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freyito · 27 days ago

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ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ'

✭ pairing(s): boothill, gallagher, mydei, phainon (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: they give you some extra tlc

✧ a/n: hiii :,) i accidentally became important at work withiun the first motnh sofics are suuuper slow. ive also just been struggling with motivation AND my grandpa died and then not even a day later i was watching a tornado do its thing right infront of my workplace. so!

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

⎯ Boothill

Usually, BOOTHILL is the one in need of a little extra love. Running across the galaxy for months at a time can take a lot out of him. Even with his impressive will, he can find himself drained sometimes. Sure, he’s always found peace out in the wild, under a star-painted sky, but he still can’t help but crave some sort of human connection, a way to recharge and remind him of what little humanity he has left. He won’t say anything, and he barely shows just how tired he is when he comes home, always wearing that damn smile. No matter if he had killed anyone on the trip, if he had been chased, if he had been damn near blown apart; he is never without that smile when he returns to you.

While he makes it extra hard for you to read him, he can read you exceptionally well. No matter how well you think you hide it, he always finds something. Your shoulders may be slumped, there’s a furrow in your brow, your voice doesn’t sound too confident… he knows.

“C’mon, darlin’, ain’t gotta hide from me,” Boothill coos, coming up from behind you and wrapping one arm around your waist. “If somethin’s wrong, just say so.”

All you can find yourself doing is huff, and lean back into his chest. He laughs out a soft ‘awh’, before hoisting you up into his arms. He carries you off to the bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

Now, when it comes to TLC, Boothill practically has a checklist. The first task is to make sure you're comfortable, and happy, of course. The second task is making sure your wants are attended to. This usually manifests in him giving you a quiet space while he goes off into the kitchen to cook for you, usually something warm or sweet (or both!). The goal of this is to give you some time to decompress (whether it be in your bed, or on the couch), but if you choose to follow him to the kitchen instead, he’s quite happy with that, too.

The third task is the most important (to him, at least), and that’s showering you with all the love he can possibly give. Aside from feeding you (which he will do, all you need to ask), he makes it a point to cuddle up to you and pepper your face with kisses. He makes it known just how much he loves you, with all sorts of sweet little praises and whispers. If you prefer spending a quiet night with him instead, he absolutely insists that you come out with him for some stargazing. A nice little night with your beloved under the star-painted sky is a wonderful way to remind yourself to take it easy, live in the present, and just a reminder that there is someone there for you. Even when you don’t want to admit that you need a little extra love.

⎯ Gallagher

Being a bartender, GALLAGHER can easily pick up on any little mood shift. He is also quite good at sniffing out the problem behind your moods, too. It’s actually kind of scary how well he knows you. Stressed? He’s taking care of you. Sad? He’s taking care of you. Mad? He’s taking care of you. Tired– Yes, he’s taking care of you any time he can, and any time you allow him to. Even when you’re being stubborn and trying to tell him you are totally fine.

So, when you come home, a couple hours after your shift was supposed to end, he already had a drink waiting for you. When you completely ignore the little glass and instead choose to practically fall into his arms, his disappointment is immediately replaced with a sense of happiness– Not that you’ve had a bad day, but the fact that you are openly seeking his comfort after one.

“Alright, well, let’s get ya all cozied up, hm?” He hums, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing just a little, then rocking you back and forth softly, while on large hand splays over the small of your back.

Once you’ve relaxed, he guides you back to the couch, before fetching you a bunch of pillows and some blankets. He quite likes to get nice and close with you, but if you want to move to the bed, he’s happy to do that, too. He’ll still stay just as close, though. He also orders any food you want, those outrageous delivery costs be damned. Even if you want several different things from several different restaurants, he will cater to your whims. This spoiling is only the start, really.

It seems he physically cannot leave you. He always has to be touching you in some way, even if he just has his pinky linked to yours. There’s always a warm hand on your hip or thigh, and if he can, he’s pulling you up to his chest. He has to be close, not just for the day but practically for the whole week. He always finds some way to come back to you, even if he’s working. He could be stationed all the way across the city and still come home to see you on his break, all for five seconds to hold you.

⎯ Mydeimos

‘Stress’ doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language. Or so MYDEI says. That being said, his tolerance is much higher than yours. Something about being ‘forged in war’... But he never faults you if you’re feeling down. As much as he thinks a nice meal will make you feel much better, he understands that there is always more to it. While he chooses to neglect his own emotions, and ignore what eats at him, he is almost the exact opposite when it comes to you.

Granted, he doesn’t like to let you know that he knows you are stressed. At least, not verbally. Something hidden deep within him, something cheeky, likes to keep things a surprise. As boyish as it is for a warrior like him, he truly can’t help it. There’s something about the way your eyes light up and the way you soften when he does anything for you, especially unprompted.

“Here you are, my love,” Mydei murmurs from behind you, placing a plate of soutzoukakia and rice on your desk. “You seemed hungry, so I made you something.”

It was true, you really were hungry. But, you found yourself so engrossed in your work, hunched over your desk as you stared at your laptop. You had long since lost the plot of the piece you were supposed to be editing, and in turn, that made you feel burnt out. The deadline was in a few days, but you were already on the last few pages, and really wanted to get it finished by the end of the day. In doing so, it seems you have worried your lover.

Before you get a chance to thank him, he places his hands on your shoulders, pressing into them. You can’t help but lean back into him, as he huffs out a soft chuckle. He doesn’t say anymore as his thumbs press into the back of your shoulders, but in the back of his mind, all he can think is ‘See? You overwork yourself’.

He continues to massage your shoulders for another minute in silence, eyes heavy lidded as he watches you relax. He pulls away after a beat, leading you to look up at him. His smile is so gentle, so kind, something you know is only for you. Once he’s satisfied with how content you look, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, smoothing his hands down your shoulders to your arms. He then leaves you to eat, choosing to go about his day in the background. It’s a calming sort of ambience, the shuffling behind you and the grunts and sighs as he begins his afternoon workout. Sure, the noises could be a little more… quiet. But, at this point, you’ve grown used to it. So used to it, that it’s comforting.

⎯ Phainon

Oh, PHAINON, dear Phainon, nothing gets past him. He practically grew up comforting people, and as such, he understood all your tells before you two even started dating. Therefore, you get pampered before you even realize the stress is setting in. As such, with him, you truly never feel… down. He loves and dotes on you too much to feel like you need anything extra.

Sometimes, however, it does slip past him. He doesn’t beat himself up over it, really, he takes it as a sign to do better. Besides, who would be mad at a little more love? Certainly not you, with the way he cuddles up to you the minute you come home. He’s so damn close to just throwing you over his shoulder and throwing you in bed, keeping you there for a week tops. Probably more.

“C’mon, you and me are gonna hide away from the world for a bit,” He laughs, fingers linking with yours as he pulls you along to the bedroom.

You two lay in the bed, just simply staring at each other for a long while. At most, it’s only five moments, but it feels like an eternity. He holds you so close, legs tangled up, warm hands splayed across your back. He rubs soothingly up and down your spine, blinking slowly like a content cat (despite being more like a puppy at this moment).

For a while, he looks like he could just fall asleep then and there, holding you even closer like you were some plush toy. Then, just as you feel yourself getting sleepy, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then the crook of your neck, then your neck, and one, two, three more kisses to your face– a thousand more kisses to your face. He decides in that moment, when you finally look relaxed and calm, that he can’t let you end the day without laughing first.

#⁺◟freyito #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill hsr x reader #gallagher x reader #gallagher hsr x reader #mydei x reader #mydei hsr x reader #mydeimos x reader #phainon x reader #phainon hsr x reader

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draconic-desire · 1 year ago

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💥 Take My Whiskey Neat 💥

Yandere Boothill x Reader

Again and again, you find a way to escape, and every time ends with you peering down the barrel of a gun.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, forced relationship and captivity, implied kidnapping, some suggestive content but mostly sfw. Mild spoilers for his background story; I want to write him both as a super attentive and protective guy but also crazy for you???

You’ve become all too familiar with the sensation of a gun being pointed to your forehead.

“Aw, darlin’, why the long face? Took me two whole days to find ya this round! You should be proud’a yerself. I dare say our time together has taught you well,” he concludes with a wink.

Somehow, his praise feels more like a taunt.

That’s because it is. Obviously you never had a chance at escaping from him, a Galaxy Ranger with a bounty on his head worth more than your life a hundred times over. He was born and raised to hunt, to track, to kill. You’re just the unlucky target.

He leans the gun ever so slightly closer to you, mere inches before it can graze your skin, and waits for your response. Although you know he won’t pull the trigger, the sight of the 9 millimeter colt aimed directly between your eyes still sends goose flesh skittering down your arms.

You grit your teeth and pin him with a withering glare. The last thing you’ll relinquish is your pride—you’re not intimidated by him, and it is impressive that you evaded him for so long, relatively speaking. Your other escape attempts lasted mere hours.

Unfortunately, the fact that the Ranger has always traveled alone doesn’t help your chances—especially when lately, his only occupation has been you.

“What, no clap back today? No, ‘fudge you, ya son of a nice lady’ or ‘fork you, shirtbaggin’ bootlicker’? I’ve gotten so used to yer colorful language that I’m almost disappointed!” Boothill tilts the gun and juts his hips, his bullseye gaze locked on your own.

Ignoring the subtle look of longing, of hurt, within their depths is getting harder and harder. He’s superb at hiding it behind jokes and attempted curses, but you know that look. He’s clinging to you after all that’s been taken from him, seeking love after it was destroyed in flames. If only he still held onto his human emotions and didn’t rely on that neuro chip of his; then he’d know that what he’s showing you isn’t love, but obsession.

You wish you had never extended your kindness to him that fateful day, when he’d burst into your home, sparks flying and wires exposed. One of his arms was barely attached, completely torn through with bullet holes. A shootout, he’d said, and he’d caught wind of a handy ‘machine doctor’—a mechanic, you’d corrected him—in town who could fix him right up.

It had taken a full two weeks for you to get him back up and running functionally. Two weeks of evading IPC grunts knocking on your door in search of him, two weeks of tolerating (and fine, maybe even enjoying) his crude jokes, and two weeks of stories over a glass of whiskey, about your hope to one day travel among the stars and his of finding a companion to do so with.

That’s when he’d seemed the most human. Voice tinged with sorrow, yes, but lips curved into a morose smile, eyes looking up at the stars. Reminiscing about when he was still fully human, nothing but a cowboy on a seemingly insignificant planet, surrounded by his adopted parents and siblings, and even that little girl whom he never got to see grow up.

After he’d shared his story, you’d felt the sudden urge to be close to him. Without thinking, you’d brought your hand up to his cheek, wiping an invisible tear despite the fact that he lost his tear ducts long ago.

He’d sucked in a breath and gone deadly still; thinking you misjudged the situation and overstepped a boundary, you’d quickly started to jerk your hand back, only for him to lock it firmly against his face with his metal palm.

His voice, normally loud and clear through the synthesized distortion, had been quiet, low, wavering. “I—please, don’t stop. That feels…nice.”

You were sad to see him go after those two weeks. You honestly expected to never see him again—he was a Galaxy Ranger, after all, the definition of a lone wolf—but to your surprise, his visits didn’t end there. He kept returning again and again, and not just for repairs. Sometimes he’d bring you gifts or tell you stories of his hunt, and you’d cherish those moments when the galaxy felt just a bit less lonely with him.

Then the visits started to increase in their frequency—and intensity. He’d show up while you were working with a client and brazenly threaten them to leave so he could occupy your time instead, or he’d appear on your doorstep in the middle of the night with your favorite bottle of liquor, winking at the sight of your embarrassed form, still in your nightclothes. Your world suddenly seemed to revolve around the gunslinging cyborg.

You’d had to put your foot down—as much as you did enjoy his company, you wouldn’t allow him to interfere with your career. You’d worked hard to gain your skills, and even though you were barely scraping by and living in a tiny, modest home by yourself, you were still proud of what you’d achieved on your own.

His initial reaction was an uncharacteristic and frightening bout of silence, his pupils blown wide, locked onto yours. Just as quickly, his typical smirk returned as he laughed it off. “Just watch out, lil cutie, ‘cause I know you’ll be missin’ me soon.”

Apparently, soon was imminent, immediate. You were pouring yourself a drink after a long week of work when he finally kicked down your door and announced you’d be coming with him.

“I’ve been waiting a long while now to claim you, darlin’.”

“And if I refuse?”

