♯ 𝗩𝗜𝗔𝗘𝗧𝗢𝗥.ㅤㅤa mutual exclusive and selective roleplay blog for the 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥, otherwise known in mortal languages as 𝗔𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥. mostly not canon compliant with genshin impact's story;ㅤfollows an 𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗲 inspired by cosmic horror and ancient mythologies.ㅤ[ ... ]ㅤtriggers may be present.
𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀 ㅤ: ㅤcosmic wandering and loneliness; existence as a weapon; the sun that forever hungers; the unknown darkness within light; monstrosity of the stars; to live is to fight; to rebel is to be condemned; divination made sin; messages from the depths beyond; when does a monster become a man.
hello, hello! i've been MIA, but that's because i'm on another blog. unfortunately for my beloved murderous morning star aefer, my brain has been completely overtaken by a much more chill guy DAHSJHG so please, if you would like for me to follow you on my current active blog, consider liking this post! it's from a different fandom than genpact or honkai, so i'd love to know and still connect with all of those interested in crossovers <3
hello, hello! i've been MIA, but that's because i'm on another blog. unfortunately for my beloved murderous morning star aefer, my brain has been completely overtaken by a much more chill guy DAHSJHG so please, if you would like for me to follow you on my current active blog, consider liking this post! it's from a different fandom than genpact or honkai, so i'd love to know and still connect with all of those interested in crossovers <3
hello, hello! i've been MIA, but that's because i'm on another blog. unfortunately for my beloved murderous morning star aefer, my brain has been completely overtaken by a much more chill guy DAHSJHG so please, if you would like for me to follow you on my current active blog, consider liking this post! it's from a different fandom than genpact or honkai, so i'd love to know and still connect with all of those interested in crossovers <3
𝗦𝗢 𝗠𝗨𝗖𝗛 𝗙𝗔𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡! ㅤyou have so, so much fanfiction, either because you're so shippable, or because you're hot. maybe both. probably both. you definitely flirt with everyone, either way. tumblr and twitter love you and showers you with queer headcanons. reddit keeps a safe distance. ㅤ( picrewㅤ+ㅤuquiz )
hehe, made you look, but this is still a super wip! on the left, it's aether in his sword form. ~ i also commissioned his bow, spear and shield forms. i LIVE for the day that someone will hold him as a weapon... / and on the right, this will be my aether's appearance more or less for most of his verses ! pretty happy with the thigh-up details. i tried to maintain some of his crop top, so you have a little bit of a peak on hiss side abs. ~ i'll probably work on the gloves and shoes designs, but that's all the creative juice i have for now. FOR SURE THOUGH, he'll have that cheek scar, the one-side laurels and pointy/elf ears with earrings! his hair will be loose and wavy too. i'm tempted to give him a half-braid in some verses.
anyways, would ur muse hold him. bats my eyelashes at you.
bold what applies to your muse. italicise what sometimes applies / where there is potential. strike down what will never, ever occur (if applicable). feel free to add more to the list as you see fit or make notes on whys! / tagged by : stole it arrrk !! / tagging : @moonsingir @elemosyna @vessmar @dvaurga @cloudhymn @gracelis + whoever wants to do it !
holding hands *ㅤ·ㅤholding onto arm / holding out armㅤ·ㅤbuying flowersㅤ·ㅤcookingㅤ·ㅤcuddlesㅤ·ㅤwriting a poem / song *ㅤ·ㅤholding door openㅤ·ㅤtying shoe lacesㅤ·ㅤsharing a milkshake with two strawsㅤ·ㅤoffering their jacket when it's coldㅤ·ㅤkissing in the rainㅤ·ㅤpublicly confessing love *ㅤ·ㅤlong walks at the beachㅤ·ㅤdoing the titanic pose on a boatㅤ·ㅤtaking cute pictures in a photoboothㅤ·ㅤ sharing a taxi / uberㅤ·ㅤkissing the back of their handㅤ·ㅤslow dancingㅤ·ㅤgetting tickets of their favourite artist / sports team / otherㅤ·ㅤintroducing them to their parents *ㅤ·ㅤlighting candlesㅤ·ㅤflower petals on bedㅤ·ㅤlove lettersㅤ·ㅤstar gazingㅤ·ㅤbrushing / doing their hairㅤ·ㅤpicnicsㅤ·ㅤteaching them to play an instrument / a sport while gently guiding their handsㅤ·ㅤcomplimentsㅤ·ㅤlate night drivesㅤ·ㅤtaking selfies togetherㅤ·ㅤdrawing them *ㅤ·ㅤself-made giftsㅤ·ㅤmassagesㅤ·ㅤ proposing with a family heirloom ring *ㅤ·ㅤlending them their favourite book to readㅤ·ㅤpaying for dinner / coffeeㅤ·ㅤmixtapes / playlistsㅤ·ㅤsurprise birthday partiesㅤ·ㅤfeeding themㅤ·ㅤhanding them keys to their apartmentㅤ·ㅤmaking space in drawer for their clothes when they stay overㅤ·ㅤsharing a blanketㅤ·ㅤcouple costumesㅤ·ㅤtucking a hair strand behind their earㅤ·ㅤrunning after them at the airport / delaying them from leavingㅤ·ㅤmoving cities to be togetherㅤ·ㅤblowing a kissㅤ·ㅤbreakfast in bedㅤ·ㅤdefending them in a fight (verbally / physically)ㅤ·ㅤjoint bubble bathsㅤ·ㅤdropping the L-bomb ("I love you") *ㅤ·ㅤdedicating a song at the karaoke bar to themㅤ·ㅤwearing their clothesㅤ·ㅤyawning before putting an arm around them while watching a movieㅤ·ㅤgrant them the last bite (from meal)ㅤ·ㅤlonging, affectionate gazes
. *ㅤaether tends to be very avoidant when it comes to holding hands in general, even if his palms are gloved. the gesture is strange to him, though he can understand why it would comfort most. it feels incredibly intimate. it's not something he's used to; he feels vulnerable when doing so. perhaps it's because it is a gesture with so many double meanings in his culture as a starborn. often, if his partner offers to hold hands, he will find a way to deflect or offer his arm for them to have instead. if it ever happens, it's because he took the initiative. silently, it's a way of saying he feels very at ease with whoever he's holding hands with. not that he'll ever admit it, though.
