All this hunger tastes like love —

— oh my mother, oh my father what have I become? mutuals-only multi-fandom multimuse; as told by mythe

[paramythas]

-> PHILOMUTHOS

[paramythas]

-> PHILOMUTHOS

[ouroborius]

A hearty 'hmm' eludes from the dragoon while his appetite had taken the lead. As hungry as he may be for both the stew itself and the feeding of one's ego, Estinien had simply allowed for his pride to nourish on what was indeed fact for him. The warrior of light spoke with meaning to him, and even in regards to something like comparing one's strength to another, there was still a realistic staple to it.

Pride in his power, proud in his own right for however more he would turn his lance against a formidable foe. Be it creature or a worthy fighter, the rare chances of his own hubris being knocked down was slim to none. Cockiness, of course, led to underestimating a foe's true potential. He had seen this times a plenty, especially when witnessing Chant and the way they carried themselves in battle.

Letting his mind flow in the midst of his company with the warrior of light, Estinien simply indulges himself with the stew once more. His gaze leisurely gliding back towards Chant, nothing too particular than to find their comfortable experience enjoyable. Nothing of importance to bother them, just solace around the warmth of the campfire in solitude from the bustling inquiries of quest-seekers and what have you.

"Hmm…?"

The silent is deafening between them when the answer had left Chant's lips, the dragoon's steady attention finding the miraculous glint following the claim with just enough to beckon him. Almost as if the answer in of itself had rightfully launched itself right in between the crackling of the fire and the gentle brushing of trees to claim the noise. Brows arching upward, surprised and amused, Estinien had tilted his head and thought for a moment.

Then- he suddenly felt his lips loosen. Chuckling! He's chuckling while gripping the bowl to prevent it from its spillage (refusing to let a single wonder drop from it)! He wasn't certain what to expect from the warrior of light- and frankly, it's why he always seemed so surprised by them like this. Although quieting down now, Estinien opts to take the confident approach. Leaning forward ever so slightly, minding the bowl in his palm, he simply feels his lips twitch into a small grin while acknowledging the intensity in the other's eyes.

The dragoon is rather enjoying this too much, isn't he?

"Your choice of words never ceases to leave me baffled, warrior of light. The beast that has stopped hunting for itself, with or without reason, becomes its own form of mercy. If you think about it... a declawed and de-fanged beast indeed would have nothing else to desire... except perhaps to allow itself to be tamed by death's hands."

A thoughtful hum, he takes another slow intake of his stew. Thoughtful.

"Perhaps others would pity a fate such as that. Since would it be even crueler to live with its fate accepted by another's hands... or to place it out of its destiny chosen for it.?"

It's his turn to curl his fingers into a gentle fist and lean his chin upon them. A foot crossing over his knee, leisurely tapping lightly while letting his musings hover in the air and over their heads. Joining the campfire smoke.

[paramythas]

Well. This is a turn indeed.

Chant hadn't meant to be funny- they seldom do, really- but they find themselves amused at Estinien's amusement. Ears twitching faintly at the seldom-heard sound, they wait patiently for the laughter to subside, and for Estinien to explain. His own grip on his bowl is loose- but only because his hand spans so much of it that there's no need to hold too tightly.

Its warmth is grounding.

For a moment, they think about death. About all the times its been at their heels, at their throat- the days in the dredges of Dalmasca, under Garlemald's thumb. Their head tilts a little further, their eyes shut, and then open slowly, a hum in the back of their throat. Shoulders rolling loose and languid in an idle mimicry of a shrug, the corner of their mouth lifts. Every motion is practiced to the point of perfection, affecting casualty with precision.

"Once one loses the will to fight, what point is there to running? Not wanting to fight, even for one's own survival, means all they're doing is waiting to die." His smile widens a touch, and the gold dusting their skin glints all the brighter in the flickering of the fire, the blinding white of the sun. "Whether they be scaled or furred, clawed or armed- man or beast."