That was the first time you witnessed his gun trained on you.

Now, Boothill drags you along everywhere, hopping from one planet or system to the next, living together as nomads. What you believed to be a serendipitous friendship, he thought was the start of your romance and life together.

It would be thrilling in any other circumstance, treading the path of The Hunt, evading the law, tracking down the IPC members who destroyed his family…except the cyborg transferred that need to protect, to save someone, onto you. You have no choice but to be his now, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go.

“You just want to hear me curse because you can’t,” you growl. What a stupid argument to be having with a pistol to your head. Yet you can’t help but siphon all of your anger into this dumb little game of cat and mouse, of shark and minnow, of hunter and bird.

He forgets you’re not the only one armed.

You flash him the most vulgar gesture you can make. “Go fuck yourself, Boothill.”

The cowboy throws his head back in a laugh. “Haha! There she is. Wild as a newborn colt.” He grins, flashing those shark teeth you’d groan to loathe. You’ve lost count of the number of puncture marks and scars they’ve littered across your flesh.

That’s something he can’t seem to get enough of—the feel of your warm, organic, human skin against his cold, steel shell.

“Lan shoot me with an arrow, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you grumble, looking up as if the Aeon will give you an answer.

“Think ya already know the answer to that,” he replies, lowering his weapon to sling his opposite arm around your shoulders. The gun hangs languidly from his other hand, as if he’s not the deadliest shot in the galaxy.

His breath brushes your neck as he leans in and nips at your ear. “Now, how ‘bout we take this back home, eh cutie? Two days without you has got me pretty…” His voice drops an octave. “…pent up, if ya know what I mean.”

The tooth marks along your skin flare. Oh, you know all too well.

~*~

Trying to find the solution to your imprisonment at the bottom of a bottle seems like a really clever idea, at least until the room starts spinning.

The empty glass cracks against the wooden table again as brown liquor burns down your throat. What did he call it? Rocket fuel? Damn right, and you’d lost count of the number of shots you’d taken.

Boothill’s normal smirk is contorted into a small frown. “Darlin’, I know it’s been a long couple’a days away for you, but I think we should retire the whiskey for the time being—”

“Shyut up!” you slur, jabbing a finger at the Ranger, your neck still throbbing from all the love bites and hickeys he’d given you. “Thiz is your fault.”

He reaches for the bottle, but you snatch it away and instead start to take pulls directly from it. A deep sigh reverberates behind you as you stand and begin to spin around, hands extended. “Aren’t we celebrating you catching me again? You got what you wanted, you…you mudder…fuuuu…” You sway and just barely catch yourself before you tumble—wait, no, that’s him steadying your shoulders.

“(Y/n).” You blink out of your haze momentarily; only on rare occasions does he use your name and not things like darling or cutie. His face is controlled, mouth tilted downward. “Put the bottle down. I know the feelin’ of wanting to drown in liquor, but it ain’t right.”

“I’m only like this because you took me from my life!”

He bares his teeth, and you know you hit a nerve. “That little shack you called a home? Was that really livin’? All those nights we talked, you said how you wanted grand adventure and risk! To travel and see the stars! To be with me!”

“I didn’t ask for you to put me in a moving cage,” you spit back, trying to shake out of his iron-clad grip. “But you never asked what I wanted, did you?”

“Why’s this all so hard for you to accept?” One hand moves to grab your chin, tilting your face towards his tall form. “It could be just us, ridin’ through the galaxy for all time.” His lips brush lightly against your own, and you feel a tinge of warmth run down your spine. “Just be mine.”

In your drunken stupor, your anger morphs into something else, something more carnal. He wants to be the predator? Well, even the hunted fight back sometimes.

The bottle drops from your hand, shattering against the floor, as you hook an arm around his neck and kiss him fervently, your tongue running along the edges of his pointed canines.

Before he can kiss you back, you pull away, wiping the back of your mouth with your forearm. “That’s what could have been if you hadn’t kidnapped me. If you’d asked me first.” Skipping over the remnants of the whiskey bottle, you flip him the finger over your shoulder as you walk away. “Too bad that’s all you’ll get. Fork you, Boothill.”

As soon as you leave the room, Boothill raises a metal digit to his lips, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth against his. So that’s what your willing kiss feels like. The true passion he knows is hidden deep in your soul, buried beneath the dirt like an unmarked grave. He releases a breathy laugh.

Well fork him sideways, but he wants more.

Taking his hat off, he sets it on the table and moves to pour himself a glass of sherry. He’s nearly positive he’ll find you passed out in bed if he goes to you now, and knows he shouldn’t, can’t be in the same room with you when his self control is so near to breaking. Better to let you sleep it off and tease you about the kiss in the morning.

Boothill kicks his feet up and takes a long sip. So, it turns out your drunken self may actually be harboring some attraction for him. Yeah, he can use that.

“I’ll have you someday,” he whispers, a promise to both you and himself. “Whiskey ain’t the only thing that’ll be on your lips, darlin’.”

#yandere boothill #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere escape #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yanderecore #yandere male #yandere #yancore #honkai star rail #hsr #Boothill

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clovers-housetree · 11 months ago

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Activities for Regressors Without Caregivers! (or just fun regression activties!)

(Although you're always welcome here if you'd like any form of comfort anyway! ^w^)

This one's kind of a long one, after the few tips I list, I've mentioned an app I use called Finch, which will be talked about below the cut.

Since that's the case, I'll put my little ending message here instead:

Knowing how to take care of yourself can take a lot of work and practice, but I believe it's worth the effort, because then you'll be a happier and healthier you! Especially if you can find ways to make it fun!

I'm more than happy to be here for you and offer my support in any way I can, anyhow! I'm proud of you for doing what you can, I know it can be very hard.

I myself don't have a caregiver for when I regress, so most of the time I end up taking care of myself! Here are some fun activities and things I do when I regress to keep myself calm and happy! ^w^

Paci mentions/pics not long after the first section for those of you who'd rather not see 'em.

♥ Arts and crafts! I absolutely LOVE coloring and making bracelets with beads, something not too complicated for little hands, but also something fun!

With coloring, you can buy coloring books, or draw something of your own to color in- even printing out a page you find online, coloring digitally, or tracing over something to color in could work! I prefer coloring more than drawing personally because I don't draw all the time, but I bet I could learn a little thing or two from the artists around here!

For bracelets (and other jewelry), strings can be hard to knot with little hands (at least they aren't those small, slippery clasps!!), but the beads shouldn't be too hard to handle if you're careful! Even just planning out patterns is fun!

Here are some My Little Pony bracelets I made, and the decorations I did for my pacis!

♥ Making playlists! Dancing is fun, and a good way to get the zoomies out, but you can just make playlists for any occasion! I have playlists that help me pet-regress, songs with sounds I like, adventure playlists... (Well- a lot of these are still in progress, but- you get the point!)

I also love those playlist videos on YouTube! Animal Crossing, Super Mario Galaxy, Minecraft and music box music are typically my go-to to help me settle or just make for comfy background music! Here's one of my favorites, shadowatnoon has lovely Nintendo music mixes!

♥ Playing with your plushies! You can take them on adventures, or make your own!

Like Toby, climbing The Great Pillow Mountain!

(This is Toby by the way, he's one of my best friends and a VERY good hugger!)

You can play games with them, too! Toby's REALLY good at hide and seek... Maybe you can find him for me? :0

♥ Finding shows to watch! I really like Paw Patrol and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the moment. Plus, you can look at agere content and fics from shows you like! People make really cool stimboards and moodboards, for example, and I like reading through all the fun stories people write!

Here's a silly picture of Rocky I found! :3

Finch

Finch is a self-care app where you take care of your very own little bird friend by taking care of yourself!

You can set daily goals, or for each day (or more specific ones as well I think.). By completing these goals, you give your bird energy to go on adventures! They usually come back with a funny little story or silly questions, because they're learning, too!

Through completing these goals (or daily, at least), you can get Rainbow Stones, which you can use to buy clothes for your bird, make them different colors, or give them furniture for their house!

They're also LGBTQ+ and disability-friendly!! :3

This is my little bird, Honeydew! You're welcome to friend me as well if you'd like, my code is: Z3E2T7VRK6

It's helped me learn a lot about taking care of myself and keeping track of my goals, and I get little rewards for it! I've used the app for several months now, and it's helped me out a lot!

"Fluttershy protects this blog! SFW interaction only, please and thank you! ^w^"

"Wouldn't show a kid? Doesn't belong here!"

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love-of-the-red-star · 9 months ago

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Interlude I: Kakavasha

Warnings: Discrimination and heavily implied racism

You were an enigma, even to the other Avgin.

“She appeared out of nowhere.”

“Should we trust her?”

“She looks like one of our own.. and she seems harmless enough, I think we should trust her.”

“Are you sure about this? If she’s with the Katicans we could be in danger.”

The voices whisper and hiss, only slightly muffled by the barrier of a tent with little Kakavasha hiding behind some of the crates.

It made sense for the people, including his sister, to suspect you, even just for a little bit. But to him it didn’t make sense, you had the same hair, you had the same eyes, and you wore pretty clothing unlike them or the Katicans.

Kakavasha was one of the children who were a bit more subtle in their adoration of the patterns of your clothes, his eyes innocently tracing each one of them to see where they begin and where they end.

He learned that your name was Delia from the whispers of his mother and sister on the light of the campfire and the skies of their planet. He’d peek sometimes when his sister brought food to your tent— a simple stew, the same one he knew he would also eat for supper.

He observed, and noticed you didn’t do much of anything at all or even move. Something about you felt a little wrong, felt… weird. At first glance, nothing was wrong, you looked just like him, same eyes, same hair. What was actually wrong with you? He didn’t know, and he felt guilty for thinking of you that way the moment you had given him a sweet smile.

Surely, you would not be a traitor. You are Avgin like him, bears the same eyes, and the gentle smile his mother and sister had.

Kakavasha decided he wanted to speak to you, and he never regretted that decision.

It had felt so wonderful to be graced with stories (he never really questioned how you knew them) of people from afar, of people who persevered in their strife. The more stories you had told him, the more of hope and desire of true freedom grew inside his heart.

Kakavasha was just a child, but much like the older Avgin, he too wanted to be free, to no longer be gazed upon in mockery or jealousy, to no longer have the threat of his life taken simply for what he was born as.

When you both play, he always wins. His luck dictates for him to win.

It didn’t matter whether it was cards or hide and seek— the only game you’ve beaten him at was something called chess. He vowed to be smarter than you when he grew up after that, as you had said the game did not rely on luck.

It hadn’t occurred to him then that in the short two months you were with him, you were indirectly teaching him to play others as his pieces; to plan, to think outside of the box and to not rely on the thrill of a gamble. He remembered you mainly because you gave him good memories in your short stay and the lessons you imparted to him in the form of your stories.

His luck always aided him. It did when you came, it did when the Katicans invaded and the Galaxy rangers came, and it did when he wanted to get the attention of the IPC.

Mr. Boothill never really ended up liking his decision to join their ranks, and they had fought over it, but the cowboy conceded once he heard the Avgin boy’s reasoning.

He needed power and an extensive connection to help his people and to find you. The job of a Galaxy ranger would not grant him that influence, and another reason was simply because it was a somewhat.. safe outlet for his vices.

The voices of the Katicans still haunt him even though years had already passed.

Lucky boy, they’d sneer, jealous and mistrusting.

He was fine if people did not trust him; it already came with being an Avgin, being an employee of the IPC would not really change a thing. Besides, he wasn’t noble (at least he thinks he is not noble— that he is dirty, as free as he might be now), and he doesn’t think he can follow through with the strict code and creed Boothill swore himself to.

Kakavasha knew you and his sister would disapprove of the thoughts he directs to himself, but neither you or her are not here to hear anything. You’re not here to see.

“Still no leads?” He asked over on the other end of the line, his voice now taking a much deeper tone as it had been eight years since you left.

He’s an adult and a stoneheart; things he didn’t know he would become back then when he was just at the cusp of puberty and at war. He had his fair share of struggles too after that— the discrimination against his people never really stopped even after the killings did.

Some of them were still sold, were still seen as objects to be owned, an exotic prize.

He can’t gain power if he remained fully noble and good, and he can’t find you if he had no power and wealth. In order to help his people and himself, he resorts to joining the IPC.

“No, we couldn’t find any trace of the person you want to know about.” The person on the end of the line replied to him as his eyes traced over the stamps he’s put on a board in search for you.

It was as if you never truly existed in the first place.

