#$. the macrocosmos
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hijacked — boothill
summary. a mission to retrieve some files from a banquet hall goes wayward south when a galaxy ranger shows up to ruin your night—and score some bonus kisses while he’s at it.
notes. save me space cowboy… save me… remembered his entire body is robotic except his head. the possibilities to hack it and take over……….. ngh
HEY YOU!! there’s a sequel now.
warnings. little bit of threatening, mind control/hacking/hijacking? you take over his body for like a few minutes? is that a warning?
“Hey, pretty thing.”
Target locked. Your scanners had already tracked him before you could even realise he was speaking to you.
You swiftly hid away the USB drive in your purse.
Did he know?
It seemed his own eye enhancements—although a lot less subtle than yours—were scanning you down as well. How transactional. You’d hoped the walls you’d put up were enough to keep whatever technology he had at bay. Or at least, not trigger any alarms.
“You looked lonely. Was g’nna buy you a drink. Help you loosen up a bit.” He swished his own drink in your face for good measure. The coupe glass in his hands looked odd. He didn’t seem like a cocktail man. Not at all.
He looked like a whiskey man. Hard whiskey. With ice. In a tumbler with ribbed glass. You could picture it.
He just looked so out of place at the banquet.
He wasn’t even following the dress code. He was wearing boots, and a pair of old pants with zips along the calves. A hat with a white feather woven into the fabric rested on a head of long white hair with splashes of black around his face.
“No thanks,” you said with a wave. You tried to discreetly scan down his body, searching for any sort of hint of how you could get into his system.
His pants and what little material of his jacket hid most of the metal of his body. Internally, you cursed at it. He had no clear openings in his neck or arms. His head seemed entirely organic.
No weak spots.
“N’aww. Shame.”
The front door felt a lot further away now. Even more so, knowing he was most definitely here for you. He hadn’t even introduced himself yet. You had a feeling he knew he didn’t need to.
“Was g’nna ask ya to dance.”
You laughed awkwardly. “I can’t dance in these shoes.”
“Take ‘em off. Who cares?” he bantered playfully. “I’ll watch out for ‘em if they’re expensive.”
“They’re priceless,” you quipped back. “All of me is.”
“Good. You know your worth.”
You were actually worth about fifteen million, as according to your wanted status by the IPC. You weren’t sure if this man was a part of them, though members of the IPC were always very adamant on letting you know that, yes, they did work at the IPC. It was usually the first thing that came out of their mouths.
Questioning if they actually worked at the IPC opened another entire can of worms.
You didn’t feel the need to ask. Not in that moment, at least.
“And what’s yours?” you asked him with a bat of your lashes.
He winked. “Guess.”
You smiled and scanned him down again. “Depends. I’d have to see what you’re made of.”
“Naughty.” He leaned back against the wall with you. “You sure you don’t want that drink? It’s a cosmopolitan.”
Very sure. You were convinced that he’d just taken the drink from one of the server’s trays. You couldn’t imagine he’d walked up to the bar and requested it for himself.
“You strike me as a whiskey man,” you eased. It came past your lips like butter.
He flashed his teeth in warning.
Then, he sipped his drink. “You’re good. Anything else you can read with your fancy eyes?”
You stopped short.
He did know. It wasn’t a surprise, not at all. He wasn’t entirely human. He must have been equipped with similar technology to realise just how advanced yours was.
You realised then with a shaky breath that you had the same vision enhancements as he did. An even match, unable to read through to each other.
He must have had so much more, too. You only had so many enhancements, whereas he was made almost entirely of metal. The thought of amount of different codings and technology he had crammed into every wire of his body gave you a headache.
Bad idea. You shouldn’t have provoked him. You needed to retreat. You needed to get home, preferably safely, with the USB stored nice and snug in your purse.
You tried not to let your nervousness show, but by the way he was staring at you, you knew he could read your face.
“That’s it, then. You’ve figured out my party trick.” You got up from the wall. “Thank you for the offer. The drink, I mean.” You cleared your throat. “I’ll be going now.”
“I’m not scaring you off, am I?” He got up off the wall too.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you.
“Not at all.” When you turned to face him, he was smiling so wide his eyes had crinkled. “Have a good night.”
“At least let me walk you out,” he insisted. He also offered to hold your purse, to which you quickly declined. That only made him smile impossibly wider. “What sort of man am I to not see a pretty thing like you get home safe?”
You headed towards the hallway, knowing he was right behind you.
The banquet was still in full swing, barely even close to ending. Most of the cast were drunk or getting there. Heels had been discarded, some missing their pair, skewed all over the dancefloor like glitter.
The golden chandelier in the main room was yet to be pulled from the ceiling. You were surprised nobody had tried to swing from it yet.
You dodged chattering groups and couples in the hallway—one of them had decided to put on a full display while right next to an unoccupied bedroom, right there in the centre of the hall.
Another one was gagging dangerously close to your feet.
You shouldered past them. “Stop following me, Ranger.”
“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” You felt his hair brush over your shoulder.
