such an efficiency-loving practicality machine?

Five minutes later though, your bleary eyes flew open as Toji reappeared brandishing supplies.

One by one, he deposited his armful onto your nightstand like a medic preparing a kit.

A fresh box of tissues. A bottle of Gatorade and throat lozenges. The thermometer along with various over-the-counter medications and decongestants.

You blinked up at him in mild surprise, chest feeling lighter already from his tender caretaking instead of being left to flounder alone in your misery. Typical Toji ruthlessness really...

Without prompting or complaints, your boyfriend then bent down and scooped your slumbered form straight up into his arms, muscles bulging through his fitted shirt.

You were swallowed in the comforting warmth and subtle pine-spice cologne clinging to his clothes.

Toji simply positioned you onto his broad lap with your head nestled in the crook of his neck, tucked safely against his steady pulse as he leaned back against the headboard.

There you remained cradled in his firm yet gentle embrace, occasionally feeling his strong chest rumble with gruff reminders to hydrate or take your temperature.

Not many words were exchanged - Toji didn't waste effort on frivolous sentimentality.

But you smiled contentedly against his skin regardless, knowing this relentlessly pragmatic man would remain your staunch bastion without fail until the last symptom faded away entirely.

[depositpulsatanpapotonganblog]

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[horseimagebarn]

Ok so thanks for the answer vis a vis the centaur situation I appreciate it a lot and I'm not trying to convince you to change your ruling but unfortunately you used the word taxonomy which triggered one of my damn neurodivergences. I hope you don't mind but my response will be to deposite these few paragraphs in your inbox I'm sorry in advance if this comes off as aggressive or condescending or just plain annoying I'm just sensing an opportunity to infodump to someone who might be interested in tbe topic so I'm seizing it I'm sure you know what it's like

Anyway there's a disconnect between pragmatism and scientific rigor that people are blind to which vexes me and biological taxonomy is a particular pet peeve of mine the biggest instance of it is crocodiles and alligators which are really the same damn animal for all intents and purposes but that's not relevant

Naturally when one thinks of horses one thinks of domestic horses specifically (Equus ferus cabellus) but I'd argue that certain pictures of donkeys (Equus africanus) look more like domestic horse pictures than certain pictures of Przewalski's horse (Equus ferus przewlaskii) despite the latter being classified as the same species and the former not

And I feel that for a horse image barn the resemblence of a picture to an archetypical horse image should be a higher priority criterion for inclusion than some criteria that biological taxonomy relies on like the presence of specific haplotypes which isn't even a word anyone knows and if you go to its Wikipedia article you get a definition of it that's not really relevant to this ask

So yeah in conclusion I wouldn't tie the in/ex-clusion of images to scientific taxonomy but to Vibes if I were the admin of this or a similar blog but I'm not and you are so you can like do whatever

Also I won't be submitting the centaur image I wanted to submit but can I still send it as an ask I like showing it to people spreading it around etc it's kind of cursed but also funny and I like it a lot and I understand why it's not horse enough to your taste but it's definitely horse adjacent and I want to share it

as a fellow animal wikipedia delver i agree that taxonomy is not the end all be all of the human perception of animals however what i meant to imply is that the differences between centaurs and horses are large enough to be considered taxonomical and are not debatable even in a taxonomical sense due to their many massive differences also i have posted przewalskis horses before as they are true horses and this is horseimagebarn not assimagebarn or centaurimagebarn even though i love donkeys just as much and would own a donkey over a horse any day

i did just take my adderall and am bored at work so i have to humbly yet lengthily disagree with you that taxonomy is not important in both cases presented while the crocodilian assumption you make has bruised my heart as i love alligators and i find them far cuter than crocodiles due to the differences in their jaw structure that makes their bottom teeth fit into their mouth instead of jutting out like crocodiles (which is one of the many actual and notable physical differences between them alongside choice of salt or fresh water etc) i wont get into that and will focus on horses since thats the point of this blog using actual punctuation and capitalization for the first time in this blogs history ill be referring to przewalskis horse as takhi as it is also known so i dont make a typo which i know i will

long ass (donkey pun) post warning

Taxonomy can of course be vague at times or muddied, but it is not an invalid study. All human knowledge is constantly evolving, and mistakes are inevitably going to be made, but that does not make our efforts invalid. It is beneficial for us to know how evolution works. Taxonomical differences are real and worth considering, even if mistakes are made sometimes. Two animals looking similar is not a valid reason to ignore their taxonomical differences, nor is it okay to ignore similarities because they look different—if we went by that logic, every dog breed would be a totally different species.

Speaking of, here's a little more on the whole appearance thing before we get into the science:

The other day, I was watching a video about the actual horses that existed in antiquity, and they are far more similar to takhi than you might think. I'll link the video if I can find it, apologies for a lack of a source on this right now, but the gist of it was that horses of yore were much shorter and stouter than modern horses. The tall, thin horse often seen in modern depictions of ancient time is inaccurate, as is the thick, muscular draft, which didn't become common until later on. Back then, people wanted horses that were sturdy—most people didn't care as much about specific breeds or having the hugest and prettiest horse on the block, especially when food to maintain larger animals like modern horses wasn't always guaranteed, and having such a huge animal could be dangerous and more difficult. Their horses were more similar to ponies than our big guys now, and ponies aren't a separate species. The selective breeding of horses to become taller and leaner made them appear way different from the takhi, but just like dogs, they remain extremely similar to those of their taxa despite looking different on the surface. For example, take a look at the ancient fjord horse breed next to the takhi...in fact, sometimes takhis are called Mongolian ponies! We can even see this in ancient art earlier in the horse's domestication:

Anyway, science:

Firstly, the takhi isn't wholly classified as the same exact species as the true horse, our domesticated Equus ferus caballus. Both Equus ferus callabus and Equus ferus przewalskii are considered subspecies of caballines, or true horses, meaning they're more like cousins (I know it's a cliche to say this, but I mean it), with donkeys and zebras as, like, their nephews twice removed. If the takhi was considered the exact same species as the domestic horse with no acknowledged differences, it would be considered a breed of horse, not a subspecies (though breeds are typically manmade, they are not always—see the word "typical" in the dictionary definition). This means that it does have recognized, distinct differences from the standard domesticated horse that have been taken into consideration in their taxonomy—it is not like the two are blindly considered the same exact thing.

