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ghoulphile · 1 month

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janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears.

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood.

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog.

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

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st4rrth0ughts · 3 months

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Aventurine character study that I spewed at my friend posted here bc I despise whoever portrays him as a useless blonde 24/7 horny twink as his canon self (i will throttle you through the fuckin screen)

A/n: I think the 2.1 trailer is helping me regain my writing motivation, expect inbox asks from Jan- Feb to be coming out soon :)

WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 This post will contain leaks, 2.0 Trailblaze quest spoilers, world quest spoilers, Aven's slave life in canon, disgusting people saying Aven's a sex slave, under the cut! Please proceed with caution if any of these trigger you. Thank you, and enjoy my yap session on one of the best characters in this game.

Aventurine's story is much more than just looking and acting like the typical rich blonde playboy, as much as he gives off those vibes. Looking at his child self in the 2.1 trailer compared to all of his current models, its very obvious that many, many things happened that caused all the light to poof from his eyes.

First, his homeland, Sigonia. Aventurine's home planet's is uninhabited, and perhaps even destroyed completely. Aventurine is the last of his kind left. His parents, his sister, his possible friends and relatives, hell, even all the people he doesn't know have all perished. The IPC took him in, I presume, but most definitely not out of kindness. In fact, it may not matter that Aventurine is one of the Ten Stonehearts, he is not a person to the company. He is just a asset, a piece for them to dispose if he fucks up.

In the 1.4? Belobog quest where Topaz goes to Bronya about Belobog's massive debt to the IPC, and at the end, we get our first crumbs of Aventurine's character. A important thing to note in this dialogue between the two of them is that he asks Topaz to the project manager on his project in Penacony, because if he knows better than everyone that if he fails to get Penacony back into the IPC's grasp, he'll die. There's no way around it, unless he gets someone he has a somewhat close bond with, Topaz, to lighten his fall.

The tattoo on his neck, is a symbol of his slavery to the IPC. How he's bound to them. How no matter how hard he runs or hides, he will never escape their grasp. In fact, he knows damn well, if anyone gets wind of this alongside his Sigonian history (Sigonians are notorious for being wolves in sheep's clothing, bad people in most eyes'), it is very well possible that his rivals and enemies will use his past to their advantage. Thats why he freely shows it to the world. So that no one can dig it up and use it against him, because how do you use something that he so freely proclaims to everyone he meets?

Aventurine is a man who gambles as well. Not just simply gambling for the thrill of it or his earnings. He says it himself, he sees the world, life itself, as a gamble. High reward, high stakes. Even going back to his conversation with Topaz, its only shown on how he tells her he warned her about taking Belobog as her project because it was high risk, but low return. Aventurine wants the best outcome not just for himself, but because if he doesn't get a good outcome, the IPC has no use for him.

Aventurine is a man who knows how to get what he wants. he knows how to take risks, get out of high stake scenarios with him being the winner. Its obvious in his lightcone, 'Final Victor', his conversation with Dr. ratio in the Penacony 2.0 Trailblaze quest, and his conversation with Himeko and Welt about giving up his room for the Trailblazer. He's confident, cocky, if you will. But for good reason.

In the lightcone, its implied it doesn't matter for Aventurine dies or lives. He will always be the winner. Every move is calculated, precise, carried out with clockwork precision and most importantly, planned so well that whether you like it or not, you're letting him win. He manages to get the Nameless, the widely regarded faction, in his debt. He knows damn well how to play his cards. It is extremely impressive. But he is the Aventurine of Stratagems. He knows what he wants and needs, and he will go any length to get it.

The lightcone, again, also shows just how far Aventurine risks, just for him to gain Dr. Ratio as a asset for him to benefit from. He could have gone any route, but what does he go for? Thats right, Russian goddamn roulette. Just for the (I assume) slim chance of Dr. Ratio's trust, or at the very least, cooperation. "I will always be the final victor." I am repeating, but just bear with me here, this just solidifies the fact he is confident in his skills. He doesn't flinch at all when he shoots 3 blank rounds right into his heart, even though there's the 1/6 chance he'll die. He takes risks. Its his character. He doesn't have anything or anyone, much less his own life, left to loose.

The lightcone is also not 'haha funny gay story', as much as it is funny, i wont lie, the memes are fun to look at, but it is not that. Its a story where Aventurine's suicidal tendency shows through, perhaps not so clearly, but its very much there if you look past the story and read into it. Again, Russian roulette, he could have gone for anything else, like a contract or smth, but he knows he has to go through extremes, and this just solidifies the fact of how Aventurine will do anything for assets and trust in him, so his plans can come to fruition.

Aventurine's personality is complicated, like a intricate, deceiving web of lies and emotional barriers to keep him safe. He hides behind the facade of smiles and is unreadable, and his past is all but cheery. A slave, (not a sex slave, twitter+Tiktok users need their brain fucking reworked i will cry) a man branded by the IPC, bound to the till his death is what Aventurine is. The IPC is ruthless, evident from multiple world quests, such as the Aurum Street Alley quest, Belobog's debt quest, Chadwick's quest in Penacony, paints them as bad people, a bad organization in general. Hell, even though Topaz isnt like the assholes we've seen, she's far from an angel herself.

Aventurine has gone through many things to have lost the sparkle in his eyes. Take Childe/Tartaglia from Genshin Impact for example, whom fell into the abyss for months, seen all the horrors of it, had to learn to fend for himself because I'm very sure Skirk did not care for him in a healthy sense. We can either assume Aventurine been through something on the same level during his younger days or perhaps, worse.

And no, he is not Dr. Ratio or Sunday's sex slave, I'm looking at a certain artist on Twitter (fuck off I'm not calling it X), its disgusting. Whoever genuinely enjoys sex slave Aventurine is sick in the damn head, no he would not enjoy that kind of Roleplay, as much as i am downbad and indeed filthy with some of my fics with him.

Aventurine doesn't have anyone he can truly call a friend, ship him with Dr. ratio, Sunday, Boothill (yes, its a thing), Caelus/ Stelle, whoever, but in the end, you cannot say he (as of 2.0, this may change) has any true friends he can trust, not even just a bit. Bonds he forms are transactional, maybe not too much on Dr. Ratio (as evidenced by his dejected his looks after Ratio leaves, either from the insult or bc he truly though Ratio cared) and perhaps on the Astral Express's part, but his bond with Sunday? Yeah, its transactional, 101% unless it changes in 2.1.

All in all, Aventurine is my favourite character, i have never wanted to read, write, understand, watch, hell, I've never wanted to farm and pull for a character as much as him. He is a complex, heavy and deep character that I do not believe many can grasp upon properly when writing stories, headcannons or even smut/nsfw works with him in it (shoutout to those who does tho, I love y'all <3).

Draw or write his fanon self, make him a himbo, tsundere, a rich man who's just a playboy, or a blonde with a pretty face, but you cannot say that is him in canon. I may despise some fanon interpretations, but fuck those who merge fanon and canon. He will never be any of the fanon interpretations i mentioned above, and he never will be in canon. Hoyoverse put their whole soul into this man, i can see it, and its brain damaging on how so many people fetishize his past and water him down.