You knew he had a weapon. He wouldn’t have come to threaten you without one.
Before you could reach the door handle, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you backwards, and into the unoccupied guest room that the couple hadn’t bothered to take.
He shut the door with a loud slam, though not before hearing someone whistle out in the corridor.
Your head snapped towards him. He was leaning on the door, his arms crossed, looking almost unbothered.
“We can play this game all day, pumpkin. I got time.” He waved you off with a grin. “Give me the files. I’m askin’ nicely. I won’t force ya to hand ‘em over. Yet.”
You gritted your teeth.
You were so fucking close. So close to getting out of here, and then he had to come—this walking hunk of metal and scrap—and ruin everything.
Nothing ever went your fucking way anyway. You shouldn’t have been shocked something like this would happen.
You held your purse tightly in your hands. All of this was pointless. The dress, the heels, the hair, the nails, the makeup. All of it.
You just hoped by some miracle that he hadn’t found your locator beacon yet. You’d hidden it well; within the bushes outside away from anyone’s line of sight, but he wasn’t just anyone. He could see things a lot of people couldn’t.
“C’mon. You know you wanna…” He smiled sweetly for good measure. It looked like a threat. When he leaned to the side, the golden barrel of a gun flashed beneath his belt.
You could try to make a backup. Right then. You had what you needed in your watch. He’d probably stop you before it was complete.
Or…
Or what? What else could you do?
Your locator beacon wasn’t responding, though it hadn’t been broken. Most likely deactivated temporarily. You bounced on your heels.
You then formed the worst idea of your life.
With shaky hands, you walked towards him slowly. You reached into your purse, feeling for the cold plastic of the black USB he wanted to get his grubby hands on.
“Knew you’d come ‘round.” He held out his hand expectantly.
You fished the USB from your bag.
Then, before you could place it into his palm, you tripped and almost broke your nose on his torso. Your hands splayed desperately onto his chest to keep your face from shattering on impact.
He was quick to grab your arms to steady you with a surprised grunt.
There was a whirring sound, and then the sound of something mechanical and wrong. Foreign. Not from his body, but from yours.
The spaces beneath his joints lit up abright yellow for a moment before his hands loosened from your arms.
You grinned. Gotcha.
When you pulled back, he witnessed you pull a strange light from beneath his skin before you held it along your fingers.
When he blinked, you had an entire copy of his body in the palm of your hand. A hologram formed of his entire artificial makeup. Every crevice of his body, all of the metal that weaved to make him who he was.
All of it in your hand, with puppet strings attached.
It was missing just his head.
He froze. And then, he rushed out a simple, “what did you do?”
You tapped on his holographic arm on the screen. “Hijacked.”
When you moved it, his arm twitched to life.
Against his will, he pulled the gun from his holster and dropped it to the floor. It clattered uselessly onto the carpet.
He could only simply stare as his body moved against his will. There was no way to even twitch a finger with all his might.
It was like you had shut down all of his systems and replaced them with your own.
He should’ve seen this coming.
You whistled as you studied the model of him in your hands. When you tapped onto his neck, it zoomed in to show every single wire and thread of metal, as well as an accompanying string of coding.
“I don’t need any special enhancements to read you. What sort of cyborg comes in alone to try and stop me? You know who I am, don’t you?”
He wasn’t able to move his body. He said not a word.
“Somebody clearly doesn’t understand their body.” You patted his chest. His fans had kicked in. You could hear them whirring.
He was glaring at you.
“Did the IPC send you?”
After a moment, he scoffed. “Hardly. I don’t work for those… people.” It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it.
“Huh.” You didn’t think he was lying. “So… you’re not concerned about my bounty?”
“You said yourself you were priceless,” he countered easily. Despite his position, he was still grinning. “And besides, I’m sure my bounty is heaps bigger than yours.”
You almost snapped. He’d come to gloat, even at a disadvantage.
“You look better with your mouth shut,” you spat. You shoved the lining of code in his face for him to see, making the holographic blue screen as large as you possibly could. “I could make you tear yourself apart. I could make you forget who you are. I could alter whatever sort of brain you have in there. Watch yourself.”
Still glaring, but this time his lips sealed almost instantly.
You made him stand ram rod straight as you turned around, now eyeing a golden vanity next to the bed. The bedroom was surprisingly clean, save for a few empty glasses strewn about. No stains, no messes.
You sat down in the chair and angled the mirror so you could keep your eye on him.
You breathed out, trying not to stare at him for too long. You could feel your irritation growing, and it was showing on your face. If you stared at him for any longer, you feared you’d pull his limbs off with your own bare hands.
You fished out the powder from your purse and leaned closer to the mirror.
Maybe if you looked better, you’d feel better.
“You’re seriously dollin’ yourself up right now?” he asked, briskly annoyed.
You dabbed the sponge beneath your eyes. “Can’t let anyone think I let you put your hands on me. I have standards.”
He had nice hair. You weren’t sure if it was real, though. You weren’t sure if he could even grow hair. He was almost entirely artificial, save for his head.