. *ㅤaether's handwriting and artistic skills are very subpar; he's not used to holding a pen and paper. thinking artistically and subjectively takes work for him, too. but sometimes, he will secretly dare to write a verse or two. the poems are never long, and you will often see thousands of languages bleeding together to the point that they don't make sense. he will strike down a lot of things and get super messy. it's just his way of trying hard to make sense of his feelings. he's so frustrated over the fact he can't express himself adequately.
. *ㅤpda is not something that he enjoys. he's private and stoic; he has a reputation and a façade to keep up. he has to be always in control, collected, and composed. so you won't see him verbally expressing affection or anything of the sort—at least, not in your traditional sense. he won't say, "see that person? i adore them with all of my heart", but instead, he will share, when questioned why he hangs around with x, "because i enjoy who they are".
. *ㅤabsolutely never, not in any of his verses. ignaroth (his maker / forger / master / father) is someone aether wants to avoid at all costs after a very abusive and chaotic past, so he would never want his partner to meet him or even come in a near radius near of him. he is horrified at the notion, and thinks that ignaroth would hurt them somehow. and ignaroth probably would.
. *ㅤsame reasoning as writing poems or songs, but aether is considerably better at drawing. though this would be done without any romantic intentions behind it, whenever he meets someone he's fond of (be it a partner or simply a friend), he'll draw their faces on his personal journal alongside some notes. he wants to be able to look back at those drawings and experience the memories once again. sad immortal hours issue, probably.
. *ㅤmarriage feels... strange to aether. it's a notion that eludes him and honestly feels a tad suffocating. it feels too mortal, too humane, and he doesn't think he is worthy of that tradition.
. *ㅤoh, the pain! i don't think aether is capable of saying "i love you" directly to anyone, ever. he will move mountains, give you the moon, and look at you like you're the most beautiful thing in the universe, yet he will never utter those three magical words. he thinks he's not able to feel love, that he wasn't made for it, that he's far too monstrous for such a soft, delicate, wonderful thing. he wishes he had a heart and blood to feel it in his veins; he wishes his skin was warm like a human's, but sadly, he is not. so he can't love... right? is what he tells himself.
odd-colored eyes have hardly left the being standing before him since johnny was assigned to keep an eye on him. whether it be an abundance of concern for those around him, or endless curiosity that fuels such vigilance and observation, even the young captain himself can't say for certain. the fact that the only thing he knows for sure is that he truly doesn't seem to know anything at all about what's going on is... admittedly unnerving, but he'll never show it. it's never been his style, and he can't afford to in his current position, in any case.
half-assembled uniform, scrunched up sleeves, and a relaxed demeanor are intended to put aether at ease, in what he can only imagine is a wildly unfamiliar kind of situation and environment. having heard reports of a man with wings falling from the sky was one thing, but seeing him in person, being face-to-face with him, alone like this... it's another feeling entirely. mixture of awe and caution fills the young man, and to show he means no harm, he slowly, delicately removes his gauntlets. once off, he slides them to the middle of the extended table between the two of them.
johnny's right hand then moves to the attaching joint for his prosthetic arm at the opposite side of his body, bracing himself before making the bold move to remove it entirely. length of the limb slides out of the sleeve, and the woefully familiar feeling of controlled helplessness washes over him. with the slightest bit of hesitation, he then places his arm atop the table, sliding it to the neutral space at the center of what separates them. he knows he isn't entirely helpless, even now, but... it has him on edge. " so... remind me; what is it, exactly, that you're here for ? "
ㅤㅤsay what you want about mortals, but those are pretty ingenious creatures. a room solely made for interrogation. that’s what the soldiers had said if he understood them correctly, anyway. it was as well-lit as if they were centimetres away from a moon, with comfortable seats made of cotton and spacious even if the caeling was the only one there. he looked around, sharp pupils taking in every detail they could swallow—metal walls, lights on the corners, as if they didn’t want him to see the lamps. a sensation of piercing gazes lingered on the back of his neck, yet he had no eyes to meet. the scent of cleanliness. warmth. as elf-like ears wiggled, he could discern compacted noise from doors opening outside and heavy-booted steps steadily approaching. was this meant to be welcoming? or threatening?
