#not quite sure how or why the reader and boothill would meet again yet

[cynicalmusings]

had some thoughts about empath!reader (and ‘empaths’ in general—though spoilers for boothill’s backstory, mentions of dead bodies, some angst, and the post is quite long)…

there’s a kind of poetry i realised in hindsight, in that boothill is one of the only people the reader can truly be ‘themselves’ around; he’s one of the only still-somewhat-humans (as opposed to, say, an intellitron) who won’t trigger their emotional transmission.

the idea i have for how an empath’s abilities work, in a crude and not very detailed way which i’d like to expand on in the future, is that they need skin-to-skin contact for the transmission of emotions across two organisms. this can be done through some degree of physical barrier, e.g. the reader’s gloves, but they still have to be touching living tissue (whether that be directly or not). the reason for this is that it’s cells which tell the stories of a person’s life: cells which live, and die, and heal, and contain imprints of the events in every living creature’s life: healed injuries, the neurotransmitters stimulating emotion which diffuse across synapses, all that stuff. through establishing contact with the cells, these ‘stories’ held within an organism can be transmitted through to the empath, which are interpreted as emotions (and occasionally memories).

furthermore, an empath doesn’t have control over ‘blocking’ this transmission. every time there’s contact, there’s a chance for that emotional spark to fire, meaning they’ll receive the emotions of the one they’re in contact with and transmit some of their own. an empath can train themselves to be less receptive to what they receive and more guarded to prevent their own emotions being read, but that doesn’t mean they can ever stifle either side completely.

that’s why the reader surrounds themselves with machines (in both their hobbies and their companions): it’s only with inorganic material, which has no ‘story’ to transmit, that they won’t be subconsciously influenced by foreign emotions. if a metal component scratches, it doesn’t heal. you replace it or it stays scratched: that’s it. there are no cells at work fighting to heal it. ergo, in the presence of machines, the reader is most like themselves. but of course, machinery is no real replacement for actual human company,

and boothill, who has the emotional capacity and experiences of a human but a body (mostly) of metal, marries the two concepts perfectly. the reader doesn’t have to worry about receiving or revealing their own feelings because of an accidental touch, but they can also interact with somebody who still has emotions in the same way they do. if they need some emotional transmission for whatever reason, they can touch his face. if they don’t, or don’t want to, the rest of him won’t trigger any of those effects.

around boothill, the reader can be themselves, too, but still maintain a human connection with somebody which won’t potentially backfire.

anyway, now onto the other, general empath lore…

after i came up with that ‘cells carry a story’ concept, i started to wonder: can an empath interpret the last emotions of a person shortly after death? the cells in the deceased’s body don’t immediately die; they’re still around for a while. macabre as it is, there’s a reason why bodies can twitch. so, hypothetically, what if there was an empath who runs a service for the loved ones of the recently deceased: somebody brings the body of their loved one, likely people lost suddenly to injury or disease, and the empath reads and shares with them the last feelings which the deceased never had the time to say.

often, the primary emotion they would receive from the body (if this whole concept is possible, which i think it could be) is fear. makes sense for somebody having a sudden death. but under that fear, maybe there’s an inkling of other feelings: confessions they couldn’t make (imagine finding out for sure that your loved one loved you back but never had the chance to tell you—or, for a more painful approach, that they never did love you back at all), secrets they were hiding, any lingering regrets or apologies or words left unsaid which they wanted but couldn’t share. it’s a service which would bring closure to those close to people taken too soon.

(and hell, maybe the reader does this at some point, if they ever get any recently-deceaseds in their clinic, or a patient passes during surgery and they pass any lingering sentiments onto loved ones. god… imagine if, hypothetically (because this would be impossible), the reader found boothill’s adopted daughter’s body shortly after her death and managed to tell boothill that she was thinking of him and loving him right up until the end… ouch.)

so yeah. there’s my brain splurge of empath worldbuilding which came to me in the shower, as all best thoughts do. i really want to work out more intricacies of what it means to be an empath and how they function in the future; it’s a really interesting concept to carry further forwards.

[mm-lurking]

Malfunction: Heart Mode - Boothill

Based on this post. fem reader. Praying this is not ooc. Writing is kinda choppy, I tried my best. 1.6k words. tag: @nvuy hope you like it -- Boothill is one strong muddle-fudger. He does not give a rat's behind when it comes to romantic love, affection, and all that fudging nonsense. Even if it has crossed his mind, he's too busy dealing with the forking problems of the cosmos and most importantly trying to find that son of a nice lady who is responsible for killing his sweet angel and destroying his planet.

Yet here he is, standing in front of you at the bar with a drink in his hand as he hears his machine heart starting to whir. You both were regulars at the bar and often ran into each other from time to time. Your encounters were akin to something like being seatmates; there was enough information exchanged to know about each other yet it was nothing personal. While you didn't quite understand why he would disappear for long periods before returning like nothing happened, you never questioned it and were simply happy to see him again.

He too liked meeting up with you. He couldn't help but flash his razor-sharp teeth whenever he saw you; calling you “partner!” out loud before greeting you and asking how you had been. The little interactions you both had were always a pleasure and as time passed, he seemed to grow more attached to seeing you.

Today was a little different. Compared to your usual outfit, you were dressed up all fancy and the more he looked at you, the louder the whirring of his heart got.

"Fudge."

He mutters under his breath. You look at him inquisitively as he turns his head sideways and sighs.

"Something the matter Boothill?" "It's nothing partner."

You watch as he chugs down his glass and sets the empty vessel down on the bar counter before ordering more.

"I haven't even finished my first drink yet and you're already done?"

You laugh a little as you take a sip of your drink. The dim lights of the bar made your jewellery glow and alongside the reflections of other shiny things, you looked heavenly in his eyes. He doesn’t answer so you look over and find him dazed.

