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docfuture · 5 years ago

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Princess, part 11

[This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16. Links to some of my other work are here. Updates are theoretically biweekly. Next chapter is mostly done so I’m going to try to get it out later in August.]

Previous: Part 10

Five days after Speedtest. Three days after the isotope exchanger had worked enough for Flicker to restart her body chemistry. Then a scramble of pain, healing, and memory triage before, finally, sleep. She'd awakened, mentally fogged, to start a messy program of biological recovery and physical therapy, complicated by the need to spend more time in the isotope exchanger to reduce her not-immediately-lethal-but-still-a-problem radioactivity. For her minds, a fuzzy time of finding and patching connections, habits, and memories that were temporarily broken, misplaced, distorted, or newly intrusive. For respite, ghosting to Antarctica, gliding in the low sun over ice and cold air, never near anything living. Sleep remained fitful. Evening. The last really needed isotope exchanger session done. Body and mind were now holding together, even if neither were yet anywhere Flicker was particularly happy with. Talking to Doc in his lab. He frowned at a brain scan, some graphs, and a schematic of a cybernetic inductor. "I checked in on your medibots, because you mentioned your start routine this morning was still rough. Looks like your mind work was okay despite that, though?" "Caffeine helped," said Flicker. "And you can drink it again, and eat. Progress. I'm concerned at this scan though. It still shows signs of cybernetic interface withdrawal. I don't know how long that will last, given everything else. How bad is the ennui and poor appetite?" "Caffeine helped. A little." "Hm. Not much we can do other than wait. I had the Database forward the medibot scans and other information to Dr. Reinhart's partition." "Thanks. But I have a question." "Yes?" "You agreed to all of Dr. Reinhart's terms, including Database access, even though she's got a really questionable background, and doesn't want to meet or talk to you. Her last message mentioned it wasn't an encouraging sign, because it meant I needed help pretty bad." "Well, you do. Frankly, I'd be more worried if she was cheerily optimistic. And the Database picked her as the best choice. Fortunately Jumping Spider knew a bit about her, and was willing to do that interview. So I'm satisfied for now." "I guess I don't get how you're okay with the uncertainty about a mind control expert." "I did verify that she wasn't gaming the Database threat index. The correlations are suggestive of a mission-oriented vigilante targeting actively harmful individuals with power that have little or no likelihood of being stopped or removed by other means. Plus a few covert operations agents trying to kill her. The threat index understates her effect, because she operates in realms where data is sparse and of poor quality. As for the alleged mind control, it may just be a combination of psychological manipulation and some kind of hidden influence. But there is no question she uses her reputation as an effective tool." Doc waved a hand. "And I have a reputation for being paranoid about mind control, which isn't going to make her more eager to meet me, is it? Our security protocols may not be compatible, and I can think of several other potential good reasons for her to stay away. But ultimately it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to talk, so that's that. She owes me nothing. I wouldn't mind discussing mind control defense with her, and I don't like uncertainty any more than you do. But I've had a couple more decades to get used to it. I know I can't solve all the world's problems myself. Priorities." A crooked smile. "Now, none of this means that you should accept everything she says uncritically, or that you should strive to emulate her, morally or otherwise. And I'm sure she'll drop some unpleasant surprises on you. But she agreed to help, and she certainly understands the stakes. Are you having trouble with social boundaries again?" "When did this become about me?" Doc just looked at her. "Okay, yeah." "Boundaries are a difficult problem for you. So I hope your work with Dr. Reinhart is productive, and that you eventually have an opportunity to discuss them with her." ***** The next morning had certainly started off productive. And difficult. Flicker had been very much looking forward to finally recovering enough to talk--physically talk, with real air, vocal cords, sound, and hearing--to Dr. Stella Reinhart. Flicker faced Dr. Reinhart in her office. Stella. She said to call her Stella. She was in her late twenties, about 170 centimeters tall, with dark hair and green eyes, and wore jeans, boots, a leather jacket, and a work shirt. She looked dangerous because she was dangerous, and had the sort of intent, purposeful expression Flicker had learned to watch for when evaluating an emergency site at high speed--if someone like that was running, it was a very good idea to find out why. The office was bland, more often used by the assistant who handled paperwork for Stella's consulting business. But there were comfortable chairs. Stella sat in one, not behind the desk, after saying a few words about subconscious framing and symbolic barriers. A cable ran from her laptop to the now thoroughly guarded office net connection and from there to the Database. DASI was on duty, capital S for Security duty, with subtle and wide-ranging countermeasures. Excessive? DASI didn't think so, nor did Stella. One less thing for Flicker to worry about, which helped. The office was in a half empty building in a not particularly prosperous location, but it did have sliding doors opening onto a patio. Dr. Reinhart had left them open to accommodate Flicker's claustrophobia. Flicker had set up a portable force screen to keep out weather and complete the veil of security. Flicker's speed mind idled, handling just alerts and safety. She was talking with her physical body and brain only, entirely at human speed, about something stressful, with no help from speed mind. Holding back was hard. More so in the aftermath of Speedtest--her old problems with self-interrupting and awkward blurting had returned. She chased thoughts and sentences faster than her mouth could complete them, as clumsily as when she was thirteen. Embarrassment intruded as she veered and rambled, but Stella had suggested this starting test, after initial introductions. Every verbal issue, every bit of awkwardness that she normally compensated for, everything she smoothed over, eliminated, or hid with speed, visor and Database--all that was data, that told Stella how the human half of Flicker's mind worked. And Stella could use that as a baseline to probe how the high speed half of Flicker's mind worked, and how she coordinated. So she endured. Flicker stumbled to a stopping point. She'd managed a partial, excessively wordy, and not entirely coherent description of her problems and goals. She had digressed from and mangled her text summary, but talking out loud, in her own words, from her own mind, without notes, had been the point. She took a calming breath and tried to untense. This was the only part where talking was essential. I can switch to text now if I really have to. Stella smiled and thanked her, then turned to type at her computer. Her exact words escaped as Flicker's speed mind started a flurry of mental replays and second-guessing, but the Database flashed 'Break time' on her visor. Relief. Out through the doors, speeding past land and human complication to the Pacific. Slow coasting, well under 0.01c, while the two parts of her mind reintegrated. A wordless reckoning that normally went one way--slow mind to fast on waking up, and back before sleep. Tides flowing predictably over the sands of short term memory. Now the flow went both ways, boats loading and unloading as both minds took turns at 'Let me put that in a better place...' Still less stressful than the talking had been. Even deciding when to breathe had been awkward--speed mind had smoothed that for so long she'd almost forgotten. Fifteen minutes of waves and sunlight and motion. Coasting along crests and troughs. Manta rays breaching, sudden unexpected joy, a reminder that the world held marvels still happening. It helped. When she got the message to return, she was much calmer. Back at the office, a quick smile from Stella. "I have good data, and some preliminary assessments. I'm afraid we're unlikely to complete your priority list any time soon. One thing is clear; mind isolation during treatment is not a viable option. Your 'speed mind' is essential to your functioning and current identity, even at normal speed. So we'll work towards better coordination. But I have some serious concerns." A glance at her screen. "I should emphasize my disclaimer: This is a compassionate personal intervention in the absence of a qualified specialist. I am not a clinician, my research methods would give an IRB heart attacks, et cetera. And I have some reservations about the process by which I was selected. I sent the full text to your Database earlier. Did you read it?" "Yes," said Flicker. "I understand why you might need it for legal protection. Also if you're, like, a serial killer who eats souls, I have Officially Been Warned." "That works. I still go to conferences, and I create enough controversy on my own. It would be inconvenient to be widely banned from international travel. But I imagine you still have some questions." Flicker shrugged. "I'm curious about a few things. But if you weren't already doing weird superhero-adjacent and spyworld stuff, I don't think you'd have the experience to help without researching me for a year first. Anyway, go ahead." Speed mind shifted and reversed, back in her normal mental dance, speeding up and slowing down to aid stability and coherence. The desire to clarify and add to her awkward presentation to reduce social embarrassment was strong. But it was time to listen. "For your difficulty speaking," said Stella, "I agree with your Database AI that most of your returned problems should fade with social practice. You appear to have optimized your verbal coordination in order to present as a neurotypical human, so any change would cause temporary issues." "Because squishy brain is autistic. And yeah I did. It's a real pain to get strangers to listen if you don't talk 'normal human'." "Your distress is understandable. You do have traits in common with individuals with Asperger's and ADHD, but given your unique mind, it's probably best to view them as suggestive analogies--you have similar problems with similar coping mechanisms. 