Mistakes have been made in Equus taxonomy in the past, but continued research has led to a retaxing of the genus as early as the 1980s. In the 2012 review article "Discordances between morphological systematics and molecular taxonomy in the stem line of equids: A review of the case of taxonomy of genus Equus," by E. Kefena et al., a number of scholars reviewed the methods with which the Equus genus has been taxed in the past and how they have changed in the past few decades.

According to that article, equines are an incredibly plastic genus. They are very good at adapting to their environments, which led past taxonomists to overcount the amount of Equus species that existed in the past and therefore miscategorize the history of the genus in general. Many were actually just adapted versions of the same thing. This is what we see in the horse and takhi—they are similar but have adapted to their different environments and niches.

In 1986, two molecular scientists, George and Ryder, performed the first DNA-based molecular taxonomy on all living equus species, publishing their findings in the article "Mitochondrial DNA evolution in the genus Equus." By mapping equus DNA and constructing a phylogenetic tree, they were able to take a closer look at the actual genetic disparities between equus species.

George and Ryder found that "[In the mtDNA (mitochondrial DNA) cleavage map,] the percent sequence difference between E. przewalskii and E. caballus individuals was found to range between 0.27% and 0.41%. ... Overall, the amount of divergence presented here is small and not much greater than the 0.36% divergence reported for mtDNA differences found among the human racial groups (Brown 1980; Cann et al. 1984)."

So, horses and takhis are incredibly similar. Using these findings, they separated equus species into three clades: "One that groups the zebras, a second that groups E. africanus [African wild ass] and E. hemionus [Asiatic wild ass, aka the hemione], and a third that associates the true [caballine] horses E. przewalskii and E. caballus as a unit. However, as stated previously, the E. africanus-E. hemionus clade remains enigmatic."

They later state that "E. hemionus and E. africanus appeared more karyotypically [chromosomally] similar to each other than to other equids," hence why they were considered a clade despite being "enigmatic." Kefena et al. explain this weird enigma further, and, notably, compare it to the takhi: "Next to Przewalskii's horses, hemiones were the first species to be diverged from the stem line of extant equids, suggesting that they might be closely related to caballine horses than to asses, though they are monophyletic with donkeys than with horses. On the basis of these evidences, morphological resemblance between species doesn't guarantee genetic similarity between equid species." This means that asses and horses have distinct genetic differences that far outweigh those between takhi and domestic horses, despite the fact that donkeys and takhi look more similar. The hemione looks very similar to the African wild ass, and it is closer to it genetically, but it is not the same due to the way it evolved—it broke away from the general line earlier than any other ass. The takhi is the same; it diverted earlier than other horses, but remains very genetically similar—more than any other extant Equus species. And, even with the takhi's extra chromosomal pair, George and Ryder also found that they and horses were also very close karotypically, giving them incredible similarities both mtDNA-wise and chromosome-wise. Despite that different chromosome, horses and takhis can successfully interbreed and produce fertile offspring, unlike horses and donkeys.

Kefena et al. "MYBP" stands for "Millions of Years Before Present" Funnily enough, G&R also say, "There has been little to no dispute over the close relationship that exists between E. przewalskii and E. caballus; thus the addition of E. caballus to the E. przewalskii branch should be easily accepted." Which is so weirdly on the nose that I feel compelled to say that it's on page 544 so no one thinks I'm making it up. So, with their genetic similarities, their actually surprisingly similar appearances, and their sequential DNA similarities, the Przewalski's horse and the domesticated horse do belong in the same category when compared to other equines like donkeys and zebras. They're not identical, but they're in the same room of the larger equine house. And, check out the tarpan, Equus ferus ferus, another subspecies of Equus ferus and the most recently extinct of them all, alongside the current Equus ferus species (and a concept of the original Equus ferus pre-domestication by Cameron Clow on Artstation)! They're all friends:

Conclusion

you can send me centaurs if you want i just wont post them

[homunculus-argument]

The first night when me and my boyfriend moved into our current apartment, we didn't have any kind of furniture here yet, just a mattress on the floor and his computer propped up on a cardboard box. He thought it would be funny to take a photo of the arrangement and share it on discord like "hey guys check out my gaming rig", after meticulously arranging the scene to look as bleak as possible.

Finland has a beverage bottle/can recycling system where you get a small deposit when you return them to the recycling system at the store. While 10-40 cents apiece may not seem like much, it adds up pretty quickly, and six trash bags full of cans can easily be 30 euros which is significant grocery money. We like to hoard up our soda cans over the course of months and return them all at once, to the point where the bags need a shopping cart to haul, and this one time he wanted to take a picture of our haul to show it off to people unfamiliar with the finnish beverage recycling system.

For the time being, due to not having access to a proper fridge or microwave at his workplace, his work lunches consist of a single can of canned fruit and a protein bar. He took a picture of his week's worth of lunches - five cans of peaches and five bars - to show off his meal prep, once again prompting comments along the lines of "dude what the shit, why do you live like this".

As our hobbies and interests have very little overlap, and we're still working out how to come up with a living arrangement that we would both be happy in, I've had people wonder how we're even together since we seem to have nothing truly in common. But looking at the big picture, the one thing we both truly, genuinely delight in is the joy of doing sensible, pragmatic things in unconventional-looking ways, and showing it off to baffle people like

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter twelve

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, furina ⌗ warnings : mention of prostitution, horrendously inaccurate depiction of poisoning, assassination attempt?? ⌗ word count: 4.0K

You cannot help but feel as if you’re walking into a deposition.

The halls stretch out, and your slim fit suit now constricts like a cobra against your pounding ribcage. In manifestation of your argument is a file, threatening to slip from your grasp, sweat clamming your composure and fogging a rational train of thought you spent half of this morning to keep under wraps; and it comes shattering as the routine click click click of your heels no longer serves as a comfort or distraction to what you, in actuality, are terrified of.