Turning his wrists slightly, the soup in their bowl laps in careful circles, close to the rim of the bowl. Lifting it to their mouth, they spoon up a mouthful, taking a long, weighted moment to think about how to continue their reply.

"As a dragoon... and as an Ishgardian, I am sure you understand, yes?"

[paramythas]

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme

@literanis asked: ❰❰ FOOD ❱❱ sender feeds the receiver — from eula to illuga! (outdoor rationing, she has some to spare for him; she knows the mondstadt wilderness best)

"You really don't have to..." Sharp eyes- gold on violet, and pretty for all their intensity- land on him and Illuga's protest falters immediately. He knows that look. Not only has he earned that look plenty in his childhood, but he's given it as well. It's the look of someone who knows what they're doing, and dislikes the insistence of someone acting otherwise. Snapping his mouth shut, he looks back down at the bowl in his hands and sighs softly, shaking his head.

For all that her manner is brusque and her tone frosty- miss Eula is as kind as he'd expected from a Knight of her apparent caliber. Having realized he was not only a touch lost (more so than he'd dare admit, and embarrassed besides) but also low on supplies, she'd immediately begun chastising him. All the while, she'd been leading him ttoward her camp, seemingly not only prepared to but insisting on sharing some of her food with him.

His hesitation with regards to her own rations had been met with a scoff, nose turned up in a way that was (in his opinion) quite endearing.

"As if I wouldn't be able to hunt for food in my own kingdom! Foolish! You'll have to be taught a lesson for that!"

He'd thought he'd offended her enough that she'd rescind her offer, but no. Instead, miss Eula had simply made it a point to demand his map and, after pointing out their current location, marking places with things he could gather on his way.

Ears burning, he'd thanked her profusely- but found himself wondering how often she found herself scavenging. Really, her quartermaster ought to be providing more than enough for her expeditions, so...

Illuga caught himself before he felt the need to actually ask. To imply that the person in charge of her supplies might be incompetent would definitely be a step too far.

Still, he does wonder.

"...thank you," he finally says, and lifts his spoon to take a bite. He pauses, blinks down at his bowl, and then looks up at her, expression astonished. "You made this with standard rations?" If the disbelief in his voice is obvious, he can't pretend to want to take it back. Making something that tastes like this with only what she's been given from a knight's rations... "Do you- would it be too rude to ask for the recipe? Or... if you have any tips-?" He leans forward over his bowl, eyes wide.

"I'll take anything really, if it means I can make my meals when I camp out even half this good-!"

[paramythas]

INBOX CALL

@svpernovae asked: "Now is this how one thanks someone who just rescued them from death?" Lohen holds between his gloved hand the tip of the spear from the other's polearm. It's sting would have made anyone wince, but he's still reveling in the adrenaline from fighting off the wild hunt. He gazes at Illuga, a smile upon his face. "A thank you would suffice. Though, I won't deny, I do appreciate this more." And with that he pulls his own spear, clashing against the other's with a loud clank as he tries to throw Illuga off his stance.

His uniform is familiar- that much Illuga catches. A knight- though not one he's come across before. Small, quick, savage. It would be impressive, if the rest of the impression he gives weren't so off-putting. But a hand against the Wild Hunt is a hand against the Wild Hunt, and Illuga isn't going to turn one down —

— though as that hand becomes a metaphorical knife at his throat, he reconsiders the estimation.

"I would be thanking you for your help, if I hadn't already realized your intent to keep fighting." It would have been more difficult, Illuga thinks, not to notice the bloodlust aimed at anything and everything in sight. Himself included. He's not the kind to take that kind of thing personally, usually- sometimes, it's easy to get lost in a fight, and on more than one occasion, he's been known to be a bit... jumpy too soon after a fight. Most of his subordinates know better than to approach him too soon after a battle. He has no doubt this knight should know better too, given his apparent experience.