'Non-neurotypical' is as far as I'd go, and much of the cause may be consequences of the connection to your speed mind. Other issues are clearer." Stella leaned back in her chair. "Such as PTSD. You have layered coping mechanisms, but your Database stress history indicates that you tend to overwork or otherwise push yourself back to a ragged edge whenever you manage to achieve progress in reducing its effects." Stella clasped her hands in front of her face. "I doubt that dealing with the underlying issues will be an easy or quick task, but this is something you need to mitigate. I'll try to help you set realistic expectations when I understand more. One particular note. I can't speak to Doc's own mental health. But the elements of his work and life habits available for study indicate someone rather unhealthy for a PTSD sufferer to emulate. And whatever he might say, you took early cues from what he did." Stella frowned. "Your memory problems... I'm going to defer judgement on some of them until you've had more time to recover from your recent incident. And there are a number of other potentially serious long-term conditions that I now consider less likely, but can't yet rule out. But I am concerned that your Database AI already warned you about everything I've brought up so far, and some other issues that are more recent. I'd recommend revisiting your heuristics." Flicker spread her hands. "I didn't ignore the Database. I just couldn't do anything useful. I patched what I could and kept going." "That invites trouble when a new problem disturbs your patches." "Well, yeah. I get angry at things I can't fix. So I put them out of my mind to stay sane." Flicker looked away. "At least out of my conscious, human mind. Part of me remembers. And stays angry." She looked back and tried to smile. "I sometimes joke that I haven't lost my mind; I keep backups. Doc always retorted with how arduous it could be to try to restore from one. And that a mental backup doesn't bring things back the same, because the world has moved on. He was right. I had to try to restore a few things I misplaced during Speedtest and it was a pain. It stirs everything up, and I kept running across crap I'd stashed away because I couldn't deal, and I still couldn't deal because it was hitting all at once during a restore." The smile probably looked more like a fixed grimace. "So don't tell me about trouble and patches right now. I know." "Good," said Stella. "I will be going over things that seem obvious. People make tradeoffs, and mistakes, and I'd rather annoy you than miss any. But I also understand that this session has been stressful for you, and you aren't fully recovered. I can give you some initial recommendations and we can be done for the day, if you would like." Flicker took a deep breath, then let it out. "I'd like to keep going, now that I have my minds working together again. It's just... I should have reworked my priority list after you told me how you wanted to start, and put my anger issues higher on it. And there's this book I read, called Practical Power Dynamics..." An alert flashed on Flicker's visor and she sped up. The Database needed her override approval to resolve a convoluted permissions problem, which she granted. Stella's base permission level was only equivalent to a trusted outside academic researcher, so approval requests were going to be common for a while. Flicker slowed back down again to listen. "Where did you get the edition you read?" asked Stella. "It doesn't look like it was from the Database." "No. There was a version, but the Database didn't let me read that one. There were a bunch of hazards and warnings. The version I read is there now, I scanned it then locked it down. Doc doesn't know about it. I got it from Journeyman. He said he traded a bibliomancer to reconstruct an original text copy. Then let me read it, because he was worried and thought it might help me." Stella put a hand to her forehead and studied her computer display. "I see. What that alleged bibliomancer did should not be possible. But never mind that now. Was your visor recording when you discussed it, and if so, would you be willing to share a transcript?" "Sure." Another bit of access granted. Stella spoke slowly while scanning her screen. "I'd like to ask a favor of you. Please do not reread Practical Power Dynamics, or try to use any of the techniques, before I've had a chance to make some annotations for you. And assume it's more dangerous to you than the author intended. You read what appears to be an early draft that was never distributed." Flicker frowned. "How do you know that?" "I wrote it." "Oh, that's great! I had a lot of questions, but I couldn't--I mean it was still dangerous. But you can tell me what to watch out for. I loved the humor, the way you made pieces fit that everyone just seems to assume or ignore. And the parts about anger were..." Flicker trailed off. "You don't look happy. What's wrong?" "Well, at least you weren't completely blind to the danger," said Stella. "I started writing what became Practical Power Dynamics when I was about your age, at a time when I was not managing anger well. I would not write that way today. I need to see what I can do to defuse some hazards to you. I wrote it as a vector for social engineering, and I didn't devote enough attention to second-order side effects in atypical individuals. Even after I toned it down." Flicker thought about that at speed for a while. It made sense that Stella was worried. Doc spent a lot of time worrying about extending methods to new domains, and the false sense of security you could feel because you were doing familiar things you'd done many times before. The methods might only be safe because most of the unexpected failure modes had already been found--but a new domain could bring new ways to make horrible mistakes. You just couldn't be sure. That had been one of the main points of Speedtest. There were a lot of things going on in Practical Power Dynamics, and Flicker's mind was a new domain for many of them. "It didn't feel like it caused damage," she said. "I didn't try any of the active techniques because I was warned about traps, but the insights helped." "I can certainly understand why you liked it. I wrote it to resonate, but that doesn't mean it helped." Stella smiled wryly. "The text you read has the potential to magnify a number of problems. And even the distributed version was never intended for someone like you--I did not consider the psychological impact of absorbing the whole thing in under a minute. Not to pry into restricted details, but have you by any chance experienced an episode of unjustified arrogance or megalomania recently?" A sudden chill. "...I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero..." "...maybe." No, be clear. This is safety information. "Yes." "The book definitely didn't help with that." "My partner thought it would help with something. He wouldn't just..." Stella frowned. "It might have seemed appropriate as a form of disaster aversion. A 'break glass in case of emergency' psychological reset to forestall something worse. But not as a long term solution, and he'd know that." Flicker closed her eyes. "It wasn't and he did. He's gone. We aren't patrolling together anymore." Flicker had been managing to compartmentalize up to that point. Journeyman hadn't returned to Doc's HQ while she'd been recovering, or sent any message other than a brief note wishing her well. She'd set aside awareness of that, and their last conversation, pretending he was just temporarily away again. But their load-bearing social fiction had collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble. Speed up. Shift focus in speed mind. Ignore her human emulation, it was working all too well. Try a different perspective. Consider the positive. She'd learned too much during her time with him for reflexive avoidance of memory to be appropriate. She had her own strength, her own self, her own plans, where he was but memory and data. That could be a placeholder, a way to consider him as Flicker adjusted. It was definitely less disruptive than an emotional shutdown. Now slow down and return. Emotion and context flooded back, but she had a reference point. Her visor was beeping at her. She opened her eyes, and saw the alerts--the reason for the beeping. Warning: Situational awareness lost, Alert: Emotional crisis reaction signs, Alert: Potential dissociation trigger, Alert: Database permission upgrade request for Dr. Stella Reinhart--crisis context information. She virtual typed to grant the permission. Then straightened, her face under control. This was her problem, not his. The book dedication had been perfectly clear. For Doc Future. It's a trap. She'd read it anyway. So had Journeyman, but at least he hadn't ignored three blocks, eleven warnings, and 47 advisories, like she had. Tap. Tap. Tap. Stella was glaring intently at her laptop display and speedreading--a page for each tap. Flicker took the opportunity to do breathing exercises and calm herself. "What a mess," muttered Stella, as she continued to read. "Flicker?" "Yes?" Tap. Tap. "I'm sorry, clinical detachment and academic objectivity aren't going to be sufficient for everything. How do you feel about 'Angry woman on your side'?" "That sounds nice, actually." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Good to know. Also, do not ever underestimate your Database security AI. She was on the phone with me for all but five seconds of the time between when you started to read Practical Power Dynamics and when she interrupted your fight with Journeyman to announce my tentative willingness to help. And she called Jumping Spider to secure an emergency override in there, too. I have a theory about that, but it's probably not something she's allowed to admit. I'll see if I can sort through it. Along with everything else. This is going to take a while. But..." She paused in her paging. "I'm curious about the last few months before you became partners with Journeyman. The Database records are somewhat opaque. You were patrolling sporadically, and it's clear you weren't very happy, but I'm wondering to what extent that was due to PTSD." "I don't think about those months very much anymore," said Flicker. "Doc tried a couple of things to try to get me to cheer up, like asking if I wanted to partner with Jetgirl. I said no. I mean, she's a good friend, and we have an arrangement where she can call me for support when she needs it, but she usually doesn't, so it would have been more like being a sidekick. And I didn't want that. Journeyman actually needed my help, so I could accept his as an equal." She looked down. "I wasn't feeling very connected during that time--not continuously, anyway. I remember specific events, but I'd have to check the Database for a lot of the dates and chronology. Everything after the Japan quake. That was just before I turned fifteen, and... I didn't do too well." Stella raised an eyebrow. "The Database evaluates your actions as saving more lives than anyone else. And it's not close." "Well, but you should really account for speed. I mean, if you scored a flower-picking contest just by numbers, I could win with speed, but that doesn't mean I'm good at it. And... I don't like to talk about the quake. There were some media bits trying to turn me into a hero of the response and... No. Just no. Not respectful. They're still rebuilding and recovering and it's not my story to tell. I usually keep it compartmentalized. Mostly what I remember is to be wary of arrogance." "Mm. Would you be willing to tell me your viewpoint? Your personal experience is most definitely yours to share." "I suppose." Flicker took a deep breath and looked back up. "It wasn't bad for me personally. I didn't get hurt. It was just... There'd been some warnings, but it was confusing because of foreshocks, so no one could really tell how bad it was going to be. I