#written before boothill release

[sagebrush-and-sadness]

⟿ ˗ˏˋ𝐵𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 ࿐ྂ

Some sfw headcanons this time, but I just might make a spicier part two. gn!shy!reader, Boothill is pretty soft here, might be OOC since it's written before his release <3

Boothill who leans down to steal a kiss and uses his infamous hat to deflect the arrows of onlookers' prying stares – to hide your pretty, flustered face and his own toothy grin.

Boothill who cracks jokes every time you go stiff in his arms. He's a tease, quick-witted and silver-tongued ('Hey now baby, who's made out of metal 'ere, me or you?'), but he never lets his hands wander if he sees the crease of uncertainty between your brows.

Boothill who goes absolutely ecstatic if you do something as simple as smiling and giving him a thumbs up when he's dueling. Boy, will he giggle like a maniac while bullets sing and blood spills. He wants to impress you – always – and he doesn't need much encouragement to show off.

Boothill who, instead of tilting your head up with his fingers, crouches down to meet your averted gaze – much to your embarrassment and his own amusement.

Boothill who doesn't pry your hands away from your red-hot face, but rather nuzzles into them until he can get to his main prize – your lips.

Boothill who loves how warm your cheeks get when he flirts with you like there's no tomorrow. He knows damn well they're warm 'cause he'll definately press his own face against yours. Flustering you even further.

Boothill who is so used to the good ol' game of chase. He's a hunter, a predator if you will, stalking his prey like a wolf day and night, patient and relentless, waiting for the right moment to strike. Your heart is one of a wild rabbit, you're always on a run from him, embarassed, flustered, nervous and perhaps even scared of so many things. But he's a master of cat-and-mouse and he will catch you eventually.

And when he does, he will sink his fangs into you.

Notes: divier is by cafekitsune

[mizu0xox0]

Written before 2.3, also possible spoilers for Boothills backstory as this was based off leaks I saw

Self aware! Boothill who is the least to say pissed at the fact he's a video game character after all he's been through

Self aware! Boothill who gets annoyed at you at first when he heard you when you're playing the story quest but now it's much less annoying well he's come to terms that he'll hear your voice every now and then

Self aware! Boothill who finds it a little amusing when he hears you laugh upon hearing him say things like muddle-fudger, son of a nice lady and forking

Self aware! Boothill finds you to start growing on him and well sure at the start he isn't happy that his suffering was just all for a video game but you weren't in the damn wrong as you weren't aware of his existence

Self aware! Boothill who most definitely feels a little envy if he ever heard you cuss, I mean sure he sounds funny but it's frustrating at times to not to be able to speak his mind properly

Self aware! Boothill who enjoys it if you ever compliment his hat and will most definitely try to show off his hat in between cut scenes since well he's not playable YET

Self aware! Boothill who learns that through leaks you've managed to learn his backstory and when he hears you sounding sad for him well he can't blame you after all he's been through can't he (those pregnant Boothill jokes really backfired hard huh)

Self aware! Boothill who smirks when he hears you ramble about destroying the IPC after hearing his backstory well darn is he sure glad that something else higher then an Aeon took his stand in this

Self aware! Boothill who will find a way to break this annoying darn screen so he can figure out who's pulling the strings well it might not be you but the bonus reward was possibly being able to see you, so just wait and hopefully his bullets manage to shatter this screen

Note: Boothill is kinda starting to grow on me as a character along with Sunday also this was written before Boothills release as a playable character and the 2.3 quest.

[avenshine]

troublemaker, i love the trouble! + ( hsr men )

requested! | what happens when you simply cannot stay out of trouble, and you feel like it’s becoming too much for your boyfriend?

warnings: hurt/comfort. never write for argenti/boothill before and written before his release, possibly ooc for both. longer than usual, please enjoy! <3

while he admires you, argenti simply cannot fathom how you always manage to get in trouble. even if you’re not always the start of it. it doesn’t bother him saving you, but it seems to get to you, a lot. no matter how many times he assures you it’s fine, you feel guilty. you apologize, and he understands — it’s fine, he insists. he sets up a cute dinner date for the both of you one day, trying to really help you see that everything is fine between you both.

dr ratio feels a little different towards this. while he understands things come with troubles, he would constantly quote “it’s more trouble than it’s worth”, he tries to not mean it too harshly, he wishes you could stay out. and at some point, you start to feel a little upset with that, feeling as if you’re bothering him. and of course, he picks up on this. he starts with an apology, “i’m sorry, i know you can’t help it; i’ll do my best to be more cautious of my words.

being a member of the ipc, aventurine knows the feeling of trouble following wherever you go. so he’ll try his best to get you out of it, or even try to be there to prevent it, but of course he gets busy with his work — so it’s not always possible. he does make sure to reassure you that you’re not bothering him by getting in trouble, as long as you can make sure, almost like a promise, you stay safe, he’ll do the same.

sunday is simply just concerned, constantly asking how you get into this, or that. and when you explain it, he sighs softly, wanting to just put you in bubble wrap or something, cause in the end, he just doesn’t want to see his precious angel hurt. as of recently though, you feel like you’ve been causing too much trouble around him, and that it’s a bother, and voice this to him. he immediately wraps you into a tight hug, kissing your forehead. he whispers to you, “my sweetest angel, you’re never a bother. i can promise, no, guarantee it, just please stay safe, okay? that’s my main concern.”

for his absolute darling, boothill will create the trouble with you (given it’s safe), he simply cannot help it, it’s the most fun he’s had in a while! at some point though, he stops. and you figure it’s because he’s tired of you as a whole, which is simply not the case. it isn’t until he pulls you aside, asking you if you were upset with him & many things along those lines. you shake your head, and he’s immediately comforted. but when you ask him in turn if he’s upset with you and that’s why he doesn’t wanna create trouble anymore, he repeats you, shaking his head before speaking. “my darling cutie, i just felt like stopping, but if you wanna, and it would make you feel better, we can stir some up right now!”

[freyito]

ɢɪʀʟᴅᴀᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴛʜɪʟʟ

✩ inspo: RECENT BOOTHILL LEAKS

★ summary: booty as a girldad...

✧ a/n: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS TO BOOTHILL'S STORY!!!!! THESE ARE BASED OFF OF BOOTHILL LEAKS!!!!!!!!!!! HEAVY HEAVY SPOILERS!!!!! HEAVY SPOILERS!!!!

also i dont normally write stuff like this but oh my fucking god HE HAD A DAUGHTER. here's the fluff i promised after blue veins i guess. dont get too comfortable with it ;)

✦ like my work? feel free to send a request !

🗒 cw: gn reader, written before boothill release/2.2, BOOTHILL LEAKS, he's a good father. sorta, not proofread

✎ wc: 932

Boothill’s censorship comes in handy with the new addition to the family. Granted, he’s really good with watching himself around kids, regardless. He’s really good with kids, he becomes a softer person around them, even softer than he is with you. He’ll let them hang off his arms and draw things on his body, pick them up, and do that thing where he’ll throw them up in the air, spin them around, anything he can to play with the kids.

He starts to come back from missions faster, and spends more time with you and your daughter. He goes from ‘Trouble waits for no one!’ to ‘Trouble can wait a couple more days…’. He makes any little excuse to see her, and by Aeons, if you need a break, he’s more than happy to step in.

He is a total fashionista, too. He loooooooves dressing his daughter up in cute little dresses and overalls, braiding her hair and tying it up in bows. He’ll also let her play with his hair, no matter how frazzled he comes out. He’s content being her model, allowing her to put makeup on him as well. Sure, he’ll look silly, the brightest light blue eyeshadow caked on his eyelids, baby pink cheeks and deep red lipstick, but he feels pretty.

Of course, Boothill still can’t stay around as much as he’d like, he doesn’t want to risk the IPC finding him. He doesn’t want to risk the IPC finding her, specifically. He is too afraid of reliving the same scene, he often dreams of it, and there are times where he cannot tell the difference between his little girl and what was.

That means he’s protective. Even a little scrape and he’s worried, but he tries his best not to suffocate her. He’s worried, yes, but he gives himself space, for his sake and hers. He knows nothing good can come from an overbearing parent.

When she first started to walk he damn near cried, it was the first time you’ve seen him so soft and sappy. Yes, it was an ugly cry. He told everyone he knew that she WALKED! She walked to him! And he almost cries every time.

He’s also managed to keep the guitar he had made for his daughter, and he gifts it to your guys’ daughter. Not because he hopes that she will grow up to be what was, but because he believes it’s a nice memento. Somewhere out there, she’s watching you two build a family together, and she’s watching your little girl dance and play and giggle and even strum that guitar. And she’s happy.

Speaking of, he loves teaching his daughter guitar. Having her sit in his lap while he just strums, or showing her where to put her tiny fingers for certain notes. She’s not quite able to get it, but she laughs all the same, and that couldn’t make him happier.

Keeps every little drawing she makes up on the fridge. You’re starting to run out of space for magnets. Even if he’s not there, he wants her to know she’s an ARTIST. In every sense of the word. From preschool finger painting to elementary school drawings and so forth. Also keeps some folded up drawings in his wallet. His favorite is a stereotypical children’s drawing of you, him, and the house. Except he’s riding a pretty damn cool metal horse, (she named it ‘verminantor’, because she said it was cool. not ‘terminator’, no. ‘verminator’. make sure you get it right. Yes, Boothill named one of his bikes that) shooting his guns towards the sky. A pretty accurate depiction, you have to say.

He’s also really competitive for her. If she’s in any sports, he’s the dad screaming at the top of his lungs to ‘GO GET EM!!!!’ or ‘WIIIIIN!!!!!!’. He’ll get into verbal scuffles with other parents when they ask him to be quieter, because his baby deserves the best, and if the best is the loudest, then that’s what he’ll be.

Boothill is also an amazing storyteller, he can prattle on and on about whichever star system he’s been in for hours, it’s really handy when sending your daughter to sleep. Other kids really like his stories as well, he does his best to keep away from the violent parts (about 70% of his stories), and focus on how beautiful the planet was, or something like that. Most of the time he’ll pepper in stuff about a prince or a dragon or knights (which turned out to be true) to keep it entertaining, but pg for the kids.

He also spoils his daughter ROTTEN. He’ll come back from his little ‘sidequest’ with a bunch of gifts for both of you. He’s got all sorts of stuffed animals for his daughter, shirts, rocks, literally anything he could find that reminded him of her. Anything he could find that he knew she’d like.

He raises a rough n rowdy kid, essentially. The kind of father to let her roll around in the mud ‘cause she’s just havin’ fun’, who brings bugs home just for fun and names them all sorts of cowboy-esc names, (her favorite being Buck Bucksley– ‘it sounds like pa’s favorite word!’ she says, and you shoot him an angry glare. He looks away and shrugs it off, with a ‘I didn’t do nothin’.’) who’s favorite activity is looking for worms in the dirt, a kid who gets up quickly and dusts herself off when she scrapes her knees. And Boothill’s damn proud of her, absolutely gleaming with joy at any little accomplishment.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[hotpinkstars]

DAUGHTER - boothill x reader

- boothill brings home a baby girl he found in the grass one late night.

- read boothills lore and SOBBED. NOBODY TALK TO ME RN. anyways i had to write about his adoptive daughter but if he had a spouse at the time bc dad boothill is so precious imo cryingngnfsnakskf anyways..

- pre cyborg boothill, major boothill backstory spoilers, written before release wc 582

Boothill was home fashionably late tonight. He never specified why though, leaving you to your thoughts on his ranch. 

You both agreed to buy a farm together, considering he grew up around horses and cattle. His fathers taught him how to tend to the animals, taught him creativity, and overall gave him a fine life. 

You both had talked about having some children of your own, but that thought hadn’t become a reality due to your busy schedules. That was, though, until he walked through the door of your shared home, cradling a baby in his arms.

She was a pretty little thing- with pale blue eyes and white hair poking through her scalp. She seemed to be a newborn, with how tiny she was. 

“Look what I found, just sitting in the grass,” he said in a slight whisper, not wanting to startle the baby. “She’s pretty, ain't she?” 

Your eyes widen slightly as you sit up from your place on your shared bed. You take a sharp inhale before motioning for Boothill to hand you the baby. He carefully rests her in your arms, sitting down on your side of the bed as you hold the fragile being in your grasp. You coo to her as Boothill watches you with adoration.

“She’s gorgeous,” you smile, looking down at the girl who was happily clapping in your arms. “Do we know her parents? I’d hate to just take someone's child…”

“No parent was in sight. I also highly doubt someone would jus’ leave their kid in the middle of nowhere,” he said, patting the girl on the head. “If I find a parent, we’ll give her to em’.” 

You nod in agreement, allowing the baby to grab onto your pointer finger. She seemed so happy, you almost didn’t want to let her go. 

You both soon took her into your bathroom, running a lukewarm bath in your sink and putting the lightest type of soap you could find into the water. You wanted to give her a little bath, considering he found her outside, and you didn’t know what she’d have on her. You also didn’t know how long she’s been outside. 

You unwrapped her from the makeshift blanket Boothill tore from his shirt and set her down slowly into the water. She didn’t seem to fuss, so you proceeded to wash her body. Boothill stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, looking at something on his phone. You finished cleaning the tiny girl before wrapping her in a soft, warm towel. 

“Babe, where are we going to find clothes for this poor thing? She’s probably freezing!” You stress, crossing your arms and sighing as you watch the little girl squirm in the towels hold. 

“I’ll head out tomorrow morning and get some necessities. ‘Was thinkin’ about those things too, like how she’s gonna eat and all that.”

“Ugh, that’s another thing to worry about,” you turn around, facing him. “Babies her age don’t eat, and I can’t produce milk.”

At this point, it was late in the night. Who knows what time, all you know is that you should be asleep. But instead, you’re up caring for a little girl who wasn’t even yours.

“Is she just going to sleep with us tonight?” He asked, getting ready for bed.

“I mean, where else would we put her? We don’t have a crib!” You lightly picked her up, placing her on your lap as you rocked her to sleep.

[n0tamused]

A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting.  The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp,  and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving. 

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[yuusishi]

. . . DOODLED MARKS

pairing : Boothill x gn!reader

genre : fluff , written before Boothill release !!

cws/tws : none

a/n : I'll probably redo my headers for the hsr masterlist cuz I was thinking of putting Boothill and Acheron on there since they're both galaxy rangers then realized there'll probably be more rangers in the future and I don't wanna keep constantly adding 😭

BOOTHILL !!