In speculation of 2.1 and 2.2, if Aventurine does live (he prob will, its unlikely he'll be killed before release, Tingyun is a exception because she released before her death), maybe he'll learn how to start to open himself up again, start to fully trust, starting with Trailblazer as his first true friend. Its cliche, typical protag power bullshit, but it will no doubt, be a huge step in shaping Aventurine back into the man he could have been if his planet wasn't enslaved.

Conclusion: He deserves better, both in- game and how the fandom treats him. I love him, he's my adorable pookie wookie shmookie <33

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thurifer-at-heart · 10 months

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"Christianity is the only major world religion to have as its central focus the suffering and degradation of its God. The crucifixion is so familiar to us, and so moving, that it is hard to realize how unusual it is as an image of God." Churches sometimes offer Christian education classes under the title "Why Did Jesus Have to Die?" This is not really the right question. A better one is, "Why was Jesus crucified?" The emphasis needs to be, not just on the death, but on the manner of the death. To speak of a crucifixion is to speak of a slave's death. We might think of all the slaves in the American colonies who were killed at the whim of an overseer or owner, not to mention those who died on the infamous Middle Passage across the Atlantic. No one remembers their names or individual histories; their stories were thrown away with their bodies. This was the destiny chosen by the Creator and Lord of the universe: the death of a nobody. Thus the Son of God entered into solidarity with the lowest and least of all his creation, the nameless and forgotten, "the offscouring [dregs] of all things" (1 Cor. 4:13).

—Fleming Rutledge, The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ (p.75)

#to speak of a crucifixion is to speak of a slave's death #fleming rutledge #the crucifixion #crucifixion #jesus christ #jesus #episcopalian #progressive christian #progressive christianity #queer christian #liberation theology #theology #christianity #christian

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 6 months

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#381

“Wakey wakey. Time to wake up…. Don’t try to move around too much. As you are realizing, you are in a predicament. You are lying in my basement, buck naked, tied up, gagged, collared, with a fuck pillow under your pelvis. You ain’t going anywhere, anytime soon….

“We’ve never met, but we know each other. We both do the same thing for work, but we are nothing alike. This is what’s happening. I am part of a nameless organization that takes faggots, trains them to be slaves, and sells them to buyers from around the world. From what I’ve been told over the years, the faggots delivered to me want to drop off the grid and sold into slavery. They turn themselves in to a collector, who then has them delivered to me. I don’t know if that’s true as I don’t let any of the faggots talk other than to say, ‘Yes Sir!’

“Now for you, I was told your backstory. It seems that you are a collector for a different kind of group. I train fags who offer themselves up for the taking. You seem to prefer the non-consensual abductions of twelve- to fifteen-year-old girls. I don’t care that you prefer pussy over dicks, but I do draw the line with their age.

“As I said, I was told what you are. That never happens. Ever. But it appears that you approached the ten-year-old niece of one of higher ups in the organization, and he recognized what and who you were. That stupid move brought you here.

“I have no idea who the higher up is nor do I care. Hell, we don’t know any of the men that are in the other parts of my organization, let alone hear from them. So I found it surprising to get a call from a higher up—who I haven’t heard from in a few years—that I am to train you personally. You better fucking believe that I’m going to train the fuck out of you.

“I have been training faggots for nearly forty years. This is my farm you are on. Twelve hundred acres. Twelve hundred acres with some of the most advanced surveillance and anti-escape deterrents. I know of every person who steps foot on my property, and I know if a slave is ten feet away from where it is supposed to be. The ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs, and collar have tracking devices in them. The collar can deliver a shock to keep you in line at a moment’s notice. And the ankle cuffs are set up that if you go beyond a certain perimeter, a numbing agent is injected causing your legs to go numb and become useless. Escape is not possible. In my twenty years at this location, I have only had one slave make it off property, but it was collected within three minutes of doing so. That slave was brought back and tortured in front of all the other slaves as a deterrent. And that was before all the tracking technology was put in. So keep that in mind if you decide to do something stupid.

“Now,… for the past five minutes, I have been telling you the predicament you find yourself in. I have been watching your reaction. Being gagged, you can’t say anything, but your body language says it all. You seem too calm and not surprised at the description of my organization. No reaction really. That tells me that you are familiar with an operation like this. When I tell you that you were collected for stalking that niece, you don’t look shocked by that accusation. That pretty much confirms what I was told,… not that it matters otherwise.

“No, the only reaction I saw was when I tell you that I am going to do your training. You looked panicked. Your eyes went right to my bulge. Oh yeah. I noticed. You are straight indeed. I should say, ‘were straight.’ From this moment on, you will never go back to that life. The only cunt in your future is the one I’m about to make out of this hole between your legs.

“You have a great ass, so flawlessly smooth. On any other slave, this ass would be a huge selling feature. But for you, it’s a source of pain. I need to put out my cigarette somewhere. Your asscheek is the best place to do it…. Scream motherfucker scream. Your perfect ass is going to go through some changes, from being daily whipped to being used as an ashtray. You are going to be scarred up for sure.

“For the next part, I need to take off my boots and get out of these overalls. You are going to get acquainted with Otto. That’s what some of the fag slaves and some of the trainers call my dick. Otto, it means ‘eight’ in Italian. I’m actually closer to nine inches, but nine in Italian is ‘Nove’ which doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t roll over the tongue as nicely as Otto. Hehe.

“Look up at me. Look shithead! Here’s Otto. Look at the cock that is going to own your life. Half hard, it’s bigger than yours. Keep staring at my foreskin. Otto needs to piss. You will be trained on drinking piss. That’s all the liquid you will be given. And if you are wondering if that means that you will be trained on becoming a full toilet, let me say we stopped training our slaves on that a while back. It was too time consuming, and the buyers weren’t interested in that feature. But for you, the higher ups want you trained. But that will have to wait.

“Are you… you are…! You’re crying! About time! Hold still. Let me wash away those tears for you. Piss is the best antidote to tears. There’s no feeling in the world like starting to tear down a once proud man by simply pissing on his face. It’s getting me hard. Otto likes what he’s doing to you. But he wants action.

“Normally, you would be sucking the last few drops out of my foreskin. But I ain’t ungagging you yet. Besides, Otto needs to turn a virgin ass into a gaping cunt.

“Your hole is perfectly displayed, like it’s ready to be destroyed thanks to that fuck pillow and how wide your legs were spread and secured. Oh look. Your cock and balls are just hanging there,… exposed,…

“…Damn! Even with my bare feet, I can deliver one hell of a ball kick. Ha! Ha! Your screams mean everything to me. You know, each and every one of my personal slaves are kicked in the balls every morning. They need to be reminded of their place on a daily basis.

“Now, you will be spared that daily torture. And that’s not because I would never have you as my personal slave, and don’t worry I wouldn’t own such trash. No, I’m going to castrate you, in one of the most painful ways. I haven’t decided how yet. I do know that I will leave your empty sack intact. We have a urologist that will make changes to your dick so that you lose all ability to get hard and with a few snips to the nerves in the area, all physical sensation will be gone. Essentially your dick will constantly just hang there and be utterly useless… other than to piss out of. Every time you reach down there, you will only feel the shell of what you used to be.

“Awww you’ve done full on sob. Here let me collect some of your tears. Tears of cunts are the best lube.

