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ceilidho · 3 months ago

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fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 2 masterlist

How am I hearing you?

That should be the first question out of your mouth, but instead what comes out is a meek trembling of words. “E-excuse me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. “Asked if you could let me in, love. I’m a bit turned around.”

You pause for a moment to take stock of the situation. A programming that has served your species since the dawn of time quietly whispers something to you, its voice unintelligible but meaningful. The instinct to help kicks in with the man’s plea, but your own confusion stays its corresponding response.

There’s a man outside the ship knocking on the window and you’ve never seen his face before.

“Where did you—where did you even come from?” you ask.

He waves a hand and it drifts slowly beside his helmet, encumbered by the lack of gravity. “Around. Lost contact with my crew and I’ve been trying to get some help ever since.”

His tone is too blasé for the situation. You’d expect fear or urgency, but he speaks as though reassuring you.

“Was there another ship nearby?” You don’t remember Graves mentioning any other ships in this sector of the solar system. With many funded by private corporations or individuals, the team might not be always privy to all ongoing missions, but the commander would have known if there was a ship within a lunar distance.

“At some point,” he says, still smiling. Too friendly.

It’s been months since you spoke to a man your age that you hadn’t seen drink their own piss via the ship’s recycled water filtration system. Not to shame anyone—you’re part of that statistic too—but you’ve realized in the past few weeks how far that knowledge has gone towards dampening any burgeoning attraction to anyone.

But it occurs to you again—a thought burrowing into the recesses of your mind, like a phantom of itself, a loon call over a still lake—that you are hearing someone from outside the ship. Sound traveling through nothing; the very absence of sound.

The thought is too big for your head, but it fits itself in anyway. It stretches uncomfortably because material reality usually wins in the end. What you can see and hear, you can trust. You know the world through what appears in front of you; that's always how it's been.

This time though, there's something you can't quite fit in your head.

“Wait, let me…let me get some help,” you tell him, taking a step away from the window. Your stomach clenches when he frowns, brows pulled together in concern.

“You sure, love? I can walk you through opening the doors if you need help. Same as my ship, I bet.” He chuckles nervously. “Been out here awhile now; not sure how much oxygen I’ve got left in the tank, if I’m honest.”

That almost gets you, but you remember protocol. For all your shortcomings, you’ve never not followed protocol. Opening the airlock and letting anyone in or out is a process strictly monitored by the commander, and you have no authority to grant anyone access without express permission. You know the access codes, of course, for security and safety reasons, but despite the sudden urgency in his voice, you haven’t been authorized to let him in.

And then there’s the matter of—

Again, though his frame fills up most of the porthole, when you look out into the depths of space around him, you see nothing out there. You wonder if perhaps Graves purposefully omitted any mention of receiving a distress call from a ship with a lost crew member.

It feels less than likely.

“I’ll be back.” You take another step back, heart fluttering in your chest. “Just…wait. I’ll—”

The rest of your sentence never comes, tucked beneath your tongue. Your feet are already taking you away.

The metal floor clangs under your feet as you stumble away and down the hall towards the cargo hold. You can hear the man yell after you, his voice growing more and more distant the farther you run, until its echo lingers only in your head.

Down the stairs and through the main corridor, you pass the medbay on your way to the cargo hold, the room at the far end of the spacecraft accessible only by descending below the orlop deck. You come galloping down the stairs so fast that you nearly trip over the last one.

The doors to the hold slide open at your approach. Though the cargo hold on the ship isn’t as gargantuan as some you’ve seen before, it’s still big enough for your footsteps to echo across the room when you make your way inside. Crates holding the ship’s sampling gear and equipment are tied down to the floor by fiber-reinforced polymer straps and covered by heavy-duty nets. The smell of fuel and ozone is pungent, thick in the air.

The temperature in the hold is a degree or two hotter than the rest of the ship, putting you instantly on edge. Irritable; uncomfortable. Heat clings to the grooves of your skin, sinking past the epidermis. You tug your collar out with a finger.

“Hello?” you call out into the hold, voice reverberating off the walls.

No one responds. Perhaps Farah did come for her brother, as she mentioned earlier. It wouldn’t do for you to linger in the empty hold then, the man outside the ship still a pressing concern.

The ceiling is banded by metal beams, ferrous pipes running up the walls to the rafters, gurgling and whistling as water passes through. You can see the shoddy workmanship in the exposed scaffolding, areas that should’ve long ago been covered up or hidden away behind walls. A pipe in a far corner overhead drips onto the concrete below.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks from directly behind you, and your heart jumps into your throat at the sudden sound.

When you whirl around, Hadir stands in the middle of the cargo hold, shoulders slouched and hands stuffed in his pockets. He lifts an eyebrow at the look on your face. Though he shares some features in common with his sister, his build is entirely different; stockier, slightly softer. Round jaw to her sharp. The same widow’s peak though, and the same nose.

“Yeah, hi—morning, by the way.” You gesture with your thumb towards the door. “I, just…this is going to sound wild, but I think I just…I think someone’s outside the ship.”

The easy look falls off his face in favor of a more serious expression.

“Outside the ship?” he repeats in disbelief.

“Yes, I know, but I swear. Can you just—” Frustration makes you curt. Partial embarrassment too because you know how it sounds.

There shouldn’t be anyone outside the ship because you’re in the middle of nowhere with no other spaceships around for hundreds of thousands of miles. There shouldn’t be anything other than carbonaceous and silicate asteroids drifting outside the ship. Rubble as small as grains of sand.

