#i reached out an had a good email chat with my professor that i’m research assisting for though which is good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Note

You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x female art history professor #idek dude #i just started writing and it all just went blaaaaah #i ain't even sorry

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wing-ed-thing · 3 years

Text

Group Project (Shino x Reader x Kisame x Temari)

Request:

Word Count: 2,282

Tags/Warnings: Language, Alcohol Mention, Gender Neutral Reader @brokennerdalert @narahanabi

Notes: I have never written for Temari before. I think I got her spot on tho. This was actually too fun to write. Enjoy, y’all.

The only time that worked for everyone was 10 o’clock. Which, by the way, sucked ass. At least, that was what Kisame said in the groupchat just ten minutes before you dragged yourself out of your dorm and into the rain. You trudged through the puddles, holding your jacket closed over your body to protect your backpack-encased laptop. Shino had a night lab. The earlier he finished his work the earlier he could leave. Temari had been insistent about that. She had some sort of circle and you remembered Kisame asking her why she couldn’t just skip for the week only to be met with a passive aggressive response. And Kisame himself had hockey practice. Even the sports houses were off campus, only impeding your scheduling efforts.

When you got to the longue, Temari had already set up all of her belongings. She sat herself in a cluster of four shallow armchairs and spread out a flurry of papers on the long coffee table. With the packed schedule that she threw into the chat, you wondered how she got there so quickly. Temari looked up at you with one long, slender brow raised.

“Oh good, at least you’re here.” Unsure, really, of what to make of her backhanded compliment, you sat down in the chair across from her and wordlessly unpacked your laptop.

You never liked general classes. At the end of the day, you worked on a few big, group projects, ultimately learned nothing, and your grade depended on the work ethic of others. You glanced over at Temari. She likely didn’t even have the same major as you. Granted, that was probably the point of the class, but nonetheless, it weighed on your already drooping eyes knowing that you’d have to pour so many late night hours into a project that would amount to nothing.

You pulled up your school account and sifted through your notifications.

“I signed us up for a research question. I thought that censorship in the classroom was an easy and relevant one. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to get into the intricacies of drones at this time of day.” You couldn’t help but nod. Temari sure pounced on top of things quickly and for that, you were thankful to have received an easy prompt.

“Sounds great,” you mused and the heavy door from the outside to the longue slammed shut. You glanced over your shoulder to find Kisame, still in athletic clothes grinning as he approached.

“Well this is bullshit, isn’t it?” Those were the first words to come out of his mouth and you could practically hear Temari groan in exasperation. Kisame plopped down in the armchair beside you, offering you a wink as he did. “What kinda professor assigns a project on Tuesday only for it to be due Thursday? Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You averted your eyes back to your screen, pretending to sort through your notifications. You hummed in response, too easily flustered and too tired to process. Temari’s fingers flexed over her own keyboard.

“It’s the beginning of the semester. It’s to test out organizational skills and teamwork,” she managed through half-gritted teeth. You looked between your two teammates, wondering what exactly happened between them that made them so hostile to each other. You made a mental note to not get in the way of whatever that was. Kisame scoffed, sitting back in the arm chair and reaching for his own computer.

“I don’t really care what it is and why it is. What I care about is that I’m wasting my Wednesday night…”

“Ah, yes, Wednesday night,” Temari repeated mockingly, “Because I know that I like getting plastered in the middle of the week.” Kisame leaned towards you on his left arm cushion.

“Soy Sauce over there is just sore that her brother picked a fight with one of my boys and lost. Sasori’s a short guy too, you should link with us sometime.” You heard Temari scoff.

“Yeah, like Kankuro would lose to any of the thugs you hang around—”

“Who are you calling a thug?” Temari met Kisame’s pointed glare. Even so, he sank farther into his seat, lifting one ankle to rest on his knee. “Though, I think it says something that you knew exactly what I was talking about—” He punctuated every word with a smug swing of his head before Shino walked in.

“Nice to see that things are lively in here.” He made his way across the lounge before plopping down next to Temari. A white piece of cloth hung out from his backpack, something that Temari didn’t miss as Shino prepared his materials.

“That’s a hazard.” She bit the inside of her lip.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s been grumpy since before you came here,” Kisame quickly explained, much to Temari’s disdain.

Looking across from you, you almost wished that you had just been paired up with Shino. You didn’t know him that well, but he seemed smart, capable and overall, quiet. Temari had drive, but her approach felt intense. Meanwhile, Kisame seemed like he couldn’t care less about the project. Or perhaps, it was more that he couldn’t care less about Temari.

“So the paper,” you began out of sheer nervousness. “And the presentation…” The three sets of eyes turned to you. You glanced at the clock. You had already wasted more than a half hour.

“Let’s be real here, a five page research paper is nothing,” Temari said, also crossing her legs. “It’s the presentation that we should worry about.” Kisame let out a breath.

“Well, here I was about to say the opposite.” He turned his neck to the side and you heard a few audible cracks. “What about we split it up if the paper is so easy for you?”

“I’m not just doing the paper by myself. Besides, I’d need to find sources and by the time I’ve found sources and written everything up, I’ll have done most of the work.” Temari wrinkled her nose at your partner next to you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what you were banking on.”

“Here.” Shino’s low voice broke through the room. With one exaggerated click on his keyboard he looked up at the three of you. “I just put a list of sources in the shared doc. There’s ten of them which should be more than enough. I pulled a few articles and a few academic papers which should meet the criteria from the rubric.”

Temari blinked down at her computer, furiously switching tabs. Her lips formed a round ‘o’ shape.

“Nice work, Shino,” you praised only to receive a shy nod. “I think if we take an anti-censorship stance, it’ll make out work easier given the time that we have to finish. Maybe Temari, you can start the paper and I can start the slides.”

“I can help you with that,” Kisame offered and you typed his email into the share box.

“I’ll help Temari with the paper,” Shino said with another nod.

“Start with the counterarguments. I’ll work from the top, you work from the bottom.” Temari gestured widely to Shino’s screen and you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you’ll be able to get all of this done after all.

Time flew during the late hours of the night. You didn’t know what it was about the nighttime that made time feel quicker than usual. Soon enough, the clock struck one. Temari plucked ferociously at her laptop and it surprised you that Kisame hadn’t asked her what she was punishing her keyboard for. Shino, on the other hand, liked to stand. About an hour ago, he had stood up from his seat, and with one foot on the low level of the coffee table, kept at writing his part of the paper. Temari and Shino didn’t speak much. Rather, their side of the table mostly sounded of clicking.

Meanwhile, you and Kisame were having a great time. He made you laugh much to Temari’s annoyance, but knowing that you were getting your parts done, she didn’t comment. Despite his outward physique, Kisame had a sense of style when it came to design and organization. You flew through fonts and images quickly and by the time you had cleared the first few slides, even you were impressed by how professional it looked. The clock read two o’clock.

“This was your conclusion, right?” You turned your screen in your hands to face Temari. She squinted over and her eyes lit up.

“Actually, that’s a way better wording. Imma just steal that…” She clicked some more. “That’s some great work.”

“It was actually all Kisame.” And to your surprise, he didn’t gloat. Instead, he remained eerily focused. Temari glanced at him before glancing away.

“Like I said, great work…” she muttered.

“We’re almost done with the slides,” you announced, “Do you guys need help with the paper?” Shino shook his head. You found that he preferred non-verbal answers.

“We’re wrapping up over here, too,” Temari answered.

“Good, because I’m fuckin’ starving.”

And with the one mention of food, you all looked up at each other.

***

There was only one place open this late at night and it was one block away from campus. Fast Food, of course, but no one in your group complained. The dining halls were closed and most of you didn’t keep your rolling pantries stocked with anything worth eating at two in the morning, so you packed up your things.

It felt odd walking down the road with this group of people. You chattered amongst yourselves about anything other than your assignment.

“Me? I’m a biology major. I want to study beetles but I have to get my undergrad before I can do anything really specific.” By far, Shino had to be the most interesting of you all. You made your way off of campus, the restaurant in your sight. And as the walk continued, so did your conversation.

“I’ve wanted to try the new place that they opened up by admissions but they’re always closed when I try to go.” Temari pouted and you crossed the street together. You wondered if spending four straight hours having to communicate with any three people could make talking to them this easy.

“Marine biology?” You stared up at Kisame. “I don’t think I would have guessed.” He let out a hearty laugh that sent a few birds flying.

“Oh yeah, they have us go out of labs for the whole day. And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. I’ve always loved the ocean, but I think I’d have to transfer if I had to wake up at seven and come back at eight for more than one day a week.” Kisame reached for the handle, only for it not to budge in his grip. He tried again.

“Are they closed?” you asked, getting slightly agitated at the prospect.

“No.” Shino cupped his hands around his eyes as he stared through the window. “Wet floor signs are out. This must be the time that they clean the dining room.” Shino hardly had to finish his sentence before Kisame was already on his way to the drive thru.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Temari yelled after him as she jogged to catch up. “You can’t just walk through the drive thru.”

“Sure you can.” Kisame stood directly in front of the speaker with his hands in his pockets. “There are no cars around and even if there were, they’d have to take our order to get us out of the way… Hello?” The speaker crackled and Kisame shot a pointed look at the rest of you before moting for you to come closer to order.

“What can I get you?” the apathetic worker droned.

“Can I get a number nine?” Kisame started.

“Oh me too,” you whispered to him, not entirely sure why you spoke with such a hushed tone. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

“Make that two number nines? One large—” He stepped back to let Temari come up to the speaker.

“May I please get a number six with extra sauce, please? And, uh, a number seven too, please.” Like Kisame before her, Temari stepped to allow Shino to talk.

“Two number forty-fives, one with cheese and a large soda.”

With nowhere else to sit, you claimed a spot in the empty parking lot. Temari ended up paying. You put up a fight, but she insisted. You were secretly convinced that she was loaded anyway.

“You two got a lot of food.” Kisame handed you your fillet burger. Temari hummed, taking one of her backs and folded it behind her.

“One’s for my boyfriend,” she said, and before Kisame could get out a snarky comment about how Temari could ever land a boyfriend, Shino answered,

“I just usually eat all at once. Can’t usually grab dinner while doing night labs.” You all grimaced to yourselves. You knew the feeling of skipping meals because of your schedules.

You looked out at the city. Your school sat on a hill just outside of the twinkling lights. You found comfort in the blinking that came from below and your surroundings made the atmosphere feel completely still.

“You know, if we have a choice, we should just stick together for the rest of the semester.” Shino’s monotone voice cut through the air. You turned to the rest of them. Temari shrugged.

“It’s less of a gamble since we know each other, I suppose. I know that most of you won’t mess up our assignments…” You and Kisame nodded along, both stuffing your faces with french fries.

The decision was unanimous.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes:

Shino’s lab coat was in with his regular supplies which is technically a hazard when working in chem and bio labs since lab coats should be sealed.

Not all fast-food places well take your order without a car, but if you block the line they’ll give in (that’s what I did). Don’t blame me if you get arrested for doing that though.

"I'll have two number 9s, a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese, and a large soda."– Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris

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rocksandrobots · 3 years

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 43 - Finale (Pt. 5)

"Okay, what if we used some nitrocellulose and mixed it with an oxidized ethanol?" Varain asked.

Honey Lemon pursed her lips. "Uhmmm, wouldn't that just make the chimball explode?"

"Uh, yeah. That's the point."

"I don't know….It sounds kind of dangerous."

Varian and Honey Lemon hovered over the chemistry set inside Big Hero Six's new lab.

As soon as Chief Cruz and Megan had left the Lucky Cat this morning, Hiro had called everyone together to meet at their headquarters. He had to pick up a new set of armor, and he wanted to tweak everyone else's suits to help prevent Supersonic Sue from disarming them again.

While Hiro worked on that, Varian was taking this time to build himself a new arsenal of alchemical orbs with Honey Lemon's help.

"Relax," he said as he reached over to pick up a test tube full of some green liquid "I won't throw it at anybody. It's just in case those robot ninjas show up again."

"Yeah, but you don't want any fire to accidentally spread." Honey Lemon argued. "What if we made something more contained? Like, oh, like what if we compressed some air inside the chimball?" She held one of the empty shells up. "That way when you threw it and it exploded, it would only hit the target with a concussive blast. There's no chance of that catching on fire."

Varian tilted his head in thought and took the shell from her.

"Yeah, that could work; on one of them. What if there's more than one? What if they gang up on you?" He asked as he poured the green liquid into the shell, sealed it, and clipped it to his belt.

"Well then we can just use the ice bombs to freeze them all at once." She replied.

"Yeah, I guess so." Varian agreed, and pulled out the liquid nitrogen to make the ice bombs with.

As they were finishing up this task, and Varian was hooking the last of the chemical orbs to his Saporian belt, Honey Lemon said, "You know this was fun. You should help out more often. Oh, we could go on patrol together or, maybe come up with new-"

"Oh no, no, nope, I'm not a hero." Varian interrupted as he shook his head.

Honey Lemon pouted at this.

"I'm just here cause I'm worried about Hiro." Varian explained.

Honey Lemon eyes went wide as she realized what Varian was getting at. She had been there when Hiro first found out about Callaghan's role in Tadashi's death; and she had been the one to stop Baymax from attacking and killing the professor.

"I don't know what good I'm doing though." Varian went on.

"You're doing a lot of good." She assured him.

"Am I? Cause, like, I'm not one to talk about 'being the bigger the person' or how 'you need to take the high road.' Honestly I don't even agree with this whole superhero thing. I mean, yes what y'all are doing is great, and yes, I'm all for helping Abigail, but… Callaghan…"

Honey Lemon mulled over his words. "But if we don't help, who will?"

Varian threw up his hands in defeat. "Yeah, that's what Hiro said…. but you didn't see him. You didn't see how much just having that one little computer chip destroyed hurt him…. I just don't know how this is all going to play out if we keep doing this."

"Are you worried Hiro might do something he'll regret?"

"No, I'm worried about what I might do." He turned to look her dead in the eye. "I can live with regrets, but I can't live with myself if something happened to him, or you, or anyone else."

Honey Lemon shivered at those words. "So you, what? Just want us to all stop?"

"No. I don't know. I just want everyone to be safe, and happy… And that's not happening so long as we have to keep dealing with Callaghan and whoever this Bosu is."

Honey Lemon lowered her head. Usually superheroing was fun. Even the more challenging villains were just attention seekers out to beat them, as if it was all just some friendly competition. Very few of the foes they faced were actively malicious. But there were times, like now, when it became very hard to ignore how dangerous their chosen hobby could be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Varian laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, don't listen to me." He soothed. "I'm not a superhero, remember. What do I know?"

Honey Lemon gave him a small smile. "Well, maybe not, but you are a good friend, and I get it, about your concern for Hiro. It's only natural to be protective of your siblings."

"Siblings?"

Honey Lemon had to only laugh at the confused face he made. "Oh come on, you and Hiro totally act like brothers."

"No we don't….do we? I don't know how brothers act. Is it any different from just being friends?"

Honey Lemon snorted with laughter again. "Yeah, a little different. For one you usually don't wrestle for control of the tv remote with your friends, fight over who does what chores, or prank each other with megaphones."

