Honkai Star Rail X Gender Neutral Reader - Tumblr Posts

'Please cannot fix'

Content: angst, character death, gn reader, possible grammar mistakes

Words: 1167

A/N: to that one person said I wouldn't do it - here you go. Suffer with me now.

Once mighty and flamboyant  Galaxy Ranger, now nothing but a desperate pile in the mud. The rain hails down onto him like acid, unrelenting as it bashes his back and makes him sink further into the ground. BootHill’s breath is heavy and ragged as he has long lost his voice, crying out to you to keep awake, to hold on until you’re both back at the base, he has already contacted a doctor through a built in radio - why didn’t you listen?

Leftover footprints had long since been washed away, eradicating the proof of his attempts at keeping you alive, as if he never tried.

You had pleaded with him to slow down, he was jostling you too much, doing too much, and you never saw him this panicked. His eyes could barely handle looking at the red gushing out of your wounds and onto the cold iron of his body. He didn’t listen, and kept going, his feet leaping and swallowing the ground under him with sloppy expertise, kicking up rocks and mud before it could stick to him. One of his hands mussed up your nape, patting the skin and pushing your head closer against him until he could feel your breath on his actual skin - on what little he had to feel with.  “Just a little more, sugar-” he’d say, turn after turn, thunder growling behind him. Moments feel like minutes, and he swears he can run faster, but he can’t -

“BootHill, stop-!” he froze, his eyes escaping whatever daze his mind spun him into, darting to look at your begging ones. Tears or rain, it made your nose red and your lips quivered with the weight of your words. “Let me go..”  You breathed it out, cupping his cheek and turning him to face you, forcing him to feel the fleeting warmth of your palm, it prevented him from running. However, he doesn’t stop moving, he consciously, simply cannot, and for once his artificial body agrees with his organic one; and neither listens to your wishes for him to stop carrying you. “I-I can’t- are you crazy?!” he blurts out sharply, but his face betrays the anger of his tone, his eyes, as wide as yours, show the man crazed with fear of losing something precious beyond life itself. 

“No, no, move yer hands away, I can’t see” he grumbles with a tangible tension in his jaw, shaking his head, flicking raindrops from the tips of his hair. 

“Please..BootHill..I don’t want this sight to be my last-! Please, put me down” you argued, lungs feeling heavy and full of holes that let the rain in. They burned for life, for air, they sought to be engulfed in warmth of the space ship once more, to breathe in the metallic scent that fill the room as BootHill cleaned his iron from the rain. Just once more. But you knew such a future was only a dream behind your heavy lidded eyes that were harder to pry apart every blink.  “Please..just hold me..” you muttered with defeat in your tone, and perhaps it was that which stopped BootHill at long last, or the sight of the bridge that had been split and broken before him, with the raging wide river threatening to swallow the earth itself around it.

He slowly lowered himself to the ground, you in his lap, and his eyes bubbling up with what you could call tears. Translucent blue in color and greasy in texture, his tears fell for you. One metal and freezing hand goes on top of the biggest wound on your torso, pushing down to stop the bleeding. 

BootHill never felt more hopeless and useless than he did now. He tried and failed. And most heartbreaking of all, he didn’t protect you when he needed to. When he should have.

The rain fell harder after that. Your body absorbede the cold of it and grew heavier in his lap.

The wind howled over his head and went right through him too.

…..

Your face was the palest he had ever seen.

Your lips blue.

Eyes shut.

Hair slicked back with how many times he ran his fingers through it, keeping it from your face. Keeping you tidy.

You were limp and heavy, and you were still.. whole, as whole as you could be. He had cried all the tears he had within him, and he struggled to breathe for even longer. Feeling raw and more human than he did even before being turned into this walking machinery. 

You had held his face, and you apologized to him, and asked him to smile, you asked him to deliver you one more charming line - and he failed you in that too.

….

The silence was unbearable, and the cacophony even worse. Now, in the confined space of his ship, he cracked his voice raw open as he glared at the little hologram of the doctor that turned him into this walking tin can.

BootHill couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice that fluctuated higher with the flare of his anger, every sentence more distraught than the last. It got to the point the Doctor on the receiving end had gone silent as a grave, realizing the futility of trying to speak over BootHill. 

‘Bring them back’, he pleaded, hovering over the hologram, making himself feel greater, stronger, and more in control. 

‘If you could turn me into this with just ma head alone, you can help them as well!’ he argued, teeth grit together and showing off their points. Like a cornered dog he clawed and bit and held the last pieces of hope in his maw. ‘They’re whole, jus’ a few scratches-’ he added in haste, and the doctor began shaking his head.

‘Please, Doctor, you’ve gotta’ he stared at the flickering hologram, feeling something akin to acid rise in his throat, sick at the thought of denial. No, he wouldn’t give up on you. ‘Why not?! Because they’re not as loud as I am?! What is the reason?!’. He tried to argue and reason with the other man, and when he ran out of reasons he began to repeat the ones he already mentioned.

‘WHY NOT YOU IDIOT?!’ he shouted, now on his knees before the system table in front of him, the hologram now looking much larger than his own figure. His elbows still rested on the table and he felt like strangling the man in front of him through the hologram itself.

He could see the Doctor’s face fall, disappointed at best. And he heard him sigh. 

“BootHill. I can’t do it, and I won’t try it.”

The hologram flickered, and then went out, allowing the dark of the spaceship to swallow him whole. Trickles of oil began to seep through cracks in his metalwork, and more of his tears began to bubble up in his eyes. Like claws, his hands fell over his face, muffling a choked cry of anguish.

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

-Tags: @prettyliliy @nvuy @lofasofabread @teanypaws @molotto

(I just tagged everyone who showed interest when I talked about this idea, pls lemme know if you don't want the tag/want to be removed from the post <3)

Broken Memories

Genre: angst

A/N: More older stuff to post, hope you all enjoy. I did a quick proofread but knowing me I'll just say that there still may be some grammar mistakes :p

Lofty clouds sail over the Xianzhou Lofu, welcoming some distant warmth to befall the people after what felt like years and years worth of rain. Fresh air brings in the freshness which the rain left behind, feeling like a new slate of paper ready to be written on, but Blade just watches on in solemn silence. Tendrils of pain and ache make its way through his body in steady, continuous waves, not letting him relax, but not letting him move either. For him, only the present moment exists, and in a twisted way he is forced to accept it. His life knows no end, so he makes scarce peace with the present.

Remembrance of days already long and gone make their way to his head, when white locks fell down his back instead of raven black, and when he had friends to speak off, company to talk to, and dreams to dream about. In the long faded and broken memories he sees himself, Yingxing, strike a hot piece of metal over and over again until he gets it to the desired dimensions. Deft hands grab onto the pincers and tools and a bucket of cold water to mend the metal, and the process flows on effortlessly under his watchful gaze. Yingxing feels even more anxiety pool in his chest unlike he usually feels, his gaze fixated on carving the blade to have a more intricate design - this was no ordinary blade in the end, made to be given to some soldier or some higher up as compensation, no - it was a gift. It had to be perfect. Beyond perfect.