got the alert from Breakpoint before the main quake hit--his Danger Sense went off and he wasn't even in Japan, so I knew it was going to be bad. I didn't know where the epicenter was going to be exactly, so I just went off the Database's best estimate, and went up and down the coast writing giant kanji for 'Earthquake' in the air so people would know. My plasma flash and shockwave boom actually helped there, because it got people to look out windows and see. "Then the quake hit, and went on and on, and the estimates kept going up: it's 8.4; no, it's 8.6; no, it's 8.7; no, it's 8.8; no, it's fucking 9; it eventually turned out to be 9.1. And then my Database com started dropping signal because my visor couldn't synchronize my position for tight beams any more. I was used to really accurate position data, and everything had moved. Everything was still moving. Ground level wasn't ground level, and everything had literally gone sideways. GPS was messed up, and the Database kept trying to correct for shit and it wasn't enough. There was one error that caused trouble for a while that was from the Earth not rotating on the same axis any more. "So, I'm running around with intermittent comms, stopping external debris and ripping the roofs off of buildings that were collapsing on people, then making the choices for intermediate floors for the big ones--do I rip it out? Will that hurt the people who might ride it down more than having it fall will hurt the people below? And can I get the debris out of the way fast enough without blinding and deafening everyone? What kind of building is it? I knew very little Japanese, and my visor translator was shit without Database support. The hospitals were solid enough that I let them take their chances, because there just wasn't much I could usefully do, but a few of the nursing homes and big apartments with lots of old people were pretty bad. I'd pulled collapsing buildings apart before, and it was like that, except... two thousand buildings at once. And seeing all those scared people. "And finally Doc got a message through, telling me I needed to punch a hole through to the ionosphere with rocks, because the Volunteer was on suborbital coming in as fast as he ever had and needed me to get the air out of way so he didn't kill anyone with his shockwave on arrival. So I went up to a place called Fukushima and made a pathway for him, so he could keep a bunch of nuclear reactors from melting down, then went back to ripping apart buildings. Until I got another message from Doc telling me I needed to let them go and start taking the edge off the tsunami." Flicker looked out the doors. "I thought, fuck that, I'll stop the tsunami. It's just a wave, right? Moving water, way offshore, no humans near, I could use all my speed and power. Energy and momentum. None greater than mine." She shook her head. "It wasn't just a wave. A whole huge section of seabed had been stuck bent over like a big flat sheet of wood, then released. One end went up like seven meters. All the water above it went up too, and the surface was now above sea level. And all that water had to go somewhere. "It wasn't just a wave. Water flows downhill. Doc knew. "I started with the lateral plasma sweeps and the shockwave hammer loops and the entrainment runs while I had the Database figure out just how much damage I'd do if I vaporized enough of the excess water to stop the tsunami. Database took a long time." She looked back at Stella. "I could vaporize enough to stop it. But--best case--it would kill five million people with a shockwave of plasma and superheated steam. More likely fifty. And fuck up the weather over the whole Northern hemisphere for months. The floods from the rain alone would... anyway. Stopping it was way worse. So I just had to take the edge off as best I could. "It was enough to let the Volunteer stabilize the reactors. And I thought it would be enough for almost all the people, I really did. And then the Database had enough data finally to tell me it wasn't." "Why not?" asked Stella. "The other end of the board. A big stretch of the coast of Honshu dropped when the seabed rose. What had been sea level--was now a meter below sea level. And the ground above it, and the people on that ground, were now a meter lower. So what looked safe--wasn't." "I went back one last time to write more Kanji. 'Run.' But not everyone could run. And not everybody who could would leave behind the ones who couldn't." "I did as much as I could," she said. "Maybe too much, some places--reflections and a change in the shape of the seabed meant I likely made things worse in one spot. But 'only' about two thousand people died in the tsunami. Plus maybe fifty or so I killed trying to stop it. Most of them in boats in really bad places, but they might have lived, except my shockwaves meant they didn't. I couldn't... it was just 'Sorry, it's not your day, ever again'. "Even after it started hitting I kept running around, clearing debris, trying to give people a little more time. And then, finally, it was over, ebbing back, and Hideki and the Japanese superheroes were arriving, and Golden Valkyrie's Choosers, and all the emergency responders. And all the ordinary people who helped. If anyone was heroes it was them. "I went on autopilot for a while, just followed Database instructions after my com was back, not trying to process, because I couldn't. There was a weird voice yelling on my com whenever I saw bodies for a bit until I figured out it was me and stopped. And... Well, I don't really remember much after that. You can read about it in the Database if you want." She waved a hand. "You know what? You want a hero? K'Krowl the Younger. Kaiju from the Deep Kingdoms. Big lizard. Lived up near the Aleutians. He was headed south along the coast, on his way to attack Tokyo, when the quake hit. He was underwater, I didn't know he was there. And there was this boat. Just... in the wrong place. K'Krowl felt the quake and knew what it meant. He headed inshore and surfaced, and just before the biggest wave hit he picked up the boat. And held it in his arms. Except I was coming down on a lateral plasma run, chopping away at the wave. I'd seen the boat, and they were just... I mean, they weren't gonna live. I had a massive entrained stream of plasma, steam, and seawater behind me. "K'Krowl crouched over, and tucked that boat under his chin, and took the wave on his chest and my plasma on his back--I burned him bad, his upper back was just cooked. But he kept his footing, and protected the people on the boat. From the tsunami, and from me. And when it was all over, he put the boat down at the shore, and waved to them, and went back into the water. He decided he didn't want to attack Tokyo that day after all, and went home to heal. Hardly anyone saw him except me and the people on the boat. And with everything going on, no one else knew until the people he saved contacted the Deep Kingdoms embassy, and they ended up with a ceremony, and gave him a medal, and if anyone ever finally resolves the Tokyo Compromise, and turns the attacks into, like, ceremonial visits or something, it'll probably be him." Flicker shook her head. "K'Krowl the Younger. That's a hero. Not me. I didn't get hurt, and mostly ran around a lot. Nothing bad happened to me. Not bad bad. Just memories." ***** Eventually, Flicker realized she'd been staring at the 'Low Situational Awareness' advisory on her visor for a long time, and came back to the present. There was a text from Stella: Let me know if and when you're ready to speak aloud. Flicker focused on the room again. Stella was frowning thoughtfully, tapping at her computer. "I'm ready," said Flicker. "Did you have questions?" Stella looked up. "I was a little curious where you got those death numbers. They don't match the Database, and that's very unusual for you. The death toll from the tsunami appears to be closer to 1,500, and you can only get close to 2,000 if you also include everyone in the area who was killed by the quake, went missing, or died for any other reason for the next week. Or use one early, inaccurate media estimate." She tapped her chin with a finger, still frowning. "And I don't see any clear evidence to indicate that you were responsible for any excess deaths while mitigating the tsunami. There were people you didn't save, but that's not remotely the same. The only way I can get to your estimate of 50 is to take everyone dead or missing who started on a boat in the tsunami region, and everyone missing in the region who started on shore, but who had a boat that also went missing, and assume they were all alive before your intervention, all dead afterwards, and all would have survived if you'd done nothing." She locked eyes with Flicker. "There was exactly one boat that definitely had live people on it, was in your path, and could have been destroyed by you while they still had a possibility of surviving. That was the boat K'Krowl picked up." "Does it really matter?" said Flicker. "Yes. You're guilt-maximizing, and you need to stop. It's not healthy. Don't want to be a hero for this? Fine. But you helped." Stella waved a hand. "I'm not a hero. I've done far worse things than you. But I still try to help. You really didn't want to talk about this and you want to stop, so we'll stop. Perhaps sometime we can come back and get you a little better perspective. But not now. You're in worse shape than I thought." "Well, I was technically dead for two days last week, so I suppose--" "Not short term. Long term. You're better at compartmentalization, coping, and masking than I expected. That means you've been better at hiding worse problems. But it just means more work, for a longer time. One thing I strongly recommend--no patrols for a while. No going 'on duty'. You can intervene in events classified by the Database as 'major disaster' or higher, or a serious threat to someone you know personally. Otherwise find something else to do. You need to recover, and not just from being dead." "But--" Softly: "No. Patrols." Stella sighed. "Are you familiar with boiling liquid expanding vapor explosions?" Flicker blinked at the change of subject, then got the analogy. "Yeah. Can't always stop them so sometimes I just rip the tank to control the direction and shape of the explosion. But I'm not close to blowing up. I know how to reduce the pressure." "I understand. But we need to do some work the slow way--reduce the temperature first. There are other things that might increase the pressure." "You want more of a safety margin?" "Yes. I am reasonably good at giving advice, but bad at providing comfort," said Stella dryly. "I'm not neurotypical either, and certain choices and events in my personal development shape my approach. I have no desire for it to increase your difficulties." "You seem pretty functional to me. And--" Stella shook her head. "If I weren't able to convincingly project normalcy, I'd already be dead. But I do have a talent for constructive distractions. So, why don't we leave off diagnostics and recommendations for a little while and have something to eat instead--I took the precaution of preordering takeout. Perhaps we can discuss a few things you might find interesting and less stressful." "I'm not..." Think, don't just react. "Okay, that does sound good." They ate, and talked, and it helped a little. It was a start.