What a pity he doesn't seem to have the sense to back up his skill in battle.

Illuga's response, when his spear is met with another, is not to disengage, as might be wise. It's to take a cheap shot. Aedon's light flickers bright as it cuts through the gloom between them- a flash meant to blind. Illuga ducks his head as it passes, waiting for the chance- and when the knight's eyes go hazy from the brilliance of his companion, one of his hands leaves his spear. It compromises his stance, forcing him to one side- but that lets him disengage, bringing his spear down as his hand goes up, catching a handful of mossy hair and dragging.

Shoving the haft of his spear between the knight's legs, he uses that and the grip in his hair to throw him off balance instead.

Taking proper hold of his spear as they both hit the ground, he plants the heel of one foot on his shoulder. The other presses a knee into his stomach, driving the oxygen from his lungs. Holding the tip of his spear against his neck, Illuga gives a warning press, eking out a line of scarlet, eyes narrowing. Aedon hovers behind his head, glow dimming slightly, visible only faintly behind Illuga's head, shadowing his face, making the bright ring at the center of his eyes all the brighter in the dark of it.

"Now, how about we try this again? Thank you for your help, Knight of Favonious. As commander of the Nightmare Orioles, you have my gratitude for assisting in clearing this outbreak of the Wild Hunt. Though next time, if you're planning to attack a Lightkeeper... please understand that it will have considerable negative repercussions for the working relationship between our organizations." Illuga's spear is pressed down a little harder, dragging along Lohen's skin a little more meaningfully. He smiles, and it's as pointed as the tip of his spear. "I'll make sure of it."

[onigiram]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 for the 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐎𝐍𝐄 for the 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐎𝐍𝐄 for the 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄. ...and 𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐄 for the sheep because no one thought to ask.

𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹 from 𝑾𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑺 // as characterized by Guwapo (18+).

[paramythas]

Suryaveer Sylvester — Mythag's newest Keeper

[romulanspy]

*actually cares very deeply but acts like an asshole*

[paramythas]

UNPROMPTED

@guhamun asked: It was easy enough to notice the scent of another wolf no matter what shape or form they were in. This one was different, yet that didn’t change the excitement he felt. However, since they were different from him, would it be rude to call to attention what he discovered? Some wanted that to be kept behind closed doors rather than spoken for all the world to hear. Thus, rather than outright calling to attention his present company, Raedric found another way to capture their attention. “The moon is quite bright tonight, don’t you agree? Its nights like this one that make me wish I could sit upon a rooftop and properly enjoy the sight.” ( for sylvie )

Though perhaps misinterpreted by those lacking understanding, it is the nature of wolves to seek those like themselves. Though they may not always like what they find, they go looking nonetheless. Or sometimes, if they're lucky, it comes looking for them. Whether she's lucky or not, Sylvie has yet to decide. What she does know is that the man speaking has the scent of a wolf... and the size of a bear.

...alright, a touch hyperbolic, perhaps, however- the point stands. He's big. Bigger than any normal human would be, and built well enough besides that he doesn't seem to be suffering from the usual structural caveats that tend to come with being someone of such size.

It's impressive.

Almost as much as it is a touch concerning.

Not in the sense of making him frightening, but in the sense that she is- for all intents and purposes- worried about how someone of his stature maintains himself. It would be a rude thing to ask, really, when they've only just met though- and even if she usually doesn't care- there's a level of caution being shown here. He's not giving himself away, after all- and thus by association, he's not giving her away either. It's only polite then, isn't it, to return the favor?

"Why not find one, then?"

Light, almost coy, wild curls shifting like sun glinting across a wave as her head turns to look up at him. One brow wings upward, almost challenging, and the double tap of her heels brings her pets loping to her side, their large frames rubbing against her legs as they eye the man beside her warily. She reaches down- not terribly far- and rubs behind one of Hati's ears idly.