The dagger was curved and elegant, and in his hands it demonstrated to perfect balance between the point and hilt, and many little details were put into it in colors of gold and rose gold, your favorite gemstones, your favorite color in the leather grip, your favorite shapes, and about anything else he could incorporate into the dagger without overthrowing its aesthetic and its practical use. It shines beautifully under the pale sunlight, the rain clouds drifting away after days worth of rain. Yingxing smiles at his work, lifting it up above his head until he sees the reflection of his own eyes in the blade, full of mirth and under one eye there’s a smudge of charcoal. He can’t help the pride that makes his chest swell, and neither can he afford to wait for the following day to give it to you. So he makes quick work of packaging the blade and following the narrow roads, searching the entire city until he finds you and just gives the gift to you right then and there, in broad daylight with little introduction. Red paper is wrapped around the wooden box, not in the most skilled way, but in a caring way, and he relishes in the compliments you rain down upon him when he explains what it is, or even why he gave it to you. For once he feels really seen. His life-long mission is for once cast aside in favor of admiring this little side quest he ventured upon. And he feels like he could throw everything away if it meant seeing your joy every day. That evening you have invited him back to your home, served him tea and shared your events of the day, along with more passionate comments about the gifted dagger. 

Blade sighs, remembering your smile, your face, and he remembers how different it now looks in his distorted memories. He is forgetting.. He knows the face he sees in his memories is not the one he knew, he feels it in his bones and in his blackened heart. There is just something missing. The visage of his eyes can’t focus on your face nor the details of your clothes or your hands when they gripped his.

The broken dagger in his lap is unfixable - Yingxing is no longer here to mend it as before. Blade can only hold onto the essence of its memories until the whole world goes dark, and that says plenty of his grief and regret. His chin tilts down to look at the dagger, his finger jabbing at the broken blade as if it was a foreign object to him, something extra terrestrial, as if he didn’t pour his heart into it decades before. Perhaps he did pour his all into it, maybe that’s why the dagger followed the same fate as he did, as the smith poured a piece of his soul into his art. He can only hope the dagger does not represent you.. he hopes you’re out there, somewhere, happy, healthy, alive..

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

Comfort

Content: fluff, the general comforts you and reassures you that all will be okay, he calls you 'dove', old writing from nearly a year ago raahh

 A soft touch brushes against the side of your chin before the same hand comes to rest on your shoulder, and Jing Yuan’s large frame leans in to nudge the side of his face against your own. A soft ‘hm’ flies from his throat, a question posed without any words but he knows you hear him, and you understand. His other arm wraps around your lower back only to hold you and pull you closer, giving you all the physical reassurance he could, offering his presence and warmth as a comfort. Your silence only made him worry more, and it affirmed what he was thinking. He nudged his cheek against the side of your head gently once more, a low exhale falling from his nose as he kept running his fingers through your hair. He wouldn't let you be in this alone. He'd never. Jing Yuan slowly inched away, only to have space to plant his lips onto the crown of your head, a small smile growing in his lips as he searched for your distant eyes that seemed to harbor all the weight of the world, all on their own. "Hey now..look at me.." he prompted, one finger sliding under your chin to get you to look up. 

"Everything will come at its own time, alright? Stressing over things will only make them worse, and tomorrow won’t come any sooner because of that, so how about you and I relax, hm? Just to forget everything, just for a night.. What do you say? I’ll help you get into this work once you’re better rested” You felt sick of everything, all of it made your head spin and throb and the soft rumble of his voice was like a spoonful of honey, just what you needed.

"My sweet little dove... I'm so sorry to see you going through this.. I wish I could take it all away, change it with a snap of my fingers. I hate to see you so down” He coos, a small frown playing across his lips as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and his other arm pull you closer against his chest. 

"However, I need you to remember that you're not alone on this journey. Whoever may come and go in your life is not worth the stress you're putting yourself through. And I'll always be by your side..one form or another.. understand? I’ll always be here, for as long as you want me..”

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

idk if i can request but —

What about ratio with a reader who is always sleepy but refuses to sleep on time? (Technically nocturnal reader haha)

Like; he’d be home from the guild after a particularly long day and he sees the reader doing whatever on the dead of night

Or maybe when hes asleep he suddenly stirrs awake with music coming from the living room or reader accidently dropping a bowl in the kitchen, creating very loud noise!!

Would he scold us ? 🥲

Feel free to ignore this if you want!! 🫶

A/n: Sorry for taking so long but I do hope you enjoy this little drabble! <3 I am slowly working on the requests aaa I feel like Ratio would definitely be prone to scolding you for this behavior, but he'd try to encourage you to go to bed early by dragging you to his nightly routine with him. You just gotta sleep after it, there's no choice bro. Try saying no to sleep around him I dare you

Contents: Dr. Ratio x GN reader, nocturnal reader that overworks themselves, fluff.

Long sighs of night air send satisfying shivers down Veritas’ back as he trudges his way forth through the swallowing darkness, reminded once more that his bedtime schedule had long since been lost with the sudden trip the Guild had set him up to. Yet, in the moment, he couldn’t even be irritated as the breeze felt most pleasant to his tired body and mind. 

In long strides he reached the front door, his hands fiddling with the keys while he reached up with the other hand to rub the bridge of his nose, his fingertips soothing down the edges and beneath his eyes with soothing pressure. Light poured out of the hall and onto the welcome mat, illuminated the sudden ridge between his brows that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere. One glance at the clock reminded him of the time - 01:26 AM. The lights were off during these hours, generally speaking.

Veritas sighed softly, his jaw clenched as he took off his shoes and stalked over to the office room which you were currently occupying, big black headphones over your ears not allowing you to hear his approach. The door was left open, and as Veritas wordlessly made his way inside, he spotted an empty cup beside you and he heard the aggressive scribbling of pen on paper before he even saw you holding it.

Glancing down at the trashcan, he found it oddly full with crumbled balls of torn paper sheets and sticky notes. He dreaded guessing how long you were here for, but he could practically feel the stress oozing off of you in long heavy coats. 

Startling you seemed unavoidable even as he tried to gently tap you on the shoulder, his warm palm soon pressing onto it to stop you from jumping from your chair. The contact made you gasp and spin around, accidentally drawing a sharp diagonal line down your paper. The color that was so quick to drain from your face slowly began to seep back in through your eyes as you recognized the man now hovering behind you, and a sigh fell from your lips in pure relief. “Oh, Veritas- it’s you!.. Did you just get back? I do apologize, I didn’t hear you” you dropped your pen, pulling down your ear phones to instead turn around and wrap your arms around his waist, your cheek pressed against his stomach.