“And what do you think you’re doin’ there, cutie” Boothill's eyes crossed over to you, the squeaks of the marker you held pressing and drawing on his metal arm very much audible, especially to the man being drawn on, “Just adding a little something-something to your mechanical body. Think of it as getting a tattoo” you said with eyes fixated on the ink swaying on the clean silver metal. Boothill is very much a known galaxy ranger, adding cutesy doodles will probably get him made fun of in the next location. Does he care? Not a single bit, any gift on his body given by you might as well be considered a blessing from the aeons themselves.

He hummed a tune as you continued adding little “tattoos” to his arm starting to stare off into space, he doesn’t remember where he heard it from, probably just something he heard hopping dream bubbles in Penacony he thinks. Boothill leans over, craning his head slightly to sneak a peek at what you’re concocting on his arm. A high-pitched whistle left his mouth when he saw your drawing, a toothy grin playing on his lips, feeling prouder of your creation than you are.

It was of a simple flower print, the stem branching out to lead to different leaves and flowers of different kinds. Was it something out of character for how Boothill acted and dressed? Very much. He continued admiring your work until you wiped a bead of sweat off your forehead as you finished, the marker clicking as the cap made contact with it again. Finally getting to inspect the artwork up close, he lifted his arm the second you moved back, earlier grin turned into a proud smile,

“I sure do hope that marker’s permanent, I wouldn’t shine this thing for a long time if it wasn’t” he said as he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on your temple, letting out a tiny chuckle.

[mywifealhaitham]

More boothill x readers please🙏🙏

more boothill x reader headcanons

a/n: I wrote this like over the course of 3 days and honestly I was stumped... with literally no new leaks I'm going crazy... still have crazy brainworms of tbis guy !!! also too sleepy to find a proper banner

gn!reader besides one part (atta girl/boy), written before release per usual I'm going insane free my boy

- hes a clingy guy, especially at night whe all the action of the day has winded down. I'm assuming that he still functions somewhat like a normal human or atleast has a way to sleep and it probably requires him to function. - anyway he's clinging onto you so much in bed. he has you squashed in his chest as he engulfs you in his arms and he rests his head ontop of yours. it's surprising pleasant to cuddle him despite his robotic features.

- the mornings though can be 50/50. sometimes he has to wake up early for business or something and it breaks his heart to leave you all cold and alone in bed (he says wiping an Invisible tear while clutching his chest). he makes sure to either leave you a goodmorning note or text and gives you a fleeting forehead kiss. on the other hand most days he wake up later and you're absolutely not allowed to leave him. if he feels you stirring in bed he clings onto tighter and if that isn't effective he restorts to flirting. gently grabbing your waist with one arm and tracing his fingers across your torso with another before swiftying pulling you back to bed with a chuckle.

- he's a huge gift giver too. he isn't exactly the richest guy ever so he can't give you super expensive jewelry or fancy restaurant dates but he makes it up with the sincerity of them. most of the time he gives you flowers he's either bought off street vendors or picked himself but sometimes he gives you a nice piece of jewelry or another type of gift you'd like.

- he likes quality time alot. he loves sweet words, thoughtful gifts and sweet touches but personally just being with you is enough for him. literally whenever you're in his vicinity or even mentioned he breaks out a large grin. he is your biggest fan ever... constantly hollering atta girl/boy if you do anything

- besides gift giving he's also a acts of service guy. like I said last post he's always at your beck and call ready to help you with whatever you need. silly headcanon but I see him as a good cook even if he might not be able to eat. he makes you the most tastiest and healthies meals you enjoy all while wearing a kiss the chef apron (yes is he expecting that kiss he will be disappointed without it)

- does he ride horses? we won't know for awhile but he'd definitely teach you how to ride. sitting behind you while gently guiding your hands to the reins while whispering Instructions into your ear, the heat from his body plus how flustered you practically melts your skin off. and when you start riding he holds onto your hips, praising you while you start getting the hang of it. once you've gotten good he jumps off and puts his hat on you and flashes you a smirk

[if-loves]

etude tableau op. 39 no. 6 (little red riding hood)

// Yandere Boothill

sum: The wolf wins.

wc: 2696

warnings: written before boothill release, boothill character story spoilers, fem! reader

a/n: i love cowboys

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

You’re good at hiding.

As a child, your favorite game to play was always hide-and-seek with your siblings, with you as a hider. You prided yourself on always being the last to be found, if they ever found you at all, but you were never the seeker; you never found the role as appealing, nor were you really any good at it.

You were a child when you decided that you always wanted to play hide-and-seek. Whenever you watched those cartoon shows of those silly characters running away from each other on the dingy television in your small house, you liked to imagine yourself in the shoes of the runner. The type stunts you’d pull off, the unique places where you’d hide, the strange disguises you’d put on to escape capture - that was your dream.

All children want to live their dreams, but not all of them get to. Many give up and leave, or worse, forget their dreams, leaving them to the past, while others cling on to them but are forced to part. There are few who are lucky enough to live their dreams, but the effort required is no small amount. No, you risked your life to be able to do what you loved most.

You started off as a thief, stealing candies from the local store. You liked those candies, but your family was far too poor to afford them regularly, making theft your only option. A child like you had no place at work.

The thefts grew bigger over the years, from small candies to necessities and finally to precious jewelry. You didn’t like that there were people out there who could afford everything they wanted and more, when there were people like your parents who had to work day and night to be able to even afford a home. This resentment grew, until it eventually morphed into a desire to be the greatest thief the universe had ever heard of. If you couldn’t and didn’t want to work, then you’d just steal!

One day you left, but not before leaving your parents and siblings the money you earned from exchanging precious goods. Staying in this world was not what you wanted, and you were going to get yourself free by any means necessary, even if that meant leaving everything you’ve ever known behind.

Before you left however, you picked out a red coat, bright as blood. You remember a story from your childhood, one your mother told you and your siblings when she finally wasn’t working. It was called Little Red Riding Hood, and it stuck with you. You enjoyed the cunning wolf, and you even found it particularly funny that he dressed up as her granny. It was unfathomable to you. Surely anyone would notice if their grandmother had become a big hairy wolf with sharp teeth, wouldn’t they?

Little Red Riding Hood's naivety was almost adorable. She was a child, so the blame was on the mother for the most part - who would allow their child, probably no more than ten years old, into the woods of all places, alone?

The ending of the story was a tad bit sad, but at the same time you admired how the wolf was smart about getting its meal. Thus, you wished to be cunning and sly like the wolf, but appear innocent like Red Riding Hood. It would also serve as a reminder of your home, and like the embrace of your family.

You had managed to sneak on to one of many ships heading for another world, sat in the peasant-class, blending in with the rest. When you arrived at the new world, your escapades started, and now you were happily on the list of the IPC’s most wanted criminals. Their incompetence in being seekers amused you greatly, for you always managed to slip right between their fingers as if you were air.

One day, you met a mysterious man on a planet you’d long forgotten the name of.

“You don’t look like yer from around ‘ere.” He says, a strong accent to his voice. His hair, a mix of black and white, caught your eyes, as well as the sharp teeth in his mouth. You wondered how much you could sell those for.

“Perhaps not.” You smile, pulling back your hood. “I am just a visitor.”

“‘s that so?” He holds out a hand for you to shake. “Then how do ya do, my lady?”

“Quite alright, thank you.” You shake his hand gently. “Could I have the honor of knowing your name, my good sir?”

“The name’s [???], nice to meet ya.” He tips his hat and sends you a wink.

“My name is (Y/n), good sir.” You put a hand on your heart and bow.

You get along well, for the time that you’re there. You’re more interested in what they have in store for you. Some diamond or gold, perhaps some rare ore? Or perhaps just a trinket you like, that you’d keep for yourself as a souvenir of this place. Something is bound to catch your eye, and maybe this man could lead you to where it is. After all, there’s no better guide than a local.

He shows you around sincerely, helping you ride his horse. The sunset is beautiful, and the sight of the people looking out for each other warms your heart. You have no intention of staying of course - like a hurricane, you may linger in one place for a little while, but you must always be moving. Getting caught by the IPC would be no fun, who knows what they’d do to you.

You’re almost sad to leave him behind. The last few days were spent with him touring you around the land he grew up in, introducing you to his adopted daughter, showing you secret places that you would’ve never found yourself. You like him, you really do; but you’re not a fool.

It’s late at night when you leave. You know he’s asleep by the soft snores you can hear from the room over, and his daughter is of course sound asleep at this time of the night. You wave them a silent goodbye, and as a souvenir for yourself, you take one of his bullets. Surely he wouldn’t notice such a tiny thing, not when he probably has hundreds of them.