"Boothill...? Um, do you need some space?" "Fudge!"

He can't help but say it out loud this time, covering his face as he scrunches his eyebrows and frowns. This was not how he normally behaved. What in the hot diggity fudge was going on with him?

"Yes- I mean no, ugh fork me!"

You stand there confused (and slightly amused) at how he seems to be fighting himself like a madman. He almost looked possessed from how he kept going back and forth with himself as if he was surprised at what he was saying. Like his tongue wasn't his own.

"I'll give you some space."

The last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself or those around him. You finally decide to leave just to make sure everything's alright only for him to grab your arm and then quickly let go in shock.

"Sorry 'bout that partner.”

Boothill awkwardly apologises for his unusual behaviour. Before you can reply, a drunk accidentally pushes you from behind and you lose your balance causing you to fall straight into his arms.

“I-!?” “Um…?!”

Both of you are speechless. He swiftly holds your waist with one hand while the other firmly holds onto malt juice. Your hands are tightly gripping his shoulders from the fear of falling. No coherent thought is spoken but the flustered look on your faces has got some of the bar regulars around you giggling.

You don’t even hear the apology of the one who accidentally pushed you. It's as if time has slowed down and nothing exists outside you both. Strangely, he doesn’t let you go and you don’t move either making things even more awkward.

The strong alcohol you were sipping on makes you tipsy and somehow gives you the courage to lift your head and gaze into Boothill's unique eyes. You've always admired how dashing he looks; from his physique to his dressing style and even his interesting way of speaking. And now here you were up close, staring disrespectfully at his face and how handsome he looked.

Boothill is no different either, he's gazing at you hesitantly as he tries to find something to say but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is-

“Fudge me…” “I'm sure the ladies at the ranch think about that regularly.”

You mumble without thinking and he tenses up.

“I- what?!”

He stutters as his cheeks turn slightly red and his eyes widen.

“Uh?! Nothing!”

You mentally slap yourself for blurting that out loud. Even if it was true, why did you have to say it and make things awkward? Come on! You both were having a somewhat endearingly awkward time together! 

You attempt to conjure up something to smooth things over but your thinking is disrupted by a strangely loud machine sound that seems to be coming from nearby. The whoosh is accompanied by irregular beeping sounds, almost like one of those technology things Boothill had told you about. 

You glance around to see if you can find the source only to realise-

It’s coming from Boothill.

“Oh.” You whisper under your breath but the cyborg (who still doesn't let you go nor drinks his beverage and is as still as a statue for some reason) hears you loud and clear.

“Something the matter, pretty lady?” “Yes. Do you plan on us staying in this position until the bar closes?”

Instead of answering his question, you deflect it with another. He turns red again and stammers badly which makes you giggle and further confirms your theory.

“Gotcha.”

Before Boothill can ask what you’re doing, you slowly drag your hands down his shoulders until they rest on his chest. You feel the rapid whirring of his heart through the vibrations it emits through your fingertips. A tiny smirk spreads on your face and you look back at him.

“You’re pretty cute.”

You flirtatiously speak. The look of confusion and embarrassment on his face makes you laugh harder.

“What- hey what- I-”

Boothill’s stammering only gets worse alongside the overheating of his heart. He tries to reply with a snarky comment but the only thing he’s capable of doing is squeezing your waist harder and propping himself up with the bar counter to avoid falling. You, being the woman you are, do not stop the teasing.

“You can’t handle affection, can you? Look at you sweet thing, your heart is overworking and your synesthesia beacon has already overheated.” “Shut…” “I barely said anything and you’re malfunctioning already? How amusing.” “Son of a nice lady…” “I am indeed the daughter of a nice lady.”

“You-!”

He is bewildered at your unexpected behaviour but that painfully obvious blush on his cheek tells you he's not mad about it.

“Oh dear,” you chuckle and pry yourself off his metal chest, “I should stop or else your…eccentric friends…will hold me responsible for any severe malfunctions.”

This was enough teasing from you today. If it were up to you, you would go on and on but you feared any dire consequences that would affect Boothill. You lift and steady yourself up nonchalantly as if you just didn't cause the ranger to nearly pass out from your shenanigans.

Despite the cold metal exterior, he feels the loss of warmth from you moving your body away. His hand slowly retracts from your waist but lingers as if he hesitates to let go. The overheating of his system rapidly starts to decrease, however, he is unable to calm his emotions down completely. He turns his attention away from his mechanical heart and gazes at you curiously while you fix your wrinkled dress.

“You are one hell of a woman.”

A long sigh leaves his mouth as he speaks as if still processing your chaos. A sly smile appears on your face when you (finally) hear him speak properly.

“Took you a while to get talking didn't it mister?”

That grin on your face screams ‘this wasn’t even my best attempt’ but he shrugs it off. He unknowingly takes a step closer to you as if wanting your presence as close to him as possible. The (welcomed) intrusion into your personal space causes you to sharply inhale. He simply places his hand over the rim of your filled glass and whispers gently.

“You think I'd let any lady come close like that?”

Your mouth practically foams as you try to formulate a response. Eventhough you're not looking him, you can feel his gaze on you which makes you nervous.

“I'll tell you something sweetheart. I've got some fudging business to attend to in a bit but the next time we meet, I'll finish what you started.”

His voice is low and rumbly as he subtly warns you of the consequences of your actions. He follows it with a tight squeeze of your hand and then steps away from you. Your mind protests his leave but you're too stunned to speak; had you put yourself on his wanted list now? 

There is a devilish smile on his face as he checks his gun and locks it before walking away with it casually. Next time, he'd show you what a cowboy is capable of.

Hey, at least you were living out the dreams of those ranch ladies. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.