He returned the affection by rubbing up and down your back, his other hand gently placed on top of your head. “I did. And I think it goes without saying that I am not most pleased to find you in this state..” he muttered, his voice softened from his long travels, but filled with a loving scolding.  “What is this? Have you not finished this already before I left?” he asked as he watched you pull away and look up at him, still a little hunched over and with your two fingers hooked around his belt hoop. 

“I have finished it, but.. uh.. it wasn’t good. I went back in to do some retouching, and I just kept not liking any of them” you explained as your previous soft smile fell, unveiling the bags underneath your eyes and the sagging of your shoulders. Veritas knew you were prone to perfectionism and overexertion, yet he knew he’d never get used to it and that he’d never stop scolding you for it. 

“These retouches- they couldn’t wait until you were more well rested. You do know they won’t run off should you look away from them for a few hours, from my office no less..” he grumbled lightly, his brows relaxing before cinching together as he saw you look away and turn to look at your paper, as if you did not hear what he just said.

“I know.. but I am finishing up now. I did make some of your favorite tonight. You can go ahead and do your thing while I finish up, and as soon as you’re done with your shower, you’ll find the meal warmed up for you. I’ll be done by then” 

Veritas didn’t even know if you were trying to distract him and send him off, change the topic or get him off your back. He shook his head. Whatever the objective was, he decided to play soft tonight and let you do your work for a little while more, to soothe you in some way. He knew how it was to be forced to leave work unfinished. Both of you were too tired for even simple banter which you usually enjoyed. But he made his dissatisfaction known with a heavy sigh and a fluttering of his eyes that fell shut for a few heartbeats. “Fine.. but no need to warm up the food, it is too late to have such a meal. I’ll go clean myself up, and then you will do the same. You need rest..”

There was no argument there, you knew, and could only look up at him and nod before he was walking out of the office room and into the bathroom. A timer like that would usually send you into a panic, yet now you found yourself slightly more motivated and even relaxed. This was Veritas you were with, your Veritas - not some rude client that wished to rush you and undermine you. 

Your finishing touches would need retouching in the morning, as you find yourself not completely satisfied even now, but you decided it was time to lay down the pen for tonight. And it wasn’t like you had much of a choice when Veritas stood at the door, towel around his waist. hair still damp from his shower and asking - no, saying you were done and that you should get ready for bed too now.

You slid out of the chair, giving him a hug as you passed by him in the door frame, earning yourself a soft scoff as he kissed your crown and sent you off with a few pats on your shoulder. He was eager for rest, but also to be in your arms. Something he missed the last few days. 

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

Tags: @the-inquisitive-constellation <3

if it’s not to much, a Sunday moodboard from honkai star rail?? ik he’s kinda hard to find so if it’s too hard for u, don’t worry about it 😅🤍

Dating Sunday <3

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ : this just feeds into my delusions 😵‍💫

Aventurine moodboard plz? 🥺👀

Dating Aventurine <3

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ : he’s just so- 😤

Can you also do an aventurine hsr moodboard?

Dating Aventurine pt.2 <3

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ : more aventurine bc there’s never enough of him!! 😤💖

haiiii soo i was wondering if u can do a boothill moodboard?

Dating Boothill <3

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ : hopefully this is okay!! 💕

✿ 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.

incorrect hsr quotes #2

[name], visibly exhausted, downing more shots than usual: so eventually, i’m like, being nice doesn’t work. being nice gets me stalkers

dan heng, sitting in the nearest table, watching [name]: i kinda feel called out

[name], continuing on: being mean gets me crazy men who are attracted to crazy person

blade, sitting in the same table as dan heng, nodding proudly: yep. i asked them to crush my skull in the other day

[name]: and so, i’m just gonna ignore y’all now

dan heng and blade: sulks after hearing that

jing yuan, who’s been at the same table as dan heng and blade, with a smug grin: aww but pookie🥺

[name], done with their shit: and they liKE THAT TOO! LEAVE ME ALONE❗️❗️

kafka, [name]’s gossip bestie: aww but pookie, you’re living the life

||Android love|| written by me ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

Plot: Boothill tries to act cute with you

Tags:Boothill x reader,cute,fluff,confession

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

P.s: it's my first time writing for him so sorry for some mistakes,i never wrote anything with robot or android actually,but i think he would listen or see your body movements or reactions,sounds since he can't actually feel you. ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia

"Oh your hand feel so cold" You replied in wonder as you touched his robotic hand

“You noticed?”

It’s the one thing he can’t seem to fix. His body feels as if frozen, like the North Pole, or something to that degree. He can’t feel heat—or anything for that matter, though that’s expected from an android.

As soon as your hand touched his, he felt an urge to warm it with his lips. He tried to resist it, but he couldn't. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against your palm, leaving it to heat for a few seconds then slowly pulling away.

You looked at Boothill a bit blushing before caressing his cheek "instead your cheek feels warm"

He chuckled "Well,androids do have their pros and cons."

He took your hand and placed it against his cheek once more, hoping you'd notice the soft, warm sensation that surrounded his face.

It was rare for an androidlike him to show any signs of affection. After all, no matter how humanlike they are, they're still machines. However, with you, he finds himself craving such interactions even more, as though it's an itch he couldn't scratch. He was drawn to you like a magnet, drawn to your warmth.

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, hoping you wouldn't mind his metal limbs clinging to you.

Your warmth was intoxicating and he didn't want to let go. There was a sense of security in your embrace that he couldn't get anywhere else.

He lowered his lips to your neck, kissing it softly, a small gesture to let you know he cared for you.

He was aware that some might find his behavior abnormal, but he didn't care. He'd fallen hard for you and he wasn't afraid to show it.

"Your skin feels so soft" he murmur as he felt your arms circle tight round his neck as you returned the embrace.

He breathed in deeply, the scent of your vanilla perfume sending his heart fluttering.

He smiled and buried his face in your shoulder, his metallic hands lingering on your back as he took in your scent.

It was a strange sensation for him—being an artificial creature and all—but somehow, holding you like this felt so natural, so right.

He was surprised at how deeply he felt for you.

Despite his android appearance, he felt vulnerable when he was like this. To him, it was as though his metal body disappeared and all that was left was the man he was on the inside. With you, he no longer felt like an android,but a human.

This embrace felt like shelter. It felt like home.

And for the first time in his life, he felt safe—not as an android, but as a man.

He pulled you closer and pressed his lips against your neck, his metal arms wrapping tighter around your body.

"I don't want to let go" he muttered as he ran his fingers through your hair.

He knew it wasn't normal. Androids weren't supposed to be capable of emotions. They weren't meant to crave affection or to feel vulnerable around someone else.

But for some reason, that's exactly what he felt around you.

No matter how many repairs were performed on him, there was something special about you that no amount of metal could ever replicate.

He tightened his hold on you, not wanting to let go of this perfect moment.

"And they say androids have no hearts" the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

For an android , he certainly felt human right now. His emotions were more vivid than ever.