“Do you feel Otto at your hole? Feel his weight in your crack? He’s ready to go. Can you feel his leak. Lucky for you, you really got me leaking. Feel that wetness? That’s all you. Virgin cunt meets wine bottle thick dick.

“Don’t fucking start resisting. Your cherry is going to be popped. Here goes.

“Don’t fucking fight me. It’s only going to be more painful for you. You are making my dick even harder.

“LET ME IN! I’m coming in. Oh, you got my head. You are really starting to piss me off.

“Urg! There. Normally I would let a cunt relax before I begin, but you don’t fucking deserve that. Right to the… goddamned… root! Fuck, you’re tight. By the end of tonight, you will be a gaping mess.

“Not only have I been lucky to have such a big dick, but I can cum multiple times a night. My first load is always quick, but the second one goes on for hours. Then I have a gang bang lined up for this cunt.

“I’ll let someone else pop the cherry in your throat. There’s no way I’m going to let Otto near your mouth, at least not while you still have a mouthful of teeth. Oh yeah, those will be coming out as part of your transformation.

“Keep crying. Oh man. Oh fuck. I’m getting close. You ready to be bred? You ready to make your transformation to cunt complete? Here it cums. Here it goddamned cums! Ahh! Ahh! Fuuuuck!

“Holy shit! That was… fuck.

“Your cunt has one of my biggest loads in it. That should help lubricate you up a bit for round two…. Don’t try to push me out. Otto will come out when he wants to. Right now, he just wants a minute to catch his breath.

“Cunt, you have nothing but hell ahead of you. There will be no let up. Today is about breaking you in. Tomorrow will begin your life of pain. We have a shitload planned for you. I don’t know how long it will be for you to with us, but each day we will strip away what made you a man, a human.

“You know, when we put a slave up for auction, we have transformed the fag into the best slave it could be. We don’t do it for its wellbeing. No, we want top dollar. And we get top dollar. That’s our reputation.

“But for you, I was given the instruction that your transformation should be so extreme that when you are put up for auction, without a reserve price, that you are so repulsively distorted that you are sold for the lowest amount we ever had for a slave. That shouldn’t be a problem with all the branding, scarification, tattooing, deteething, and so on. Your previous profession will be shared with your new owners so that they can keep up your hell. “Oh fuck. All this talk of your pathetic life is getting me hard again. I’m ready to begin round two. This should last a few hours.”

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y-rhywbeth2 · 7 months

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Gods and Clergy: Bane

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Well, I did the murderhobos, might as well cover the deity and daily business of our favourite hot-topic-shopping dictator and co. now? Ahahahahaaaaa There is too much goddamn material on Bane, I'm going to kill Ed Greenwood-

Intro: If you're not consumed with fear and hatred while trying to take over a city which you intend to rule with cruelty and an iron fist then this is not the religion/political party for you. If this is not the religion/party for you, please lower your neck so that I can attach this slave collar to it.

Banites: The hierarchy and rituals and stupid toys of the church of Bane is what you get when Lawful Evil and Lawful Stupid have a horrible, overcomplicated offspring called Lawful Sadistic. Bring me the avatar of Bane I'm going to stab this fucker Also, being goth is mandatory.

Dreadmasters: More teleporting! Bossy, immune to fear and fond of magic rods. Also, do you remember that "divine oath" Durge and Gortash swore...?

The Chosen: Should be way more impressive than what we saw in game. Forging unbreakable oaths! Pet beholders! Detachable shadow spies! Etcetera!

Bane: Boy, the world (and my sanity) would've been a much better off if this dude had gotten intensive therapy instead of divine power!

(This thing is too fucking long and should perhaps be split into two posts but ooooh my god am I not editing this anymore.)

---

Bane's clergy often hear their god whispering his dogma in their dreams:

"Serve no one but me. Fear me always - and make others fear me even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down on those who stand against it in the end. Defy me and die - or in your death find loyalty, for I shall compel it. Submit to my will, [as uttered by my ranking clergy] since true power can only be gained through service to me. [Spread the dark fear of Bane.] It is the doom of those unguided by me to let power spill through their hands. [Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.]" - Bane's Dogma [with 14th century addendums in brackets]

Bane is basically the quintessential villain of the Realms. When a person pictures the face of evil, they picture this god and his followers.

The most important thing to know about Bane and his religion, in my opinion, is summed up here:

"The summons [from Ao] had come wearing the face and form of that which each of the gods feared most. [...] To the Black Lord, Bane, the summons came in the guise of absolute love and understanding, its light searing his essence as it carried him from his kingdom." - Shadowdale

You want to give one of the most evil bastard in the pantheon a panic attack? Give him a hug.

Following a brief version of a backstory that has been given for him; the mortal who would be Bane was born on Abeir, Toril's linked twin planet/parallel universe. There he was a nameless battle slave to Maram of the Great Spear - an ancient primordial being of absolute evil whom the Netherese had summoned into the world, where it broke free and started inflicting horrors upon the world. While in the service of said horrifying evil, the young slave nurtured ambitions of having absolute power for himself.

While on Toril he teamed up with his two future frenemies, Bhaal and Myrkul, and they killed (or possibly subjugated) his master and took his power for themselves, before heading off to nag Jergal for his job. After bickering, the ex-slave known only as "the Bane of the Ancients" wins the draw and gets to be what he always wanted - the epitome of tyranny with godlike power. The next step for him is to conquer the mortal world and destroy all the other gods so that none have power and control over him.

Banite religion is founded on the principle of making Bane's dream of global domination possible. Every Banite is a link in the chains of Bane's power. What they rule, he rules. All Banites strive to take over something (village, city, kingdom, army, whatever). All Banites are expected to aid and obey their superiors in this domination.

When in control, a Banite is to use their power to "further the cause of hate, fear, destruction and strife." Doing so within the control of the law is preferable, but chaos is tolerated as long as that chaos is wielded as a tool with perfect control. You can get voted into power by stirring up people's fears of minorities, or start the apocalypse and present yourself as the saviour - but you must not be overwhelmed, or you have failed.

The world is divided into slaves who have no power and exist to serve, and the powerful who command them. Bane is the rightful master of all and all are to serve him, and by extension his followers (those with the strength to seek, take and hold power), willingly or by force. Control is the key virtue in the eyes of the faith. Always be in control and/or be controlled by somebody more capable/deserving of power than you. As their lessers are expected to obey every order perfectly, the superiors are expected to be competent in their leadership and wield perfect command.

Banites pride themselves on being cold and decisive in all that they say and do. They also enjoy cutting sarcasm. It's vital to appear in command of yourself and the world around you - shouting, loss of temper and other outbursts of behaviour that suggest a lack of control/power are avoided like the plague. Two Banites on the brink of killing each other may appear to be in the midst of only a polite, but insistent disagreement.

Bane used to enjoy watching his power hungry idiots backstabbing each other to climb the ranks while overzealous worshippers splintered into factions and started killing each other (most notably a divide between the divine-magic based orthodoxy and the arcane-magic based reformers/"Transformers".) Then Mystra technically killed him during a fight with Torm in the Time of Troubles, and Cyric took over his church. When Bane made a comeback in the 14th century he immediately decided they wouldn't be doing that anymore. Now it's an united rigid hierarchy from top to bottom, and Banites are a well organised, well equipped unit.