He didn’t seem to age—his face, at least. You weren’t sure how old he was supposed to be, but his organic skin still looked fresh, as if left untouched and well taken care of.
Maybe it’s because that was all he had left of him.
You snapped the powder shut.
The ranger sneered. “Yeah, yeah. I’d beat you in a fight anyway.”
“‘Course you would,” you answered easily. You pulled a stick of gloss from your bag. You swiped the lipgloss over your lips, fixing it with the tip of your nail. “That’s not what I’m talking about, though.”
You stood from the chair, placing the gloss back in your purse.
“You’d never hit me, would you?”
His face almost lit up with fury.
It was absolutely hilarious.
“You’re so lucky I can't move,” he threatened. “You wouldn’t recognise your pretty face in the mirror.”
“Such a gentleman.” You stood on the tips of your toes to press your lips to his cheek. You hoped the sticky gloss bothered him, knowing he would be unable to wipe it off of him. You hoped it stained his milky skin a nice glittery bubblegum pink.
You hoped the scent of your perfume lingered on his skin, and he never forgot your name.
“Of course, gorgeous.” That same mocking tone. “Anything for you.”
You held the USB up to his lips. “Open.”
Begrudgingly, he did so.
You slipped the stick past his lips until his teeth caught onto the plastic and held it still.
“You can have it. I already got what I needed anyway.”
You kissed his other cheek for good measure, lingering for a moment before you pulled away. Two pink glittering stains on his face now; perfectly symmetrical.
“I’ll be thinking of you.” And that you would. You winked at him. “Bye, Boothill.”
Then, with sudden grid lines of yellow forming over your figure, the locator beacon buzzed to life, and you disappeared.
In the blink of an eye, you were outside in the cold night air. There were few people out in the front garden of the building, and none had spotted you.
You picked up the gadget and quickly left. A copy of his body and the USB were now a collection in your own personal belongings.
As soon as you vanished, Boothill regained control of his limbs and fell to the floor, trembling with the after effects of your invasion. His teeth were gritted as he pulled himself up onto the guest bed.
He spat the USB out before he could bite down and damage it.
He held it between his thumb and index finger.
There was a smear of your lipgloss on the side of the USB stick.
Mission accomplished, he supposed.
He also had two matching lipgloss stains on his skin as a trophy. He could see how stupid he looked in the vanity mirror.
He snickered with clenched, shaking fists.
You smelled like strawberry.
#boothill x reader#hsr x reader#boothill x you#hsr x you#$. the macrocosmos#$. save a horse ride a cowboy Amen.#$. oh boothill the man you are#honkai star rail x reader#boothill hsr
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Todo está conectado.
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macrocosmos.
#moments in time#emmermods#cryptidmods#who made the spell effects for macrocosmos this pretty#should be illegal#ffxiv gpose#ffxiv screenshots#au ra raen#warrior of light#tbh I was just playing with sparklies lmao
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had a dream that someone in a ffxiv raid told me to be an “anti-healer” which has just fed my craving for a necromancer healing job
abilities might include:
gauge fills as teammates take damage (true goth symbiosis with black mages)
pet can be summoned (zombie or skeleton or something). pet health can either be siphoned to a teammate (think faerie tether sort of idea), or pet melee attacks fill gauge
pet can be exploded for an aoe damage burst which fills gauge a chunk (emergency gauge fill for heals...sch has a similar thing with dismissing faerie). so the summon doesn’t have a time limit, but the pet can be sacrificed either by running out of health from siphoning or being exploded. there’s a cd for resummoning that starts at pet death
gauge is essentially ‘life energy’ that can be used for heals much like other healer gauges. maybe some extra benefit that fits aesthetically with necromancer
some large amount of gauge resource (maybe full bar?) allows for an instant rez of a teammate (basically free instant second rez when sc is on cd but at the cost of the instant heals from gauge)
i tried to think of a cool bonus for a teammate dying but i think that would just encourage the healers to let people die so that’s a no
lb3 summons a huge zombie or revenant type thing that blows up or turns into a hundred shades or something. it’s awesome and no one cans see anything on their screen for the duration. goth verblind
#ffxiv#ffxivmp#mp#me a know rdm outlining any new ability: AND NO ONE CAN SEE THEIR SCREEN#i want a goth healer#if for no other reason than more healer gear that isn't fucking white#other job demands: druid#someone said beastmaster might be a thing and pets and whips sounds great to me#hmm instead of gauge fill off of all teammates it could be like reverse kardia#slap a buff on someone that converts damage done to them into your gauge#maybe has some damage reduction involved somehow? like a shield healer effect#could be hilarious if you see someone about to die and slap the buff on them really fast#might discourage using rescue though i guess#would need to sort out how shields interact with damage siphoning too#like does mit reduce the amount of gauge you get back#might be something like macrocosmos?