Any ordinary individual would find comfort that the most impartial judge is by their side — but you cannot help but regard him as more of a liability than a lifeline. 

“Does something ail you, Madame?” He questions, eyes trained on the door at the end of the hallway.

Fixing your collar, your lips twist in displeasure. “Nothing at all, Chief Justice. Just that I have this feeling I’m about to be interrogated. Terribly.”

His steady stride stutters, inclining you to spin around to look him in the eye. After just a second of taking in the subtle lines of his face, you convince yourself with great difficulty that he looks somewhat worried. But just what good does that bring to your own anxiety, exactly? Nothing. Because not only is he blatantly telling you that you should be afraid, any pretentious diplomat could stroll over to him at this moment and tell him off for breaking his pledge of impartiality. But you shake the idea away after coming to terms with how far-fetched the latter sounds.

“There is no reason to worry,” he assures, his once reprimanding gaze a morbid comfort you find yourself confiding in — and it is no secret you must always take it upon your habits to tell yourself that this is wrong, that you shouldn't find yourself believing in a ruse set up by the woman you have so come to despise, but you just cannot help it, and it eats at you from the inside like an apple with a rotting core.

(You conveniently ignore the twist in your gut that tells you this is, as much as you despise it, real.)

His gaze flickers, and for some reason your idea of him being of the inability to understand human emotion strikes him again, another one of those expressions betraying his attempts to keep them at bay. And this time, he’s mulling over something.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and while your eyes naturally settle over the veins trailing along his neck, he finds it in himself to intertwine his fingers with yours — and you find it in yourself to not pull away, against your better judgement. And amongst the pragmatic reasoning pushed to the back of your psyche, you can almost make out their shouts: an unwavering you are going to regret this echoing into a cacophony of a thousand songs. And yet —

And yet.

The last time he held you like this had been that one night where you explicitly told him that any dealings of this nature were prohibited by your own edict. You cannot help but shudder at the bitter irony: the irony being that that very command has now crumbled under your own faltering complacency.

You cannot hear anything, save for the shrill strain of a violin that too, dwindles under the softness of his hold. “Monsieur Neuvillette, what are you —”

“Sorry,” he mutters, the apology slipping out of his lips the second he catches sight of your faltering attention that does everything in its power to deflect his imploring stare. 

You draw in a shuddering breath, eyes shut before whispering: “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” You slip your hand from his grip, fingers slipping between the gap of your collar to spare a little room for air.

His glovedi“From what I know, there is nothing they can use against you.”

“Right.”

“Is there something you’re hiding from me? Because if so I am entitled to know. To pro— defend you.”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Alright then.”

If this were five years ago, you might have considered the scant number of diplomats as a blessing from the Archons above. But you certainly aren’t the girl you were five years ago, and you certainly aren’t going to let it slip you for even one second that the very matter you celebrated half a decade is now cause for concern. Yet, you are no longer the girl of half a decade past, and you find yourself acutely aware that this sparse assembly is, indeed, a matter of grave concern.

You reach for Neuvillette’s shoulder as leverage to whisper into his ear: a meek, faltering warning — a manifestation of your anxieties, if you will. “We’ve got trouble.”

Neuvillette’s attention, previously trained on you, shifts to mirror your own nervous, studying stare directed at the group of the representatives. “We might, but I don’t think a couple of personal jabs your way will have you crumble, ma femme.” You ignore the flutter in your chest and completely disregard the way he indirectly just complimented you — but it could just be a statement for all you care.

Pfft, like you care.

A nicely dressed man sits opposite to your place on the table, spotting the quiver of your eye like an archer to a target. This causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat — and amidst the bustling small talk amongst the other diplomats in  this chamber, he seems to zero in on your tell.

The diplomats help themselves with the teapots laid uniformly along the table, but oddly enough, do not take the effort to actually take part in the consumption of it. However peculiar, you go out of your way to take a light sip of the tea, immediately wincing at the aftertaste of chamomile tea that shouldn’t even exist in its palate; because instead of something sweet, the flavour leaves your tongue bitter, mildly prickly in nature.

“Does your tea taste peculiar to you?” you ask, our turning excruciatingly slow, as if unable to admit that you’ve got something on you no one else should be aware of. Neuvillette’s keen eye does not miss your faltering hold of the teacup, the subtle cant of his head all the more reason to divert what you started to the men who, judging by the accentuation of their wrinkles, are beginning to grow even more restless by the minute.

“No, I do not think so.” “Nevermind that, then.”

Your lips are pressed into tight, worried lines, the bitter taste still lingering, clinging to your every sense. A sonorous disquiet blooms in your stomach — not from the effect of the poison, but from your insidious conclusion you draw yourself upon — that someone had gone to such lengths to harm you. You are not one to trust your gut from its first warning, but this time, you tug at your intuition like a lifeline when it tells you that someone in this room is complicit in your attempted murder. And your money’s on the man seated opposite of you.

Your mulling over every one of the possibilities is thrown under the clinking of someone’s cup, a resounding strain that draws onlookers to the source and its maker: the man from earlier.

“Ladies —” the man takes an effort to regard both you and Lady Furina — the only women in the room, before ghosting over the others. “— and gentlemen. The meeting shall commence.”

You take no malice in his regards, but instead choose to narrow in on his sharp tongue: a manner of speech you find yourself almost drawn to in terms of his manner of a pointed timbre, a dialect you cannot pinpoint — because, to put it simply, it does not exist. It comes off to be some sort of curious amalgamation – like the accents you hear from traders recounting their journeys across the blue expanse of Teyvat. But you know a trader when you see one: and this man is no trader.

“Lady Furina, as the representative of the Fontainian Parliament, we hereby declare that your action as Archon against the prophecy has been nothing short of deficient and nowhere near as efficient enough to have us back on our feet.” The parliamentarian’s booming baritone echoes against the brick walls of the chamber, eyes a steely blue.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur…?”

“Blanchard. Corbin Blanchard.”