You’re off to the next world by the time the sun rises once more.

~~~

It’s been many years since you met that cowboy, and it’s all water under the bridge. You’re not one to linger in the past, not when the present and the future stand in front of you, awaiting your next move.

The IPC are still hot on your tail, eager to put your misdeeds to rest, while you’re just as eager to keep playing with them. You only lament their incompetence as seekers. Hide-and-seek is no fun if the seeker doesn’t try.

You, however, have noticed someone else participating in this game between you and the IPC. They are no lackey of the IPC, because then they would obviously be using their signature gear and weapons and subordinates, but whoever they are, they are a lone wolf. They’re a far better seeker than those intergalactic disappointments, and you know you’ve almost been caught at least once. You can’t say you’re scared though, because you live for this thrill.

It’s in Penacony when you catch sight of your seeker. He dons a hat, heeled boots, a mechanical body and black and white hair. He is a familiar sight, but you couldn’t say who. There are countless people who exist in this universe, you’d never be able to remember all of them. As you plan your escape from Penacony, a cold hand catches your wrist.

“How do ya do, my lady?” You’ve heard those words before, once upon a time. A long, long time ago.

“Quite well, my good sir.” You reply the same, just as you always have. You know this man, yet you cannot remember his name. And his appearance… he has changed. He has changed greatly.

“Fancy seeing you ‘round these parts.” He smirks, and you see the jagged teeth that decorate his mouth.

“Would you do me the honor of your name?” You smile, subtly trying to twist your wrist out of his grip. His grip tightens.

“Poor ol’ me. There’s nothing more heartbreaking than when a man’s little lady doesn’t even remember him.” He chuckles, and forcefully pulls you close. “Darlin’, do ya swear ya don’t remember a man like me?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, for I am no follower of the Remembrance. Many memories of my encounters with others have been taken by the cruel hands of forgetfulness, and I am merely the victim who can do nothing but watch it happen.” You dip your head in mock regret.

“That bullet on yer belt says otherwise.” The mention of the bullet has you momentarily surprised. You never imagined he’d remember such an insignificant thing that you took on a whim, not when it looked like any other bullet in his arsenal.

“This was a gift from a friend.” You explain, your smile strained.

“Unless that friend is me, yer nothin’ but a cold-hearted liar, sweetheart.” His free hand reaches to the back of your neck, and with no warning, latches onto it like a parasite. “Could ya believe that? My darlin’ Red Riding Hood’s a liar!”

“Sir, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are. Is it possible that you’ve mistaken me for someone else? It would be great if you could let my hand go, and we could both be on our merry ways.” You try to plead with him, but from the look in his eyes, he’s not buying even a second of it.

“Nah, I’d never forget yer red hood. After all, yer Little Red Riding Hood, aren't cha?” He grins wolfishly, leaning down to your face. He eyes your lips, and for the first time in years, you feel an inkling of fear.

“Red coats like these aren’t uncommon, it’s a popular fashion trend nowadays.” You lie through your teeth, your free hand clutching the fabric of the coat. You try to lean away from him, but his grip on your neck doesn’t allow more than what he decides.

“That so?” He finally, finally, pulls away from you, and you feel relief like you’ve never felt before.

“Of course! I have no reason to lie to you, not when you’re obviously the stronger one between the two of us!” It’s not a lie. He has a mechanical body for the love of Aeons, he could obliterate you in seconds if he so wanted. You’re only alive because he hasn’t decided that you’d be worth the bullet.

“That’s something you're honest about!” He barks out a laugh, and you wince at the sound. There was something… inhuman, almost robot, about it. He laughs for a few moments too long, and you want nothing more than to leave, to hide again. Anywhere else was better than being with this man.

“Sir, I have a ship to catch. If you would excuse me…”

“Nah, not on my watch.” He is unrelenting in his insistence. You don’t even get the chance to attempt to leave before he’s dragging you off into a more secluded area of the hotel, where he’s sure there’s no prying eyes nor ears that would lay witness to his actions.

“I’m pretty sure this is illegal-”

“Good thing it ain’t then, eh?” He cuts you off in an instant. You furrow your eyebrows. You didn’t take someone like him to be well-versed in inter-astral law.

“How do you know it’s not-”

“‘Cause laws,” he starts, finally stopping when he deemed the area acceptable. He turned to face you, leaning down once more until you could feel every breath of his, and there was a glint of something in his remarkably human eyes. “Don’t apply to criminals like you, darlin’.”

“You’re falsely accusing me-”

“Nah, I know you like the back of my hand.” He grins once more, extending his hand as if this were your first meeting. “Nice ta meet’cha, Little Red Riding Hood. The name’s Boothill, yer number one fan, and yer beloved seeker.”

It was rare that you lost your composure, that you let yourself stand there dumbfounded and vulnerable. You’ve imagined meeting your mysterious seeker, the taunting words you’d exchanged. If they are to be as humorous as you are, then you’d have a fun banter; but if they’re as cold as the IPC, then it would just be you. Never in a million years did you imagine that it would turn out like this, him with the upper-hand, and you, the helpless prey.

“Nothin’ to say? C’mon now cutie, I didn’t waste my time chasin’ ya ‘round for ya to clam up on me.” He, or rather Boothill as you’ve come to know, finally frees your wrist from his grip only to move up to your chin, forcing you to stare at him. “That bullet on yer belt belongs to me. Ya know that don’t’cha, ya thief?”

It seems that all your wit has left your lips, and you’re now overtaken by silence. What could you say? He knows you. He remembers you. If you open your mouth, you’d only be digging your grave further.

“Don’t wanna speak? Fine. Then I guess that means yer mine now.” He shrugs and takes your wrist once more, the cool metal of his hand sending shivers down your spine. Suddenly, he laughs again, and you think it’s a horrible, screeching, sound. “Ha! Guess the wolf really does win!”

“B..Boothill,” you start, slowly, and his laughter ceases in an instant. His eyes lock on yours, as if daring you to speak further. “Please think this over. I know the IPC has a bounty out for me, but it’s not that big, not as much as what I’ve sold things for. I-if money is what you seek, then I’d be happy to split with you.”

“Ha? The IPC?” His face visibly sours at the mention of the corporation, and you fear that you’ve pissed him off. “Nah, I don’t want nothin’ to do with those cuties. They could die for all I care. ‘sides, I don’t need no money. A Galaxy Ranger can live without that. What I’m after is you, sweetcheeks.”

His face leans impossibly close, and you instinctively try to move away. He only leans in closer, until your lips are touching, and his sharp teeth bite down on the bottom of your lip.

“I’ll make sure yer never gonna forget me, doll. I’ll carve every inch of myself into yer heart, and that bullet will serve as yer reminder of what ya got yerself into.” Boothill smirks, and you can’t help but shrink under his eyes. There’s a wolf staring at you, ready for its next meal.

He closes the distance without giving you a second to react, and latches onto your mouth with his own. You struggle desperately against him, but you’re no match for a hunter, so you opt to keep your mouth sealed shut. Boothill doesn’t like that.

He bites down on your bottom lip without warning, drawing blood. Your mouth opens to yelp, but he swallows the sound. Like a man starving, he doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, and it isn’t until you’re starting to wheeze that he allows you to be free. Licking the saliva around his lips, he pridefully stares down at you as if you were a trophy.

“I like it when ya say my name, doll.” He coos, squishing your cheeks together, leaning down once more as if to continue his assault. “Say it again.”

You remain silent as an act of defiance.

“Don’t wanna? We’ll see for how long.” He releases your cheeks. They ache. Dragging you once more, he doesn’t turn to look at you when he says his next words, but you know the look on his face perfectly well. “I bet you’ll be sayin’ it like a prayer after tonight.”

His laughter is a horrible sound.

[impactedfates]

Memories Resurfacing - BootHill x GN! Reader

★ Notes: In light of BootHills lore coming out. I wrote this quick thing for him hehe, I love him but I also love angst...so-

☆ Characters Included: BootHill

★ Genre/Trope: Angst + Hurt/No Comfort

☆ Warnings: Major Character Death (The Readers)

★ Extra: Not proofread, legit just wrote this as soon as I got my laptop (might fix some mistakes later) // Written with an established relationship in mind but if u can see it as platonic feel free too! // Written Pre-BootHill release so he may be OOC

Thinking about...

How fast BootHill is running, he doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't exactly know where he is, he isn't as familiar to this place as others he has ventured to. But mark his words, he will find someone, someone that can help you.

Thinking about...

How worried he is, how desperate he is. You're in his arms, clinging onto him for dear life, because it is YOUR life on the line. You're slowly bleeding out and he doesn't know what to do. He just knows he has to take you somewhere, anywhere. To anyone who can save you.

Thinking about...

How his movements become even faster, how his words of reassurance that

"You'll be fine, sweetheart"

Turn into

"H-hey now, c-come on. D-don't...please, I'll find someone soon I-I swear"

As your arms slowly lose power in them and become nearly limp as you lose the energy to continue holding on.

Thinking about...

How he's absolutely yelling at you to keep your eyes open. How he just needs to run just a bit longer, that someone will come. But the cloth that he used to wrap around your wound is making no effort to continue holding the blood in

Thinking about...

How defeated he is when he realises he won't make it in time. How he begins crying as he holds you in his arms, sobbing. Your hand caressing his face no longer being able to soothe him as he knows it's the last time he'll ever feel your hands on his face.

Thinking about...

Dying in BootHills arms, he holds onto you as if you're a porcelain doll and one wrong move means he'll lose your forever.

.

.

.

But he can't, he still holds onto the small glimmer of hope that someone will find you two and help him, that they'll be able to save you and you two can continue being happy.

Thinking about...

How BootHills finale words to you before your eternal slumber is

"Please don't leave me too"

WEEEEE ANGST FOR MY FAV CYBORG

[marcusakito]

Boothill x Mechanic!Reader

I was inspired by a post from @buggytales so please show them some love for this amazing idea!

CW: I feel like Boothill is OOC and has my own hcs mixed in since it's written before his release, but that's about it.

Names Used: Darlin', Sweetheart

For as long as Boothill can remember, he's been the rootin' tootin' cyborg cowboy of the galaxy. The gunslinging galaxy ranger, fighting evil and bringing justice. His mechanical augmentations were a byproduct of his lifestyle, starting off with just an arm, then a leg, or perhaps a part of his chest? It was a blur now, because before he knew it, he was less human than machine. But that never really bothered him, not when he's got the best mechanic this side of the galaxy; you.

You weren't his first mechanic by any means, but you certainly were the first he trusted with all his being. Your shop was small, hidden away in a busy market district of your home planet. It wasn't famous, nor was it busy at any given day, so it always made you wonder what got Boothill to visit your shop. Some would call it fate, or maybe it was mere chance that he stumbled into the store needing urgent repairs. Nevertheless, since that faithful day, he's been your loyal customer ever since. Whether it be a phone call from you asking how he's been, a routine maintenance to make sure his systems are in working order, or repairs from a battle, he was happy hearing you, seeing you, he loved everything about you.

His heart may now be a machine, having a steady, rhythmic beat. But he swears it beats faster when he's close to you.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

"Welcome!" You greet, looking up from your desk behind the counter. A smile forms on your lips once you see it's Boothill. He returns your bright smile with his own as he leans on the countertop. "It's not your maintenance day, so do you need anything repaired?" You ask as you eye him up and down for any visible damages, to which there were none.

"My handgun ain't workin', was hopin' you'd take a look at it."

"You can place it on my table-Oh!" You couldn't help but giggle when Boothill placed his left arm on your desk, his body halfway over the counter.

"What? Ya said to place it on your desk!" He laughed along with you, his heart skipping a beat when he heard your laugh. He's heard it countless times, but it always made his day to hear it.

"Come around here and let me take a look." Boothill nodded and circled around the counter, sitting next to you on the spare stool. You gently took his left arm, using a tool to inspect it further. "It seems the cylinder isn't revolving like it's supposed too... Don't worry, it's an easy fix!" You smiled reassuringly, carefully dismantling the arm and repairing it. "This has been broken for a while now, weren't their any repair shops on the planet you were on?"

"There's plenty, but none of 'em were as good as you."

"If you say so." You playfully rolled your eyes as you continued the repair. That is until a question caught you off guard.

"Why you always so gentle, darlin'?" The cyborg couldn't help but ask as you work. "Am I more fragile than I'm thinkin'?"

"No, no, I'm just... worried I might hurt you, that's all." At this, Boothill laughed heartily, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye out of habit.

"You ain't gonna hurt me darlin'! I trust you, more than any mechanic in the galaxy." Your cheeks flushed red and you avert your gaze, opting to stare at the floor. "Aww what's that look for? It's only the truth."

Taking a deep breath, you look up at him. "T-That's really sweet of you, but why me? I don't think I'm the best, you know." Boothill gave a dismissive wave and took your hand in his.

"You don't gotta be the best, you've taken care of me plenty! I'm trustin' you with all of me, sweetheart, don't ya forget it." He winked and you felt your heart pounding in your chest as your face reddens.

"Thank you..." You take deep breaths and calm your emotions.

"I should be thankin' you." He let go of your hands, allowing you to finish your repair work. A soft smile on your face as you work, he was mesmerized watching you. He couldn't take his eyes off of you for even a moment. Before he knew it, you were already done. Which sadly meant it was time for him to go again.

Aeons did he hate leaving your side, even if he came back in a few months for a check-up or a repair within weeks.

But that's why he cherishes every moment he's got with you working on him. Perhaps one day, when he's not so busy, he'll take you out for a date or two.

"Before you go, I have an idea I have for a new augmentation!" You pulled out a few blueprints from under your desk and showed it to the cowboy. Boothill snorted and tried to contain his laughter.

"Butt lasers? Darlin' I don't think I'm gonna have use for that."

"What? But think about it, what if your arms and legs malfunction and you can't move?"

"What makes ya think anyone's gonna defeat me and I ain't able to kick and shoot 'em?"

"Well, um... It's just a precaution, that's all." Boothill stood up and took your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Don't worry too much darlin'. I ain't gettin' roughed up all that much, wouldn't want ya to worry." He thought for a moment. "But if it makes ya happy, feel free to add it next time I visit. Some extra firepower will do me good, even when I got three guns." He slapped the gun on his waist and flexed his metal arms, causing you to giggle.

"Okay then. I'll see you around, space cowboy." With a tip of his hat, Boothill headed out of your store.

"See ya, darlin'."

[schizoidcel]

## BOOTHILL x READER ★

🤍 ﹒ HEADCANONS ! ! . .

－ notes ̽ ۪⠀written before his release + gn reader huhu. yall i swear ill get to the lcb requests but im brainrotting too fucking much right now boothill is colonizing my mind so enjoy these thoughts i had and will throw into the tags

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

He's a little spoon and NOBODY can convince me otherwise period.

We know damn well hes touch starved. So ofcourse he'd wanna be nuzzled up inbetween your chest and chin

Will teach you how to ride a horse. He definitely has a favourite (his name is Sebastian 🌚🌚)

Very protective over him though. You will not ride on that horse until you are months into the relationship

He gave you another horse to practice riding on and an extra horse incase the other "knocks your socks off" ... Whatever that means

You named them Yee and Haw and he was so conflicted with his emotions that he considered getting a routine check up on his body

Will tease you if you completely fuck up immediately.

He grabs your hands to gesture on things you should be wary about while being on the back of a horse, knowing it'll mess your brain up and lead you to not pay attention to a single thing coming out of his mouth

On the other hand if you're able to handle it in a short amount of time, he'll start flirting with you

"I'm doing it, Boo!" "Nice work, honeybunch. Think ya can manage ridin' somethin' else?" "Dude"

It's one or the other. You will not escape the Boothill down bad programm

Boothill also acts like a himbo to mess around with you.

On another note, you called him Bootyhill once and he's still shook up. Whether /pos or /neg is up to interpretation

While we're on the topic of nick/pet names, he calls you things you've never heard of before .

Or even if you did, they're things you expected never to be called 😭

What the fuck is a doodlebug Boothill

Type of man to get flustered when you flirt back. He just starts bugging out