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i think the reason i love getting zodiark or barbariccia in my trials roulette is because i can finally do my job as a healer 💀
#i was doing hydaelyn with funny daniel yesterday and my co healer was just annoying#like. they have 'ultimate legend' title so i expect them to know a thing or two about other jobs#but nah. i use macrocosmos before big raid wide damage and they suddenly decide to spam cure 3 what the heck#they also rescued me in a random spot at some point 💀#i guess they didn't like funny daniel 😔#endwalker spoilers#(bc boss names)
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why's the music in the rose tower so good.......
#the one thing macrocosmos does right istg#this is why i love this part. sick as hell background music all the way
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Hágase la luz, en las almas, en las mentes, através del cuerpo, en conexión con el espíritu
Continúa en la siguiente publicación ⤵️
#la luz me inspira#la luz me guia#mensajes de luz#el poder del sol#el poder de las palabras#el poder de la intencion#el poder de la musica#el poder de la mente se entrena#magia es conocimiento#pitagoras#la musica es la clave#autoconsciencia#jerarquía planetaria#danza cosmica#psicologia del alma#macrocosmos y microcosmos#como es arriba es abajo#heartist#aprendemosjuntxs#maktub
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it
is done
#ooc#p3s clear#we got him ON enrage#we lived bitch#fuck this bird#macrocosmos is bullshit also#but dont tell yoshi i said that
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Absolutely shaking please for the love of god don’t do end game content if you don’t understand your class
#Listen i don’t want to be that person but if i’m in endgame and you’ve healing like you got three spells and a toothpick im kicking your ass#had The Worst healer in abyssos 8 rn#CO HEALER#CO HEALER BTW#WE WERE BOTH AST SO I KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT#died like five times. ok fine maybe youre new to this raid and dont know the mechs. this i can forgive.#but i swear to fucking God they didn’t use have their goddamn actions#NOT ONCE did i see them pop earthly star. NOT ONCE did i see macrocosmos.#no celestial opposition. no horoscope.#hard heals only.#NO CARD PULLS#THE ENTIRE P O I N T OF PLAYING ASY#AND NO CARD PULLS#this is how i KNOW they dont play ast: they kept fucking up collective unconscious#they’d pop it then immediately start moving or start casting another spell#NO!!! YOU GOTTA STAY STILL FOR COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS!!!!#Losing my fucking mind. Felt like i was healing that entire raid by my own damn self#half the party wiped cuz they catgirl ass couldnt figure out heal over time#ok. ok. sorry. im done.#Actually one more thing#bitch then had the audacity. The Fucking Gall. To win almost ALL the armor pieces.#I hope your internet dies and your electricity blows out#frog croak
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so… about that drink you ordered — boothill
summary. boothill has a pity party at a bar and notices a familiar face that he wants to smash into two.
notes. sort of requested official unofficial sequel sort of to hijacked. you can read this stand alone. not saying you should, though. teehee. this is so uninspired. i just like this concept a lot. i also just like rivals to lovers. i’m also riding on the coattails of the “boothill is largely illiterate.” whether it’s actually canon or not who knows. let me be. he’s still not released LMAOOOO.
warnings. the usual banter, little bit of threatening, but nothing major.
Boothill was at a loss. The mission was a bust, there was no response from La Mancha, and the dreamscape was beginning to grind his gears. So many loud noises, the poster signs were following him around, and this so-called SoulGlad was not as good as it was advertised to be.
This bar sucked, too. The bartender had been giving him the stink eye for the better half of an hour now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to sick him right in the face for it, break his nose, and give him a beating.
The bartender wasn’t scrawny, though. Some big bulk of meat with tired eyes, scruff and mousy brown hair. His chest looked like it was about to pop the buttons of his vest. Dude looks absolutely repressed. Probably works minimum wage.
The bartender abandons a blue inky pen and his notebook that Boothill snoops in. Nothing interesting. Just pages of tabs and tabs of people he doesn’t know, nor care about.
There’s music from the stereos in the corners, though surprisingly, considering it’s not a club—that one is next door. It’s a conjoined building. The only thing seperating the bar and the VIP private rooms of the club is a wall and a locked door. Comforting—and Boothill would have lost his mind already.
It’s also dark. Granted, it’s two in the morning, but the low lights can’t be good for normal people. Not to mention the group of women in the corner that have been hoarding the few slot machines for about thirty minutes now.
Every so often, a chime will go off, and one of them will start busting into tears.
He’s here alone. Not for any particular reason. He’s waiting for a response from somebody, and what better way to pass the time than people watch and pretend he’s not nosy.
Also he feels super important sitting at the counter of the bar.
He almost jumps at a whisper in his ear.
A reddish drink in a ribbed coupe glass is gently dropped onto the counter space beside him. There’s a cucumber slice on the rim, and it also looks like it’s been dusted with sugar.
Boothill turns his nose up. Gross.
The bartender glances at the figure who slots into the seat next to the ranger. “Can I get you something else?”
“Hard whiskey.”
Huh. His eyes snapped to the right. Very familiar. Almost unnervingly so. Just in case, he scoots himself away by an inch, sitting closer to the edge of the barstool.