ㅤㅤthen, in came him. different from the rest. looser clothes, a more relaxed posture, exuding confidence. aether tilted his head from where he sat. the other man circled him as if his senses ran faster than light, looking for something aether couldn’t see. there were questions unrolled from his tongue, but he didn’t know if he was answering himself or just keeping them noted somewhere secret in his mind. curiosity, was that not what they called it? yes. yet there was the tiniest of frowns, an expression of… vigilance? wonder? more curiosity? who knows. aether wasn’t as well-versed in humanity to ascertain it, and it didn’t help that his new companion wasn’t expressive or vocal like the other guards. was he even a guard? hmm. then, a slight click. pointy ears twitched at the sudden noise, and the other removed one of his arms. slowly, steadily, surely. fascinating. golden eyes watch how the piece is placed on the table—and can’t help but lean closer to poke it. a gift? what an odd offering. was that a type of flesh? it felt colder than regular skin. when he twisted the fingers-not-fingers from the piece, a crackling noise seemed to complain from the force used. ohh, they moved!
ㅤㅤthe other man’s voice was softer than he expected. still, their eyes didn’t meet again. seemingly more interested in the object than the person talking to him, aether took the weird-looking limb to hold and analyse closely with both hands. could he remove his other arm, too? “what is it, exactly?” he shadowed part of the question with harshness and a heavy accent. using the fingers from the displaced hand, he pointed to himself. “caeling. here to talk with your god.” then, he put the prosthetic arm back on the table, turning it horizontally to the dishevelled man. “and you’re? here for?”
new dash icon is up! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) and with that, here's a quick announcement: i'm officially distancing aether from genpact as a whole. he will have an appearance that differs from his original source, other priorities personality-wise and he will be extremely canon-divergent in many instances. i will still have a traveller verse for him on genshin, and i will continue my current threads, as well as his current relationships and developments. however, i'll be heavily investing in the lore i came up with for him, so i'll prioritise threads and people interested in exploring those and other fandoms, bc honestly? i need the breeze of fresh air, and i haven't been accompanying genshin ever since arlecchino dropped orz. i will also remake his graphics and carrd soon to reflect these changes. i understand if people want to unfollow this blog because of that, and that's totally cool! i just really wanna officially oc-ify him and have fun.
"Diggin' your gay crop top, buddy boy." Finger guns.
(😭😭😭)
“... what's a crop top? why are you digging it from the ground?” on that fateful day, jinx learned that the fellow gay crop top user and long-hair braided buddy boy guy is, in fact, a natural blond. and maybe a bit socially inept. or an alien. maybe all three?
ㅤㅤhush now, and listen to the story the stars themselves fear to tell. long ago, before time dared to stretch its fingers across the universe, dawn had no memory; there was only the void. it was a realm of boundless silence where nothing existed except for the abyss. it is said that the abyss was one, lethargic, and endless but inevitable. yes, it was the abyssal one. my grandmother, you know her, she said that the abyssal one started eating itself, so alone in the cosmos it was. from its guts came a spark, and from that spark, light bloomed and created everything else. but this light did not bring warmth or kindness. it brought along with it the brightest, ancient stars, those who would later be known as the golden rulers of the universe, the gods of gods—divine beings who we tend to call great and radiant, yet whose beauties mask a terrible truth. hush, hush, do not let them hear you call their sacred names, lest they find us! you have heard of them before, have you not? the weaver of fates, the silent judge, the holy weapon master, the architect of illusions, and the warden of many shadows…
ㅤㅤthe abyssal one and the brightest, ancient stars lived side by side for a while. a happy family, if you can even imagine that. but their disagreements got too intense, and the abyssal one’s hunger was too painful to endure. it wanted to eat its children and turn everything into nothingness again. for some reason, the abyssal one thought that the stars would disappoint him, for there was no point in letting life prosper since everything was to turn back into the abyss in the end. there was a fight, i’m pretty sure, but grandmother… she didn’t tell me the details. but don’t you dare be deceived! these brightest, ancient stars, they made a deal with the abyssal one, to keep it fed and satisfied through a cosmic balance that only they know its fate and laws. and so, their brilliance painted the cosmos, and their desires shaped worlds, each more intricate than the last.
ㅤㅤbut their light was not without shadow; their games of power and influence reached far beyond the heavens. mortals became their pawns and followers, and the starborn—their children and extended part of their bright covenant—were shaped to carry their wills. they did not do so for love or mercy, though. they did it to keep the abyssal one, their parent, at bay—a being whose appetite could unmake all they had created. for if ever the balance of the universe tipped, even the brightest of stars would be devoured by the darkness from which they came. the golden rulers are ruthless, prideful and bound by a dark inheritance, you see. they will punish and destroy anything that they consider worthless; they will play with our lives and alter our fates just for the sake of it—and tell us nothing in turn! our prayers go unanswered, and our lives are deemed as deserving as our servitude for their o so sacred design. at any point, if we are found to threaten their plans in whatever insane ways they think is troublesome, they end us in the flicker of an eye. they do not care for or see us as their equals, even if we’re made from the same stardust. to them, we are cattle to control and entertainment for their parent. well… aether, was it? i think we have a chance to change the game.
ㅤㅤknowledge is powerful, and i have some to spare, so i must share. let me unveil the legends of a universe ruled by light, tempered by darkness, and forever teetering on the edge of chaos. let us shape our place in the infinite as rebels. i will first tell you of our enemies; draw closer now, for the stars are watching—and they do not forgive. but soon... maybe neither will us.
