#aether with his otter feeding

[iudiex]

Boxes?? Also Aether may not be a dragon, but he's still three cosmic horrors in a trenchcoat.

Cosmic horrors in a trench coat still make him blush a little tbh.

[azuresky-agere]

THE ULTIMATE AGERE!VENTI HEADCANON POST!

yeah im not sane about him :3

"It's stopped raining already? A shame, I wanted to play some more."

CW: Diapers, nightmares,

─ 𖥔 ─

-Venti's first experience with age regression was rather odd, in that he didn't KNOW what age regression was- nor did he know how to partake in "acting like a child" until he was forced into his headspace during a rainy night at Angel's Share - it started to thunder, and Venti just...dropped like a penny. Luckily, Diluc was a saviour and brought him upstairs to calm him down.

-headspace is around 0-3 years old.

-Due to past injuries from around the Archon War, he needs to be padded 24/7, and will usually gravitate to pull-ups, and will use diapers when regressed!

-He's just an actual baby. He'll either crawl around, or whine and tug at his caregiver until he's scooped up.

-He's just a TOTAL mama's boy, especially for Adelinde! If Diluc's not around/busy, Venti will "help" around Adelinde.

-Adelinde knows that he's the Anemo Archon, as well as his identity being the first thing told to any new caregivers/babysitters, so nightmares and thunderstorms are usually pretty understood.

-Despite hating thunder, he LOVES the rain, and will practically beg his current caregiver to go and splash about. He understands if they say no, however.

-He just...needs to be held. He loves it when a caregiver will boop his nose, or feed him, or care for him if he falls ill- it makes him feel like an actual infant, and therefore more regressed.

-As mentioned before, nightmares are VERY common. He has a few stuffies to help, though! An otter, dubbed "wisp" which was gifted to him from the traveller (who, yes, knows about his headspace- and was the first person he told that wasn't Diluc) as well as a bird stuffie, named "Himmel" and a cat stuffie called "Katze".

-A sucker for apples- even more so when he's little. He'll request them to be cut into cute little shapes, and served with a small container of applesauce to dip into (which he always gets). Despite his love for apples, he despises applejuice, and despite his hate for cheese, loves warm milk.

-An easy way to help him regress is getting him all cozy into (insert cg) arms and just baby him. phrases like "augh, you're just too tiny tonight" and "who's this little baby?" will usually do the trick.

-Despite him literally being the god of Anemo, he'll give his CG his vision, despite it being a fake, as it helps him feel a bit tinier- as well as his bow, and lyre.

-Pacifiers over teethers. The idea of a teether sounds nice, but he didn't really like it, and pacifiers help him feel way more infant-like.

-Can solve puzzles for HOURS.

-Will usually draw pictures of him and his cg, and he's always happy to see them on the fridge.

-Main CG'S:

-Diluc

-Aether/Paimon

-Jean

-Barbara (Although she's more than a babysitter- and yes, she knows of his identity, and is sworn to secrecy)

-Lisa

-Dvalin (Either in his human form, or his dragon form- either works for Venti!)

-Andrus (very rarely).

-Nahida! (Again, very rarely, and mostly she's a CG in his dreams, especially if he's having a nightmare).

Main Nightmares:

-Old Mondstadt's Rebellion (and losing his dear friends in the process)

-Being hurt/stolen from Signora again.

-Old Mondstadt in general- it was from a very fresh point in his life, and was one of his first experiences with people, so he's mostly always dreaming about it.

-Traveller/any of his friends/cg's getting hurt.

[abimee]

Idk if you wanted people to ask these to you or not but 7 for all your wols if you're interested?

favorite animal? why?

HMMMMMMMMMMMMM I think Ryder says shes doesnt have a favorite animal and needs to be pressed on it, but if you bother her enough she'll say it's the Tailless Whip Scorpion, because ''those fuckers are hilarious'' and she loves the way theyre entirely harmless and just GRAB at you like dorks. I think she;d often gravitate towards ''scary sounding/looking animals/insects who are literally just doing whatever'' like the Camel Spider (chases you like nuts but its bite literally doesnt do anything besides pinch) and the Tailles Whip Scorpion

for Ruyan she might also have a hard time narrowing it down, often because she doesn't really have the concept of a ''favorite'' thing like color or animal or food, there's many things she likes and she feels bad picking a single one, but i think when he grows older he does gain a fondness for sea otters :] Ruyan HATES, HATES, HATES most lovey nicknames because they make her feel wrong, so chefant started calling her his ''signifigant otter'' after seeing a particularly corny greeting card when he got to visit Limsa Lominsa as a joke, but it went from a silly inside joke between them to a nickname Ruyan genuinely really loved and it like, influenced her love for otters because seeing them hold hands or float in the water with their babies just reminds ruyan of her husband, so now if you ask ruyan her favorite animal she'd say sea otter because they remind her of her signifigant otter :]