The laws of the heathens are irrelevant, but a Banite who gets caught breaking those law trying to achieve their goals is expected to suck it up and do the time for failure - unless they've been doing such a good job that everybody's too far under their control to try and punish them for it, in which case great job. A+ in Bane worship.

Banites typically establish themselves in an area by finding a location out of sight of a civilisation and building a fortress, where they build their power until they are too strong a force to drive off. Taking over an existing fort is also a possibility. The temple is run like a military base: spartan, with only tapestries showing Bane's symbol and religious texts on it for decoration. The courtyard is meant for military drills and rituals, and there's a mass hall for dining and holding prayer. They like pointy architecture. And black. Oh, and the torture basements! Can't forget those. It's also where they keep a variety of trained monsters in pens. You may end up sharing your cell with a displacer beast or something, but don't worry about it.

Banites have a secret network of teleporting spells. The actual "portals" will be any space of stone big enough to stand on, which are magically connected to other points (also stone). If you stand on one and speak the correct password, then it will teleport you to the destination designated by that password. There are no spells or barriers that can prevent the teleporter from arriving at their destination. Banites can bring others along with them if they are physically connected when the password is said. They can't bring more than 100lbs of inanimate matter with them.

All are welcome to convert to Bane. There will be an interview where your intentions are checked, although if it turns out you're not actually evil-aligned you can still join. There's a good chance that they'll use magic to turn you into an "incorruptible champion of evil and uncompromising disciple of order" anyway; "for Bane recognizes the value of those who have seen the lure of good and turned away from it to serve evil."

Or just use dark magic to twist you from a person into a weapon/guard/servant bound to the service of Bane anyway.

Banites are also able to ensure loyalty with a magically binding divine oath called the Dark Promise, cast by his favoured priests (Dreadmasters). It's an old spell, back from the early days when Bane was a new god and his followers were vulnerable, and is not used as often. When the spell is cast and the oath is made, a set of circumstances are set into motion that targets of the spell must follow to the letter. The promise must have Bane's interests at heart and the conditions and stipulations cannot be endanger the individuals' lives. If the oath is violated, it drains the oath breaker's life force. The damage done by this spell cannot be healed, and if the oath breaking does not cease then they will die.

Bane is one of the few exceptions amongst the gods in that his worshippers are all henotheistic rather than polytheistic. Banites consider worship of other deities "foolish," Bane is the only master you should truly serve. All under Banite rule will be forced to convert to the worship of Bane. They are however willing to cooperate with the followers of Loviatar (pain), Talona (disease), Malar (predation), and Mask (thievery) as Bane has terrified these gods into allying with him. From a certain school of Banite thought, this means that they and their followers are part of the chains of Bane's will (the gods/faithful in question probably wouldn't agree). Bhaal was, or perhaps still is, a servant of Bane and he and Myrkul have also been counted amongst Bane's allies in the past, despite their tendency to squabble, so cooperation with Bhaalists and Myrkulites is not unimaginable when it serves both their deities.

Banites do not get on so well with... anybody, but they particularly hate worshippers of Ilmater (compassion), Tyr (justice), Helm (non-Banite order), Lathander (optimism/renewal), Torm (champion of the innocent), Oghma (knowledge) and Mystra. If they get their hands on one they'll usually torture them and leave their mutilated bodies somewhere for the distressed public to find. Bane and Cyric are still at war, both due to humiliation and the fact that they're still fighting over areas of divine power that the other has stolen/reclaimed from the other, and the corpses of Cyricists that fall into Banite hands are usually found with "heretic" branded on their foreheads as a warning to others who worship the usurper.

Banite clergy are expected to always be armed, and it is mandatory that you at least wear something black at all times. For ceremonial purposes, Banites wear black armour or robes with a blood-red cape. Wizards like to enchant their robes so that they swirl and give off illusions of glittering with "black stars" and have blood dripping off the hem. The higher in the ranks you go, the fancier the clothes get. Banites used to have facial tattooing, although this made them rather easy to identify and kill off when Cyric took over and some purges took place. The highest ranking Banites can be identified by a gem that they wear on their forehead. Banites are not expected to wear anything that would identify their religious affiliations if it would get them persecuted, but they do like decorating their clothes with spikes and are are expected to dress in a certain specific colour that I'm getting sick of typing out. When Bane rules the world we will all be dressing as goths under threat of execution...

Each priest has a ceremonial staff denoting their rank, which they will have at these rituals. When a Banite dies they are buried with it. They are unenchanted and purely for ceremony, at most being used to light braziers. It starts with a simple black wood staff [level 1], which at higher ranks has an ivory skull at the top [lvl 2-4]. Higher yet they add silver plating, and the skull is the size of a fist [lvl 5], and the even higher level priests that skull has ram horns [lvl 6]. After that you get real human skulls! [at lvl 7+]! They're allowed to decorate theirs how they like, as well as adding enchantments. So gemstones, magic runes, etc.

Bane's holy symbol is the Black Hand, a symbol of terror recognisable to the entire Realms. Versions include a black handprint, a black claw or a metal gauntlet embedded with jewels. Priests usually wear a replica of the hand as a carved pendant of black stone. There is another Black Hand seen on his high-ranking priests: elbow-length gloves crafted of flexible metal mesh or chainmail, usually worn on the left hand. It emits an eerie dark radiance, i's supposed to be black, and a non-Banite found wearing one can expect every Banite on the planet to hunt them to the ends of the world for this blasphemy (also it's about 50,000gp in value jfc). The gauntlet cannot be damaged by force and absorbs all spells of third level or less. Area of effect spells are not negated, but cannot affect the wearer. It can drain magic out of items, should the wearer touch them with intent to do so. The wearer can then discharge all of the absorbed magic into the body of another by touching them, causing them damage. They can also paralyze undead and living beings via touch.

To question or disobey a superior is to question or disobey Bane himself, and is answered by torture, disfigurement and/or death. The word of a Banite of superior rank is law, and you will do literally anything they ask you to do.

Banites have invented a magic whip (a mystic lash) that does all sorts of fun nonsense in case that happens. It's made of glowing red energy. If the priest needs their hands free then the whip can actually wield itself (need to scourge that annoying initiate, but you don't want to look up from your book? Then good news!) If the wielder choses, a lash of the whip may cause one of the following; paralysis, memory loss, seizures, extra damage plus the disintegration of equipment, or electrocution.

One is expected to greet those of higher rank by kneeling in front of them and kissing their boots

At the bottom of the hierarchy are the novices, who are addressed by the title of "slave." If they're good enough, Bane will send them a dream vision or manifest as a voice speaking from one of his altars - he will name them, and they are allowed to enter the first rank of the priesthood… of which there are 12 ranks with their own unique addresses, which everybody is expected to memorise. Disrespect to a higher rank will, as mentioned, involve insulting Bane and lead to torture, disfigurement and potential death.

The only time you're not expected to use the titles is when in the presence of heathens, Banites will address each other as Brother/Sister Faithful (when speaking to an equal/lesser) or Dread Brother/Sister (when addressing a superior).

Banites do not refer to each other by name, only by the name of their rank (unless there are too many individuals of the same rank. In the case you had a room full of Black Fangs, you would address them individually as Black Fang [Surname].) It's generally impossible for eavesdroppers to learn the names or personal details of a Banite.

