WITH EVERY FLOWER THAT I EVER TOOK APART.

◞  WITH EVERY FLOWER THAT I EVER TOOK APART.

꒰ he loves you; he loves you not. or, cloud finds a poem you wrote about him. ꒱

ᴍᴅɴɪ. 5.4k. f!reader. canon-divergent au. best friends to lovers. fluff. angst. slice of life. writer!reader. cloud likes knick-knacks. reader's favorite color is pink. reader is shorter than cloud. he's a 'ships assembled in bottles' kinda guy here fr. a little nerdy loser boy who likes to kiss his best friend. sfw. footnote. this is selfship-coded; sue me n i'll settle. i dedicate this to nonie who sent me asks on main n expressed their excitement. i felt stuck on it for a bit but when i thought about scrapping, i heard your asks n reworked it as many times as i had to until it felt right <3 thank you for the encouragement!!

what do i say to you, o lover? your blind eyes gaze. and you see right through my mauling. my most unknowing witness. the behemoth of ardor eats from inside my chest where your name lives. at the base of my breath. it tastes like everything i know. all of my familiarity. a storm cloud of my fondness looms over your head. and adoration crackles. and a strike of intimacy's lightning; bad aim, narrowly misses. every time. a torrential downpour of my devotion. i love that you never shield yourself from rain. you don't know what my tongue would give to savor the flavor of your name in the form of a claim. i'm already an endless vow. to you. so what do i say? i love you. the strife between my heart and my teeth is this: one wants to cradle you while the other wants to consume. i can't hold you in my greedy cheeks and swallow you whole all the same. it's such a shame. and i have everything i want but i can never have everything i want. 

there's a devastating poem missing from the security of your archives and it's eating you alive from the inside-out. there are two immovable truths about you: you regard yourself as the poem rather than the person and you love cloud strife to a capacity that a poem cannot fully fathom. it's a dilemma that exists to taunt you. you find yourself lingering on the cusps of terror at the thought that one day, you’ll detonate an implosion: cloud will discover the depths of your feelings for him, the true reason you remain so diligently at his side. and now, such a result is at risk of running into reality. ꒰ not that it shouldn't be obvious. ꒱ for the last few days, you've been nestled inside the depths of your panic as you try to recall where you left the troublesome evidence of your hunger for cloud's affections. you finished it sitting on the rim of his bathtub, huddled in his bathroom with the door locked, journal perched on your lap, messily scrawling while your heart scrambled to climb up your throat. you remember the intensity of the shame and adoration that overcame you as you ripped the poem from the spiral spine of your journal. your silly heart and all its foolishness folded up into so many fours, shoved into the depths of your pocket in desperation before you rejoined him back in his room. back in the warmth of his bed and the strength of his arms. his room, the space that holds all the memories of soft kisses and the scent of your yearning. you love him so much; it's pathetic. embarrasing. shameful. you wait around his ribs, drooling like a starving dog praying for an offer. it's more than just your belief in his capacity. it's the hurricane that sweeps you away and drowns you in reverent waves. loving cloud is a heady feeling, something thick and all-consuming. it makes you dizzy with delight. it makes you breathless. his presence brings you peace but your heart is left in a state of untamed chaos from the charming sound of his soft laughter. on your worst days, watching him toy with his little trinkets and projects with a fixated and focused stare on his face is enough to drag you out of your misery. on your best days, his poorly executed jokes that linger in the air but never land make your heart sputter into overdrive. he's the center of all your affections, and thus, exists as your most alluring muse. yes, all the poetry that seeps into your bones and spills from your guts is a hymn in praise of him. all of it is admiration. your poetry is a garden of hyacinths that bloom under the cyan suns that peer on in fondness. unbeknownst to him, each of them blossoms in his honor. each of them whispers his name to the wind. if he ever finds out, your world will surely collapse and fall to ruin. you know his love can only stretch so far for you, but yours already goes far beyond reasonable distance and is only willing to go further. the poem exists as a vacuum to keep it all, but even stanzas are running out of will to hold the weight of your love for him. as a poet, unrequited love is such a hassle — a dangerous gamble, a landmine, and yet, a great source of inspiration. but unrequited love with your best friend is more like a black hole. "how's it coming?" you ask in a soft murmur as you enter his room quietly. the plan is to casually linger as you always do and look for the fallen poem with no shame, with nothing that warrants attention. if you act even the least bit suspicious, cloud's curiosity will be sparked and you won't be able to stop him from becoming involved. it increases the likeliness of him seeing it, if he hasn't already. cloud doesn't seem to notice your entrance. he doesn't avert his eyes from the thick concentration on the task in his carefully maneuvering hands, but he grunts and you know it serves as a pitiful greeting. your annoyed huff with his lack of acknowledgment follows. "okay, you caveman,"