"Shall I help? I've been told I've got quite the eye for a good vista." And if nothing else, a rooftop is as good a place as any to talk about all the things they seem to have in common.

[paramythas]

UNPROMPTED

@guhamun asked: “I was surprised to see you so involved in what was going on in Rinascita, though I guess I shouldn’t have been.” After all, Galbrena was a Discord Slayer, and what better place to do her job than one that was on the cusp of being devoured by a Threnodian? Arms crossed over his chest, Calcharo peering off into the distance for a moment before his gaze turned back to her. “So, tell me, did you enjoy fighting side by side with others?” He knew that she did occasionally when necessary, but this fight was surely different from anything else that she had ever countered. A bunch of skilled fighters all banding together to fight against a common enemy… That was a rarity for her, he knew. Despite Calcharo also often fighting alone, that feeling of comraderie was one that he felt was important. Sometimes, it was just better to have others with you. He could admit this much.

It's an unexpected question, especially from Calcharro, of all people. Though, really- perhaps not nearly so surprising as one might assume.

He is, after all (and quite unlike Galbrena herself) a pack animal.

Certainly, he is reticent and distant. Prone to saying less than people expect and even less than he likely should. However, Galbrena has seen enough of him and the way he treats the Ghost Hounds to know- he doesn't need to say anything for the right people to understand. It's also how she knows that there's no point in lying. While Galbrena relishes the hunt like any Septimontian would, there was far less thrill and far more duty in this hunt than any other. Which is not to say it wasn't enjoyable, in its own way, but only that Galbrena had seen it as more of something to complete than something to enjoy. Even if she should have, perhaps, been expected to find balance in both.

"It was an... interesting experience." What else can she really say? It isn't every day, that one fights a Threnodian. Much less hand in hand, so to speak, with so many of both Ragunna and Septimont's finest. Certainly not at the side of someone so infamous as Rover.

Closing her eyes, Galbrena leans against the wall behing her, arms crossing lightly. There is certainly more she could say. Things she is perhaps expected to speak about at length, about the thrill of it all. How the battle might have sated the bloodlust that most expect her to have.

By now however, she's sure Calcharro knows better than that.

Fighting the Threnodian had not been for the thrill. It had not been for Rover, nor for Ragunna, nor even for Septimont.

It had been for those Gladiators who helped her drag herself through the ichor of the Dark Tide, whose words (and whom her promise to) had helped push forward to salvation. Those who were the reason that Galbrena existed, even if Angel did not.

"What about you? Did you enjoy being here even without the rest of your people? It's rare to see you cut quite so loose without them." A calculated look, the tilt of her mouth just shy of a smirk. "Though I suppose I can understand. Rover does have that effect on people."

[paramythas]

UNPROMPTED

@guhamun asked: It had been so long since Khasar had been thoroughly spoiled by a certain Vidyadhara. So, so, long that he sulked about, lifting his head occasionally with ears perked high as if expected them to appear, only to be disappointed. Letting out a faint huff, he lowered his head once more, watching as others casually passed by, some curious enough to stop and ask Jianyu about that large dog, but otherwise, that was it. Taking a sip of his tea, Jianyu, glanced down at the overdramatic beast, letting out a small sigh of his own. “You can’t expect us to see Xingyun each time we come over here. He might not even be on the ship for all we know.” He could have been on another vessel, he could have been just – not on the Xianzhou at all. “Besides, I give you more than enough attention.” What a baby.

Jianyu is, of course, right- Xīngyún only returns to the ship when he needs to handle something or when his home needs tending to. It's not so seldom as some might think, but it's certainly less often than one might expect from someone so clearly and flagrantly sentimental. It's not for lack of wanting to see the few people he considers himself on good terms with either. But time passes, for a vidyadhara, and it is not always so easy to recall how long it's been, since he last spent time with a specific mortal.

Sometimes though- sometimes he remembers.