The bartender blinks, unsure as he pulls a tumbler from the rack. “For you?”
A finger prods the Ranger’s cheek. “For him.”
There’s a zap from the finger, like a small electric shock. Like static charged from the friction of the weird material of the barstools.
“Thanks, Gal.”
“No amount of flirting is gonna make me clear your tab,” Gallagher warned before sliding the whiskey over to the Ranger. Boothill had barely moved, now acutely aware of his own face plastered on a wanted poster behind the bartender’s head. “Try not showin’ up here frequently. Bad for my image if I keep serving crooks.” He points to the Ranger, and then to you. “Both of you.”
The bartender then is called over by a group of women who are giggling at a booth in the corner.
Boothill was sure he was going to lean forward and scrap with you over the counter. He could already feel the terse skin of your neck in his hands.
“You followin’ me?”
“You followed me first,” you say harshly.
The ranger let out a laugh before picking up his drink. “It was only a job. If you got offended, that’s your problem.” He then holds the glass close. “You g’nna do that thing again?”
“‘Thing?’” you repeated.
There was a smug grin on your face. You rested the chin in the palm of your hand.
Oh. He was so going to throw you over the counter and smash a bottle over your head. “Y’know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t play stupid.”
You took a sip of your drink.
“Boop.”
Your finger pressed to his chest. You snickered when he stared down at the brief flashing of yellow beneath his joints.
Then, you flit your finger upwards and flick his nose.
He grabs your hand with the intent of pulling it from its socket.
“Now, that’s a dangerous game to play,” you remind him. “I’ve got you in my hands, remember?” Your free hand lets go of your glass, and there’s a small flash of yellow light on the pads of the gloves on your hands. A flicker is all it takes to showcase his entire makeup in your palm. You spin it slowly for good measure.
Then, the image disappears and you snatch your wrist from his hand.
“What do you want?” Boothill mutters. He’s absentmindedly staring into his drink while swishing it around. The ice cubes softly tap against the glass.
“Insight. You’re a Galaxy Ranger, right?” He can’t lie to you anyway. You pretty much know everything about him. Your main profession is definitely stalking and being a thorn in his side. Your fingers held his chin up softly. “Tell me about it.”
He blinks, dazed. “That’s it?”
“No.”
He removes your hand from his chin. He holds his glass protectively. “Then quit pullin’ my leg. Cut to the good bit.”
You sigh. “You’re no fun. Do you come to bars just to mope?” You pull a dramatic frown for good measure.
“Do you come to bars to piss everyone off?” he shoots back. Despite his tone, his fingers are gentle around the glass. Any more firm a hold, and the drink would shatter and spill all over the counter.
You grin.
You tap his nose again. “Just you.” Then, you shake your head. “I’m here ‘cause I got a bar crush.” You then point to a table behind Boothill’s head in the corner. “Blondie with the nice eyes and the rings.”
After a moment's hesitation, the ranger turns and follows your finger.
Sure enough, you’re not convincing him to spin around so you can shove your hand into his sockets. There is a blond man at a table dressed in green, winking at an opponent over a game of… poker? Is that poker? The game with the chips and stuff. And dice, too. They’re thrown over a board, and there’s a couple of people who have tuned in to watch the entire thing unfold.
“His name is Aventurine. Or, that’s a code name, I think. He’s Sigonian. Works for the IPC, incredibly insecure, has a gambling addiction, needs to eat lead…” You stopped short, counting on your fingers as Boothill turns back to you. “Isn’t he dreamy?”
Boothill narrows his eyes at you. “Do you know everything about everyone?”
You shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.” Then, you make a noise. “Eh, I’m lying. Lots of people are boring. I only know the basics ‘bout most of ‘em. It’s the higher ups I’m interested in. Case in point–” You gestured to the blond man again, now scanning over his cards. “–Mister Big Shot. And all his loser coworkers. I don’t like the IPC.”
Boothill quietly sips his drink.
At least you can both agree on something.
He wants to yawn. He doesn’t have the function to do that anymore.
You talk too much.
He cuts you off, and fiddles with a few buttons on his arm. “What can you tell me–” A small image of a woman projects into view from a small lens near his wrist. “–About her?”
You lean closer to the image. Pretty.
She has lovely purple hair and eyes to match. It’s an unassuming photo. She’s not even looking at the camera, not even close to it. She’s standing next to a little boy with sparkling eyes and a uniform that starkly resembles the hotel staff in the waking world of Penacony—oh, the bellboy. You forgot his name.
You hum. “What’s her name?”
“Acheron.” He spits it nastily, as if tasting vitriol on his tongue.
You lean back against the counter. “I’d have to dig deeper. Can’t say I’ve seen her around before.”
“Well, that’s disappointin’,” he huffs before the image shrinks and disappears back into the lens. “Thought you were better than that.”
Your brows knit together.
“Are you trying to rile me up?” It was working. Curse you and your hot-head. It would get you killed one day.
Boothill grins.