"i see someone woke up a brat." he grumbles. you roll your eyes playfully, your arms going around his shoulders as your head sinks into the crook of his neck. it's a bad but indulgent habit of yours to pucker your lips and leave soft, welcoming pecks against his flesh. "is it so bad i want you to say hello like a normal person?" your inquiry comes on the edge of a whine. cloud scoffs. "you call this normal?" his voice is thick with annoyance and you allow yourself to pout as you hide your disappointment in the warmth of his skin, but shortly after comes the feathery feeling of his perpetually pouty lips pressed against your temple. another. a pause. one more. "better?" your heart sinks to your gut, cracks open, and releases a swarm of butterflies at the gesture. you're a keeper of the swarm these days. you're accustomed to his small bouts of affection, but they never fail to send your hurricane of ardor into a frenzy. "much," your second dilemma is this: you and cloud pirouette on the line between friends and lovers. dance on it with obvious hesitation and little communication about what it truly means. you know you both will only ever be the former despite your endless yearning for the latter, but you're unwilling to ask too many questions and risk losing these little things he seems to reserve for you. it's the cowardice shivering inside you, too afraid to be without him to set boundaries, too much in love with the way his warm lips feel against your cool skin to put an end to your torture. the dance is complicated and endless, but you understand that he's your best friend, the person you endure every hardship alongside, hand-in-hand with. "was that really so difficult?" you ask, to which he huffs. cloud grumbles, "keeping you from throwing a fit is." "oh hush," you gripe, pushing the back of his head before you stand up straight. "what've you been working on anyway?" even before the internal panic of losing your poem, it's been harder and harder to contact him unless you just show up like you've done today, harder to pull him away from this project of his long enough to get any of your usual activities done. his attention is so far away from you these days and it fills you with fright.

what if there's someone else? what if his heart is being tugged and stretched until all that exists between us is distance? what if there's no chance for me to settle down and make a home for us both there?

"it's a gift for…" his voice trails, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "it's for someone important." and then the corner of his lips quirk. you barely notice but you do, and then he grins. your heart descends into despair and plummets straight into the pit of your gut. you can feel the fear roaring to life inside your ribs, spewing its anxious venom all throughout your sternum. you almost can't take it. "someone important?" you question, a lilt in your voice that you pray cloud can't identify the terror in. and you wish you didn't notice every inch of his mannerisms, wish you didn't see the way the red of a rose bleeds on his pale skin, splatters across his plump cheeks and covers his ears. he's flustered at the mention of this important someone. bashful even. "i…let's change the subject." his awkward mumble makes the fear lurch in your belly. "d-did you need something?"

i need you to love me back.

"i…missed you…is all." it comes out soft, perhaps ashamed, as you cling to the feeling of your arms resting loosely around his shoulders now. "am i not allowed to miss my best friend?" it's not exactly a lie, but it's an omitted version or the truth. you're always here because you miss him the instant you're both apart, but today, you're also here to try and save your heart as much face as you can.   cloud hums, his hand reaching up to grasp onto one of yours. "you're being dramatic. it's only been a day or two." and although you know this is his general demeanor, a casual man far too familiar with being nonchalant for your liking, it still stings the way he insinuates he didn't miss you, too. cloud has always been comfortable with solitude and isolation, finds safety in it now. he's not like you, a creature of endless yearning and aggressive bouts of want that become awful creatures of aching, wailing his name in the silence. you pull back from him then, sighing as you move to plop down onto his bed directly beside his desk.