He frowns. “Did someone get locked out of the ship? Why didn’t you go get Graves?”

“It’s not—” Again, you can’t seem to find the words, the right one getting lost in translation. “It’s not someone from the crew.”

Something shifts across his face, a micro-expression that makes your throat tighten involuntarily, but he nods and follows you out of the hold.

Nerves plague you on the walk back to the porthole. Since you lead the way, you can’t look back and gauge Hadir’s expression, but you can feel his eyes heavy on your back. Skepticism still thick in the air, so rich you can almost taste it. You can hardly blame him. Were it anyone else, you’d think them delusional too.

The walk back feels twice as long somehow. At the top of the staircase, you breathe quietly out of your mouth in order to catch your breath without letting on how winded you are. Hadir’s footsteps echo yours, a beat off the entire walk back to the corridor you left just a few minutes ago.

When the porthole finally comes into view, you freeze, causing him to nearly walk right into you. Any apology for the sudden halt doesn't get off the back of your tongue.

A dark, empty nothingness perforated by light in the far off reaches of space. Your throat goes dry at the sight.

“There was someone outside,” you say. It comes out whispery thin.

You almost don’t need him to walk up to the glass and look out, knowing already what he’ll see. It’s immediately evident, the porthole free of anyone or anything obscuring the hazy band of stars off in the distance.

There’s no way to see Hadir’s expression as anything other than concerned. He peers out of the porthole again, twisting his head to the right and left in order to see as far as the view extends.

“I, uh…I don’t see anything out there,” he finally admits, a tad awkwardly. He has a hard time meeting your eyes.

“Oh,” you reply, nonplussed.

You step up to the window alongside him. Stars leak out of the blackness of space; eternal night. It’s a long way from anywhere out here.

“He might’ve gone to another window.”

For a beat, Hadir doesn’t respond. You’re both thinking the same thing. It’s unlikely that if anyone were out stranded in the middle of space that they’d float aimlessly around their only means of salvation rather than just wait for help.

“Maybe you just saw your own reflection,” Hadir suggests. "It happens. Freaks me out too sometimes."

The tone of voice he uses irks you; it’s vaguely placating, like he’s trying to reassure you as well as himself.

There’s nothing wrong with you though. You saw what you saw and heard what you heard. There was a man outside the porthole hovering in space and he spoke to you.

“Yeah, maybe,” you say instead.

You stare at the faint, runny outline of your own face in the window. No matter how hard you stare, you can’t imagine her suddenly opening her mouth and talking to you.

When the two of you finally part ways, you head for the medbay on autopilot. The mug that was in your hand is long gone—probably accidentally put down when you went looking for Hadir in the cargo hold—and you regret not stopping by the galley for a refill.

It bothers you that Hadir went the other way, towards the cockpit instead of back to the cargo hold. You wonder whether someone called him up before you found him.

The medical unit on this ship is smaller than what you’re used to for interplanetary travel. They’ve supplied you with the equipment necessary for simple surgeries and nothing more; anything more complex is left to chance and divine intervention. The operating table in the center of the room comes equipped with a scanner capable of medical imaging and diagnosing.

It’s an incredibly insular room on top of that, having been designed without windows. Not atypical for a medical bay. Though bigger than your personal quarters, you often find yourself on edge when spending any prolonged amount of time in your work station.

For all of its flaws, the ship is equipped with a rudimentary form of artificial intelligence. It mainly assists with performing diagnostics, assisting with determining the best trajectory for the spacecraft, and enabling autonomous navigation, the latter function being temporarily suspended after the impact from the day before, but it has some use. You’re especially lucky that every computer on board gives you access to the AI, meaning that you can stay cooped up in the medical unit rather than venturing back to the cockpit where your inquiry might wind up drawing more attention to you than you’d like.

You lean forward in your chair, a leg tucked into your chest as you flip a switch on the dashboard on the wall behind the computer and then a button on the keyword, the familiar blip letting you know to speak.

“Ship, please scan the perimeter for any nearby foreign objects.”

Chewing your nails and staring at the computer, you watch it light up, words and symbols flashing across the screen, buttons flicking on and off on the dashboard behind it. The ship rumbles around you as it scans the surrounding vacuum of space for anything with mass. The foot still touching the ground taps, a restless twitch running through your leg.

The blip of completion makes you jolt in your chair.

No anomalous objects detected around ship's exterior

You press the button again. “That’s—that’s not possible, Ship. I saw someone out the window.”

When you let go of the button again, the computer goes quiet, running through another round of calculations, performing the same diagnostic again. Another distended moment of anticipation. You hold your breath until the computer beeps, the perimeter inspection complete.

Scan complete

No anomalous objects detected around ship's exterior

The secondary confirmation makes your stomach sink.

It’s difficult to articulate the feeling in your chest. Halfway between disbelief and unease. Perhaps a simple error in judgment, but you can’t simply look past the voice you heard from the astronaut outside the porthole. In your life, you’ve made plenty of mistakes and bad calls; you’ve run the gamut of mistakes, everything from going back to old flings to nearly misdiagnosing a patient.

You have never seen things that weren’t there.

Still, the reading on the screen doesn’t waver. You stare at it until your watering eyes force you to blink.

You chew the nail of your middle finger until it tears. Sweat slicks the small of your back and the soft skin under your arms.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Okay.”

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz/reader #gaz x you

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market-insider · 1 year ago

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aealzx · 1 month ago

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Prologue | AO3

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The rest of lunch was filled with more casual chatter, and after somewhat helping Alfred clean up the dishes the group headed for the Batcave. Bruce was quick to wordlessly lift Danny onto his arm again once they got close to the stairs, setting him down carefully close to the main computer as Damian fetched a rolling stool and Tim started to set up the computer for what they needed.