"I thought that was just Hiro being Hiro."

"No, it's 'cause you live together, and have the same guardian. I don't know how to explain it, but it's just different with little brothers, that's all."

"But I… I don't know how to be a brother. Let alone how to be the 'older, more responsible brother'. And I doubt Hiro sees me that way, anyways. I mean, he already has Tadashi… had… I mean…."

He trailed off and Honey Lemon eyed him with worry once more.

After a few moments he whispered, "I'm not trying to replace anybody."

"Well, of course not. No one said that you were."

"Then why do I feel like I am?"

Honey Lemon blinked. What did he mean? Where had this even come from?

Before she could press further though, Hiro walked into the lab.

"Hey, we're heading out soon. You might want to start suiting up." He said.

"Okay. Just give us a minute to gather things up and we'll meet you in the briefing room." She answered.

Hiro nodded his acknowledgement and left.

"Well, looks like we'll have to save the heart to heart for later." Varian snarked as he scooped up Sirque's portal magnets and grabbed the controller he had built for them. After placing these in his pockets, he turned around and asked, "What do you think? Do I look 'heroic' enough?"

He was dressed in his full Saporian garb, complete with bandana and his usual goggles, and along with the new chimballs they'd just made, he appeared exactly the same as he did the first night he'd arrived in San Fansokyo. Well almost, he was slightly taller now, but only by a few inches.

"Hmmm… honestly Sparkles was right, you do kind of look like a bandit, or maybe even a pirate?"

Varian huffed. "See, I can't even look the part."

"Well I still think you'd make a great superhero." She encouraged as she straightened the collar of his jacket.

"Ha ha," he snorted, then more seriously said "We'll be lucky if we can even find the bad guys again. Let alone take them head on."

Honey Lemon refused to let Varian's pessimism get her down.

"Well then here's a hug for good luck." She cheered and flung her arms around him.

Varian tentatively returned the hug. "Th-thanks… I feel more lucky already."

--------------------------

"So how's things going, Teach?" Sue barked as she skated into the makeshift lab.

Callaghan rolled his eyes in annoyance as he tightened the bolt on the portal.

He had been up all night assembling the frame. Somehow the pair of villains had all of the needed parts all ready to go, along with some pre-programmed software and a few prototypes to work off of.

Whoever this boss they were all working for was, they were clearly well connected and apparently had other people continuing his research in his absence. A Dr. Celine Simard had provided most of the equipment and had emailed him blueprints to her own miniature portal designs. They had only conversed briefly through a heavily monitored chat room, but it was a relief to speak to someone who wasn't as thick as a bag of bricks. Celine seemed like such a bright young woman. It was a shame she was selling out her talents to such an obviously unscrupulous organization.

Though he couldn't fully blame her reasoning… "Krei Tech, Government, the Black Market; it's all the same. They're all corrupt. Might as well go with the one who pays the highest."

"Even if they might kill you afterwards?"

"I don't look a gift horse in the mouth. If you play along nicely they won't hurt you. I would just take the money and passport if I was you."

Callaghan had stopped trying to reach out to her after that. One day this life of crime she was living was going to catch up to her, but he couldn't waste time trying to save her from herself. He had his own daughter to worry about.

"How's Abigail?" He asked as he stood up and put the wrench back inside the tool box.

Sue shrugged. "She's fine. Same as the last fifty times you've asked."

Callaghan walked over to the computer terminal, typed in some code, and read the read out that flashed up on screen.

"You never did tell me where you got my notebook." He said.

"Don't ask me. Those two boys who tried to bust you out yesterday had it. Where they got it, I don't know."

Callaghan frowned and opened his notebook again. He had discovered handwriting that wasn't his own inside, fixing his calculations and expanding upon some of his more 'out there' theories. He had assumed they were done by others in the villains' gang but apparently that wasn't the case.

He still didn't know how Hiro's little friend had come upon his research, but the kid apparently knew a thing or three about theoretical physics. The boy's new equations could potentially stabilize the portal, preventing it from breaking down.

He wouldn't need them though. Callgahn sat the notebook back down and returned to the computer terminal. He didn't want this particular portal to work.

"I'm about ready to perform the first test;" He said coolly, "turn on the power generators."

--------------------------

"Any luck?" Wasabi asked as he joined the rest of the group on top of a skyscraper.

"No." Sighed Honey Lemon.

"We must have scanned the whole city by now." Hiro said.

"What if this Bosu has the same bio-dampening tech that Momasake had?" Fred suggested. "He could have snagged it off her when she got captured, and handed it off to Sue and her grandson."

"That's possible." Gogo admitted. "Especially since they now know that we can track them."

"So what do we do now?" Honey Lemon asked.

Varian cupped his chin in thought as he walked towards the ledge of the building where Baymax stood, still scanning the city. "Baymax, are you able to scan for other things besides just bio-readings?"

"Yes. I am capable of scanning thermal, infrared, radiation-"

"Energy spikes? Like electrical surges." Varian interrupted.

Hiro walked over to join them. "What's your idea?"

"Why would this Bosu kidnap Abigail? She's not actually a scientist."

"Because she's Callaghan's daughter," Wasabi said as he pieced together what Varian was getting at, "and they'll use her to blackmail him into building them a portal."

"Exactly, and they've got to find a way to power it up. There might be unusual energy spikes once they get it up and running."

"So we, what, just wait around?" Gogo asked skeptically. "If Callaghan builds another portal and it's just as unstable as the last ones we've dealt with, then we might be too late to stop it from imploding if we wait till it's turned on."

"Yeah and who knows how much damage that'll cause." Fred agreed.

"Still it's the best idea we have right now; only we don't want to go chasing after every electrical surge in the city. We need a way to narrow the search even further." Hiro mulled over this new dilemma, then a new idea hit him. "Baymax, scan Varian."

"Wha- why?" The other boy asked in confusion as Baymax looked him up in and down.

"Scan complete." The robot said.

"I'll show you." Hiro grunted as he removed the chest plate off of Baymax's armor. "Baymax, show us Varian's readings."

The screen on the robot's chest lit up and displayed a silhouette of the time displaced teen.

"Okay, now show us his radiation levels."

The screen changed again to showcase a graph and Hiro pointed to one of the spikes that was higher than the others.

"There. See that? That's some sort of low energy electromagnetic radiation. Don't worry, it's non-ionized so it's harmless, but it's not anything that's been seen on earth. Not this earth anyways. I suspect it's from traveling through the portal unprotected, the same way astronauts risk GCR when they break through earth's atmosphere."

"Ooookaay… and outside of me apparently being a freak now, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Don't you see? If they turn on the portal it's going to emit that same form of radiation."

"Then we could track it faster and easier than we would just looking for any random energy spike." Gogo interjected.

"Yeah, but that still requires us just waiting around hoping that the bad guys do get the portal working." Wasabi said.

"Oh, they'll get it to work." Hiro said. "This isn't the first time Callagan's built a portal. The question is how long will it remain stable?"

--------------------------

Callaghan flipped a switch on the dashboard and the portal roared to life.

Sue shielded her eyes with her arm as she squinted at the glowing blue circle that hung in the air. The wind was picking up as it was being sucked into the void.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly the power shorted out and the portal shut down as sparks flew out from the sides.

"Blast it!" Callaghan yelled. "I need more power. These generators aren't enough. We'll have to connect to the grid."

"Now hold on there, sugar cakes." Sue interjected. "I thought you didn't want this thingamajig to work."

"I don't, but you've left me with no choice. Call that boss of yours. Get them on the line. I can't finish my work without a direct connection to the city power supply."

"Alright. You need more power? I'll get ya more power. Just hold on to your britches and sit tight. My… uh, associates here will keep an eye on you while I go out and fix this."

She pointed to the two ninjas who were stationed on the catwalk above them. Callgahn didn't know how many were in Sue's employ, but he had the sneaking suspicion that the abandoned factory was crawling with them.

"Okay." Challghan nodded and Sue skated away at top speed.

--------------------------

"There is a radiation spike coming from there." Baymax said as he pointed northward.

"How far out?" Asked Hiro.

"Along the river, about 20 mil--- the signal is gone."

"What do you mean gone?" Varian asked.

"There's no longer any readings."

"It must have been a failed test." Hiro said. "Let's just start following the river north. We may find something as we go."

--------------------------

Abigail paced back and forth inside her cell. Well it was actually an office with a larger window looking out onto the factory below but it might as well have been a jail cell. The ninjas threw her in here and locked the door behind them. She had tried to bust the door down, smash the handle, and crawl into the vents to escape. Nothing had worked so far.

As she nursed her arm from her latest failed escape, she saw one of her captors coming her way. It was the big bulky dude on roller skates. She banged on the window to gain his attention.

"Let me out!" She shouted.

The guy stopped, turned to look at her, pulled out two earbud headphones, and yelled, "I'm sorry, what did you say?!"

As the man leaned closer to the window and cupped his ear Abigail groaned in frustration. "I said 'let me out'!"

"Oh, sorry, no can do! Nana said you needed to stay put until your dad finished working on the portal!"

Abigail pouted and hugged her arm once more. Well, what did she think would happen?

"Do you need anything else?!" The guy shouted at her.

"No!" She stamped her foot before turning away from him to sulk as she tried to rub out the soreness in her arm.

"Hey, are you hurt?!" The guy asked, suddenly full of concern.

Abigail didn't answer. Why did he care?

However, to her surprise the guy opened the door and poked his head into the office.

"Did those robots hurt your arm?" He asked once more.

She looked back at him blankly. "Robots? Is that why those ninjas are so strong? They're robots?"

"Yeah." The large guy confirmed as if barely acknowledging how crazy that sounded. "Do you need an ice pack?"

"Sure." Abigail replied dumbfoundedly. Seriously, why was this guy being so nice?

"I'll go get you one. I'm Stu by the way." He flashed her a huge grin.

"Abigail." She replied still dumbstruck.

"Nice to meet you. I'll be right back." And with that he shut the door again and walked away.

Abigail got up and ran to the door. It was locked once more. Either the guy was smarter than he looked or it locked automatically.

Abigail bit her lip in thought. This Stu person could be her means of escape if she played her cards right.

"I'm back." Stu cheerfully said a few minutes later. "I got you an ice pack and some Tylenol."

He opened the door and handed Abigail the small little package containing the pills.

"Where'd you get this?" She asked.

"Oh, in the vending machine down the hall." He explained as he wrapped her arm in an ace bandage so as to better hold the ice pack in place. "I didn't have any money so I had to headbutt it a couple times. I got a free bag of Cheetos out of it as well."

He finished applying the bandage. "There! Man those robots are so dumb. Not to mention careless. Sorry you got hurt like that."

Abigail plastered a smile on her face. "It-it's okay…. Uhmm…I don't suppose you happen to have anything to drink these down with do you?" She said as she held up the pack of Tylenol.

"Oh sure. I'll go get you a bottle of water. Hang tight."

He left again and Abigail got to work. She removed the bandage and placed the ice pack on the floor in front of the door. Then she took the bandage and tied it between two desk chairs that were seated in the office. She placed these further out in front of the ice pack; spacing them far enough apart the rope laid taunt next to the ground right at ankle height.

Then she heard Stu's return and she jumped into the seat; placing her hands in her lap and slapping on a huge smile to look as innocent as possible as he skated in.

"Here ya, gooooo-woah!" He slipped on the ice pack and stumbled forward.

Abigail jumped up, grabbed the water bottle in his hand to sling him around, and with a well placed kick, Stu went rolling backwards into the tripwire. As he toppled over, Abigail sprinted out the door, locking it behind her.

"Hey! That's not very nice!" He yelled as he righted himself and ran up to the window.

Abigail paused in her getaway. "Yeah, and neither's kidnapping people and holding them hostage!"

Stu looked stunned for a moment as he thought over her words. "Yeah, okay, fair." He finally admitted as he hung his head. Then just as quickly he perked back up and smooshed his face to the glass. "Oh, but Nana's not going to like that you escaped."

"Yeah, well, Nana's just going to have to deal. Where's my dad?"

"Uh, on the first floor I think. Take the stairs down the end of the hall and then turn left."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Oh, but watch out for the robot ninjas!" He shouted after her as she ran away, opening the pack of pain pills as she went.

As Abigail neared the stairs she heard banging and the sound of glass cracking. She looked back and saw Stu slamming himself against the window repeatedly; and he was making a lot more headway then she had. She needed to find her dad fast.

--------------------------

Supersonic Sue was hooking up the last of the electric cables to the power lines when she spotted Big Hero Six flying towards the power plant.

"Looks like those do-gooders found our hideout. Better give them a welcoming party." She said to herself with a smile as she pulled out a remote control and pressed a button.

--------------------------

"Looks like there's a building up ahead!" Hiro shouted at his companions, who followed close behind, but stopped short when Baymax came to an abrupt halt.

From out of the woods stepped a robot ninja, who stood in their path.

"Yeeeeessssss!" Laughed Fred. "Finally I get to fight a robot ninja! My life is complete!"

"Be careful! Those things are deadly!" Varian warned.

"Oh come on. There's only one of it and seven of us. We can take...him?"

Just as Fred finished his boast another stealth robot appeared, and then another, and yet another, until the superhero team was surrounded by thirty or more of the killer androids.

"You were saying?" Wasabi snapped at Fred.

As if taking that as a cue, the robots jumped them and all hell broke loose.

Wasabi slammed the gas on his car and plowed through five of the droids, before hitting the brakes and jumping out as the robots dog piled the vehicle. He righted himself and whipped out his laser blades to start hacking away at the enforcers and the deadly shurikens they threw at him.

As he fended off the horde, Gogo skated around dodging their attacks and knocked the snipper robots out of the trees with her discs.

"Woo-hoo!" Fred shouted with glee as he bounced on top of robot after robot, just barely escaping their grasp as they lunged for him. "This is awesome! Terrifying, but awesome!"

Varian rolled his eyes at his friend's enthusiasm as he threw an ice bomb down below at the coming onslaught. He then had to grab hold of Hiro's waist as Baymax decided to do another barrel roll, knocking two more ninjas out of the trees.

When they righted again Varian's heart jumped to his throat when caught sight of Honey Lemon. She was several yards away, cut off from the rest of their friends and pinned down by one of the robotic assassins.

He shouted at her to hold on and Hiro drove Baymax towards her; only for the three of them to get jumped on by another robot. As they fought this new foe, Varian feared they wouldn't reach their friend in time.

Fortunately Honey Lemon was able to wiggle one arm free and grabbed a chimball from off her purse strap. She shoved it into her attacker's abdomen, lodging it in between some exposed gears, and with all her might she kicked the robot off her.

The android stood back up and started to stalk towards her once more, but suddenly stopped when the chimball ruptured and began to encase him in a pink crystal like substance.

Honey Lemon didn't have time to rejoice though as another ninja came up from behind to grab her arm. She threw another chimball at it and this time the robot let go and dubbed over as a shockwave from a small explosion sent the thing crumpling in on itself. Her concussive grenade had worked.

"Are you okay?" Varian shouted as they finally reached her.

"Yeah." She nodded as Hiro repelled another robot away with his electromagnets.

"I have found Supersonic Sue." Baymax calmly stated as he shot his rocket fist into the oncoming horde.