Then, he raises his glass to you. “Yep.”
You wanted to pull him apart right there, like a doll.
Instead, you whisper, “tell me about La Mancha.”
Boothill casually sips the whiskey. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll dig up whatever I can find about that Acheron girl.”
Boothill then lets out a small giggle. “I already know who she is.” He wasn’t lying either. You could tell by how he grinned. “I was testin’ ya.”
Oh, great. He’s figured you out again. Not that there’s much to decode beneath the layer of self-doubt and hostility.
You could feel your face burning.
He grabs your cheeks before you can turn away.
“You ain’t here ‘cause you got some ‘puppy crush,’” he accused playfully, squishing your skin like it’s clay. “You already told me ya know everything about blondie. Who’re you really here for?”
He’s not stupid.
He’s also twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.
God damnit.
Your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass. The cucumber slice has since fallen into the cosmopolitan, and it’s giving the entire drink a strange watery taste.
The bar carries on. There’s a hoot from the table with blondie, who’s now, since the last time you stared daggers into the side of his head, collected some more of his poor opponent’s chips.
You pull your face from his grip. “Nobody.”
“Not even me?” Boothill presses. “You seem to love followin’ me around. In and out the dreamscape.”
You grit your teeth.
“The bartender,” you mutter finally. “I’m here for the bartender.” Currently, Gallagher is half asleep on the other side of the counter, trying to negotiate with some drunkard over the pricing of a scotch.
You eye him warily for a moment.
“There it is.” He pats your head like a dog. “Knew you’d come ‘round, pumpkin.”
You’re trembling with rage. “Kiss my ass, you cyborg scum.” You were considering throwing a punch at his perfect face.
“Rude.” Boothill flicks your nose back and you grunt. “I’m tryin’ to be nice wit’ you. You followed me here.”
You wanted to leave now. He sucks when he knows he has the upper hand, even if he’s well aware you can make his arms tear his own head off.
But you’re not going to do that. You need him. You made that clear.
The sound of a slot machine goes off somewhere to the right. There's cheering from a bunch of women.
You turn back and stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Maybe you should just knock yourself out. Whether by downing an entire bottle of bourbon or smashing it over your head. It was a hard choice to make.
You watch him through your peripherals, noticing he’s pinched a napkin from the pile on the counter.
“Lookin’ very pretty tonight, by the way. Hard to keep my eyes off ya.” He was writing something down with the pen from before. “If you were anyone else, I woulda had to take ya home. ‘Specially after ya bought me a drink.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then, you pause. “Excuse me?”
Boothill folds the napkin into a square and holds it to your lips. “Open.”
“You are not–”
Too late. He’s pushed it to your teeth, and you instinctively clamp down on it.
Oh, this sucks. This sucks bad.
He knows it, too, from the way he’s grinning at you like a shark and snickering.
He presses his warm lips to your cheek. The scent of whiskey faintly wafts in the air.
You stupidly freeze, hands curled around his wrists when his cold hands tilt your head so the tip of his tongue can press to the corner of your lips. You could stop him. You could.
You didn’t.
You smell like strawberry, the same as that other night. You look just as good, too. Shame you haven’t put anything on your lips. He would’ve loved to be stained a nice pink again.
He slides his whiskey next to you.
Then, he finishes what’s left of your drink. Dickhead. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me.” He taps your nose and stands up. “You know where to find me.”
With a tilt of his hat, he leaves.
You pull the napkin from your teeth. Are you serious?
Face burning with humiliation, you hastily unfold the tissue, fingers shaking around the glass of whiskey. It’s heavy on your tongue; disgusting, bitter, everything you’d use to describe that stupid cowboy and his abomination of a body.
Scrawled in blue ink is a line of numbers. It looked suspiciously like a phone number.
Below it in blocky letters are the words: Keep In touc H. ♡
There’s a crudely drawn horse with a hat in the corner.
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I got curious about the most troublesome/mischievous pokemon you've worked with at the daycare, because I learned today that Clover knows how to psychically pick locks and decided to show that by picking the lock I use to keep Willow from the treats because she'd eat all of them if given the chance. which she did
Holy arceus that's incredible. I have honestly never seen an espeon do that and I know it's probably pretty headache inducing for you, but that's absolutely hilarious
I'd say the most consistently troublesome pokemon would be impidimp. Pranking each other is how they show affection, so reasoning with them and trying to give them other activities will just rile them up more. Even sterilized daycares have problems with these guys. They pick locks, hide things, set up traps, you name it.
As for Clover, there's actually an answer here.
See, psychic pokemon lifting objects and messing with things is not uncommon. So scientists have been working for years to develop products that prevent this. The old method was a diet of payapa berries, which weakens a pokemon's psychic abilities in general, but this is a bit of a nuclear option. It has a bad effect on the mental health and overall strength of your pokemon, as it's shutting down pretty crucial parts of their abilities. So they figured out a different method.