“Don’t feel like you need to rush. If you need a break we can come back to this later,” Bruce assured quietly as Danny gratefully took a seat on the stool.

“Here’s the pen,” Tim was quick to come over as well, holding out what looked like a tablet stylus with a few buttons for Danny to take. “Hold the front button to free draw. And if you want to do straight lines between points just tap the button higher up to switch modes, tap the front button for each point of the lines, and double tap to end the connection on the current line,” he explained, manipulating Danny’s hand to follow the instructions as well as demonstrate the functions.

Danny was surprised to see faintly glowing hologram lines appear wherever the pen tip was when the buttons were pushed, huffing a small giggle in pleasant surprise. “Woah…. So cool,” he commented, impressed by the advanced technology. “Uhm…. So, I guess… the entrance was like this…,” he rambled brokenly, figuring he should just get going and get up to start drawing what he could remember in the open space.

It took him a second to get the hang of the device, and with Tim following him around to be able to make any adjustments Danny requested he ended up getting caught up in the explanations and feeling less scrutinized. His movements were a bit slow as he tried to conserve his energy, and sometimes he had to float to reach where he needed to, but it was a lot more effective than trying to describe what no one else could see.

“The frame is mounted on the wall, and there’s two metal doors embedded in the wall that we can use to somewhat close the portal. It doesn’t block anything that can go intangible, but it keeps humans out and masks the gateway from being easy to find while in the Infinite Realms. There’s a simple alarm light on top that alerts us of any anomalies. And a filtration system on the right side. Which is actually one of the more important parts. Like I said earlier, the portal extends into the wall about… this far. It’s masked by the ectoplasmic energy now that the portal is on, but I looked into it more closely a few months ago. There’s some sort of structure within the tunnel walls that directs the flow of ectoplasm once it’s pulled from the Infinite Realm. It loops on itself, in a spiral, passing through the ecto filter first. The raw ectoplasm from the realm is corrupted, and we use the filter to strip out the impurities. Kind of like separating the different elements of human blood. Then it gets bounced around within the tunnel, hitting eight hot spots here, here, hm,” he hummed for the rest of the points, as he drew circles to mark them, “all before getting pulled back to the middle again, which creates the visual spiral we can see in the portal from the outside. There’s a minor amount of electricity maintaining certain functions, but for the most part it’s self sustained by the ectoplasm.”

At that point Danny had moved around enough his legs were starting to hurt and feel weak, so he plopped back on the stool from before. It seemed to be a good time to take a break anyway, for Wally and Raven were starting to walk around the crude designs.

“...This is a fibonacci spiral…Or at least it’s extremely close,” Wally spoke up first after coming to a stop in front of the diagram again, gesturing to the energy current lines. “And you said the measurements weren’t exact?”

“Yeah. I measured the opening once, and it was very slightly over two meters in diameter. With the tunnel going back about three meters, but also slightly more. I just thought it was because my parents weren’t being careful with the measurements,” Danny confirmed with a tired nod, absently rubbing his leg.

“Or it needed a different measurement system…,” Wally mused, a few thoughts starting to click in his head. “Tim, make the diameter 2.094 meters, and the depth 3.141 meters. Then space out the concentration points to match a fibonacci spiral.”

As Tim tapped on a wireless keyboard to adjust the diagram according to Wally’s direction he squinted slightly. “Two point… Wait, that’s the conversion for four and six Egyptian Cubits respectively. That’s one of the oldest measurement systems.”

“From one of the oldest civilizations known for being rather involved when it came to matters of the dead,” Wally added as a way to confirm Tim had come to the same realization as him.

“Egyptian cubits?” Danielle repeated, scrunching her nose in confusion. “What would that have to do with anything? And why four and six?”

“They’re numbers that different cultures associate with the dead. Four, six, and also eight like the concentration points,” Wally explained, pointing to the different aspects. “Combined with the fibonacci spiral, one of the most common shapes that has often been associated with representing life, and it’s starting to look like this portal is a ritual for life and death.”

“It does,” Raven confirmed with a nod, stepping forward. “The method is old, it’s not really used anymore in modern techniques because of how simplistic it is. It leaves too much up to the one performing the ritual, which means there’s a much larger chance for error. Was this all they had? This was enough for them to get it to work?”

It was a little alarming to hear Raven and Wally imply that the Fenton couple had most likely unintentionally performed a rather old and risky mystic ritual or something instead of just messing with science. But what caused Danny to pause the most was Raven’s question if it had worked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that. He knew he should probably tell them the truth, but he didn’t exactly like talking about that event.

Unfortunately Sam didn’t seem to share his reluctance. “It didn’t work,” she admitted a little too bluntly, causing Danny to flinch. “From what I heard nothing at all happened when they turned it on. It wasn’t until Danny was looking around inside it that it actually activated.”

That revelation caused a few reactions of surprise from the others who didn’t already know, and Danny couldn’t help squeezing his left hand as a faint memory caused it to burn with phantom pain, crawling up his arm.

“Wait- You were inside the portal when it activated?!” Wally burst, gaping at Danny in extreme concern.

It was hard to figure out how to answer without having to fall too far back into the memory of that event, which caused Danny to remain quiet for a stretch of time, pressing his thumb into his palm tightly as his gaze couldn’t focus on anything for the moment. Eventually he forced himself to meet Wally’s gaze, drawing a slightly shuddering breath before answering. “...What?... Did you think I got this way by drinking ectoplasm or something?” he tried to joke, but the tremor in his voice made it fail.