“Monsieur Blanchard, if you are so intent on pulling at my reins, wouldn’t it be politically irresponsible on your end, considering all you’ve been doing is maintaining the tea exports?”

A cocky smile pulls at your lips, drinking in the bitter taste of her own proud look that says I do my research sometimes.

Monsieur Blanchard lets out a stunned, cocky scoff of disbelief. “I think you’re losing sight of the main reason we’re all gathered today. We aren’t here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you. And this —” he almost grunts before slamming a thick folder of documents, and you wince at the sound it makes when it comes into contact with the table.

Lady Furina shoots from her seat, the screech against tile a most unpleasant sound to be greeted with at this time of day. A flicker of panic flashes across the brush of her brow before she straightens, rolling back her shoulders against the padding of her blazer before fabricating a confident — if by all means arrogant — tilt of the chin. “I rebuke that claim! I have done nothing but salvage the lives of the people — uhm, uh — ask a citizen. They’ll tell you, heh…” The poised posture of her shoulders drop into a curve, her haughty guise hesitating when the assembly shows no sign of support.

“Tough crowd,” she grits, a quip of desperation slipping like a whistle through the gaps in her teeth.

“What she means to say,” Neuvillette interjects, rising from his seat (what the Chief Justice had in grace and stead, the Archon lacked). “is that action will be taken immediately to improve our manpower.” A reassuring hand makes its way to cup around Lady Furina’s shoulder, the shudder of her fear moulding into the palm of his hand. 

The man, like any textbook diplomat, is unamused by this way of reasoning — and his eyes dip into slits, a silent dismissal of Neuvillette’s defence. “I do not need your word Monsieur Neuvillette. I need hers. And what I am calling from her word is a bluff; here — look at this file.” He slams a folder onto the table, pages spilling out. “It is a record of lives that were lost not too long ago, and everytime an incident of this nature occurs the death toll is still the same along with frequency. So what exactly do you have to say to this?”

Lady Furina’s eyes dart to the damning evidence before her. “I — I!” 

Forget what you said about her keeping things together; this was everything but! You must say, her response is nothing short of embarrassing that you almost feel for her. “Forgive me if I am wrong, but amidst this whole phenomenon, the Présidence du Conseil d'État and Iudex of Fontaine have decided that if they were to get married, it would be in the midst of decline! Which — let’s be honest — is pure drivel. “

Neuvillette moves to rebuke this claim, but in fulfilment to the arrogance of men, Monsieur Blanchard holds up a hand to silence him. And Neuvillette complies. 

You shoot him a scolding look. You’re really letting this man step on you?

“Oh, do not give me those looks, all of us know what arrangement you both signed. ” 

By this point, your sight is nothing but a swirl of colour, a distortion of what you wouldn’t call nausea and neither would you call it enlightenment, so you come to the brusque conclusion that you’re caught in the limbo between nirvana and a possible assassination. The gnawing ache in your head gradually subsides after a series of contractions, and you pray it’s your mithridatism playing its part.

Another man, shorter in comparison to his superior, stands, a smug, taut smirk, shooting daggers at both of you.  “Lady Furina — if you are one to play tricks like this, I’d strongly advise you to run a background check on your cast!”

Lady Furina casts a wandering eye to your side, but your sight is impaired by the gavel hammering in agonising successions against your temple. You find no effort in taking heed to an accusation you know full well is right, despite your own defensiveness. “I hired a private investigator to look into your background, Madame. And what I found was shocking.” Your eyes tiredly drag to his mannerisms, and you spot nothing but pure malice and foul play threatening to pull you under.

Neuvillette lets out a defensive groan. “Monsieur, you should know that unauthorised acts of following are prohibited and are inadmissible in court.”

“Oh I know the law. Which is why I’m going to ask your pretty wife,” he plasters a feigned amiable smirk your way, and you muster all of your pettiness to return the gesture (though you think your own leer is far more practised, lacking a quiver like his does). “Why is it that I have no trace of your surname Lavigne, and that there is absolutely no lineage traced back to it?

You lean forward, hands splayed on the white cloth of the long table to stabilise your teetering balance.“I — I don’t know what you're talking about. Surely, this is a mistake.”

“Except it isn’t. See — I’ve had someone check you. Why is it that the only person with such a surname is a woman with no inheritance to her name, a prostitute and a maid—” Everything around you spins like a toy around its axis, your only anchor being the sound that spills in defence: your own, rugged voice. “Enough. This information is clearly false and I implore you to stop this.”

Neuvillette’s eyes round in worry as he moves closer, inspecting every crinkle in the dip of your eye, to the strength at which you’re gripping the corner of the table. “Monsieur, without any feasible evidence, this is classified as slander.”

“Do not lawyer me. This is not the court, and this is clearly not the Opera Epiclese. So until then, you have no authority over me.” If you were sound in health, this ‘diplomat’ would be out the window, but you’re not, and for the first time in your life, Neuvillette is not tolerant of this gesture of contempt.

His jaw ticks, and he cranes his neck intimidatingly downward to see eye to eye (though, in a million universes, this would not ring true in any metaphorical sense) with him. “What did you just say to me? Do you really believe that these walls grant you immunity? We are here to deliberate, not to conduct an inquisition upon my wife—”

Neuvillette’s words fray into the backdrop, and you’re suddenly struck with a split-second decision. If someone possessed the audacity to poison you, it stands to reason that they are able to have accomplices in their arsenal both outside and within these walls. Should Monsieur Blanchard prove of no use, you could outwit an oblivious conspirator and feign a damsel in distress. You take no hesitance in second guessing this decision — and you tell yourself that if there is any time to critique your method of action, it would have to wait; this, at this point, seems to be your only recourse of procedure.

A hand comes to rest atop the apex of his knuckles.“It’s alright, mon coeur. If you’ll excuse me, I need to leave for the restroom.” “Wait —” You find generosity in you to flash him a reassuring wink. “Don’t worry.”

Time to put your act on.

Neuvillette watches as you stumble down the hall and slam the door shut (almost), clutching your stomach like a vice. He finds himself nearly ready to abandon the crucial proceeding at hand for a mere sight of you, a simple assurance that you were alright.