"Where?" Hiro asked, but soon saw the fading streak of dust traveling at high speed towards the abandoned building up ahead.

"We have to go after her. That building must be where they're keeping Callaghan and Abigail."

"Don't worry. I got this." Honey shouted as she ran ahead and shot down another wave of robots with her chempurse's bazooka setting.

"You three go on, we'll hold off the ninjas." Gogo spoke into the intercom before slicing off one of the androids heads with her frisby.

With that Hiro directed Baymax to follow Sue, only for them to be surrounded by a new group of ninjas lying in wait for them, just a mile down the road, even larger than the last horde.

"Where is she getting all these robots from!?" Hiro shouted in frustration.

"I have an idea!" Varian said and he pulled out the portal magnets.

Hiro saw what he was getting at. "Guys," he warned over the intercom, "Varian and I are going to use the mini-portal to break in, but be on your toes cause a new wave of robot ninjas are going to head your way soon."

"Oh you gotta be kidding me." Wasabi complained over the other end.

Varian ignored their friend's protests and typed a command into the portal's remote control. He then tossed the magnets into the air. With a flip of a switch, the magnetic balls began to link up and spin as a portal started to form in the air.

Hiro commanded Baymax to fly to it, and helped to maneuver the android to avoid the ninjas' attacks, as the robotic assassins tried to stop them from leaving.

They dodge one that tried to jump them, and Hiro kicked another off that had grabbed hold of Baymax's armor and was climbing up towards them. Meanwhile Varian threw one last alchemical orb at the swarm of robots as they flew into the portal. Hiro heard an explosion behind them, but ignored it as he focused on the upcoming confrontation ahead of them.

--------------------------

"Okay Callaghan, I siphoned off electricity from the city's power grid. You should be good to go." Sue said as she entered the lab.

"Good, now just stand there and hold that lever down while I turn the machine on." Came Callaghan's terse reply.

"Why? What does the lever do?" Sue asked in suspicion.

"It keeps the fan on the turbines going and prevents the portal from overheating." Callaghan lied.

Sue raised an eyebrow at him, not fully buying it. "You want me to stand next to a giant, untested, potential death machine that may explode at any moment?"

"I assure you it works, and I thought you could order one of your 'associates' to do it, but looks like most of them have left the building save for the one you kept on lookout there."

Sue gave him a death glare.

"Or hey, don't do it and don't get the portal working. See if I care. I didn't ask to get dragged into this."

Sue finally relented at this and walked over to the base of the portal and pulled the lever down. "Like this?" she asked.

"Yeah, just like that." Callaghan said as he walked over to the computer terminal to turn it on. Then under his breath, where Sue couldn't hear, he said. "Just like that you rancid cow; stay right there and be the folly of your own demise."

But before Professor Callaghan could turn on the device and suck his hated captor into the void, another portal opened up overhead and in flew Hiro, Baymax, and Varian; knocking out the one remaining guard as they did so, who fell to the ground in a crumpled heap of frayed wires and busted gears.

"Step away from the portal, Callaghan." Hiro ordered at him.

For his part, Callaghan did as he was told and backed away, hands raised.

"Why you little scamps." Sue said. She almost sounded impressed. "You got persistence and gumption, I'll give ya that, but ain't half as clever as you think you are."

With a nod of her head another ninja jumped from the shadows above them and grabbed Varian by his jacket collar.

"Seriously, where are you getting all these robots!?" Hiro asked.

"Oh, just from an old buddy of mine." She nonchalantly said as she made her way to the door.

"Kensei?" Hiro spat as he finally threw the robot off them.

"Ah so you heard," Sue said, "and they say kids these days don't know their history. Yeah, I thought the ninja aesthetic was a little hokey myself; Kensei's gimmick was always centered around lame karate stuff, but hey, who am I to judge?"

And with that, as quick as a wink, she tossed one of the now defunct robot's weapons at them. Only instead of the usual shuriken, it was a metal ball that opened up and released a weighted net that was difficult to dodge.

As both boys struggled to pull it off, Baymax fell to the ground below under its weight and Supersonic Sue tried to make her getaway.

Only to stop when Stu burst through the door.

"Nana! I am soo, so sorry, but Abigail's escape!"

"What!?" She shouted.

With this news, Callaghan raced to the computer terminal while everyone was distracted and turned on the device.

--------------------------

The ground rumbled and soon a heavy wind picked up as the unstable portal began to suck things into it.

Abigail wandered around the abandoned building utterly lost. She had deviated from Stu's directions in order to avoid running into those ninjas again. She hadn't seen any more of them around for awhile, but now she couldn't find her way back.

Suddenly the ground shook as if there was an earthquake. Abigail ran under a door frame for shelter and held on tightly.

As the tremor subsided, Abigail began to wonder if it was a natural occurrence at all.

Portals, that was what this was all about, apparently. The bad guys had wanted her father to build them one, but if he did, it could blow up in all of their faces, literally.

Then she heard yelling down the hall, as a wind picked up.

"Dad!" She shouted and knowingly ran towards the danger.

--------------------------

"Are you crazy!?" Sue shouted over the howling wind.

"No, desperate!" Callaghan shouted back. "I rigged this portal to implode in on itself!"

Sue looked at him as if he'd grown two heads.

"There's children in here, ya dang fool!" Came her reply.

"I'm not a child!" Varian protested as he struggled underneath the net.

Both villains ignored him.

"Oh, says the woman who attacked them with a bunch of deadly robots!"

"Oh please, their weapons were set to stun. I wasn't going to hurt a bunch of snot nosed brats... much."

As if to counteract this statement another robot ninja jumped out at them and shot a laser out of it's wrist right at Callaghan. The professor ducked out of the way as sparks flew around him. Then the wind from the portal sucked the android right into the void.

Sue, for once, looked embarrassed at being called out in her hypocrisy.

"In my defense I don't know anything about programming robots." She said.

"Call off the bots, let everyone go, and I'll turn the portal off!" Callaghan said.

Just then the wind picked up even more, the net over the two boys flew off and Varian and Hiro would have been swept away into the nothingness had Baymax not caught them.

"Fine!" Sue relented as she pressed a button on a remote. "It's no skin off my nose if the portal doesn't get built or not."

Another robot, that had just entered from the upper level, suddenly collapsed and fell down to the floor in a heap as it was deactivated. Then it's remains along with the other destroyed robots got sucked into the portal as well.

Satisfied with her compliance Callaghan turned around to shut the terminal off, only for the computer to explode which led to the rest of the machine to catch on fire.

"Well what did you do now?!" Sue shouted.

"It wasn't me! That robot of yours must have damaged the controls!"

Just then, Abigail shoved past the doors.

"Dad!" She called to him desperately, choking back the smoke that started to fill the room, and that was when Callaghan realized how badly he had screwed up.

Sue rolled her eyes. "Oh I've had enough of this! Stu, make us an exit! I'll salvage what we can here!"

"Right Nana!" Stu saluted. Then he revved up his skates, curled up into a ball, and basted himself at the concrete wall on the opposite side of the room at top speed.

He busted through three walls before coming out the other side and Hiro could just make out the glimmer of sunlight on the other end.

While Stu was busy with that, Sue skated right up to Callaghan and slugged him in the face. The professor fell backwards, clutching his jaw.

"Dad!" Abigail shouted again and ran to his side.

Sue skated over to the desk next to where they stood, or what was left of it. After finding what she wanted she turned to leave; only stopping long enough to give the murderous professor a sneer of pure disdain before skating away in a blur after her grandson.

As soon as she was gone a squeal of metal scraping against metal was heard. One of the portal's legs collapsed under The heat of the spreading fire and the gaping maw of the void turned at an angle towards the roof. The ceiling started to cave in from under the strain.

Everyone had to dodge out of the way quickly from the falling debris. One particularly large steel beam nearly fell right on top of Callaghan and Abigail, and he had to push his daughter away quickly. She stumbled back and was almost sucked into the void again until Baymax pulled her out of the way.

As the robot and the three humans huddled behind a concrete slab, Abigail tried to break away from the android's grip.

"Dad, no!" She sobbed.

"I'm alright!" Came Callaghan's call. "I'm just trapped on the other side!"

Abigail cried with relief.

"We're coming after you." Hiro shouted back.

"No, don't! You three get out of here! Take Abigail to safety."

"But what about you?" Varian yelled.

"Don't worry about me, I'll find another way out."

Soon they saw Callaghan start to climb up a ladder to the catwalk above.

"He must be trying to go around." Hiro said. "He'll never make it that way."

As if to confirm this, more debris fell from the collapsing roof, blocking their view of the professor. Hiro came to a decision.

"Baymax, take Varian and Abigail and get out. I'm going after Callaghan."

"That's crazy!" Varian protested.

"I do not feel that is a very safe option." Baymax agreed, but Hiro was already halfway finished climbing up the other side of the concrete slab.

"Don't worry, I got my gear! Just go on! Now!"

Baymax gave in to Hiro's orders and scooped Abigail up in arms. He then took off and flew away before Varian could crawl off his back.

--------------------------

Varian casted a fearful look behind him as he watched Hiro run through the smoke. Then as they made it to the tunnel he watched in horror as the portal fell completely and the rest of the building started to come down.

"No stop!" He yelled. "We have to go after them!"

Either Baymax didn't hear him or the robot ignored his pleas; too set on following his previous commands.

As they neared the exit, Varian gathered his courage and jumped off the robot and onto the grassy ground that opened up below.

It took a moment for Baymax to realize what had happened. He turned around to see Varian running back into the burning building.

"No! Don't!" Abigail screamed after him.

"Baymax, get Abigail out of here, and have the rest of the gang fall back!" Varian yelled over his shoulder. "No telling what the range of the blast radius of the portal will be once it finally implodes in on itself!"

Then he dove out of sight into the tunnel.

--------------------------

Hiro coughed as the smoke burned his lungs and stung his eyes. He searched for a way through the flames to the back of the former power plant, where the catwalk hung over head; dodging the debris that rained down around him. Then when he was directly under the service ramp, he used his electromagnetic whips to grab hold of the catwalk and pull himself up.

No sooner did he make it to the top, then did the portal fall down completely and along with it the rest of the roof.

A large hunk of the ceiling fell right on top of the walkway, snapping the metal railing into two. Hiro held on to the side desperately as the severed catwalk now shifted as it's structural integrity was compromised. Fortunately for him he had magnetic gloves on. Callaghan wasn't so lucky.

The professor went falling over the side as the ramp broke. He only just barely managed to grab hold of the bottom railing before falling into the void below. However he wasn't safe as the wind kept trying to suck him in and shook the broken catwalk ever which way.

--------------------------

Varian pulled up his bandana over his nose to block out the smoke. He also pulled down his goggles to protect his eyes. Still there was little he could do about the insufferable heat nor the falling hunks of metal and stone.

Somehow though he managed to make his back through to the former lab. As he entered the flame filled room the first thing he did was to look up. He noticed Callaghan and Hiro hanging from the broken catwalk right away, but how was he to get them down?

He spotted a ladder near the wall and next to it a long linked chain. He ran up to it and with a few tugs he broke the chain free from the pulley hook it hung from. He quickly wrapped it around his shoulder like you would a rope and then started to climb.

--------------------------

Hiro gauged the distance between him and Callaghan. It wasn't far, he could make it…. Or miss it completely and go tumbling into the void forever.

He gulped as he dared to look below him.

Just then the wind picked up speed once more and the catwalk bent under the force of the portal's suction.

"W-woah!" Callaghan screamed as he held on for dear life and Hiro himself gripped the railing beside him even tighter. He then threw out one of his whips to wrap around the end of the other catwalk leveling it somewhat.

"C-can you climb up?!" Hiro grunted.

Callaghan tried to, but failed. He was getting on in years and could no longer nimbly climb up the side of things like Hiro could. There was also the ever increasing pull of the portal to fight against.

"It- it's no use!" Callaghan called out. "Get out of Hiro! Save yourself! I don't want your death on my conscience as well!"

Those words hit Hiro deeper than Callaghan knew, and for a moment Hiro seriously considered following his advice and just leaving the man to his fate.

After all, there wasn't any obvious way to save him. Hiro would only be risking his life for nothing the longer he stayed. It wasn't murder just to save your own skin, not really, and well, Callaghan had brought this onto himself. All of it, the portal, his imprisonment, the fire…

Hiro gave the pathetic old man a cold glare; one that cut through even the inescapable heat of the rising flames around them.

Oh how he hated Callaghan!

He took a deep breath and retracted his magnetic whip, leaving the other side of the catwalk free to twist in the wind.

Still he didn't immediately turn to leave. Never taking his eyes off Callaghan, Hiro watched his brother's murderer flail about as he struggled to maintain his hold on the railing. Time felt like it had slowed to a crawl for Hiro as his mind was racked with indecision.

It would be so easy, he thought. So easy, and no one would blame him. His breath shallowed as he waited for the inevitable; his eyes fixated on Callaghan.

That's when Hiro noticed a foot fall behind him as the walkway shifted beneath him once more.

Varian was right behind him with a length of chain in his hands. The other boy said nothing, nor did he hand Hiro the makeshift rope.

Their eyes met and Hiro silently pleaded with him. Varian knew. Varian knew exactly what Hiro was going through. He knew the pain. He knew the desire. He knew what was happening, and he wasn't going to do anything to stop it.

It was Hiro's choice and Hiro's choice alone.

Hiro gulped once more as his heart pounded in his ears and angry tears stung his eyes.

No, Varian wouldn't judge him, but what about himself? What did he want? What was he willing to give up to get it? How could he face himself in the morning, or the next day, and everyday after that?

Hiro shook his head as everything suddenly became clear. There was no choice. Not really, as there was only ever one choice Hiro could live with.

He grabbed the chain out of Varian's hands and threw the other end to Callaghan. Once the professor had taken hold, both boys pulled him up. Then all three ran down the catwalk, slid down the ladder, and then dove through the hole in the wall.

--------------------------

As the two teens and professor ran away from the collapsing building, they heard an explosion go off behind them. Callaghan grabbed them both and pushed them to the ground; using his own body to shield them as best he could as the shockwave passed over them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hiro could see the trees around them bending backwards till their top branches nearly touched the ground. The earth trembled beneath them and a loud noise that made his ears ring sounded around them.

Finally, once Callaghan had deemed it safe enough, Hiro sat up to view the damage. Below them was a crater where the former power plant had stood. Not a sign was left of the portal.

"There they are!" Fred shouted behind them and Hiro turned to see his friends running towards them.

Abigail was also with them.

"Dad!" She ran up to her father first and wrapped her arms around him.

Callaghan broke down crying as he returned the hug. He kissed the top of head, and held her close, before cupping her face in his hands and nuzzling her nose the way he had always done when she was young.

It was the first time he had held his little girl in over five years.

"I missed you too, Dad." Abigail said as she snuggled closer to him and wrapped him another hug.

Hiro broke away from the celebration and the cheers of congratulations from his friends, as he watched Callaghan and Abigail reunite. Instead of joining in their merriment, he went and sulked underneath a tree overlooking the spot where the power plant once stood.

They all gave him space, except for Varian who walked over to join him. The other boy didn't say anything. He just rested a hand on Hiro's shoulder and sat beside him as everyone waited for the police to arrive.