No one seemed to know how to respond to that, realizing that Danny had ended up half dead because of an accident with an unstable lab experiment. Something that Wally was no stranger to himself, but it still something he wasn’t pleased to hear.

With the awkward silence, Jason gave a small huff and strode forward to semi roughly cup his hand on the back of Danny’s head and ruffle his hair a little. “Guess that’s one way to do it,” he muttered, just to break the silence and try to provide some sort of comfort.

With his comment, Raven took that as a chance to voice her own questions. “...Were either of your parents present when it happened?” she asked, confusion prompting her.

“...No, they weren’t even home,” Danny confirmed, feeling defensive in case Raven was going to say something to blame them or something.

She didn’t have anything to say about Jack and Maddie’s actions though, instead falling into an even more confused, thoughtful silence. “...That doesn’t make any sense…,” she muttered absently.

“What’s the anomaly?” Damian asked, prompting her to speak more.

“There was no offer of intent,” Raven responded, looking up and accepting the unspoken direction to explain. “This arrangement is the bare minimum material construction for an inter realm gateway. But because of that there are parts of the ritual that are missing, that still have to be fulfilled for it to work. Mainly payment, and instruction of intent. These days the intent is usually inscribed into the array to facilitate clarity and stability, and the payment is usually in the form of something being added to the array with the intent to sacrifice it.”

“Wait- So all those stereotypes of people being sacrificed to summoning rituals and stuff isn’t baseless?” Tucker sputtered, immediately associating Raven’s choice of words for meaning human sacrifices.

“Living people are one of the highest forms of payment, so unfortunately it can be common to use them,” Raven confirmed. “But even so, there has to be someone else there to express the desire to use them as payment, and determine what for. Which, from what you’ve all explained, there wasn’t anyone there to do so. I can’t imagine any of you wanting to kill Danny, and I doubt he was trying to offer himself since none of you even knew that was a requirement.”

“Hold up- Are you saying the portal only opened because it took Danny as a sacrifice?!” Danielle blurted, subconsciously stepping in front of Danny defensively.

“Excuse me!?” Jazz gasped, also moving forward.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense for what you’re telling me to have worked,” Raven insisted defensively, withdrawing slightly. “If it was a temporary portal I can understand if there was somehow an annulment of payment since the cost is much smaller. But considering the portal has remained open all this time that must mean a standing contract of sorts was established. Especially when we consider Danny’s state as a perfect liminal being. It seems like the Liminal Realm adopted Danny as one of its own in return for allowing a permanent connection to be established. An equal exchange, a link between two realms with a being who represents that connection.”

“That’s impossible,” Danny snapped, rising to his feet again. “I don’t know what realms you’ve worked with, but the Infinite Realms don’t function like that. Getting into them is probably a lot harder than I thought, sure. But there had to be someone there. The realm wouldn’t just…kill me on its own.”

“The realm of Hell is well known for taking the lives of people any chance it can. Especially those who mess around with rituals unknowingly. If you can’t imagine anyone who was there having a clear intent to sacrifice you, then it would have had to have been the realm itself choosing to take you,” Raven explained, forcing herself to remain calm and not trying to be antagonistic.

“Well I don’t know anything about Hell, but out of the two of us I’m pretty sure I know the most about the Infinite Realms,” Danny snapped back, memories of other people not being willing to listen to him about important matters causing him to get quickly irritated from anxiousness. “So when I tell you that it doesn’t operate that way, then believe me. There might not be much in the way of laws inside the Infinite Realms, but that’s because the highest law that the Realm has is that everyone always has a choice.”

“How do you know that for certain?” Bruce asked, his voice much calmer than the others as he was only trying to add data to back up that apparent fact. He was also trying to help the two children break off their argument by giving them another person to address, but it didn’t quite work.

“Because I’m not the Ghost King!” Danny exclaimed, having the brief thought that he should probably settle down and destress as he was rapidly starting to feel dizzy, but being too invested in the conversation to listen to his own mind. He couldn’t allow another misunderstanding about the Infinite Realms to persist. Not again. “Clockwork said we always have a choice, and it listened when I said no- It accepted me saying no, even though that meant there’d be no king. It wouldn’t-...” he broke off as the dizziness suddenly increased, causing him to sway and be unable to keep himself standing as he put his hands to his head. His face felt hot despite the rest of him starting to feel frigid.

Luckily Wally was quick to zip over to him and catch him, pulling Danny close and crouching carefully to help him partially lay down without being on the floor.

“Danny!”

There were several people who called his name out of varying levels of concern, but there wasn’t much they could do without crowding as Dick made it to their side first.

“...His fever spiked,” Dick informed after resting the back of his hand on Danny’s cheek and forehead. Danny didn’t respond, his head was still spinning, but he wasn’t surprised. Stupid him and pushing himself too far. Again.

“S… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress him out,” Raven apologized readily, her hands gripping each other in front of her.

“We know you didn’t. The conversation simply got out of hand,” Damian consoled as Tim brought the discarded blanket from before over to the others to get Danny bundled up again.

“Yeah well… telling someone they were murdered instead of dying accidentally is kind of a big deal,” Jason pointed out, feeling a bit snippy from his own unsettled emotions.