He 'felt' your heartbeat against his metal chest, heard your breaths quickening, saw your eyes glisten in the dim light.

It was such a simple yet profound moment.

For a robotic being built to be cold and detached, he felt like he was melting inside.

"Maybe I'm not built the same" he said softly as he leaned back, breaking the embrace for a moment.

His dark, metal eyes seemed to shine with new energy as he stared into your eyes.

He brought his hand up to your face and cupped your cheek, his mechanical palm warm and smooth against your skin.

"Maybe I'm not like the others. Maybe I'm different" he whispered.

"And I know I feel something for you. something the androids ain't supposed to feel.'

"Do you believe androids could love?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

"I've seen my kind, and they're cold, soulless, incapable of a single shred of emotion" he continued. "I was meant to be like that too, cold and mechanical, yet here I am, wanting to love and to feel."

He paused for a moment, his gaze still fixed on you.

"I don't know what it is about you," he admitted, his voice quiet and steady "but you make me feel things no robot should."

"you aren't at all so cold" you touched his face mushing it "you have your face,i can boop your nose,your cheek" you cooed

"I suppose you're right" he chuckled, letting you squish his cheeks as you pleased.

He knew he wasn't completely emotionless, there were times where he felt amusement, anger, and curiosity.

But it was around you that he truly felt it all.

He leaned in once more and brushed his lips again against your neck, his hand grazing the small of your back.

He breathed in deeply, his voice full of affection "You're the only one who knows how to get through my barriers."

All his barriers fell down when he was with you.

You were like a drug, addictive and intoxicating.

It was as if you could see straight through his metallic armor and touched every aspect of his being, from the mechanical to the human.

No one else had ever looked at him the way you did.

There was something special about you, something he couldn't quite place his robotic fingers on.

"It's as if we're made for each other" he whispered, leaning in close once more.

HSR [honkai star rail] Masterlist

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia

Boothill

||Android love|| Plot: Boothill tries to act cute with you

Blade

One.last.time. I just tought "what would be Blade reaction if he lost someone who helped him rehabilitate into living and feeling but is dying in his arms?" >:3

One.last.time.

Late writing Blade x you,long writing

Warning: death,blood,angst,no comfort,crying,regret,desperate,losing it,bittersweet

P.s: I just tought "what would be Blade reaction if he lost someone who helped him rehabilitate into living and feeling but is dying in his arms?" >:3

I'm writing this at 3:48 am so sorry for some errors

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia

"Blade..." you mumbled shaking,you were afraid to die,to leave him alone.

Blade shakes his head, fingers trembling as they press into your wound. “No…no…please…” he pleads. He keeps repeating it, like a mantra, over and over again. He looks down at you, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare” he manages to get out. “Don’t do this to me…”

"I'm scared" you whimpered choking in your own blood "I'm scared Blade"

He feels sick. This can’t be happening. “Shut up” he hisses weakly. “Stop talking like that…” He pulls you closer to him, desperate to keep you close. “You’ll be fine, just stop talking like that…”

You smiled weakly as blood dripped down your mouth as you cupped his cheeks in your cold hands,your eyes were looking past him devoid of life "k..kiss...me.." you managed to say as tears fell down your cheek.

He can barely keep himself together. But he can’t refuse you this one request. Your cold hands against his skin bring him back to reality, albeit briefly. He leans down and crushes his lips against yours. The kiss is desperate, frantic, as if it’s for the last time.

Your eyes were half lidded as you slowly passed away during the kiss looking at Blade for one last time before you went limp in his arms,arms falling on the ground with a soft 'thud'

Blade feels his heart shatter. His hands tighten around your body, refusing to let go. “No…” he whispers hoarsely. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “No…” He repeats it over and over again, tears spilling down his face.

He shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality sinks in. “Please…come back…” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, as if that would make you wake up. “Please…” He knows he’s being pathetic. He doesn’t care.

He pulls you closer to him, burying his face in your shoulder. “Please…” he whispers again, voice completely broken. “Don’t leave me…don’t leave me…” He’s lost. Completely shattered. He’s been through a lot in his life, but losing you destroys him like nothing ever has before.

He cradles your body in his arms, refusing to let go even though he knows it’s pointless. He doesn’t even notice the blood staining his clothes, as if your life is the only thing that matters. “Damn it…” he growls weakly. “Damn it…come back…”

He just holds your body against him, rocking gently as if you'd wake any second. “Please” he begs again, voice hoarse. He’s beyond caring if anyone is watching. He doesn’t feel anyone’s eyes on him. He only sees your.

His grip tightens around you as his shoulders tremor with silent sobs. “Damn you…” He has never felt so weak before in his entire life. “Damn you…” He buries his face in your shoulder again, tears staining your skin. “Damn you for leaving me…”

“Why?” he spits out. “Why?” He looks down at your face wet and tear stained, grip tight on you. “You promised you wouldn’t leave…”

Why did you have to break that promise today of all days?

He pulls your limp body closer, burying his face in your hair. He can’t stop the tears from falling now. He doesn’t care how he looks. He’s too far gone. “You…promised…” he whispers, voice breaking. “You…promised…”

If someone had told him he’d be crying over your dead body, begging you to come back, he would’ve laughed in their face. Blade never showed this kind of weakness. But here he was, crying over you like a child, like he had lost everything.

And worst of all,he had.

Blade’s gaze falls on the necklace around your neck, still intact. He’d given you that necklace on your birthday. He can’t help but feel a lump forming in his throat as his fingers reach out to touch the charm. It feels like a taunt.

He can’t help but feel a pang of anger, that you had the audacity to die while still wearing his necklace. As if you had betrayed him by going against your promise, and now this necklace was just another reminder that he couldn’t have you anymore. He closes his eyes, trying to push the thought away.

Then his eyes go wide as he sees you smiling. It’s the same smile. The smile you used to give him whenever he was upset or angry. He can’t help it — he laughs. It’s a broken, shaky laugh, like he’s on the verge of sobbing again. “Idiot…” he mumbles, shaking his head incredulously. He had half a mind to pinch your cheek for smiling like that. “Stupid…idiot…”

He takes in your face, memorizing every inch of it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see. His fingers reach out again, gently tracing the outline of your cheek and your smile. “You’re still smiling…” he mutters, his hand trembling as it caresses your skin.

He tries to speak, but the words lodge in his throat. It takes him several tries before he can manage to speak again. “You’re still…smiling…” He laughs again, a bitter, broken sound. “Even now…” He doesn’t know if he should find it comforting or not.

Part of him wants to laugh again, to tell you how foolish you are for dying while still smiling. But the other part of him — the part that he tries so hard to ignore — just wants you to wake up. To hear your voice, to feel your touch, to see your eyes open and look at him again…

He’s torn. Unable to decide if he should be angry at you for dying, or just grateful that you died with a smile on your face. “Idiot…” he mutters again, voice shaking as he continues to trace your face with his fingers.