The rankings are determined by character level, and are as follows:

Watchful Brother/Sister/Sibling

Deadly Adept

Trusted Servant

Willing Whip

Hooded Menace

Black Fang

Striking Hand

Vigilant Talon

Masked Death

Dark Doom

Higher Doom

Deep Mystery

The Deep Mysteries include the Deeper Mysteries… which have their own ranks! Secret, higher levels which are unknown to those of the first 11 levels who must address all higher ranking Banites as "Deep Mystery." There is no official means by which a Banite is bestowed this title, they bestow them upon themselves if they believe they should have the rank. The test lies in the fact that in order to keep the title their fellow Banites must also begin using them - in other words if you are not a pretender and truly have the power and authority to hold this title, then your siblings in the faith will follow.

The ranks of the Deep Mysteries, in order of authority, from lowest to highest:

Vigilator

Lord/Lady of Mysteries

Lord/Lady of the Hand

Imperceptor

Dark Imperceptor

Grand Bloodletter

High Inquisitor

The High Imperceptor is the Banite of highest rank of the Deep Mysteries, supreme living servant of Bane, and unlike the prior titles this one cannot be self-bestowed. I haven't seen any explanation for how it is bestowed, but I imagine Bane decides.

Banites don't bother with set holy days. We will have a holy day whenever the leading priest decides we're having one, and it will be called whatever they decide it is. This usually means a) somebody fucked up, time for a public punishment; or b) we've got an enemy/traitor, time for human sacrifice.

Rituals are to be held in as close to pitch darkness as is possible, gathered around the Black Altar (a wood table covered in a black cloth, a block of black stone - whatever, just so long as it's black so we can give it an ominous name). The Black Altar is to be made holy by having a replica of the Holy Hand of Bane floating above it (this too has to be black in colour). This is a levitating 6 foot tall stone hand that can sense alignments within a 60 foot radius, and it will attack good-aligned people on encountering them. When not in use it patrols Banite locations, seeking out spies and intruders and killing them.

And that the Seat of Bane will be placed in front of the Black Altar. The chair is black, its back is carved into the shape of a hand. Senior clergy sit in the throne when acting as Bane's voice for the rest of the congregation. So the leader of the area's Banites sits in the chair, and that means Bane is sitting in the chair. While sitting in it, the seated can read the thoughts of all beings within 90 yards. it can project a forcefield around the chair; can nullify magic in the area; allows the seated to see through illusions and invisibility; know the alignment of everyone present; allow the seated to speak with dead; and also conjure walls of fire. If the chair is knocked over, it causes a massive explosion of fire that kills everyone around it.

Then the party. With minimum partying and maximum solemn, ominous chanting and deep, heavy drum beats. Those guilty of disobedience or other failures will be chained to the altar and whipped in front of the congregation. And then there's the human sacrifice: "Sacrifices had to be humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before dying to be acceptable to Bane, and they usually met their deaths through slashing, flogging, or being crushed by the Hand of Bane."

The traditional power base of the Banite faith was Zhentil Keep, the base of operations for the Zhentarim. The Black Network has once again been taken from Bane by Cyricists however, after the death of Fzoul Chembryl a few decades back - Fzoul was a Chosen of Bane and basically his favourite servant (who has since been made into a quasi-deity bearing some of Bane's divine power, that he may continue to serve) and Zhentil Keep is currently in ruins. The loss of the Keep (for a second time) destroyed Zhentarim power, and now they're mostly just a bunch of mercenaries with good connections on the black market trade routes (slaves, drugs, weapons, etc) as far as I can find.

The Dreadmasters are Bane's specialty priests, making up 10% of all Banites. Dreadmaster is a unisex title. They spend their time doing all the spellwork and making all the delightful inventions that have been giving me a headache. They have a stupid number of spells given to them. Nobody else's specialty priests have this many fucking spells.

They cannot feel fear from sources other than Bane

They can, however, project the feeling of absolute terror into every being within 10 feet of them, usually causing everyone to run screaming.

They can completely destroy the souls of the dying

Create extra evil undead

Create powerful, still sapient undead servants from dead Banites (from ghouls up to vampires)

Create animated suits of armour that serve the Banites, powered by people's souls

Make a warding symbol drawn with a mixture containing three drops of blood from a collection made by sacrificing 30 people. The ward is invisible and cannot be detected, and when activated it drains the life out of everyone present.

They have a supernatural knack for reading other's true moods and intentions They have a supernatural level of charisma and authority over their servants, who cannot help but be fanatically loyal

They are exceptionally skilled in the artificing of magical wands, rods and staves. When they use them the magic of the items is increased.

They're the ones who cast the stonewalk spells that make the teleport network run.

They're also the priests responsible for binding the Dark Promise.

"The Chosen of Bane are tyrants in every sense of the word, consumed with the quest for absolute power. Hand-picked by the deity of tyranny and fear, [they] are both charismatic and filled with hate [...] They seek only to rule with absolute, unchallenged authority over every living and undead create across the world."

They are unbothered by temperature, both hot and cold, as well as resistant to being burned or electrocuted.

They do not age, though they will still die at an age where they would've died if they did age.

Supernatural insight into motives and emotions, and a massive boost to their charisma.

They can mind control people, are immune to fear, can share this immunity with others or increase the fear they feel.

They can also cast gaes, which is basically exactly the same as the Dark Promise, but doesn't necessarily have to benefit Bane (blasphemous as that sounds).

They can summon undead beholders to serve them

They can grant their own shadows independence as an undead creature of the same name (shadows), While separate the shadow is free-willed, though the two remain telepathically linked.

They are served by a retinue of their own master's servants including: doppelgangers; helmed horrors; beholders; undead Banites; hell hounds; imps; displacer beasts; Banelar nagas (evil snake things with human faces)

Bane doesn't like using avatars, if he needs to manifest on Toril he just possesses people in positions of wealth and power who transform into handsome, yet "oily" looking black haired men as long as he's inhabiting them. The souls of these people are forced to watch as the god does what he wants. Once the body is "worn out" from all the punishment he puts them through (mortal shells, so fragile) he'll move to another evil or neutral mortal via touch.

If he strikes out with his gauntleted hand, then there is a good chance that the person stuck will drop dead.

In combat he warps the face into a more beastial visage. His hands become talons capable of "rending flesh and bone" and in the Time of Troubles when he was first forced to manifest as a normal human he immediately started editing the body into a more demonic visage although that might've been because he'd just crash landed in his own temple and destroyed it, and only had a few moments until his torture happy zealots turned up to find what seemed to be some random dude standing in the wreckage. He was in kind of a panic trying to make sure they saw Bane, God of Tyranny not... that.

His other manifestations as a pair of blazing red eyes staring out from the darkness, and a black, taloned hand which was the temperature of ice to the touch. They work exactly like his other manifestation.

Bane sometimes announces his presence, and that he is paying attention to you, with the sudden manifestation of the giant footprint of a boot, scorched into the earth. He shows his approval of his followers through their sudden discovery of a black sapphire. His disapproval is shown through the sudden appearance of red carnelian, ground into dust.

He is served by various devils, beholders, death tyrants (the undead remains of beholders that failed him), black dragons, banelar nagas and pride incarnates

Bane can cast any spell at will, save those that heal or create.