Will play it cool though, but the faint blue on his cheeks says otherwise

Also a fan of headpats. No, he's not ashamed. No, he will not tell you.

Expanding on the no shame, Boothill takes it to the extreme

No filter, no mask, no nothing. Touchy EVERYWHERE you go

Even if he can't really feel it, he just feels more at ease when you both are near eachother or touch one another. Man wants to protect his partner, after all

It dosen't matter if you're able to protect yourself, the gesture just makes him feel more comfortable and calm

Also has a hair pulling kink woah. Let's keep it sfw everybody

Forehead kisses ❤️ or just kisses anywhere on his head in general. Kiss behind his ears and he will overheat

He let's you play with his hair<3 It's one of his favourite passtimes with you

Braid it, tie it in a ponytail, give him buns, pigtails, curl them, decorate them with hairpins, clip bows in his strands it don't matter PLAY WITH HIS HAIR ⁉️

He relaxes SO MUCH it's insane. Genuinely just one finger goes into that hair of his and he melts

This plays into the little spoon factor

You'd tease him about it but he takes pride in it 😭

Has a weird obsession with biting. If you complain that it hurts he goes "What, want me to smooch the pain away?" and he does this fuckass face :3 while you're just staring at him dead in the eye (you say yes btw)

If you're ticklish, he's hell for you

Tickles you in the most random times possible.

And you know it's even WORSE with those cold ass metalic hands

You're cuddling? The sides of your torso are not safe. You're currently occupied with an activity involving your hands? Your armpits are not safe either. He's laying on your bare stomache face down? He starts blowing raspberries.

You know damn well he uses the feathers of his hat 😭

Sticks it up your nose to make you sneeze too. Usually to wake you up or some shit

You could have the most volcano eruption alert level 5 sneeze and he'd still say "Aww, ya sneeze like a kitten!"

One last note this man is a whiney loser bottom not sorry

the word ill is in boothill for a reason the way im laying in bed all sweaty ANYway 🌚😵😵😵😵

ૢ་༘࿐ thank you for reading ! Ⳋ᧙

[avenshine]

set my heart ablaze! — boothill.

a/n: possibly ooc as this is written before his release, reader calls him “lili”.

warnings: fluff like lots of it, sweetheart boothill.

If Boothill had to describe himself, he’d say he was charming, and very articulated. To the point of nothing getting in his way of his mission to describe himself as, well, this charming cowboy.

The facade he created, everything he ever stood for – falled with you. An early morning of you sitting in his lap, and him pressing soft kisses to your neck was all he needed to feel truly at peace.

“What’s the occasion, Lili?” You question, turning to face him. He shakes his head, though he would never admit outloud, or perhaps to just your face, this is all he ever wanted. A soft life, spent spoiling you.

“Can you turn back around?” He pleads, the tone a little needy. You nod, turning your back to him. He buries his face into your neck, softly speaking again, “Tell me about your day ahead.”

You ramble, and ramble, until you realize he’s not responding, “Sorry, is this boring?” You ask, turning to face him, as you tilt your head to the side. He shakes his head, a smile and chuckle escaping his lips.

“Your day sounds great, just come back home early as you can, okay?” You’re confused at the sudden statement, and decide to question it. “Hm? How come you say that, Lili?”

He’s still smiling as he speaks, “I’ll miss doing this too much.” And then a kiss, this time to your lips, tender as his speech with you, and as passionate as his love.

[ezelium]

I'LL BE ON MY BEST BEHAVIOUR : Boothill

CONTENT : realizing boothill can't feel on his metal plates.

WARNINGS : gn!reader, fluff, written before boothills release idk, reader is in a 😒 mood

WORD COUNT : 0.6k !

A / N : i read somewhere boothill doesn't feel anything on anywhere else except his face because he doesn't have skin to sense things there and this makes great fluff sauce so i couldn't resist.. "But don't you only write for bsd?" shhSHUSH SHUSH!!

Boothill, a mechanical robot.

One that drifts among the stars. One that you held close to your heart. You didn't meet him long ago, in fact, it was only a while ago. He was unhinged and "weird", sure.. but who could deny such a silly man from being their friend?

As far as you knew, he wasn't doing anything wrong. Nor that he thought he did. Him being impertinent wasn't bothering you, not at all. Everybody had flaws, imperfections, problems. Did that stop people from loving them? No, absolutely not. Why should he be treated differently? In fact — He should be treated specially to learn how to act more "human".

Or maybe that's just how you thought, you had hopes for him, hoped he would somewhat grow human-like feelings.

You knew he doesn't exactly 'feel", but physical touch could help him. You knew that, because whenever you caressed his cheek, he would laugh and process it. That or he'd smile and be softer for a brief minute. It was an amazing sight, really, perhaps that was one step closer him being "more human" emotion-wise.

Laying by your side was something he'd do occasionally, out of boredom or when he had nothing else to do. Getting new plates, new wires weren't exciting at all. He'd prefer to stay by your side, thank you very much. You slowly kicked your feet in the air while laying on your stomach, reading a book that you've already read a billion times. But what could you do? The plot was interesting, and you were a big fan of the author.

And now, you finished it for the zillionth time. Closing the book, you got up from the couch lazily, blinking a few times after that reading session to come to your senses. A soft sigh left your lips as you stretched for good - it was amazing, it almost felt like your brain just reset.

One thing you didn't expect though, was to find Boothill seated across the same couch with his back turned to you. He wasn't moving or anything. Eh, oh well, why not talk to him.. But you didn't want to say anything just yet. Your almost feet started moving on their own, approaching the cyborg without much care.

You didn't make any sounds whatsoever. Odd, that he didn't notice you getting up. With shallow breaths, you snaked your arm around his torso, still not saying anything while you silently hugged him from behind.

You sat there for like 3 minutes, but then you called out:

"Boothill?" you rasped out, tightening your hug even further, as much as you could. The metal was kind of hard to wrap your arms around, but you didn't bother letting go.

"[Name], ha?!" He exclaimed, looking very startled now. He even flinched, what a goofy man. "You got up, sweetums!" He added, a grin creeping up on his face, making his fangs and sharp teeth glow like a fresh pearl.

"I got up a few minutes ago. And hugged you." You replied, blinking with a slightly cocked eyebrow, looking sleepy. Speaking of sleep, it seemed that you had a fatigue today but that was off-topic..

"I- Didn't notice it. How senseless and idiotic of me. But— That just makes me cuter, doesn't it?! Ha?" He turned around off-puttingly, and that did NOT go well with your current judgy attitude. Giving him a stink eye, you pulled away.

"So you don't have sensors on these bad boys?" You asked, hand going over the silver lining on his body. He didn't even react to it, and gave a loopy chuckle, before nodding. "Should I get some sensors on them?"

"Wouldn't that make it hurt more when you get injured though?"

"True.."

edit : i noticed far too late that i forgot to add the end notes GOODNIGHT.. but anyway sorry if this is inaccurate in the future idk!

© ezelium 2024 ⭑ I do not consent to my work being plagiarized, translated or reposted without permission. Doing so is theft.

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓

pairing: boothill x gn!ex-undertaker!reader

genre(s): western!au, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 14k

warnings: written before v2.2 & boothill's release, blood, injury, gun violence, swearing, alcohol consumption, implied/referrenced alcoholism, suicidal thoughts, graphic depictions of violence, death

notes: I've spent about the last month working on this a little bit each day, so I hope you enjoy this labor of love :). Feel free to tell me any warnings I might have missed! I also want to add that this is told in the past and present with flashback scenes in italics. Anyway, here are some flowers as a thank you for everyone who reads this! 💐 <3

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Dark clouds shrouded the sky as shots rang out across the valley. Dried mud fell from the edges of your boots in time with the gallops of your horse. Turning back, you aimed your revolver at one of the officers, red spread over his dirtied shirt not long after. A silver bullet grazed its way over the left side of your neck, leaving a stream of scarlet running down to stain your sharp white collar. The tarnished grey vest covering it blew open harshly in the breeze as you winded down the path into town.

Shouts echoed in the street as you leaned down, bringing the reins closer to your chest. Dainty yellow flowers reflecting the bit of sunlight breaking from the coming storm became trampled by hooves. Jumping the fence into a stranger’s backyard, you once again shot at another pursuant. He fell crudely from his ride, the horse startled and stopping before the same pickets.

With just one now on your tail, you jumped again, making a quick right down a small pathway and breaking out into the wide and dusty main street. Townsfolk jogged for cover in the shops, not unfamiliar with this song and dance, and carrying enough awareness to leave what could become an impromptu duel.

You spot a figure stepping out quietly from the nearby saloon, making his way behind the establishment. Bringing the reins together in one hand, you pulled tightly. Your horse stopped, and you brought them around to face the remaining officer – the deputy based on his badge. He pulled down the hammer on his revolver, aiming straight for your forehead. Bringing your hands up, you faced your palms outward alongside your head in mock defense. A small smirk grew on your face as you picked up on near silent hooves approaching the street.

“What’re you smilin’ about?” he asked pointedly.

A bang came from before you as blood splattered and flowed from the deputy’s head. He landed limp in the damp dirt, a look in his eyes that you could recall anywhere. The gaze of death – a complete absence of life in a form once animated.

A large stallion sidled up to you, a familiar head of black and white hair gesturing toward the path out of town. Angry shouting filled the street as people left their shelters, some staring you down and others rapidly walking to you, waving a hand or a weapon.

“We’d best get out of here before you can raise some more heaven.”

“You lead the way, then.”

With a wild speed, he took off ahead of you, wool cape billowing in the chilled air. You caught up quickly however, racing to pass the city limits and be in the wide-open again.

Desert ironwoods and mesquite trees became more abundant among the varying cacti. White translucent blossoms formed on some of them, while others rested uniquely. The sun began to pour further from the clouds, casting its rays over the light brown land as you rode on. At the top of a shady hill, you paused for a drink.

A husky voice broke through the birdsong, “Why don’t you get down for a minute?”

You looked at him quizzically, drying the corner of your mouth.

He matched your gaze sternly, “Well, first, you’re bleedin’ out the side of your neck. Second, I’m curious what that sweet mess you brought into town was,” his gaze softened as a proud smile grew on his face, “and third, I wanna hold you under the tree for a bit. It’s midday and I had ordered some fine lunch from the bar. I wasn’t expecting to be shootin’ a man instead of sittin’ with you.” he finished with a chuckle.

“You can sit with me now.” you retorted, lifting one leg around and off of your horse before making the jump off.

“Indeed, I can.” he replied smoothly, reciprocating your action.

Drawing open the satchel hanging along his stallion, Boothill pulled out two small packs – one likely containing a meal and the other a makeshift aid kit. Although he never needed food, and rarely required bandages, he would always carry them in the event that your supplies would run out. It was part of the reason he had initially gone into town, but you happened to bring in the lawmen on your way to meet him.

Tidying the braid in your horse’s hair, you felt cold fingertips brush against your shirt collar, shifting it to the side. A white cloth rested on your empty saddle, a few materials from the aid kit on top. A cold rag rubbed against the outer edges of your scrape before it was placed on your shoulder, the left side being held to the front of your neck. Water flowed down along the wound, giving the cloth a light pink color. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but one that you had grown used to after years on the range.

Another wet cloth swiped across the injury, leaving light streaks of antiseptic behind. A quick rip reached your ears before a flat gauze pad was gently placed at the site and a gauze wrap surrounded your neck snugly. It would only stay for a few days, needing your remaining kit supplies to be maintained.

A grey brim soon came into view as a hat was placed on your head.

“Now you’re lookin’ like a real outlaw.” Boothill smiled as he gathered up all of the medical items and walked them back to his satchel.

You snickered before replying, “Should I get one the next time we go to Warren? I’d reckon it’s about time.”

“I’m afraid we ain’t got the funds for that right now, there’s just enough to get provisions.”

“I never said I would be buying one, cowboy.” You retorted, slowly striding to where he stood and flicking your borrowed hat upward.

“Well go ahead and take ‘em for all they’ve got, then we can pay a little visit to the theater.” He slid his right arm around your waist, lightly dragging you closer.

“Are you askin’ me on a date?”

“Maybe I am, sugar.”

Placing his hat back on his head, you left a small kiss on his cheek and turned out of his arms, swiping your lunch from his saddle in the process. “Why don’t we have one now?”

He smiled, teeth sharp and eyes playful, before following behind you to the tree.

—

PART I - Sorrow-Gilded Equals

“Boothill, that’s my name.” The cyborg in front of you replied, swirling his glass of whiskey before drinking it down.

He stood tall, a firm steel body paired with shining silver eyes, determination reverberating in his gaze. It seemed only natural that he was the first to draw your attention, raucously celebrating the year’s final round-up with his fellow rangers.

“Say, undertaker,” he looked over, “care to join us for a round?”

You glanced backward from the bar to the faro table housing a few of the gang. A hand hit the wood in laughter, empty amber bottles rattling against each other. The owner of said hand brought twelve checks back to his stacks.

“Quit your cacklin’, you smug cutie!” Boothill shouted, leaning back against the bar.

“Oh, you flatter me, you gunslingin’ sack of shit! Get over here and give me a fun time, why don’t you!”

“Gunslingin’, huh?” you teased, “I thought that was forbidden on the trail.”

“Well, I ain’t never been one for rules.”

“Really, now? And here I thought cowboys had a sense of honor.”

“We do, but it don’t always follow convention.”

With a hum you turned, walking slowly to the group’s oval table. “I’ll join you, and so will he.” A gesture toward Boothill brought him over, where he took a seat across from you. After a few curt introductions, he voiced, “Will here is the banker,” before pulling out a small bag of nickels from a satchel on his belt.

You followed suit and exchanged them for checks and a hexagonal copper token from Will. He layed out all of the spades in two rows on his board – ace through 6 on the top, and king through 8 on the bottom. The seven sat at the end of both rows between the 6 and the 8. He placed another deck of cards in the dealing box and drew the soda before burning it off.

You placed one of your checks on the nine, betting that it would be drawn second. Will pulled and revealed the first of two cards in the deck. A three, to which Isaac had groaned. Next, he revealed the second card, a nine. With the losing and winning ranks determined, you had won the bet at 1 to 1 odds, bringing in another check on top of the one you wagered. Isaac lost his check to Will, leaving Boothill and Lee’s bets still on the table.

The losing card from the previous round went beside the face-down soda card. You placed two checks on five this time, watching as Boothill put three with yours. Isaac went for four, and Lee remained on ten. Five was the winning card this round.

The black, white, and red of the cards began to fade together as the night went on. After several rounds, you found yourself toe to toe with the “gunslinger”. He didn’t speak a word as you both prepared for the final bet.

Ten of your checks went on one, and ten of his were set on eight.

Will drew and displayed the cards, one was the second, making you the victor.

Boothill relaxed into his chair with a low whistle, “Seems like I’ve finally got some competition! What d’ya say to another game?”

“Well, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Ready for a duel, cowboy?”

“Always.” he smiled, shifting forward to prepare for the coming rounds.

As Will prepped the next game, the doors to the saloon broke open abruptly.

“There you are, you no-good son of a bitch!”

A bang echoed through the saloon as a bullet shot straight for your table. A silver revolver appeared in view before sharp lead was firing toward the entrance. Boothill’s gun returned to its holster as the intruding man crumpled to the floor. Blood covered the wood, spreading into the grain and taking its place among the many stains.

Isaac approached the bartender, likely trying to give him some money and charm to resolve the incident. Lee strode to the body, kicking it over and revealing a green bandana in their pocket.

“Yep, no doubt he was here for us, Hill. One of Walker’s boys.”

You were slightly familiar with the name; Lloyd Walker was in charge of one of the most prominent gangs around. There were countless ambushes with him as the figurehead, and just from the mention alone you could observe various reactions across the establishment. Few continued on in their games, veterans to these types of conflict. Others seemed stiff or enraptured in conversation about the man. In the case of many of these rangers, their eyes had a fire of revenge.