Not because he's particularly conscientious (he tries to be, but he's always just a touch too selfish) but because he recognizes that though time is slow for him, it's far less so for others. Especially non-humanoid friends. And while some of the animals in the Alliance have lifespans far greater than the average, Khasar (for example) is not an Alliance species. And Xīngyún is quite fond of him indeed.

"Maybe I'm just better at it than you are...?"

Lilting voice sounding from overhead, Xīngyún perches on the eaves of the building, beaming down at Jianyu with a little tilt of his head. His smile is as faint and enigmatic as ever, blue eyes bright with mirth. He looks from the mercenary to his companion, and drifts down from his perch like an errant leaf on the breeze. Touching down lightly, he immediately moves to drop beside Khasar, tugging his large head into his lap in order to rub at his ears fondly.

"What do you think, Khasar?"

He lifts the hound's head to ruffle the fur beneath his jaw, leaning in and nuzzling against him. He's as theatrical and overdramatic with his affection as he is anything else, really. "Am I better at giving you attention than dear Jianjian?"

Looking up then, he locks eyes with Jianyu, his smile soft and lax, one hand extended toward him in a languid 'come hither' motion.

"Do you think he's jealous? Is that why he's so grumpy? Come on then, Jianjian- I can give you attention too, if you want~!"

[eckspress]

Any kinks?

eternal devotion.

[paramythas]

each of the other stellaron hunters represents an aspect of Blade btw. if you even care —

[paramythas]

and now... OC inbox call- bop the heart and choose a victim and I'll deliver one (or more, your choice) of my children into ur inbox.

[tylerspangler]

Artwork Copyright © Tyler Spangler

Shop: shoptylerspangler.com

[thuganomxcs]

“Shit..when ya said fat chance of me gettin’ in earlier I swore the place was packed..but like I said I wouldn’t have been surprised.” He turned to look at the man once more..he knows that the guy had a look of authority and probably someone with a past. Would’ve been easier if he could see the other’s eyes..but here goes. 

“Was with the wrong crowd once upon a time in my life.” He was..a little younger than he is even now. And a little more blond when he rolled with the Seiryu clan. “If ya were a gangster or something then you’d definitely saw me some time or another..we’ll say three years ago??”

[paramythas]

"Nah, meant more 'fat chance of getting served fast'," Zhào clarifies another low laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. He doesn't elaborate, and settles against the wall of the entryway, smoke billowing from his lips in slow coils, like clouds shaping themselves beneath the roof of the space overhead. It's interesting how nondescript he is to most people outside of the Liúmáng- like he's just another slightly eccentric member of Yokohama's oft-questionable society.

Interesting, and the way he prefers it for the most part.

"...three years ago, huh?" Not long before Ichi came around and shook things up then. Zhao huffs a breath and shrugs, gesturing the thought away with a loose wave of his hand.

"Well, guess so long as you're not gonna make any trouble, and the old man didn't give anyone reason to keep eyes on you, then no skin off my nose."

At last, the cigarette burns down to the filter, and he pushes away from the wall, opening the door and tilting his head at Yusuke to follow him.

"Go ahead, sit at the bar. I'll see ya in a sec."

[aequitaes]

𝑾𝐄𝐋𝐋.  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐀  𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃  𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.  Aventurine  let  out  a  quiet  laugh,  though  it  lacked  much  of  its  usual  polish.  Normally,  there  would've  been  something  sharper  behind  it.  Something  playful.  A  distraction.  Tonight  it  sounded  tired.

❝  No,  no...  you  don't  need  to.  ❞  The  emphasis  landed  in  entirely  the  wrong  place.  A  moment  passed.  ❝  Honestly,  that  sounds  expensive.  Calling  my  bodyguard  out  at  this  hour?  I'd  hate  to  see  the  invoice.  ❞

There  it  was.  The  joke.  The  deflection.  The  familiar  sleight  of  hand  he  always  reached  for  whenever  a  conversation  drifted  too  close  to  something  real.