"I still hate him." Hiro whispered as tears ran down his cheeks.

"Yeah, me too." Varian agreed.

And that was all that needed to be said. Hiro didn't regret saving Callaghan, but neither could bring himself to forgive Tadashi's murderer; even after all that happened; and that was okay. One didn't need to forgive in order to do the right thing, and in a small way that brought Hiro a little peace, even if the loss still hurt.

Still he couldn't help but smile a little bit, in spite of himself, when Judy also arrived along with the police. Krei had given her a lift as soon as they'd received the text that Abigail had been rescued.

After the two girlfriends reunited, Abigail introduced her significant other to her dad, who was overjoyed at the news.

As Callaghan pulled both girls into a group hug, even Hiro had to admit they made a sweet family. Enough so, that Hiro almost felt sorry for them when Chief Cruz walked over to re-arrest the professor. Almost.

"I love you." Callaghan said as he entered the back of the police van.

"I'll see you next Tuesday; on visitor's day." Abigail sobbed. "We both will."

Callaghan tried to say something encouraging in response but the words caught in his throat as he choked on his own tears.

The police shut the door, and Abigail broke down again as she watched the police van drive away. Judy hugged her and planted a kiss on her cheek, as she wiped her tears away.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride back to your apartment." Krei gingerly stepped in and gently encouraged the two girls to follow him to the car.

"And don't worry about coming into work tomorrow. Take all the time you need." He told Judy as he opened the car door. She flung her arms around him in a grateful hug, to which Krei awkwardly returned. Judy wasn't known for being affectionate, not to him anyways.

"Uh, yeah, don't mention it." He said before breaking away and walked around into the driver's seat.

As the car drove away Cruz walked over to the superheroes. "I got a few questions for you."

"Yeah?" Hiro said as he got up walked over to the police chief.

"Do you know where Sue and her grandson are right now?"

"No."

"Do you know who was funding their portal research?"

"No."

"Then what do you know?"

"Callaghan didn't escape. Sue kidnapped him and blackmailed him." Fred offered up.

"So you said over the phone, but why?"

"Have you heard of the new crime lord running things since Di was arrested?" Gogo asked.

"Maybe. Were they behind this? Why are they after portal tech?"

Hiro shrugged, "We don't know."

"Do you know who they are?"

"Have you ever heard of an old supervillain called Kensei?"

Curz's eyes went wide at the mention of that name. "I'm going to need you to come down to the station with me."

The team of superheroes was startled by that.

"Sorry, but no, can do, officer." Hiro shook his head as Baymax flew up beside him.

"Wait! You're not under arrest; I promise, I just need more information!" Cruz pleaded as the heroes took off running, their enhanced gear allowing them to move faster than his men.

Cruz took off his hat and threw it to the ground in frustration as the last of the supers disappeared.

--------------------------

Supersonic Sue watched from above as the police departed. She had hid in the trees in order to spy on the gang of do-gooders.

"What now Nana?" Her grandson asked as they climbed down.

"Now, Stu, we go weasel some, I mean 'get paid', some money from my dear old friend, and then we high tail it out of here and laid low for awhile till this whole thing blows over."

"But we didn't get the portal, and the professor escaped?"

"Now don't you worry, none, hun. Nana's got everything under control." She said as she whipped out her cell phone.

"Hey Kensei? Yeah, got some bad news about that portal you wanted…. Now, now, don't go getting your knickers in a twist; I got something that still might interest you." Sue chuckled as she pulled out the blue notebook from her pocket.

--------------------------

Wasabi pulled up to the gas pump and got out of the car.

"Do you guys want anything while we're here?" He asked the two boys riding in the back seat.

Hiro and Varian shook their heads no, and Wasabi left to go pay for the gas.

Once they had all safely gotten away from the police, it was decided by the group of teenagers to ditch their superhero gear and ride home normally.

Fred had called Heathcliff to pick him and the girls up, while Hiro and Varian volunteered to walk back with Wasabi to his car.

Baymax was currently in the trunk and had powered down into sleep mode in order to save on energy. It wouldn't do to have a 'drunk' robot running around the cafe on low battery, when their aunt came home.

Aunt Cass had texted them not too long ago to let them know she was leaving the hotel. Apparently Tracey's car had had a flat tire and they were getting a late start.

Thus far, on the ride back, neither boy had said much to the other. Each was lost in their own thoughts as Wasabi obliviously carried on all the conversation. It was mostly about opera as he had had the radio on.

Though without Wasabi's singing to distract them, Hiro started to grow uncomfortable with the silence.

"Hey, thanks, for helping out back there." He said.

"You're welcome." Varian replied in a tired manner.

"You know, I… I don't know what I would have done had you not shown up when you did."

Varian just shrugged. "Probably just save the day, like you always do." He then turned to look at Hiro. "I knew you wouldn't go through with it."

"How? How can you be so sure?"

"Cause, you're not me." Varian said as he looked away. "I would've let him fall. No hesitation."

Hiro didn't know what to say to that.

"I told you. Unlike you, I'm not a hero." Varian admitted as he felt Hiro's eyes on him. "I honestly don't know how you do it."

Hiro mulled over these words. "I guess… because I have good friends who support me and people to look up to. Who'll stop me from going too far."

Varian gave him a disbelieving smile. "People like your big brother I guess?"

"Yeah."

Varian shook his head. "Must be nice, having people around to help you when you need them. I'm not sure it'd make a difference in my case. I don't if anyone could have talked me down; not… not after what happened."

"Well," Hiro slowly said. "You never had a brother with you."

Varian nodded but didn't look at him, so Hiro contunited.

"Yup, it's a good thing my big brother was there today to help me out."

Hiro rested his hands behind his head as he said this and tried to act nonchalant, but he peeked out of the corner of his to watch Varian's reaction.

The other boy slowly looked up as realization dawned on his face.

Hiro smiled. "Thanks for being there for me."

"An-anytime." Varian answered with his own smile.

Hiro held out his hand for a fist bump. Varian returned it, the way Hiro and Baymax had taught him to do it. Then both boys wiggled their fingers and went "babalala", imitating their robot pal.

They couldn't keep a straight face when doing so though, and broke down into giggles.

"What's so funny?" Wasabi asked cheerfully as he entered the car.

"Oh nothing." Hiro snickered.

"Hey, hey, Wasabi, how about a driving lesson?" Varian pestered.

Wasabi rolled his eyes. "After the sport's car incident?"

"Not me, Hiro."

Wasabi turned back and looked at Hiro thoughtfully. "Well, alright, get on up here."

--------------------------

Hiro was finishing tidying up his room when he heard the familiar tune of La Cucaracha blaring down from the street below.

"Hey, Varian! Aunt Cass is back!"

He called to the other teen as he ran downstairs.

"Ok, all I got left to vacuum is the bathroom rug!" He called after before switching on the machine once more. "Be down in a sec!"

"Bye Tracey, see ya later." Aunt Cass called after her friend as she entered the cafe and her friend drove away.

She dumped her bags on the floor and let out a sigh of relief.

"Wooh, vacation will wear you out." She said as she leaned against the door.

"Hi Aunt Cass." Hiro ran to give her a hug. "Did you have a nice time?"

His aunt ignored the question "Oh Hiro, how are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm fin- ... I'm doing better."

"Did you hear about Callaghan?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was on the news today. They caught him."

"Yeah, Cruz texted me about it."

She stroked her fingers through his hair and pouted. "Do you still want to talk… about… well, you know?"

Hiro seriously considered it.

"Maybe later," he said, "I talked to Varian about it earlier today and I'm feeling a lot better now."

"Really?"

Hiro nodded his head.

"Well, I'm glad you two can open up to each other like that, and be there for one another. I'm also glad you two didn't burn the house down while I was gone."

Aunt Cass laughed at her own joke and Hiro joined in, but soon he weighed in with one more question, before moving on from the whole ordeal.

"Do.. Do you still hate him? Callaghan, I mean?"

Aunt Cass looked at him thoughtfully before answering.

"Yes." She nodded. "Do you?"

"Yeah." He sniffed.

Both aunt and nephew shared a silent moment for their grief as they came to an understanding before wrapping each other in a hug once more.

That was when Varian came down the stairs to join them.

"Hey!" He greeted, before embracing Aunt Cass in his own hug.

He practically lifted her off her feet as he did so, and for the first time Aunt Cass noticed that her adopted child was now taller than herself.

"What?" He laughed as he caught her giving him a funny smile.

"Nothing, I'm just glad to be back home." She said before wrapping both teens onto a group hug. "Oooh, I missed my boys sooo much, both of you!"

"We missed you too Aunt Cass." Hiro said.

"Yeah, next time you should just take us with you." Varian joked. "That way we can skip out on chores too, am I right Hiro?"

Hiro rolled his eyes at Varain's teasing. "Yeah, anything to avoid washing your dirty socks."

Even Aunt Cass couldn't help but laugh at that.

--------------------------

"Such a happy family." A woman's voice said as she peered at the Hamadas through her crystal ball. "Pity, their time is coming to an end."

Notes:

And Finally We Are Done with the Last Chapter! Woot!

But that's not the end of the story.

Be on the look out for season two, Ghosts of of the Past, where we'll meet more characters from the Tangled series, new villains, finally learn who this mysterious Boss is, and gain a new member of the Big Hero Six team!

You can find up dates at both the Rocks and Robot's discord https://discord.gg/yfVVrXjFW8

#Hiro Hamada #Varian #tangled #big hero six #bh6 #tts #of rocks and robots

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daretosnoop · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4: Bad Girlfriend

Chapter 3

The chapter some of y’all have been wanting since this game came out. I hope the story is interesting so far.

Henry told Renee their plans, then brought Nancy upstairs to the guest room. It was a simple room, if a little bland for colour. Henry supposed his uncle had some notion of social etiquette given that many people would probably not take to his interior design choices. Renee entered soon with a bundle of clothes.

“Not sure what would fit you dear or what your preference is so I brought some of my clothes, Dr. Bruno’s clothes, and some random pieces stored over time”.

Nancy thanked her and both Renee and Henry went downstairs.

“I’ll make a little night snack for your sleepover,” Renee said as she headed for the kitchen. Henry followed her.

“Don’t trouble yourself. And it’s not a sleepover. We don’t have a choice given the weather”.

“You could have always dropped her home”.

“I, I can’t do that on rainy nights”.

Renee paused in powdering the beignets. She looked at Henry and nodded.

“Could have asked me. I don’t mind”.

Henry shrugged and Renee just smiled and returned to her beignets. She placed two on two plates and poured out a glass of cold milk.

“In the morning, y’all can have them with coffee”.

She then wished Henry good night and went out the kitchen towards the stairs. On the landing, she suddenly felt a chill run across her back and turned to see Nancy peering over the model cemetery.

“I’ve seen it too,” she suddenly called out.

Nancy whirled around, startled by the voice.

“Seen who?”

“The skeleton man”.

Nancy’s face became serious as she headed towards Renee.

“What have you seen?”

“I don’t even want to talk about it. All I know is that I saw it, that thing. Soon after seeing it, strange sounds came from my room”

“What did you do?”

Renee looked up proudly. “I found a solution in my book. Used my powers in hoodoo to put up a spell,” Renee placed a hand around her little pouch necklace. “It worked too. Those sounds stopped”.

“Did the skeleton man stop? Was it just the one time you saw him or did you see him repeatedly? Do you think there is a connection between the sound and the man? Did you tell Dr. Bolet? What did he say? Did he believe you?”

“Goodness child,” Renee laughed though it did not reach her eyes. “You sure are inquisitive”.

Nancy shrugged.

“Well, I admire your tenacity child, just be careful. There are powers far beyond mere mortals. The best we can, and should, do is protect ourselves and not dare challenge the powers”.

Renee said nothing to Nancy’s perplexed face. There really was nothing to tell the girl. She would either play it safe, or learn the hard way. She told Nancy of the food she placed out and bid her goodnight.

Nancy was surprised to see Henry in the kitchen. He had started on one of the beignets but his attention was clearly on his phone.

“Bad news?” Nancy asked, reading his face.

Henry started, blinked at her while he processed her question, then hummed and took another bite of the beignet.

I wonder if it’s that Summer person?

She started on a beignet and thought over her case. She’d called Bess soon after changing her clothes. Half-asleep Bess barely registered everything Nancy told her but somehow understood that Nancy was not coming home tonight. Nancy didn’t know when Henry was going to sleep, but she hopped it was soon. He was still a suspect and nighttime was always optimal for snooping.

“Find everything okay?” Henry asked.

Mouth still stuffed with food, Nancy nodded.

“Put my clothes to dry so I can wear them tomorrow. I plan on calling professor Hotchkiss and then going from there”.

With a beignet half in his mouth, Henry looked at her, eyes wide.

“You mean, you intend on continuing?”

“Duh”.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to go. I’ll go and forever lament this unsolved case to my friends,” Nancy waved her hands about, exaggerating the tragedy Henry’s refusal would cause her.

Henry’s lips twitched.

“You’re stubborn”.

Nancy gave him a cheeky smile.

“Good friends are”.

They chatted amicably on Nancy’s previous cases until the beignets finished. Henry immediately took the dishes and washed them. He then nodded at Nancy before heading towards the study.

“How long do you stay up?” Nancy asked.

Henry shrugged. “Depends on the work”.

Darn. Hate those answers.

With nothing better to do, Nancy bid Henry good night and went to her room. She fiddled with the number she had for professor Hotchkiss and thought over the night’s events. Not able to think of anything new, she searched up hoodoo, the Bolets, and New Orleans on her phone. Something sinister was afoot in this house.

At around 10:45 p.m. Nancy heard footsteps climb up the stairs and a door open. She waited a while longer, and when she was sure Henry was not planning on leaving his room, she quietly opened her door and walked down the stairs with her torch. Thankfully, the stairs did not creak. Nancy opened the door to the study and crept towards the desk. Looking around quickly and finding no one, Nancy sat on the chair and grinned.

She meticulously searched through all of Henry’s papers, but could find nothing relevant. She then looked through the desk drawers but only found a keychain with an eyeball. Strange, but again, not relevant. Henry had left his computer on the desk and of course, it was locked. Nancy thought over any possible passwords. Bolet didn’t work. Henry’s name didn’t work. Don’t tell me. She typed out Summer and logged in. There was nothing relevant on Henry’s laptop though Nancy did see an email from Dr. Buford’s medical clinic. It was an invoice for a paid bill. Myocardial Infraction. Dr. Bolet’s cause of death.

Nancy looked through the rest of Henry’s emails but found nothing of relevance their either. Not even in the junk and deleted folders. She fell back onto the chair and sighed. Then her eyes caught the rubbish bin beneath the desk and she reached out for it. She read each memo, card, and invite but found nothing of interest. She then picked up an envelope. It was from Milo Research and Technology, and addressed to Bruno Bolet. There was an address but no number. She put the envelope aside and continued to dig. There were some pieces of paper in intelligible handwriting, but Nancy did catch the word skull repeated so she put them with the envelope.