"people are allowed to ache for presence after a day." you grumble defensively. "since when are you so clingy?" he asks, turning his head to look at you curiously. "c'mon, what's really up?" you hate the amount of ease in which he's able to read you. you hate how he knows all your patterns so well that he can spot even the smallest inconsistency. he knows you with the same depth that one knows how to survive by breathing. instinctual. embodied. loving cloud is the same as clinging to culture. loving him is history to identify as. you've always been by his side, but you've never been so shamelessly clingy. you keep the severity of your need in secret pages and quiet thoughts. you try not to let your feelings show so blatantly by maintaining a general sense of independence that always falsely reassures him you'd be okay without him. deep down inside, you know it isn't the truth. if you could, you'd latch yourself onto his toned frame and it would take the strongest iron crowbar to pry you away from him. you release a deep, defeated sigh. "i think i left something here and i just wanna look around for it." his brows raise in slight surprise. "oh? what is it? i don't think i've seen anything of yours you left, but then again i…can't really see much right now." you gauge his reaction carefully, looking for any sign of his knowing, any sign that you're sitting before someone who's seen that your heart cradles his name as close to your chest as it can. "i'm surprised you can find anything in this chaos." you gripe, looking around the unsual messiness of his room as your nose crinkles in disgust. he chuckles, eyes gazing at you carefully. "i usually find what i need without looking for it." a roll of the eyes. "ooh, lucky you." "oh, shut up." he grouses, flicking your knee before he turns back to his project. "feel free to look around, but hurry. since you're here, i need your honest opinion on something." that shocks you to the point of your eyes widening. despite being his best friend and his somewhat, kind of lover, cloud doesn't regard you as a person he can trust for advice. it may be due to your history of regrettable intuition, the consequences of which cloud always suffers. these days, he usually goes to your other mutual friends. "you actually want my opinion on something?" the bitterness you can't help but taste as the jealousy that you lost one position in his life so easily to others seeps in. cloud groans, giving you a pointed look. "don't start with this." your hands fly up defensively. "i'm not starting. just saying. this is usually zack or aerith territory." "well, today it's you territory so hurry up and find your thing so we can move on to my thing." an easy retort that ends with his attention back on his ship. your lip curls. "god, okay…so bossy." you start looking around his room carefully, trying your best to put the clutter of random things lying around back where they go in hopes of spotting your poem and swiping it without cloud even noticing. he's not usually this messy, but it seems he's far too preoccupied with the ship in the bottle you've been casually watching him make for the last month or so. "it's just…important." his feathery murmur. squatting in front of his small, wooden bookshelf, you wedge the spines of discarded books in vacant slots as you answer him, "oh yeah?" "yeah," there's an unusual urgency present. you don't miss how diligently he's been working on this. it doesn't escape you that this is where all his free time goes. even when you're here, you hang around for hours waiting until he's willing to stop working on it before you can have his undivided attention. you only ever give it passing glances. it's not that you don't care; it's that you're used to this. "you sound stressed about it." you note, your voice small and your gaze curious.

sighing, he places the small precision tools in his hands down onto his desk. "i am…a little bit." "so…it's for someone important and you're stressed about it? what, are you asking someone out?" you ask it jokingly, even forcing a chuckle to mask your curiosity, but his silence and the sudden cease of his movements says your inquiry may not be in jest. your features fall. the pace of your heart quickens. "wait…" you breathe. "you're…asking someone out?" he turns to you quickly, eyes wide. "i-i don't know yet. nothing's in stone or anything." "oh," you can't fight the crestfallen tone of your voice, your evident disappointment that you can't keep tucked under your tongue.

he's been talking to someone? but he kisses me all the time. we're together all the time. when did he even meet them?

you want to ask, but you don't. you can't. you want to send a barrage of clarifying rounds straight at him, but you bite your tongue. you swallow down the thickness of your hurt and return to your initial task. now you feel like you might be sick. your poem is lost somewhere in the mess of his room and your feelings are lost somewhere in the mess of his heart. there's a moment where he watches you so closely that you feel small, reduced to the size of a speck. you turn away from him, still feeling his eyes on your back. the silence holds so many questions. several minutes of your absent search pass before somewhere in your body, a feeling of deep defeat and resignation settles in. a part of you no longer cares about the poem, no longer cares about lingering around, no longer wants to feel the phantom kiss of his love's presence. "i…can't find it anywhere…maybe it's not here." you whisper to yourself as you get back to your feet. cloud's voice is soft, his apprehensiveness clear. "maybe what's not here? what is it you're looking for?" "uh…it's…nothing." you look at him and shake your head, trying to avoid both his questions and his piercing stare. his voice is layered in confusion. "gotta be something if you came all the way here for it." "i told you i missed you; two birds, one stone." despite your internal resignation, you continue looking for the poem uselessly. you would much rather keep looking than have to face him straight on. "if you tell me what it is, i can help you find it." cloud reasons, coming up behind you. you can feel his body entering your space and fright fills you just as much as desire. you feel foolish, the way you're betraying yourself for wanting him closer knowing that closer is a direct line to an endlessly broken heart. the fear is reaffirmed when cloud wraps his arms around your waist from behind. "it's just…a stupid poem thing and it's embarrassing so i don't want to talk about it. i just want to find it." you maunder, bashful as your face fills with heat. you hear his softening sigh. "well…do you…want help?" you feel his chin rest atop your head. even while the future of your relationship is suddenly tossed up in the air, you can't bring yourself to push him away, to put a healthy space between you both. no, you indulge as you always do, sinking into his hold as your weight rests back against his chest. a hard huff of air through your lips. "not particularly." "so…" his voice trails. "are you giving up on finding it for right now?"