✦ ㅤ𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 ;
goddess of fate, of secrets, and of truth ⭑ mother of the fatespinners
keeper of the vault of fates, where future threads expand like endless curtains, zor’yael knows all that is meant to happen in the millions of years to come. she’s the oldest of all ancient stars, and she is the dim, pulsing violet star that seems to shift its place in the sky. she uses a great horn to help her with knitting and threading, and some rumour it to be from the head of the abyssal one. she sees the past, the present and the future expanding like rivers in her mind, and she knows exactly where each one will flow. she has been said to be able to alter destinies with the blink of an eye, yet she has never been found with her eyes opened, even as her six hands keep weaving new tapestries of fates intertwined. detached, emotionless and enigmatic, she takes little interest in other golden rulers, gods, starbon or mortals, caring only for her palace and the vault it guards. no one knows about her true intentions or even if she has any intentions at all.
the first threadㅤ:ㅤbefore even the stars had names, there was only the void. according to ancient prophets whose names were forgotten instead of their tales, zor’yael, the weaver of fates, was the first star to emerge amidst the darkness, her light casting faint, pulsing hues across the emptiness. from within her, she birthed the first thread of destiny—a thread so fine it could not be seen by any but her own six hands. as she wove the first thread, the universe began to take shape. planets formed, stars ignited, and life began. however, this first thread was not just any thread—it was the destiny of this cosmos itself. every astral event, every rise and fall of empires, every birth and death, was bound to this thread. yet, there is a secret hidden within this myth. ignaroth and even sera’len deny this story completely, even going so far as to say it’s a sin against the golden rulers themselves; the three ancient stars have been birthed together, and zor’yael’s tapestry always existed. however, some whispers persist and claim that zor’yael deliberately wove a flaw into this first thread—a tiny imperfection, invisible to all but capable of unravelling the fabric of destiny. should anyone find and pull at that flaw, the entire universe could be undone. zor’yael’s followers live in awe and fear of this, knowing that the fate of everything hangs by a single, delicate thread in her hands.
the unblinking eye of zor’yaelㅤ:ㅤin the early aeons, when the tapestries of fate were still on their starting threads, zor’yael remained in a deep trance, thoughtful, as if experimenting with something in her mind. it was said that once, for just a moment, she opened her eyes to see what lay beyond her palace of woven threads. as she did, the vault of fates split, and countless threads of possibilities erupted into chaos. the sight overwhelmed her, and her blink sealed fates not meant to intertwine. entire civilisations fell while others rose unexpectedly. though the ancient stars and other gods sought her counsel to understand what was now written, zor’yael spoke nothing of what she saw. she resumed her weaving; her eyes once again closed, leaving the others in fear of what a second blink might unleash. since that day, mortals and starborn alike have whispered of the “unblinking eye”—a prophecy of a future when zor’yael might open her eyes once more, and the universe could be unmade or remade instantly.
✦ ㅤ𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗴𝗲 ;
god of judgment, of observation, and of punishment ⭑ father of the sentinels
distant, impartial, stern, unwavering and cryptic. sera’len does not speak, yet his presence is felt in the stillness of the night: if you look up and see a cold, distant silvery star, faintly glowing in the farthest reaches of the sky, do not think it is dead. the silent judge probably has his eyes on you. his followers believe that he delivers justice, but his form of justice is often devastatingly final. he presides over the rules and boundaries that keep the universe from descending into total disarray. while the other rulers may seek to expand their influence, sera’len imposes limits, ensuring that none overreach their station. he is the jailer of cosmic threats, locking away dangerous entities that would otherwise wreak havoc. with zor’yael’s help, he sees all that transpires in the realms, divine and mortal alike, and passes on his judgment without interference until reckoning. he condemns all those who try to fight against their destiny, commit great sins or simply because he felt it to be right, even without the approval of other brightest stars. his punishments come without warning, often long after the offence is forgotten, and his presence lingers over those who have erred. while sera’len enforces balance and cosmic law, his lack of compassion and refusal to explain his decisions make him feared. mortals often don’t realise they will be punished until too late. his sentences can seem disproportionate to the crime, as his sense of cosmic balance is alien to human morality.
the punishment of the eternal wandererㅤ:ㅤlong ago, a starborn sorcerer, a puny braskil, defied sera’len, refusing to accept the judgment passed upon her for altering fate. she claimed she could escape the consequences by fleeing beyond the reaches of the silent judge’s gaze, perhaps seeking refugee in xe’st’s territory. as she ventured into the farthest reaches of the cosmos, beyond time and space, sera’len quietly watched. years turned into centuries, and the sorcerer believed she was truly free. yet, when the time came, sera’len passed his sentence. the punishment was a curse that made the sorcerer immortal but unable to interact with reality. she could see, hear, and feel everything around her but was forever bound to the void, unable to touch or influence the world again. to this day, the “eternal wanderer” is trapped in a cage of pure void and darkness, a warning to anyone who believes they can escape fate or sera’len's judgement.
✦ ㅤ𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 ;
god of chaos, of conquer, of destruction ⭑ forger of the caelings
careful for that burning red star, surrounded by an ever-growing cloud of celestial ash in the sky, for that is the fearsome god of chaos. ignaroth has an insatiable hunger within his core—an embodiment of desire that can never be fully satisfied. he thrives on consumption, whether it be of material things, ambitions, or even entire galaxies, yet it’s clear that he is the first to restrain himself from his selfish desires. stern and ruthless, yet paradoxically fair, he embodies ruin, disruption and unpredictable change. ignaroth cares not for individuals or specific creations, only for the grand cycle of death and rebirth, the universe’s balance that must be preserved at all costs, being impossible to predict. he offers no mercy to those who stand in the way of cosmic order. he’s often seen as evil by those his blades meet, destroying souls, civilisations and planets without hesitation. ignaroth does not think about good or evil, only in terms of change and stagnation. everything in the universe must keep evolving, and those who keep on forever being themselves threaten the delicate fabric of entropy which holds the universe in balance. ignaroth is often described as the executor of zor’yael and sera’len’s wills despite his strong personality. if this bothers him, he does not let it show. out of all the rulers, he’s also the one with the most human believers, who are often on edge in his presence.