Walking to stand by Lee, you folded your arms. “Well, he ain’t one of Walker’s boys, anymore. He’ll be mine by morning and the dirt’s by sundown.”

“Need help moving him?” Boothill offered, leaning down to pick up the fallen gun.

“Sure.” you accepted plainly.

He handed the gun to Lee who inspected it as Boothill lifted the corpse, carrying him over his shoulder without a care. The jaunty tune of the piano resumed as you left the saloon with the gunslinger.

"I must admit, undertaker, this here was quite the party."

"Glad I could entertain."

“It wasn’t just you. I forgot how much I missed the thrill of a standoff; this old town doesn’t provide those opportunities like it used to.”

“How roguish for a ranger, but I’d have to agree.”

“Oh? Is the resident mortician gettin’ into trouble after hours?”

“Only with you around.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a night, unless I’ve ran into you somewhere before?”

Your boots resounded over the boardwalk deck as you kept walking silently to the front of your parlor. He didn't press further and waited quietly for you to unlock the back door.

With a creak, said door went wide open and you watched carefully as he flipped the body over on a mortuary table.

Finished, he grabbed a nearby towel to dry the blood off and clean himself up. You got a better look at him as he did so, no longer caught up in games and drinking.

A story spread around town, over a decade ago. It didn't stick around for long, but you witnessed it yourself. There was a boy – probably about fifteen at the time. He arrived on the back of a horse before being taken into the jailhouse. At the end of the week, he had been released, and took up odd jobs around the area. He headed out on the range a few months later for the fall round-up, then never came back.

"I'll see myself out, good luck with this rottin’ sweetheart."

A hand turned the back door open once more before Boothill exit casually. It was half-closed when you finally responded.

"Perhaps."

He paused, shifting to look you in the eyes.

"You're Jesse Blackwell, right?"

His gaze fell to the floor, "Once, but I ain't anymore… Goodnight, undertaker.” He dismissed with a tip of his hat and a small smile, shutting the door as he left.

—

Soaked ground squelched beneath your boots, the now sunny sky reflecting in the soft brown. The streets of Warren were bustling, showcasing its status as the second largest city in the state. A dark grey cowboy hat rested on your head, a shining black belt running around its center. Stealing it was easy, all you had to do was get some drunken fool to follow you to an alley. Point your gun at him and wait for him to give you all he has, then leave with a cold threat – revolver boring hard into his head. If he talks, he’ll be hunted down and stripped of his tongue. If he runs after that, he’ll be gunned down where he stands. You had done it before, and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Boothill opened the doors to Jerrell’s General Goods a few buildings down the road, disappearing inside. You leaned up against one of the front posts of the hotel, watching coaches and uncovered wagons traverse the main street. Your horse whinnied from beside you where they stood, resting and glancing around on occasion. A soft breeze brushed against your neck, the chill of former rain still present. Small thumps came from your left as somebody passed behind you.

A hand landed on your shoulder, turning you around against the post. They gripped the collar of your shirt, leveling their gaze with yours.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you for a long time, you coward.” They threw you into the mud, stepping down from the deck in anger. “You remember me?”

Standing up you replied, “Somebody’s always got a feud with a person like me, I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”

“Town of Fort Talia, five years ago. You murdered my brother.”

“Jasper?”

“Well, it seems you do recall.”

He swung his right arm, fist colliding with the side of your face. It hurt terribly, but fights weren't uncommon to you. With where you grew up, and some training from Boothill, it came easy now.

You raised your own right arm, blocking his next hit before bringing your left up to target underneath his nose. He stumbled back a bit at the pain, and you hit again at his right cheek and then upward from under his jaw. He took a second to level himself before spitting at the ground and pulling his pistol from his pocket. He turned it over in his hand, the grip facing outward.

"Do you not know how to use it, Ellis?

"I do, but I want you to feel my sufferin’ first.”

The grip crossed your cheekbone, sending a sharp sting across the plane. With you now staggered, a knife plunged into your torso just above the hip. It remained lodged in your flesh as you clashed onto the ground, mud coating your clothes.

Ellis stood still for a moment, watching. He glanced down at the gun, preparing to fire it off. Quickly and with slight caution, you drew your revolver and shot him between the eyes. He fell as the horses shifted and voiced their discomfort. Your head lay in the mud, breath trying to calm after the incident.

"You've always been a good-for-nothing piece of shit, Ellis." You whispered.

Standing up carefully and to the best of your ability, you heard something heavy landing on wood before wet footsteps.

“Hey, now,” Boothill said, hands coming to brace your elbows and steady you. “Who came and dragged you to heaven?” His eyes assessed you – up and down, side to side – then he brought your left arm around his neck.

"You couldn't hear us fightin' from the store? Here I thought you’re supposed to have superior hearing.”

Ignoring you, he placed you against your horse, retrieving the full satchels from the deck and laying them down beside you. His cold hands came to pick you up, setting you just behind his saddle, legs hanging over the side to keep yourself in the stablest condition possible. Lifting his right leg under himself, he mounted his stallion, beginning to ride down the main street to a destination unknown.

"What about…" you trailed off, eyes growing weary.

"I’ll take care of it, you just rest."

"Whatever you say, cowboy."

Your head rested against his right shoulder, the cool leather of his jacket soothing the burning cuts from Ellis' pistol. The only thing keeping you lucid was the persistent movement inside of you, slicing against more flesh at every stomp of hooves. If you had a mirror, you're sure that you'd look like hell – Boothill was right.

It was saddening that the other Weston boy had spent the last few years hunting you down. He spent practically his entire life distant and running away, and now he had the guts to ambush you in the city. Still, you supposed whatever old grudge he carried now lay dead alongside him.

—

The first time you laid eyes on Jasper was at his mother's funeral. He stood in a thick coat beside his brother watching wordlessly on with silent tears. A wooden cross sat before a mound of dirt, engraved with the following:

Callie Weston

A strong mother, and relentless woman.

1846 - 1879

Her grave wasn’t far from your father’s, a bushel of freshly picked desert marigolds resting under his own headstone from your visit. Two of the bright yellow flowers still rested in your pocket as you walked to the family’s side.

Placing the blossoms underneath the delicately carved wood, you spoke softly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Ellis whispered.

“I’m sorry for yours as well.” Jasper had replied.

With a nod of your head, you left them to their mourning.

~

When you made it into town from the cemetery, shouts could be heard in front of the saloon.

“Go home, you idiot!”

“Have a little compassion!”

“I do, but my compassion doesn’t include wastin’ away here while your boys are up on that hill.”

The man stumbled slightly down from the deck, voice cracking as he said, “Surely you can understand, mister… please.”

“Go home, Isaiah. Try to sober up before they get back.”

The bartender threw his cloth over his shoulder before leaning against the post, waiting patiently. Isaiah wiped his hand down his bearded face as he exhaled, then walked off down the street toward the few blocks of houses.

Gesturing at a nearby man, the bartender lowly spoke,“Hey, will you follow him? Make sure he stays safe and doesn’t do anythin’ wild.”

You crossed in front of the saloon doors as the man walked off, trailing behind the drunken one.

“Wait a minute, kid.”

Pausing in your steps, you turned around to face the swinging doors to the saloon. The bartender came out as quick as he went in – a bag in hand this time.

“Some oil guy came through town not long ago, ordered more food than he even wanted. There’s untouched steak and soup in there, it’ll probably need to heat up again. Share it or keep it to yourself.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.”

With a polite nod, he disappeared back into the establishment, yelling at some other unruly patrons.

That evening you brought a couple portions of that meal to Jasper and his family. It took a bit of asking around to find them, but soon enough you were knocking on their door.

Ellis answered, looking down at you coldly.

“I wanted to bring you some food. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it.”

He took the bag wordlessly, before shutting the door.

~

“I have some stew for you, mama.”

Her gaze never drifted from the window as you placed the warm bowl beside her. Draping a cloth over her lap, you watched her solemn face. Silently, she turned for the bowl, letting it rest in her likely cold hands.

You stood, walking to fetch her tea from the kitchen. Upon return, you found her gently bringing the spoon to her lips, shaking lightly as she did so.

With a soft thud, the mug settled on dark wood. Drawing a book from the nearby shelf you sat down next to her, flipping the leather cover open.

You read calmly from the pages, skipping over or changing words you didn't quite know. It had been a couple years since you stopped going to the schoolhouse, after all. There was just no time after your father died, especially with your mother in this state.

A hand landed quietly on your knee, drawing your attention back to her. Marking your new spot in the book, you set it down with the remnants of her meal.

She brought her hand down to yours, gripping quickly in thanks. It was dejecting seeing her like this, but after this long it was hard to picture her outside of mourning.

"Why do you never talk to me, mama? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

With a shake of her head, her gaze returned to the window and her hands to her lap.

~

About a week later, you remember waking up early to the sound of your dog barking loudly from the front yard. Donning your heavy coat, you opened the door to find Jasper trying to pet her down at the fence line.

"Is this your dog?" he had asked.

"Yes."

"She's real pretty…Thanks by the way, for dinner."

"It's no problem. I had extra."

"I noticed you were visiting someone of your own."

"My papa." you replied, standing beside him and petting the long fur of your dog. "He was caught robbin’ a wagon full of weapons and shot by the lawmen, at least that's what I heard. Mama never said nothin' to me about it."

He hummed, looking down and rubbing behind the ear of your dog.

"My mama was sick for a long time. It was hurtin' my dad forever, probably even more now. He doesn't really care how it makes me feel – my brother neither. They just leave angry in the mornin' and come back even worse at night."

A minute of vulnerable silence passed between you, before Jasper spoke up again.

"Are you headin' to school?"

"No. I'll have to be at work soon."

His eyes seemed wide for a second before he shifted, "Where do you work?"

"At the funeral parlor, as an assistant to the director."

"Why would you pick a job like that?”

“I don’t really know. I just saw the horse-drawn hearse moving down the street and felt somethin’ come over me.”

“I think I can understand,” he whispered, looking down into your dog’s eyes.

He stayed like that for a moment as you rested in the early morning quietness. A bird sang abruptly from the nearby tree, and he perked up once more.

“Would you want to walk down to the river with me? We could try and catch a frog or two before daybreak.”

“I guess.”

“Great,” he nodded.

And that became your routine. Every morning, he would come see you and your dog. Sometimes he would have a little snack for her in hand and other times he would have a paper with some work he couldn’t quite figure out. Being with him by the river was a pleasant thing – something to get both of your minds off of circumstance.

~

“I plan on retiring next year, and I would like for you to be my successor.”

The world seemed to still as Mr. Whitfield sat calmly, waiting for your response. His aging black hair shifted lightly in the wind, his gaze out over the nearby buildings. Cool stone rested under your back as you leaned against the parlor's walls.

“I… I’m honored, sir.”

“Oh, just call me Peter already. We’ve worked together long enough.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

The sounds of the town took over for a moment before he stood up, walking in through the door. A commotion drew your eyes up from the deck, watching as someone rode in with a grumbling figure on the back of their horse. The person in the saddle had a dark green bandana hanging out of their pocket – the trademark of a growing gang in the area.

They dismounted across the street from you, just in front of the jailhouse. Both of the deputies came out shortly after, one talking to the person then bringing them in. The other approached the horse, throwing the figure over his shoulder. They disappeared into the sheriff’s office, seemingly exchanging words about what to do with the two.

“Here are some books I’ve used over the years,” Peter said, a small stack in his hands, “If you’re going to take over the business, there’s more you’ll need to learn. Feel free to take these home if you’d like.”

“I appreciate it.”

He handed the books to you, then returned to his seat in front of the parlor. You decided to join him, setting the stack on your right.

As the gravity of your future inched in, you laid back against the stained wood of the bench. Your right foot tapped on the deck, reverberating over the plane anxiously while your thoughts became jumbled.

“What’s weighing on you, kid?”

“I’m just… starting to doubt myself is all.”

“I was the same as you when I first inherited this business from my father. He was always kind and courteous, served the community well. I’m passing this on to you because I see you as my kin. I have every confidence in you, whether you see the potential in yourself or not.”

His words brought water to your eyes, making you inhale and look away towards the snowy mountains in the distance.

Sniffling brought your attention back as Jasper walked up to the deck, cradling his left arm with the other hand.

“Are you alright, boy?” Peter questioned.

“Could I go inside?” he asked gently, making eye contact with you.

Standing up, you guided him into the entry room of the parlor, watching as he sat on the sofa.

“I ran as fast as I could, I figured since it was day you’d be here.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it yet.”

“Alright. I’ll go get some coffee and an aid kit.”

Turning to leave the room, you heard him speak up again.

“Can I come with you?”

“Of course.”

~

It was probably about five months later when you found Jasper sitting on the bench of the parlor, bottle in hand. After locking the door, you went and took a seat next to him.

“What are you doing, Jas?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know nothin’ anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

He tilted his head before taking another sip. Your right hand came to rest at the back of his neck.

“Talk to me… please. Nothin’ you say will leave this porch.”

“I… think I’m not cut out for this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” he gestured around the street, “I do my best in everything, and it still isn’t good enough. My dad couldn’t give a shit about me and my brother anymore, all he does is drink and sleep. He hardly ever goes to work – I wouldn’t be surprised if he was fired by now! Ellis ain’t much better. He leaves for the farm early, storming into my room and draggin’ me out before he goes. Always tellin’ me I need to grow up – that I’m not man enough for this world. It’s not like I have a job, and I ain’t been going to the schoolhouse much recently either. I figured since I’m set to be finished there soon anyway, I could start skippin’. I just… wish my mama was still here. Even when she was sick, she still went through every day with more strength than I’ve ever had… Looking back now, I think she accepted that death was comin’, and she lived to her fullest because of it. Maybe I could take a page out of her book. I know that this all might seem sudden, but you’re the only one I’ve got.”

“You’re good enough to me, Jas. Even if that doesn’t seem like much, I want you to know. Your family is just too ignorant to understand. You’ve got plenty of grit in you, but you still show that you care.” You sighed before continuing, “And I understand. While my mama might not be dead, she hasn’t spoken since my father died. I still try my best to take care of her, but it’s like she’s just sittin’ there, waiting for her day to come.”

The snorting of a nearby horse broke the heavy atmosphere.

“If it’s a job you want, you’re always welcome here. Peter would gladly have you work the front. Just come talk to him tomorrow.”

“Alright.” he smiled smally.

“Hand me the bottle?”

Glass hit the wooden deck as you set down the exchanged liquor. Standing up, you reached out a hand for him.

“Come on, you can stay with me.”

~

Jasper’s life only worsened just two months after that night at the parlor. He didn’t come in for work that day, and you couldn’t find him anywhere usual in the town.

Crying and a thump at your front door brought you away from your mother’s side. You had been tidying her hair, a simple activity you would do to help her before she started her nightly routine.

Peering from one of the windows, you saw him waiting in your front yard, holding onto your dog for comfort. He looked up in your direction when you emerged from the dimly lit doorway, walking down the stairs from the porch.

“He shot him. Shot him dead, right in front of me.”

You got on your knees in front of him, bringing your hand to his shoulder.

“I… I was comin’ home from a walk, I… I went out to clear my head. Ellis, he stormed out with my dad trailin’ behind him. His eyes… they were just fed up – bloodthirsty almost. He looked at me. God, I’ll never forget that stare. They yelled at each other some more, going’ on about somethin’. My brother… he drew his gun, shot my dad right in the chest four times. He came over to me, put a hand on my head and told me things would be better now. Like hell they will! He took off on some horse – he’s gone now too. Out runnin’ from the law and leavin’ me high and dry with nothing.”