Next: Part 12

#FallofDocFuture #FallMisc

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wontlookaway · 7 years ago

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Before They Loved

Pairing: Reader x Gabriel

Synopsis: Bevor they loved each other and bevor they hurt each other, they meet

Word Count: ~ 2100

Warnings: slightest fluff at the end with a still sad note, not much else yet (but we will get there xD)

Notes: Ok, here it is, the first part of the prequel to my story Love, Love, Love, which I wrote as an entry for nobodys-baby-now 1k/Birthday Writing Challenge. I had much more ideas for the Challenge than I could handle, but it was so much fun writing it. And because some of you liked the main story enough, I will make a small series out of it now. We will start with a prequel and when that is finished I will write the sequel. Enjoy!

Tag list: @fand0maniac @calamitychaos @nobodys-baby-now @Iamthetwickster @crazyevilninja-is-lame

want to be tagged? Just ask me :) I will try to update this story every Friday or Saturday.

Part one - the first impression counts?

It felt like ages ago that you had first met the Winchesters. You had met the boys when you visited Bobby to browse through some of his books, hoping to find something that could have helped you in your current case. It quickly turned out that you weren’t the only one who could occasionally use some kind of help in their cases, so it happened that you were accompanying the Winchesters on some hunts from time to time.

And so you also happened to meet the Archangel Gabriel.

The boys had apparently disappeared a few days ago when Castiel called. He had probably hoped that you had a clue about their whereabouts. Unfortunately, you were just as baffled as he was, but that didn’t stop you from helping him with the search.

It didn’t take long to track down the motel where the brothers had recently stayed. The trail of one of Dean's current credit cards had taken you to the motel in Wellington. The Impala wasn’t there, but apparently their room was still occupied. That wasn’t a good sign. In a hurry, Castiel and you looked around and something actually caught your eye. At first it seemed rather inconspicuous: on the small table which still held Sam's laptop, lay a whole heap of crumpled candy paper.

Usually this might not have seemed suspicious to you, but the whole candy wrappers were at Sam's place, and the younger Winchester was very picky about his food. It had to be healthy, as opposed to Dean’s food choices. The candy wrapper reminded you of something that Bobby had once told you about.

He had gone to Crawford Hall for a few days to help the boys in a case while he asked you to take care of the junkyard and answer any phone calls. Equipped with the right books, which Bobby of course had, you were a passable researcher and Bobby had enough confidence in you to hand his business down to you for a few days. In fact, his absence was short-lived, but that did not stop him from complaining to you about the Winchesters on his return, though of course he kept telling you that he loved them like sons.

During that tirade, he had also told you about the being they had been dealing with: The Trickster. His “misdeeds”, which he had done masked as a university janitor, sounded at least partly funny and that was also the reason why you remembered it so well. As well as the fact that this creature obviously had a craving for sweets.

A look in Sam's computer and a few nearby newspapers showed you very quickly that there had been some mysterious and subtly humorous deaths. The renewed presence of a trickster, or maybe the same trickster, was fairly obvious.

A few short phone calls to the police later and a request for a stray black Impala had led Castiel and you eventually to an abandoned warehouse not far from the city, where Baby was still parked outside.

And that was the first time you had collided with Gabriel.

Castiel and you practically stormed at the same time through the narrow metal door, which led next to a large sliding gate into the hall and yet you were standing there alone a blink of an eye later. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it certainly was not an empty warehouse, but obviously a bustling hospital.

"What the hell ...", you mumbled with disbelieving eyes, while you dodged Dr. Sexy personally, who had just nearly knocked you over. The series was one of Dean's Guilty Pleasures and since you did not make fun of it, unlike Sam, the older Winchester and you had spent quite a few nights watching the events in the walls of the Seattle Mercy Hospital.

"Ok, if that isn’t the work of a trickster, I will eat my socks.", You mumbled to yourself. "Quite an amusing image Cupcake, but you are perfectly right. I am glad that you like my work. I've put emphasis on every detail." a voice said from behind you, almost directly at your ear. Startled, you had driven around just to see just how Dr. Sexy turned in front of your eyes into a completely different and to you unknown person.

"So you're the trickster.", You stated and tried to bring a couple of inches between the two of you by taking a few steps backwards. The Trickster rolled his eyes briefly, before he pursued you with a clearly fascinated look. "So far so obvious Sweet-cheeks, you can call me Loki. But much more interesting is how such a beautiful creature as you got lost here and even in such a doubtful company?"

He obviously meant Castiel and you got a little queasier. For some reason, you could not help but believe that the Trickster seemed to know Castiel.

"You caught two people that I'd like to recover," you replied. "Now probably 3, if you include Castiel... And don’t call me Sweet-Cheeks, I have a name. It’s Y/N, you are welcome to use it. "

The Trickster chuckled for a moment, obviously amused by your blunted type before he seems to catch himself again and a slightly more serious expression takes on his features. "Whatever you want Y/N, but I'm afraid I can’t just return the two morons to you, Sugar."

"It’s still Y/N, not Sugar.", You corrected him, slightly annoyed. "What do you want from the Winchester anyway? They hardly seem to be a threat to you, if you've obviously been playing games with them for days." Despite the threatening situation, you clearly noticed how a bit of your tension eased. Loki, as he had called himself, did not seem as hostile as you had expected, or at least not to you. He was quiet charming, though you found his ever-changing nicknames somewhat irritating, but his eyes held warmth and a touch of pain beside the rogue, of which you could only guess what had caused it. You just didn’t feel threatened in his presence, which made it easier for you to talk openly. Whether that might be a good thing, or not.

"I just want my second family back."

__________

When Castiel burst into his little television world, Gabriel had expected a lot, but not that his brother would be accompanied by a huntress. The moment the two stormed through the door, he separated them from each other and carried the Y/H/C Huntress into his Dr. Sexy world. It was more important to take care of Castiel before he recognized him, or teleported the boys out of here.

With an annoyed snap of his fingers, he promoted his brother into a wrestling match and finished his little game show with the Winchesters earlier than he had planned. His second new guest was initially more interesting.

With a wink, he had brought himself into the world of the Seattle Mercy Hospital, again in the disguise of the titular Dr. Sexy. He spotted the huntress immediately. She was obviously studying her surroundings with some disbelief, but seemed to get far faster than the two brothers before, where she was here.

He walked purposefully toward her and bumped slightly into her.

"Ok, if that isn’t the work of a trickster, I will eat my socks." he heard the huntress mutter. Gabriel took the time to take a closer look at his guest as he snuck up behind her. She was a bit taller than he himself, wearing a pair of apparently well-worn dark brown boots and a pair of faded gray-black jeans through which she had pulled a belt with a hunting knife hanging from it. Like the Winchesters, she also seemed to have an inexplicable weakness for flannel shirts as she wore one over a plain black shirt.

The short time the Archangel had spent looking at the huntress had been more than enough to come to a stop just behind her, so he whispered into her ear to make her aware of his presence: "Quite an amusing image Cupcake, but you are perfectly right. I am glad that you like my work. I've put emphasis on every detail."

She was obviously startled, because in no time at all she was whirling around and Gabriel took advantage of the opportunity to transform back from Dr. Sexy into his usual form. You could say he tend to be dramatic, but why shouldn’t he.

The huntress before him, however, seemed to find it less dramatic than the Archangel had hoped for, because she only backed slightly away from him and didn’t even seem to come up with the idea of reaching for the knife on her belt. He had no idea why she wouldn’t go for that knife. Instead, she fixed the obvious and made him roll his eyes. He never liked this habit of people to point the obvious, but for some reason he found it more amusing than annoying as she did it.

And so he couldn’t help but give her another nickname while still remembering that she was a huntress after all. A huntress who had also broken through his door with one of his brothers by her side. So it would be better to find out what she wanted here instead of having fun, even if he was quiet sure that she was here for the Winchesters.

"You caught two people that I'd like to recover." She answered him without hesitation and Gabriel wanted to sigh loudly before he actually had to suppress a chuckle at the end. The little girl was obviously very outspoken and showed no fear, if she should feel any at the moment. And he even got her name. Y/N was the name of his little huntress, he would remember that.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t let the Winchester go so easy. After all, he did what he did here not for fun, at least not primarily. The boys had to learn to accept their roles, before that he would never let them go. And he would also have to clarify that to Y/N now.

"Whatever you want Y/N, but I'm afraid I can’t just return the two morons to you, Sugar." He told her, shrugging his shoulders theatrically. But instead of a furious reaction he might have expected, she only rang him again for calling her Sugar. Truly an interesting woman, the trickster thought as her last sentence catched him off guard a bit.

"I just want my second family back."

Gabriel could understand that too well. And yet it wasn’t possible neither for her nor for him. The thought made the archangel sad and at the same time made it clear that he shouldn’t stay longer with the huntress here in Seattle Mercy Hospital. He had better things to do, or at least more important things. And who know, maybe Castiel already found a way out of his wrestling hell.

"That’s not possible, I'm sorry."