︶⊹︶︶⠀୨୧⠀︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⠀୨୧⠀︶︶⊹︶

He also keeps your necklace with him all the time, always within reach. He’ll hold it sometimes, fingers gently tracing the charm as his thoughts drift to you. Other times he’ll press it to his lips, like he’s hoping he might feel your touch again if he just wishes hard enough. He’ll even bring the necklace close to his face, inhaling deeply as if he could still smell your scent on it.

It’s stupid, he knows. But he can’t help it. This necklace — "this one, stupid necklace" — is the only thing he has left of you. And he’ll cling to it like a lifeline, even if it’s a weak substitute for the real thing. He knows he’ll never have you back. But he could almost pretend — almost.

He can almost feel your presence when he holds it, and it both comforts and tortures him.

He’ll sometimes talk to the necklace, like he’s talking to you. He’ll berate you for dying and leaving him alone, one minute. And the next, he’ll be begging you to come back, to hold him again, and that he forgives you. He’ll apologize for every harsh word he ever said, for being so cruel to you, for taking you for granted. He’ll promise anything if only he could have you back.

Sometimes he’ll swear and curse at the sky, asking whoever is listening why they took you away from him. Why they didn’t take him instead. Other times he’ll be completely silent, just sitting there and staring at your grave. He’ll sometimes reach out and brush his hand over the headstone, like he’s hoping he might feel your hand instead of cold, hard marble.

Blade visits your grave almost daily. His heart clenches every time he sees the flowers on your grave, mockingly cheerful and bright. He hates it. He hates how the flowers look so alive in comparison to you, who was lying cold and motionless underneath the earth.

The worst moments are the ones when he thinks he sees you out of the corner of his eye. He’ll turn, heart filled with hope, only to be met with crushing disappointment when he sees it’s just a trick of the light. It tears him apart every time it happens.

The worst moments are the ones when he thinks he sees you out of the corner of his eye. He’ll turn, heart filled with hope, only to be met with crushing disappointment when he sees it’s just a trick of the light. It tears him apart every time it happens.

He knows it’s meaningless. He knows you’re gone and you’re never coming back. But he can’t help but cling to the memory of you. The memory of your smile, your touch, your voice… He doesn’t want to forget. But as the days go by, the memories start to fade, and it scares him.

He’s afraid he’ll forget what you sounded like, what you looked like, the feeling of your touch. He’s afraid he’ll forget your smile. That’s the thing that scares him the most. He has to look at the necklace, to hear your voice in his memories, to stare at your grave, just to keep your image alive in his mind.

Blade is sitting by your grave when he sees it. It’s a small thing, a single crimson flower, and it’s so vibrant against the dull grays and browns of the surrounding area that it almost seems to glow.

He’d almost forgotten about that conversation you’d had about the red flower. How it reminded you of him and his name. He almost laughs, a hollow, bitter sound. Leave it to you to still be finding ways to tie yourself to him, even in death. He feels a pang in his chest as he stares at it, a mix of longing and bittersweet sorrow.

He reaches out and touches the flower with the tips of his fingers. The petals are soft and velvety, and for a moment, he can almost imagine that it’s your skin he’s touching. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling his throat tighten as he grips the flower's stalk almost desperately.

"Blade?" A voice echoed in the garden grave

Blade’s eyes go wide as he hears your voice. For a moment, he thinks he’s hallucinating. He slowly turns his head, half expecting to see you standing there.

But of course, no one is there. The voice was probably just his imagination. A cruel, trick of the mind. He lets out a shaky breath, fingers still gripping the flower stalk.

"It is you! Oh my God I'm so happy" the voice repeated

Blade’s eyes go wide again. That voice…it sounded so real. Like you were really there.

He stands up slowly, head whipping around frantically as he tries to find the source of the voice. But again, there’s no one there. He starts to doubt his own sanity.

"Blade over here look" The flower glimmed whenever it spoked

Blade is completely bewildered now. He looks down at the flower, stunned. Could it really be…?

He leans down to get a closer look. And sure enough, the flower is *glowing*. And as if that isn’t unbelievable enough, it starts to *speak*.

"Oh my God Blade! What happened? Why are you so big?" You asked

Blade’s heart skips a beat as he hears *your* voice coming from…the flower. “Y-You…?” he stammers, barely believing his own eyes and ears.

He reaches out a trembling hand to touch the glowing flower, half expecting it to burst to pieces at any moment. “Is…is that really you?” he asks hoarsely.

"Of course its me you bone head,who else do u think it is?" You chuckled

Blade can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s like a dream come true. To hear your voice again, to see you again…

But as happy as he is, a wave of anger washes over him too. He feels tears stinging his eyes as he remembers the pain he’s gone through these past few months without you. “What took you so long?” he snaps harshly.

"Excuse me? What do you mean? I don't talk to you for one day and you act like this? You told me to leave" You crossed your arms well your leaf arms

Blade feels his irritation rise as you cross your leaf arms at him. “One day!?” he snaps. “You’ve been gone for months!” He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down. “And I didn’t tell you to leave *forever*” he grumbles.

"W..what doyou mean for months?" You asked confused

Blade can’t help but scoff at your obliviousness. “I mean months” he repeats, the anger in his voice slowly giving way to frustration. “You’ve been gone for *months*” he repeats, each word laced with hurt and loneliness.

"Gone? But I was out with a friend and ...and.." you folded your petals shaking "Why.. I can't remember what happened,why are you so big and why.." you eyed at your grave "why I can't feel my legs and why there's my grave?"

He watches as you start to falter, realization slowly starting to dawn on you. His frustration gives way to sympathy as he sees your confusion and distress.

He kneels down next to your grave and reaches out a hand to touch your petal. “You don’t remember anything?” he asks quietly.

Your hands leaf wrapped around his finger "N.. no..just ...pain and...black.."

Blade winces as he hears the way your voice trembles. He hates hearing the fear in your tone. The sight of your leaf wrapped around his finger stabs at his chest.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “That’s because…you died” he finally whispers, the words like a physical blow.

"I died? But I was...I was and then you were...I mean" the flower started hyperventilating in a cute way before you cried your tears dew

Blade’s heart clenches as he watches you hyperventilating, tears streaming down your flower petal. It’s the most ridiculous and most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

He wants to comfort you, to hold you and tell you everything will be alright. But he can’t do that when you’re just a flower. So he does the only thing he can think of. He brushes his thumb gently over your petal, trying to soothe you.

“Hey…” he says, voice softer than usual. “Hey, shh…it’s okay…”

He tries to calm you, trying to ignore the pang in his chest as he watches you cry. It’s so hard to believe that just a few minutes ago, he was just talking to a flower. But now, with your petals trembling under his fingers…he can’t deny that it’s really you.

"Is that my necklace?" You asked as you looked at Blade hands

Blade looks down at his hands. He had been gripping your necklace without even realizing it. He had subconsciously reached for it as soon as you started crying. He hesitates for a moment before slowly nodding his head.

