boothill coming across argenti's podcast and finding himself tuning in frequently. maybe even creating an anonymous account to send his own submissions and listening to every word that comes out of argenti's mouth intently. maybe he'll even play past recordings of his podcast when he can't fall asleep because his voice (when he's not going "[INHALE] BY THE GLORIOUS LIGHT OF BEAUTY") is like a melodic lullaby to him. and maybe he'll catch himself remembering little details or fun facts argenti shares about himself offhandedly and then he'll say or do things when they're together in person that makes argenti go, "how'd you know that? :D" and boothill has to quickly come up with a believable lie because he's too shy to admit to the knight directly how he's become a comforting existence in his life

In the small, unremarkable town of penacony, there was a salon known as "Stelle’s hair." The place had a reputation for transforming dull, lifeless hair into radiant locks of luxury. The owner, Stelle, was a woman with an almost otherworldly beauty. Her mid-length, gray hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves, as if it were crafted by the aeons themselves. But there was something unsettling about her — a coldness that lingered in her smile, a darkness hidden beneath her serene exterior.

The town's residents spoke in hushed tones about a mysterious product she always seemed to use: Argenti’s Shampoo. It was a special line of haircare, manufactured in small batches by a company no one had ever heard of. The bottles were sleek and metallic, glinting silver in the sunlight, and the shampoo itself had an almost unnatural sheen. People who used it found their hair shining brighter, their strands growing thicker and healthier with each use.

But with each compliment on the hair came a quiet warning. The rumors said the shampoo came with a price.

It started with Kou. One who’d moved to penacony only recently, she was enchanted by the salon’s reputation. Her hair, long but brittle from years of neglect, was transformed after one treatment of Argenti’s Shampoo. It shimmered under the lights, flowing like silk, drawing compliments from every person she met.

At first, it was a dream. Kou was thrilled, her confidence soaring with every glance and whispered praise. But then the nightmares began.

She dreamed of her hair—twisting, writhing, growing longer, thicker, and heavier, until it smothered her. She woke in the night, feeling it tugging at her scalp, pulling at her skin, trying to burrow into her flesh. Each morning, she would find strands of hair scattered across her pillow, long and tangled like threads of spider silk.

She went back to Stelle’s salon, desperate for help. But when she walked through the door, Stelle’s smile seemed a little too wide, her eyes a little too cold.

“You’ve been using the shampoo, haven’t you?” Stelle asked, her voice evil and knowing.

Kou nodded, clutching the edge of the counter.
Stelle stepped closer, and Kou saw that her eyes were not reflecting the light as they should. They were dark, as if they had no depth, no soul.

“Argenti’s Shampoo isn’t just a product,” Stelle murmured. “It’s a vessel. It… takes what it needs.”

Kou froze. “What do you mean?”

Stelle leaned in closer, her lips barely moving as she spoke. “It feeds on your soul. It feeds on your essence, your energy. The more you use it, the more it wants. And soon, it won’t just be your hair it takes. It will claim you.”

Suddenly, Kou felt the weight on her scalp increase, as though her hair had grown far too long in just an instant. She staggered back, her hands grabbing at her head, her fingers brushing against something... soft, but wrong.

Stelle’s gaze was fixed on her, smug. “Don’t you see? You’re already too far gone.”

Panicking, Kou ran from the salon, clutching her head. As she reached her apartment, she looked in the mirror, horrified. Her hair had grown impossibly long, draping down to the floor. It wasn’t just hair anymore—it was alive, curling and slithering as if it had a mind of its own. The longer she stared, the more it seemed to pulse, moving like a living organism, its roots embedded deep into her skull.

She tried to cut it, to tear it away, but the strands only grew back faster. Her reflection in the mirror grinned at her, a cruel, mocking smile forming where her own should have been.

And then, she felt it—the tug, the pull from deep within. Her skin began to tighten, as though her hair was drawing her soul out, inch by painful inch.

By morning, Kou was gone. Her apartment was empty, save for the silvery strands of hair, twisted and knotted around the furniture, the walls, the floor. No one knew where she had gone, but the town whispered of her disappearance for years.

In Stelle’s salon, the bottles of Argenti’s Shampoo still lined the shelves. They gleamed, untouched by time, waiting for their next victim.

And to this day, anyone who uses the shampoo in Penacong soon learns the truth: It’s not just your hair it wants. It wants you. It will always want you.

And than boothill bought some

Argenti liking racing makes so much sense, especially since he often recklessly dives headfirst into danger as well.

At this point he's probably addicted to the adrenaline - it's the thing he's grown up with, protected him more than anyone else in his life, and probably the feeling he's most familiar with; the one single consistency in his life, possibly even more so than his faith, which is only within human nature to falter and strengthen throughout the events in his life, while the fight or flight instinct can be conveniently triggered at any given moment, bringing the same rush each time. It's as simple as just taking on a sketchy commission, to gamble the chances of not getting ambushed by natural enemies; flying too close to black holes or neutron stars while avoiding radiation exposure and time dilation; pushing past his mental abilities and base principles both in the simulated universe and in real life (physical as well but that's going in another direction), urging himself to go on despite his very being protesting, and that's just naming a few.

I believe adrenaline is one of the "more common" addictions I've mentioned before (im the anon with ooc argenti hcs.. smiles awkwardly), one that brings an intensity he craves, akin to the high of pushing his body to its limits or the relentless worship (I won't get into it now but IT'S A COPING MECHANISM TRUSTTT). This rush gives him a sense of control, a reassurance that his heart is racing, his muscles are taut, and his mind is sharp. It’s paradoxical, but the constant edge, the tension, has become his comfort, a state where he feels alive and safe in a way that calmness never could. For him, rest feels like an exposure to weakness, a moment when he's most vulnerable.

Imagine going shopping and you just see boothill

And your like “hey boothill”

And he’s like “hey”

And than you get into a heated argument over whether vanilla or chocolate is better, and you get mad, so you threaten to make fan fictions of him, and that he’s absolutely flabbergasted

And than he runs out of the store and theme song music starts playing and you try to chase him and ur like “heh no bbg ur not escaping” and so than you chase him, and ur like damn bro where are u

And than you fall off a cliff

Real right???

This may have been a dream

I love Argenthill angst as much as the next person, but sometimes, rather than thinking about Argenti feeling guilt over indulging in romantic activities with Boothill, I imagine the opposite. I imagine him lying in bed either in his arms or holding him, silently thanking Idrila in his head. Thanking them for allowing him to be happy. For showing him the beauty that is having love for another person. For bestowing their blessing upon his path in the form of Boothill, his soulmate he never even knew he needed in his life until he couldn’t bear to continue parting ways indefinitely. His love for Idrila remains unwavering even when his heart opens up to the cyborg