Before the huntress could reply, Gabriel had already snapped his fingers. He disappeared from her field of vision and the hospital scenery with him. Instead, he put her into a documentary, one about kittens, so that the Huntress was now surrounded by fluffy wool balls that tried to crawl up her pant legs.

He didn’t know exactly why he had chosen this scenario, but perhaps her eyes had reminded him of the kittens when she spoke of the Winchesters as her second family. And maybe, maybe Gabriel felt a little guilty about that and wanted to leave her at least in a pleasant television landscape as long as he worked to break her family for his own salvation.

End of part one

#supernatural #fanfiction #gabriel x reader #Bevor They Loved #prequel #love love love

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pristinepastel · 6 years ago

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yay! finally updated again, sheesh. in this i gain some sidekicks! and we learn that in the fade, there is no language.

Chapter 9: A Brief Intensity Surrounded by Repose

As soon as I notice the fact I haven’t dreamed yet since I got here, I poof into the fade. Not like how most people dream in the fade- No, this looks more like how the fade shows up in origins with the Sloth demon. Basically, I’m in the remains of half of my bedroom back in my dorm. Very uncanny valley. Very fallout-like, even. Wonder what ohio looks like in that series? Maybe it’s an area you can travel to in fallout 76. I mean, West Virginia is pretty close, right? I think.

I see a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. I turn, and see a small sparkly cloud. Ooh, is that a wisp? It’s a purple one! Very nice. Hello friend!

It shifts into a slightly different shape, I think that’s how it waves at people! Cute! It zips around a bit, then stops, hovering in front of one of the plushies on my bed.

“Curious? That’s Cayde holding Colonel the chicken. they’re good people.” It floats around over my be, settling on top of a cat plushie. Awww. Adorable, but I kind of miss Molly now-

There’s a rubbing sensation around my leg. I look down-

Oh my goddess it’s a cat-shaped spirit. Oh goddess I could cry. This place is amazing.

Ok ok, calm down. Don’t get too excited. Don’t want to draw too much attention. I pick up the cat-spirit, and sit on my bed with them on my lap. Alright, so I can dream here, That’s good! Some people come here without the ability to enter the fade. This gives me a place where I can sit and actually think without any interruptions. Wonder if I can walk between dreams..? Eh, I’m alright where I am actually. I don’t really want to risk that sort of thing. I mean, sure that’d be cool, but I’m not really good at... exploring in unfamiliar places without getting really anxious and panicky. And on the fade, that hurts more than just me. I pet the cat-spirit friend, whose name I don’t know yet.

Hmmm... I wonder. I get the feeling it was my inner voice that drew the wisp and cat spirit here, but I wonder if I can give them other cool things too, like... music maybe? Hm. What should it be? Don’t want to go too intense or morbid with the first one, and it should be one I know pretty well already. I don’t want to sing actual foreign lyrics that I can’t remember correctly without having the information on my phone. So. Hearse song, Walk On Water, and Yoi Yoi Kokon at off the table for now. Last one is a bit too fast for me anyway. Maybe... Hallelujah? But which one? I can go with the Leanord Cohen one, or the one Brendon Urie wrote. To be honest when I saw that title for a Panic! At the Disco song I assumed it was another cover of the first one, but no it just has the same name. ... If someone I know actually walks in on this, I think it’s better if it’s the first one. I really don’t want him to get the wrong idea about me.

How does it start again? Oh right.

“Now I've heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it pleased the Lord

But you don't really care for music, do you?” The wisp seems interested, and Cat starts purring. Approval! Good.

“It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing Hallelujah~” I make sure to keep my eyes part way open during the chorus. I don’t want to get startled if more people show up.

“Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

She tied you to a kitchen chair

She broke your throne, and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah~”

No Solas yet, but there are a few silhouettes creeping in around the edge of my room near my desktop.

“You say I took the name in vain

I don't even know the name

But if I did—well, really—what's it to you?

There's a blaze of light in every word

It doesn't matter which you heard

The holy or the broken Hallelujah~”

Cat is really calming to pet. Like a chinchilla, with more fur than a cat actually has in real life but I don’t mind, they’re trying their best to be a cat.

This next part is probably the most important one, so it’s good that I can kind of sense the spirits reacting to him being nearby. I’m pretty sure that’s who they see, anyway. They’re kind of parting to make room, and looking back.

“I did my best, it wasn't much

I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you

And even though it all went wrong

I'll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah...”

Yep, there he is. I finish up the final chorus, then wave.

“Solas!”

“Making friends, I see.” Woah, I can understand him! This is great! I was worried about how I could talk to him without making Shiloh involved.

“Yeah, these two showed up when I first got here! They’re adorable, right?”

He seems a little surprised by my response, but recovers quickly with a raised eyebrow. I can’t tell if he’s surprised I could understand him, or by my... unique personality.

“Most wouldn’t describe them as such. You aren’t suspicious of them?”

“No, not really. They’re just curious after all- As far as I’m aware, they haven’t seen anything like me or my room before. I don’t blame them, if I’d never seen a computer before I’d be confused too.”

“... I’ll admit to some curiosity myself. A... computer?”

“The black square thing on that desk over there.” I point to the other side of the room, across from where I’m sitting on the bed. Huh. “You’re not asking about how I know they’ve never seen anyone like me before?”

He turns back to me after inspecting my desk. “I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“Why not? I don’t mind. I already told the others- or... tried to tell them I had information to share. Go ahead and ask!”

He looks at me perplexed. “You’re certain? Why share personal information with someone you know so little?”

Time to store the pot a bit, I guess. “First of all, that’s how meeting people goes, isn’t it? Everyone’s a stranger at first. Then you exchange tidbits about each other to get to know people. Then those tidbits get bigger and more important until you can say you really know someone. Second, I already know quite a bit about you guys, so. It’s only fair, right?”

He narrows his eyes. He took the hint, I think. “... Is that so? How, exactly, do you know me- us- so well?”

“I have some prior knowledge about what’s going to happen. I kind of want to wait until everyone’s in the loop to share it all though, if that’s ok. It’s only fair, if it involves everyone, right? Suffice to say, I like you guys and I want to make sure everything ends up in a good way.”

“How do you classify ‘a good way’ in this case? There’s a hole in the sky. Is the best case for you the closing of the breach?”

“It doesn’t end there, but that’s definitely part of it.” I snort. “I know you’re trying to find out how much I know. I don’t intend to share secrets without the express permission of the person who they’re owned by, unless that person is an irredeemable ass waffle, in which case I really couldn’t give less of a shit what the striped stockings corpse man thinks.”

He raises an eyebrow. “... Striped stockings corpse man?”

“The Elder One. The guy who probably brought me here in the first place. And before you ask if I think I’m here through some divine will slash ‘providence’ as Cassandra puts it, I don’t know. I’m keeping my options open, I guess. Just because Corypheus brought me here directly doesn’t mean no one guided that to happen indirectly, you know?”

I can’t read that expression. “You aren’t andrastian, I take it?”

Snrk. “Hells, no. I’m not a member of any organized religion to be honest. At least, I’m not part of any widely recognized group or church. You could say I’m agnostic. I believe figures did or do exist, but I have no reason to believe any of them are solely in charge, or that any of them aren’t the same people.” I pause to take a breath. I probably don’t need to though, this is a dream. “But... I am a witch. I do have one entity I kind of... ‘follow’, I guess. It’s more of a partnership than a worship thing though.”

“And what entity is that?” At this point, he sits on my desk chair. He gets a little startled when the chair moves a bit more than he expected, and I giggle. No one here has experienced chairs with wheels, I guess.

“Where I’m from, she’s called Baba Yaga. She’s more of a mythical creature than a goddess, a lot of people call her a witch of the wilds. She shows up in a lot of old legends and tales as a character with various names, who either tries to trick or teach the hero lessons, kind of a trickster. It’s not just in one culture either, a lot of places have similar stories just with different names.”

“Speaking of culture, you seem rather out of place here. Where are you from, beyond the sea?”

“To be honest, I have no clue if that’s true or not. Where I’m from, people have already found at least 90% of the land of the world. The only places we haven’t looked are under the oceans and past the stars.”

“That far? Your people sound well travelled.” He sounds intrigued.

“I guess? But to be honest, it’s not really a ‘my people’ sort of accomplishment. We have various cultures back home who discovered places mine hadn’t. And it’s not exactly... the process wasn’t exactly peaceful.”

“Oh?”

“I’d assume war is a pretty common thread in many worlds. And empires.” I pet Cat a bit more. “And bigotry. And manifest destiny. Do you guys have a word for manifest destiny?”

“That depends on its definition.”

“People saying they have the right to take whatever they want because their god- who they also claim has ‘chosen them’- says they can.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s happened before.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. What a long and exhausting conversation to have after not being able to have one for a while, sheesh. “That got... a bit heavy. Sorry, I went on a tangent.”

“No worries. The conversation was quite enlightening, in fact.” He stands up from the chair.

Hells, I’m sure it was. Oof. “Hey, before you go- I know the little one next to me is a wisp, but do you have any idea what this one’s name is? I’ve just been calling them Cat and it feels a bit rude.”