He gave a hum of acknowledgment for the other person in the call and hung up, he doesn’t take this as a sign to stop though.

“Kid, you sure the girl you’re looking for is really out there?” Mr. Boothill asked him, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand as he too looked at the papers and red strings interconnecting them together. “Asked around a couple of friends and they haven’t seen someone like this leave on a ship—“

The cyborg’s pause made Kakavasha blink.

“You remember something?” He asked.

“Kid,” he didn’t like being called a kid now, but he lets Mr. Boothill call him that out of respect. “Mind telling me what the hell your girl was doing before the festival again? You mentioned she would go missing, right?”

“Yes, if I’m remembering it correctly, she would disappear every night when she thought I was sleeping. She’d…” Kakavasha’s brows furrowed. “Get out of the tent, then walk back in exactly six system hours after. I knew the time because I often counted how many times the hour glass would run out, and I would make a bet on how many hours it’d take before she comes back.. of course, I was always right.

“What does that have to do with this?” He asked.

“You ever thought how the hell we managed to find your planet?” Boothill scowled. “Just a feelin’… but I think your girl.. isn’t exactly a girl.” Kakavasha knew enough to believe the man, having known he had traveled many places and lived many years.

“I’m not quite sure if I follow…” Kakavasha trailed off.

“I can’t blame you, even to this day I’m not sure what the fudge terrorized our ship either.” Boothill sighed gravely with a shake of his head. “It’s just a theory, but your girl— Delia, right?”

He nodded.

“I think it might be the same thing that summoned us to your planet.” His scowl deepened. “Listen, we got points. You said she came out of nowhere, none of the Katicans knew this girl, none of your family knew this girl, she felt weird, knew stories and stuff she wasn’t supposed to know, and left for six hours every night for weeks til your birthday came in? That girl was no human.”

Your image in Kakavasha’s head warped. “A masked fool?” He asked, hesitantly.

“No no, I don’t think those shirt bags would bother to be so benevolent. And I don’t think they’d be powerful enough to scare some of my friends that they decided to go to a doctor.” Boothill inhaled and exhaled. “It’s probably something worse, I dunno.”

How could you be bad? If he’s understanding what Boothill is getting at, then you were the one who set the Avgin free from the Katicans, the one who ushered in help when the IPC did not offer his people aid.

If you were not an Avgin like him, what were you? It’s established as of now that you weren’t exactly a person— hell, Delia probably isn’t even your real name.

Then, he remembered freedom.

It was a thought that came in like a stroke of luck as he gazed upon the patterns— the one he managed to identify as freedom quilts displayed hanging on Boothill’s wall.

The cyborg followed his line of sight and snorted. “Oh, that. Given to me by a friend as a souvenir two weeks ago from a city that devoted themselves towards this new Aeon.. Libertas, I think their name was. Don’t some of your people follow that Aeon now too?”

“Yeah, they do.” He remembered some of the adults muttering prayers to this Aeon— to give them strength, to thank them for being the representation of what they wanted. They prayed in the same way they would pray to the mother goddess, there is no tribute, there is no statue, in a way some of them also thought of Libertas as Fenge Biyos herself, although Kakavasha thinks that Xipe may be a closer comparison if one were to look closely.

Libertas had been recently introduced some six years back through a dream a few of his people had, and suddenly he felt dumb.

Kakavasha laughed, exasperated at himself as Boothill looked at him strangely.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Boothill’s nose wrinkled as Kakavasha calmed his laughter.

“Thanks for giving me a good knock to the head Mr. Boothill.” He began, smile stretching wide. “The answer to the mystery was under my nose the entire time! Goodness, I feel pranked.” He grinned, Boothill’s concern grew.

“The hell?” He muttered out.

“That cloth.” The Avgin pointed. “It’s the answer this entire time because it’s the same pattern Delia wore.” The more he gave it thought, the more it began to make sense.

Of course you’d wear the pattern of freedom on you.

Kakavasha smiled, gently and happily this time as he looked at Boothill with a sense of accomplishment. “Mr. Boothill, I guess we found the girl.”

————————————

JSHDHSHSHS Posting this utter word vomit rn, and yes this takes place in the same universe as Aeon reader, though this is sort of a POV exclusively by Aventurine— there will be interludes for other characters too in the future, but for now please enjoy.

I would also like to add that this remains to be a gender neutral reader insert, the reader taking on the form of an Avgin woman was purposeful.

(This is heavily unedited and written at three am by a very sleep deprived mf)

#aeon reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #reader insert #boothill x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail

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fyxestroll · 5 months ago

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Whose Problem Is It When the Primarchs Fall in Love? Pt.2

note: posting this during class because im school is making me lose my mind :>

Unnamed Primarch #11 - Had a relationship so healthy Emps got jealous and deleted them from existence.

Angron - Theoretically it should be everyone’s problem but in practice, it’s mainly Angron’s. Like everything in his life, Angron falling in love is a tragedy; there are no good scenarios, no good endings. The Butcher’s Nails have robbed him of many things including the whirlwind of emotions that came with falling in love being replaced by pain, so much pain. There are so many what-ifs, could-have-been and should-have-beens with Angron that in another life—one kinder to him, you just know that he would love you with all of himself.

Guilliman - He joins Jaghatai in the no-ones problem club. He handles falling in love well, there’s no unbearable pining or disastrous courting ideas. Internally, though, he hesitates from time to time because of the weight he carries on his shoulders. He dreams of retirement, of a simple life and that dream involves falling in love too but he’s far from retirement, far from that simple life. There’s always that nagging thought that his pursuit of you would have you be put into harm's way.

Mortarion - It’s his problem and it makes him miserable. When Mortarion falls in love he expects to be rejected almost immediately. He expects to be hated, to be seen as disgusting. This leads to him avoiding you because despite expecting it, he can’t bear to handle that sort of rejection. Still, he pines from a distance. If Mortarion’s feelings for you are requited then good luck its a never-ending game of hide and seek with his man.

Magnus the Red - It’s your problem. Have you ever had that one smart classmate that goes ‘oh i didn’t review’ after getting a perfect score and its obvious they said that because they want to be praised? Well, that’s Magnus. He wants your attention and he wants your approval. Praise him, tell him how smart he is, keep up with his genius. Oh, this man can be perceived as so damn annoying and the worst part is that he doesn’t even realise it. When he falls in love, he looks for an equal in tht person. He wants someone who can keep up with him, someone he can bounce off ideas with but he winds up expressing it in a way that unintentionally insults your intelligence. He’s like a pretentious peacock with the way he’s showing off his mastery of the warp. To have requited feelings for this man means being the most patient and understanding person in the whole galaxy.

Horus - It’s your problem. Like with Magnus you’d need a lot of patience with this man. Horus is like a big bald frat boy and when he pines his frat legion is right behind him. If the Space Wolves are singing kiss the girl the Luna Wolves are doing that with fireworks. Its endearing but so much so that it loops back to being cringe. Not even Horus’ Primarch charisma can help them on that one. Either way, whether you fall for him or not there's just this nagging feeling that something is about to go wrong at any moment.

Lorgar - Three your problems in a row lfg!!! Love for Lorgar is both spiritual happiness and guilt so when he falls in love he feels both. Worse, is that when Lorgar falls in love, he falls in LOVE. His emotions for you are intense and all-encompassing resulting in Lorgar deifying you and feeling immense guilt at what he feels as he feels that his feelings for you is him being corrupted in some way. It’s intense, it’s toxic and unless you’re into that it's your problem.

Vulkan - He’s the president of the no-one’s-problem club. The OG in-touch with his emotions guy. The closest thing he’d have a problem with is that he looks intimidating as hell so if you aren’t close to him or don’t know him well you might be intimidated but that’s nothing a little quality time with him can’t fix!

Corvus Corax - It’s his problem but he handles it better than most of the Primarchs on this list. He's well-adjusted enough to go with the flow but the insecurity is still there. He knows that under his skin he’s not exactly human and whether or not you are just the slightest bit aware of a Primarch’s true nature it kills him. Still, out of hypocrysy selfishness, he attempts to pursue you, hesitating every step of the way. Don’t be surprised if he ghosts you for days and then comes back badly trying to pretend like nothing happened.

Alpharius Omegon - It’s their problem (????) Alpharius and Omegon come as a packaged pair in just about anything including love, at least initially. They’re technically the same person but they’re still at their core individuals of the slightest variations so when they fall in love they need to be acknowledged as an individual by that person. It’s messy, internal and highlights the hairline cracks in the twins’ relationship. You don’t know that any of this is happening all you know is that Alpharius likes you.

#warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer x reader #warhammer #alpharius omegon x reader #corvus cora x reader #vulkan x reader #lorgar x reader #horus x reader #magnus the red x reader #angron x reader #roboute guilliman x reader #mortarion x reader

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transformers-synergize · 1 year ago

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Do you have any more stuff for Sunny & Sides? Your designs for them are some of the best I've seen, and I'd love to know more about your plans or headcanons for them!

No pressure ofc, I support you and your absolute galaxy brain :D

Sure, here is a bunch of random stuff about in no particular order, lot of this stuff was just pulled from my notes but whatever lol

Sunstreaker is egotistical, he knows he is the best and makes sure everyone knows it too. He also has the skills, looks, and combat prowess to back it up. Sunstreaker only really cares about himself and Sideswipe, considering pretty much every bots below him or not worth his time. He often makes sly comments, belittling or cracking jokes about bots whom he deems lesser. His friends are either Sideswipes friends who can tolerate him or bots who think he's cool, which is usually due to factors outside his personality. He's always down for a good fight, being ruthless and downright merciless in combat while still somehow managing to get as little dirt, energon, or other various combat filth on himself as possible, sometimes being nearly spotless after a battle aside from the energon coating his blade. Sunny likes to keep himself in good condition, making sure his paint is perfect and his polish shines, it really helps accentuate how he's the best.

Sideswipe is the nicer of the two brothers. He's outgoing and usually pretty friendly. Sideswipes is always looking for a fight. He loves the thrill of combat. He often treats serious situations more like a game than the high-danger situations he often places in. Sideswipe often can't sit still and always need something to do, and if there is nothing fun to do then he will make his own fun, he is often sparring with his fellow Autobots, trying risky stunts, pulling pranks on other bots and generally just causing chaos. He's very impulsive, often doing the first thing that comes to mind because he thought it might be fun, never considering the consequences. He's kinda like a jock who treats war like a sport with an almost ruthless approach to combat. He often tenses and banter with other autobots, sometimes making jokes at their expense, but unlike Sunny, he usually knows when to stop or when he's gone too far.

info dump bellow↓↓↓

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both emerged during the Autobot Decepticon war and never known peace times. They are the youngest of the crashed Autobots, both being around a thousand years old, which is very young when your species can live to their hundred thousands.

Twins are what happens when a shuttle-sized spark splits into two, so before Sideswipe and Sunstreaker split, their emerging was highly anticipated because shuttles are rare and extremely powerful, but their spark ended up splitting. When they finally emerged, it was a great disappointment.

they were mentored by Inferno and, to a lesser extent, his conjux Redalert (they are one of the many reasons for Redalerts anxiety). Sideswipe has a pretty good relationship with his mentors Sunny… not so much

Sunny hates Earth, it's filthy it's wet it's squishy it's sticky it's too hot, at least compared to Cybertron's frigid temperatures, and its dominant species are nothing but a pain he hates he has to hide his existence from the stupid inferior fleshy creatures that rule this dirtball of a planet he hates how often on missions he has to have a fleshy human chaperone to perform basic task that he could easily do himself or wouldn't be a problem if humans just didn't exist. Whichever bot or bots are on a mission with Sunny where human help is required, the other bot will always be the one transporting the human because Sunny refuses to let a human inside of him.

Sideswipe likes Earth, there so much to see it his first time being anywhere without the war consent looming present of the great war, but having to hide all the time on Earth is frustrating, he's been able to seek out and do some street races without Prowl knowing, he likes quite a lot of human stuff human music is pretty good and he like some human tv shows and movies mostly the ones with a lot of actions and explosion, he like interacting with the humans he's allowed to interact with especially Carly and Raoul, thought Sideswipe often struggles to understand how fragile humans are and often can put them at risk without even knowing it. Sideswipe is still a little homesick for Cybertron, even if he's only ever known it as a war-torn mess.

their poses often mirror each other

Sunny tells Sideswipe to smile with his mouth closed because his split beak.