Finding nothing else, Nancy stood up and carried her clues back up the stairs. As she climbed she happened to look up and felt her heart freeze. There, by the flower vase, she could almost swear she was seeing Renee’s eyes watching her. But that was ridiculous. Renee was not there. Nancy took a deep breath and slowly let it out as she went back to her room.

After breakfast, Nancy went back to her French quarter hotel and was greeted by a frantic Bess.

“Nancy! Where were you?”

“Bess, I called and told you that I would be staying the night at Henry’s place”.

“You know I can’t remember anything told to me when I’m half asleep!”

Bess sighed loudly before looking behind Nancy at the man who was standing awkwardly at the front door. Following her gaze, Nancy introduced Bess to Henry and soon Bess had ushered him in for tea. As the trio sat around the table, Nancy filled Bess in with what had happened to her and what her plans were. Bess’s face fell when she learned that her friend was, again, bailing on her to pursue a case. She knew Nancy meant well, and to be honest, helping Nancy with a case was more fun than a traditional vacation, but Nancy had just gotten back from Alberta from another case. It would have been nice to have some time in the warmth before she whisked off again.

“Will you help me Bess?”

Nancy’s words broke Bess out of her thoughts. She wasn’t paying attention.

“Uh, help you with what?”

“Finding out some information. Just background research. Nothing dangerous”.

“Nancy,”

“Please?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be on standby. The sooner you solve this, the sooner we can get back to our vacation”.

Bess turned to glare at Henry.

“You could have just told her no, you know”.

The man shrugged and Bess could tell from his face that he had tried, Nancy just didn’t listen. She never could catch hidden tones very well, but it was probably a good thing. She wouldn’t be a good detective if she was constantly hampered by emotional cues.

Nancy got up to pack her bags. Alone with Henry, Bess found herself not knowing what to say. The man was a complete stranger, even if he was dressed smartly, and even if he did carry himself with a certain grace. It was interesting to see that despite his outwardly appearance, Henry exhibited a lot of manners. He hardly made his presence known and it was only after Nancy left that Bess took a good look at Henry.

“So, how do you know Ned?”

“We’re classmates”.

Bess nodded and silence overfell both of them again.

“Do you like tea?” Bess asked.

“Yes. It’s nice”.

That’s it? Just nice? C’mon, give me more to work with! Henry was a walking enigma and it infuriated Bess.

“I’m sorry about Nancy. She can be,” Bess moved her hands to emphasize, “much”.

Henry snorted into his tea.

“But her intuition is always right, or close to it. Whatever it is your uncle’s hiding, she’ll figure it out. Don’t worry”.

“I’m not worried. I just don’t think there is anything worth finding out”.

“So you’re okay with letting possible treasure, a priceless artifact, go undetected?”

“Doesn’t really mean much to me?”

“What if it meant something to your family?”

“I’m the only living relative of my family, and since I know nothing about my family, the treasure or whatever uncle Bruno may be hiding might as well not exist”.

Bess didn’t know what to say to that, and they finished their tea in silence. Nancy came in and plopped in front of Bess.

“Bess. I need you to look into someone. His name is Gilbert Buford. Dr. Buford was Dr. Bolet’s heart doctor. Apparently they were also friends”.

“What do you want me to ask him?”

“Ask him what he knew about Dr. Bolet. If Dr. Bolet ever confided anything to anyone, his friend would probably know—right?”

“I suppose”.

Bess glanced towards Henry.

“Is it okay if I do this? Or am I breaking some law here?”

“Don’t think so. If you are, I guess you can just say that I’m asking you to do this”.

“Great!” Nancy beamed and all but dragged Henry outside.

Bess sighed and pulled out her phone to look up medical clinics, but stopped when she heard Nancy come back in. She wore a serious expression.

“Bess. I need you to do something else”.

Nancy handed her a piece of paper that said ‘Zeke’s’ on it.

“I need you to see if there is some store called Zeke. Then I need you to go in and ask if Henry Bolet or Renee Amande ever sold anything recently”.

Bess slowly lowered her phone.

“You, you suspect Henry and Renee?”

“You know the drill Bess, everyone’s a suspect”.

“But, for what?”

“For being the skeleton man. I’m following up on every lead I have. Couldn’t tell you earlier because,” Nancy nudged her head towards the door.

“How does this place relate to a skeleton man?”

“Don’t know yet, but I know it was burned recently. Renee mentioned she keeps the place spotless. She couldn’t possible have overlooked the fire place if it was burnt a while ago”.

“Alright”.

Nancy thanked Bess then headed out the door.

Henry drove them back to the Bolet manor and went towards his desk. Nancy pulled out her phone and dialed professor Hotchkiss. No one picked up, but Nancy was not surprised. Professor Hotchkiss was probably off doing research or some other wacky project. She left a message asking professor Hotchkiss to call back to discuss a book she recently wrote.

She had no other lead to follow and so went out to the gardens. Renee was not there and Nancy took her chance to snoop. There was a shovel on one wall and some other gardening tools hanging about. For the most part, it looked like a garden. Even the plants seemed common place. Finding nothing suspicious, Nancy turned to leave the garden and came face-to-face with Renee.

“Can I help you dear?”

“Oh, I was actually looking for you,” Nancy spoke placidly. She was a little startled by Renee’s sudden appearance, but quickly recovered when she saw the pouch necklace Renee always wore.

“I was going to ask you, what’s in that necklace”.

Renee closed her hand around the pouch and Nancy could have sworn she saw anger flash through her eyes.

“This is my connection to the forces of the universe. Their elemental powers course through me when I wear this”.

Nancy stared at her and Renee scoffed.

“Well, least you didn’t laugh. How else can I help you?”

“Well, what can you tell me about Dr. Bolet?”

“Recluse. Obsessive. Neither jolly nor morose, but there was always a soberness that clung to him. It’s as if he refused to let himself be happy. Not very picky either. So long as I left him alone and kept the house, he didn’t care about what I did in my free time”.

Renee gave a soft smile. “We had a great working relationship. It’s rare to have in the housekeeping business”.

“How did you come to work for Dr. Bolet?”

“Answered a paper advertisement,” Renee answered quickly.

“Did he ever talk about his family?”

“Very little”.

“What did he say?”

“That his parents died when he was in his thirties. He had a younger brother whom he adored. Loved his sister-in-law, and had no desire to get married”.

There was barely anything to work with, still, Nancy persisted.

“Dr. Bolet was alone his whole life? Even after his brother’s death”.

Renee pressed her lips into a thin line.

“From what I’ve come to understand, Dr. Bolet loved his brother and when he died, he essentially lost a part of himself. Whatever was left came out only through his eccentricities”.

There was nothing of use in anything Renee mentioned. She tried a different angle.

“Do you know how Dr. Bolet died?”

“Oh yes,” Renee’s eyes took on a far-away look. “I was. I was there when he died. I saw him fall, on the threshold”. Renee placed a hand on her shoulder and looked down. “I thought, maybe, he just stumbled. Maybe got knocked unconscious, but Dr. Buford was there and he said it was a heart attack”.

Nancy looked sharply at Renee.

“Dr. Buford was there on the night Dr. Bolet died?”

“Yes. I suppose he came to visit Dr. Bolet”.

“Does he regularly visit Dr. Bolet?”

“No. Usually Dr. Bolet visits, but I suppose given his age. It must have been easier for Dr. Buford to come. Or maybe he wanted something. Either way, he was there”.

“What was Dr. Bolet doing on the threshold?”

Renee scrunched her face and held a finger to her lips. She still did not look at Nancy.

“I don’t remember quite well, but I think he was reading something. A letter perhaps?”

Excitement rose through Nancy.

“Do you still have the letter? Can I see it?”

“Sorry dear. I don’t know where it’s gotten to”.

Renee gave Nancy a tight smile and pointed towards the plants. Nancy took her cue to leave Renee and head back into the manor. She went back to her room and searched up Gilbert Buford, New Orleans. There were three Gilbert Bufords, but only one had a medical clinic. Nancy dialed the number and waited for the receptionist. The receptionist told her that Dr. Buford was not working full-time anymore.

“He only comes in for urgent situations and requests”.

“Where can I find him outside of the clinic?”

“I’m not authorized to give you that information”.

Nancy was fed up of facing blockades that interrupted her investigation. It was as if the whole of New Orleans didn’t want the mystery that was Bruno Bolet to come apart. She decided to take a risk.

“I really need to talk to him,” she said, softening her voice to add grief. “You see, we had a mutual friend who recently died, and I-I just need to talk to him”.

“Need some consoling?” The nurse empathized.

“Yes! Exactly! I need, that”.

“Well, alright. I guess it’s okay given the circumstance. Dr. Buford generally spends his time in the French quarters. He lives nearby and frequents a Cajun truck stop at Rampart and Dumaine. Claims it’s the best gumbo New Orleans has. I’d contest him on that though. Nothing beats a fine gumbo than my own Bluefoot’s Gumbo”.

Rampart and Dumaine? Jackpot!

“Thank you so much”.

“No problem,” the receptionist replied. “And I hope you get the help you need for your friend”.

“Oh, yes. I will. Thanks. I feel better already.” Saying so, Nancy quickly hung up and called Bess.

“Bess, he’s in Rampart and Dumaine!”

“Who?” Bess asked, her voice laced with sleep.

“Gilbert Buford. I called his clinic. They said he spends his time nearby a Cajun food truck”.

“Hang on”. Bess muttered and Nancy could hear her wrestling out of the bed and walking around.

“I’m in the balcony now”.

“What do you see?”

“I see a food truck called ‘Granny’s Cajun Cooking’”

“And?”

“And no one else. It’s pretty busy right now, but no one is sitting around the food truck”.

Nancy sighed. “Must be too early in the day”.

“Or hot, it’s the middle of the afternoon. But I’ll keep any eye out, okay?”

Another dead end. It seemed that for every inch of progress Nancy made, there was a foot of backlash.

“Hey Nancy,” Bess’s voice called urgently. “You won’t believe what’s in front of our hotel. It’s the name, ‘Zeke’. It’s a curio shop!”

“Bess, you gotta get right down there and ask those questions!”

“I’m on it,” Bess replied with determination and hung up.

Nancy wandered around the gardens, looking for a clue that would help her understand the spider lock. Neither Renee nor Henry understood the lock, nor did they know if Bruno kept a pet spider. Renee eventually mentioned that she’d often see Dr. Bolet standing in certain spots around the garden. Sometimes he looked up to the sky, and other times, he was peering down. At times, he’d even bend over and inspect the base of the fountain that rested in the centre of the garden.

Carefully, Nancy crept around the fountain. The rain had made the soil muddy so she could not walk within the base. Thankfully, she did not need to. There was a hole surrounded by overlapping wires nestled into the soil ground. Nancy pulled out her phone to confirm her suspicion. The wire web before her matched the lock image on her phone. They’re keys, she realized. Musical keys. Each wire twanged a musical note. Looking at the image on her phone, she realized that the dashes extending out of each wire varied in number. So each dash must corroborate to a number—an order perhaps? But what would it release? She assumed it must be another key given that she was trying to open another locked door. Peering down into the hole, she saw a bronze key and the legs of a giant tarantula. Nancy could face anything, had faced everything, even certain death. She’d grown quite resilient in nature— but spiders, spiders were the one thing she just could not understand. I’d better get this right.

Carefully she pulled each wire in the order the lock indicated, and listened carefully to the note it played. She heard the mechanical sound of a platform being raised, and saw that the spider had backed off because the key was sitting upon a stand that was now rising to greet her. She nabbed the key and stuffed it into her front pocket. She turned around and saw Henry.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked.

“Oh you know,” Nancy shrugged then grinned. “Just testing theories out”.

Henry’s eyebrows quirked. “Discover anything, scientist?”

Nancy laughed. “Maybe,” she coyly answered.

Henry nodded but when he saw Nancy was not going to offer any more information, he let it go.

“Just going to take walk”.

“I’ll join you,” Nancy spoke suddenly.

“You will?”

It was a sudden decision, but Nancy did want to learn more about Henry. He might know more about his family, and Nancy wanted to know more about this Summer person. She might also be connected to this mystery—though, probably, very weakly connected.

They walked into the cemetery, Henry being a gentleman and opening the gate for Nancy.

“Thanks, but don’t bother. I’m your friend”.

“So I shouldn’t be nice to friends?” Henry countered.

“No, I meant. No need to be formal. Chill out a bit”.

“Yes, I suppose I could learn a bit about chilling out”. He gestured around the cemetery. “Think this is a good place to learn how?”

“Can’t be more chill than dead, can you?” Nancy teased and Henry laughed.

When they got to the Bolet mausoleum Nancy could sense Henry’s tension. One pain for another, I guess.

“So,” she started. “Tell me about Summer”.

Henry’s eyes snapped towards her, and without needing to look back, Nancy admitted that she overheard his conversation.

“Overheard?” Henry asked and Nancy knew what he was really asking.

“Well, you were loud enough. What was I to do? Cover my ears?”

Henry just sighed but didn’t say anything. Nancy tried a different angle.

“Friends help each other”.

“Why do you keep insisting we’re friends?”

“Because we are”

“People don’t just become friends in a day or because someone says so”.

“Then how do they become friends?”

Henry shrugged. “I dunno. Hang out a lot. Talk a lot. Eventually they come to rely on each other and feel safe and wanted around each other. They enjoy each other’s company”.

“Is that what you have with Summer?” Nancy asked softly.

Henry stopped walking and looked down. Nancy waited. She thought Henry would refuse to answer, or tell her to stop walking with him, or even cry, but slowly, Henry lifted his head and stared right at her.

“No”.

“So Summer’s not your friend?”

“No. She’s my girlfriend”.

“Your girlfriend can’t be your friend? Little ironic. It’s in the name”.

“It’s,” Henry scratched his ear. “It’s complicated. I like her, and I think she likes me back, but she can be so unpredictable it drives me nuts”.

“How so?”

“I never know what’s going to make her happy. Like just recently I— “Henry stopped and hesitated. “I always have to buy her things”.

Nancy’s mind began to whir.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

Henry nodded. “I did but she always gets very mad, and I’d rather not deal with her anger. Besides,” Henry pressed down hard on his lips. “I’m afraid if I don’t give her what she wants she’ll,” he pressed down harder and his lips disappeared into a thin line. “I’m afraid she’ll dump me”.

“What’s wrong with being dumped?”

Henry looked at her incredulously. “I couldn’t take it. She’s the only girlfriend I’ve ever had, and probably ever will have”.

Nancy did not understand Henry’s argument. “So you’d rather be unhappy with someone, then happy but alone”.

“I’m not unhappy when I’m with Summer,” Henry snapped.

“You just said you don’t consider her your friend,” Nancy argued, “and that you’re only staying with her out of fear”.

“What’s it to you?” Henry argued.

Shoot. Her inquisitive side had gotten her involved in emotional affairs again. Whoever said detective work required cold calculated minds was a god-damn liar. Henry must of have noticed the change in the air and quickly apologized for his behaviour.

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Look. I know I’m nosy. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. But I’m not that type of person. If something’s wrong, I usually try to figure it out, and seeing your behaviour, I feel you’re in the wrong relationship. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but if you don’t consider me as a friend, then consider this as advice from a stranger who’s sensing something’s wrong—you’re in a bad relationship. This Summer, she seems like someone who likes being provided for and taken care of”.