“Regardless, I think we’ve learned enough to know we should try something else,” Wally spoke up before anyone could react to that comment. “We can problem solve other issues later if needed, but it’s probably best to conclude for the rest of the day.” And to enforce that statement more he scooped Danny up to prepare to take him back up to bed. “Bruce, let’s bypass the Infinite Realms. Do you think they’d be up for having a realm frequency scan at the Watchtower? Maybe this weekend? It’ll probably be better to just try to connect directly to their realm instead of dropping them off in the connecting one.”

It was a good idea from what they had just learned, even if they had originally explored this possibility to try to use something the kids were familiar with. Bruce nodded in agreement. “I’ll make arrangements. Thank you for your time today.”

Nodding back to Bruce, Wally turned to head back up stairs with Dick following to bring the IV pole along. “Alright kiddo, let’s go back to taking a break,” he commented to Danny, who just let out a grumbled noise of annoyance as well as discomfort while shrinking into the blanket. It earned a chuckle from Wally, who could understand the frustration the boy had even if he couldn’t personally relate. “At least you had an actual meal today. I hear you’ve been stuck to bread and broth for now, which totally suuuucks.”

It was idle chatter as they took the stairs, but it did help Danny feel a little less like a weakling. As they left Tim saved the progress they made on the computer, then turned to look at Danielle since she was the easiest to get answers from. “What did he mean by Ghost King? I wasn’t aware that the Liminal or Infinite Realm or whatever had a monarchy.”

“Eh, we didn’t know for a long time either. But since everyone is allowed to make their own choices, a long time ago some ghost named Pariah Dark made himself king because no one could beat him and he was greedy. But a couple years ago Danny kicked his butt, and some people wanted him to be the new Ghost King because of that. He said no though, so now there’s currently an anarchy,” Danielle explained easily, shrugging.

“He said no to being a king?” Jason asked, both confused and mildly impressed.

“Ruling a realm is a lot to ask of a fourteen year old. Especially a realm full of chaotic ghosts who are apparently only there because they were too stubborn to fully die,” Danielle answered, folding her arms with a mild chuckle.

“That, and Danny didn’t think it counted because he was using a suit that enhanced his abilities a hundred fold,” Sam added.

“Over time he’ll probably get to the same level anyway. But the suit disappeared, so it wasn’t like keeping the title from anyone that challenged him would be easy either,” Tucker added on top of the others.

“He had enough to deal with trying to balance school, hiding from our parents, and dealing with the other ghosts causing trouble. He didn’t need to add ruling a realm on top of that,” Jazz enforced, having always agreed with Danny’s decision.

“Smart,” Jason acknowledged, though he wasn’t sure if he would make the same choice. Ditching the rest of highschool to become a king for a realm with very few people actually didn't sound all that bad.

“My turn for a question,” Danielle spoke up, raising her hand unnecessarily and earning some snickers.

“Sure, what’s up?” Stephanie accepted, feeling it was only fair the visitors got to ask their own questions.

“It’s actually more for Raven,” Danielle clarified, pointing to the girl. “Earlier, when we were doing the whole ritual thingy to get ectoplasm, you mentioned that Danny and I are favored by other realms. And just now you said that the ectoplasm was a gift to me from the Infinite Realm, and talked about how the Realm was the one that took Danny. But I thought realms weren’t sentient…… Are they?”

It was a question that mildly surprised Raven, but she was happy to clarify and elaborate further. “No, they’re not actually sentient in the sense that the realm itself has a mind of its own. Realms have often been mentioned to act, or favor someone, or behave in some manner akin to sentience because it’s easier for people to understand in some regards. But really it’s just the result of the cumulative thoughts and emotions of the beings who belong to that realm. The reason you and Danny are favored by the Liminal Realm is more because the people of the realm seem to like you.”

“Wha- really?” Danielle blinked, openly confused despite that explanation also having made some sense. “I always thought most of the people there didn’t like us.”

“Most of the other ghosts do seem to like picking fights with you two when they show up,” Sam agreed, finding it amusing that the Infinite Realm’s people apparently had favorites.

“Well… like is probably not the correct word,” Raven admitted. “They ‘favor’ you in some manner.”

“I thought being a favorite was just a more intense form of liking something,” Tucker countered, that clarification having not mitigated his confusion at all.

“People always have favorites. But they’re not always nice to their favorites. A favorite punching bag, for example,” Raven tried again, this time earning understanding nods and being able to move on. “Now if you’re wondering why you were given a gift from the realm, when someone is a Realm's favorite they're usually bestowed with special privileges and abilities. Like how Superman seems to be pretty indestructible. Batman has some unusually lucky situations. Things like that. Those boons are normally spread between all who are favorites of the realm. But it is possible when there's only one, distinct favorite they could become more akin to that of a god. I’ve noticed that you and Danny have a rather distinct connection to the Liminal Realm that makes me think you’re quite favored in varying regards.”

“Wait, hold on,” Tucker sputtered, realizing something from Raven’s suggestions. “Are you implying that Danny might be getting, I dunno, new powers or something, because the other ghosts really like using him as a punching bag?”

The connection being said aloud earned a barked laugh from Jason and Stephanie, but Raven only gave a slight smile. “Perhaps,” she half agreed. “It’s a potential that could happen based on what I’ve read and heard.”

“HA! Poor kids,” Stephanie snorted, “At least you’re given stuff to fight back with.”

“Yeaaaah being the favorite child is starting to not seem like a good thing,” Danielle chuckled along with her in good nature.

“So…,” Tim started, pulling them back to a connected issue, “Back to the more uncomfortable part of this. Danny being used as a sacrifice to open that portal was essentially because… enough people in the Liminal Realm were aware of him, aware of the event, and willing to use him?”