Sunny is the decision-maker of the two, and though Sideswipe may make destinations for himself on his own as a pair, Sunny always has the final say.

Sunstreaker hates Sideswipe stickers but gave up on trying to remove them because whenever he tried, he got his claws sticky.

Sunstreaker and Tracks have a bit of a rivalry going on, though Tracks hates Sunstreaker more than Sunstreaker dislikes Tracks. Also, Sunny usually comes out as the victor of most of their little spats.

Sideswipe pulls pranks but doesn't dare prank Sunstreaker because he knows there will be hell to pay if he messes up his brother's paint job.

sideswipe loves to cause chaos, Sunny often help

Sunny has some artistic talent, though he doesn't use it much

Sunstreaker always makes sure his frame is clean and in near-perfect condition. Sideswipe doesn't care as much but Sunny, make sure Sideswipe keeps up to a certain standard.

Sideswipe is very extroverted, loves interacting with other bots, and will talk to basically anyone. Sunny is more introverted and prefers to keep to himself and select bots. Sunny tries to encourage his brother not to hang out with bots he considers not good enough to be associated with them which is most bots.

-----------------

As for plans for them, I like keeping what I share plot-wise pretty vague. They appear pretty early on, and they both are pretty plot-important. I don't really care about spoiling characters who appear in the first seven chapters. After that, I'm a little more sneaky and vague about who will appear.

#Sunstreaker #sideswipe #raoul #dont tag as ship #transformers fan continuity #transformers #tfs #transformers synergize #art post #ask answering #sunny #raoul lopez #sunstreaker is pretty controlling #his brothers images is a part of his image or atleast thats how sunny sees it #yes i call their teeth beaks instead of denta since the top and bottom pice are solid pieces without Individualt teeth #cybertronian have beaks kinda like squids #sideswipe naturally formed with a split beak #thank you happy ya like them so much #realized i left one my draft notes on here asaaaaa

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baltharino · 9 months ago

Text

AZALEA performing GALAXY HidE and SeeK Saint Snow Presents HAKODATE UNIT CARNIVAL

#love live #azalea #love live sunshine #galaxy hide and seek #dia kurosawa #kanan matsuura #hanamaru kunikida #arisa komiya #komiya arisa #suwa nanaka #nanaka suwa #takatsuki kanako #kanako takatsuki #hakodate unit carnival #seiyuu #ll live show #gif #gifset

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zoeykallus · 1 year ago

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Hi, Zoey! Are your requests open? I had an idea after watching Kenobi.

There’s a scene in Kenobi where the Inquisitors show up to a market place in search of Jedi. They throw a knife at the shop owner knowing that the Jedi hiding among the patrons will stop the knife from harming him. It would be interesting to see that with Hunter.

Maybe Hunter and Cid’s bartender have a relationship. Bartender was weary of the clones at first but warmed up to them and liked Hunter. They just started dating when Inquisitors show up. They use the knife trick on someone (maybe even Omega) and bartender is forced to expose themselves as a former Jedi.

I’d love to see how Hunter would react to that.

oh oh oh oh... I got something in my head!

*Running in circles*

I actually had a scene like this in my head for a while now, I put the whole batch in there but focus on Hunter as a love interest.

Hunter x Jedi/Reader - One-Shot - The Things We Do For Love

Warnings: Angst/Canon Typical Violence/Blood/Fluff

No one knows about your past with the Jedi order. You are forced to drop your cover, when you try to save Hunter's life.

_______

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_______

It's strange, life after Order 66 - hiding, pretending to be someone else. And it doesn't get any easier every day as you'd hoped, at least not at first. Cid's Bar, that's where you ended up at some point. You work behind the counter. You serve all kinds of strange clientele. Cid's Bar is like a meeting place for all kinds of scum in the Galaxy. Life has changed, a lot. Priorities change. The code after you've lived so long is nowhere near as important as surviving and belonging somewhere so you're not completely alone in this universe. But you can't open up to anyone, not exactly the most decent people come and go here. So you keep a low profile. You even flirt here and there to keep up appearances, but at the same time, you keep everyone at a distance. And then, to make matters worse, these clones turn up. Automatically, every alarm sounds inside you. Order 66 flares up in your memory, sharp and painful. It takes so much willpower to stay calm, to not let anything get to you, so much trauma hangs in every thought of clones. No one knows who you are, no one even suspects that you were part of the Jedi Order.

And yet these men surprise you, especially one of them who leads the group. He is so thoughtful, so serious. Hunter always seems to be lost in thought, trying to keep everything under control, to ensure safety. He rarely leans back and really takes a breath. He's almost always worried and tense, you can feel it in the Force. But eventually, he thaws out, you somehow strike up a conversation, and you quickly learn how much depth and kindness lie beneath that brooding, skeptical exterior. Hunter can even be funny, very observant and above all else, he's decent, probably one of the most decent people to ever come and go in this bar. You catch yourself admiring him. Your eyes meet more and more often, you talk to each other more often, even flirt. But this flirting is different, it's not fake, it feels real, exciting and for you, with your past, completely new and almost reckless. You are both obviously interested in each other, just as you are both shy and cautious in a certain way. Weeks, even months go by before your hands touch for the first time, and he asks you out.

You can see it in his face, he can hardly believe it himself, hidden behind his smile is a nervous boy who is incredibly afraid of being rejected by you. The big, brooding leader has a great weakness, you. Of course, you say yes, you can hardly resist this special man, clone soldier or not, Hunter has so much good in him, he attracts you like a magnet, not to mention his good, bold looks do the rest.

It starts like any other evening. More or less. After your first date, Hunter usually comes into the bar smiling, automatically seeking your gaze as soon as he walks through the door. You can't help it, you smile back every time, accompanied by a warm tingling in your stomach, warmth rising in your cheeks and ears.

But something is different today. There is a presence in the room, dark, determined, hard as stone, surrounded by sharp edges. You sense this presence in the Force, its intransigence. You look around in alarm. The bar is a little busier today, your gaze wanders more or less inconspicuously around the room. Then you see him. You meet cold eyes, eyes as blue as sapphires, their gaze steely and sharp, so intense that you automatically lower your own gaze and distractedly clean a glass. But you know this person has already noticed you. Right now you're feverishly thinking about your next steps and how to get out of here alive without putting anyone in danger. Hunter frowns worriedly, watching you. He can tell something is wrong. Tech is talking to him, but he is focused on you right now. He leaves the table where he was sitting with his brothers and is about to come over to you when he hears a voice say clearly and distinctly, not shouting but loud enough, "CT 9901"

You feel hot and cold, a shiver runs down your spine, you're sure Hunter feels the same way, you can see it on his face. All the heads at the Bad Batch table look up in surprise, shock and alarm. Hunter turns to the voice that seems to be coming from one of the other tables a few meters away. A man suddenly stands up, slowly, unhurriedly, confidently. Like a predator who is sure of his prey, who has no reason to be afraid, no need to hurry. Neither you nor Hunter like the body language. What surprises you, however, is that this man, in his strange, dark uniform, is not looking for you as you expected, but obviously for Hunter and presumably his brothers. "All 99ers in one room, this must be my lucky day. And not only that, I feel like I'm getting a little something extra on top of that," the somber stranger says, his voice deep and clear, almost melodic.

The room falls silent, as if the presence of this man demands it. With a confident little smile, the man pulls a knife from his belt, the first movement is slow, almost sluggish, but the throw comes so suddenly that you barely have time to react. It has become so quiet in the bar that you could hear a pin drop. But when the blade suddenly seems to stop in mid-air barely a centimeter from Hunter's eye, a murmur goes through the room. You're sure you can hear someone whispering the word Jedi.

Hunter only lets out a quiet, "What the hell", he can't help but stare at the blade for a moment. He should be dead, he realizes, that vibro blade should have drilled into his skull, but there it is, hovering right in front of his face. Out of the corner of his eye he sees your outstretched hand, your concentrated gaze, and he begins to understand. You stopped the blade from killing him, you stopped it in its tracks. The stranger's cool voice draws you both back to him. "I knew I sensed a Jedi in the room, and I knew you couldn't resist to show yourself" In the next moment everything happens very quickly, there is no time to think, to process, to make plans. The man reaches out his hand, and you feel his grip on you in the force. You are swept over the bar counter, with a pull on your body, trough the force, knocking over two tables on your way to the floor. Everything around you happens in a haze, you hear Hunter cursing angrily, blaster shots, the distinctive buzz of an awakening lightsaber, screams from the other patrons. A red glow fills the room. The smell of burned flesh.

Your left side hurts. You landed hard on the tables when the Sith Force-wrenched you over the counter, maybe you cracked a few ribs. There are shards on the surrounding floor from the glasses that went down. As you try to pick yourself up, you accidentally reach in and cut your right palm. The pain is sharp, clear and distinct, bringing you back to reality from your surprise. You jump to your feet, skillfully, supported by the force that flows through and envelops you. It's been a long time since you've used the Force and your abilities in this way, but it's as if you've never let it out of your fingers, the lightsaber sliding into your hand, its blade glowing blue with its characteristic hum. Blood runs down the hilt of your weapon from the open cut on your hand, it burns, but you ignore the pain. You feel Hunter's gaze, he is still confused. He knows what you are now, but he certainly hasn't processed the news yet. At the moment, you all have other things to worry about. Did the Sith come alone? Are there Stormtroopers waiting for you outside the bar?

You concentrate on the force, on the intentions of your opponent. Everything you feel emanating from him is sharp, dark, glowing hot. He is driven by rage, and the moment your lightsabers cross, you feel all the hatred in his attacks, which are admittedly much stronger than you expected. You've never fought a real Sith before. The first touch of your lightsabers is like an electric shock, an incredibly hard impact, a wave of fury that seems to roll over you from your opponent. The hilt of your weapon is slippery with your own blood, you have to grab it hastily with both hands so that the sword doesn't slip from your grasp or your opponent will decapitate you. For a moment, Hunter's concern penetrates your perception, but you shut him out and have to concentrate. A quick exchange of blows follows, attack, parry, retreat, attack, parry... The handle of your weapon becomes increasingly slippery with your own blood. Then it happens, another hard blow, you parry, the impact of the blades causes your weapon to slip away.

You hear Hunter yell out, hear the shock in his voice, the terror in that simple word, "No!" His blaster lies on the ground, sliced in half by the Sith's blade. Hunter has pulled his knife from his belt in a split second, lunging in the Sith's direction. The blade of your attacker hovers just in front of your neck, you hold the Sith and his weapon in this position with all the strength you can muster with body and force. Your heart races, adrenaline flows through your body. There are only millimeters between your life and death. Millimeters before the red lightsaber could sever your head from your shoulders. Hunter reaches an arm around the Sith's neck and jabs his knife into his side. The sergeant's voice is dark and smoky as he rasps, "Not on my watch"

The red lightsaber goes out and falls to the ground. Hunter kicks it aside, away from the Sith's hands, and lets the mortally wounded attacker slide to the ground. You see Hunter's chest rise and fall, still electrified, while your adrenaline suddenly subsides and your hands begin to tremble a little. You concentrate on the force, your center, and banish the trembling from your limbs. With a sigh, you look at the man on the ground, who is taking his last breaths, his cold, sapphire eyes still looking up at you with hatred, but there is also reluctance in them, surprise, defiance. Echo kneels down next to him, feels his pulse. "Quite dead," he says dryly, and with a glance at your extinguished lightsaber, he asks, "Care to explain?" "Take it easy, Echo. I guess it's obvious why we're only finding out now, it would have been dangerous to reveal the truth," Hunter says calmly and steps closer, carefully grabbing your hand and looking at the cut.

"That needs stitching," Tech says with a sideways glance and adds, "I can do it when we get to the Marauder, we should get out of here, more will come" The others lead the way, Hunter and you follow at a slight distance. You can't quite believe it yet. CF99 accepts you into their midst, no ifs, no questions, yet. Admittedly, Echo is still a little skeptical, but he always is. But you're part of it now, you're no longer alone. The thought spikes a feeling of euphoria in you. "Looks like Clone Force 99 has its own Jedi now," Hunter says with a wry smile. You crack a smile, liking the idea, forgetting for a moment your bleeding hand and the drops of blood that fall to the ground and on your tunic. Crosshair, who is walking ahead of you, casts a jaunty glance over his shoulder and says dryly, "Just don't expect me to follow your orders, General." He says it with a wink, even if his words sound a little hostile, he is friendly to you, you sense his intentions in the Force.