Henry crossed his arms against his chest. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if you’re okay with having such a relationship. But if you’re not, then what are you doing?” Nancy hesitated and carefully said her next words. “You’re going to make both of you unhappy, and eventually, one person is going to leave”.

“Oh, you’re a relationship detective now?” Henry spat.

“No,” Nancy said softly. She laced her fingers together in front of her. She could see the gates dividing the cemetery and garden. She walked ahead of Henry and opened the gate. Standing on the threshold, she looked back at Henry and smiled.

“I’m the bad girlfriend”.

#nancy drew #henry bolet #CRY #legend of the crystal skull

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lizziestudieshistory · 4 years

Note

Hey :) 6, 11 and 32 for the studyblr ask game! I hope you have a great day 🤍

Hey! Sorry for the long answers - why say it in one word when 100 will do?!

6. Career Goals?

Currently they’re a little bit vague. I was aiming for a PhD and eventually a career as a historian but I’m not sure after last term, although I think this wobble is because of the effects of Covid than not wanting to be an academic.

Otherwise, I’ll be training as a history teacher most likely - I want to do something directly linked to my degree, which as a history student isn’t the most open of fields. I used to want to be a curator but that’s as likely as my ambitions to be an academic - only one difficult career at a time!

11. Current favourite class and why?

Well, I study part time because of I’m a carer for my mum which means I only take one module each term (plus my thesis). So by default it’s my module on ‘Themes and Approached to the Historial Study of Religious Cultures’. Honestly, it’s a bit rubbish because it’s all political history and they’ve forgotten researching religion should actually involve, you know, religion... I still miss my favourite class from third year of undergrad on ‘Protest, Piety, and the Parish, c.1600-1660′.

If we’re counting my thesis as a class, that would be it because I haven’t reached the stage where I hate it yet. Currently loving the drama over where to place your communion table.

32. Describe your favourite professor and why you like them.

My favourite lecturer is still my dissertation supervisor from my undergrad. His name is Dr Chris Langely and he’s slightly...eccentric, but the best lecturer you could ask for.

He’s passionate about the 17th century, particularly Scotland, but you could ask him anything and he’d give you an answer and a stack of reading you could do (we tested him once with slavery in the Ottoman Empire, his answer was quite impressive!) He is always happy to help his students, well those who actually try - you have to do your own research but he’s there to point you in the right direction. He’d also regularly break the rules to have extra chats about my dissertation and read draft work (our favourite get around was a detailed bullet point plan - you could take out the bullet points and have an essay...)

He also gave the best feedback - it was actually useful. I’m still in shock! He’s a harsh but fair marker and actually looked to help his students with their weaknesses rather than give generic feedback to half his class. I still love my opening line from my first piece of feed back from him ‘you write with confidence and swagger’ - to this day the best comment someone has ever made for making me cackle and feel better about my academic writing style.

On top of knowing just about everything, Chris is actually hilarious. Seminars, tutorials, even just meeting him in the corridors often ended up with me and my friends in stitches. Even lecturers were fairly informal and stuffed with sarcastic comments and asides about the week’s theme. Made a few slow weeks a lot more entertaining...

On a silly note, he used to buy me coffee for tutorial (the fastest way into my good graces is through coffee!) Our tutorials were over an hour long and we’d always go to sit in starbucks because he had to share an office with an acient history lecturer who used to get annoyed with us because we got excited over obscure bits of theology. So I got coffee and a great chat about history - what more could you want?

Honestly, he’s a slightly mad, but incredibly intelligent, sweetheart. He cares a lot about his students, especially once you do a dissertation with him - he’ll watch over your career like a hawk until you’re settled in a job (in or outside academia) and he knows you’re okay. He made my whole experience at undergad a little bit better and I genuinely miss our chats about random bits of early modern history. I learnt so much from him and it’s still a bit weird that I can’t just walk over to his office for half an hour.

Oh, and he now answers all email to me as ‘Christ’ because I kept accidentially emailing him as Christ instead of Chris because of autocorrect on my phone... Even the one I sent him earlier this week... Oops!

#asks #ask game #dooareyastudy

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cancerbiophd · 5 years

Note

Hi Julia! I’m transferring to a new university as an undergrad in the fall (reasons irrelevant to this). I’m interested in microbiology. I was a language major previously, so I’ll be starting at square one. What are some questions I can ask the advisor to get a feel for the department/university? Would it be inappropriate to reach out to some professors to see what they’re researching and if anything feels right? Thank you so much for answering!

Hi anon!

I answered a similar question here regarding an undergrad transferring universities and majors. Hopefully it’ll give you an idea of some questions you can ask your advisor.

You can definitely email professors if you’re interested in volunteering in their labs, but I would advise to first learn as much about their research on your own time, such as perusing their lab website (accessible through the university’s microbiology department website) and scanning their publications and past seminar talk titles. A busy professor who gets 200 emails a day receiving one that says “Can you tell me more about your research?” will at best get directed to their lab website and/or list of publications anyway, or at worst, ignored. (And this has nothing to do with you being a student; it would even hold true even if you were another professor looking to collaborate. They are simply much too busy to answer something that’s already publicly available elsewhere.)

And then once you’ve identified professors whose research you’re interested in, you can send them emails with more specific goals in mind, such as volunteering in their lab, asking them about something specific regarding their research, or setting a time to meet and chat.

Hope that helps! Good luck with your transfer and your new adventures in microbiology! That was my undergrad major too, and I had so much fun learning about all the cool microorganisms!

#college advice #Anonymous

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inkofamethyst · 4 years

Text

April 17, 2020

Other than the ridiculous stress that came with having three exams this week, I had a really good week, I think.

Day 109 of the cute campaign: Not today, I’m afraid. It was a pyjamas day which means that I’ve got to take a shower tomorrow. Yesterday was a really cute day though.

Day 37 of quarantine: As I’ve said before, school online sucks, but one good thing did come out of it yesterday.

Alright, Thursday was a really good day for me. I had my math quiz cancelled, I played TheWikiGame with my friends for 45 minutes (I couldn’t stay long because I had to study/prepare), and I had, like, two advising sessions that I was actually looking forward to. First was the advising for my humanities program with the incoming director, and that was really just a casual 20-minute Zoom chat about how the transition was going and also I told him that I was planning to switch from biochem to bio/anth. You know what he did? Later that afternoon he sent me an advertisement he saw for an online discussion panel with anthropology professors from different universities! How awesome was that?! So that’s what I’ll be doing with my Monday evening!

About two hours later I went to the Zoom version of an event that got cancelled which was basically supposed to be a gathering event for black girls in the honors college. I had been really excited about it when I was on campus, and I was thrilled to receive the invitation to the Zoom meeting. And guess what? I was only one of three people there: Me, the associate director for the honors college (a black woman, in case you weren’t sure), and the rising senior who organized the event. Now, you might be thinking along the same lines as my parents: “That’s awful!” Well! You’d be absolutely incorrect! Because I was the newcomer, I got waaaayyyy more personal attention than if I had been one of, oh, a dozen or so others. And you know what that’s done for me? The Associate Director of the Honors College told be that I could absolutely come to her for a letter of recommendation. Oh, and honey, that’s not all. I also told her about my plans to change my major (she sounded really excited about the combination I’d chosen and the reasons why I’d chosen it) and demonstrated that I had been putting a lot of my time toward this idea of getting involved in something I’d never done before, and she a) told me she’d recommend me a contact at the university (which she did later that day, and I’ll be emailing him tomorrow probably), b) told me that she’d look into recommending me as a driven student for a new university task force that was in the works (I won’t say much about it here, but it sounds really cool), and c) told me she’d see if she could get in touch with a student in a similar situation to mine to meet! I got so much more out of that experience than I had ever anticipated, and the only thing I could have done to “be more prepared” was have a list of faculty in the bio/anth departments in whose research I was interested (of course, that would’ve required a ridiculous amount of foresight, and I’m sure the offer to help me make contacts still stands). And I got some wisdom out of the student, an info sci/journalism double major herself, as well. She told me that I should use my uniquely combined majors as a selling point. They demonstrate my drive and passion, and could even make up for being a little unqualified for a job/internship/opportunity.

So yeah! Thursday was great! I also think that I’m going to take an anthropology class over the summer to lighten my eventual load, allow me to take classes I’m really interested in during future semesters, and earn some gen-ed credits that I need.

And you know what? Today was a pretty good day too! Took my orgo exam and got a ninety on it which brought my lecture grade up to an 85% (meaning that a B+ isn’t out of reach). Just finished up my anatomy practical and I think I’ve gotten somewhere in the realm of an A, though I know I lost a few points on spelling in some places. Found out that the girl I was thinking about rooming with is planning to get an apartment instead which... okay. Wasn’t meant to be; I don’t really mind. Also, there are still a decent number of spaces left in all of the sections for classes that I want to take. I’ll be up at 8 am 3 days a week (one of them for a lab, mid you), but I don’t think that my days will feel crazy long, so that’s positive. By the way, I was right about the anthropology class with the 8 am lab filling up much slower than the others. I’ll keep checking back to see if I can switch to the section I prefer, but two hours of class on Mondays is pretty appealing, I won’t lie, so I won’t sweat it if nothing changes. Waitlists are already forming for those sections anyway, so I’m not expecting much. The literature class that I want to take (as opposed to the dance one which has been a really popular section for my humanities program over the past few years) seems like it’ll be really fun, and I’m ready to get back into reading good books again! Also the professor is an anthropologist, so I can totally pick her brain on the subject. Orgo and bio are... well, orgo and bio. The bio class is technically a freshman level one, so it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge at all. ~And then I’ll be able to declare my maaaaajoooorrr~ (or at least apply for it, anyway).

Well, folks, that’s been today (and yesterday, though technically two days ago from the time I published this).

Today I’m thankful for my Orgo Exam grade!!!! My exam average has been an 82% so far, so a 90% really is a big improvement! I definitely still need to work on the study habits, but they’re improving little by little.

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

Adventures in America, Ch. 11 - The Ribs are Probably Symbolic, or Maybe Just Delicious

In which Adam and Lucky have a serious Discussion about The Past

it’s a lot of emotions and talking, and also a low key ode to barbecue ribs

Start with chapter 1 here

Refresh on chapter 10 here

or check out my fic tag for all kinds of stuff

---

Adam waited for the waiter to drop off two sodas and leave with their food orders before he dropped the opener. “I’m the Antichrist.”

It didn’t get the reaction he’d been afraid of. In fact, it hardly garnered any reaction at all. Lucky watched him for a long minute, then slowly reached across the table, picked up his soda, and sipped through the straw. He looked pensive. After a while, he swallowed, and said, “Go on.”

“Any questions about that?”

“Yes, but I want to hear you out first. I think …” He looked around. Leaned forward, wove his fingers through his hair, and stared fixedly at the table. “I think this is going to answer a lot of weird questions I’ve had about my life.”

Adam frowned. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?” It wasn’t a question of validation, for Adam, but for confirmation. Lucky nodded. “You don’t want me to like … prove it, or anything?”

“The haunted doll was plenty, but I mean, if you want to get us a free meal and no one has to die or anything …”

Adam shook his head firmly and said, “No, no messing around. I don’t do that. I try not to do any of it, anymore. Not unless I really have to. And … and you know, the longer I go without using the powers …”

Lucky nodded. “You don’t use it, you lose it. Heard that all my life.” He nodded to Adam. “So … explain stuff. Please.”

Adam sighed, folded his hands. “I didn’t know ‘til I was eleven. An’ then it kind of just … happened overnight. My Dog showed up - he’s a hellhound, or he used to be, I dunno if he still is - an’ I thought he was just a regular stray dog. But then I started hearing these voices, tellin’ me to change things an’ take over the world an’ I kind of … lost it? For a little while, anyway.” He stopped to gauge Lucky’s expression, but the other boy just nodded again, encouragingly, urging him on. “An’ then, uh, this is gonna sound crazy, but I guess, um. Well, me an’ my friends met the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse an’ like, defeated them or something, an’ my godfathers were there, plus some other people, Anathema and Madam Tracy and Newt and Mister Shadwell, and I thought I did it? Like told ‘em to stuff the whole Armageddon thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Lucky was wide-eyed, and he took a long sip of soda as Adam continued to talk.

“But I didn’t.” He swallowed. “‘Cause then this angel and this demon showed up - not Aziraphale and Crowley, two other ones - to try to convince me to re-start it, but I didn’t. I told ‘em off, and they left and said they’d tell … um. You know.”

“Lucifer? And, wait … Francis and Nanny are an angel and a demon?”

“I guess,” Adam said wretchedly. He groaned. “Anyway, then he got angry and was gonna come and tell me off for not starting Armageddon, but Crowley stopped time for a minute -”

Lucky held up a hand. “Which one is Crowley? Demon or angel?”

“Your Nanny. I’m pretty sure. But definitely a demon.”

Lucky grinned. “Oh, kick ass.”

“Yeah, it was. Anyway, that gave me time to think about what to do, ‘cause at that moment I had literally all the power in the world, ‘an so we came back to the present and I told the devil to piss off because he wasn’t my dad. An’ then my dad showed up,” he finished, a little lamely. Lucky’s mouth was open.

“You told Satan to fuck off? Piss off,” he amended. “Actually those words? And you were eleven?”

“Not exactly those words.” Adam sighed. “I actually yelled ‘you’re not my dad’ at him like ten times and then he like dissolved into a cloud.”

“Dude that’s still awesome.” Lucky sat back. “Holy shit. Fuck. I … I dunno what to say. Then what?”

“What? What do you mean, then what?” He shrugged. “I dunno? The world didn’t end?”

“I mean clearly. But like, you gave up that evil stuff and whatever, and then you just … went home? Went back to school?”

Adam considered it. He’d never really focused much on the afterwards part. “I got grounded. For being on a restricted military air base and uh, being out when I was supposed to be in bed.”

“You rebel,” said Lucky, faintly. “But you still know - Crowley? Nanny? Shit, I still call her - him, ugh, what …” He rested his forehead on his hand. “She’s still Nanny.”

“I always knew him as Crowley.” Adam shrugged. Cautiously, he took a drink, taking a minute to glance around the restaurant. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention, and he didn’t see anyone he recognized. “Yeah, after the whole thing I found a paper with his number on it in my jacket pocket. For if I had questions, it said. So I called him up one day and I guess he had handed in his retirement papers to Hell or whatever, I never really found out, but after that we just … we started meeting like once every month to talk about stuff, and I think he wanted to keep an eye on me, but then like, him an’ Aziraphale - I’m 99% sure that’s Brother Francis - just sort of kept hanging around even when I didn’t have that many questions left an’, you know how it is.” He shrugged again. “I dunno. They’re cool. An’ I learned at church that back in the day your godparents were supposed to be the ones to teach you about religion so I figured godfathers worked as well as any name for them.”

“I’d say so, yeah.” Lucky blinked. “Wow. Okay. That explains … like in some ways that explains nothing, but then in other ways that explains literally everything, so I don’t know how to take it.”