He let go of the dog, running his hand down his face. She walked off to somewhere behind you, sniffing around.

“I’ve got nothin’ but you, now.” He whispered, looking up at you full of turmoil.

You brought both arms around him, feeling him start to cry again.

“I know my dad had his grief, even when my mama was sick he’d be out doin’ who knows what. Still, I… I can’t help this weight on me.”

“It’s natural, Jas. You lost two people tonight, despite your experiences with them, it’s still a loss.”

He exhaled shakily, shifting back from you and rising to stand on his feet. You matched him before bringing your hand back to his shoulder, rubbing your thumb lightly against the edge of his neck.

“How about supper? Would that help a little?”

“Yeah… yeah.” he sighed.

Together you walked to the front door, and on this occasion, your dog followed too.

—

PART II - Redemption for the Wayward

Winces and the metallic echoes of medical tools could be heard from the nearby room. Boothill rested in an entry room chair, leaning back with his hat over his face. There was nothing in this space he wanted to look at – nothing he sought to remember. Your sounds of pain didn’t help either.

He had gotten stitches himself many years ago, but the scars were long gone now.

A sharp cry resounded down the hall, followed by hushed murmurs from the doctor. There was a fiery response, before the room went quiet again.

It wasn't the first time he had found you in trouble – far from it in fact. Since the day you started riding together, it seemed like thunder followed. Be it the sounds of hooves, gunfire, glasses on the table, or simply storms themselves.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

—

"I want to leave with you."

It was the only time you had ever seen surprise on Boothill’s face.

Holding his gaze you continued, “Does that sound like a plan?”

“I… I don’t see why not. Are you sure you don’t want to clean up first?”

As if answering his question, whistles broke out two streets down. A few shouts from who you assumed to be lawmen echoed, sending a wave of fear through you.

“No. I’ll find a river or somethin’ later, right now we just need to get out.”

“Mind explainin’ why they’re lookin’ for you?”

You appeared stunned for a moment, before you recalled the events that led to the blood on your hands.

~

“Please… please just end me already.”

“You know I can’t do that to you, Jas.”

He ran his hand through his hair, revealing more of his distraught face. “You’ve seen me… I’m just like my father and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it no more.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie to me, we both know I’m right.”

“Jasper, please, come over here so we can talk this out.”

“We’re talkin’ it out right now.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m sick of talkin’ anyway. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into trying to get rid of this feeling, but it never leaves. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

You stood on the back porch of your parlor, watching as he pulled a gun from his side. He walked to you, leaving it on the chair to your left.

Just three months ago you watched Boothill walk from this porch, the hint of new friendship roaming on the wood.

Two months ago, you bid farewell to your new assistant, a promise of success growing over the stain.

One month ago, your mother spoke to you for the first time in seven years, apologies and regret falling from her lips.

Now, you would be in the greatest standoff of your life.

“If I’m gonna die I want you to do it.”

“No.”

He grabbed your left hand, lifting the gun up from where it rested. “Give me my freedom, please. We both know nothin’ else will.”

“Jas…”

“Stop wastin’ your breath.”

A set of tears rolled down your cheeks, and in a final act of care, Jasper wiped them away.

“Don’t cry for me. I want this. I want to see my mama again, healthy and bright. Maybe even my dad,” his voice broke, “smilin’ and rocking on the porch. I may even see you one day, too.”

He inhaled before bringing your hand up to his forehead, a sad look of acceptance and peace on his face. He nodded, the barrel of the gun shifting up and down.

“Goodbye, Jasper.”

A shot rang out, slightly muffled from the circumstance. Blood splattered down to the dirt, soaking into it crudely. Jasper’s body tumbled back down the wooden steps, landing face up at the end. He looked content, the dead light in his eyes causing conflicting waves of emotion within you.

There would be no time to feel them, though. Not yet. Even if it was nearing midnight, there was always a deputy out somewhere.

You descended the scarlet-covered steps, kneeling down to close his eyes. A warmth spread over your hands as you did so, red coating your fingers when you pulled them away.

Exhaling heavily, you left the back alley, on the lookout for a horse.

Boothill told you he’d be leaving tonight, after a final few rounds of faro at the other saloon in town. Why, he never shared, but you figured it had something to do with the incident a couple months back.

If you were lucky you could join him – head out on the road of an outlaw. It wasn’t an idea you had ever considered before, but now it seemed like the only choice.

~

The fire crackled in front of you, smoke rising to the starry sky. Boothill sat beside you, hands occupied with a knife and a piece of wood, idly carving.

In the silent peace, you felt the gravity of your actions begin to set in. Water crept over your eyes, gathering along the edges and flowing down your cheeks. Your quiet cries were some of the only noise in this area of the desert. Somewhere out of the town limits and secluded enough to provide cover in case of any emergency.

“Do you… have any regrets?” you asked lowly, drying your eyes with an exhale.

Boothill looked up from his work, “Once, but not anymore.”

You hummed, staring into the bright flames before you. Sadness welled once more before you spoke up.

“I shot my oldest friend today. He asked me to, came to me pleading.”

There was no movement or sound, until he set down his tools. “And now you’re out on the road with me.”

The dried blood on your hand felt like a glove as you clenched your fist. “I suppose I am.”

He stood up, walking to his horse’s side. A blanket was in his hands as he returned, tossing it gently in your direction before sitting back down to carve.

“I might not be the best at comfort, but I’ll try.”

You placed the wool underneath your head. Neither of you had the makings of a proper camp yet, but even if it was a makeshift pillow it would work.

“When we were out on the trail, there wasn’t much for occupying your time. Most of it was spent herdin’ and fending off animals or gangs. We often had cards with us, and so we’d sit around a fire like this one at night, playin’ the boring games that didn’t involve gambling. When it was time to sleep, some of us would take our places closer to the cattle. We’d sing or hum to them to keep them calm – they always told me I had the best voice. One that suited folk like us the most.”

With that, he started to hum a tune. It was quiet, and the slicing of wood fell in time with the slow rhythm. The melody was soothing, and with a deep exhale you found yourself letting go. As your eyes drifted further shut, he started singing. They were right, he did have a voice perfect for the range.

—

“Thornton’ll be headin’ out for a while. Said we could use the room upstairs as usual.”

You hummed, buttoning up the fresh shirt the doctor had given you. The space stayed quiet after, as your gaze bore into the bloody knife resting on the cloth-covered table. You stood up carefully, gritting your teeth before you were upright.

Grabbing your hat and gun belt, you met Boothill at the doorway.

“How’re you doin’?” he asked gently, bringing his hand up to the side of your neck. His thumb rubbed along the edge of your jaw as you crossed your arms.

“Fine, still trying to work off the sting.”

“Well that’s better than nothin’, isn’t it?”

He was right, yet, there still was something tugging at your chest. A sensation that weighed on your breath.

“I apologize-”

“There ain’t nothing to apologize for.”

You sighed, “I just hope I haven’t been much of a burden these last few weeks.”

“I take care of you, and you take care of me. It’s that simple. There’ll always be trouble when you live a life like ours,” he chuckled, “I’ll never think less of you for it.”

—

“You've used a gun before, right?”

Boothill looked over at you, an eyebrow raised and a hand resting along his belt.

“Only once.”

“Well then, we're gonna work on your skills today.”

He walked back over to his horse, unclipping a holstered revolver from his equipment. A red and cream package of bullets were placed on his saddle. He gave the brown leather-clad weapon to you, letting you pull it out yourself and feel the cool weight in your palm.

“I wanna see your instinct first. Spot that rock up there?” he gestured toward a miniature cliffside, angling down toward the two of you. A large dark grey stone lay on its edge. “Aim for it and shoot.”

You analyzed the gun for a moment before raising it in both hands, the top of the barrel aligning with the rock. Pulling back the hammer from its half-cocked state, you heard a singular click. Pressing your index finger down on the trigger, a bullet flew from the barrel straight at the stone. It made an echoing crack before the case flung off to the side.

“Not bad. Do it again.”

You shifted your feet in the dirt before taking up your former stance. Aiming, you drew back the hammer as the chamber revolved. Two clicks sounded this time. With a finger on the trigger, you pulled it down to hear the same ringing shot and clack against rock.

Boothill sidled up next to you, bringing your left hand down to your side.

“Another.”

Now only using one hand, you shot once more. A small chip fell from the rock as you hit a second spot.

"Fall back into me a little bit."

"Why?"

"If you're gonna be an outlaw, you best learn to carry yourself like one."

You did as he said, falling back into a casual lean against his chest. His arm came up against the back of yours, carrying it down to your side before lifting it back up again and pointing the revolver at the rock. You brought the hammer back again, before pulling the trigger. You cocked the gun once more, firing another shot at the stone, followed by a third.

A low whistle came from behind you, “Aren’t you a natural?”

“Well, I’m learnin’ from the best.”

“Got that right.”

“Are you always this smug?”

“Only with you.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.” you stated, turning around from his hold.

“Really now?”

“You just love to keep on teasin’ me. That’s what it is.”

“And if so?” he questioned, stepping forward as if taking on a challenge.

“I’ll keep doing this dance with you, cowboy.” you tipped his hat down, watching his silver eyes disappear beneath the brim.

“I wouldn’t prefer it any other way.” he flicked it back up, a sharp smirk on his face.

“Now, why don’t you show me how the best shoots? I’d like to see what I’ll be competing with soon.” you stepped back from him, angling the gun toward the rocks.

“I said you were a natural, but I never said you were as practiced as me.”

“Talkin’ down to me?”

“Just statin’ facts.” he tilted his head, spinning his revolver from it’s holster along his leg.

“What a show-off you are.”

“Quit talkin’ and start aimin’.”

“You’re on.”

~

“See those deer?” Boothill whispered, watching beside you as a herd of coues passed by a few yards away.

The wind brushed against your cheeks, carrying the scent of coming rain in the twilight.. There must have been water falling on nearby creosote bushes.

You stared on, admiring how sweet they looked roaming and feeding on cactus fruit.

He smiled at you, seeming almost wistful before his gaze returned to the scene. "I remember we used to see them a lot in the brush along the trail. Big herds stayed longer than just a few of them, less skittish together I suppose." He laughed lightly, genuine and lovely. "The first time I saw a buck was on my family's farm. I had just finished some harvesting, when its antlers caught my eye. The wheat was up to my elbows at the time – I still recall its itch. We had locked eyes, and from that day forward I felt called to be out like them. It was part of my motive for joinin' the round-ups."

"There's a freedom to it – one that you only dream of before you finally live it."

"So articulate. Maybe you should start doing all the talkin'."

You snickered, beginning to pack up your belongings from the small camp you learned to make. "I'm afraid I could never be a poet like you."

"With all this flattery, I just might be inspired enough to pursue that instead."

"I'd better get a dedication, right on the first page.”

"You’ll get the entire book, sugar." He smiled.

"Oh please, save it." You tugged down his hat to hide his teasing eyes.

—

PART III - The Revenant of Vengeance

The wet stone pathways of downtown Warren echoed the heels of your boots. There was little light behind the shops – few people too. It was the perfect spot for a short walk, one that could provide a break from the doctor’s incessant tinkering.

“Well, looky here.” Boothill murmured, pausing to look at a board of papers.

“Think I’ll be up there?” you questioned, hands in your pocket beside him.

“Oh, without a doubt.” his eyes roamed the posters before lighting up at a pair. “Right here, see.”

‘Reward’ was printed in large font at the top. The value of $2,000 sat above text that shared your name, followed by a photo of you from about six years ago, dressed professionally in a well-designed chair at the funeral parlor. Your name was added below it, and a description of your appearance. The signature of the sheriff was penned at the bottom, adding yet another county to your roster.

Boothill’s began the same, with the exception of a $3,500 bounty. An unflattering sketch took up most of the page, as well as key notes about him were added underneath.

“They can never get my eyes right.” he huffed, gaze lingering on the board.

“My picture isn’t even accurate anymore.” you voiced, arms now crossed against your chest. “What lousy lawmen they have here.”

“I’d have to agree.”

With a sigh you continued, “I reckon it’s about time we get back to the office. Before those lawmen spot us.”

“We could take them.”

“Maybe so, but we don’t need larger bounties.”

“Really? I think there’s somethin’ romantic about it. The more wanted you are, the larger the reward. The more opportunities for attention and infamy.”

“Is my attention not good enough?”

“Come on now, sugar, you know I love it more than anything else.”

“Well then head back with me, cowboy, and I’ll show you some.”

He chuckled lowly, “Who could turn down an offer like that?"

As you turned to walk, his hand landed on your shoulder, the other reaching up to the board, ripping off one of the posters.

“Well I'll be.” you mumbled, observing the photo on it from over his arm.

Lloyd Walker, wanted dead or alive with a reward of $5,000. He had practically become public enemy number one in the surrounding areas over the last seven years. He had numerous crimes, and as many tricks up his sleeve to match. At least that's what the rumors said – his gang was only ever unruly.

“What do you say? Is he gonna be our newest target?”

A fire grew in Boothill’s formerly somber eyes, as he turned to you with a smile.

“Absolutely.”

—

The damp and pebble-covered ground was tarnished with deep red, the remnants of injury seeping into the soil beneath a discarded body. It was windless as Jesse laid against the riverbank, staring up into the ray-stricken cloudy sky. Low cries for help continued leaving his bloodied lips, but his energy was wearing thin. Every inch of him ached – stinging or burning the only sensations he could feel.

Still, he couldn’t just lay here and accept death. He was far too stubborn to ever answer a reaper’s call.

And, as if by some little twist of fate, hooves clamped their way toward him until rushing footsteps were the only thing he could hear.

“Good lord, sir, what happened to you?”

~

It was an ambush, plain and simple.

One moment he was talking with the other rangers and the next they were hiding behind rocks or trees, shooting at whatever green bandana they saw. One or two bandits weren’t unusual, but they had never dealt with such a large group before.

He was panicking, running out of bullets and watching his friends fall in the dust. They were overwhelmed with little to no chance of making it out unscathed.

Walker’s people were relentless, though, and they would never leave until they got what they came for or hit the dirt.

How unlucky for them that Jesse was the same.

~

Dilapidated cabins were built together in two rows, some of their group’s stolen cattle grazing off to the side. His horse stopped right at the rotting wood enclosing them, head high as he prepared for revenge. They had killed four of his trailmates, and he would be coming now for at least four of them.

It was bold to break the rules set for round-ups, and Lee’s warnings echoed through his head. There was leniency given to him before, and for this cause, he was sure he’d get it again.

After dismounting, he made his way through the brush to one of the cabins, two revolvers in hand. It was a risky game, but he was willing to play – whether it was the facade of victory or delusion from righteousness keeping him going.

He snuck through the makeshift settlement, hearing bits of laughter from his left. No matter what he did after this, he would have all surrounding eyes on him. Treading lightly, he stalked behind the house until he found a decent opening. He aimed through the cracks in the dark wood, going straight for the heads he could target. With four clicks, both guns were fully cocked and he shot.

It would be the only regret he had in his life.

~

“Time to wake up, my friend.”

An oddly chipper voice reached Jesse’s ears, as if summoning him from a lengthy slumber.

His eyes drifted open, leaving him to feel painless yet confused.

“I’m sure there is much you would like to know, but please, try to become used to this body first.”

This body?

“We’ll need to utilize some methods of physical therapy to ensure that you know how to use it, and that everything is in working order.”

He turned his head in the direction of the voice – a movement that felt unexpectedly stiff.

“You may call me Dr. Thornton, or Claude if you’d prefer. You have been reborn in the city of Warren. Do you remember where that is?”

Reborn?