You say quietly, "I wasn't going to give you orders, you have a working system as a group, I wouldn't dream of changing it" The Sniper laughs softly, "Clever Jedi" Hunter drops back a little, and you do the same, sensing that he has something to say to you. After a little while, on your way to the Marauder, he says seriously, "You gave up your cover to save my life, thank you" You chuckle and say softly, "The things we do for love" Hunter listens in surprise and asks, "So our dates aren't part of your cover?" You've opened up to him in the force, feeling his pulse, the tingling under his skin as if it were your own. "I would never play with your feelings, not even as a cover," you say seriously. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief and asks, "So nothing will change between us?" "I'd like us to continue our relationship and see where it takes us," you reply with a warm smile. You feel his relief, his affection, and you breathe a sigh of relief as well.

"That's what I want too," he says, carefully grabbing your hand and taking another look at the wound. "That looks really bad," he says, frowning. Wrecker comes rushing up and murmurs, "Now hurry up, or our Jedi will bleed to death!" Impatiently, he grabs you and lifts you off your feet to carry you to the Marauder. You make a small, startled noise. "Wrecker," Hunter says softly, admonishing. "What? The little Jedi got hurt!" Wrecker returns unperturbed and carries you to the Marauder. "It's just a cut on my hand," you say, waving it off. "It's bleeding a lot," Tech comments as Wrecker sets you down next to him and points at your stained tunic. Tech already has medical supplies ready, including a needle and thread, but first Echo cleans the wound. You grit your teeth, because the cleaning stings a lot. Echo says knowingly, "Don't worry, it'll be done in a minute"

Wrecker asks curiously, "Is the Jedi officially with us now?" Hunter sits down opposite you and watches as your wound is taken care of, he says, "I think so" "But I'm not really a Jedi anymore. There is no longer a Jedi order and I haven't been following the code for a while now, at least not to the letter," Hunter's eyes meet yours at the last words. Your heart beats faster as a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "We're not really regular clones either, we're not really soldiers anymore," Tech says lightly. Crosshair sticks a toothpick in his mouth and mutters, "Welcome to the defect squad, I have a feeling you'll fit in perfectly here"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

________

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@clonelovr

@bandnerdlevel43

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goosewriting · 8 months ago

Note

Glad to hear requests are open! I just wanted to say I love your inquis!cal fics :D

I was wondering if you could write something with Cal? Lovesick Inquis!Cal hunting an in-denial-of-feelings-for-him Jedi!reader is always a favorite of mine. Literally just Cal pinning the reader down and insisting how they’d make such a great team if only reader would join him. Just anything really, being at his mercy- ugh.

Feel free to write it or not, I don’t mind, just figured I’d put it out there :)

Loth-cat and Mouse

summary: as reader escapes from an inquisitor, old sparks might reignite despite the danger.

relationship: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x gn!Jedi!reader

warnings: mentions of death and murder

word count: 3.6k

A/N: top tier request anon, tysm! writing the whole force shenanigans was my favourite part tbh. i’ve been meaning to explore that aspect for so long, battle of the will and all, and i’ll definitely be doing it again! tell me what you think pls c:

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Living in hiding when the galaxy thinks you’re dead is easy. It comes with the privilege of being virtually invisible in a galaxy that seeks to oppress and exploit every living soul.

Ever since escaping the Clones turning on the Jedis as a Padawan, and the rise of the Empire, you’ve lived in hiding, as most of the surviving Jedis did. And for a long time, you were successful. That is, until an Inquisitor picked up your scent and started hunting you down.

This went on for two years, and you somehow managed to evade her, always being a step ahead. You only came face to face with the Inquisitor twice: the first time, when you looked the purplish skinned Mirialan in her yellow eyes for the first time, and the second when you knew what you had to do.

Sitting in the dusty booth of a run-down tavern somewhere in the Outer Rim, your shoulders slump forward as you remember how you had felt her life essence vanish through the Force like a cloud of spores disappearing, carried away by the wind. You knew you couldn’t get through with it with your own hands, so you rigged an old warehouse with so many explosives that not even the strongest Jedi Master would be able to escape. Using yourself as bait, standing by the entrance to the building, that was the last time you’d see her. Your plan worked, and the whole thing came down on her. So much so that it almost took you out as well, but you survived despite the injuries. You hope that in the eyes of the Force, you had freed her from her pain. Maybe somewhere deep inside she was thankful.

Or that was what you’d keep telling yourself to be able to sleep at night.

It’s been a couple of months since then, and you’ve doubled your efforts at staying hidden, as you don’t think you can take another Inquisitor hunt. Not because you can’t win against them. You already did, and that’s the problem. When you first realised an Inquisitor was trailing you, you were afraid. But now, after defeating her, the thought of going out there and turning around the hunter and hunted roles suddenly seems… exhilarating. But that would make you no better than a Sith, would it? Your face contorts in discomfort as you can practically hear your Master’s disappointed voice at what has become of you.

“I thought I taught you better.”

You sigh. Yeah, you did. But you trained me to be a peacekeeper, not an outlaw. It’s a kill or get killed world out here. It probably always has been, but we were shielded from it, had a roof over our heads, clothes to wear and food on our plates. You smile bitterly to yourself, the hood of your cape casting a shadow over your face as you twirl a toothpick between your fingers. Who’d have thought that we had it better during the war than afterwards.

Your motions come to a sudden halt and you involuntarily snap the thin piece of wood in two as you feel the air in the tavern change, turning impossibly cold. The constant chatter doesn’t stop though, the few customers currently in the tavern continue on unaware of the shift.

Rising up to your feet quickly but without making a noise, you beeline towards the bar, turning a sharp corner into the kitchen and then towards the back exit you know of. You can hear some modulated voices back in the main room; Purge Troopers. And where there are black armoured troopers… you don’t need to look to know what else is there.

Once out of view from the main area, you quicken your pace, exiting the place with one goal in mind: getting as far away as possible. With your mind reeling, you skilfully evade every person and droid in your way so as not to make a fuss or cause noise by something falling to the ground. Mentally, you go through every interaction from the last several weeks, trying to find where you did something careless that gave you away. But you’ve been so thorough with your recons, moving every few days, never staying in one place too long.

How did they find me?

This question echoes through your mind over and over as you take step after step. The destination of your brisk walk doesn’t really matter, you just need to put as much distance as possible between yourself and whatever hound they’ve sent after you.

It isn’t until you suddenly feel your burning lungs and aching legs asking for a break that you realise how far you’ve walked, and at what speed. You ran all the way back to your hideout. Agh, stupid! you reprimand yourself, smacking your hand to your forehead. it must have been an automatic response to come to your current “safe spot”, but if they find you here, you wouldn’t be able to come back to retrieve your supplies. In the few days you’ve been here, you’ve collected several machinery parts that you were planning on selling, but that plan just went down the drain. So you pack up whatever you can carry, mentally saying goodbye to not only the place and everything you’re leaving behind, yet again, but also the potential money you could have made which you desperately needed. With a sigh and a mental promise to do better next time, you head out to the port. Not the nearest one, though; the troopers probably have that one surrounded and monitored. You’re going to the one two towns over. It will take a while to get there, but it’s the safer choice.

The whole way there, you do your mental meditation exercises to keep your Force signature hidden. The familiarity of it also helps you calm down a little and recentre yourself.

After what felt like half an eternity, you’re finally at the port, and you go to buy a ticket off the planet. You’re relieved that at first glance there don't seem to be any Stormtroopers doing patrols out here. There is a bit of a line at the ticket shop though, so you stay a little further back by some crates and equipment waiting to be loaded into the cargo ships. Hiding out of sight, you wait until you can approach the window directly.

One by one you watch the people in the queue leave, and when there’s only one person left, you take a quick look around to make sure no Imperial has arrived. The coast is clear, and you take a step in that direction. Except that your boots remain stuck to the ground. All at once, you’re surrounded, no, enveloped in that cold, eerie aura from the tavern earlier, which holds you in place. You take a gulp of air much like a fish out of water, and you try to turn your head around when you hear a modulated chuckle behind you, but you’re frozen in place.

“Going to the port further away even though it cost you more time. Bold choice,” the modulated voice of a man says, and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.

This is it. They found me, you think to yourself, trying your hardest to slip your hand to your belt underneath your robe to reach your weapon, but to no avail.

“Don’t worry. All the troopers are probably still by the tavern searching the whole village,” he says, and you can feel yourself slowly being turned towards him. You were ready to spit in his face and curse him out, but the image before you catches you completely off-guard. While the red visor of his sleek helmet is practically unmistakable regarding his line of work, he threw on some sort of poncho to cover his armour. It’s almost comical, and were it not for the imminent danger you find yourself in, you probably would have laughed a bit.

“Everything has been so boring lately,” he continues, rolling his head back and to the side to make his point. Then, his visor locks onto your face, and he stays silent for a moment. “When I read what you did to the Eleventh Sister, though, I knew I had to come check you out for myself.”

“W-why,” you manage to croak out. His Force grip is starting to get tighter and it's getting harder for you to breathe.

He slightly shrugs, one of his shoulders leaning onto the big supply crate that shields you both from view. “As I said, I was bored. And you get a head start, so…” He pulls the poncho over his head, letting it fall down to the ground unceremoniously. “Entertain me.”

As he turns on his heels, he finally lets go and you can fill your lungs again. You don't know what just happened, but you’re not about to waste this chance to escape, so you beeline to the ticket shop and buy your way off the planet. Before boarding the ship, you take one last look over your shoulder; the Inquisitor is nowhere to be seen. Or felt.

From then on, a strange game of Loth-cat and mouse starts. You’d escape, the Inquisitor somehow following your trail, even though you took great care to stay anonymous. Only days after arriving at a new location, you’d find his Purge Troopers looking for you. Every time you thought you might be able to get a break and rest at one place a little longer, the Inquisitor would reach out in the Force, poking at you ever so slightly, just as a reminder that he’s still there.

You’re exhausted.

People who aren’t Force-sensitive emit a certain aura, while those who are able to tap into and manipulate it, manifest in different ways. Most seem to have an extra set of long, immaterial limbs, able to scan their surroundings. Sometimes it’s like a flowy cape, fluttering around the person with grace; sometimes it’s more like thick and heavy vines, dragging themselves around and scratching everything with their thorns.

Inquisitors have a very strong and rather aggressive presence in the Force, but you’ve never quite felt a signature as distinctly intense as the one currently hunting you. His whole essence feels like an icy mist, spreading quickly around him and seeping into every corner, looking for his victims. It starts out slow, unnoticeable at first, but by the time you realise what’s surrounding you, it’s too late. Once the victim is found, the mist solidifies into ice, sticking their feet to the ground, rendering them unable to move. The Inquisitor stretches out his arm in their direction, and the mist becomes more dense, constricting their airways, squeezing out every last drop of oxygen agonisingly slowly.

At some point, his presence starts haunting you at night. In the few hours of restless sleep you allow yourself while on the run, you find him to be there more and more often. Worn down by how long the chase has been going on, your guard starts to fall. Suddenly you don’t dread it anymore, the cold shudders as you walk through a market, and the icy mist following you into your dreams. Not just his Force signature but his whole presence as a whole, it’s so strong, it’s almost intoxicating. The more he keeps finding you, the more you keep catching yourself almost looking for his presence.

Much to your surprise and not delight, you realise his manipulation game is working.

It doesn’t take much longer until you finally come face to face with the Inquisitor. You know it’s too late to escape him, and you don’t know if you can hold your own against him in your current state, but you have no choice.

As if the exhaustion wasn’t enough, you’re currently stuck in a tropical forest, and you can feel the dirt and debris after running through the thick vegetation sticking to you, a thin sheen of sweat on your skin. The only sound you hear is your ragged breathing and the sounds of the jungle. You know the Inquisitor is not far behind you, but he’s been moving surprisingly silently given his armour. More than ever, he feels like a predator.

Arriving at a clearing in the forest, you stop. Deep in your gut you can feel it: it’s time. Whatever happens, only one of you will walk out of here. So, after taking a deep breath and wiping off your face with the back of your sleeve, you turn around.

All this time, you’ve tried not to imagine what he looked like underneath his helmet, as you knew it would only humanise him and make it harder for you to fight the man. So when you’re met with a face instead of a red visor, you’re surprised. Whatever mental image you might have had of him, you were not expecting him to look as handsome and young as he did. There’s also a strange air of familiarity which you can’t place, but decide to ignore for the time being.