Neuvillette watches as you stumble down the hall, steps faltering before slamming the door shut (well – that’s what you think; the door didn’t come anywhere close to the latch). You clutch your stomach as though in a vice, face contorted in faux agony. This almost inclines him to wipe the smirk off Monsieur Blanchard’s face, because whatever you’re up to, the cards are in your favour.

He follows your figure through the slit of the door you couldn’t muster enough strength to close, his body tensing in dawning realisation: you weren’t headed to any washroom at all. It was a dead end, and only he knew it from his frequent visits for meetings. You, on the other hand, are unaware of the possible prospects headed your way.

“Not so impartial of you now, huh, Chief Justice? Now, tell me — can we expect you to manage court proceedings now that you’ve got someone to lose?” This stirs chuckles from a minority in the room, but the Chief Justice’s steeling gaze is enough to have them shrivelling up in their seats. 

It did not take no detective — let alone the most revered judge in the world — to realise this specific faction are cruel, unfeeling politicians spilling blood to claw to the very top. With no evidence, Neuvillette made it his priority to have them crumble, to prevent their abuse of power.

To prevent anything happening to you.

He turns a blind eye to his jab, already irritated at everything else spilled in bad faith. “Gentlemen. I believe our business here has been fulfilled. Please, see yourselves out.”

Corbin Blanchard makes his ridicule creep through the defeated scoff that brings his shoulders to stutter in the action.

Lady Furina lets out a sigh of relief, before being silenced by Neuvillettes cutting gaze and him being light on his feet. He paces out of the room, stalking down the hall before realising you’re nowhere to be found. This leads him to another, horrifying conclusion. You had made a turn into either one of the split junctions that branch into far more narrowing corridors.

Archons, how long ‘till the guy comes along? You’ve been making all sorts of turns to lure him further into a dead end, but you scold yourself for digging yourself a hole you are now unsure of whether you are able to get out clean. Did I make a left or a right turn? I took the right. No — it was the left — oh God. What have I just gotten myself into?

“Miss Moreau.”

Took him long enough. 

The voice doesn’t harbour the same cadence as Monsieur Blanchard’s — but the use of your… old surname brings more questions than answers. Your father was no pussy. So why, in all the world, would he send people for you?

Even if it is instinct to respond otherwise, you push yourself to continue walking. But in your current state, you hitch in your tracks for a second too long. The hallway, now dimly lit, stretches ominously before you, and the echo of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“What is it that you want?” you seethe, moving only the slightest inch of your head to catch a glimpse of the man behind you. Sweat beads on your forehead when you realise that there is not one distinguishable quirk to his features you can describe — the only notable thing being a smirk that curls wickedly at the edges, almost branded into his skin.

“Nothing. Except that I want us to be partners — because, well, frauds know frauds.” His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, advancing closer with each word — the echo of his footsteps reverberating off the walls. The poison in your blood runs cold as well as every sensible bone in your body ( you resist the urge to slump against a wall and succumb to it all). 

You swallow hard, pulse spiking. “You’re threatening me. Tell Monsieur Moreau if he wishes to contact me, he should do so in person and not through some measly informant.” Your voice is steady, but your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on the hem of your dress.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So be it, Madame. I’ll tell him exactly what you said.” His words hang in the air like a venomous promise.

A voice resounds from the other end of the foreboding expanse of the corridor — and this time, it’s warm, honey like — a lifeline amongst unforgiving shadows.

You pause, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, and glance back toward the source. A familiar face is what greets you, and you have never been so glad to see him, out of all the people in the world. 

“My apologies, but I don’t think you’re authorised to be allowed in this section of the building. Shall I escort you out?” A cruel, harsh smile rips the perpetual frown off the man’s face. “Oh, that shouldn't be a problem. Remember: clock’s ticking.”

As he turns to leave, you subconsciously mimic his action, balancing on the balls of your feet, a subtle strain settling into your muscles. A distressed wrinkle etches into the temples of your brows, a flickering look of satisfaction and fear for both the same reason, both emotions prompted by the same, uneasy conclusion: your father is coming after you, whether you like it or not. The thought of it has your blood running cold, leaving you teetering on the precipice of dread — and you find yourself uncertain whether the clarity of knowledge or the comfort of ignorance would prove the lesser burden. 

Your name spills from his lips like a prayer — except it’s lower, gravelly, if you will. “Mind telling me what that was about?”

“Well. Someone’s on my tail.” “I beg your pardon?” You almost lose your want in telling him because of the amount of times he’s said I beg your pardon? Over the period you’ve grown to know him. Or, rather, forced to know him.

‘It’s nothing, really.”

His face twists into a confusion of wanting to pry and worry of overstepping the boundary. Forgive me, but I do not believe it is merely nothing, he sighs, words ending in a whisper, his approach slow, but not enough so it would shake you to cave.

“I said it was nothing!” Your voice escapes you in despairing exclamations. Neuvillette lets another one of his emotions paint themselves, a clear canvas, on the fine lines of his face. 

As much as your body yearns for a soft, fluffy mattress, it shifts its priority to some sobby man that makes it his life’s mission to be by your side at all times! Well — maybe not all the time — you wouldn’t want him peering over the curtain of your shower, would you? (For some reason the idea doesn’t bring you much repulsion as it would to the you a few months ago).  “Sorry,” you mutter, and this time, despite your shattered conviction, you mean it.

Neuvillette doesn’t have it in him to regard the tug in his jugular, the rapid pounding of it beneath the strong expanse of bone. 

It strikes you as you open your mouth to explain yourself: he hadn’t even requested for one! And you’re out here, giving out unwarranted information to the man you never muttered words of unnecessary drabble. “If it is of any merit, I am a hundred percent certain I was just poisoned.”

His shoulders sag as if relieved, before blinking twice and taking a stunned step forward. “E─excuse me?” 

You pat him on the shoulder. “I was just poisoned. But don’t worry — I am fine.” The last of those words leave your lips shakily, an unstable promise laced with a nature that abandons its pillars once a sliver of wind catches in its marble grooves.