He  rolled  onto  his  back,  staring  blankly  at  the  ceiling  above  him.  It  was  silent.  Too  silent.  The  sort  of  silence  that  left  room  for  thoughts  better  left  undisturbed.   ❝   I  just...   (   The  words  caught  unexpectedly.  How  embarrassing.   )    Couldn't  sleep.  ❞ 

His  fingers  tapped  idly  against  the  edge  of  the  blanket.   ❝   Thought  maybe  hearing  a  familiar  voice  would  help  with  that.  Something  predictable.  Something  dull  enough  to  bore  me  unconscious.   ❞    A  faint  smirk  tugged  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  despite  himself.

❝   Congratulations,  by  the  way.  Out  of  everyone  in  the  galaxy,  you  were  my  first  choice.  Try  not  to  let  it  go  to  your  head.  ❞   The  tease  came  easier  than  the  truth.  The  truth  was  far  less  comfortable.  Another  brief  silence  settled  between  them  before  he  exhaled  slowly  through  his  nose.

❝  It's  ridiculous,  isn't  it?   ❞   His  voice  lowered.  ❝   I  spend  half  my  life  surrounded  by  people,  and  somehow  three  in  the  morning  is  still  the  loneliest  part  of  the  day.   ❞   The  admission  slipped  out  before  he  could  stop  it.

Aventurine  immediately  regretted  it.  ❝   Forget  I  said  that.   ❞    A  pause.   ❝  Actually,  forget  this  entire  conversation.  I'm  trying  very  hard  to  maintain  a  reputation  here,  Everett.   ❞  

[paramythas]

Something about that phrasing- that he doesn't 'need' to- strikes Everett as odd.

A moment later, he realizes why it is.

It isn't that Aventurine doesn't want someone there, but rather that asking for someone to be there is something he can't (or won't) allow himself to admit. That it's followed with immediate deflection- an excuse about the cost, as though Aventurine has ever needed to worry about the price of something during his tenure- only makes it more obvious. He has to wonder if it's the late night, or whatever had prompted him to calm or both in some manner of perfect storm of frustration that have the Stoneheart slipping up so blatantly.

(Blatant to him, at least.)

"My services are a flat rate with the exception of extenuating circumstance," Everett points out flatly- which this could technically count this as, but that decision is (in the end) up to him. "And it's hardly as though you're strapped for credits."

No, credits isn't what Aventurine is lacking. It's connection- anyone but his bodyguard that he feels he can actually rely on in the dead of night. Even though he'd sooner die, from the sounds of it, than even dare to think to admit it. So he scoffs- a soft, barely-there sound, under his breath- and replies quietly:

"Would you like a lullaby then? It's not usually part of my services, but I'm sure charging you extra for it is a drop in the bucket for you." He says it quiet, deadpan- as if the uncertainty in Aventurine's voice is nonexistent. As if the vulnerability is something he hasn't even parsed.

(What good would it do either of them, he thinks, to acknowledge it?)

It's difficult though. To pretend the exposure of Aventurine's soft, vulnerable parts don't compel his protective instincts. To act as though he's not tempted- the memory of pale hair and blue eyes stark in his memory- to try and play the role of 'protector'. Of savior.

That's not what Ophelia had needed though- and it's decidedly not what Aventurine needs. He thinks the thought alone would send the blond spiraling in sheer disgust.

"For what it's worth," he finally murmurs, pretending to yawn, "I tend not to remember things said to me when I'm half-awake." A lie, as blatant a one as he has the nerve to tell, that he thinks Aventurine will allow himself to pretend to believe. "So whatever you may be feeling now... even if you told me every bit of it... I probably wouldn't remember it in the morning."

Another lie, but also an invitation- and perhaps a kinder one than Aventurine might expect from him, but Everett has never been cruel, only stern. His kindness is not the kind that demands to be witnessed- but the kind that is offered, quietly, without the expectation of recompense.