the birth of the caelingsㅤ:ㅤin the universe’s early days, when the stars were still young, and the cosmic dust had not yet settled, ignaroth roamed the void, wielding his blazing sword in search of worthy challenges and adversaries. yet, in that time, few dared to stand against the god of destruction. frustrated by the lack of resistance, ignaroth yearned for something to test his strength. then, he discovered a dying star, barely flickering on the edge of oblivion, persisting against the inevitable shadows surrounding it. instead of letting it perish quietly, ignaroth struck the star with his blade, igniting it once more, but this time with a furious, uncontrollable fire. the star exploded in a cosmic storm, its remnants swirling into a massive vortex of molten energy. from the heart of this storm, ignaroth carved a colossal forge—the tempest forge—a creation of pure chaos, where destruction and creation mingled as one. in the tempest forge, ignaroth began to craft new, highly luminous stars and constellations unlike any others. they were not born to give light or warmth but to serve as weapons. these were caelings, cosmic entities designed to slice through the fabric of existence itself, more powerful than any starborn, yet absolute servants of ignaroth and the golden rulers. he forged these stars and hurled them into the cosmos, each one destined to consume entire worlds, galaxies, or even dimensions, serving as his endless weaponry.
the cosmic scarㅤ:ㅤin one of ignaroth’s most terrible rages, he sought to end a rebellion among the caelings who questioned his endless destruction. the uprising was led by a fierce starborn general who had stolen a fragment of ignaroth’s burning essence, using it to shield himself and his people from the god’s wrath. enraged, ignaroth unsheathed his blade and struck at the general with such force that he cleaved a rift into the very fabric of the cosmos. this strike created the cosmic scar, a gaping wound in the universe where time, space, and realities bled into one another. the general and his followers were caught in the rift, forever trapped between dimensions, their screams echoing in the stillness of the cosmos. the cosmic scar still exists, a reminder of ignaroth’s power and a warning to those who dare oppose him. some believe that the rift will heal one day, and the trapped starborn will return, more twisted and vengeful than ever.
✦ ㅤ𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝗹𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 ;
god of dreams, of lies, of forbidden knowledge ⭑ guardian of the braskils
thilnyr manipulates perception and the sense of reality, distorting the layers of dreams and reality. cunning, seductive and capricious, they never offer clear truths, weaving webs of half-lies that ensnare even other deities that get too close to them. making fun of severe matters and turning ultimatums into games, they like to test starborn and mortals with their riddles. compared to the other rulers, they’re the most interested in mortal affairs, often shape-shifting to observe them closely. they can harvest dreams and wishes, manipulating them into a temporary or permanent reality, to alter space and the perception of time. mortals who seek their favour are granted visions, but rarely the truth they seek, oftentimes leading to madness. as such, few can navigate through their illusions, but those who do not fall for their traps can find great power and wisdom. they thrive on mystery and the hidden potential of the unknown. surprisingly, thilnyr is not an ancient star—they seem to want to keep this a secret from mortals and starborn. even so, if you point to a brilliant greenish star that flickers erratically, always on the verge of vanishing, they will probably smile back at you.
thilnyr’s mirror of nightmaresㅤ:ㅤonce, a mortal king sought the favour of thilnyr, desiring a vision of the future to secure his kingdom’s prosperity. the king had dedicated decades of his life to learning the language of the stars, presenting sacrifices, making grand-scale rituals and even offering parts of his body to showcase his faith in the god of dreams. thilnyr, amused after so many years, granted the king a mirror made of starlight that would show him the future—a relic, they said, stolen from zor’yael’s vault of fates. the king gazed into it each night, seeing his kingdom thrive under his rule. but as the seasons passed, the visions twisted, showing darkness, betrayals, and devastation. desperate to change the future, the king followed the mirror’s advice, listening to the whispers the images bestowed. yet, the more he followed its guidance, the closer the dark visions became reality. on his deathbed, and as his kingdom burned through his window, a realisation finally came to the ruined king: he found that it was not the future he had seen in that damned mirror... but his nightmares. his attempts to prevent them only solidified their occurrence.
the dream of a thousand sunsㅤ:ㅤthilnyr once created an immense dreamscape, a vast realm where everyone was a sleeping god, each dreaming of their own universe. in this dream, the stars lived in harmony, and mortals were blessed with endless prosperity. for a while, this illusion became a reality, and the cosmos flourished under the dream of a thousand suns. but dreams, especially those crafted by thilnyr, are not meant to last. over time, the dream began to unravel. the starborn captured within the dream realised their world was an illusion, and as they woke, their waking thoughts twisted the dreamworld into a nightmare. the stars then turned on each other, and entire worlds burned in the chaos of their confusion. thilnyr, ever capricious, allowed the dream to collapse in on itself, laughing as the fabric of reality and dream became indistinguishable. to this day, some starborn and lesser gods wonder if they are still living in one of thilnyr’s dreams, with no way to tell if they will ever awaken.