“Oh?” He inspects the spirit currently purring on my lap. “It seems to be a young spirit, perhaps recently formed. If I had to guess, I believe it’s a spirit of Repose.”

“Repose? That means calm, right? Fitting!” Hmm. “That’s a pretty formal sounding name for such a young one though. A nickname might be nice. Oooh! Posey! That’s perfect!”

Solas chuckles. “Varric was right. It’s hard to tell your age- you seem older than you should be one moment, then have a moment of childlike innocence the next.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I look more like a weird, sick-looking child. My eyebags could hold barrels. But I swear, I am 21. I just have some... mental and physical issues that make me uniquely weird.”

“Such as?”

“Where would I even begin? Besides, I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I have a feeling it’s almost time to... ‘wake up’?” Wiggle brows.

His expression becomes more serious for a moment, then he sighs. “You’re certainly an odd person, Pristine. Though I suppose you’re right, I will need to wait to learn what you know.” He gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Understand, however. I will learn what you know eventually. And if you intend to endanger-“

“Solas. Dude. You’re getting a little intense here. I literally just said I’ll be telling everyone what I know- so long as I have the permission of the individual it belongs to, unless they’re an asshole like Corypheus. I’m not going around blackmailing people here.”

He’s silent for a moment, as he holds his look. Then he raises an eyebrow. “... You are very sure about this, aren’t you.”

I laugh. “Hells, no! I have some inkling of what I’m doing but specifics of each bit of the plan? Fuck no. Now, is there anything else you wanna ask before I wake up? Cus. If I sleep in, my sleep schedule is going to go back to nocturnal mode and that won’t end well.”

He chuckles, as he stands up. “No. I will leave you be, I’ve intruded in your space long enough tonight. Though, I do have a request.”

“Hm?” I start petting Posey again.

“Tell me more of your world in the future. It makes for an interesting conversation topic.”

I snort again. “Sure. I have no doubt it’s going to be a very popular one in the coming days. Especially from Varric and some others- Oy vey he and Josie are going to be insatiable.”

He nods, and disappears. For a while longer, I relax with Posey and the wisp, humming in relative silence. Other than a few curious spirits who watch from a distance, no one else visits. It’s a pretty satisfying night.

And then I wake up.

———

While I wait for the rest of the inquisition to finish setting everything up, I have time to think about how I’m going to explain myself. Because a lot of other people would, in my place, hold off telling anyone what they know until much later when they think it’s safe, or when the information is forced out of them. In another world, like Naruto for instance, I’d probably do just that. In that world it wouldn’t be safe to share what I know until I’d be sure no one would spread the information around willy-nilly, too many people behind the scenes would eavesdrop, kill me for knowing too much, or try to kidnap me for their own agenda.

Here though, it’s different. I have a filter through Shiloh, who I trust with my entire being, as well as a position of some importance to the inquisition and therefore protection. I trust it’s safe to tell them because they can’t risk losing my mark, and they’ll have to work with me until the breach is sealed at least. There’s also the whole “Herald” thing- while I’m not sure Andraste is the direct reason I’m here, a lot of people here do. It lends some credence to my other-worldly story. If I was sent here by the Maker, who’s to say they didn’t give me prior knowledge of what’s going to happen? And even if they don’t believe me, the events coming up will definitely help me convince them somewhat.

That isn’t to say I’m going to reveal everything I know- I’m not showing what I know about some people to everyone else. I fully believe they should be the ones to tell people themselves, it’s not my place. Also, I want to at least talk to everyone individually at some point- hopefully convincing some of them to change their minds about certain things. Looking at you, Solas.

Of course, there’s also the other inner circle. The characters only I really know back in my world. They’re going to be a bit... tricky. I’ve met Shiloh and Osiria, they’ll be very helpful, and they have similar goals to me. The others- I’ve seen one or two of them around Haven, but I haven’t approached them yet. I know I’ll meet at least two or three of them soon, the Trevelyans usually stick together after all, and Jaimie is going to be important to the Inquisition with her mages. Haven’t seen the Lavellans yet, but they should be ok. In my story, they evacuated the Conclave before it blew up after being warned by Shiloh and set up camp further down the mountain with Cadash. And since Jaimie and her group got the same warning from Shiloh and they made it out, I know Sahrel and Olivia are safe and with Elisa.

Then there’s the Valo-kas. Osiria had left the group before the conclave was even arranged and kept in touch. They weren’t even in the temple before it blew, and they left after rightfully assuming it was too dangerous to stay. We might be able to recruit their help later. I hope so, my Shokrakar and Cassandra are so cute together.

The game’s inner circle will be recruited as normal, of course. I plan to reveal the knowledge I have multiple times as we take them in, repeating what I know is better than keeping some out of the loop, or worse making everyone wait until after the breach is sealed the first time.

Thinking about everyone we’ll be bringing in brings up another point- no not the mage vs templar thing that’s a different point altogether. An important point, but still. I wonder if the fact I have multiple Hawkes and Wardens will change the story at all? I know Gerard would never leave Anders and Fenris behind. And Aahil isn’t one to let Morrigan and their son go so easily. Then there’s Abeera as queen... Oof, my head. This is emotionally tiring me.

The point is moot for now, anyway. I watched Cullen put up the sign on the Chantry door today. I’m going to have to pull my social skills together soon. Time to explain myself.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #modern girl in thedas #Solas #pristine did a page

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junker-town · 7 years ago

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NFL Dad, Week 8: Halloween is my daughter’s Super Bowl

Here’s what seven hours of RedZone is like when your two young kids can’t go outside because it’s raining.

As a lazy person, it’s hard to enjoy Halloween. When I was single, the thought and effort that a costume required always made me want to crawl in bed and hide from the holiday. Only the promise of alcohol and sexy costumes lured me into participation.

Kids have changed all that. As a parent, you get to spend WEEKS hyping up your kids for Halloween, brainstorming costume ideas, and talking about candy. The last part is especially fun, because my wife and I deprive our children of candy all year long. Cake? Sure, if there’s a party. A donut? Probably once a week. Ice cream? Well, maybe as a special treat. But candy almost never happens, save for the occasional lollipop at the doctor’s office. Halloween is their Super Bowl.

And even though trick-or-treating is only one night, we are getting some MILEAGE out of this year’s costumes — shark for my son (our choice), ghost for my daughter (her choice). Last Sunday, our friends had a Halloween-themed birthday party. On Friday, our nanny took the kids to a costume party. Monday: another Halloween party. Tuesday: daughter wears costume to school AND we’ve got trick-or-treating that night. I am getting to be a PRO at hand-washing chocolate out of these costumes. And I’m barely a day away from stealing half my kids’ candy after they go to bed Tuesday night.

So much of the parent experience is trading away the things you used to love to do for soul-filling love and constant exhaustion; it’s a surprise and a delight when the trade is suddenly enjoying something you never liked as an adult.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— RedZone has seven early games on the docket today, and Scott Hanson shows us the lineup in OCTOBOX format, with the eighth box a weather map of the Eastern seaboard. The forecast: lots of rain.

— It’s raining here in New York, too. I took some photos of my kids in their rain slickers, but I’m not going to share them because my son’s hair looks like Jon Gruden’s. And maybe Gruden’s OK being seen in public with that hair, but I’m going to raise my children better than that.

Maybe Gruden’s OK being seen with that haircut, but I’m going to raise my children better than that.

Incidentally, I took the photos on the way to get his hair cut. I asked for a low fade and the barber gave him a high fade that wasn’t blended very well, so he ended up with the preferred haircut of stylish soccer players and media-savvy Nazis. And let me be crystal clear: My 18-month-old son is not a neo-Nazi. He doesn’t even have a Reddit account.

— The Saints’ Alvin Kamara scores the first touchdown of the day, and I reject this world where Drew Brees relies on a competent running game. THROW FOR 5000 YARDS OR RETIRE!

I like Kamara, though. I’m not messing with anyone whose name is a jiu-jitsu submission.

— I put my daughter down for her nap, and when I come back to the living room, Melvin Gordon is running untouched for an 87-yard TD to give the Chargers an early 7-0 lead over the Pats. I picked the Chargers at +7 today, so this pleases me.

HE WILL GO ALL THE WAY!@melvingordon25. 87 yards to the HOUSE. #Chargers http://pic.twitter.com/mOTI7SKWm9

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

— I’m a little worried about my daughter’s nap. We’re potty-training her right now — she’s behind schedule, I KNOW, the broken collarbone really set us back — and she wouldn’t pee on the little toddler potty before her nap. She hasn’t peed since we changed her overnight diaper and put her in undies this morning. You can lead a toddler to the potty, but you can’t make her pee.

So my wife and I tell her, “Hey, if you feel you have to go pee-pee, call us and we’ll help you use the potty.” But the last couple days, this has just led to a wet bed and more laundry. YAY, MORE LAUNDRY!

— Wait, we gotta talk about C.J. Beathard’s face. The camera cut to him and he BARELY had more confidence and composure than Bill Paxton in Aliens.

Photo by Elsa/Getty Images

You can smell the fear on him.