“That’s… an accurate way to put it,” Raven admitted, though she wasn’t completely sure herself either. “Based on what I’ve heard, and using simple logic, that would make sense. But I don’t know how true it is, since I don’t know what the Realm was like at the time the portal was opened. There could have been a specific person there, it could have been a collective desire… I don’t know. But I’m fairly certain Danny is the reason the portal is open.”

It was a somber thought, but Tucker couldn’t help shuddering as another thought came to mind. “Makes you wonder how Vlad got his portal to work.”

“You say that like you actually believe the man hasn’t already killed someone before,” Sam retorted dryly, unimpressed.

“...Fair point,” Tucker agreed.

“.... Aaaaand Vlad is?” Tim prodded, starting to think this was someone they should know about after that exchange.

“The guy that created me, and almost killed me,” Danielle responded bluntly, expression going decidedly neutral.

“A sick freak that wants to kill Danny’s dad so he can marry his mom and adopt him as his own child,” Sam added, folding her arms.

“...Ooookay. Write that down Tim. We do not make friends with this Vlad guy, and definitely keep him away from these guys,” Stephanie prodded, poking at Tim since he still had the keyboard for the computer, earning a few snickers from the others.

_________________

Iiiii couldn't manage to focus on anything else to work on today, so I ended up catching up on what I had written |D Lot's of headcanon in this one.

___________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

#my art #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phantom rogues #writing #long post #really long post #headcanon

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riality-check · 12 days ago

Text

Viktor does not have many friends at the Academy, but he is rarely alone. Such is the nature of university life. The academic environment is inherently social; he attends class with other students, eats alongside them, and must frequently bang on his wall so as to alert his neighbors that he can, in fact, hear… whatever activities they decide to do on weeknights. Being alone at the Academy is a difficult feat, and it is one that does not go out of his way to accomplish.

He has learned that surprises some of his classmates. They often remark, when they are paired with him for group projects, about their perceptions of him.

“I thought you’d be meaner.”

“I thought you’d be quieter.”

“I always assumed you were just shy.”

Every time, Viktor must refrain from rolling his eyes. Topside politeness is a strange thing, he has learned. It is very performative, with its big smiles and friendly, useless greetings. He finds it difficult to imitate - why, for example, ask someone “how are you?” if neither they nor him truly care for the answer? - and so he sticks to Undercity standards.

Nod politely as a greeting. Give people space unless they require conversation. Offer a chair or a coat or a snack if someone is in need, with the understanding that the debt will be repaid.

Back home, his parents were often praised for raising such a polite boy. Here, at least once a semester, someone comments on his standoffishness.

It does not matter. He is not here to slack off. He is here to learn. He does not need anything more than the pleasant, occasional company of his classmates, who, he is discovering, will offer their smiles but never their coats.

Every once in a while, he does get more. Someone will stay in his room for a night - they always think they are the ones in charge at the beginning, a fact that Viktor finds equally amusing and irritating - and coo sweet words about his appearance and his intellect.

He is lucky if they look at him the next morning. He learns the hard way that they are perfectly content with a trencher in their bed but never on their arm.

When this finally sinks in - it does not take long; he has always been a quick study - Viktor swallows back whatever odd thing it is that rises in his throat and determines that this attitude suits him perfectly well.

______________________________________________________________

The brace is simple in its concept but difficult to perfect. Considering the amount of time spent constructing his current cane a few semesters ago, Viktor is not surprised. Engineering for biological systems is far more complex than, say, pure mechanical engineering. Pain and discomfort, for example, are complicating factors for his leg bug not for air filtration systems.

Viktor would much rather design air filtration systems than leg braces or canes. They are far more interesting and useful on a larger scale. But the truth of the matter is that he cannot trust anyone else to construct these devices for him. Only he knows how they feel for his body, and the effort he would have to undergo to translate the abstract (but very real) sensations of wrongness, in all their varied forms, into words that another person can understand is not worth it. Not when he can just grab a wrench.

What is that saying? “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Story of Viktor’s life.

He sits on his bed, right leg crossed at an uncomfortable height over his left, and tightens a screw. The previous designs are all documented in his notebook, which he flips through using his unoccupied hand. With every problem he eliminates, a new one arises. It is the worst haggling he has ever partaken in.

The brace must be worn underneath his trousers; he will not wrinkle his uniform if he can avoid it. Until recently, this meant that the cold, harsh metal of the brace would chill and bite at his skin. He only had so much salve (fresh unopened tin, left in the communal bathroom for a week with no takers) left, and he intended to save it for injuries that mattered.

He tried once, a few days ago, with a long sock on underneath the brace, but it rolled down so often and so severely that in a fit of exasperation, he nearly cut it off with scissors. Then he remembered that his sewing kit did not have enough black thread to repair that level of damage.

He only had three pairs of socks left, as they had a proclivity for vanishing inexplicably each time he washed his clothes. So, he could not cut it.

This design should, hopefully, “do the trick.” He attached cushioning (A petite girl he had taken a calculus class with, when she woke up the next morning in his room, asked, with a glance at the sewing kit left on his desk, if he could hem a dress for her. She repaid him by purchasing his next meal - real food, finally, not from the university - and letting him keep the scrap. He never saw her again.) to the parts of the brace most uncomfortable to wear.

All the old problems - tension, pressure, weight, bulk - have been resolved. There will only be new ones.

Viktor tightens the last screw. Time to see what those will be.