Bane was slain in the Time of Troubles. After his death his followers had an even bigger row between those who were loyal to Bane (orthodoxy) and those who worshipped his portfolio instead of the god himself and switched to Cyric. Many of the Orthodoxy began worshipping Iyachtu Xvim the Godson, son of Bane (whose mother was either a fiend or a fallen human paladin, nobody's sure).

Xvim was doing a pretty ok job in his nascent godhood up until 1372 DR, when Bane hijacked the essence of himself he'd left in his son and destroyed him - being reborn within his body and immediately regaining the rank of Greater Deity. About a few years following the Bhaalspawn Crisis, the year where Bhaal was supposed to be reborn from the death of his kids but failed.

Bane went on to continue being one of the most infamous, powerful and dangerous gods on Faerûn up until the Second Sundering, when suddenly we've got confusion.

In BG3 canon, the Dead Three are clearly greater than quasi-deity status. Due to new rules that WotC pulled out of their ass, gods of lesser deity status or higher cannot manifest avatars. Bane can still empower clerics and have Chosen, so he's most likely still a Greater Deity in BG3.

In Descent into Avernus, the Dead Three are apparently quasi-deities now, forced to exist in permanent avatars on Toril and unable to grant spells of have Chosen.

I think this nicely explains what I mean when I say D&D has no fucking "real" canon, it's all just a mountain of everyone's headcanons.

#Bane doesn't need to torture people; having to learn all the stupid details in his religion is already hell #enver gortash #long post #baldurs gate 3 #bg3

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tcfactory · 2 months

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An idea I will need to flesh out more for a daemon AU:

Whatever injury someone suffers will leave a mark on their daemon too. Scars, tattoos, slave brands, you know, all kinds of things will appear on the hide of the daemon. With high enough cultivation it is possible to hide these marks on someone's body, but only the highest level cultivators can make them disappear from their daemon.

Shen Qingqiu is not nearly high enough in his cultivation to heal his daemon. So he hides it instead - people know that his daemon is a wolf, but it hardly ever appears in anybody's sight, capable of wandering at seemingly endless distances of its human.

Shen Yuan transmigrates from a world that didn't have daemons and the System isn't quite cruel enough to split his soul in half like that, so he gets placed in the body of a senior cultivator who has suffered grievous trauma and a severe qi deviation after he lost his daemon in a night hunt. Shen Yuan remembers this plot point in passing, a nameless Qing Jing hallmaster who had to leave the mountain because he never recovered. He eventually died seeking shelter in Huan Hua Palace, but only after confiding in the Old Palace Master that it was Shen Qingqiu who killed his daemon out of jealousy.

Shen Yuan has all the excuse to be a little weird and people are really worried about his well-being, but all that worrying gets stifling really fast, so he takes to wandering the bamboo forest to get a bit of peace and quiet. When he meets the scarred, silent wolf in the forest "oh that must be a daemon" is not his first or even his fifth thought. The beast is matted and skittish enough that after some thinking he concludes that is must be a neglected spiritual beast. Perhaps one that was left to roam the forest alone after his master died. He can't tell what kind of wolf beast it is though - he really wants to get close enough to puzzle out what the coat pattern is supposed to be under all those scars - so he keeps trying to follow and befriend the wolf.

He thinks it's going great. He got close enough to bemoan not having anything on hand to give the wolf a good brushing once! But then he is called to the bamboo house one evening and he thinks this is it, I'm going to be sent packing today.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't send him away. He gestures instead at the very familiar giant wolf sleeping on an old mattress and the grooming equipment laid out on a nearby table. "He said you wanted to brush him. No need to be shy now, shidi."

#svsss #daemon au #tc writes #the chronic illness thing where you can only keep yourself together where others can see it #sqq keeps his personal looks immaculate and does all his peak lord duties perfectly but he doesn't have the spoons left for his daemon #nobody sees him anyway #chronic pain and exhaustion do be like that sometimes #also something something the state of the wolf reflects his mental health...#anyway sy can relate more than he wants to admit #possibly jiuyuan? idk yet but making the two of them interact fascinates me

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skythighs · 14 days

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Calista's Dream: Mother

Overdue, but it's here. I got caught up writing my next story because my brain wouldn't let me wait until this was done. I appreciate all of your likes, comments, and shares. Thank you for being here it means a lot to me. The pictures are from Pinterest and linked in previous chapters.

Warnings: 18+ choking and sexual content.

Word count: 1.7k

Chapter 9

The arena was filled with raucous chants as Feyd bested the last standing opponent. The one that wasn’t drugged. He had even removed his shield before the battle. In doing so the crowd loved him even more than they did when he first walked out of those imposing double doors. He was immortal to them. A living God whom they would serve without question or complaint. The Baron beside me looked pleased like his long awaited plans had finally been completed.

I was instructed to meet him in the same room as before. Where he killed the nameless slaves savagely testing his blade. My stomach churned a bit at the thought, but when I arrived there was no evidence of the gruesome scene. Their bodies had been cleaned up and the floor was shiny and new again. It seemed wrong, for their deaths to be swept away like they never existed.

The room is eerily silent, before I detect the prowling footsteps of a graceful feline stalking me as I slowly peruse the room. As the footsteps get closer I turn to face the illusive hunter only to be met with emptiness. As confusion clouds my mind three pairs of hands caress me from behind. I jolt at the feel of their cold hands, but I don’t panic. Not even as they pull the veil from my head, or slowly begin unlacing my gown. Once my gown is discarded and my supple flesh meets the cool air they guide me to their perch in the corner of the room.

It’s soft with cushions and many blankets beneath me as I’m pushed flat onto the surface. At the sound of Feyd Rautha’s footsteps they pull away and await the command from their master before they devour me. He doesn’t utter a single word as his eyes leave a burning trail on my skin. He looks me up and over and down again, almost like he’s stalling.

“They want to taste you. Straight from the source, they’re tired of only tasting you on my cock.”

He looks bored as he speaks, but he can’t fool me. I see the truth behind his eyes as I always do. He’s feral at the very idea of them touching me, but they are his pets and so am I.

The implications of his words don’t go unnoticed. I was no fool, I knew he still sought them out, frequently. He was insatiable and for my sake I’m glad they exist. I was content to share him with them, and them alone. It was a mutually beneficial ecosystem. They would not overstep and I would not begrudge them. We would exist harmoniously.

“Eat.” He snarls, curling his lip.

Eat. One simple word, that is somehow the command they’ve been waiting for. A small bubble of fear pops inside of me, these are cannibalistic women. What if they- A moan is ripped from me, shutting down my train of thought.

No time wasted as one of the lovely darlings finds her face between my thighs feasting upon my cunt mercilessly. Her tongue was so precise as she circles my bud before slithering down to my slit and back again. She was perfect, but the others refused to be outdone even if they were too slow for the sweetest treat. They each latch onto a brown nipple working them with tongue and cheek sucking and caressing with only their mouths. They worked as a team, perfectly synchronized as they ate me alive.

I struggle to open my eyes, I want to find him. I want to see his reaction. No sooner do I open my eyes do I feel him grip my throat harshly. He is behind me on the platform, my head resting between his legs. I was so overcome I didn’t even notice him there. When I look up at him he’s looking down at me in awe, but he tightens his grip on my neck and the air I need to breathe is being withheld from me.