“Yes, doctor, I do.” his voice hadn’t changed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

“Wonderful. Do you recall the events that led you here?”

“I was bleedin’ out by a river, after… well I’d prefer not to talk about that part.”

“That is perfectly fine, sir. I found you there, and brought you back to my practice. Well, my unofficial practice I suppose one could call it. What about your name?”

“Jesse Blackwell.” he responded, without any hesitation.

Thornton stood up, drying off his greased hands on a nearby rag. He brought the same towel to Jesse’s neck, but he couldn't feel it. The mild brush of cloth, a sensation he had known well from cleaning himself up, never came. He began to tilt his head downward, but the doctor’s fingers caught his chin.

“Not yet.”

He shifted his chin back up, staring straight ahead as alarm started setting in. Questions plagued his mind, until a sharp snap from behind broke him out of it.

The doctor held his hands out to him, and he placed his own over his open palms. They were grey, metallic, and the more he looked at them, the more they seemed almost mechanical. His thoughts seized him as he found Thornton’s eyes. They seemed proud yet there was a glint hidden under their pine-like color that brought a pensive look to Jesse’s face.

He was guided to take a step, and he heard what sounded like a boot as he did so. It persisted as he was brought across the floor to a doorway, passing into another room. His hands left the doctor’s, falling back to his side as his gaze drifted up to something covered in a white sheet.

“Are you ready to welcome this new life?” Thornton asked.

After a brief moment, Jesse nodded.

The cloth was lifted to reveal a tall mirror, one that reflected every inch of him.

“If there is anything you would like me to change, you need only say the word.”

Silence fell, as Jesse was confronted with rushing realization.

He survived Lloyd Walker, but at what cost? His humanity?

But what constitutes humanity?

Flesh and blood?

The ability to experience empathy and emotion?

His bewildered eyes met the doctor’s – ones that were steady as stone.

Thornton looked into the mirror from beside him. “You are a marvel of human craft, sir.”

Something in him stirred at the words, an anger that he wasn’t well-versed enough to place. The only thing he could do was grab the doctor’s collar, observing him with contempt.

“Come now, Jesse, you best be grateful. I’ve transformed you. You’ve become something that people could only dream of. You cried for help and I gave it to you.”

The doctor stumbled after he was released, moving back into the office, or whatever he liked to call it. Jesse remained in the small room, inspecting himself in the mirror. He stared for a long while, paralyzed by the overwhelming circumstance. He felt violated, like his very being was invaded.

Was his life even his anymore?

No. He couldn’t sink into that void.

~

“You’ve surpassed my expectations, Jesse. Count yourself free to go, though you’re always welcome back for repairs… or a hideout if you find yourself in trouble.”

Clad in monochrome leather, with a few scattered hints of red, the reborn cowboy placed his hat on his head as he opened the front door to Thornton’s establishment.

“My name ain’t Jesse.” he voiced, looking back at the suited man. “It’s Boothill.”

The doctor met his eyes over his glasses, “Farewell then, Boothill.”

—

A disheveled Claude Thornton broke through the spare room’s door, appearing wild and bruised.

“They’re on their way.”

Any plans you had been discussing with Boothill were interrupted as you watched the panicked man sharply. “Who exactly?”

“I think you already know." he said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

"You goddamn idiot."

"They cornered and beat me! What did you expect me to do?"

"Follow our agreement that we could lie low here." Boothill stated, glaring at the doctor as he reloaded his revolver.

"I had only made that agreement with you, friend, not them.” he replied, gesturing a hand toward you. “Regardless, the law knows by now that wherever one of you goes the other will follow.”

“And this time you’ll be with us.” you sighed, lifting your hand for him to stand up.

Grabbing the man’s right arm, you brought it behind his back, placing your other hand on his left shoulder. Guiding him down the stairs as Boothill followed, you walked to the hitches Thornton had built at his rear door.

Whistles came down the alley as you ordered him to sit on the back of your horse. After he finished grumbling, you mounted and began riding off to the left as Boothill went right.

Handing him a spare rifle from your horse, you pulled two revolvers from your gun belt.

“I apologize, but I do not know how to use one of these.” he shared, holding the weapon awkwardly.

“You’re hopeless, doctor.”

Trading with him, you aimed the rifle at one of the lawmen approaching you.

“Just pull down the hammer and shoot at them until the chambers are empty. Don’t bother reloading, we’ll be out of here by then.”

He nodded before turning his head back, covering the rear as you winded down stone streets, doing your best to avoid bringing citizens into the fray. You caught a glimpse of black and white disappearing around a corner – a road that led to the train tracks from what you could recall. Pulling the reins to the right, you moved to follow, shooting at one of his pursuers before dodging the fallen body.

Droplets flicked against your boots, leading the doctor to groan at his dirtied shoes. Broken glass nearby signified it was probably some discarded liquor.

A horn sounded from your right, accelerating the rushing sound in your ears. One of Thornton’s hands gripped onto your shoulder tightly as you sped up, crossing before the train daringly.

Pausing on the other side of the tracks, you watched cautiously for any other lawmen. Boothill came up next to you, eyes analyzing your figure before they followed your gaze.

“I swear the two of you are going to get me killed.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t do it myself after the shit you’ve pulled.” you spat, securing your rifle back against your horse.

“Need I remind you I had no other choice.” he retorted, handing you back the revolvers.

“You sold us out after three hits, doctor, that’s something that would get you a hole in your forehead with anyone else.”

“I only told them where you were, dear, not him.”

You pointed one of the guns behind you against the side of his skull, disregarding if it was empty or not.

“Do you think that’s somethin’ you should really be saying to me? For as much tinkering as you do, and as many people as you claim to help, I don’t think you’re very bright. If you were, you wouldn’t have given us up, and you would watch your mouth when you’re talkin’ to me. Now, tell me you can understand that at least, doctor.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now you best stay quiet.”

“Alright.”

Putting the gun back into its holster at your side, your focus returned to Boothill.

“Are we still going north?”

“I don’t see why not.” he replied, shifting slightly in his saddle.

“Then let’s go – this train is almost over.”

—

The town of Iris Creek was quaint, fresh air gliding over land of dying grass. A few small flowers grew along the trails, blossoms of deep violet running up their stems. Your stresses slowly quelled as the peaceful atmosphere set in.

At least until you had to sort out Thornton's situation.

Boothill had left for the saloon not long ago, attempting to find what information about Walker he could. In his absence, you would be taking the well-dressed man to the hotel.

Getting the room was a simple affair, so was the walk to where he would stay. It seemed odd that you received no second glances, but it was a welcome change.

Entering his room, the doctor finally spoke, "What do you think of him?"

"Pardon?"

"Boothill."

He sat in a chair right before a plain wooden desk, crossing one leg over the other.

"I care for him very deeply, but I think you could figure that out already. ”

"Would seeing him in pain hurt you, then?"

"What exactly are you trying to say, Thornton?"

"Nothing at all, just conjecture." He responded, hands coming up defensively before returning to his lap.

"I still have half a mind to kill you."

"Always so crude with me," he shook his head, "If you do decide to murder me, you might as well do the same to Boothill. Nobody else in this world understands his inner workings like I do. If I'm dead, there will be no one left to repair him if something goes awry. He's already tried before himself and landed at the same conclusion."

~

In the dim lighting of your shared room, your fingers carded through Boothill's newly cleaned hair. The noise from the saloon below reverberated upward, but it faded into nothing as warm lips found your neck.

"What did you find?" you questioned, quiet in the tranquility of the moment.

"There's supposed to be a whole bunch of Walker's a bit further up in the mountains. By Whitetail Hill."

"Well, that's good. Leave at dawn and we could make it there by early afternoon."

"My thoughts exactly."

A group of cheers from below filled the silence. Sharp edges nipped at the same spot of your neck, drawing a short wince from you. It was soothed by a soft tongue licking across the area as cool fingertips traced the other side of your neck.

You began to turn your head in his direction before those same fingers brought your chin down. Rough lips met yours in a rare instance of gentleness, something that reminded you of calm before a storm.

—

PART IV - Death, the Range's Old Friend

Dust kicked up from underneath the gravel path as you brought your horses to an abrupt stop. A figure rest in the middle of the road, bloodied claw marks running down their front. They coughed, red splattering back against their cheeks.

“Mercy… mercy, please.”

A scarlet covered bandana slipped from their pocket, bits of green peeking out from beneath. You cocked your gun at them before speaking.

“I’ll grant you your wish after you answer some questions. Deal?”

“Yes, yes.”

“You were coming from the area of Whitetail Hill, correct?”

They nodded weakly.

“Where specifically?” Boothill asked, looking around the surrounding forest – likely watching for the animal that attacked them.

“Copperhead Mine.”

A breeze blew through the trees, carrying an odd and empty whistle. A bang interrupted the cryptic melody as the Walker’s plea was granted. The slow movement of hooves followed shortly after, as you maneuvered around them.

“What do you think we’re headed into?” you wondered, meeting Boothill’s eyes.

“Nothin’ good, I can tell you that much.”

“How many’ll be there?”

“I can’t say. The bartender said upwards of 20.”

“Will we be able to take them?” you picked up the pace, looking over the small cliff to your left.

“After all this time, you still doubt us.” he chuckled, matching your speed.

“It’s better to stay realistic.”

“You have me with you, anything we do is realistic.”

You sighed, as the clouds drifted across the blue noon sky. “I suppose I just want you to look after yourself more.”

He waited an instant before responding, features full of sincerity. “I know you care about me, more than I had ever thought I would receive. But I’m not going anywhere – there’s nothin’ in this world that could kill me anymore.”

—

The ominous tune of the wind persisted, some symphony of nature that could only serve to unnerve you. A shiver went down your spine as you reached a viewpoint of the mine, a chill seeping in beneath your clothes. Dismounting, you pat the neck of your horse, trying to steel yourself before the confrontation.

You nodded at Boothill, before leaving first down to the camp. Dry grass crackled under your steps, before the crunch of gravel came instead. The sound alerted who you assumed to be the leader of the group, a scarred eye looking over you in suspicion before he spoke.

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“I was in Iris Creek yesterday, askin’ around about any jobs. They said you’d need some more hands out here.”

“Really now? Who exactly told you that?”

“The bartender at the saloon.”

“Which saloon?”

“There’s only one in town, friend.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Quite so.”

He glanced back at a set of boxes, before making eye contact with one of the members. You drew your revolvers, shooting at two of the people before ducking behind a pair of barrels. Boothill emerged from behind one of their tents, blood already coating his cheek.

He was always brash in his ways, usually coming in guns blazing unless the plan said otherwise. Even then, there was no safe bet that he would follow it. Today was a lucky day, you supposed.

Splinters of wood broke off in your direction, falling over the edge of your arm and over a dark red stain you had yet to notice. Aiming around the side, you fired at one's eyes and another's cheek from where they hid. A second pair hit two plainly in the head, one of their bullets going astray into the rock by the mine entrance.

A strong grip wrapped around your ankle, pulling you backward through twig-like bushes. You were met with the same scarred left eye when the dust cleared – a gaze that spoke murder pinning you down. A fist met the side of your face, brute pain emerging afterward. He went again but was met with your right arm. He tried your left side, and you let him get a hit in as you cautiously unsheathed your knife. With a block to another hit, you slashed your knife across his chest. It was the easiest thing to do in this position, and he backed off of you slightly to stare down at the scarlet seeping into the edges of his cut shirt.

A tight hold turned him over, leaving you above him. The sharp tip of the knife pointed right under his chin as you started your interrogation.

“Where’s Lloyd?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit.” he spat.

Taking the blade, you punctured along the edge of his right eye. He screamed as crude fluid bursted against your sleeves, running down the side of his face as you twisted it.

“I’m not fuckin’ around with you! Where is Lloyd Walker?”

“In- in Thatcher!”

“That’s it? You sure there ain’t anything else you want to tell me?” you questioned, drawing the knife from his eye. Another scream came before the tip of the blade returned to his chin, dragging down to his sternum.

“He’s hidin’ out with somebody. They’re in bed together, doing some real shady business. Patrick Arrington – that’s the guy you want to meet with! He’s in the oil business, and real paranoid to boot.”

“Any tips you want to share before I’m finished with you?”

He licked his lips, panicked and steadily bleeding. “Find Ef. I… I met her at a theater once. She loves it there, lights up the minute the curtain rises.”

“Does she have a full name?”

“I don’t know it.”

“Fine, then. Keep your secrets.”

“I’m not lyin’! She never told me!”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The blade plunged in his throat forcibly, the near frightening sensation of shattering bone reverberating to the hilt of the knife. A dry wheeze left his lips as you stood up, pulling the weapon back out.

A low whistle, one that you could recall anywhere by now, came from behind you. Boothill walked up, looking down at the body.

“Did you get anythin’ out of him?”

“Plenty. What do you think of a trip to the capital?”

He smiled, sharp with excitement and thrill. “Sounds like a lovely time to me.”

—

PART V - Ballad of the Dead and Alive

It had been years since you last set foot in Thatcher. The city had become strikingly more commercialized, with a shop, service, or office on every corner. Your boots had been left behind at the hotel room, exchanged earlier after a trip to the tailor’s for something more formal.

Wood doors with decorated glass opened as you walked into the lobby, Boothill following behind.

“Tickets for two, please.” you smiled, leaning against the front counter.

“Door to your left.” the taker replied, sliding the slips underneath the barricade.

With a tip of his new hat, Boothill thanked them before heading through to the hallway. It was plain black, something simple yet classy per recommendation of the tailor. He had outright refused their first suggestion of a top hat – slight disgust on his face as he said that would never be his style.

“Guess I finally got that theater date.” he chuckled, opening the double doors to reveal a lit stage.

“I suppose you did.” you replied, taking his hand and going to find your seats.

A narrator stood in front of the curtain, reciting the introduction to a play. Now sitting in the second row, you and Boothill waited patiently for the show to begin.

“‘Do not plague thyself with vexatious matters. Live unshackled and wander from this day forth.’ Thus, did the young Lady Rena commence her journey.”

A beautiful woman walked out to center stage, clothed in a green silk dress. A wide-brimmed hat of the same color rested on her head, feathers rising from the right side that were held under a silk brim. Lavender sprigs and violets emerged from the left, wrapping around to sit delicately on the front.

A gasp came from your right, bringing your gaze away from the show. Brown hair, pinned and curled, came into view before an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry, I just love to see how the characters dress.”

“It’s alright, you didn’t bother me at all.”

“Oh, well I’m glad.” she smiled, then looked back to the stage.

As the play continued on, your gaze bounced between the actors and the spectator next to you. She seemed to beam at the performance, her eyes watching every detail closely even if she noticed your attention on her. It wasn’t until the brief break before the climax that she turned back to you.

She didn’t say a word for a minute or two, simply looking over your features.

“Have you ever thought about acting?”

“It’s never crossed my mind before.”

“It just seems like you have a knack for it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I can’t really say, it’s just a feeling. I have a… friend that reminds me of you. She’s been up on the stage there all night. She acts so well, and you can tell she really loves it despite her always telling me it’s just a job.”

“And what about you?”

She paused, seeming to briefly sink into herself. “Can I trust you with a little secret?”

“Of course.”

She smiled smally, “I actually wrote this play. When my work day was over, I’d go up to my room and spend a couple hours jotting it all down. My boss is a miserable man – it’s a pleasant break from him.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely to see it brought to life, then.”

“It’s my biggest achievement so far, and nobody besides you knows the truth behind it.” Sincerity took over her face, a beat passing between you before she spoke. “So, it’s only fair that you share your truth with me. Who are the two of you?”