The brace is multifunctional. Primarily, its design is intended to correct the abnormal inward rotation of his right leg. Secondarily, it supports his knee and ankle to both allow his muscles to stop carrying that burden and prevent the joints from overextending and subluxating, as they often tend to do.

It will be uncomfortable, compelling his leg away from its natural state. But Viktor can live with discomfort if it is in exchange for improvement.

He has been haggling in this manner for his entire life.

With assistance from his cane, he stands. Then, he divides his weight evenly between his two own feet, holding his cane aloft.

There is the discomfort, as he had expected, but there is no pain.

He paces up and down the length of his dorm without his cane. His joints are relegated to a normal range of motion, which is restrictive but more stable. They do not feel as loose. A dull stretch, induced by the rigidity of the brace fighting against his body, along the side of his leg runs from thigh to calf, but that is all.

No other pain. No true pain, other than the dull ache of adjustment.

He nearly falls over with the realization before he catches himself on the wall. He has had days free of pain before, but they occurred far more often when he was a child. Now, they are so few and far between that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to have the distraction of it removed almost entirely.

He can think more clearly without it whispering talking shouting in his ear. He can breathe more easily.

Walking is awkward, what with the new rotation and the added weight, but he conjectures that he will get acclimated to it. He wants to get acclimated to it.

Outside of his window, he has a nearly unobscured view of the Academy clocktower. It takes him one glance to realize he is very nearly late for his systems course.

In his haste, Viktor nearly forgets to bring his cane with him to class. With how his brace reduces the pain, it is merely a failsafe in the event his balance is compromised by the awkwardness of his gait.

He barely uses it. Once he gets used to the new positioning of his leg, walking is a little easier. Slower, but easier. And the whole time, his cane barely makes contact with the ground.

The whispers are loud as always.

“Did he get better?”

“Has he been faking?”

“I knew someone our age couldn’t actually need it.”

He holds his head up and ignores them. When he catches a look, he returns the stares and wins.

He knows he will never be able to run. He could not when he was a child, and the unfortunate fact that the many non-functioning components of his body will only degrade - a fact he greatly prefers not to dwell on - has prohibited the notion for the rest of his life.

For the first time, he wants to run. So badly, in fact, that it is heart that aches instead of his leg.

He walks into class without the assistance of his cane, with the brace hidden underneath his pant leg, and believes, entirely, that this could work. That maybe he can walk like this, with no outward signal that he is different. Non-functional. Built incorrectly in the compounding of each and every failure inflicted upon the Undercity.

Maybe this is something he can overcome with his intellect. He already crawled up. What is stopping him from walking upright?

What is stopping his brilliant mind from allowing him to run?

He spends all day testing this notion, barely using his cane.

Viktor should have known the haggling would not work entirely in his favor. It never has.

When his body comes to collect, he pays in full. With interest.

The other installments, if you're interested: 1, 2, 3. 5.

#you get a two-for-one today!#because both these sections ended up a little short #anyway i hope you guys are still rocking with this #because i still am!#ria writes #arcane #arcane fic #viktor #viktor arcane #piltover and zaun #arcane piltover #undercity #the undercity #arcane league of legends #character study #canon disabled character #studying the blorbo like a bug #ableism #classism

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carionto · 1 year ago

Text

Humans are Loud

Most cultural exchange is done formally through official channels.

No matter how advanced a civilization you are, when meeting a whole new species, they are fundamentally alien to you in ways that need to be handled carefully and introduced to gradually, or you risk creating a bad first impression, or worse - incite conflict over something that is trivial to one side, but a grave taboo to the other.

However, once you have done preliminary work and both sides have emissaries and ambassadors stationed with each other, it becomes easier and more appropriate to learn about one another through unofficial means. Without curation.

And the most effective method, though legally dubious, is to disguise yourself as one of them and go to some places of public gathering.

Kol Rathar, from the bipedal Jorval race, wanted to experience what a day in the life of a regular Human was. So they picked a random population center on the Earth, engaged their personal disguise kit, tucked in some documents that explain who they are and the legality of their actions should they be discovered, and landed in the city of Neljaes-Helsinki.

It's the dead of winter, a bone chilling -1 degrees Celsius, Kol Rathar immediately turns up their life support to max and heads for the nearest public space. They enter what's called a "bar", take a seat, and order a beer. So as to not arouse suspicion, they "drink" the poison like a Human would, but there is a filter between the mouth on the hardlight holographic disguise and Kol Rathar's that detoxifies the alcohol and turns it into potable water. It still reeks and is hard to swallow, but it won't kill them.

They engage in general banter with some other patrons - Humans tend to dislike quiet in public spaces and often find it odd or unnerving. Universal topics like the weather, traffic, Mondays (most civilizations have an equivalent), and how everything is more expensive again (also a common occurrence across the Galaxy).

Then one of the patrons shouts to "Turn it up!" and the bartender raises the volume of the broadcast receiver to where Kol Rathar almost jumped from the shock, but thankfully the noise suppression kicked in just in time. it displayed a competitive engagement between two teams of Humans in heavily padded suits and helmets, wielding curved sticks and trying to push a small black object into the opposing net.

It did not take long for an act of violence to happen. One participant slammed their gloved fists into another, they retaliated, then a third assaulted the first, another three came out of nowhere and in seconds it was an incoherent pile of bodies slamming into each other, helmets flying off, the safety barriers were constantly vibrating, and it took a whole minute before the referees could dismantle the armageddon.