— With the score tied at 7 at MetLife, Matt Ryan loses a fumbled snap for the second time today that leads to a Jets field goal. I know it’s raining, but it’s also still the first half. Get your shit together, Falcons. Or don’t, I picked the Jets +4.5.

— Ah, I see the Colts are in the red zone. Time for a nap!

— I open my eyes 24 minutes later, and the only eye-raising change in scoring is in New England, where the Pats have improved from a 7-7 lead to take the lead, 12-7. Apparently, Travis Benjamin crapped his brain out of his butt in the middle of a punt return.

Worth it for the refs signaling safety at the exact same time, though.

— I’m typing today with a Band-Aid on my right index finger, having sliced my fingertip with a pumpkin saw while carving our jack-o’-lantern the night before. No medical attention needed, but I lost a little flap of skin that has me playing through pain today. I’m a gamer, though. Don’t worry about it affecting the column.

— Cincinnati, playing at home against the Colts, has had a lackluster first half, but this Joe Mixon screen is electric.

.@andydalton14 finds @Joe_MainMixon and he nearly goes the distance! #Bengals50 http://pic.twitter.com/saSRSZiC9C

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

That sets up a short touchdown to A.J. Green to tie the game at 10.

POINT OF ORDER: I will be actively avoiding this game the rest of the afternoon. These teams are butt. Also, I have yet to mention Carolina-Tampa Bay at all today. That is not an accident.

— Josh McCown tosses a gorgeous sideline throw to Robby Anderson, who got past Desmond Trufant. It’s 17-10 Jets, and if they win today I’m calling it: The Falcons are trapped in a body-swap movie.

— This morning I went to church with my family, and this may surprise you, but toddlers aren’t really wired for an hour of Catholic mass. I took the kids out to the adjoining courtyard so they could burn off some steam. The rain had let up but it was still wet, so naturally they both immediately fell on their faces/butts and got soaked.

They kept playing, though. The key feature of the courtyard was a four-foot ramp at a 15- or 20-degree angle. My daughter ran down it repeatedly, each time saying, “I shoot down the slide!” My son is also eager to run down the ramp, but he’s only a year and a half old — he’s barely mastered walking. He’s all desire, no skill.* So I stage at the bottom of the ramp and catch him before he can eat a face full of concrete.

*This sentence also sums up my athletic career after the age of 11.

Every generation has its Ted Ginn.

— The Bills score a defensive touchdown to open up a commanding lead on the Raiders, then Steven Hauschka forces a fumble on the ensuing kickoff. And I saw a lot of love and surprise on Twitter — “Wow! The kicker!” — but not nearly enough people were pointing at the exquisitely talented doofus who fumbled: Cordarrelle Patterson. He can’t do something awesome without disappointing you the following week. Every generation has its Ted Ginn, it seems.

EARLY GAMES, SECOND HALF

— My wife is taking the lead on tonight’s dinner, a pot roast recipe from Ina Garten. Now, I love Ina Garten; she’s a total boss. But if you’re going to try a recipe of hers, know that:

It will require a cut of meat that costs a staggering amount of money. “I go to my butcher and get four pounds of filet...” (Recipe serves 2.)

It will require about 150% of the work in any other cookbook to taste maybe 10% better. Related: Ina Garten does not have children.

She will demand that you use “good olive oil.” It is never just “olive oil.” Ina suspects you have cheap olive oil and a separate bottle of good stuff for special occasions. Guess what, bitch? EVERY INA GARTEN RECIPE IS A SPECIAL OCCASION. Don’t disrespect her art with shitty olive oil!

— Behold, the majesty of a Philip Rivers pump fake:

Let’s check in on Philip Rivers http://pic.twitter.com/MbkDJysXMe

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) October 29, 2017

Rivers recovered his own fumble (the least he could do after forcing it), and on the very next play, he hucks it downfield. When the ball re-enters the atmosphere, there is one Chargers receiver on the screen, and SIX Patriots defenders.

Next play: Throws into sextuple coverage http://pic.twitter.com/Yhbo2I2EhU

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) October 29, 2017

I love that intense weirdo SO MUCH. The Philip Rivers Quarterback Experience is like if the star of the debate team also had Tourette’s.

— My wife: “You picked great leeks, Matt.” Hell yeah I did! I have an eye for fine produce. But chopping four leeks and two large onions in a small apartment with all the bedroom doors closed is tough sledding for people with sensitive eyes. I open a window three inches; rain INSTANTLY soaks five children’s books on the sill.

— With the Bears trailing 14-3, Mitchell Trubisky throws to Zach Miller, who makes a great catch for the touchdown! Oh no, Miller stays down. Seems hurt. OH GOD I SAW THE REPLAY. Look away from the TV! Look at the computer! OH GOD I SAW THE GIF. UGHUGHGHHHHHH. (Update: Miller almost lost his leg due to vascular damage. Jesus.)

Dude, I JUST saw Gordon Hayward’s ankle snapped on live TV a few days ago. Hey, sports? Can we go a week or two without maiming someone, please?

AND THEY OVERTURNED THE TOUCHDOWN. WTF, YOU REFS ARE ANIMALS.

If you break your leg on the catch it should be a catch

— Evil Dead 2 Magary (@drewmagary) October 29, 2017

If you break your leg while even vaguely holding onto the ball it should always be ruled a catch

— Pablo S. Torre (@PabloTorre) October 29, 2017

— My daughter calls us, much more urgently than she usually does after her nap. My wife rushes in. Incredibly, my kid held her piss in throughout her nap, and actually used the potty. HUZZAH!

Even more incredibly, she didn’t pee between 7:00 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. NOT GREAT. We’re gonna have to get better about that or next week’s column is gonna be about bladder infections.

— Here’s a cool Alshon Jeffery touchdown:

"GET OFF ME." - @TheWorldof_AJ, probably. Touchdown, @Eagles! #FlyEaglesFly http://pic.twitter.com/aMeckAYr3i

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

Consider that the shot that puts this one away for the Eagles. And now a 49ers chaser:

Fun stat: 49ers have only won three of their last 27 games, all of them against the Rams.

— Vince Mancini (@Filmdrunk) October 29, 2017

— I have a note that just says, “rasperries and laughter,” but I no longer remember the specific context. I think my daughter was laughing because my son was trying to blow raspberries on her, so I pulled up his shirt and blew raspberries on his stomach, causing him to shriek with laughter. That sounds right, but I could be mixing that up with other memories.

(I should note that in between writing that three-word note and trying to expand it into a paragraph, I watched Texans-Seahawks and Game 5 of the World Series. My brain has been puréed into a sports smoothie with an Adrenaline Boost™. A day later, I only see my two children in the context of lead changes. Great hug! I love THIS one more now!)

— On 3rd and goal, Matt Ryan scrambles to his left and finds Mohammed Sanu at the back of the end zone to give the Falcons a 22-17 lead. Ryan then fumbles the snap on the two-point conversion. Even when the Falcons are winning this year, they do it in the least convincing way possible.

Even when the Falcons are winning, they do it in the least convincing way.

— My wife takes the dog for a walk in the rain, as well as the kettlebell with legs that passes for my younger child. My daughter cuddles next to me on the couch. I put my arm around her and give her context about the teams on the field (“Do you know what a buccaneer is?” —No. “A buccaneer is a pirate”), but mostly, we sit together quietly. This is approximately as content and fulfilled as I can be.

— PERSONAL GAMBLING HELL UPDATE: The Jets, trailing 22-20, are about to get the ball back late in the game and look like excellent candidates to cover the 4.5-point spread. They fumble the punt because they’re the GODDAMN IDIOT JETS. The Falcons OF COURSE kick a field goal to go up by five. New York will have a chance to win the game if they can go 90 yards with no timeouts in 50 seconds, but I don’t need to give you the details on why that doesn’t work out.

The Pats kick a field goal to take an eight-point lead with one minute remaining, and I agonize over the Chargers’ mistakes that will cost them a cover: Benjamin’s idiotic safety, a failed two-point conversion. I am SO happy I don’t put actual money on these games. I would ruin my family.

The Saints have the ball, a five-point lead, and a pressing need for one more score to cover 9 points at home. Stupid Bears. There’s a glimmer of hope after Brees throws a bomb downfield, but shortly after Mark Ingram loses a fumble — his second of the game — and the Bears have a chance to win. (The Bears do not capitalize. The Saints kick a field goal at the end of the game to push the lead to 8. THANKS FOR NOTHING, JERK-ASS.)

— A Bengals defensive lineman makes an incredible play for a pick-6 that gives Cincy the lead. This game is still butt, but at least it’s functionally over.

— Wife and son and dog are back, and I dry my dog off with an old towel. When Stella gets wet, she obsesses over drying off. She gleefully wags her entire body into the towel, and she rubs her face in between my legs to dry her face off.

Yes, a 65-pound dog shoving its face under your crotch is disconcerting.

And in case you’re wondering, a 65-pound dog forcefully shoving her face under your crotch is SUPER disconcerting. I’ve had her for a decade, so I’m used to it now, but she’s also done it to strangers before. It’s a helluva way to meet your neighbors.