Tock LOVES SO MANY ANIMALS but her TOP THREE FAVORITE EVER ARE

SPIDER CRAB!!! she wants to meet one so bad she thinks theyre the cuuuutest things ever. and wants them to wear multiple shoes and sunglasses. she wants to live underwater like a mermaid and marry a spider crab prince and live in a big underwater castle with her spider crab nation

EMPORER PENGUINS!!! they remind her of urianger :] and she wants to hug one so bad

TARANTULA-HAWK WASP... she thinks these guys are like fairies and she thinks theyre soooo cool. she keeps her distance but she's rooting for them when theyre fighting tarantulas and loves watching them fly around

ALTHAEA picks no favorites. all bugs and insects are her favorite animal period. but just between you and her, she has a special fondness for T. Bisselliella

as the wikipedia article for Forensic Entomology puts it:

Moths (order Lepidoptera) specifically clothes-moths – Family Tineidae – are closely related to butterflies. Most species of moth are nocturnal, but there are crepuscular and diurnal species. During their larval stages, clothes moths tend to feed on mammalian hair.[32] They are amongst the final animals contributing to the decomposition of a corpse. This said, adult moths lay their legs on a carcass subsequently to fly larvae having had their presence on it

she also has a particular fondness for maggots in general, specifically the ones commonly used for maggot therapy (DO NOT click if you are sensitive to up front pictures of necrotic / open wounds, or bugs infesting open wounds) -- this means she has a specific love for Blowflies, as she performs maggot therapy and also watches insects like the blowflies and moths consume open flesh routinely. On one notable instance, Hades has even let her use her (named and disinfected) maggots to cleanse an open wound on his leg instead of using aether to heal it, and she has documented her findings on using insects to clean out necrotic tissue. So while she'd never claim that blowflies or cloth moths are her favorite, she does spend the most time caring for these ones :]

[infinitcnexus]

redemptioninchaos:

Though there was a screech accompanying the impact, it did nothing to distract the ocelot, aside from casting a few gusts of wind in an attempt to knock him down. “Do you have any idea how much those speakers cost?!”

There were only a few goons left, and after seeing the bloody display featuring their dead or seriously wounded allies, they turned tail and headed for the exit, saying, “Corre! Corre!” Soon, it was only Shrike and the ocelot duking it out on the main floor.

Meanwhile, a boar knocked on Antonio’s door, yelling, “We got a situation, Tone! O demônio do Rio!”

The luxurious wooden office door swung open, revealing Antônio on the other side clad in a half-moist, gold-trimmed jade bathrobe crafted from silk, a lit cigarillo clamped between his lips. He still retains his distinctive smug expression, though a hint of anxiety and irritation lurked beneath it.

“Took him long enough.”

The mustached otter stepped aside, waving the rattled boar in before closing the door behind him. Taking the cigarillo out of his mouth, Antônio puffed thoughtfully as he walked over to a large flatscreen television displaying various footages taken from security cameras placed throughout the Rio de Felicidade. With the aid of a remote controller, he selected the one showing Shrike and the aero mage in the main club hall. In an instant, the feed transformed from a small thumbnail to a screen-filling one.

“Like I give a fuck!” was what Antônio heard from Shrike as the demon leaped out of the way of the incoming wind blasts. He retrieved his hammer from the destroyed speaker, but he didn’t do much else to the ocelot aside from avoiding more of his magickal attacks while knocking out some lights with bolts of dark aether and bullets fired from a scavenged pistol, presumably as part of a time-consuming attempt to take away the mage’s ability to evade his attacks effortlessly.

“What should we do about El Demonio, chefe?” asked a hyacinth macaw. “We just sit here and pray while Paulo handles him?”

“But it’s only a matter of time before he gets carved up or some shit!” a vampire bat quickly retorted. “Half of the guys have already bailed to save their own asses.”

“You sayin’ we should head down there and add to the body count? You outta your mind, Rafael?!”