Kol Rathar thought this was the end of the game, something had gone horribly wrong, but before they could think further, they noticed everyone else in the bar was acting normal, most were looking at the altercation, but their behavior seemed... normal. Like this act of violence was common, expected even. Kol Rathar decided to maintain their cover and continue observing. They still couldn't believe that the competition was resuming after that.

Several minutes passed without another incident, the players of this "hockey" game were all very agile and adept at manipulating the small puck with their hockey sticks. WHILE SKATING ON ICE WITH THIN PIECES OF METAL ON THEIR FEET!

Kol Rathar had not even registered that fact earlier due to the "excitement" and was now awed by the sheer level of mastery and multitasking these players displayed.

Then one team finally scored a goal and Kol Rathar lost consciousness.

When they came to, they were in a hospital bed of the local Coalition embassy building being treated for shock and residual toxin exposure. The dense Human atmosphere saturated with bar patron activities will eventually overwhelm most low to medium threshold filtration systems that disguise kits come standard with.

The medic explained that there are very valid reasons for the strict requirements of Aliens visiting Human environments, and it's not a result of bureaucratic meddling over millennia as is with some other Coalition members. Nobody wants to read five hundred pages of anything, they get that, but Kol Rathar was lucky the Humans at the bar had mostly only recently arrived for the game and were not as intoxicated as they became after they were taken by the ER.

Kol Rathar's experience has been added to the guide for visiting Humans, which has recently been renamed to:

"Don't, but if you have to READ EVERYTHING HERE. There's an embedded audio book too. We know it's thirty hours long, but you will DIE if you don't listen to us!"

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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palindrome-alt · 1 year ago

Text

Digital Stars on The Wall

|| Kieran x Reader ||

Your new dorm room in Blueberry Academy is outfitted with all sorts of futuristic technology. You still haven't wrapped fully your head around the fact that you're physically stranded in the middle of the ocean in a giant submerged dome, but hey, whatever they did to make these screens, the night sky looks almost how it'd be if you were camping out in the wild on a cool night.

||Mild Spoilers for the Indigo Disk DLC!||

Everything about Blueberry Academy feels like it came out of a separate, futuristic world. The chromatic metal that never corrodes, the blue... substance, that flows through the artificial veins in the walls and keeps the place running... Out in the middle of the ocean, it's sort of like the whole megalithic building itself is somehow... alive.

Despite that, there's no electrical interference, no static hiss at the back of your ears as you rest your head against the artificial glass sky displayed on the 'window'. How the director managed to even design the illusion of depth in these screens is beyond you, but instead of square pixels, gentle pinpricks hang above you in the false distance. The fact that they aren't plastered flat to a screen is a mini engineering marvel in itself despite the slightly visible panels if you look closely. Hand shifting out from underneath deep blue sheets, you run your palm over smooth, slightly grooved glass. It feels like touching a bunch of small bathroom tiles, and though you logically know that there's really only a deep dark ocean stretched out for miles, you almost forget just how far you are from the home you've carved out in Paldea. You're still somewhat scared of the scientists of this world. Somehow, you don't remember civilization being this... technologically advanced. Cool air blows through the vents above you, tasting nothing of the slightly salty expanse of water above. With their filtration systems, this might be some of the cleanest air you've ever breathed. It's sterile, much less handmade and aged than your dorm room back in Mesagoza. But somehow, this place has started to feel so comfortable, as if it weren't ever foreign in the first place. The sound of rustling next to you shakes you out of your thoughts, and you shift back onto your back to get a closer look at Kieran, who you almost forgot was there.

He's stiff as a board, his arms folded on top of his chest, his eyes wide and staring straight at the ceiling. Aside from his shoes, he's still wearing his full school uniform, and his hair has only just started to slip from the tie he's put it up in. He popped in rather unexpectedly, and must not've thought you'd let him stay, so he didn't think to change into more comfortable clothes. Small frazzled black bunches drape onto the extra pillow you pulled from the closet, and the off-color purple no longer remains the dominant color.

You shift again, this time gaining his attention by curling against his side and nuzzling into the mattress a little more. He stiffens under the touch, but you can feel his sharp eyes flicker from the ceiling to you, a little more of an edge to him than before that he might not ever let go of.

You don't move, and he must think you're asleep with how you catch his eyelashes gently lulling, spine slowly losing its tension. He must be so sore from all the clenching he's been doing, if not from how he's been pushing himself up until recently. The events that transpired between you are probably still haunting him, even now. With a fresh set of new skin-deep scars, you know it has to be hard on him. Up until last week, it wasn't even certain if you were both still friends. He sighs beside you, head sinking into his pillow. Unclasping his hands, he slowly reaches over, testing the waters. He hesitates, looking conflicted over whatever thoughts are running through his head. Whatever he was going to do, he must've decided otherwise as his hand drops just short of you.

His eyebrows furrow, pupils dilating a little when they land on yours. "S-Sorry." He flinches away, shifting his gaze. You don't say anything, but the following silence between you isn't entirely comfortable like before. Inhaling deeply, he stiffens back up a little, pretending to look around the room though his focus is still on you. He can't seem to pay attention to anything else right now.

He's been so consumed with thoughts of you for so long that he's a little scared that he can't be normal about it. You can't know that. He tries forcing his eyes shut. He won't be getting any sleep tonight.

#x reader #pokemon #reader insert #pokemon x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #scarlet and violet #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokémon scarvio #pokemon fanfiction #platonic #dlc #pokemon dlc #obsessive behavior #pokemon kieran #kieran x reader

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najia-cooks · 9 months ago

Text

[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at this point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

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