Sizing each other up from either side of the clearing, you merely stand there, looking at each other. He moves his hand and you instinctively reach for your sabre, but he casually adjusts his gloves, weapon stil sheathed.

“You know,” he says with a slight chuckle. “I only ever came after you because I recognised your name. I personally requested to pick up where the Eleventh Sister left off.”

Your brows furrow at his confession, which feels very much misplaced. He talks like he’s expecting you to be flattered or honoured at his words.

You deny ever having seen him, and he seems a little dejected at that. Kneeling down, he picks a little blue flower from the shrubs, and takes a couple steps in your direction. Offering it to you, he calls you by a nickname that you haven’t heard in what feels like several lifetimes.

That’s when you suddenly remember: you had met him once, on Coruscant, when Padawans from all over the galaxy would go to the temple and be shown the archives. You were from two different home planets, there was no reason for you to have ever crossed paths, yet fate would have you attending the tour through the archives on the same day. All Padawans got to spend some time together, mainly to train and spar with each other. You can’t really remember anyone else you met that day, and the events are pretty blurry as is, but you do distinctly remember a Padawan with wild copper hair and freckles that looked like the constellations the Jedi taught you about. You and him would steal glances at each other the whole day, until finally he approached you, offering you a little white flower he picked somewhere. Where exactly, you had no idea, given the lack of green spaces on the planet.

“Cal. Cal Kestis,” you say as his name comes back to you, like it’s always been on the tip of your tongue, dormant.

“Ah, so you do remember,” he smiles a little at that. You don’t take the flower from his hand though, so he flicks it away without a second thought.

”What did they do to you…” You shake your head in disbelief.

You mentally compare the sweet little boy with fiery hair that you had met that day, and try to superpose that image with the man now standing before you, and it’s just not possible. It’s not the same person any more. His eyes, once the colour of oceans and clear skies, now glow an angry yellow, his gaze piercing right through your soul.

Since coming face to face in the clearing, Cal’s presence in the Force has been as unmovable and strong as ever, so you had no choice but to mentally and emotionally shield yourself, like hiding behind a rock in a snowstorm, trying to avoid the relentless icy wind clawing at your exposed skin. But now that you know who he is, you’re certain there has to be something left, even if very deep within him. So you dig deep in your own heart for that short connection you had felt with him that day on Coruscant, and bring it back to the surface, holding onto it for dear life. You dig out the warmth, the safety, the certainty that those days used to have, using them as a shield to part the cold wind as you take step after step in the metaphorical snow towards Cal.

Feeling the shift, Cal straightens up.

“What are you doing?” he questions.

You don’t answer immediately, holding his harsh gaze the best you can.

“I’m reaching out to you,” you say after a moment, the light of your Force finally strong enough to allow you to approach him without being knocked back by his icy aura. The dry leaves crunch under your feet as you take a step towards the Inquisitor.

To an outsider, this interaction would have looked like an intense staring contest. But if you allowed your dynamics in the Force to have an impact on the physical world, you two would have flattened the terrain around you both in an instant.

During this battle of will and determination, which seems to go on forever, you shorten what little distance separates you from Cal. His whole body is tense, trying to keep his wits as you’re blinding him with your light. You wonder if there is a part in him that wants to give in, and that’s exactly what you’re trying to find within him. Stretching out your hand, you carefully cup his face. He flinches slightly in surprise, but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s not too late, Cal,” you say. Your voice is soft, contrasting the intensity in both your gazes. “Please come back.”

Now that you’re so close, you decide to drop the metaphorical shield you were holding up, exposing the warmth and joy from before to him. His icy wind almost knocks you back a couple of steps, but you let it wash over you. You inhale sharply as you let everything he’s throwing at you bounce off; his hate, his anger, his pain.

“Stop,” he demands almost breathlessly.

But you bring your other hand to his face too, holding him, as you cling onto the memory of your first meeting with him and try to emanate that light through his own shield wherever you find cracks. And you succeed, feeling how, for a split second, all his walls come crumbling down and all you’re left with is just a boy, scared and alone.

“Stop!” he yells, as his own hand reaches out this time, swatting yours away and harshly grabbing you by the throat. Pushing you back several steps until your back hits a tree, he holds you there, your own hands clawing at his wrists in an attempt to ease the pressure of his grip.

“Stop,” he repeats, much more collected this time.

“You’re so deep in that dark cave, you forgot there’s an exit at all,” you say. “You don’t have to stay there, you know. Let me help you get back to the light.”

“Why would I want to leave?” He chuckles darkly. “Let me show you the way into the dark instead. There’s more here than you could ever know, so much power to be tapped into that you’re missing.”

He takes a moment to study your face, loosening his grip on you ever so slightly, which allows you to take a gulp of air.

“Come with me,” he offers. ”You’ve already proven how powerful you are. Imagine how much more we could both accomplish if we joined forces.”

“Me? Become like you?” You scoff. “I’d rather you kill me now.”

Cal hums, as if considering your suggestion for a moment. But he remains silent, with you still pinned to the tree. He doesn’t let go of you nor does he tighten his grip, leaving the next move to you instead. Your head spins, trying to figure out what to do.

He raises a brow at you, urging you to do or say something. You frown, conflicted.

“All this time I thought you were just playing a twisted game, coming after me until you got bored. And then you’d kill me. Now you’re trying to recruit me?”

“If I wanted you dead, you never would have even seen me coming,” he retorts with a bit of a snarl.

Then he reaches out for the lightsabre at your belt, and one of your hands protectively grabs onto it before he can. Cal gives you a smug look as that’s exactly what he wanted, and placing his hand over yours, he guides your weapon up, pressing the unignited end into his ribcage. He’s essentially saying, ‘if you don’t want to come with me, you’ll have to kill me right now, right here.’

“Quite the conundrum we find ourselves in, huh,” he says after a moment, giving your hand a squeeze. “What’s stopping you?”

“…Hope,” you answer rather unconvincingly, cringing at how corny it sounds.

He scoffs and lets go of your hand, which falls to your side still holding onto your weapon.

“Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

Cal suddenly leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek.

“I’m looking forward to our next encounter,” he whispers into your ear, and a shudder runs down your spine.

He lets go suddenly, your legs giving in, and you fall to the ground with a grunt as you take a couple deep breaths now that your airways aren’t constricted anymore.

As he walks away, Cal doesn’t turn back once. He picks up his helmet where he discarded it earlier, putting it on and disappearing amongst the trees.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/N2: part 2 anyone? 👀 let me know how you’d like the story to unfold!

A/N3: the amount of times i’ve written reader getting choked by inq!cal…….. i think i need to unpack something there

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @lovelyygirl8, @cathyket, @wildefire, @ghostkestis, @reckoning-star

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi survivor x reader #inquisitor cal kestis x reader #inq!cal x reader #star wars x reader

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ny000mdraws · 1 month ago

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My pieces for a zine that unfortunately got cancelled. But hey! At least I got to make a piece of my TFsona and my TFP OCs!

And if you’re interested in me info dumping about them, it’ll be below the cut!

This guy is my TFsona, Nyoom! So far, I’ve only drawn him in the MTMTE universe but I want to design a TFP and TFA version as well! Anyway, he’s a wuss. A big scaredy-cat. He remained a neutral during the war because he was too afraid to use a gun and spent most of the war hiding from both Decepticons and Autobots. Instead of being a fighter, he’s an artist who enjoys being lost in his own world and letting his servo flow freely across the canvas. As for why he’s on the Lost Light, he hoped that this journey across galaxies would broaden his horizon and inspire his next series of works. Although, now he’s having second thoughts…

Now onto my TFP OCs (who all happen to be Decepticons ahaha)!

Burn Rubber is a scout. He’s from Velocitron and his alt-mode is a F1 racing car. Out of all the OCs, he’s the most competent and loyal but he still fears Megatron’s wraith. Because of his birth defect that made him have no arms, he relies more on kicks and piercing bots with his pede. After the war, he and Bulkhead form a friendship and grow closer.

This is an unnamed OC. I mainly wanted to create a Transformer OC who 1. Is a cannibal and 2. Is a manipulative POS and genuinely unlikable. His facial anatomy is similar to that of a python in the sense that he can unhinge his jaw in order to ingest large pieces of fuel. His alt-mode is a motorcycle.

Vise is my first TF OC I made (that wasn’t a child of existing characters) back in 2021. I wanted to include a character who was disabled (Burn Rubber was the same way) and I decided on a mech with no optics. Since it’s a birth defect, he’s gotten used to navigating the world and remember others using his other sense. His one flaw is that he seeks validation way too much. It’s one of the reasons why he stayed with the Decepticons for so long despite how harsh they were to him. He always sought out Megatron’s approval like in the beginning of the revolution but as the war dragged on and Megatron started to lose his grip on sanity, the praise became less and less. Eventually, he leaves the Decepticons because his Minicon was afraid of him getting hurt if he stayed. After the war, he becomes conjunxed to Arcee.

Missile is Vise’s Minicon. He was assigned to Vise to help him due to his blindness. Initially, Missile was annoyed with having to potentially babysit instead of help fight in the war, but he gradually started to see Vise as a brother and now they’re inseparable. He’s the more cautious and pragmatic of the two. Even though he and Vise defect, he’s still wary of the Autobots.

Pop-Tart was a joke character. It was based on a quote retweet I made on Twitter where the original post said “your Decepticon name is the last thing you ate + your first car.” Even though I don’t drive, I decided to make a Transformers character named “Pop-Tart” and see what happens. A handful of people liked him so he became an official OC. Anyway, he’s goofy and dumb. The only reason why he’s a Decepticon is because they recruited him first. Now they regret it because he’s the least competent bot you’ll ever meet. All Megatron sees in him is his strength and ability to follow orders. Also he has the hots for a human woman.

And that’s it! I’m like 95% sure I’ve never shared anything OC related before despite the handful of stuff I’ve shared about them on Twitter and Insta, so who knows. If I feel like if, I’ll post them here.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers original character #tf ocs #tf oc art #original character #transformers oc #oc art #oc #procreate #digital art

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sh1-n0bu · 11 months ago

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✿ 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙜𝙪𝙣 ✿

characters: boothill x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, angst/no comfort, spoilers to his character story, reader death, canon typical violence, blood, death, injury description, slavery mention, reader is a galaxy ranger, reader also has burn scars, some mechanical and medical things might be incorrect

notes: i have been spoiling yall too much with the constant fluff and smut. so here throws this fic into your face. divider from @/cafekitsune. a deep thanks to @theblades for helping me find a way to kill reader off😇

word count: 6.2k words

bright sunlight, gentle breeze ruffling through his bi-colored hair and the soft laughter of children. he loved the days spent at the farm, playing hide and seek with his siblings in the corn field, looking after the animals at the farm and taking some out for a walk. if him and his siblings could be sneaky enough, they will be able to snatch a few of graey’s handmade cookies through the kitchen window before dinner time. if not, they’ll get caught red handed, yet be let off the hook with a few soft pinches to their cheeks and one cookie for each since graey was just that soft.

sometimes, him and nick would ride their horses, wilding through the forests and endless fields to lead their cattle to better water and brilliant clouds. nick would sing loudly and proudly — he always does — and soon, he would join in with his young, soft voice pitching out the same song. nick would laugh boisterously, ruffling his hair and knocking off of his hat in the process. he would whine about it, saying things such as his hat getting dirty and being scolded by graey. nick would just laugh and shrug it off with a “sorry kiddo”.

he loved this place. he loved the corn fields he runs through with his siblings, he loved the loud voice of graey yelling out, scolding the kids as they run off laughing like a bunch of menaces, the oldest holding the box of cookies graey keeps on the highest shelf away from them, he loved the guns that nick would pull out from his old box of tools, teaching him how to properly aim and how to shoot the empty cans placed in the distance. and the excited yell of the other kids when he finally manages to knock one down, making him feel giddy as nick congratulated him on his first shot. after he fully mastered the old handgun of nick and shot down all 5 cans in a row, he was rewarded with nick’s old cowboy sheriff medal. the golden, 5 pointed star was old and looked rusty but to little ol’ him, it was the biggest and most treasured gift he ever got.

little ‘loaded gun’ never separated from that medal. he wore it his jacket ever since nick pinned it there for him, proudly showing it off to his siblings and talking about how he will take after nick and graey’s profession in the future. how he promises to nick and graey that he will make them proud, how he will live up to their expectations and become an even better cowboy.