“How can this be? Surely you —” he takes in the playful glint in your eye, and stops mid syllable. “You’ve been taking preventive measures, haven’t you?”

“What do you think?” You are generous enough to give him a second of self reflection before bumping your elbow against his. “Let’s leave, this place is a bad omen personified.”

“I must escort you home.” Well. He does not seem to be taking your joke as intended. 

“Don’t you worry about that, I can take care of myself.”

“At least around your residence.” You shift your weight to your right foot before exhaling a defeated sigh. “...Fine.”

a/n: the next few chapters are the ones ive been DYING to write pls. also I tried to develop their relationship a little bit more here. I mean let's be real ─ we're twelve chapters in. there MUST be something to show for it 😭

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun, @11111112222222sblog @floffytofu

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Terms of an Agreement - Chapter 3

Summary: Silco and Vander are happy. For the most part. In order to keep their dream of Zaun moving forward, they each have jobs that makes the other uncomfortable. And discomfort for Silco comes out in anger. Luckily, Vander is there to remind him that he has nothing to worry about.

Pairing: Established Silco/Vander, pre-betrayal

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Summary: Silco reminds Vander to whom he belongs.

Word Count: 3.3k

Previous Chapter

CW: Somnaphilia, Dom/Sub vibes (bad etiquette), Possessive behavior, Mild blood play, Hand jobs, Anal finger, Anal sex

Notes: A request from my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable! I posted this story in the new year, but never finished it. I wanted to re-work it (and finish it) for pride month. So, here is the first chapter of what will be a three-chapter novella. Happy Pride!

The rest of the evening was quiet. Vander and Silco, dressed in only their undershorts, cuddled on the couch under a worn blanket. Silco recounted his mission and Vander listened, one hand gently running up and down his partner’s upper arm. He winced only a little when Silco told him about his daring escape from Enforcers.

They talked into the wee hours of the morning about ideas of how best to optimize the treasure that Silco had brought home. The suggestions ranged from pragmatic and realistic to outlandish and goofily delusional. Nothing was actually decided, both too tired and gooey from their shower activities.

Eventually, Silco’s head lolled heavily onto Vander’s thick shoulder, eyelids fluttering as sleep threatened to overtake him. The Hound chuckled, adjusted his arms around his partner, and stood up.

“I’m not a child,” Silco mumbled against Vander’s neck.

“Ya wanna walk t’bed?”

There was a pause. Silco tightened his hold around Vander, and whispered, “No.”

“Thought so.”

Once in their bedroom, Vander gently deposited Silco onto the mattress. The springs within squeaked lightly at his body weight, and then loudly groaned when Vander rounded the bed and took up his spot. He drew up the covers around them as Silco wiggled his backside against him, a silent instruction. His heart swelled, and he was quick to comply: nestling his front against Silco’s back and wrapping strong arms around him.

Silco sighed as if in relief and went limp in Vander’s hold.

“I’m glad yer back, Sil,” he murmured into the crown of sable hair.

Silco hummed, a sleepy smile curling his lips.

“I love you, Vander.”

“Love you, too, pet.”

Silco dreamed of Vander.

It had only ever been Vander for him. No one else had ever come close.

He dreamed of Vander’s big hands holding him; of the plushness of his lips; of the satisfying scratch of his stubble against Silco’s skin; the warmth and breadth of his muscled body . . .

Silco’s eyes cracked open. The room was still dark and the air was thick with quiet. The muffled ruckus of the tavern above had gone silent, suggesting that Benzo had closed up for the night and gone home.

Slowly, he extricated himself from Vander’s arms. The Hound grunted sleepily and promptly rolled over to his other side, the movement seemingly threatening to collapse the whole bed. Snickering, Silco slipped out from the covers. He gently palmed at his half-hard dick as he shuffled to the bathroom.

He did not turn on the lights. He knew the space well enough, and his eyes were quick to adjust to the dark; something he attributed to his years of laboring in mine shafts. Bracing a hand against the wall above the toilet, Silco hinged slightly at his hips and relaxed his bladder.

As he relieved himself, his eyes slid over to the tub. A satisfied smile curling his lips as his mind replayed the scenes from earlier in the night.

Vander’s lips on his. Vander’s mouth around his dick. His fingers up his ass. Vander’s thick monster of a cock taking him from behind . . .

Silco bit back a groan as the last drops of urine struggled to release as he grew rigid. His head sagged and breaths came in sharp pulls as arousal pooled hot and low behind his navel. He ran a loose hand up and down his length, sussing out the situation. His body lurched in response, head snapping up as his back bowed; sweet, sweet licks of pleasure shooting up his spine. A gasp burst from him, surprised and overwhelmed by how keyed up he was.

He could handle himself right here, right now. Or . . .

Or.

A smile, sharp with sin, hooked Silco’s mouth. Or he could return the favor. Remind Vander to whom he belonged. Just as Vander had showed him how much he adored Silco earlier.

He stood, tucking his erection against his belly with the waistband of his undershorts, and pulled the toilet chain. Silently, he padded back to their bedroom.

Vander’s back was still to him when he returned, his massive flank rising and falling in a slow, steady beat. Silco sneaked back up onto the bed, careful to keep the mattress from dipping or moaning too much. He slid up to Vander and peered over his shoulder. His partner’s face was slack with peaceful sleep. He was beautiful. Silco eyed the soft lines beginning to splinter at the corners of his eyes and those that bracketed his mouth. Signs of Vander’s kind and jovial disposition etching their way slowly into his face.

It suited him, Silco thought. He knew he was developing his own deep crease between his eyebrows. More a mark of his ire than friendliness.

Silco’s fingers gently raked through Vander’s hair. The Hound twitched slightly, a grumble at the back of his throat. Silco smirked, and he leaned forward, barely pressing his lips over Vander’s temple and hairline. The rest of his body slid snuggly against his partner’s backside. He bit back a groan when his groin pressed against Vander’s ample ass. His lips ghosted along the shell of Vander’s ear, mouth parting so that his teeth grazed it. Silco gently rocked his hips at the same time, and another sleepy sound came from the other man. This one more of a heady whine. It sent a zip of pleasure and power up his spine.

