𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖.

『 DREADRANGER 』 𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇. An independent & private & highly selective & heavily headcanon based & highly canon divergent BOOTHILL formerly known as 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐋 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 defying the confines of the crypt of the cosmos within HONKAI STAR RAIL. Intermediate activity. Unlikely to follow first.

—a remembrance recounted by SeonHwa (25+)

blogroll: @dreadbornesaint (oc - main blog), @dreadseareverie (oc multi - low activity)

please read the rules before interacting.

personals please do not interact with my posts (personals with RP side blogs are exempt).

triggering contents may include:  violence, gore, torture, blood, horror, body horror, psychological horror, religious themes & imagery, alcohol consumption, self-destruction & self-destructive tendencies, dehumanization, suicidal ideation, sexual themes, & more.

Tales told ‘round the campfires of the dusty trails: the vulture upon the half rotted corpse of the coyote, the decaying flesh immortalized in cages of steel, fangs bared and flesh torn asunder, the beloved bones, that which devours decay, dead gods within machines, crossroads and the crux paradoxical paths, the hunter and the hunted, and the deathlessness of enduring love.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐢. rules 𝐢𝐢. about 𝐢𝐢𝐢. about my portrayal 𝐢𝐯. verses 𝐯. memes 𝐯𝐢. opens

𝐄𝐒𝐓: 17 May 2025

On Virgil’s Lifespan as a Sineater. 

Virgil has always felt that he is not long for the world. Death is something that has always felt near, some danger always lurking at the fringes of his recklessness. He would probably die young, by gunfire, by vice, or some cruel twist of fate's knife. 

But something has changed in him now, something that has irreversibly transformed the path he walks. What was once a somewhat vague sensation now seems less like statistical probability and more akin to certain inevitably. (And perhaps, in some ways, that informs his desperation in seeking out what he's lost.) He did not linger long enough to learn that such a future is less possibility and more premonition. 

He will die, unfortunately, all too soon. And because his body has significantly less organic parts, it is unlikely that he will survive the inevitable dance between death that Sineaters undergo before walking the world again. Virgil only has this one life to live, being a Sineater doesn't change that. But what that does change is the fact that he does not have much of this life left to live. 

But as it stands, Virgil knows that he does not have enough information to go off of. He should have stayed long enough to figure things out, but there had been more important matters at hand. He doesn’t even know where to begin looking for answers, but he’s gleaned enough, he thinks, to have a starting point. 

“The thing is, I, uh, didn’t stick ‘round long enough to find out.” Affairs on that planet seemed messy enough and with the IPC chasing after him, he didn’t want them to suffer the consequences of his actions. Besides, that one lady–what was her name? A shame he didn’t ask for it–seemed like she had some semblance of control over the situation.  

Virgil has always been the type to act first and ask questions later. It serves him well most of the time, but it seems that this is one such circumstance where it seems to have backfired. Spectacularly, at that. Perhaps he is aware enough to realize that he is in over his head. But that has never stopped him before and with so much on the line, there isn’t a good enough reason to start now. 

“Seems it’s some kind of snake? Or a tree. I’d have t’ find the bastard first.” Everything he’d heard had been stories, rumors, snippets of words repeated for generations. Some scrap of truth lies therein, but how is one to differentiate the weeds from the grass without stepping into the field? If only he hadn’t been in such a hurry back then. If he had been able to learn even some extent of the truth, perhaps he’d already be seeing to the death of the divine.

But as it stands, he reckons the only way he’ll make it out of this long enough to see his vengeance through to the end, is to grant oblivion to that cruel god that exists outside of it. 

“A god, eh?” It’s been said that it takes a monster to kill another monster. Maybe it holds true for the gods as well. Not that a wretch like him would ever know. He’s only ever been a man. And whatever it is he may be now, that still holds true. “Well, if I need a hand evenin’ those odds, I’ll be countin’ on ya, partner.” 

FOLLOWING & UNFOLLOWING:

If I interact with someone who has a record of questionable behavior, be it some sort of -ist/-phobic behavior, criminal offenses, or other unsavory business, please bring it up with me privately. Odds are that I am unaware, and once presented with facts, evidence, and any other relevant information, I will make my own judgement call. 

Similarly, I try to heed DNI lists, but understand that I may slip-up, especially if someone is prone to changing aliases/names frequently. I prefer if it is brought to my attention so I may remedy it, however, I also understand that not all will choose to do so. 

I also do not abide by the rhetoric of choosing one person over another outside of serious transgressions. I tag URLs, so please make use of the block feature and blacklists to avoid that which you do not wish to see.

INTERACTIONS:

Perhaps he’d have asked after how Dan Heng is doing if he had been the sort to entertain such polite platitudes, but he’d long parted with such niceties. No such thing as manners when it’s a matter of life and death, when it’s a matter of who’s finger hits the hammer faster. Besides, he’s the sort that would rather cut to the heart of the matter. In other circumstances, had life allowed him to be softer than steel, then his mannerism may have been different.

Yet as it is now, the other is alive, with all limbs attached. That’s as good a circumstance as any. It’s more than a foolish man could hope for, given that the both of them walk their own respective paths, each rife with their own share of dangers.

“Thanks, partner. Don’t know what I woulda done without ya.” Well, that is a bit of a lie; he does know what he would have done. He likely would have found a way to fix it himself, or in the worst case, found someone else to help. But a man like Boothill has many enemies and he may be a reckless fool, but he knows better to invite danger. The fact he’s turned his back to the other, both physically and metaphorically, speaks more to the trust in the other than words could ever serve.

“I don’t think I could trouble y’all like that.” Though he appreciates the offer, he hopes there is no reason to ever have to consider taking it. At present, he’s fine, aside from the few screws he had loose.

“Speakin’ of trouble, if ya ever find yourself in it, y’can trust your old pal Boothill to bail ya out of it.”

The words are said with the grin and vivacious laugh customary to the cowboy. It’s less of an offer, more of a promise. What kind of man would he be if he did not return the favor? He may be dedicated to his revenge, but he’s never once forgotten about the kind of man he is. The kind of man he struggles to be.