A hand came to rest on your shoulder as the other was held out across your front, waiting for a shake.

“You can call me Boothill, Ef.”

Her face looked surprised, as if she had possibly seen him somewhere.

“We were preparing to do business with your boss, Patrick Arrington, correct?” he continued.

“Yes.” she replied curtly. “He’s been having me carry around something for you as a matter of fact.”

She placed an envelope in Boothill’s open hand. He turned it over between his fingers, taking a moment to look at the wax seal. With a quick rip, it opened, revealing tight cursive on the parchment. It was an invitation to a dinner in two nights time. Arrington’s signature sprawled over the bottom half of the paper, bold in comparison to his previous handwriting. He spoke of knowing Boothill was in town, likely trying to seek him out. Instead, he wanted them to meet and have a discussion over steak. He also extended the invite to you, his “hell-raising partner”.

If Arrington and Walker wanted a confrontation, they would get it.

“I hope the two of you will entertain his offer. Let us enjoy the rest of my play, though. We can be friends for this evening at the very least.”

—

Patrick Arrington's house reflected his wealth. Dark colors were covered by intricate wood detailings, highlighted well with lamps. The butler guided you and Boothill into the dining room, revealing a lengthy table covered in candles and plates. The men of the hour waited patiently, Patrick at the head of the table with a glass of wine and Lloyd to his right, a lit cigarette resting between his lips as he inspected the utensils.

They weren't very intimidating to say the least.

"Glad you could join us," Lloyd welcomed, a silver steak knife twirling around in his hand. "I've been waitin' to see you again for years, been pretty boring without your games." He pointed said knife at Boothill.

Patrick's weathered eyes met yours as he gestured for you to sit at his left. You strode to the cushioned chair, a foreboding sense creeping in as you pulled it out.

"You can take the seat opposite to me, Mr. Blackwell."

His features appeared defiant before you glared at him. It would be best to follow his commands. A sharp exhale left him as he sat down, leaning casually.

A new butler came in, wine bottle in hand. He poured for the two of you before being dismissed.

Swirling his topped up glass, Patrick leveled his gaze onto Boothill. "I want to make you an offer."

"Ain't that the nature of business." he chuckled.

“Indeed.”

Seared steaks made their way onto the table as Arrington shared his proposal.

“You may take Walker’s life, so long as I take theirs.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard him, boy.”

The room remained tense as your hands froze, a slight cut staying in the meat at your idleness.

“I’m willin’ to… succumb to your revenge,” Lloyd waved his hands around dramatically, “Let you claim my bounty – just after someone is exchanged for me.”

“You think I would ever agree to that?”

“Well, let’s just say it is not so much an agreement as it would be a reward.” Patrick smiled, placing his fork on a cloth gently.

A line of cold steel rested against your throat. You set down your silverware, raising your hands and leaning back.

“I didn’t do nothin’ to you, Mr. Arrington.” you reasoned.

“Maybe not in your eyes. A debt is owed to me, however, and it must be repaid. Your father stole my weapons, robbed my men, and ruined my oil! He was scum, and it seems you are too.”

“Any issues you had with him aren't my problem.”

“The knife to your throat begs otherwise, dear.”

“You started this.”

“No, I did not. Your friend here began his feud with Mr. Walker years ago. That is the true reason why the both of you are here tonight. I am simply ending a personal matter at the same time.”

“What’ll it be, Jesse?” Lloyd asked, an excited smile growing on his face.

You met Boothill’s stare, watching the gears turn in his mind. His gaze drifted upward, past yours and to the person behind you. Their grip tightened on the hilt.

“I’m gonna have to decline.”

Walker laughed as Arrington’s face went stoic.

“So be it.” a familiar voice spoke.

The knife formerly held to your neck flew into Patrick’s right shoulder. With the room still surprised, you flipped the dining table with help from your near-executioner. Plates clattered onto the floor surrounding Lloyd, the candles beginning to eat away at the rug.

~

“Where do you think you’re going, you piece of shit!”

You watched, revolver in hand, as Ef strode angrily to an escaping Patrick. He gripped his shoulder, walking out and down the hall as fast as he could. She followed suit, chasing and pinning him down easily. The click of your dress shoes echoed over the wood floor as you came behind her, witnessing her tackle him to the ground before pulling the knife from him. She threw it to the side, choosing to instead beat him as hard as she could while curses fell from her tinted lips. You leaned back against the wall, toying with the chamber of your gun. You watched as it spun, just one bullet sat inside.

With a huff, Ef rose from Patrick’s bloodied body, scarlet covering her teal dress.

“Do with him as you please. I’ve had enough of him for eternity.”

She then turned down the hall, the sound of ascending steps coming shortly after.

You came to stand right next to Arrington’s head, pressing your left heel down on his shoulder. He groaned, trying to twist out of the situation.

“I have a special hatred for rich filth like you.”

Two clicks of the hammer – a blank.

“Always walking around like you own the place.”

Another blank.

“Throwing money at everything you can – money that you made from stealing what belongs to others.”

Blank.

“And you’re so much better than me? Look at what you’re doing right now.” he whispered out, eyes growing unfocussed.

“We might be bad people, but at least we’re honest. I think liars like you will suffer a worse fate than us. You’ve got no honor, no respect, left in you. Sold it all away for what? So you could feel some power? Some control? We all die the same, Patrick. This wealth’ll mean nothin’ in the end. Keeping it all to yourself only makes people resent you more. We struggle everyday, only ever dreaming of what you have and take for granted everyday. You deserve nothing that you have in this world if all you do is abuse it. Save whatever dignity you have left for hell, Arrington. You’re gonna need it.”

A shot fired as his mouth opened, leaving red to splatter out from the proximity. You leaned down, taking his pocket watch and dangling it in front of you. It was gold, polished, and engraved – an item that could fetch a high price. You shoved it in your own pocket as you left his body, searching for the stairs Ef had gone up.

~

Flames caught on the curtains as Boothill waited in a standoff with Lloyd. Neither uttered a word as they waited, staring each other down. Crackles came from the walls, the flames illuminating the space with harsh glares. Walker drew his old pistol, aiming quickly and preparing to fire. Blood flowed from his arm not a second later, three shots ringing out in the burning dining room.

A swift kick crossed his face a moment later, something sharp cutting down it. Despite his pain and lack of clear vision, he took one of the scalding candlesticks and threw it in front of him. His hand came to hold his face, sighing.

“If you want to kill me Jesse, do it already.”

The cold barrel of a gun met the back of his neck, one click reaching his ears.

“Givin’ up that easily! Really now?”

“I’d rather die than try and make it out of here.”

A set of curtain rods fell to the floor before Boothill spoke, “ I’m gonna take my time with you, then. See if you can handle what you put me through.”

~

Whistles sounded through the courtyard as lawmen slowly encroached the property. A pair of satchels rested full over your shoulder, one similar sitting on Effie’s horse. They were bulked with stolen bonds, jewels, and anything else you could get your hands on.

“I suppose this is farewell.” she exhaled.

“For now, at least. If you’re going down a road like ours, I think we’ll cross paths again.”

“I hope so.”

“Go be with your friend.” you smiled, winking and patting her horse as she mounted it. “And thank you for the help. This wouldn’t have worked out if it weren’t for your decision.”

“You flatter me. But you’re welcome anyway.”

She pulled a poppy from her hat, handing it down to you. With exchanged nods, she rode off around the back, leaving you to the steps of Patrick’s burning house.

The front door burst open as Boothill kicked at it, stepping out as smoke started billowing from the building. You had every confidence in his capabilities, but you still found yourself in his arms. Crimson stained his cheeks, seeping into your palms as you brought his face closer to your view.

“How are you?”

“A little worse for wear, but if you kiss me, I just might be alright.”

“That can wait, cowboy. For now, we’d best get out of here.”

—

Epilogue

The sun beamed down brightly, casting a hazy glow over the river. Morning light was always lovely at times like this, and the sound of rushing water provided a welcome sense of relief. A soft breeze blew through the tree branches above you, ruffling the papers in Boothill's hands as well.

His head rested on your thighs, leaning back and reading them over with a smile. A sketch replaced your photo now, headed by text that read: “Reward for the capture, dead or alive, of __ __. The murderer of Patrick Arrington, they are still at large in Kearny County.”

“Look who made it big.” he chuckled.

“Think they’ll have a stage ready for me next time we visit?”

“If that stage is the gallows, then I’m sure.”

You laughed, leaning back against rough bark.

“Meanwhile I only got an extra $500! Can’t believe those lovely lawmen.” he grumbled, ripping them in half.

You brushed your palm over his forehead, shifting his hair back.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Fingertips brushed down his cheek, before curling under his jaw and tilting his head in your direction. Silver and red eyes met yours, simmering down to a rare gentleness. He stared at you for a moment, no vibrant expression or words leaving him. Peaceful – that’s what he was.

“Where do you want to go next?” you asked, thumb tracing along his cheekbone.

“I think we’ll just keep ridin’, stop where we want and see where the trail ends.”

“Take some jobs here and there, try to make some money.”

“Sounds nice.”

You hummed as Boothill turned his head back to the river, sighing toward the low reeds.

“Would you ever want to have a farm again?”

He rested quietly before replying, “No, but I wouldn’t be against working on one every now and then.”

“You’ll have to show me the ropes, though.”

“Course. There’s plenty more I could show you too.”

“Like?”

“Anythin’ you can imagine.”

“What a magician you are.”

“You flatter me, sugar.”

“Gettin’ a little shy on me, are you?”

“Not at all.”

He leaned up on his right hand, the left coming to the side of your neck. Slightly rough lips met yours challengingly, as if lovingly proving a point. Cold metal was removed from your neck, fingertips running along your throat teasingly before coming up to tug down the hat on your head.

“Stealin’ my moves now, cowboy?”

“You learned them from me first.” he chuckled, “Just one of our many games, right?”

[dervaaas]

He will light up the star even if it goes out.

Character: Boothill

wn: It implies the death of the reader at the end. It was written before the release of 2.2. OOC Boothill.

I think Boothill is too soft, but why not?

F!Reader!

P.S. I came back to post this. I must say right away that I translated it through a translator, since I stopped learning English because of a not very pleasant situation. Therefore, I apologize if there are any problems with the translation.

Even if these stars were once close, now it's just dust that decorates the ceiling. An interesting idea with a projector. To look at the stars at least for the last time, when a girl does not have the opportunity to get out of bed. And all this is only because it was out of the kindness of someone she doesn't know.

This guy, Boothill, as he introduced himself, decided to show her the stars. In its supine position, it can neither be lifted nor brought out. Forever within four walls. Well, let it be. No one really comes anyway. Irresponsible, isn't it?

Unfortunately, this is the fate of the planet and its life. Almost a dead land. There are few cities that can live in prosperity. Unfortunately, she doesn't live like this. Therefore, she has to suffer only because nurses can visit her once a week, and it is difficult to find a nurse: you will have to pay three times for her. There is no such money.

Her very position raises a lot of questions. If she finds it difficult to move, how does she eat and move at all? Well, thank you for setting up her house for this. And now she doesn't have to do everything by force, as it was before. It made life easier, but now it has become a more recumbent lifestyle.

As for that guy... It's a rather strange acquaintance. After all, according to him, he had data in which it was said that the girl's house had what they were looking for, but in the end it was not. And he just decided that he would spend the rest of his time here at her house.

— Everything here is primitive, so don't think you'll see anything worthwhile. Boothill scooped the girl up in his arms and put her on the floor, where a place had already been prepared for her.

— Is it necessary? — The girl was a little worried, because she doesn't really understand the point of putting her on the floor if she can look from the bed.

— Take my word for it, it will be better. I don't know what stars they're talking about here, but I think it won't be boring.

— You don't know? Then why did you take it?

— How can I view them for you if I didn't have the opportunity? It doesn't matter. I'll turn it on now. Buthill gets up from his seat and walks over to the projector. Why did he decide to arrange a small planetarium for her? Apparently, he was very struck by her words when she said that she did not know who the Galactic Rangers were. He doesn't know why he's doing this.

Maybe it's really out of pity after all. She doesn't know what it's like to move around calmly, and she doesn't know what the world looks like at all. Yes, it was a pity. He, who lost his body, but got the opportunity to come back to life again, feels sorry for someone who found himself in the same situation, but does not have a second chance.

He turns on the projector and lies down next to her. Noticing that he guessed right and from this place everything is clearly visible. There is no sound, and nothing can be done about it. I would have to search additionally or even manually assemble it. There is no time for this. So that's what it is. However, he is familiar with all this, so he will even tell you himself.

— The Asdan system. There is a Penacony there. It used to be a prison for IPC, but now it's a celebration planet. Do you know what's special about her?

— No, — the girl looks at him questioningly, asking him to continue.

— You could live a normal life there. Immersed in the Bowl of Dreams, you would live a normal life. And don't worry about how to move around.

— Why are you telling me this? The girl was even more interested in his words. He seems to be someone who is not interested in this at all. It doesn't seem like someone who is going to take care of anyone at all.

— I don't know. In a way.. We have a similar problem. Was. Buthill continued to stare at the ceiling full of stars and galaxies. He doesn't even know if it's worth saying something. What if it doesn't sound too encouraging? Will not be. Giving her a second chance would be too difficult. And will she give up this body? Moreover, according to the papers, she does not have so long left.

— Can you tell me?

— Should I tell you that I lost almost all my body and was given a second chance? There's nothing to tell. And I don't want to remember.

— I see. So why are you doing this?

— There are reasons for this. People sell their bodies, give up on them, bully them. But when other people really need a body, they don't get it at all. You're out of luck with that. You could travel all over the universe, but instead you're tied to a bed. His voice was strained, apparently remembering that day.

The day he sat and looked at his new body. Bending and unbending metal limbs. Realizing that the body he once had can no longer be returned. He won't be able to feel the warmth anymore. Normal human heat, not from heating metal. His blood is not red at all now. The feeling of being new and trusted is eaten away from the inside. At that moment, he didn't know what to do, what to think. Perhaps he was too arrogant to do such a thing. But the final decision: not to live for yourself became the end result.

It was his actions that led to this outcome. Then why would he repeat his mistakes? A second chance. "Welcome to this world, once again." A meaningless phrase. But there's nothing else to do about it. To live not for oneself, but for the cause. There's a simple reason why he started following the Hunt.

That's the reason. That's why he wants to show her the stars. She would never be able to see them, but he could show them, even in such a primitive way. Yes, it's far from ideal, but it doesn't make sense. He will tell you himself what kind of stars they are, what kind of planets they are and what they are famous for. Everything he remembers will be told, even if the words are turned to nowhere.

He met a man with a similar problem, it seems to him. In fact, their bodies do not "belong" to them. They no longer obey them. So does it even make any sense to continue living? There must be some small knot that you want to hold on to and hope that everything will be all right, even if it's not.

Although very soon. This is one of the brightest stars that will fade in the sky. Someone will light it up again. Let it be like a memory of her, but she will burn as brightly as when she was alive.

— It's Fate. That's all.

— Sweet Fate.

— Honey?

— Eons, forget about it.

Even this moment will end someday. And it happened. It was too fast for her to feel. The doctors said it wouldn't be for at least half a year. Although they have such a medicine. What was she really hoping for? But it's so unpleasant to leave a person who has been uplifting and brightening up another boring day for at least a few days. It's so strange to realize that you're leaving your dead body to this person.

He doesn't owe her anything and shouldn't be doing this at all. But at least he can do something. Defined. The girl didn't deserve to die like that, so he was the only one who was at her funeral. Arranged by the standards of the planet in luxury.