One of Silco’s hands threaded underneath Vander’s large bicep and began petting sweetly at his chest and stomach. Fingers spanned the width of one, large pectoral; his thumb purposefully dragging across his nipple before skating down the ripples of his muscular abdomen. His fingers traced the scraggly line of hair that started under Vander’s navel and disappeared under his shorts. While his hands and fingers explored, teased, he nestled the blade of his nose behind Vander’s ear and breathed him in.

Beer yeast, sweat, and smoke.

The scent of home.

His home.

His.

Silco’s hips pressed against Vander’s backside again, his bound erection wedging between the split of his cheeks. A low sigh escaped his mouth, ruffling Vander’s hair like a soft breeze. A sleepy grumble crackled in the Hound’s throat, his massive body shifting.

Silco grinned and dared to slip his fingers underneath the waistband of the flimsy shorts. He pet along his hip crease, feeling Vander’s muscles twitch and flex excitedly. Another sleep-heavy groan rumbled from Vander, and Silco’s heart and navel lifted when his hips pressed forward. Hands becoming greedy with desire, slipped lower and cradled Vander’s heavy, sensitive testicles.

Finally, the Hound jolted and choked on a needy moan. Silco massaged the pliable sac, testes sliding and lifting in his hand.

“Sil,” Vander sighed, equal parts sleepy and intrigued.

Silco lowered his mouth to Vander’s neck and bit.

Beneath him, the Hound spasmed, back bowing and hips pressing into his hold. Silco’s hand traveled up and held onto the root of Vander’s half-hard member. His teeth dug deeper as he swept up his partner’s length.

Vander started again, gasping. The surprised sound slid into a relieved sigh as Silco pumped him again and again.

“Didn’ get enough before?”

Silco licked the deep bite mark on his neck. He pumped again, pressing his thumb pad firmly against Vander’s slit. The large man made a surprisingly delicate and trembling sound, and Silco ground his hips against his backside again.

“I was just thinking,” Silco hummed, voice like silk, “I enjoyed your reminder so much that I’d give you one as well.”

His hand slid back down to Vander’s root and pumped back up in a vicious tight, twisting motion. A small, cracked cry bleated from him. Silco did it again, Vander gasping and moving his hips with the motion.

Vander’s breathing became shallow and labored, his mind equal parts confused, aroused, and focused on the hand pleasuring him. He barely noticed the sensation of his shorts being guided down to his knees. At the end of the next stroke, Silco’s hand tightened around his glans and gave a few short, vigorous pumps. Vander cried out, cursing.

“You are the one usually in charge during your . . . dalliances, aren’t you?”

An affirmative-tinged howl came from the Hound.

“How exhausting,” Silco cooed. He bit Vander’s thick trapezius muscle, the skin breaking slightly. Vander spasmed. A ‘please’ hidden between his labored breathing. Silco’s free hand caressed up one of Vander’s muscular glutes. “To be in charge of a business, a revolution, and then in the bedroom. Poor puppy.”

An intoxicated groan escaped Vander’s mouth at the pet name, at the tight fist pumping him.

Then there was a finger grazing between his glutes. It pressed lightly against the tight ring of his anus.

“Oh, Gods – “

“Shhh shhh,” Silco hushed into his ear. “It’s okay. I’m in charge now, yes?”

The tip of Silco’s finger traced the rim of Vander before gently pressing in. The Hound drew in a great breath and nodded his head.

“You’re mine, yes?”

Another knuckle. Another nod. Silco’s hand began to slow its rhythm around Vander’s cock, earning a small whine.

“I am the only one who gets you like this. I hold the Hound of the Underground’s leash.”

Vander whimpered and nodded.

“Speak, puppy.”

Unceremoniously, Silco drove the rest of his finger in, and Vander yelped.

“Yes!”

“You like when I take you like this? When I remind you to whom you belong?”

His finger undulated, drew in and out. Vander couldn’t seem to decide if he should press back into the digit or into the hand still working him.

“Yes!” He gulped a breath and hastily added, “’M yours, Sil.”

Silco’s cock pulsed at his words. He could feel that the waistband of his shorts was becoming damp with how much he was leaking.

His.

He added a second finger and Vander cried out. He was hopelessly flummoxed and insanely turned on. One moment he’d been sleeping; now Silco was fingering him and whispering filthy things into the dark of their bedroom.

And Silco was right. Vander did relish these moments when his partner would take charge, would dominate him.

Everywhere else, people deferred to Vander. His size, fighting prowess, and leadership skills caused everyone to readily drop their responsibilities. Assumed that he could and would handle any situation, bedroom or no. And they weren’t wrong. Vander was capable and adaptable.

Only Silco had ever dared challenge him. A true peer in the sheets and in the streets. His stature did little to dissuade Silco from manhandling him, as if the smaller man was furiously desperate to wield and show his own power. And, to Vander, it was the hottest thing ever. He melted under Silco’s attentions and demands, relieved to be the one who was being taken care of.

Suddenly, both of Silco’s hands were gone. Before Vander could question or protest, a sharp command came.

“Take your shorts off. Roll over.”

Vander hopped-to and quickly stripped his undershorts the rest of the way down. His hands were shaking in excitement, heart pounding in his chest like a drum. Behind him, he heard the rattle of Silco’s nightstand drawer opening and closing. His teeth chattered in anticipation. He rolled onto his back, rigid dick slapping against his belly with the movement.

Silco loomed back in through the dark, coming to kneel between Vander’s spread legs. He’d removed his undershorts as well – long, curved cock bobbing proudly forward. Vander’s mouth watered at the sight. In his right hand, Silco held a small, glass bottle of oil.

“Eyes on me.”

Vander’s gaze dutifully snapped up to Silco. His eyes were impossibly bright in the dark. Hungry and dangerous. Vander’s skin prickled; precum dripped onto his belly.

“Tilt your hips up, puppy.”

Vander obeyed, presenting himself. His silver eyes wide and pleading.