Adam sipped his own soda. “Well, you haven’t called the cops to have me committed to a mental hospital yet, so I’d say you’re doing better than I expected.” That got a laugh. “Right, so that’s me. Tell me your side. Because uh, I think that’s gonna answer a lot of questions for me, too.”

Lucky shrugged. “It’s not as dramatic. But basically, growing up until I was seven I always had Brother Francis and Nanny. And they were always like ‘do good unconditionally’ - that was Francis - or ‘crush your enemies to bloody pulp beneath your shoes when you assume your throne’.”

“Nanny.” Adam nodded knowingly. “Which is really funny, actually, if you get to know Crowley, ‘cause - sorry, never mind. Go on.”

“Well no, you’re right, because she was mostly all talk. She was actually a super good Nanny. And, like, she was always encouraging me to get into mischief but like I think the worst thing we ever did was vandalize museum plaques and cut down literally all the hedges on the property because she said they were pathetic excuses for plants. The rest of the stuff was like, just kind of goofy pranks.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely Crowley.”

“But she left! Her and Francis.” He looked sad then, and as a basket of dinner rolls arrived he seized one and started ripping it in half, scowling at it the whole time. “When I was seven. Said I was too old to have a Nanny anymore and I’d have tutors or whatever. But I thought I might still see her since she and Francis were always together, but he handed in his resignation the same day.” He sighed and jammed half of the roll into his mouth. “Pfufthed.”

“Uh …”

Lucky swallowed. “It sucked,” he clarified. “Sorry. But she did leave me her email address. So I started writing her then and I’ve pretty much written her twice a week ever since.” His eyes widened. “Wait a minute, I have her phone number! She just told me never to just call, because she doesn’t have good reception, but I can text her and if we want to talk we set up a time. She always calls on my birthday.” He held out a hand. “Lemme see your phone.”

Adam had already seen where this was headed, and he had his phone on the table in a blink. He pulled up Crowley’s contact information, and Lucky pulled up Nanny’s. They checked the numbers once, twice, and three more times, and then Lucky swore. “It really is her!”

“And I’m sure Francis is really Aziraphale.” He crossed his arms and considered the phones. “Wonder if I can convince ‘em to video chat later. I want to ask them about the doll, anyway.”

“Oh, good idea.” He consumed the second half of the dinner roll, and went on. “Anyway, so I never actually saw them after that, just talked and wrote and stuff, but then when I was eleven, the other weird thing that happened was the whole trip to Israel.” He shook his head. “So my dad gets this memo from the White House, right, that we’re expected right away in Tel Megido, Israel, for some kind of diplomatic meeting with a field researcher. Or something. Anyway, we all three go - me and my parents, plus all the bodyguards - and we meet this professor guy there that looked super weird. And he stank. Like, literally, smelled like a dirty public toilet. But he kept asking me about the voices in my head, and the dog, and all this stuff I didn’t understand but he freaked me out so I was trying to play along. But then when I didn’t like, know the answers because I wasn’t you, I guess, he straight up bit his finger off and ran into the avocado grove and then it exploded.” He shrugged. “Honestly I thought he died.”

“He was probably a demon or something.” Adam swallowed. “Did he have a name?”

Lucky thought about it, brow furrowed and then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Yeah, actually! He said is name was Dr. Hastur La Vista.”

“Oh God.” Adam winced. “Hastur.”

“You know him?”

“Never met him, thank you very much, no. But Crowley’s told me about him. He’s a Duke of Hell. I think … I think you got really lucky, Lucky.”

The other boy, under his mop of dark hair and his increasingly-shaggy beard, paled. “Duke … of Hell.”

“Yeah.”

“So what confuses me -” he stopped short, because the waiter arrived with two plates of ribs, which were each deposited in front of the boys. They said their thank yous, smiled politely, and then Lucky lunged forward, stuffing a french fry into his mouth, deadly serious. “How did they think I was you?”

Adam looked down at his food, and started pulling the ribs apart. “All I know,” he said slowly, “was there was a mistake. The only person supposed to be giving birth that night was your mum, but my mum went into labor early. So they both must have given birth at the same hospital, with the Satanic Nuns.” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “Crowley delivered me in a basket, and they were supposed to switch me with whichever baby your mom had. But with three babies I guess things got mixed up, and I ended up with my parents.”

Lucky blinked and, slowly, set down the french fry he had been holding. “Are you … are you saying my parents aren’t really my parents?” He looked lost, suddenly, eyes wide and shiny. “But … but I look so much like my mom …”

“I don’t know,” Adam replied hurriedly. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t know. Everything got so mixed-up, I guess, and Crowley assumed they’d got it right and put me with your parents so when they took you home they thought …” he trailed off. Lucky wasn’t talking, wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring at his food, hands limply resting on either side of the plate. “Your parents might be -”

“They’re not,” he snapped, before Adam had a chance to finish. “They might have fucked up but they wouldn’t have fucked up that bad. They would have swapped me and the baby my mom actually had.” His eyes watered. “Shit. Oh, shit.” And then he was crying, all at once, tears and snot and all. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said softly, because he was. “I wish it hadn’t happened.” He let the other boy cry, for as long as he needed. No one noticed, Adam made sure, because he felt like he owed it to the other guy to keep him from becoming a barbecue restaurant spectacle in the middle of a total breakdown. He picked at his food - suddenly, he was not very hungry at all - and waited, while around them the diners came and went, their own food got cold, and Lucky kept crying.

He petered out eventually. “I bet your parents are my actual parents,” he said, voice shaking and hitching as he spoke. “That’s what happened. Bet you anything.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably. “Probably.”

“What happened to my mom’s baby?”

“I don’t know. He’s … he’s okay,” Adam finished, because he knew that was true, somehow. He’d felt it in his soul back at the airfield, although he hadn’t known what it was at the time, and he felt it now, too. In a way, it was a relief to finally be able to label that feeling of ‘okay’. “I just know. I don’t know how, but I know.”

Lucky took a shaky breath. “My parents … the people that raised me … fuck, even that’s not right, that was always Nanny and Brother Francis.” He sobbed again. “God damn it. My dad - Thaddeus - always thought I was weird, my mom - Harriet - never wanted anything to do with me if I wasn’t interested in exactly what she wanted to do.” He sniffled. “This whole trip … they don’t give a shit. Oh, they acted like they were worried or whatever, but they haven’t called. Haven’t texted. I think when I’m not home they forget I exist.” He sobbed. “And you talked to your parents. They’re good parents.”

Adam didn’t deny it. He was surprised to find that he too had tears running down his cheeks. “Yeah. I’m so sorry, Lucky, I’m really sorry, but I … I don’t know what to say.” He sagged, swiped his sleeve across his face. “I can’t fix it anymore.”

Lucky bit back another sob, and took a deep breath. Swallowed. “Can I meet them?”

“Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation. “Whenever you want, any time you want. Any time.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t cry again, at least not audibly. Tears ran down his face for a little while longer. He prodded at his fries. “God, and it was Nanny’s fault … I thought she loved me.”

“I bet she does.” Adam was surprised with the conviction with which he said it. “You know if Crowley likes you. If Crowley likes you, he … like, okay, he has literally run into a burning building at least twice to save someone he likes.”

Lucky laughed wetly at that. “Doesn’t sound like she’s a very good demon.”

“No, terrible demon. That’s why he retired. Aziraphale’s kind of a shit angel too, to be honest. I think if he had his way he’d be a hermit and live in a hollowed-out mountain full of books. He retired too,” he added. And then, because he felt he had to defend Crowley a little bit, “I don’t think there was much of a choice. I don’t think any of us - definitely not you or me or our parents, or Aziraphale, and I don’t think even Crowley - had much choice.”

“He could have not dropped you off at all,” Lucky challenged. “Just taken you somewhere else and …” he swallowed.

Adam didn’t need to hear him finish the sentence. “He doesn’t kill kids,” he replied. “It’s kind of one of his things.”

“Wow, he really is a shitty demon.”

“Totally.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry, man. Maybe … I probably should have kept all that to myself, huh?”

The answer didn’t come right away. It didn’t come after a minute, after Lucky sipped his soda full of melted ice and thought it over. “No,” he said finally. “No, I’m … I’m gonna be glad you did, eventually. I kind of hate you right now, but you were a baby when everything went down initially, and you didn’t know, and then when you did know you told the actual devil to fuck off and stopped the Apocalypse, so I guess that counts for a lot.”

“All sounds pretty fair,” Adam agreed.

“I think we should find the other guy. The third baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do too. But he is okay.”

Lucky looked at Adam warily. “Yeah. Yeah, I … believe you. And maybe we don’t tell him. But I just want to make sure.”

“I’m in. It’s a deal.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Bet he’s in England.”

“Probably.”

“We can find him.”

“We have to.” He took a deep breath, and then, as if realizing his mostly-untouched food was still there, blinked down at it. “Ugh … I was really looking forward to those.”

“I can warm them up.”

Lucky glanced at him slightly askance. “You’re not gonna like … start breathing fire or something, are you?”

“No, I can just …” he waved a hand and made a vague noise he’d probably picked up from Crowley at some point. “I can just make them warm again. It’s just a little thing, I can still do those.”

“... Alright. But only ‘cause I’m curious.”

Adam shrugged. “Okay. There you go. Warm and fresh.” And indeed, when Lucky held his hand cautiously over the ribs, they were as warm as they’d been when they first came out of the kitchen, the red ochre-colored sauce glistening and sweet-smelling.

“Jesus.”

“No I’m like … the exact opposite of him.”

Lucky stared at him and then laughed again. “Yeah. Yeah, you are, dude.” He tore a rib from the rack and bit into it. “Ugh, these are good. You didn’t do that too, did you?”

“Literally just reheated them. Like an infernal microwave oven.” That did it. Oftentimes, when someone has received terrible news, and they’ve cried over it, or begun to mourn, or even just compartmentalized the whole thing away for the time being, the first even vaguely-funny thing that is said afterwards is like a piece of flotsam big enough to grab during a shipwreck. And like a sailor stranded in a sea of confusing history and misunderstandings, Lucky clutched onto Adam’s bad joke and started to giggle. And then to laugh, hard, leaning forward with his forehead resting on the back of his hand, his hair dropping into his barbecue-sauce-coated fingers. Adam laughed too, mostly at how hard Lucky was laughing, and before they realized it the two of them were cackling like hyenas over a plate of ribs and a newly-discovered bond that had tied them together their whole lives, whether they’d known it or not.

“God, that wasn’t even that funny.” Lucky wiped his eyes. “Oh, man. Oh … God.” He looked up, no longer laughing, but definitely curious. “You don’t think … do you think it was a coincidence, us meeting up like this?”

“It’s ineffable.”

“Definitely un-fuckable, you have that right.”

Adam laughed again, and shook his head. “No, no, ineffable. Aziraphale’s always saying that. “Oh, it’s ineffable, God’s plan. Means it can’t be discerned, known, or understood.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Don’t think about it too much,” Adam advised, with all the experience of someone who had been thinking about it off-and-on for the past seven years. “You think about it too much and you get a headache and a panic attack. My conclusion is always: I dunno, but here I am and so what am I gonna do about it?”

Lucky gnawed at another rib. “Yeah,” he said, around the bone. “Yeah, you’re right. Man, I’m sorry for falling apart like that, but it was kind of a lot.”

“Do not apologize for that.” Adam shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. And if you want to be cross with me or upset or whatever, do it. You deserve to. It sucks, what happened.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean look at you.” His face softened a little. “Do you know who -”

“Nope.” Another firm head shake. “Here I am and so what am I gonna do about it,” he repeated like a mantra.

“Yeah.” He stared at the rubs. “What are we gonna do about it?”

Adam sucked on one of the ribs, savored the sauce, and then shrugged. “I think step one: figure out what the doll was about.”

“Cool, yeah, agreed.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and streaked sauce across his cheek. Adam elected not to say anything.

“Step two: uh … chase more tornadoes? I mean, it’s what we came here for, right?”

Lucky looked a little less certain about that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was but now I … I dunno. It feels weird to keep doing whatever I was doing. Like. My whole life …” He frowned. “Should my life be different?”

Adam finished the rib he was working on, partially because it was really good, but also partially because he wanted to be sure that he said the thing he wanted to say next right. “Okay.” He set the bone down, and looked at the other boy very seriously. “Don’t take this the wrong way. Because I’m not tryin’ to minimize anything we talked about here. But … this whole new information, right. Is it gonna change your day-to-day?”

Lucky bristled. “Maybe. I mean, it’s sure as fuck gonna affect my relationship with my parents.”

“Not what I meant.” Adam shook his head. “You’re right, it absolutely will. An’ that’s gonna take a lot of time, believe me. I’m still …” he sighed. “It’s still weird, even though I’ve known for a long time. It gets less weird, though.” He squared up his shoulders. “But no, what I’m talking about is, does it change the stuff you like to do? Are you gonna like the weather less, is what I’m saying,” he finished lamely, while Lucky stared at him. “‘Cause if the answer is yes, then I think your step two is gonna be different from mine. I’m gonna keep chasing tornadoes for the next three weeks.”

“I … argh.” Lucky took a bite of his rib with a little more feral energy than was strictly necessary. “This is heavy shit, man. I dunno.” He swallowed the meat. “How are you so chill about all this? Just had a ton of time to deal with it?”

“Partially.” He shrugged. “Also I’ve had like an on-call angel and demon for the past seven years who’ve always been available to talk to me during a personal crisis.” He sighed. “They’re actually super helpful to talk to when you don’t know what to do, because at this point I’m pretty sure they’ve literally seen it all.”

“You’re gonna call them tonight, right?” Lucky looked worried again, a little pale. “About the doll, at least?”

“Yeah. And, uh.” Adam thought it over. “I think you should talk to them too. If you want to. I think it’d be good.”

The answer came fast, and Adam suspected Lucky had just been waiting for the offer. “I want to. I really want to.”

“Alright. So amended plan.” He pushed one of the rib bones off to the side of the others as he spoke. “One: call Aziraphale and Crowley and figure out what the doll was about. Two: figure out what we want to do for step two.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sound better?”

“Can I add something before step one?”

“Sure.”

“Step pre-one: finish these ribs because holy shit, man.” He had another, and then said, “Life’s fucked up right now, but at least these are really good.”

Now with chapter 12!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #adam young #warlock dowling #the one where they go to america #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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wistfulcynic · 6 years

Text

Another Brick In The Wall: Chapter 14

It’s the end! I can’t believe it. This story that started out as a snotty protest against high school AUs somehow ended as my second longest MC and something that I’ve immensely enjoyed writing. It's been so interesting imagining these characters and the events of their lives through this lens, I just hope in the end I've done them justice. Thank you all so much for reading it, and for your lovely comments, without them this story probably wouldn't have happened. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @bonbonpirate

Chapter 14:

Nine and a half years after the morning after her senior prom, Emma arrived home at the end of another exhausting day to find a thick cream envelope in her mail slot addressed to “Dr Emma Swan-Jones.” The Storybrooke High seal was pressed into the flap, and Emma knew immediately what it was.

She sifted through the bills and junk mail seaching for another envelope, addressed to Killian. There wasn’t one. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising, though, she reasoned. He hadn’t technically graduated with her, just passed his AP exams and gone on his way.