✦ ㅤ𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗱𝗼𝘄𝘀 ;
goddess of darkness, of void, of forgotten things ⭑ ?????
a faint, blackened star that absorbs rather than emits light, leaving a patch of void in the sky is the best way to describe xe’st. she governs the forgotten corners of existence, the places other stars cannot yet reach. though the other golden rulers or even starborn rarely visit her, she is gentle and welcoming despite how cold her hands are to the touch, always wearing a wide, creepy smile. her arms have eyes all around them, and they look in opposite directions. she watches over the depths of the cosmos, reigning in the limits of the universe and the nothingness beyond it. be it due to her appearance or the nature of her sovereignty, no star, ancient or otherwise, dares coming too close to her dominion. still, xe’st knows all that has been forgotten, lost stories and oaths corrupted by time, chaos or vice. those who seek her favour will always be embraced by her, turning into peaceful ghosts in a tight, suffocating hug. it is unclear if she is the absolute form of death or just oblivion, but she does not seem to mind either way. instead, she seems to be waiting for something... or perhaps a special someone to come to her.
the child of the darkㅤ:ㅤit is said that in the forgotten corners of the universe, where no light reaches, xe’st hides a child—a being born of both void and starlight. legends differ on who the child’s other parent is—some say it was zor’yael, and others whisper it was the abyssal one. the child, known only as “the child of the dark”, is a being of unimaginable power, capable of controlling both life and death. yet xe’st has hidden her offspring away in the depths of oblivion, guarding them fiercely. some believe that if the child of the dark were ever found, they could restore balance to the universe or plunge it into complete nothingness. mortals and starborn have searched for aeons for any traces of the child of the dark, but none have returned from xe’st’s dark embrace. her smile, they say, grows a little wider each time someone dares venture into her realm.
ㅤㅤ“you are so impatient.” accusatory and sharp as his low-toned voice may have sounded, it comes not followed by a sigh of exasperation but rather… of contentment—if only covered in spoons of harshness and loud breaths against the magician’s ear.
ㅤㅤthey were both weary; the day had been cruel to their plans and young romantic spirits. aether had just arrived in fontaine to discuss official matters with the dragon sovereign and was then dragged into quests from the adventurer’s guild and regional commissions. a letter was sent a moon cycle ago; they were meant to meet at lyney’s favourite café. he waited for hours until the clock on the central plaza ticked the end of the day, and aether finally arrived. exhausted, salt on his face, star core flickered softly as if he had been underwater most of the time. he was. what was meant to be a lively reunion, filled with pastries and roses and a romantic stroll through street violins, had ended in a simple handshake, an awkward hug and an even more muffled apology.
ㅤㅤlyney had tried to play it off, offering solace with his sweet, playful nothings, magic tricks, and constant chatter, but it didn’t last long. he soured and withered, visibly, palpably, when aether had told him he would have to leave on the very following midday. gluttons as they both were, however, they found a compromise through pleading lilacs and impatient goldens: let them share a hotel room so they may bask on each other. lyney, in the traveller’s company, perhaps. aether? he was much more interested in the warmth of his back, of his thighs, of his lips, of his neck, and of him in his hand. may lyney one day forgive him, but was there any better comfort for a soldier than to have a lover melting in your hands after a troublesome day?
ㅤㅤthere must’ve been roses on that suite at some point—or perhaps it was a perfume that lingered on lyney’s clothes while he carried the traveller inside by his scarf. a siren would’ve been gentler, aether mentally noted, but after so much time away, he was willing to let himself drown. their mouths opened under each other, and the warmth star-born being so much craved for poured into his throat like fine wine. a whine—his? lyney’s. a burning aftertaste made his biforked tongue recoil for a second; had he been drinking as he waited for him? or was that an effect of his pyro vision? but before the other could ask what was wrong, aether breathed him again, steadying his waist with firm hands. there was hunger, and there was thirst, and there was a longing aether felt in his guts. kissing him always felt like they were running out of time—and perhaps they were in this case. aether would never admit it in any other instance, though. soft fingers tangled long blond hair, undoing braids and whatever else tied him to duties outside, and as a response, the caeling trailed down his exposed neck, getting rid of buttons, bows and annoying ruffles that were on the way of his teeth and lips.
ㅤㅤnot very gentleman-like, aether knows, but etiquette was never his forte when it came to intimacy; he placed his lover on the bed and then, seemingly remembering something, he climbed off him. he was sure he muttered something along the lines of wait, let me get rid of my clothes first, but perhaps it was not in a common tongue lyney could comprehend. so, while aether rested on the velvet canapé, getting rid of his boots and shirt, tossing them to the ground to lie alongside another’s sleeves, jumpsuit and hat, lyney approached him, diamond eyes sharpening through rosy cheeks in feline-like steps and… sat astride his lap. and here they were—barely clothed, the rawness of their yearning piercing each other through reprimanding looks. a faint laughter bubbled from aether then, thumb rubbing against decorative tear mark whilst his other hand found its way between pretty legs. you are so impatient.
ㅤㅤ“incredibly, desperately needy, aren’t you?” was he waiting for this? dreaming about it? did he want him that bad, to want to toss aside courtship and adored enchantments? how he wished to ask those shameless things to him, to watch him fumble for words and smart comebacks. but ah… that was too much of an excellent expression to waste when he ripened and rubbed himself, hot and bothered. aether licked his bottom lip, pleased with how he swelled beneath his touch, trembling as his black-gloved hand kept at a steady work. “i’m flattered.”