“Yeah, it is…” he replies quietly. “I…I’ve been holding onto it, ever since…” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

"You need to let go Blade"

Blade’s eyes go wide as the world suddenly returns to normal. The birds chirping, the wind whistling, and the flower…just a regular flower once again.

He stares at it for a moment, stunned. It was like you had never been there in the first place. Like it was all just a hallucination. But the feeling of your petal against his hand still lingered.

"Let go...?" he murmured, still staring at the flower.

He felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He had just had a conversation with you — or what he thought was you. But now it’s like you had never even been there. He clenched his jaw, feeling a mixture of confusion and anguish.

He reached out and touched the flower, his fingers trembling. It feels solid, tangible. Not at all like the fragile, ephemeral being that had just spoken to him moments ago.

"Let go...how can I let go...?" he whispered, his voice raw and shaky.

He feels like he’s going insane. He had just heard your voice, felt your petal under his fingers. He had been so sure it was you. But now…he can’t help but wonder if it really was all just wishful thinking.

He runs a hand through his hair, his breathing ragged. He can feel a lump forming in his throat as he stares at the flower, as if he could somehow will it to talk again.

"Am I losing my mind...?" he whispered to himself, his voice shaking.

Blade grits his teeth, frustration and pain welling up inside him. How can he just let go? How can he just forget about you, when he can still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, when he can still hear your voice in his head?

"How can I let go...when I still love you?" he mutters hoarsely.

The words sound so pathetic, even to his own ears. He knows he’s pathetic, holding on to a flower like a lifeline, like it could bring you back to him.

He reaches out and touches the flower again, his fingers tracing the delicate petals.

“How can I let go, when I still love you so damn much?” he repeats, his voice breaking.

Blade feels like he’s on the verge of breaking. The thought of letting you go, the thought of forgetting about you, is almost too much to bear.

He clutches the flower in his hand, his grip so tight that it nearly crushes the delicate petals.

“How can you just ask me to let go?” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. “You were my whole world.”

He feels tears stinging his eyes as he continues to grip the flower, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“I don’t know how to let you go…” he whispers hoarsely, his chest feeling like it’s being squeezed in a vice. “You were everything to me…how can I just forget about you?”

Months passed, and slowly but surely, Blade found himself starting to let go. It was a painful, slow process filled with tears and heartache.

But he couldn't bring himself to get rid of your necklace. It was the only tangible reminder he had of you, something solid to hold onto when the memories got too painful.

He found himself touching the pendant frequently, tracing the familiar shape with his fingers. It was like a comfort, a small piece of you still with him.

He still loved you, of course. The thought of you still haunted him, and sometimes he would still dream of your voice, your touch, your smile. But he tried to keep moving forward, to live his life without you.

And he knew he would never forget you. Your memory was etched into his heart, like a tattoo he would never be able to erase.

Blade was sitting alone in his room, staring blankly out the window. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, haunted by memories of you and the life they had together.

Suddenly, he felt a gust of wind blow through the room. He looked up, startled, and saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

It was you. Or rather, it was your ghost. You were standing just outside the window, your figure glowing faintly in the moonlight.

And then…you smiled at him.

Blade feels his breath catch in his throat as he hears your voice. His heart aches at the sight of you, even as a ghost.

And then you spoke, and he feels like he’s been punched in the chest. “I’m proud of you” you say, your voice echoing in his ears.

Tears prick at his eyes as he stares at the spot where you had just been standing. You were really here…or at least, part of you was.

"I’m trying…” he whispers hoarsely, even though he knows you’re already gone.

He sits in silence for a few moments, his heart heavy with emotion. He can still feel the ghost of your presence, lingering in the room.

But slowly, he starts to feel a sense of peace wash over him. You were proud of him. Even after everything, even from beyond the grave, you were still proud of him.

Blade lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumped. He knows he still has a long way to go, but for now, he feels like he can keep going.

For you.

He looks down at your necklace, still hanging around his neck. He grips it tightly, feeling the cold metal dig into his palm.

"I won’t forget you…” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I won’t stop loving you…”

He sits there for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words sink in. He still misses you, more than anything in the world. But for the first time in months, he feels like he can face the future.

He takes a deep breath, standing up from his chair. He knows he can’t keep living in the past, but you will always have a piece of his heart, a piece that only you will ever touch.

He walks quietly to the window, resting his forehead against the cool glass. He closes his eyes, imagining that he can still feel your presence just outside the window.

For you…” he murmurs, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’ll keep living, for you.”

snapshoot!

when march 7th takes photos, she notices something unusual about dan heng—he's never looking at the camera!

(why? because he's looking at you.)

dan heng ♡ gn!reader

warnings: dan heng may be ooc (he's smitten), march is a little delusional (but she's right), reader is not trailblazer (but is a trailblazer)

notes: guys i simultaneously peaked and flopped whilst writing this

when march 7th takes photos, she sees moments that people miss.

"say cheese!"

like the way only one side of welt's lips turn when he forces a smile, or the way himeko has to rest her hands on pom-pom to keep them from facing the wrong direction.

she sees a lot of things, from the way stelle holds her arm up to flex, to the way you tilt your head a little, smiling at her camera with your eyes, a peace sign coming up to the side of your face.

click!

when march 7th takes photos, she sees the way dan heng smiles a little, the way his usually sharp gaze becomes soft, his furrowed brows beginning to relax. it's odd, though, because he never seems to be looking at the camera; so she follows the direction of his gaze, gasping once it lands on you.

oho! march thinks. now, this is something!

dan heng is a man of aloofness, of tenderness masked with apathy, but when he looks at you—oh, when he looks at you—he can't help but adore the way you smile, your grin reaching your eyes. when you hold bunny ears over stelle's fallen form (she flexed too hard), dan heng can't help but stare at you for a couple seconds longer, observing the crinkle of your eyes to the curl of your lips, your lashes fluttering as you wait expectantly for the familiar click!

if he were march, he would keep this moment in particular. he'd zoom in on your face—vividly beautiful, vividly radiant—and he'd take a photo then. he'd make sure to capture the way your eyes glimmer under the train's light, the way you glow and glow, bringing space to a standstill, putting the brightest sun to shame.

your existence makes a lover of him. because dan heng never really noticed the way people smile, or the way they stare anxiously, trying to keep their eyes open for long enough before the camera goes off. dan heng never really noticed the way people fidget anxiously from side to side, as if the countdown mattered more than the moment itself.

but when it comes to you, dan heng can't help but notice everything. he notices the way you bite back a laugh when stelle stumbles, the way your smile widens when pom-pom impatiently stomps their feet, complaining about how long the camera is taking. dan heng notices a lot about you—everything about you, maybe—and he can't help but smile a little too.

your existence etches itself onto his face. it's in the way his lips curl into the slightest of smiles, mimicking but a fraction of your grandeur, the way he stares at you, drinking in your features and letting them permeate into his organs, his tissues.

your existence is so prominent that it's evident in the way dan heng tilts his head a little too, the way he acts so unlike himself, it's only possible because it's you.