I begin seeing black spots in my vision so I grab his wrist and claw at him frantically. He loosens his death grip a smidge and allows me to suck in small amounts of air. It’s enough to calm me but the spots in my vision are still there. I feel myself going limp before he lets go all together. I can see his rage simmering beneath his flesh. Why would he allow this if it enraged him so?

I gasp, choking on the air I needed so desperately. I close my eyes trying to calm my heart.

“Don’t look away from me. That was your punishment, wife.” His gravel voice whispers to me as he starts stroking my loose hair. Hands deceivingly gentle knowing he had just been choking me seconds ago.

As he leans back, I find myself craning my neck to follow him and he smiles pleased with my clear understanding.

“Obedience is necessary in any good pet. Don’t you agree?”

I nod my head slowly, feeling the pleasure return to me as the darlings continue their worship of my divine temple. My puckered hole was now being devoured and a moist finger was probing, trying to work its way inside.

“I said eat. I did not say "touch.” He hisses baring teeth at the guilty party.

The finger withdraws as if burned, but the tongue remains, the pleasure remains.

I don't remember leaving that room but when I awake I’m alone in bed. I’m still naked, so I walk to the bathing chamber intent on washing away the stickiness when I feel a quiver in my womb. A twitch of muscles that could go unnoticed, but I also hear a still small voice. A voice that gains strength the longer I listen.

‘She is here. You must stop her.’

I ignore the need to clean myself and I quickly don a robe and tie it tightly. I feel my feet carry me, without me choosing a path. I’m led away to the guest quarters. Gray colorless fireworks light the sky through the vast windows, and the voice calls to me again.

‘Stop her. You must stop her.’

I find myself at an unknown insignificant door, and I open it slowly. Feyd Rautha is on his knees before a Bene Gesserit sister. A beautiful blonde seductress, opposite me in every physical way. I can tell she is tall and graceful even as she sits. Her blonde hair is pulled back and tame while my dark waves are loose and unruly.

‘Call to him, break the trance.’

I do.

“Feyd Rautha.”

He doesn't flinch but the woman's eyes flash at me curiously.

‘Margot.’

“Release him.” I hiss out using the voice, sounding near demonic in my pitch.

Her body compels her to follow my command. As Feyd takes in his surroundings he looks confused. Like sleepwalking he couldn’t quite remember where he was or how he got here. He moves away from Margot before he realizes I’m here in the room. Once he sees me his brow crinkles even more.

“Feyd Rautha, come here.” I’m speaking to him but looking at Margot.

Feyd follows my order, not because I took away his will, but because he chooses to. Margot observes us closely, smiling as I step ahead of him. Shielding him from her with my own body.

“Calista Atreides. It’s lovely to finally see you up close.”

“Likewise, Margot. However I am surprised to find my husband on his knees before you. It’s so unlike him.”

I lift my brow at her and she nods in understanding. The voice inside me is still once again, but I can still sense the source within me. Quiet but not gone. The Bene Gesserit knows she’s been caught in the act of manipulating my husband into her bed. Her attempt has been thwarted by me and she must now report back to the Reverend mother if Feyd lets her leave with her life intact that is.

“I’m just following orders, Calista, it's not personal.” She shrugs.

“It’s personal, Margot. He’s my husband, we are celebrating his child inside me. That’s as personal as it gets.”

I reach behind me feeling Feyd there. He’s still dreamwalking even now. Whatever they used on him is potent, but he seems content beside me. He’s vulnerable, how could she do this to him in such a state. It’s wrong.

“If he was in the right state of mind he would kill you, I however will allow you to leave with your life.”

She lifts her head, chin up now, trying to appear calm and in control. The bead of sweat falling from her hairline is a clear indicator she was not as confident as she looks.

“I will tell The Reverend mother, you have him in your control. She will be pleased sister.”

“I’m no sister to you, or anyone. I’m my parents only child.” I turn away from her and exit with a tight grip on Feyd Rautha.

I guide Feyd to our chambers and tuck him into bed. He likely wouldn’t remember a thing about this night and I would never tell him. I would keep his vulnerability to myself. I would wrap it deep inside me and keep it safe for him.

I feel that quiver again, a small twitch of my abdomen, before the voice calls out to me.

‘You did well, not to harm her.’

‘You did well, mother.’

Mother. The revelation is not shocking or confusing. I knew him before he was conceived. He showed me a vision even then. Him speaking to me now that his life had taken shape in the womb could not surprise me. My hand covers him where he’s safe and sound inside me, and I feel happiness. He saved his father tonight from the plans within plans just as he saved me all those years ago. I would always keep him safe.

“You did well. Thank you for your help.” I speak aloud knowing he will hear me.

‘Mother.’

“Mother is God in the eyes of a child.”

― William Makepeace Tackery

Taglist: @mamawiggers1980 @drunkennunicornn @aoi-targaryen @lovereadingfanfic @avidreader73

@nemodeus @landlockedmermaid77 @wo-ming-bai

#feyd rautha #harkonnen #feyd rautha x atreides oc #feyd rautha x oc #calista atreides #calista's dream #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha smut #dune fanfiction

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fortunatelyenchantingtaco · 3 months

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2.1 spoilers!!!!

Listen i will probably soon calm down again but its so fucking insane to me how badly literally everyone treats Aventurine but they want him on their side all the same

For IPC he is still a slave but they gave him a stone thats one of the relics of Qlipoth, the Tavern has sent him an invitation, fucking Sunday straight up mind controlled him into “either you die or become part of the family” and its so insane

Literally all of rhem disctiminate him on account of his birthplanet and his past but he’s also smart and skilled and lucky to have survived and gotten this far so they want him to themselves. Even the Nameless and the Garden of Recollection goes “he’s fucking weird but too useful”. I cannot with this man. Someone fucking give him a break

#hsr spoilers #hsr dr ratio #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail

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talia-black · 16 days

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Nameless! Aventurine Headcanons

I have a million other projects I need to be working on, but this tiny brainworm hasn’t let me go. :(

TW: Talk of Aventurine’s backstory. Nothing explicit, but his brand is shown and stuff is alluded to. Symptoms of trauma are also explicitly mentioned. Also shirtless Aventurine but nothing sexual.

Nameless! Aventurine who succeeded in bargaining his freedom from the IPC and became a wanderer. Who always wears a shirt with a high collar to hide his slave tag. Who melted down his sixty tanba and had them made into various accessories for his otherwise nondescript outfit. Who pulled scams and took risks whenever the mood struck him and then skipping out whenever things got dicey for him. Until he runs into the Astral Express.

Nameless! Aventurine who had heard of the Express in passing, and needing a quick passage off-world, offers his help with whatever trouble they’ve managed to get themselves into in return for a ride. Only to be thrown completely out of his element by the attitude of each of its members. None of them are interested in what he can offer them (though it takes him a while to figure that out) and are more than willing to still let him join the Express even when his plan doesn’t pan out the way Aventurine promised.

Nameless! Aventurine who actually ends up fitting very well into the Astral Express’ dynamic. He is always happy to indulge in March 7th’s antics (You cannot tell me these two wouldn’t have spa days where they do facials, paint each other's nails, and just talk for hours about Robin’s latest album or whatever else is a hot topic for Honkai Star Rail’s version of the internet.) and treats her like a little sister.