“you sure will, little partner” nick would always laugh and pat his head, re-adjusting the medal. graey would sigh and roll his eyes at nick’s actions before reminding him that he doesn’t have to choose that life if he doesn’t want to. young ‘loaded gun’ would pout, whining that he wants to.

“but i want to be a cowboy! i want to be like you and nick, taking down bad guys, bringing justice and firing big guns!” he would yell, shooting his arms up in the air and jumping around.

“uh-huh. talk about firing big guns after you lose that lisp of yours” graey would chime in, always quick to reprimand him for his missing tooth and lisp as his hands affectionately smoothen out his messy hair, groaning in defeat as the mess of black and white refuse to be tamed.

“but i already lost it! i’m a big boy now!”

“hey graey! am i a big boy capable of firing big guns now?” were the first words he said as he brought back his first successful bounty. the smell of gunpowder and ash clung heavy to his jacket but he didn’t care. the smaller kids ran up to his sides, asking for upsies while his siblings who had already grown up and decided to stay at the farm pat his back and ruffle his hair with affectionate teasing quips.

he did it. he held his promise and followed in the footsteps of graey and nick, the old rusty gun and the sheriff medal being a motivational tool for him to reach his goal. now, all grown up and a master trickshot amongst the cowboys of aeragan-epharshel, ‘loaded gun’ was ready to aim and fire at anyone who dares to harm the innocents. although it had been years since the last time he saw his parents and siblings, everything about them and the old red barn stayed the same. though, the corn field looked a little bit bigger than he remembered.

‘loaded gun’ had done a lot in his life since becoming a cowboy. from fighting bandits in the dusty fields, chasing thieves at the dangerous cliffsides to having a gun fight against rival gangs. there were many times he had narrowly escaped death, breathed nothing but the metallic scent of blood, death and bullets and he still prevailed. although he had lost friends along this deadly road, he had also gained many.

that night, ‘loaded gun’ sat across his parents, seated amongst his siblings as he recalled tales of his adventures. the warmth of his younger siblings’ hugs, the teasing quips of the elders’ back pats and the proud looks nick and graey gave him — he was sure of it; this place was where he was the most happiest.

so when he found a little figure, wrapped in a measly ragtag of a fabric, crying out and lonely, he knew he had to step in and take in the little one. it’s what was right and what graey and nick would have done. a small bundle, not even a month old was left to fend for herself. ‘loaded gun’ carefully cradled the baby close to his chest, trying his best to soothe her cries as much as he could.

“graey! nick! i need some help here!” and ‘loaded gun’ had become a father.

ever since becoming a father, ‘loaded gun’ has experienced everything that parenthood had to offer. sleepless nights of the baby wailing at an ungodly hour, searching for his comfort and warmth. having to change the baby’s diapers and bathe her. checking the temperature of the milk in the bottle before feeding time — everything parenthood brought him, he took it all in strides and jolly laughs.

sometimes, he would put the baby in a small bucket and take her out on the farm with himself. the little baby would laugh and clap her tiny hand together, big bright eyes unknowing of what was happening as ‘loaded gun’ fails to tame a wild stallion, proceeding to get his ass thrown off of the horse’s back. seeing his little girl so happy, how could he ever stop making a fool of himself? he even went far as to carve out a mini guitar for her after seeing her fascination with his old, weathered one.

“from now on, yer name will be clementine. can’t have my little girl going around without a name, right?” he asks, bringing up the white haired girl into his arms and raising her into the air. clementine only giggles, blabbering some stuff as she laughs at the feeling of being in the air. seeing the baby’s innocent wide eyes staring down at him, head haloed by the high sun, ‘loaded gun’s grey ones soften as a teary smile forms on his face. the scars on his hands remind him of his profession and dangers of being a cowboy, but in his heart, he swore that he will keep his little girl safe and to be the best father he can be.

“my little clementine…”

gone... it was all gone.

the corn fields where he used to run through with his siblings when they were young, the old red farm that was in the middle of being repainted, the comfortable warm yet dingy house that him and his family used to live in — it was all gone. the scent of sulfur and burnt bodies hung in the air, ash raining from high above like it was some sort of a rain, turning his already dirtied and burnt clothes into black. there was no sign of nick, graey, his siblings nor the panicked farm animals.

little clementine... where was she? aeons, you can do anything you want to him but please spare his little girl, please by some blind miracle, let little clem be alive. he won't care what he has to do or which burning log he has to push away with his bare hands, just let him hear the sound of his little girl's cries to let him know that she's still alive and he'll do it. he'll do anything to save his little girl.

running through the scorched earth, 'loaded gun' calls out for his family. nick, graey, his siblings and even by their childhood nicknames. clementine, where was clementine, where was his baby girl? his little girl, where—

small red scarf and a burnt mini guitar. that was all he had managed to dig out from the burning farm house of his home. that was all he had left of his little girl, the red scarf that was the same copy of his own and the hand carved guitar with its strings plucked due to the heat of the bomb. those two things were the only things he brought with himself as he travels through the vast galaxies, searching a certain doctor who had made themselves into a cyborg successfully.

on the kingdom of bandits, talia, did he found the doctor. heart heavy, eyes full of vengeance and burnt hands holding onto the strap of his bag that had his little girl's memoirs. the doctor tried to persuade him into thinking over his decisions again, to woo him into staying as a human and not to lose said humanity. but 'loaded gun' was steadfast in his decision. if he wanted to stay as a human, he would have already thrown his body into the fires that engulfed his home.

with a deep sigh and slight reluctance, the doctor fulfilled his wishes. blue colored blood being pumped into his new metal body, no longer warm, scarred flesh but rather a clean plated metal being wired into place. at least his head was kept intact. after everything was over and he regained consciousness, he simply thanks the doctor and leaves his payment on the operation table full of his former human blood mixed with his new cyborg blue ones. he didn't wanted to look at the walls or the floor — it was covered in filthy purple liquids.

"before you leave, will you at least tell me your name?"

"... it's boothill now"

"well, good luck with your hunt mr.boothill"

it has been... how long now? boothill doesn't know. since his 'rebirth' as boothill, he has spent so much time traveling from one world to the other, destroying one ipc ship to the next. it has been a bit too long in his opinion, as the destruction of his home planet has stopped being brought up as the latest hot topic at every bar or saloon he visits. or maybe they never talked about it to begin with. the ipc had friends and slaves everywhere, at every branch or organization or world, boothill wouldn't be surprised if they had ended up covering their filthy work by masking it as an another 'horrific accident that befell a poor world before we could save them' type of thing. the ipc were amazing at their manipulation after all.

"those ipc folk sure have been having some hard time since your sudden emergence huh, cowboy?" a voice rings out to his left, a body covered in a bright red coat sitting down beside him at the bar. gesturing to the bartender, he watches from the corner of his eyes as you order a glass of earl grey and marmalade cooler with extra ice. boothill doesn't know this stranger draped in red was nor did he care. but judging by the way you easily knew of him as the latest troublemaker against the ipc, you have probably heard of the bounty on his head or you just travel the galaxies a lot. or it could be both at the same time.

turning his head just a little bit more towards the side, he looks you up and down, trying to see if there are anything that makes you stand out in any form of way. anything to hint at what or who you were.

old, faded, long, red coat left open at the front, smart by the way you have easily deduced he was a cowboy by just his accessories and clothing alone and ordering anon-alcoholic drink despite having set foot inside a bar and took a seat beside him. he can't see any weapons on your body at the moment and your red coat was covering most of your body too. he'll just have to go in blindly then.

"done checking me out, cowboy?"

by the time he had finished assessing you and had looked up to see your face, you were already staring at him with a nonchalant smirk on your face. for some odd reason, boothill could feel his cheeks heat up and wires zap inside his metal body. there was just something about the way that you easily teased him and wasn't ashamed to hold an eye contact with his target shaped pupils that got him feeling weirdly self conscious. had he forgotten to shine the metal plates of his body today? was his revolver still in place, shiny and strong? what about his bullets? his hat? his hair? oh what if he smelled? can cyborg bodies have any odor to begin with—?

"come on now, don't look away from me. i was talking to you" he could hear you coo out, your hand coming up to turn his chin so you could look at his face. the warmth of your hand touching the only leftover human part of his, the laidback confidence you had in your own self, it all got boothill letting out a steam from his ears like a cartoon character as he quickly turns away from you, his hand pulling down his hat to save whatever tiny drops of image he had.

what a shame, turning into a flustered mess like a high school girl talking to her crush by just the smallest amount of flirting he received. where was his class? his sarcastic remarks? the sassy quips and bites he gives to those who touched him? his tongue felt heavy, cheeks felt like they were on fire and he could just hear the gears inside his body shifting and turning at an uncomfortably fast pace that made him feel like he was overheating. or maybe he truly was overheating. darn, he should visit the doctor again to get some certain things removed.

"a-ahem, didn't yer' parents teach you it's not okay to flirt with strangers at a bar?" curse him for stuttering over his words, he was supposed to appear cool not like a teenager boy dammit! and the way your lips curled upwards even more at the tripping of his words wasn't helping. well he'll be damned, you have a smile that cowboys would kill each other for.

"i'm [name], a galaxy ranger. and you are, dear cowboy?"

idiot cowboys like him would kill each other for.

"name's boothill, sugar"

it has been exactly 2 years and 4 months since boothill first met you and was introduced to a faction called the galaxy rangers. apparently, galaxy rangers are a voluntarily formed group that follows the teachings of lan, the hunt and carries out acts of service, upholding peace and justice. some galaxy rangers are a bit ruthless in the ways they deal with the injustice that happens at some worlds or galaxies, some are a bit more diplomatic, some travel in groups of friends and colleagues while some travel alone.

you were once the latter one; a galaxy ranger that travelled the cosmos alone, a bright red shooting star that shine and never fade till the break of day, bringing hope and destruction at once. were; because it has been precisely 2 years and 4 months since boothill has started to travel alongside you. he had decided to become a galaxy ranger, the voluntary group's ideals appealing to his own sense of vengeance and justice that he wishes to bring to a certain group.

"boothill, it's time to wake up" you call out, having always been the early morning bird out of the two of you. walking towards the bedside of the asleep cowboy, you poke at his eyebrows and nose, pushing his lips into random emotes, snorting at the slight hint of drool on his lips. despite having an all metal body, the cyborg was still very human at heart. you've seen the way he helps the elderly cross the roads, entertaining the kids of your stop of the day by teaching them how to properly hold a gun or to shoot one, how he pets a stray dog or a cat, how he sits down at the bar with you after a successful mission, a guitar in hand as he starts to sing in an unfamiliar language. how he looked sad as he regularly cleans the sheriff medal on his jacket, how he stares at a certain picture that he keeps in his jacket pocket.

or even the ways he calls out to a little girl with white hair, addressing her as "clementine", before apologizing and patting the girl on the head to say "be careful, kid". you've seen it all, or what you like to think of as all of boothill.

"fuck meeee, it's still early dawn sugar" the cowboy groans out, voice groggy due to his voice bank having been on resting mode and just restarted. reaching an arm out, he manages to grab a hold of the back of your shirt before you could escape, pulling you down onto his bed as you let out a shriek. grunting at your flailing limbs and attempts to escape his clutch, he only tightens them, climbing on top of you with a cheshire grin on his face.

"that's what ya' get for trynna wake up a cowboy, sugar. ya' get put in time-out" boothill grins at the red of your cheeks from laughing too much, a surprising flare of cuteness aggression coming over him as he leans over your face to gnaw at your cheeks with his shark-like teeth.

"on-nom nom nom nom nom, i'm gonna eat up yer' mochi cheeks, sugar!" the cyborg says, making an overdramatic munching noises as he gnaws the sharp edges of his teeth over the soft fat of your cheek. you could only laugh, throwing your legs back and forth as you try to escape his hold.

"boothill! you're a whole damn 700 kilogram of pure metal alone, get off of me!" you shriek out when the mischievous cowboy starts to gnaw on the skin of your neck and chin, akin to a baby kitten throwing a temper tantrum. as if to spite you, he only rolls his body over yours more, squishing you flat down onto the bed with a menacing laugh.

it was usual to start the day like this between you and boothill. he was not a morning person, you were and usually you would have to end up paying for being the early bird as he squishes your body flush against his own metal one. sometimes you two would end up just falling back asleep, with you being held hostage in boothill's grasp and boothill comfortably squeezing his face into your body. sometimes, you two would end up like this, just laughing and having a harmless prank time together. other times, you two end up with a bunch of ruined pillows, the feathers dancing in the air as you try to get at least a hit on him. but somehow, boothill was always better than you when it came to pillow fights.