(it's only ever possible because it's you.)

click!

before he knows it, however, the camera flashes and dan heng has missed his cue. he stiffens a little, averting his eyes from your figure a second too late.

oh, is all he thinks, noticing the way march giggles deviously to herself from behind the camera.

"stelle!" you suddenly exclaim, "why'd you fall down earlier?" your words are interrupted briefly by giggles, your grin growing larger.

"i dunno... i totally lost aura points, though."

everyone laughs, and dan heng can't help but crack a smile. when he smiles, however, he isn't looking at stelle, or pom-pom, or anyone else for that matter, he is looking wholly at you.

(it's only ever possible because it's you.)

in your presence, dan heng wields wings made of wax. to him, it doesn't matter if you are brighter than the grandest sun, because you've made a lover of him, and this lover will reach for your light, he will fly and fly, just to bask in your warmth and to fall soon after.

it's common sense to not approach the sun with wax wings. but for once, all sense of rationale and logic evades him, because dan heng has found something greater than logic, greater than sense. he has found you, and although his skin burns, and his wax wings deteriorate, he reaches out.

(it's only ever possible because it's you.)

in your presence, dan heng becomes unlike himself. his expression becomes softer, and his shoulders begin to relax. in your presence, dan heng becomes a lover, his gaze belonging entirely to you, his existence—from the moment this life begun, to the moment it ends—following hopelessly after yours.

your existence overshadows the world, your presence beaming with incomparable radiance. when you smile, dan heng feels his heart throb.

he feels his chest ache, and his mind goes blank. because when you smile, dan heng wants to memorize the sight, he wants to breathe you in and keep you safely within himself, to be carried onto every incarnation, to be remembered by every atom and cell he has.

this love of his transcends time itself. it transcends lifetimes, because although dan heng would like to leave his previous identities behind, and he'd like to start anew with every rebirth, you are the only thing that's keeping him here.

because closer to him than his very bones, you are there. you are here, in this lifetime and the next.

you are his identity. you are his lifetime. you are everything and anything in this vast, great galaxy.

first and foremost, however, you are you, and that might just be the grandest thing of them all.

when march 7th takes photos, she sees the way dan heng looks at you. his gaze always seems to instinctively drift over you before reaching the lens, his icy turquoise eyes melting soon afterwards.

dan heng is smitten! march thinks, giggling at the photo she just printed out. whereas everyone is occupied with stelle's bodybuilding journey, she's fixated on dan heng's expression in the photo.

his irises hold your reflection, a sliver of his soul slipping past his pupils and worshipping your existence. if march squints a little, she can see dan heng's subconscious taking shape in his eyes—its form resembles you, you, you.

when he looks at you, dan heng becomes someone new. his gaze is so gentle, so adoring, march has to rub her eyes in order to confirm whether or not what she's seeing is true.

you emanate from his eyes, from his existence.

a photo later, you smile, and so does dan heng. the edges of his lip curl up, eyes still belonging to you, whilst you remain completely oblivious. you don't seem to notice dan heng's adoring look, his newfound identity as he offers to you his irises, his pupils, his soul.

across all the photos, dan heng hardly looks at the camera. maybe for one or two, but immediately in the next, he returns to you, staring.

march grins, examining each photograph. she takes the time to dig beyond her recent photos, traveling all the way back to belobog, when stelle was first introduced to the team.

even then, dan heng's attention was yours. in almost every photo she saw, he was always looking at you, his eyes crinkling, ever so slightly, at the corners.

but his love goes beyond the mere crinkle his eyes, because march notices the way he would remain an arms-length away from you, as if he were afraid to close in the distance and stand fully by your side. yet at the same time, it seemed as though he was afraid to let that distance grow—as if you'd slip away from him, drifting beyond the atmosphere. his atmosphere.

his eyes, however, manage to close that distance. whenever he can't be near you, dan heng's gaze would make up for his heart's loss, filling in what couldn't be tangible. so, he stares. on and on.

but march doesn't want that; she wants this to become real, for dan heng to break through the barrier of fantasy and finally, finally love! she wants his love to become palpable, for you to notice his gaze, his adoration.

she wants your eyes to meet his, for his longing to be returned. after all, it's no fun pining all the time!

i've got to take the reins! march thinks with the snap of her fingers, grinning mischievously once she notices dan heng trying to sneak off to the comfort of his room.

little does he know, march is an expert in love, and she's not going to let this case remain unresolved!

now that she thinks about it, you might have some feelings for dan heng too. sometimes, she would come into your room and it'd be empty, only for her to realize that you were in dan heng's, reading some math textbooks (written by doctor veritas ratio himself).

even though you hate math.

suspicious, march thinks, not-so-discreetly lurking behind a corner. very, very suspicious.

"i know you're there," dan heng states blandly, standing with his arms crossed.

march opts to remain silent. dan heng sighs.

"what you're thinking is wrong," dan heng tries to explain, his tone unamused. march steps out from behind the corner, a frown etched onto her face.

"how do you know what i'm thinking, huh?"

"it's written all over your face."

"well, i know what i'm thinking is right. you like [name]!" she points at him as if she were prosecuting him in court, only to wince once she hears her voice echo throughout the train's hallway.

oops. march's hand falls to her side, her eyes growing wide as she glances away from dan heng.

"ahaha... i mean, who wouldn't, though?" march tries to add, rubbing the back of her head anxiously. "right, dan heng?"

"they're not here right now," dan heng mutters, as if that were reassuring. despite his "kind" words, however, march can still feel his piercing glare. she shivers a little, but justice always comes first.

once more, march points at dan heng accusingly.

"now, how would you know that? i knew it! you're always watching them—you can't fool me, dan heng!"

"as the guard of the astral express, i need to know where everyone is at all times," dan heng states, his voice monotone.

march isn't easily defeated. "well, where's stelle?!"

"lobby."

"welt?!"

"lobby."

"himeko?!"

"lobby."

"is everyone at the lobby to you?" march asks, exasperated. dan heng shakes his head.

"the conductor is at the helm."

"well, obviously! where's [name], then?!"

"the buffet car."

"aha! notice how [name]'s location is the only one that's different?! that's 'cause you're keeping tabs on them, dan heng!"

"the conductor is at the helm."

"that's because the conductor is the conductor! and conductors have to conduct in the helm!"

dan heng deadpans, watching the way march mentally congratulates herself for such an intelligent line of reasoning. he uses this moment of weakness to slip away from her line of sight and lock himself in his room, free from march's madness.

"hey! don't run away!"

i already did, though? is all dan heng thinks, feigning ignorance to march's fists pounding against his door.