There's now a product called "Mental Block". It's a paint-based spray that prevents objects from being manipulated by psychic energy. From what I remember, it's based on dark-type pokemon's ability to resist psychic influence. Alolan grimer, I think, is the pokemon that inspired this, as the chemical processes in its body have artificially produced the dark typing?? It's weird and I don't understand, but the important thing is that it works.
Hope that helps! :) And send me a video if it doesn't cus I wanna see this
#pkmn#pokemon#pokeblr#pokemon irl#unreality#i think you can get that stuff on macromarket#but if u don't want to support macrocosmos#(understandable tbh)#then timburr supply company usually carries it
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We always tend to explore and wonder about what is up there. But we tend to forget to look down and explore what is here also. The microcosmos is a part of the macrocosmos. We need to first understand what is here and then we can understand the rest of the Universe. Everything in connected. Even the smallest thing can make a huge difference. ~BlueStar Dolphin
#lightlanguage#starseed#lightwork#awakening#energy#healing#activation#Microcosmos#macrocosmos#bluestar dolphin
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☀️ㅤI S L A N D — T I M Eㅤ🌴
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tbh considering last night was. legitimately the 1st time someone has been added to my friends list aside from alts/irls/ppl from my former world/dc, i am incredibly happy (≧ω≦) !!
#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#⋯ ꒰ა ffxiv ໒꒱ *·˚#i'm ignoring that them and their fc might be kind of sus !! LMAO but it was just really fun man idk. i don't really mind#:O i hope once again we can clear uwu this thurs aaa ... i will honestly be unbelievably happy T___T i have done savage yes but not yet an#ultimate >< it's not dsr or ucob but it definitely is something!! i've only done savages and ex stuff so i'm rlly proud hehe also hmm#w how far we are into it. aka around 20 or 30% on ultima . roulette mechs yk. i THINK i can safely say that this is around e12s difficulty#for sure hmm ... it's definitely something done as a team and you all need to know what you're doing for it to work :O ultimates r harder w#for* healers i think bcs for example. no macrocosmos. in the lower level ones i mean!! so like smn doesn't have gap closer :O#hmmmhmmhmhmhm idk where i'm going w this anymore LMAO anyways if you're reading this though i highly doubt that#i do very much suggest checking ffxiv out :] best story i've ever read imo (esp putting into everything that makes ffxiv. ffxiv)#i've been thinking abt ffxiv endwalker's final zone so much ... the song in particular!! that is. unbelievably good still#wahh yeah tho ig i'm just kinda sad ppl don't rlly interact w my ffxiv posts ... makes a lot of sense but like. T___T
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La magia e l’alchimia nel secolo dei Lumi
In questo articolo ci interesseremo della importanza della magia e dell’alchimia nel secolo dei Lumi.
Può sembrare strano che anche in un secolo dominato dalla razionalità e dalla scienza trovarono posto la magia e l’alchimia.
Questo però non ci deve sorprendere troppo se ha ragione Popper ad affermare che anche nella scienza moderna è presente con forza la tendenza a spiegare il mondo visibile mediante un presupposto invisibile.
Se teniamo presente ciò non ci dobbiamo sorprendere se un grande scienziato come Newton ha scritto una mole notevole di manoscritti di alchimia.
Tali manoscritti rimasero però ignorati fino al 1940.
Dobbiamo mettere in evidenza che non si tratta di semplici studi giovanili che lo scienziato avrebbe abbandonato per dedicarsi alla ben più razionale chimica.
È vero il contrario.
Avendo iniziato con la chimica Newton si rese sempre più conto dell’importanza dell’alchimia quale forma di sapere in grado di darci un’immagine “in scala” delle attrazioni che governano il macrocosmo.
Possiamo dire che la ricerca alchemica faceva davvero parte di quella che potremmo chiamare l’officina segreta di Newton.
Newton il padre della scienza moderna rovescia se così si può dire il percorso che Comte avrebbe poi indicato al tempo del positivismo della conoscenza occidentale.
Secondo Comte la scienza occidentale seguiva un percorso ben determinato partendo dalla teologia passando per la metafisica sino a giungere alla scienza positiva.
Newton segue un percorso che è l’esatto opposto di quello che comte indica nella famosa legge dei tre stadi.
Infatti Newton parte da una rigorosa analisi dei fatti empirici per avvicinarsi progressivamente poi con sempre maggiore convinzione a forme di spiegazione occulta in grado di eliminare problemi e difficoltà incontrati nel corso della ricerca.
Per dirla in altro modo lo scienziato non può fare a meno di accedere a una dimensione oscura.
Tale dimensione non va quindi considerata in contraddizione con la centralità della matematica e con il suo procedimento rigorosamente logico.
Non abbiamo allora ragione di stupirci se uno scienziato come Newton mostrò di interessarsi non solo alla teologia ebraico-cristiano ma anche alle conoscenze alchemiche e alla magia naturale.
Ormai la stessa fisica e l’astronomia impongono nozioni come quella di universo infinito di entità non osservabili chiamate forze proprio mentre la filosofia corpuscolare si confonde con la matematica.