and you can hear the alternative implication of his questioning. he told you he wanted you to hurry so he could have your eyes and opinion on his project. your whole chest quakes. you can't deny him now, even knowing the project likely spells the end of an era you struggle to feel fully satisfied by but settle for anyway. anything with him is better than nothing. anything for him is all that you care for. you feign annoyance, groaning. "ugh yes, we can move on to your thing. show me." you turn as he hurriedly moves away from you, watching him leave you while your body yearns for his closeness the moment it's gone. carefully, he presents his project to you for your formal viewing. you try to perceive it without the notion of knowing this project is attached to his own line of desire. and it doesn't lead to you. "be honest. what do you think about it so far?" he asks, a slight quiver in his voice. you swallow hard, looking over the creation with careful eyes. the bottle is a medium-sized, round, bubble-shaped bottle. the glass is thick and clear with a tint of blue. inside, cloud's assembled a small brown ship with intricate gold carvings on the side of its body. the three masts of the ship are a tickled, blushing hue of pink. your favorite. you can't help but wonder how much of them is like you, how much of them are the best parts that he likes in you without the 'you' attached. your heart cracks as you notice the details of the symbols on the masts, a ribbon on one and a locket on another. you take in his paint and callous-covered fingers, the dedication showing obviously in the tips of them, in the protectiveness of his grasp as he holds it on display for you. all of you feels like it might crumble and cave in. "it's…incredible, cloud." you murmur, dejection layering your tone. "the detail in this is…i don't even have words. whoever it's for…i'm a little jealous…" you say it playfully, swaying from side to side as you look up at him with big, sorrowful eyes and a pout you force the exaggeration of to mask how genuine it feels. "it's not too much? over the top?" he asks, a serious look on his face. your pout deepens. he doesn't even notice how this could be breaking your heart, doesn't even consider the girl he's been habitually kissing for the last couple of years might not want to see him kiss anyone else, might not want to share his heart or his affections. instead, you softly admit, "i can't imagine a person who wouldn't love such a thoughtful, handcrafted gift. it's not too much. it's perfect. it seems like you know them very well. all the personal touches." your pout is a scowl now. your jealousy is bitterness. envy. you fight the urge you have to grab the gift and thrash it to the ground, hoping his desire for them will shatter with his efforts. but you know you could never break his heart that way. you know you could never give into your envy and betray him. cloud goes and places the bottle back carefully on the mount resting on his desk. when he comes back to you, his brows furrow as he notices your facial expression. almost as if he's watching your mind sink into an abyss of itself, he pokes your sinking cheeks. "what's with this look?" you try to choose your next words carefully. "you never made me a ship."

i don't think you'll ever love me like you love them; i can't compete with someone you're already doing this for.

cloud groans. "do you ever stop being a brat?" a shake of the head, catastrophizing to spare yourself the reality of the aching. "nope, but your gift is so good my heart kinda hurts about it, so it's time to cuddle and soothe my wounded ego. lay down and let me wrap." you grip his shirt and pull him closer, a slow grin appears to take the shape of his supple lips. "aw, poor baby," you'll take as much of him as you can for all the time you have left with him. you can't help but feel like exchanging intimate affection with you is merely practice for the real thing with her.  the new center of his heart. his muse. you're hurt, of course you are. you feel resentful, of course you do. you're happy for him;  you want to be. but above all, you want him; you want him more than anything that exists. seemingly noticing your dazed look, cloud lightly flicks your nose. "c'mon, little koala." and he does what he always does, consumes you in his arms, lifting you until your feet dangle just above the floor, dragged along to his bed by his strength, fueling your hopeless reverie. you do what you always do, surrender to the dizziness in your heart and let him have you.

you've been too careless. i let you have me, but will i ever be the one you want to keep?