March 7th is also the first to figure out Nameless! Aventurine’s aversion to being touched. He frequently initiates contact, but the first time March came up behind him and touched his arm, the gambler jumped almost a foot in the air. He laughed it off, telling her that she “give a man some warning next time” and pushed the conversation forward. She chalked it up to him being caught off-guard, but then she watched him freeze up when Himeko put a hand on his back, and when Welt patted his shoulder, and whenever March touched him first.

Nameless! Aventurine who acts like the annoying middle child always pestering the older brother because he secretly admires him. Dan Heng doesn’t warm up to Aventurine nearly as quickly, and is often annoyed when he just waltzes into the room containing the data bank, plops himself in a chair, and talks at him for hours. The first time Dan Heng responded to something he said was actually what got Aventurine to be quiet. Dan Heng turned away from what he was working on to see Aventurine with his mouth slightly agape, not expecting him to actually answer. Dan Heng found it incredibly interesting how the normally smooth talker stumbled over his words for almost a minute before picking up where he had left off.

Dang Heng is the first to notice how Nameless! Aventurine is always throwing himself in the firing range. Even when there’s absolutely no reason to or nothing to gain from making such a sacrifice. He subtly watched how in every conversation that even verges into dangerous territory, Aventurine pulls all of the attention onto himself with either a comment aimed to provoke, or acting in a way that drastically escalates things. Aventurine had told the Crew about his “luck”, and these instances had certainly liquidated any of Dan Heng’s doubts about that. But if his victory was always certain, why did he smile when he got shot?

Nameless! Aventurine who Himeko treats like the rest of her kids right out of the gate. Aventurine is the most suspicious of Himeko out of all the Express Crew, but that doesn’t last long. They bond over their love of black coffee and as the two of the only three night owls on the Express (Dan Heng is also one, but he never leaves his room). While he would never say Himeko reminded him of his mother, she gave her own forms of paternal love freely in the way she always made sure he ate at least two meals a day, immediately patched up his various scrapes and scratches herself when he first got on the Express, and offered him his own room without hesitation. He would go to his grave with the knowledge that he had felt his face heat up when she had ruffled his hair after he beat her at chess during one of their 2am coffee drinking sessions.

Himeko was the first to see Nameless! Aventurine’s hands were in terrible condition. When she checked him over for wounds, she noticed how he was always fidgeting with a coin. Later it would change to a beaten up poker chip, or his bracelet, or whatever odd thing he had picked up. And when she was bandaging his arm, his hands shook with constant tremors. When he was outside the Express, he always stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Himeko frowned late one evening when she saw Aventurine palm’s had scars from where his own nails had dug into them.

Nameless! Aventurine who loves messing with Welt. Honestly, Aventurine gets along with Welt just as well, if not better than March. Welt is never without something interesting or insightful to say, and combined with Aventurine’s observant and commentative nature, they sometimes end up talking for hours without even realizing time has passed. However, Aventurine cannot live without a little mischief. And Welt’s naivety when it comes to current trends is just too good of an opportunity to pass up. This often manifests in Welt using slang terms in ways they absolutely were not meant to be, and a few interesting videos that have made their way onto the Express’ group chat. Welt has mostly caught on, but he still plays along if only to see the way Aventurine’s eyes light up whenever he successfully “tricks” him. The “kiddo” had gotten more laughs out of the old man than all of the members of the Express combined.

Welt was the first to notice and tell the others that Nameless! Aventurine was exhibiting signs of severe trauma. During a pit stop, Welt asked Aventurine to go ask around for a certain brand of coffee beans for Himeko before calling the others for a meeting. After sharing what they knew, the group struggled to decide on a course of action. Aventurine was more than entitled to his past, and it would go against everything they stood for to pry for potentially painful details. But it also seemed wrong to let him continue potentially harmful habits without intervention. In the end, they decided to wait until they crossed paths with a specialist who they could ask for advice before taking any particular course of action.

Nameless! Aventurine who kept making excuses for why he couldn’t get off the Express. He didn’t realize that no one had ever asked him to.

Nameless! Aventurine who upon waking one day to see his name emblazoned on the door of his room refused to come out for an entire day. The rest of the Crew didn’t even know it had happened, and Pom-Pom swore they hadn’t done it. Meanwhile, Aventurine spent most of the morning crying silently into his pillow and the rest of the day deep in the trenches of an existential crisis. He comes out the next day and acts like nothing ever happened, and the new status quo was set in stone.

Nameless! Aventurine who was with March and Dan Heng when they found the Trailblazer. And immediately became fascinated with them. Especially after they threw themselves in front of March when the Doomsday Beast attacked the space station. He surprised himself with how upset he felt when he saw the Trailblazer was considering staying at Herta’s Space Station as opposed to coming with them. And how happy he was when they ultimately decided to join the Express.

Nameless! Aventurine and the Trailblazer who get on like a house on fire. Aventurine is persistent and victorious in getting the Trailblazer comfortable with them, and often ends up in a game of tug-a-war with March for their attention. Trailblazer, who at first glance seems like a pretty stoic character, turns out to be quite unhinged, and Aventurine’s lack of self-restraint only enables them once they set foot on Belobog. Aventurine was a man who clung to unpredictability and the mystery of the dice like a starving animal, and the Trailblazer was impulsivity personified. From their out-of-pocket comments at the most inappropriate of moments to their dumpster-diving habits, Aventurine never knew what to expect from them.

Trailblazer who is the first to discover the truth of Nameless! Aventurine’s past. It wasn’t anything grand; the two had gone out with March and Himeko for a drink and ended up collapsing in the same bed. Trailblazer woke first with an awful headache, a dry mouth, and dots doing pirouettes across their vision. Which is why they thought they were just imagining the brand on Aventurine’s neck. The high-collar shirt that he always wore had been chucked off at some point during the night. Aventurine stirred when a gentle touch carefully traced irritated, scarred skin.

“You should really be applying some kind of salve to that.”

Reality cut through Aventurine’s hangover faster than a bucket of ice. He leapt out of bed and locked himself in the bathroom. He refused all of the Trailblazer’s attempts to get him to respond, and it was only after they promised they would give him some space and that they wouldn’t tell the others that his heart rate was able to go down. It still took him an hour before he left the bathroom. From there he avoided the Trailblazer like the plague. When the other members of the Crew asked what had happened, the Trailblazer explained it away as “drunken shenanigans” and let the subtext run its course. If only to give Aventurine some initiative to speak to them. This standoff lasted weeks, and probably would have gone on much longer if Aventurine hadn’t taken a dagger to the gut and a crossbow bolt to the knee. And the Trailblazer, out of the generosity of their heart, offered to personally make sure he made a full recovery. And many painful nights later, with the help of a few glasses of whiskey, Aventurine shared a few pieces of his past. He still had enough clarity of mind to keep the less palatable details out of it, but gave more than enough for the Trailblazer to understand what he had been through. Somehow, the bottle was emptied, and the two once again found themselves cuddled up in Aventurine’s bed and drifting off into peaceful slumber.

Nameless! Aventurine who found a new family, and would continue to protect them with everything he had as he continued his journey starward.

#hsr aventurine #aventurine headcanons #honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine x trailblazer #aventurine x stelle #aventurine x caelus #himeko hsr #welt hsr #march 7th hsr

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