“I never said--”

“Silêncio, both of you!” Antônio ordered sternly. “Everything will run its due course soon enough.”

Heading over to his desk, the mob boss hovered near a desktop microphone and held down a red button.

“Paulo!” the otter’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Would you kindly stop blowing off our devilish guest and escort him to my office, please?”

And Finally The Worm Grinned

Shrike gasped loudly with widened eyes, his half-naked body springing up from the battered couch in the living room of his modest apartment. He panted shallowly, and he eventually realized that, much to his dismay, it was an unprecedented phone call that had disturbed him in his deep sleep. He leaned forward and stretched out a hand at his hellphone on the coffee table, cursing unintelligibly when he accidentally knocked over one of the numerous empty beer cans in the process. A heavy sigh of defeat left his lips as soon as he spotted the caller's name on the pale blue screen.

There is only one Fat Bastard in New Ch’thon who fits the moniker.

“What is it?” Shrike half-sleepily asked. 

[helioheliks]

A Turn of Turned Events

I am still. Not because I am weak - though I am that in spades. No, I am still because I think. It is all I have left. With a great deal of will and no small sum of finesse, I have made my own body into a crucible, for I cannot fathom an instant in my life where I cannot calculate, build, and tear down. I suppose he left more of a mark on me than I had imagined. Strange lessons are learned when one only has one’s self for company for… is it ‘months’ now? I can no longer tell. When I retreat to the workshop I have built in my mind, I tend to lose track of the time.

My limitations lie in simple laws of nature. I can neither create nor destroy energy or aether completely, only move it around. They don't feed me enough to give strength to both my body and my mind, no matter how far I let my body waste to reduce its demand. It is the only thing that prevents me from fabricating that which I visualize. Do they know? Is it calculated? Purposeful? Or are they simply deft wielders of chance? All I need is a spark - one sliver of power to bring me out of the red and I can break free of this wretched place. I had thought I would languish for years here - I had prepared for it.

Then that au’ra girl walked in. I recognized the presence immediately, like a familiar perfume. It was His work. The damnable glass; wretched slivers of malice that poisoned my thoughts till I fancied myself a conqueror. And yet… so full of power, to ripe with energy. A single shard could give me everything I needed with just enough surplus to restore some motor functions that would likely prove useful in an escape attempt. Such as the use of my legs.

I contacted her - I expended a whole day's food’s worth of energy to do it, but the effort was worth it. Her mind was like soft wood as I took a chisel of doubt and temptation to it. I planted a seed, and oh would it grow. And I am patient - so very patient. So long as my mind is alive, I am as whole as I need to be. She will come soon enough; as soon as her hunger for chaos takes over and she brings me salvation in the palm of her hand, I will be free. Free to answer the questions the world did not know were being asked, free to pursue the knowledge that all others walk on eggshells to avoid the notion of. Free --

The silence is cut like wholecloth - parted, but not broken. I hear a “tap tap tap” indicative of fine leather-soled shoes. A tac is loose on the right heel and with my attention on this sole point in the quiet, it slowly drives me mad. If only I had a hammer…

“Tap taptap tap tippity tap.”

It shifts to a small dance - a softshoe. I begin to remember a time before… but there's that loose tac again. My hands ache like a starving man's stomach to fix it.

“Tap tap… taptap.” It stops in front of my cell door, large and imposing from my position on the ground. I can barely open my eyes enough to see his shoes - and what shoes they are. Before I can begin to dote on the craftsmanship, it leans down to better fit in my line of sight. A long coat brushes its calves; I cannot see the color of it. Its hands are clasped behind its back, and beneath a wide-brimmed fedora, I can make out nothing of his face save a too-white cheshire grin. The teeth are wickedly sharp, and I can see the tails of the coat softly swishing to and fro. Straining at the upper edge of my sight, I can see the ears now, too.

He speaks: “You are in entirely the wrong prison, my friend. What a mess you've made, indeed.” His voice lilts with amusement, “You wouldn't believe the trouble I went through to sort out…” he makes an all-encompassing gesture towards me, “this.” He begins to pace, throwing his feet out before him in a casual mock goose-step, “When the posse of, what do you call them, Networkers? Sure. When they managed to actually clear all the creatures from that safehouse, and that rat with the shard stuck to it's back didn't escape, we figured the whole thing would go tits up! The girl, Ibakha, didn't end up with that piece, which she should have been tempted to bring here to you and you would have escaped. And let's not even get started talking about the mess that is you in this prison to begin with. I could go on for hours!”