"aren't we an odd pair? a koala and a chocobo." uttered softly with a knowing smirk. you tilt your head up then to watch the way you know he'll scrunch his face up, nose crinkling and eyes narrowing.  "kill me." he groans. you giggle, tickled by his predictability. "i always knew you wanted to die in my arms." cloud makes a noise of disgust. "ugh, shut up." he relinquishes his grip on you, allowing you to crawl into the softness of his bed. you pull back his blankets, ready to be cocooned by musk, cedar, and spice. the scent of him. he slides in next to you, laying on his back, preparing himself to be engulfed by you now. he doesn't call you little koala for no reason. you lay your head on his chest, always lulled by the steadiness of his heartbeat, always comforted by the scent of his skin. one arm tucks into yourself and the other is lazily thrown over his torso. you weave a leg between his, trapping one of his thighs in a cage of your own. his arms wrap around you securely; an embrace is an answered prayer. fingertips rub against your spine, anointing you in the fantasy of love's enlightenment. a soft relinquish of your frame to take your chin and tilt it up. you see so much fondness in his eyes before he softly pecks your lips with a smile full of reverence you think you have to be imagining to help yourself cope. he graces you with another kiss and timid lips. you don't have the heart to say no. you don't want to. you just want the strength to say he can't love someone else after. time passes in a gentle silence, but all of you screams. you're so perfectly knotted around his body; it feels like fate to know him. you thought maybe love could be a slow steep for the two of you. you knew that there was a chance all of this would amount to a mountain made of nothing, but you admittedly clung to the small part of you that extracted little tastes of hope from this behavior. now there's a question on your mind you don't think you can hold. you can't go on like this if one day you'll arrive to new girl in his life with her head on his chest, making his aquamarine irises sparkle with boundless adoration. the thought is too sickening to bite back the words. losing him is too terrifying not to know. "why didn't you tell me you were into someone?" you ask quietly. fear swallows you whole when he doesn't respond right away, but his hold on you tightens and you want to beg for him to say it means something. anything. "i…it's not…like that." stuttering out of him in surprise, it feels like a bold lie. you hum skeptically. "seems like it is," "does it…bother you?"

of course losing you to someone else bothers me. of course you ask and the implication maims me.

your lower lip trembles. you take in an audibly shaky breath. "well i mean…we're…best friends." "we are." he affirms it softly, no corrections or amendments. you think it might be easier if he skinned you alive and left you for dead. you think your budding frustration wouldn't make you suck in air between your teeth, hissing at the sting of betrayal. "but we're also…this. you know?" you say, a bit more boldly, clutching his side, digging your nails in without realizing. "i…i know….i know." quiet. uncertain.

that's all?

your frustration sighs out of you. "and we never talk about it, but now…you might be into someone? you just kissed me, but you're…possibly developing feelings for someone else." to your surprise, he groans. "jeeze, you worry so much about useless stuff that it's made you oblivious to the obvious." you frown, tightening your hold around his torso. "don't do that, cloud." "what? do you hear how you sound? you're laying in my bed with your legs and body wrapped around mine. i just kissed you. how do you not get it?" your heart starts fluttering in your chest, nervousness and confusion guiding the swarm around your fearful ribs. "i…" he stops you to murmur, "you have everything you want. you always have." something about the way he says makes your breathing increase. immediately, you sit up, looking at him with round eyes. the words are far too familiar to be a coincidence. "w-what do you mean? why are you saying that?" your voice betrays you, shaking as you ask. cloud sits up, his features contorting into something frightened but emboldened. he takes a deep breath and stands, going over to his desk while you watch him and your chest heaves from the anxious beating. softly, he admits, "i…didn't want to tell you, because i didn't want you to be upset." "t-tell me what?" there goes your heart freefalling into the depths of you when you see the familiar little white paper, jagged-spined and folded in fours. cloud holds it out to you, a shameful offering, his eyes avoiding your own as your lips part. you stare at the paper in his hand, slowly reaching for it as your stunned gaze moves up to his face. he still won't meet your eyes as he continues to speak. "i…i found your poem. the one you left. i think…the one you're looking for." and your world implodes before your eyes. "and you read it?" your voice wispy and shy. "i didn't mean to…at first. i didn't know what it was when i picked it up. i…only knew it was yours because of the handwriting. and i…i kind of figured out through the word choice…that it's…about me."

this whole time. you knew. you watched me look for it, witnessed how uselessly i'm in love with you up close.