"now what happened 'ere, sugar?" you could hear boothill ask, finally managing to get a deep breath in as he finally lifts away some of the weight he had on you. a cold, hard metal tenderly ghosts over where your neck and shoulder met, over the old burn scar you had. oh right, you forgot of that little fella there.

"ah, that. it's just some old burn wound from one of my earlier days as a galaxy ranger. there's nothing to worry about, don't worry" you hum, bringing a hand up to run through his mess of a bi-colored hair. his hair was always a mess no matter the circumstances, it was honestly a wonder how he doesn't have urges to cut his hair short. not like you were complaining, the long hair suited him perfectly and you wouldn't want him to change his looks.

as you lay there on the hotel bed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking over where to go next or what route you two should take during this next new mission of yours, boothill was busy remembering an old memory. an old memory that he wished to forget so vehemently.

red and orange — that was all he could smell all around him. the burnt down farm that was in the middle process of being renovated, the burnt carcasses — it wouldn't be right to call them carcasses, there was nothing much left remaining to even properly call them as that — the corn fields burning down. sulfur and death — that was all 'loaded gun' could smell as he dug into his burning home. the heat that scorched his face or licked away at the skin of his hand didn't bother him. all he wanted to do was to find his daughter, his little girl, his little clementine. please, let her be alive by some miracl—

"boothill?" your voice echoed in his head, snapping him back from the dreaded memory lane he accidentally made a trip down towards. looking up at your face, he could see the furrowing of [c] brows over your [c] eyes as they stared at him with so much concern, affection, wonder and care. he takes in the details of your face as his breath gets stolen, seeing the way the [c] locks circled around your head as you reflected the perfect image of what he thinks aeons looks like. by the mighty aeons, you were gorgeous. and how his breath is found once again as you run a hand through his hair, blunt nails lightly scratching at his scalp. you stole his breath away as easily as breathing it back into him.

leaning close into you, he felt the way your breaths mingled with his own, how if he were to try and reach out, he could feel your body heat against his only remaining body like an anchor, like a long awaited lover returning home. there was warmth in your eyes that was missing in his cold, metal body. humane marks that was reflected onto his own vibranium plates that tried to imitate human flesh. there was humanity in you that boothill feared he lacked in himself.

"[name]... i want to taste your lips" boothill breathed out before he could even catch whether he was imagining his words or was outright saying it. and he did get what he politely asked for, your split lips connecting with his own intact ones. he tasted life that he was sure that he had lost on your lips, a memory of something old and tender that had been burned away in the fires that scorched his home and your body. he felt something move and beat rhythmically within the confines of his gears and wires, convinced that he had somehow, by some way regained his heart. regained his human body. regained his humanity.

you breathed life into him and he found himself asking for one more when your lips left his own, and one more, and one more. and one more.

"boothill, when was the last time that you went to the doctor to have your body checked over?" you say, turning your attention away from sharpening your sword to his body. even from such distance, you could see some screws getting a bit looser, some little wires or the ends of wires peeking out from behind the plates of his body. from what you could remember, the last time your partner had told you of going to the doctor to have himself checked over was... perhaps a year ago.

as galaxy rangers, you two now constantly get into fights and battles. especially with the ipc as the corporation has added you to their list of wanted figures besides boothill's growing dead or alive bounty. in an order to be ready for any ambush or unplanned fights that may take place, you and your partner must be ready for any sort of fight that may come your way. which also means making a trip to the kingdom of bandits and thieves, talia, a bit often to see the doctor.

something that boothill insists doesn't have to be done after every fight or to have you follow him. the cyborg insists that it's for your own safety but you know that he just doesn't want you to see him being taken apart and put back together again like... like he has lost his own sense of self. despite his flair and bright smiles, you always knew that boothill had a deep sense of problem with his body. you know, since you were always the one to collect his breaking consciousness into your awaiting warm arms to place him back together again. peace by loving peace, you were akin to a warm candlelight that soothed his worries and shooed away any fears that might dig its claws into his wires.

"uhhh... dunno sugar. maybe a year? or even over a year ago..." the cowboy replies, looking up from his own weapon that he was cleaning. seeing your eyes narrow at him and shoulders become stiff, boothill quickly places down his revolver, waving his hands as a form of self defense from your already approaching lecture.

"h-hey hey hey! but don't worry, i'm genuinely doing fine, sugar! if anything, it should be nagging you for not resting and properly taking care of that shoulder wound!" the cyborg was quick to defend himself, instead pointing a finger towards your direction. more specifically, your shoulder.

"it's just a small cut, boothill! i've already gotten it cleaned and wrapped in bandages" you raised your arms in a surrendering motion, now taking on the side to defend yourself from his words.

just as boothill was about to retort back with something smart-mouthed, you two suddenly fall silent as the familiar sound of the heels of an eerily familiar corporation uniform resounds in the hallway boards of the inn. those footsteps and the light click! clack! of their weapons told you two everything you needed to know. silently, boothill puts on his hat, reloading his revolver at a terrifyingly fast pace. meanwhile, you shrug on your signature red coat, newly sharpened and cleaned blade ready to slice through the ipc's weapons.

waiting patiently behind the doors of your inn room, you two wait with bated breaths until a very quick clicking of the door opening is heard. before the door could even creak open on its old hinges, boothill has already taken the first shot. without needing for words to talk about tactics or which side to take, you rush out, the sharp edge of your blade cutting through the ipc's every weapons. behind you the sound of gunshots and bodies hitting the floor follows.

it was simple, really. you disarm the ipc and boothill takes care of the rest. surrounded at all sides? you will always take the east side while boothill takes care of the ones on the west. and if there's a ew weapon or a surprise in your way, boothill will just blast it high into the sky with his arm canon and you can make the rest of them into thin noodles at record time. a deadly duo you two were, gutsy as you stood against the ipc in its whole with no fear, only excitement at what new weapon you'll come across or who could get more hits in. perhaps that's precisely why the ipc decided to send battalion after battalion after you two this time. perhaps it was the bounties on your head that caused the inn owner to betray your trust and rat you two out.

either way, nothing could exactly stop in your way. weapons cut, guns exploded due to bullets meeting inside the hole, armories torn apart and ipc managers blasted. there was nothing that could stand against a hurricane of two galaxy rangers. a red coat flashing past the ipc, a grey shine that took down a panicking soldier standing kilometers away. but there was a little problem. boothill's loose wires had connected with the wrong ones, causing him to stay in his lock 'n loaded state. target shaped pupils now bright red with the grey of his irises now bright red that perceived all those with a weapon as an enemy.

after the final ipc manager fell apart in a heap of metal and wires, you heard the sound of a gunshot still being fired towards the west. was boothill ambushed? was he okay? rushing over to where the sound is the loudest at, you couldn't help but gawk at the state of the corpses and remains of some of the robots. the large gaping holes were not normal, if anything it looked more like a canon bullet with how the entry holes were bigger and the exit holes were smaller. why was boothill using his arm canon at every chance he got? what was happening?

"boothi-!" a bang rings out just as you make it to where the gunshot was the loudest, bullet wizzing past your ear, nipping at the shell of it. the wound left ringing in your ear as you hold up a hand to cover the injured ear, looking on in fear as the red iris and white pupils of your partner looks straight back at you. you could see your own reflection in his eyes and boothill didn't look happy to see you.

eyes that used to stare at you with fondness and sea of affection now stared dead into your own pupils as if you were an enemy. a threat.

"whatcha' lookin' at, scum? come on, let's see ya' dance" this was not your boothill, this wasn't your beloved, this wasn't the same sweetheart whose eyes turn into heart shapes every time your own gaze meets his. this was not boothill.

dodging a bullet by a mere graze, you duck behind an overturned table. shit, think [name], how do you get him out of that state? you briefly remember him telling you that he briefly goes into lock 'n loaded state when he has a stand-off duel. but what more? he was locked in that state of his, ready to kill anyone that comes close. do you have to duel with him to make him snap out of it? but you don't know how to shoot a gun.

but... what if it doesn't have to be a gun duel?

"hey!" you call out, sliding on the floor to hide behind another chair that was flipped over when the canon bullet of boothill shoots through your old coverage with no mercy. "how about a duel, cowboy? you think you can be a faster draw than me?" you can hear his gun click, knowing that now he needs at least a few seconds to reload. maybe 5 seconds at best, boothill was fast in his reloading. you hear a soft scoff as you hear his gun open, the soft clanks of his bullet entering the cylinder resounding in the empty room. one, two, three -- all six bullets in and the soft clink of the hammer of his revolver releasing indicated that boothill was ready for a draw.

"hah, what do you think, sweet cheeks? think you can keep up with me?" you can just hear the taunting in his voice, goading you to make the first move. deep breath in and out, your hand holding the sheath of your sword, ready to draw. silence takes over the room as you speedrun any plans or ideas to catch him off guard. any idea to make him snap out of it. you can be the faster draw but that won't promise you a win if your life is going to be lost.

a steady hand is what you need. just a steady hand to knock some sense back into boohtill... a steady hand to knock some sense.

"come on, fucker. what's taking ya'—" the table he thought you were hiding behind is abruptly flipped over towards boothill, taking him by a sliver of surprise before he aims and pulls the trigger. once, twice and the table was split into half. a chair was next, a single explosive bullet causing the woods to splinter and cover your form as you dash through the room, straight at him.

"'atta you fuckhead! packing some guts, i see!" boothill laughs, aiming straight at your head and pulling the trigger. the bullet doesn't hit, you managed to draw your sword in time to cut it in half. a grin matching the sense of a maniac high spread across boothill's face at the clinking of the two bullet pieces hitting the floor. all you had on mind was to get near him at this moment, nothing else. another bullet is fired, getting cut apart in the middle before his revolver joins, being split apart by your expert swordsmanship.

close enough, you can do it, you can snap him back into his senses.

the sound of broken revolver and dulled blade hitting the floor is disregarded the moment you lean in close to him, hand raised, fist reared back, ready to knock some sense into him. at the same time, boothill's left arm raises towards your abdomen. time seemed to slow and all you had in mind was to deliver a sharp knuckle sandwich.

BANG! CRACK!

your sharp punch landed straight across his face, making his hat drop to the ground. if this was any other bar fight, you would have laughed in his face as you witness his red iris turn grey again, paired with the signature marksman symbol pupils. you did it, your plan worked and boothill was back. when you wanted to point at his face and scold his ears off, all you managed was a weak wheeze. strange...

the world spun around you, the horrified face of boothill catching your attention alongside the sharp pain at your side. you didn't even knew that you fell to the ground as boothill cradles you up into his arms, holding you like how he always does as his metallic fingers gently hold your cheek. his mouth was moving, bi-colored hair falling like a curtain over you two as if to keep this moment hidden from the prying eyes of the corpses in the room.

what was he saying? there was a permanent ringing in your ears and you couldn't be more annoyed about the timing of something more than now. you wanted to listen to his voice, the gentle rasp as he apologized for now listening to you, the hidden tenderness as he calls you an idiot for getting too close to him. breathing became harder for you, black dots appearing in your vision, hindering you from seeing the way boothill was desperately holding you tight against his body. you must have hit your head pretty heard when you fell.

"... i told you... to have yourself checked o.. ver..." you barely manage to say, your voice dying in your throat as you try to talk to him. shaking hand comes up to cradle his cheek, trying to wipe away the tears that streaming from his grey eyes. why was your hand bloodied? it left stains on your dear boothill's cheeks and he will surely complain about it as he tries to wipe it away with his own metallic ones like a cat. you felt cold from the inside, you couldn't move your legs and even holding up your hand felt like a chore.

perhaps a nice rest will help you relax and gain your strength back. and when you wake up again, you will be back in the inn's room, your favorite cowboy by your side, clinging to you like a lifeline as he snores open-mouthed, wiping his drool all over your shirt. when you wake up again, your favorite cowboy won't be covered in blood. when you wake up again, there won't be this annoying sharp sting at your side that felt like your whole intestines were spilling out.

"sugar...? sugar, no, don't close your eyes! [name] wake up!" boothill yells, shaking your bloodied body as he tries to make you regain consciousness. you can hit him all you like, put pink ribbons in his hair, steal his hat, scold him for all you want, just please don't close your eyes. please don't fall asleep. please, don't leave him alone.

"... i'll get lost again if you leave me..." there was no pulse. your body was cold already. and the cyborg wished he could cry again. at least one last time.

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