ㅤㅤaether opened his legs more, just so that lyney fell deeper, his thighs framing a broader lap. and the traveller cared not to hide it; he wanted easier access to jerk him off properly, to squeeze him firmer, to watch as he played him like an instrument, curious, experimental of each line and lovely sounds came out. there was a gasp he entirely approved of as the air between them became thick and humid, mirroring the heat between the two and heavy with a kind of magic neither of them seemed to care enough to acknowledge. “should i be rough with you tonight?” as if to demonstrate his intent, his free hand pinched an exposed nipple, squeezing it until it became feverishly pink—and then came a moan. perhaps it was the caeling entity in him, demanding, commanding, ravenous, but aether’s voice lowered, sharp even though a murmur: “lyney,” he reached, speeding up his hand and then tightening his grip on the very base of his dick. “i’m talking to you.”
ㅤㅤthough came no response, only a spasm of lean body against his, almost dissolving into something new. aether waited a few seconds until he realised his companion was a bit too far gone—toes curling and hips grinding against his hand in a silent plea as he buried his face in the crook of his neck. such a needy, clingy cat. oh, he was whimpering, was he? well, so be it: he’d feed off his fire, making him ignite in his hands, consume him to a mumbling, sweaty mess that only knew how to beg for more and feed off a celestial ego that only knew how to conquer. in exchange, he’d make lyney see stars. it sounded fair enough, didn’t it? “fine—i’ll be nice. come as many times as you want.” he came back to stroking him, rapidly, strongly, challengingly. and then came a sharp bite on pastel neck, fangs pushing through flesh to almost make him bleed. a warning: pay attention. “but don’t forget to call my name.” oh, how lenient was the morning star becoming.
✦ a collection of prompts that can be considered nsfw, with a lot of teasing and tension driven prompts. adjust as needed ; send ‘ + reverse ‘ for sender and receiver to switch spots. Combine prompts by sending more than one.
「 SQUEEZE 」 : for sender to rest their hand on the receivers thigh , giving it a squeeze .
「 LINGER 」 : for senders touch to linger on the receiver.
「 MASSAGE 」 : for sender to give receiver a massage .
「 LOTION 」 : for sender to rub lotion into the receivers skin
「 SLIP 」 : for senders hand to slip between the receivers legs.
「 TUG 」 : for sender to tug on the receivers hair
「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap
「PULL 」 : for the sender to pull receiver into their lap
「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver ( include the location )
「 MARK 」 : for sender to leave hickies on receiver
「 BARE 」 : for sender to undress in front of receiver
「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress
「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver
「 HOT 」 : for sender and receiver to share a heated kiss
「 OOPS 」 : for sender to accidentally send receiver a risqué image.
「 CHIME 」 : for sender to purposefully send receiver a risqué image.
「 WHISPER 」 : for sender to whisper something suggestive in receivers ear
「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat
「 THROW 」 : for sender to throw receiver onto the bed
「 PRESS 」 : for sender to press receiver against a wall and kiss them
「 CAUGHT 」 : for sender to catch receiver pleasuring themselves
「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.
「 INNER 」 : for sender to kiss along the inside of receivers thigh
"𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲." the words are said fondly ( soft ) as as diluc takes the traveler's face in his hands. it's been some time since the last time they've seen each other and while diluc would have preferred their first encounter to have been one of fine dining, he isn't surprised that it was a battle against some monsters. gloved thumbs brush dirt off of aether's cheek, eyes softening. he hums, amused. "why don't we head back to the manor were we can clean up?"
ㅤㅤhe wanted to take offence at the ex-knight’s comment, but it was true. his clothes were stained with dirt and mud from the previous rainy days, leaves shook inside his unkempt hair, and remnants of coal on his face painted a pretty deplorable picture, even if the traveller tried to pose himself regally. losing sense of the time when exploring dungeons and completing quests put on boards for rewards was not strange for adventurers—yet aether was somewhat embarrassed to run into diluc looking like that. even more so when he was the reason the velvet insides of his gloves were now dirtied. a pout as he looked up. why did he look so entertained by this? but it didn’t take long for the caeling to sigh, defeated.
ㅤㅤ“a bath sounds really nice right now.” he looked to the sides, almost shy if not by his tired smile and how he held diluc’s hand in place. “can you help me wash my hair, too?”
For a poet to touch a star - truly there may be no more noble dream for one who waxes poetry in his words and lives by the wonders of the world, a wandering presence humbly hoping for nothing more than bask in their light, without ever having the arrogance to believe he might graze them with his own fingertips. Kazuha is one such wanderer, soaking up the world around him, thankful for having blessed him with senses perhaps a little keener than most - but for all fortunate that he has been, he is just that: a humble wanderer, meant to stay on the ground, while stars would shine high up above his head. Ever out of reach; ever to be beholden by his eyes alone, and for flights of fancy to be the only channel to take him up amongst them into the firmament.
So perhaps it is a gift that Aether grants him, to let nimble fingertips course along the star engraved in his chest, astral light indeed warm and ticklish (not unlike inazuman air, charged in electro essence, but so much warmer, so much kinder, something inviting rather than cruel) - carefully, Kazuha places his palm flat upon it, seeking heartbeat below the glow. "I do not know why I am surprised." Kazuha's lips curve into a smile, blissfully comfortable amidst curtain of golden hair, tilting his head just enough to let his nose brush against Aether's. "I should have known sunlight would be as warm and mesmerising as your are."