In breve possiamo dire che nella prospettiva di Newton scienza e alchimia rappresentano due diversi livelli di un medesimo percorso conoscitivo che dalla superficie è costretto a spingersi sempre più in profondità per svelare le arcane verità che fanno del mondo la meravigliosa creazione di Dio.
Proprio in questo senso Newton definiva Dio stesso “Il Grande Alchimista”.
Ma il pensiero di uno studioso per quanto importante non sempre coincide con quello di tutto un secolo.
Pertanto dobbiamo dire che nonostante Newton nel suo complesso il settecento vide un progressivo abbandono degli studi magico-alchemici.
Ma nonostante tutto ciò anche nell’Illuministico settecentesco si aprirono vuoti che lasciarono filtrare elementi riconducibili a concetti magici.
Per fare un esempio nel settecento persistono credenze di tipo gnostico che considerano l’uomo caduto da uno stato divino e spirituale a uno materiale da cui avrebbe il compito di liberarsi per ritrovare le proprie condizioni originarie.
Inoltre si diffonde lo spiritismo come possibilità di incontro con i morti.
Nello spiritismo credeva anche l’emblema del razionalismo settecentesco ovvero Voltaire.
Accanto all’illuminismo razionalista e laico cresce nel corso del secolo la convinzione che non sia impossibile comunicare con le grandi anime dei morti.
Ancora una volta la curiosità che caratterizza la natura umana cerca di spingere avanti il carro della conoscenza talvolta riuscendo a far vivere in una stessa persona la via razionalistica e quella magico-iniziatico.
Proseguendo nella ricerca di altre testimonianze del coesistere di due tendenze opposte tra loro troviamo all’inizio del secolo la pubblicazione della “bibliotheca chenica curiosa” nella quale si segnava l’immutata vitalità della tradizione alchemica.
Nella prefazione all’opera il medico Manget ricorda quando avvenne nel 1685 nel laboratorio di Boyle uno sconosciuto poveramente vestito riuscì a produrre oro e Boyle dovette ammettere che era vero oro della ricerca di laboratorio.
D’altro canto verso la fine del secolo si compie il passaggio definitivo dall’alchimia alla chimica grazie all’opera di Lavoisier che contribuì in modo determinante a definire la separazione tra aspetto simbolico-produttivo e aspetto sperimentale- cognitivo.
Dobbiamo dire che la svolta operata da Lavoisier si produsse in forza della sua avversione accanita nei confronti della teoria ancora intrisa di spirito magico-alchemico enunciata da Stahl.
Proprio a partire dal disaccordo su la teoria di Stahl in seguito all’urto tra lo spirito magico-alchemico e lo spirito scientifico la chimica in senso proprio cominciò a separarsi nettamente dall’alchimia.
Separazione sancita dalla-enciclopedia che presentava le due dimensioni (scienza sperimentale e sapienza magico-alchemica) sotto due voci ben distinte: ”alchimia “ e “chimica”.
Tuttavia l’enciclopedia assegnava all’alchimia un ruolo di tutto rispetto: veri alchimisti venivano infatti definiti quanti dopo essersi applicati alla chimica ordinaria si erano spinti più lontano verso l’ignoto.
Quando si parla di magia alchimia e credenze gnostiche presenti nel settecento un nome soprattutto si affaccia alla mente ovvero quello del mitico Cagliostro.
Cagliostro era figlio anche lui di una tradizione che evitando di rivolgersi nettamente a Dio faceva riferimento alla divinità presenti in ogni essere viventi così da rendere possibile la riconquista della perfezione originaria.
Questo modo di pensare è senza dubbio prettamente gnostico.
Siciliano d’origine Giuseppe Balsamo passato alla storia come Cagliostro è davvero una delle grandi figure dell’occultismo settecentesco.
Iniziato alla massoneria in Inghilterra soggiornò verso il 1783 a Napoli e a Lione fondando a quanto pare in entrambe le città un rito massonico noto come “Alta Massoneria Egiziana”.
Percorse quindi l’Europa esercitando ovunque le sue doti di guaritore e aprendo logge massoniche in numerose città.
Condannato a morte dal Sant’Uffizio venne rinchiuso nella Rocca di San Leo avendo avuto commutata in carcere a vita la condanna a morte.
Dobbiamo dire che sulla sua prigionia si svilupparono molte leggende.
Una di queste narra di una sua fuga negli stati uniti d’America dove avrebbe infine condotto una vera e propria esistenza immortale.
Tale leggenda sembra quasi voler dire che alchimisti e maghi cercavano di impadronirsi di un potere quasi divino e inoltre cercavano di mettersi in rapporto con vari tipi di entità soprannaturali.
Detto ciò riteniamo concluso il nostro discorso sulla Magia e Alchimia nel secolo dei Lumi.
Prof. Giovanni Pellegrino
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#alchimia#dimensioneoscura#Illuminismo#macrocosmo#magianaturale#massoneria#positivismo#scienzamoderna#spiritismo
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