He halts mid-step and turns to come toward my cell once more. Dropping down to squat on the balls of his feet, he meets my weak gaze on my own level. I try not to flinch, but a single muscle in my arm betrays my helpless state. He leans in, now speaking in hushed, secretive tones, “I’m sorry, I know I tend to ramble. I’m just very passionate about my work, I assure you. It’s not some persistent character failing.”

He finally tugs the brim of his hat up, the dim light of the chamber revealing a smiling, genial face. He is a miquo’te of middling age, but I cannot bring myself to describe his features. My words slip off his attributes like rain off an otter’s back. I am no stranger to glamours and illusionary magicks, I have employed them, and I know when I am being touched by them. I want to demand an explanation - both for why he is here and for where he thought he received license to toy with my mind. I know my cheeks would be flush with simmering anger, but my heart is not beating strongly enough to make that expression. I work to twist my tongue into words, but all I manage to utter is a dry rasp like a rattlesnake’s warning.

He holds up a hand as if to hold me at bay. “Please, don’t stress yourself. You’ll need the strength in the coming days.” He begins to gesticulate, as if he were connecting physical points as he explains, “You see, I’ll be delivering a small sliver of that glass you all love so much to our mutual au’ra friend. She was denied the piece she was supposed to get, but I believe if we insert a replacement, events will still go smoothly.”

I connect those dots immediately, and my eyes flicker a tick wider with the implications of his words. It would seem that by his hand, I will be free sooner than I had expected.

He carries on: “All of this to ensure that you, my friend, end up in the right prison. Never forget that, understand? You’ll be locked up sooner or later, just not here, not now. You have a bit more to do before that end finds you.” He digs in a deep pocket in his jacket and produces a yellow, spongy rectangle. I recognize it as a Garlean ration bar. Beautiful works of culinary arts that contained enough nutrients to keep a soldier up and fighting for a full day and night. I can feel the fleshy inside of my mouth trembling, trying its best to salivate, but finding nothing to work with. He snaps the bar in half and gestures at me with one of the halves, “This has to go off without a hitch. A great deal rests on this event, and we can’t have you screwing it up because of a chronically empty stomach. But,” he continues, tossing only one of the halves into my cell, “we can’t have you looking *too* healthy. They’re the observant kind, they’d notice you getting your color back early.” He pops the other half into his mouth and claps his hands free of crumbs. He springs back to his feet and through a full mouth says “Werr, gooj tark. We’rr be in tousch shoon!” With a casual wave, he turns on that damned squeaky right heel and appears to simply step away.

I can no longer sense his presence, so his departure is no illusion. Yet, I find it hard to concentrate on the strange miquo’te when I can smell the ration bar that rests by my hand. It would seem that it is time to begin planning my escape. With a trembling hand, I grasp the bar and simply stare for a long moment, not fully believing the turn of events. I begin to lower myself deep into my mind’s workshop to begin drafting new schema.

And I take a bite.

[iudiex]

At seeing the otters he's been cooing at straighten, so does Aether. It takes a moment until he locates the extra company, staring silently for what feels like a small eternity before he, too, sits straighter. "Nothing fishy going on here." he says after another beat, the fish in his hand struggling with one last hurrah as if for comedic effect. All he wanted to do was to feed the cute otters that have gathered around him while he was fishing.

         𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫   𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲   𝐨𝐟   𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥   features,   it's   comically   difficult   to   discern   exactly   what   neuvillette   is   both   feeling   and   thinking   in   that   moment.   vishap's   gaze   cants   back   and   forth   between   the   gathering   of   both   otters   and   traveler,   and   the   iudex   allows   the   silence   to   stretch   between   them...   long   and   perilous,   before   there   is   the   barest   hint   of   a   twitch   to   pale   lips.   

          ❝    ⸻   careful,   ❞   he   utters   oh-so   gently,   and   that   soft   -   soft   smile   grows   just   a   bit.    ❝   they   prefer   the   wavy   heartfin   bass   and   will   steal   it   right   from   your   hands   if   you're   not   -   ❞   sharp   eyes   catch   a   scampering   otter   inching   towards   aether,   little   paws   reaching   up   for   the   now   dead   fish,    ❝   paying   attention.   ❞