— Philip Rivers has no timeouts and a running clock to get a touchdown. And if you thought the self-fumble and sextuple-coverage heave was his two-play highlight of the day, AU CONTRAIRE. T’was merely an appetizer for this delicacy:

Philip Rivers emphatically celebrating a spike with 1 second left is the most Philip Rivers thing I've seen since Week 1 #Chargers http://pic.twitter.com/SOXBeKM78I

— Clay Wendler (@ClayWendler) October 29, 2017

The next and final play is an interception floated into the arms of a Pats defender. In fact, there seem to be about five Patriots closer to making a play on the ball than the nearest Charger.

Philip Rivers losing it dot gif http://pic.twitter.com/oSpwAlCBPX

— Vikings Blogger (@firstandskol) October 29, 2017

I’m gonna miss that guy when he’s gone.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— With six teams on bye, there are only two late games for RedZone to toggle between: Texans-Seahawks and Cowboys-Washington. They’re good games, but at some point I’d almost prefer a commercial break to Scott Hanson narrating sponsored highlights. “No commercials here on RedZone! And now for Fantasy Feedback, presented by Genesis.”

— As a Seahawks fan, I’m cautiously optimistic about today. I think the offense will perform well, and the run defense can bottle up Lamar Miller. I expect DeAndre Hopkins to win a couple battles versus Richard Sherman, but over the course of the game, I expect the defense and crowd to be a little too much for a rookie quarterback, even one as good as Deshaun Watson.

My biggest concern early is actually Will Fuller. If the Texans can get him the ball early, before the Seahawks have a chance to adjust to how fast he is ... oh look, RedZone’s flipping to Seattle now.

.@deshaunwatson goes DEEEEEP. And @Will_Fuller7 gets behind the LOB for SIX. #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/vDFvZPVeiG

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

CRAP.

— The Texans continue to movie the ball with ease, but on 3rd and 10 with the Texans in field goal range, Earl Thomas jumps a route and takes it for six the other way.

Know where @Earl_Thomas is on the field at ALL times... PICK-6. #Seahawks #LOB http://pic.twitter.com/j4EZXZHlMs

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

Any time there’s an interception in the secondary, the analysts always say how the defensive back read the quarterback’s eyes. But there’s more to it than that:

Texans lined up Hopkins in the slot to get Sherman in space, Thomas had a pretty strong idea of where the ball was going.

— Bill Barnwell (@billbarnwell) October 29, 2017

Earl Thomas benefits from instincts and speed that most safeties would kill for, but he’s not just reading a quarterback’s eyes. Formations, route combinations, down and distance, and a quarterback’s tendencies all get plugged into a pre-snap calculus that helps Thomas figure out where the ball’s likely to go before the QB has even made a decision.

I’m not the kind of guy who watches All-22, but Earl Thomas makes me want to.

— Washington is wearing throwback uniforms, and I’m annoyed that their burgundies don’t match.

Photo by Patrick Smith/Getty Images

The jerseys are damn near purple, and while that may be partly due to the rain, the gold numbers are also markedly different than the yellow on the helmets.

And to you homers getting ready to mansplain it: I already KNOW that the NFL doesn’t let teams change their base helmets for any uniform. It’s a bad rule, and these uniforms look like ass because of it.

(Washington could have dealt with this by making the throwbacks match today’s helmets. All the old photos are black and white, who cares if the hue is historically accurate? I mean, if you want REALLY accurate Washington throwbacks, only the white players should wear them. Just the way George Marshall intended!)

— In an attempt to lessen our laundry workload by one percent, my wife tries to trick our daughter into organizing a pile of her socks into pairs. My daughter instantly recognizes that it’s a chore and hurls the socks around the room, resulting in one percent more work for us.

— Trailing 14-7, the Seahawks challenge a 3rd-and-2 incomplete pass. Russell Wilson had his throwing motion disrupted by Jadeveon Clowney, and Pete Carroll wants it ruled a fumble — the ball went downfield and was recovered by tight end Luke Willson.

This game is powered by hallucinogenic speedballs.

After review, the refs agree: First down, Seahawks. Finally, the Seahawks’ “Let defensive linemen assault our quarterback” offense is starting to pay off.

On the next play, Wilson throws a touchdown to Paul Richardson. It’s 14-14 in the first quarter, and this game is powered by hallucinogenic speedballs.

— The Cowboys go for it on 4th and 1 a few yards short of midfield. They’re down 10-7 early in the game — the circumstances aren’t dire, but it’s the sort of situation where the numbers say GO FOR IT while football coaches scream PUNT. It’s good to see Jason Garrett is willing to let his kickass line and Zeke Elliott execute those favorable odds. The Cowboys get the first.

— MIRACLE: Both of my kids are eating their dinner without complaint or hesitation. They ignore the TV to pay attention to the Halloween book my wife is reading. Years from now, when their grade school teacher praises their attention spans, I’m gonna get up in the middle of the parent-teacher conference and do Mick Jagger’s rooster strut.

— Crap, Will Fuller has another TD. Look at this awesome play design:

ANOTHER @Will_Fuller7 TD grab in Seattle! #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/4WroLy1s7A

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

Fuller now has seven touchdowns on, like, four catches this season.

Moments later, Russell Wilson responds with a downfield heave that Tanner McEvoy hauls in for a 53-yards gain. That sets up Paul Richardson’s second touchdown. Tie game again, 21-21.

— Washington kicks a field goal to go up 13-7. Or maybe 13-10? I dunno, it’s hard to pay much attention to this game. Dallas-Washington is like a football game in the rain when the other viewing option is a burning fireworks factory.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— Can I cut the bullshit for a second? I do not want to be a Seahawks fan narrating play-by-play for the game of the year that the Seahawks end up winning. That would be very fun to do for our Seahawks blog, but that’s more hollerin’ than I’d feel good about for this here national site.

From a slightly more objective viewpoint, I want to point out that the highlight package from this game is MORE THAN 12 MINUTES LONG. I’m going to embed the video even though the NFL usually blocks it from being played on any site but YouTube. That’s how good it is.

youtube

OK, back to diary mode. I promise: Minimal fist-pumping from here on out.

— After a sack pushes the Texans out of field goal range, Watson faces 3rd and 14. All he does is calmly avoid pressure, set up his downfield blocking (RIP Justin Coleman), and get just enough for the first down.

Patience. @DeshaunWatson sets up his blocking, rushes for first down. #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/lpLeEzEcnx

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

The Texans kick a field goal and retake the lead.

— The pot roast sauce is boiling, and my wife is busy giving our daughter a bath. I bring it down to a simmer, add a butter/flour mixture to thicken the sauce, and remove the scorched wood-handled spatula from its proximity to the burner. Man, a kitchen fire would have really spiced the end of this column up, huh?

— The Seahawks TWICE have to settle for field goals despite having the ball inside the Texans’ 5-yard line, and even though they have their first lead of the day, it feels like a missed opportunity. There’s no chance the Texans are done scoring touchdowns.

— Washington loses a fumble, and somewhere while I was paying attention to the better game, the Cowboys seized control of this game. With a better line and a better running game, the away team looks unlikely to cede the lead.

When the camera cuts to the sidelines, everyone looks miserable. And I don’t just mean the home team, I mean EVERYONE: the players, the fans, the camera operators, the refs. It’s SO MUCH rain. Playing sports in the rain can be fun, but I can’t imagine watching it for three hours while standing in a deluge. Not without Wellingtons, dry-fit winter socks, and three Camelbaks of whiskey and hot cider.

— I’ve been pausing RedZone on and off so I can help with the kids’ bedtime routine — bath time, pajamas, brushing teeth, etc. By the time they go to bed, the Cowboys are up by ten with a quarter to play, and there are 11 minutes left in the Texans-Seahawks game.

Rather than go haymaker-by-haymaker, I’m going to add up the numbers: In the final 11 minutes of that game, there are five plays of 34 yards or more, four touchdowns, and two interceptions. That’s half a season for the Browns!

— The pot roast is pretty good, by the way. Our entire apartment smells like red wine and red meat. Probably not worth the cost or the effort (in other words, a typical Ina Garten recipe), but this will be the foundation of three meals for us this week. Pre-made meals are the cornerstone of a good marriage when you have kids.

— Trailing by four, the Seahawks have 1:39 and no timeouts to get a touchdown. They go 80 yards in three plays. Paul Richardson goes up and steals a 48-yard bomb, Tyler Lockett snags a 19-yarder, and Jimmy Graham goes uncovered on the game-winning score. As a wildly cynical Seahawks fan, I am agog at the ease and speed with which they pull it off; I barely had time to worry about failure before they took the lead.

The defense does much the same thing: With two timeouts and 21 seconds, a game-tying field goal isn’t out of the question for the Texans -- it might even be an easy assumption given this game. But Frank Clark sacks Watson on first down, and Richard Sherman’s second pick ends the game. What an absolutely incredible game.

Two of the best in the game. #Seahawks #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/hlQx2dzYci

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

— It has come to my attention that I started Dak Prescott over Russell Wilson in fantasy football. WHOOPS.

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