"so you…know?" you murmur, to which he nods. your head tilts in confusion. "but you're still…" you don't know what to say. everything you've ever feared is unfurling into fruition in front of your widened eyes. you don't know what to say, don't know if you should defend yourself or vehemently deny it. though, it feels pointless. he knows you down to even your messy scrawling. cloud continues as your voice trails. "i'm sorry that you didn't get the chance to tell me when you were ready, but i'm not sorry that i know. you are my best friend, but you're my everything too. i…i love you, too." you blink in shock and your disbelieving inquiry follows. "you do?" cloud gives you a curious look, scrutinizing you with a gaze. he looks at your bewildered expression and meets it with one of borderline annoyance. he scoffs. "you have to be choosing not to notice. it's obvious." "it's not." you deny in a whisper. he gives you a pointed look and shakes his head. "it is. i won't let you deny that. look at us. look at my life. i've made sure to make room for you in every part of it. without question. you walk into my place like you're coming home. there's nothing i don't do without you or without you knowing. and i know it bothers you that i go to barrett and tifa and aerith and zack for their opinions, but it's always because i'll probably do anything you say and your advice is not always the best." "did you need to add that part?" you ask with a sudden pout at his choice of words. a careless nod. cloud grabs your face, your cheeks squished between warm and doting palms as he leans in closer, cyan suns blazing and staring at you quite boldly. "yes. i need you to understand very clearly that you and i are together. we've been together for as long as we've been like…this. you're my best friend and i love you." without waiting for a response, without waiting for your acceptance or approval, he leans in to press his lips against yours, the dam inside you crumbling at the action. fondness floods at the feeling of his lips moving against your own. he loves you. you're his best friend. and you're together. you've always been together. when he finally pulls away, you look at him in a loving daze. "so…nothing really changes?" "nothing changes." he promises softly, pecking your lips once more. "not a thing," you think about all the time you've spent together and you see all the moments where he laid his heart out on a platter for you and you devoured every drop of ardor he had to offer so gluttonously. still simpering at his proclamation, your gaze travels off to the side as you nervously question, "so uh…not to be a jealous girlfriend best friend, but…the ship…is for me, right?" cloud won't let you look away from him, refuses to let you chase his love shyly. he grips your chin and moves you to face him. he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. "yes," another to your nose. "it's for you…" a last peck on your lips. "dummy," after years of plucking petals, you finally land on he loves you.

i got some questions on the brushes i used for drawing kezia so i'd like to make a short guide on it!

keep in mind that this is very clip studio specific so it may not be for everyone

most of kezia and the props were drawn with this brush that almost everyone seems to have (it's one of the most downloaded csp brushes i believe)

it's nothing fancy, i just like that it can do lineart and rendering in the same brush

to answer the question on the thickening and wavering lines, that was just my drawing habits breaking out of containment, star rail linearts are a lot more consistent in terms of thickness compared to mine (i like doing that thing where the line intersections are really thick)

and i don't know if this is a tip but i like to do shading above the lineart layer since it's a lot easier to make changes on the go, it doesn't work for every artstyle but i think it worked for star rail

for simple-shaped details like her buttons and necklace i used the border effect to save time

the background sky was entirely this cloud brush just for texture, filling the negative space with this kind of light texture helps the detailed character blend in better with the scene

not the most proud of this part, but the fence and the ground were drawn on top of open source assets to save time (the brick is a default csp material)

i added the prism effect at the last minute because i realized aventurine's splash art had it, but found out that it's actually pretty useful for filling up negative space. might try it on other drawings too

there's probably a different prism brush out there that's better suited to my needs but i didn't want the hassle of looking for it, it does the job

for the paint-like edges i used the dry ink brush, i believe it's one of the default brushes

i think that's about all i have on my mind, tbh drawing this was a wild shot in the dark but i definitely learned a lot more about game art in the end!

✿ 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙜𝙪𝙣 ✿

characters: boothill x gn!reader

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

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

word count: 6.2k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“my little clementine…”

gone... it was all gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"... it's boothill now"

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

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

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

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

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

"done checking me out, cowboy?"

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

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

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

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

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

idiot cowboys like him would kill each other for.

"name's boothill, sugar"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BANG! CRACK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TMA PRINTS ARE FINALLY UP !!!

had some time today and finally put them up on my inprnt (along with my hades piece) for those who have asked ! thank you for your patience :9