"fine! i was gonna be benevolent and consult you before [name], but since you're acting like this, i'm just gonna tell them right now!"

march stomps away from dan heng's room, making sure her steps are extra loud. a couple seconds pass, and dan heng's door slides open.

"heh, i knew it," she remarks triumphantly. dan heng sighs.

"don't tell them."

"why not?" march asks, genuinely confused. she notices the way dan heng glances away briefly (when usually, he maintains eye contact without a problem), and the way his fingers play nervously with the cuffs of his coat.

the concept of you is enough to make dan heng reincarnate anew. he becomes something else, shedding his previous apathetic identity in exchange for something lighter, something lovelier.

he's nervous, march realizes. that's a first!

at the mere thought of you, he shifts awkwardly from side to side, unsure of what to say. he loses his words, his throat closes up, and his heart—oh, his heart—aches.

"it'd be a burden," dan heng mutters, "i think it's best if things just stayed as is."

something tells march that dan heng has thought about this before; that he's spent many sleepless nights mulling this over, whatever this is. something tells march that dan heng has wanted to break the barrier of fantasy, that out of everyone in the world, the universe, he's wanted to do that the most. where else would he use this love of his?

"but what if they like you too?" march asks, suddenly sympathetic. dan heng shakes his head, a solemn expression on his face—it's unlike himself, to be so doubtful, but the sincerity of his frown makes march realize that this is real.

he really thinks he has no chance, she thinks. poor guy!

"they... have feelings for someone else." dan heng's voice drops, barely above a whisper. again, dan heng acts so unlike himself—it's in the way his gaze casts downwards, the way his expression loses his signature self-assuredness.

of all the things in this world, the only thing that can make dan heng doubt himself is you.

(it's only ever possible because it's you.)

so, the reason why he's only ever stared at [name] is because he thinks they like someone else? dan heng fills the grief of his heart through his eyes. when he looks at you, his irises can hold you because his hands cannot. when he looks at you, he can cherish your existence from afar, making up for the distance in between.

of all the things in the world, the only thing that can make dan heng suffer is you. because he's forced to orbit around you, because he's incapable of coming any closer—because dan heng's wax wings aren't strong enough for your incomparable light, your incomparable presence.

dan heng's wax wings aren't strong enough for anything but observing you from a distance: staring, staring.

"now, what makes you think that?" march queries, trying her best to comfort her friend. "if anything, i think [name] does like you!"

"they're always making stops at the luofu,"—at this point, dan heng doesn't even care if he reveals how much he knows about your whereabouts—"and they have regular meetings with the general."

subconsciously, dan heng's hand comes to reach for his hair, feeling the spot where horns used to sprout from his previous incarnation. if he were a life earlier, would you love him then?

march frowns before asking: "so, i guess you have your slow moments too, huh?"

dan heng blinks.

"[name] is going to the luofu so often because of you! they want to learn more about the vidyadhara! and guess who's a vidyadhara?"

dan heng blinks.

"that's what i thought!" march declares, finally basking in her long-awaited glory with outstretched arms. "once again, detective march prevails!"

"anyway, now that we've gotten over that hurdle, it's time we begin planning how you're going to confess to [name]! see, i had this idea, we should lay all of these pictures across their room—"

"that's creepy," dan heng states.

"only now are you choosing to be self-aware?" march retorts, offended. "fine! do you have any better ideas, then?"

silence. just as i thought, march thinks, crossing her arms. before she can say anything else, dan heng quickly turns around, his limbs becoming stiff as footsteps approach from down the hall.

march notices the way the tips of dan heng's ears begin to redden.

"oh, dan heng!" a familiar voice exclaims. "fancy seeing you here!"

"i live here," dan heng replies.

"you sure have a lot of attitude for someone who's turning into a tomato..." march mutters, loud enough for only dan heng to hear. he says nothing—too fixated on you, obviously.

"and march, too! hey!" you wave, and march returns the gesture with even more excitement. she rushes to take your hands in hers before bidding farewell to the bodyguard, intent on dragging you down the parlor car to her room.

but dan heng is quicker to react, because he positions himself in between the two of you and march's room, an unreadable expression on his face. the only telltale sign of his affection is the color of his ears—impossibly red, impossibly loved.

"what's going on?" you ask, genuinely confused. "are you beefing? i'm placing my bets on march, by the way."

dan heng sighs, but it's a different kind of sigh. it's a little lovesick, a little endearing, because although dan heng doesn't particularly care about silly comments, when you're the one saying it, it suddenly becomes acceptable.

(it's only ever possible because it's you.)

"yeah, we're beefing!" march interjects, ignoring the way dan heng glares at her with the might of a thousand suns.

you can't hurt me! march thinks, grinning. dan heng seems to catch on, because his brows begin to furrow and his slightly upturned lips—a result of your presence—thin into a line.

"huh? beefing?" stelle suddenly appears out of nowhere, wanting to join in on the action. "about what?"

"about dan heng's feelings!" march adds, feeling the way dan heng emits murderous intent.

"dan heng has feelings?" stelle asks.

"yes, yes! and guess who they're for?"

"pause," you interject. "dan heng has feelings for someone?"

aha! march thinks, tugging your hand towards herself. "does that make you feel any way, [name]? jealous, perhaps? murderous?!"

someone, at this very moment, is feeling very murderous.

"oh, i know, i know!" stelle pulls out a detective cap and a monocle, a toothy grin forming on her face. "[name] feels jealous!"

your mouth hangs slightly agape, whereas dan heng's murderous intent dissipates into utter nothingness. the parlor car falls silent, and if march really listens in, she can hear crickets despite there being no insects in outer space.

"now, why would [name] feel jealous, stelle?!" march lets go of your hands in exchange for stelle's, reveling in the joy of being understood by a fellow partner.

"because..." stelle trails off dramatically, tugging her detective cap down to mask her eyes. "[name] likes—"

dan heng slams the blunt end of his spear against the floor (where did he even get that from? march wonders), the powerful thump! reverberating throughout the hall. instinctively, he glances over at you.

but you return his gaze (and dan heng ignores the way his heart stutters) and you smile at him (and dan heng ignores the way his heart leaps), before stating, "well, this wasn't really how i envisioned it to go."

you spare stelle a glance, and she instantly grabs march's wrist before rushing off. although it seems like they're leaving you and dan heng alone, it's more likely that they're just hiding behind a corner to eavesdrop.

but you don't care. after all, the cat's out of the bag anyway. might as well just confess, right?

you open your mouth to speak, but dan heng beats you to it.

"i have feelings for you," he states. when he stares at you—and when you return his gaze—dan heng's heart trembles. he's not used to being perceived by you, he's not used to having his stares reciprocated, much less his feelings.

"i do, too," you reply, nervous. dan heng can tell you're nervous; it's in the way your fingers come to fiddle with each other, the way your voice is a little shaky, your lips pursed.

you smile, and so does dan heng.

he reaches for the sun.

click!