His other hand chooses to follow its course towards night sky, light and gentle as the caress of the breeze, to blackened arm that feels more like sandpaper or the rough texture of coal - as though Aether had been burnt by his own light, and this was the aftermath (will stardust linger on his fingertips once he retrieves his hand, he wonders?); only to stop in place when the Traveler places his own request. Crimson eyes find golden ones, lose themselves in the underlying glimmer he sees glistening in them. In his chest, Kazuha's heart hastens its drumming, a curious warmth pooling in his stomach and spreading all the way up his neck. "I'm afraid there is much less to understand about me, dear Traveler." Kazuha chuckles, his tone a little teasing as he allows both his hands to travel back (not without leaving a trail of his touch) to Aether's shoulders, where they loop comfortably around his neck. "Were I an inanimate statue or a puppet, perhaps a kind artist would have filled the scars on my skin with gold. Alas, all I have to show for myself is broken flesh barely stitched together by my own clumsy hand." And yet, Kazuha biefly rests his forehead against Aether's, before opening his eyes again. "If you are not too disappointed, however -- you may do as you please."
ㅤㅤno heartbeat there was to be felt under feather-light traces, sadly enough. hearts were far too complicated and fragile an organ for caelings to bear, these starborn creatures being made to serve as weapons or shields for combat. tools of destruction, chaos, and conquering are not spared luxury for tenderness; to break or be broken was all they were suitable for—having a heart in such conditions? troublesome, if not nigh unthinkable, therefore. yet there were times that aether wished he had one: to feel it slowing down after a long day, to hold it while looking at a pretty scenery… and to have it beat for him. perhaps then, by touching the strings of his heart, feeling its shaky rhythms, to notice how they accelerated in tempo for him, kazuha would know silently how much a certain star yearned for his closure. oh, indeed, how much easier it could have been if they had shared the same matter of flesh.
ㅤㅤcurious, then, it was to witness: his companion seemed enchanted by the opposite matter, awed by their differences. against the ronin’s palm beamed a heat, pulsating like sound itself every time soothing digitals stroked star core; if anything, it almost felt like the caeling was purring under his caress, especially as he leaned closer still, letting their cheeks rub against one another from time to time. following kazuha’s stare and traces, there were sparkles, aether realised. he chuckled at his ever-lyrical remark, but it was not out of embarrassment or a reaction to flattery—truthfully, it was out of disbelief. caelings weren’t impressive creatures as the golden rulers or folktales painted them to be; they were products of an absolute blacksmith, forged from the hands of a god obsessed with entropy. from tempest and constellations, they were certainties of existence since the youth of reality, integers to a particular formula. glorified bees of celestial order, a prophet once scorned. they were right, of course.
ㅤㅤso aether minded not how feverish and inquisitive those long fingers traversed through his skin as if looking for a treasure to be discovered. on the contrary, he hoped kazuha would find it; whatever he was searching for—maybe underneath his crimson gaze, wonder and meaning could blossom instead of only mathematics. to turn gleam to ink, to turn his night to day, to live instead of existing, to breathe instead of pulsating, to be able to love; that’s what poets did. if it meant being held like this by him, as if he was not a weapon, tool, or star, then be it; turn him into a poem for those god-burnt hands to pen. thus, a sigh emerged from his contented throat, ghostly nuzzling his nose against the samurai’s as if to take advantage of his distractions, letting him enjoy the roughness of blackened skin, the warmth of his crux and anything else he had to offer, as long as it meant being closer still like that. indulgent, yes. selfish creatures, the stars were—so easy to fall from their posts to chase after their desires. call him a sinner.
ㅤㅤand then comes his confession. humming, the traveller seemed pleased when kazuha rested his hands on his neck, but his eyes narrowed at his statements. “is that what you think?” the question lingered in the air for a bit, and when aether found nothing but that adorable blush and darting looks, he bobbed his head to the sides, not quite nodding in agreement but registering the small silence. so he seized the chance, trailing with his eyes the lean muscles of pale arms that tied themselves around the traveller’s body, taking note of a few reddish vein lines. oh, how easy it’d be to kiss them here and now, to follow the path they had carved with his mouth. instead, he restrained himself only to skim softness with his fingers, noting every curve and texture, scars of slices, burns and more. “you are a man who defied the gods—saved me in doing so, and many others.”
ㅤㅤthere was no shame or guilt in his tone, only fondness. his palm clasped around his shoulders as if feeling the strength of such bones, realising markings he hadn’t seen before due to the samurai’s prolonged garments. he proceeded his investigation to his chest, sprawling both hands on the broad plate, seeing no star core but sensing drums where he touched—or perhaps it was just the river water around them making itself remembered. more strokes on that canvas of his, healed stitches of varying degrees. gold was too cheap an option for this, aether wanted to retort, but instead, he said: “you have so many scars and haunting memories, but you still smile. make others grin, too.” and there followed, almost as a cue and clue, a lopsided grin in the caeling’s expression. “there are deities who have fallen for much less.” one of his hands bolded through his abdomen, feeling the firm muscles there, but dared not further down, only wanting to regard the waistline that was covered most of the times they met.
ㅤㅤthen, as their breaths shared the same carbon and oxygen, aether took a strand of silvery hair, a colour he was only used to seeing in rare moons and stardust. he twirled it around his gloved index, thumb fondling the tips as if he could count each one. and then, he dared to cup his cheek on his palm, fingers scratching the hair behind his ear twice before circling his helix and the right apple of his face. “you offered me a poem, even if you’re a spirited warrior.” he chuckled, endeared. “in my mother tongue, there is no word for beings like yourself. so i have to disagree… i find you fascinating, kazuha.” his name was said perfectly as if it had been studied, practised to perfection, and engraved in his biforked tongue.
ㅤㅤ“now, won’t you tell me stories of these scars? i want to know more about you.”