Silco held his gaze as he doused his left hand in oil, and then tugged at himself a few times. The bottle was tossed in to the dark, and those beautiful, elegant, slick fingers descended upon Vander’s puckering hole. The same two fingers reentered him, and he moaned in relief. His head fell back, only to snap back up when Silco pinched his ass with his other hand.

“Eyes on me.”

Vander swallowed and nodded, muttering an apology.

While some people felt more powerful binding their partners, covering their faces, or taking them from behind, it wasn’t so for Silco. He experienced that swell of power when Vander went submissive merely under his words. When he could watch the erotic agony he was providing twist and contort that beautiful face.

A third finger joined, and Vander whimpered. His fingers began a treacherous pattern against Vander’s prostate: slide, press, circle, slide, repeat. Vander’s hips bucked and his cock twitched. Heat flushed his face, its muscles pulling and pinching as if short-circuiting under pleasure.

Silco withdrew his fingers, and Vander felt horrifically empty.

“P-please – “

“Hush now, Love. Legs up.”

Silco had already been lifting Vander’s sweat-sheened limbs, but at his command, Vander hurriedly hauled them up onto his partner’s sinewy shoulders.

When the head of Silco’s cock pushed against him, the Hound bit back an excited cry. Like an asp, Silco’s right hand shot out and gripped his jaw.

“Eyes on me and no holding back. I want to see and hear everything. Do we understand each other?”

Vander nodded between the pinch of Silco’s fingers, and the hand fell away. Again, his attention went to splitting the man beneath him. Vander openly moaned as more and more of Silco’s length was pulled into his body.

Silco kept his breath even and face schooled, but inside he was on fire. Flames of pleasure licked their way up his spine, his balls lifted in utter delight. He didn’t know what was better: the feeling of Vander’s body around him or the sight of the Hound a begging, wet mess beneath him.

Only him.

Hands wrapping around Vander’s thighs, Silco drew back, until only the tip of him was inside, and slammed back home. Vander cried out; his massive body jostling with the force. Silco repeated the motion again. And again.

It was a sight. The mountainous barkeep being dominated by a man less than half his size. Vander’s toes clenched and flexed, his hands twisted in the bed sheets, his abdomen flexed, his chest heaved. The pressure on his prostate was incredible. Overwhelming. Rattling him loose from the inside out. Silco’s cock a beautifully punishing instrument. Above him, his partner grunted into each thrust, teeth bared; little flicks of spittle landing on Vander’s chest.

He was teetering on the edge of release, not quite able to tumble. Tears pricked his eyes. Both in the effort of keeping them on Silco, and in over-stimulated frustration.

“S-Si-Sil. I – I need – “

In a flash, Silco’s hand was clamped around Vander’s impossibly rigid cock. The Hound cried out, a sound that began relieved, and then fell into shock when his fist tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough that the pressure of Vander’s impending orgasm sky-rocketed. He wailed.

“I got you,” Silco grit through feral thrusts and the lewd sounds of skin slapping. “No one else knows what you need, do they? I’m going. To. Make. You. Feel. So. Good.”

Each word was punctuated by a sharp thrust that left Vander panting. Squirming. Frantic.

Silco was right. No one else could make him feel like this: like a lover meant to be wrung completely dry.

His teeth began to chatter, a chant of ‘yes’ behind them. His thick thighs quaked around Silco’s head.

“Si – I’m gonna – “

Silco’s fist went down to his thumb and forefinger, creating a tight loop around the base of Vander’s erection.

“Cum, puppy.”

Vander couldn’t stop the way his head snapped back as he came. A howl tore from his mouth as intense, full-body pleasure wracked him and wrung him. All the while, Silco kept his demanding pace, milking his partner’s p-spot and the pleasure it offered completely dry.

The moment Silco felt Vander’s body begin to slacken, the hold he had on his shaft loosened and he pumped him once, twice –

Vander’s body erupted in a second, powerful orgasm. His cock pulsed mightily, a streak of ejaculate firing up like a missile. More thick jets landed on his belly and chest. The wail that had been on his tongue earlier morphed in a crackling shriek so profound that the edges of it lifted into silence.

Silco’s own pace slowed as he watched enrapt and enthralled by how completely the man beneath him fell apart. As Vander’s second orgasm ebbed and he began to melt, Silco pulled out of him and vigorously worked himself into his own climax. He buckled at his waist, ropes of cum bursting from him and landing on Vander. Their releases mixed together, swirling into small, gleaming pools. Vander didn’t seem to notice, or care. His lungs swung violently and his legs fell from Silco’s shoulders in boneless puddles.

Silco’s own orgasm, while good, did not ruin him so entirely. Which was the point. He smirked wickedly down at the spent man, utterly proud and vindicated.

He swooped down, licked up some of their combined semen, and then slid up Vander’s massive body. He pressed his lips against Vander’s slack mouth. The Hound slowly, sloppily kissed him back, gratefully accepting the tart cocktail from Silco’s tongue.

“You’re alright?” Silco asked, pulling back. A hand pet down Vander’s chiseled jaw.

He attempted words, and they failed him. He nodded dumbly, serenely. Silco smirked again, kissed him, and carefully rolled over to his nightstand. He turned back, a rag in hand and cleaned Vander off with a gentleness that belied his previous dominant behavior. As he did so, Vander’s eyes followed his movements. They watched the serious and beloved expression on Silco’s face as he wiped down his stomach, dick, and legs; as he took the time to check and clean his rectum. The thought, intimacy, and protectiveness of it squeezed Vander’s heart.

Silco tossed the used rag in the direction of their hamper, and he nestled back into his spot on the bed. He lifted an arm and Vander, at once, rested his head on his shoulder. Silco’s strong, slender arm wrapped around his broad, built muscles protectively.

Vander nuzzled against Silco’s chest; Silco rested his cheek against Vander’s crown.

Comfortable, deep silence filled the room.

“Sil?”

“Hmm?”

“’M yours.”

Silco’s arms wound tighter.

“You are mine.”

Notes: Aaaaaaand scene 🤌Thank you so much for reading this little, smut-filled diddy! Please reblog and let me know what you think by leaving a comment! Comments are us authors' life blood ❤️

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