When Killian came home half an hour later she was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the card the envelope had contained with a small scowl. He gave her a quizzical look and she handed it to him, without comment. He looked at it and laughed. “Of course,” he said. “The final stage in the American high school drama. The one wherein we return to the old alma mater, triumphantly to lord our brilliant success over the poor sods we went to school with.” He sat down across from her and handed the card back. “I suppose you’ll want to go?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Do we have any brilliant success to lord over anyone?” That afternoon she had given expert testimony in the trial of a sixteen year old boy accused of sexually assaulting his twelve year old sister. He’d been acquitted. The girl had grabbed Emma’s hand and begged her with terrified eyes not to make her go back home. But there had been no other option. Watching that poor child be herded away by her parents had made Emma feel precisely the opposite of brilliantly successful.

Killian gave her the soft, sympathetic look he always gave when he could tell she’d had a particularly bad day, and reached out to take her hand. “‘Brilliant’ may be too strong a word, but we’re certainly well on our way to where we want to be,” he said. “Don’t you think so, love?”

Killian was a junior professor, teaching all the hours God sent while simultanously participating in a major research project and writing the book he hoped would get him tenure. She was a forensic psychologist with the Boston PD, handed all the worst, most difficult cases by her superiors, coming home each day exhausted and ready to weep for humanity. They lived on the ground floor of a draughty old house that they paid way too much rent for, trying to save for a down payment on their own place, which at the rate they were going would only take about thirty years provided Boston house prices remained at their current stratospheric levels. She had wrinkles on her forehead now that didn’t smooth out when she stopped frowning and last week she had found a grey hair. Were they where they wanted to be?

She looked at her husband. The years had certainly been kind to him. His lanky frame had filled out and he had grown into his face, which was now covered with stubble from the thick beard he was usually too busy or tired to shave regularly. The scruff suited him, though. Everything suited him. Killian at seventeen had been a cute boy with eyes a bit too big and limbs a touch too long, teetering just on the precipice of his potential; Killian at twenty-seven was breathtaking.

She realised he was waiting for an answer to his question. “I guess. I don’t know. Oh, I can’t think about things like that now, I’m in too much of a mood.”

Keeping hold of her hand he stood and pulled her up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her and stroking her hair. She sighed as she leaned against his solid, comforting form, drawing strength from his presence.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“When isn’t it?” she replied, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head as much as she could with her face buried in his shoulder. “Not really. Maybe later. Right now I just want to sit and do something mindless. Just not think for a while.”

Killian kissed her gently on her hair and then on her lips. “Why don’t you find something on Netflix and I’ll pour us some wine,” he said.

She nodded and went into the living room, collapsing on the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table. Killian hated when she did that, but sometimes she wanted to stretch out, she thought grumpily.

“Anything you want for dinner?” he called from the kitchen.

“No, just whatever.” She picked up the remote and began scrolling aimlessly through the options.

He joined her a few minutes later, handing her a large glass of red wine and sitting down next to her, sighing as he did. He looked pointedly at her feet, but said nothing. She felt a brief flare of guilt. His days were hard too. She took her feet off the table and curled them under her as she tucked herself against his side and he put an arm around her.

“I think ‘whatever’ is going to be pasta and a salad tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“That sounds fine. What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, whatever,” he teased, using his ‘American’ accent. She gave him a small slap, rolling her eyes.

“The Good Place?”

“Yeah, go on then.”

It was a show they’d watched a hundred times, but after their stressful days they needed some comfort viewing. They watched two episodes as they drank their wine, then Killian went to make dinner and Emma checked her email. Five messages from her boss already, and she’d barely left work two hours ago. On a Friday. Firmly she closed the app and turned her phone upside down on the table. She’d deal with work later. Now she was going to have dinner with her husband and enjoy his company.

They chatted about odds and ends as they ate, the everyday, random subjects that are common in long-term relationships.

“By the way, you never answered my question, love,” said Killian, after a short silence.

“Hmm? What question?” Emma twirled pasta around her fork.

“Do you want to go to the reunion?”

She frowned. She’d forgotten about it, and wasn’t sure she wanted to open the subject again. “Eh, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it might be nice to see some people again. We don’t really do any visiting when we go back to SB.”

They went back regularly of course, to see Liam and Belle, who were married now with three small children, and her parents, who had a small child of their own— a surprise baby (very surprising, Snow had laughed) called Leo, who was now eight. But their trips were usually over holidays and they were so busy with their families, nieces and nephews and baby brothers, that they didn’t take much time to see old friends, especially since Ruby had moved to China and hardly ever came back.

“I’ll leave it up to you,” said Killian. “I was only at that school for a year, and everyone I really came to care about I still see frequently. Even Whale, who I in fact see far too much of for anyone’s liking.”

Against all odds Killian and Victor had remained friends of a sort and since Victor had moved to Boston three years earlier they went out together fairly regularly, though from what Killian said they spent most of that time bickering and needling at each other. Still, they seemed to enjoy it.

By the time Emma and Killian had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen it was past nine and their eyelids were drooping. “Do you want to watch anything else?” asked Killian.

“No,” said Emma, around an enormous yawn. “Let’s just go to bed.”

She was so old, she thought. In bed by ten on a Friday night. But it was better than falling asleep on the sofa five minutes into a movie.

They brushed their teeth and washed their faces, then got undressed and before putting on pajamas they wrapped themselves around each other as they did every night, sharing a deep kiss as they each mentally played a round of the debating game they called “Are We Too Knackered For Sex Or Not?”

To her surprise, Emma discovered that her answer was “Or Not.” She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but as much as she wanted to sleep she wanted to feel that closeness with Killian even more, wanted the warmth and comfort that she always felt when making love with him. Wanted proof that human relationships could be positive, nurturing things, not like that hellishly twisted nightmare family she’d seen today. Sometimes she felt that without her loving marriage, without Killian’s unwavering support, doing her job might come at the expense of her mental health.

She signalled her intent by letting her hand slide down his back to cup his ass and pull his hips into hers, rocking her own against him.

He hummed against her mouth. “So it’s an Or Not for you, then?” he murmured.

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m certain I can summon the energy to ravish you, love,” he growled, hoisting her up against him. She shrieked and wrapped her legs around his waist, laughing as he tumbled them both onto their bed.

Later, Emma lay with her head on Killian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft flow of his breath as he slept. She was tired in a more pleasant way now, sated and content and much more at peace than she had felt earlier, yet still she couldn’t sleep. Her fingers sifted through the abundant hair on his chest, one of her favourite things to touch, and she remembered with a smile the first night she’d spent in his arms. How she’d woken on that shining morning to the thought of how hairy he’d be one day. He had surpassed her expectations on that front. On most fronts, honestly.

She indulged in more memories of that morning, of the two of them eating pancakes and bacon on the boat, laughing, talking about nothing, getting lost in each other’s eyes. They had been so in love, so happy. So full of bright optimism for the future. They’d thought they had it all figured out.

A decade later they weren’t any less in love. If anything their feelings had only deepened and strengthened as their relationship matured. But life had not turned out to be quite as easy as they had envisioned it in that sparkling memory. She supposed it never really did.

She thought about going to the Storybrooke High reunion, seeing the people she hadn’t seen since graduation. People she had ruled back then as Storybrooke’s princess, shallow and carefree, beloved and ever so slightly feared. People who had remained in the small town they’d been born in while she had moved to New York, travelled far and wide with Killian, seen and done so much that had changed her, then finally settled into a job that exhausted and depressed her even as every day reinforced her conviction that what she did was essential work, helping people as much as anything could. What would Storybrooke think of its princess now?

Human nature being what it was, she of course wondered sometimes about the life she could have had if she’d returned after college as her mother had wished. What she would have ended up doing, who she would have been with? Would Killian really have returned with her, given up his own future for her? Even odder to imagine, what would have become of her if she’d never met Killian at all? He was such an integral part of her existence, her husband, her best friend, the love of her life, that she was literally unable to imagine herself without him. Had Killian never come to Storybrooke Emma would have grown up to be a wholly different person, one unrecognisable to the person she actually was. Whether she would have been happy in that other reality, in her ignorance both of true love and of the frustrations of the life she’d chosen, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that despite everything she was happy in this one.

Killian shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her hip and onto her lower belly as he unconsciously cuddled her closer. Her skin tingled in its wake with the low-level arousal always ignited by even his lightest touch. He was the only man she’d ever slept with, something her friends hadn’t hesitated to tease her about over the years, like it was something they thought she would be ashamed of. But Emma always just laughed, letting the mockery roll off her back. She was more than satisfied with her sex life, certain that she wasn’t missing anything she couldn’t do without. In fact, hearing her friends’ stories of unsatisfying one-nighters and awkward morning-afters and the challenges of dating in the modern world just made her even more grateful for Killian, who still looked at her like she was the centre of his universe and whose hands on her never failed to send sparks dancing across her skin even after ten years together. Why would she want to go out looking for meaningless sex with men whose faces she would barely remember just for the sake of “wider experience” when she had the sexiest man she’d ever seen already in her bed, waiting to worship her and pleasure her and love her? Why go out for hamburger, as the saying goes, when you have steak at home?

Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit, if only to herself, how deeply she’d enjoyed the look on her college friends’ faces when they’d met him for the first time. After all the teasing she’d endured about her boyfriend who was actually a boy and about her turning down men old enough to buy her alcohol for the sake of a boy who wasn’t even eighteen yet, she had revelled in their shock, their disbelief, and yes, their outright envy. He’s mine, bitches, she remembed thinking, with her newfound college-student affinity for swearing. And you can suck it.

“All right, all right,” Tiana had said. “I get it now. You’re a dark horse, Emma Swan.”

“Does he have a brother?” Ariel had asked innocently.

Maintaining their relationship during their college years had, she realised now, been pretty easy. Alhough at first they had struggled with the distance, as they’d settled into college life and found their friends and routines and formed a routine for their relationship, texting throughout the day and FaceTiming in the evenings, they had learned to handle it. She’d missed him, of course, as he had her, but they’d always visited each other without fail twice a month, the only exception being during finals when they needed the time to study and didn’t wish to spend it on the train. Their winter and summer breaks had also been spent together, first in Storybrooke and later in either New York or Boston, working summer internships to help them get a leg up in their future careers.

After graduation, Killian fulfilled his promise to go to Oxford for three years of graduate study while Emma, hating the idea of being so far away from him for so long, had impulsively applied for a master’s programme at the London School of Economics and to her surprise been accepted.

“It’s for social and cultural psychology, which isn’t directly applicable to what I want to do,” she said. “But it sounds fascinating and it’ll give me a broader understanding of the field which can only be an advantage. And I should be able to start a PhD immediately when it’s finished.”

“I can’t say I’d be sorry to have you near,” said Killian. “I haven’t been back to the UK in five years, I’m a bit apprehensive about it. And of course not having an ocean between us is never a bad thing.”

Emma of course had never been to the UK at all, and so they took three weeks before the start of their courses to travel around the country, everywhere except London and Oxford, as they had agreed that every time they got together (trading visits every two weeks as they’d done in college) they would do one touristy thing, reasoning that this ought to give them enough time to see the major sights of both cities during Emma’s year-long programme.

Because life was insane and coincidences were real they actually ran into Milah one afternoon in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It was early November and they were sitting on the grass enjoying an unseasonable bout of warmth and sunshine when Killian suddenly went stiff as a board, drawing in his breath sharply.

“What is it?” asked Emma, concerned, following the trajectory of his gaze to a tall woman with long, dark hair tumbling down her back in wild curls who was walking along the path nearest them, a cell phone at her ear.

“That’s her. Milah.” Killian’s voice was strained.

“Really?” Emma leaned forward for a better look.

“Yeah.” Killian’s hand tightened in hers, squeezing her fingers painfully. “Don’t stare, I don’t want to catch her attention.”

“Are you sure? We could go talk to her, if you want.”

“Definitely not.”

“It might be good, Killian, to talk about—”

“No, love, please. I’ve worked hard to put it behind me, I don’t want to dredge up old emotions that are best left in the past.”

She snuggled closer into his side. “As you wish,” she said, stealing his line, and he smiled and kissed her. When they looked up again, Milah had gone.

That night when they made love there was something almost frantic in the way he held her and touched her and thrust deep within her, as though he needed her to anchor him in the place he wanted to remain. Normally their lovemaking was very much a pair activity, but that night Emma lay back and let him take what he needed, knowing that his fingers would leave bruises on her soft skin but that she would never reproach him for them. And when he clung to her in the aftermath and she felt his tears dampen her hair she held him close and whispered that she loved him and always would, soothing him until he slept.

The next morning he was lighter than she’d ever seen him, smiling brightly as they did their touristy thing —a trip on the London Eye this time— laughing freely when she held tightly to his jacket at the top, wrapping her securely in his arms. “I’ll never let you fall, Emma,” he murmured in her ear, and she smiled. She wouldn’t let him fall, either. She hadn’t, and she never would.

When she saw him off on the train back to Oxford that evening she knew that he had left Milah and the trauma of his past behind, completely. Finally. He was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian awoke the next morning Emma was still asleep, curled up on her side and snoring lightly in the way he’d always found adorable. She still had shadows under her eyes but her face was relaxed and peaceful, which eased some of his worry about her state of mind. When Emma was particularly stressed she frowned even in her sleep, so her soft expression was a good sign. He hated seeing her so strung out but knew there was little he could do to help. It was simply her nature. She was incapable of not getting emotionally invested in the people she counselled; she cared about them and took it very hard when she wasn’t able to give them the help they needed. He couldn’t change that, nor did he really want to; her generous heart was one of the things he loved most about her. All he could really do was just be there, just offer his support and listen whenever she was ready to talk.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and kissed her softly on the forehead, and when she didn’t waken he slid carefully from the bed, pulling on his old Harvard sweatpants as quietly as he could. She seemed pretty deeply asleep and frankly, he thought, she could use the rest. It wasn’t often she had a chance to sleep in, even on a Saturday, but today, he silently decreed, she would. She would sleep late, and when she awoke he would have breakfast waiting for her.

Pancakes, he thought. We haven’t had those in ages. And bacon. Like they’d had the morning after the prom. He smiled to himself at the memory, one that hadn’t crossed his mind in years. So many good things had happened since that when it came to happy memories he had a true embarrassment of riches, and sometimes things got lost in the shuffle. The arrival of the reunion invite had it seemed shuffled them to the fore again.

Although he could certainly understand Emma’s reluctance to go to her high school reunion and be faced with having either to hide or to explain the stresses and frustrations of the life she’d chosen to people who already struggled to understand why she’d chosen it, Killian knew she wouldn’t change a thing about their life, as he wouldn’t. All things considered they had been almost unbelievably fortunate. Finding the love of your life at sixteen or seventeen was vanishingly rare; even rarer was that relationship surviving years of separation, the stress of pursuing advanced degrees and of working long hours for low pay and little appreciation, and actually growing stronger with each new challenge thrown at it. He was immensely grateful for the last ten years with her and for all the years they had to come, for the children they hoped some day to have, for the life they would continute to build together. All they needed was each other, the rest of it—the jobs, the kids, the house— would work itself out. And if those things never came then they’d still be happy because they’d be together.

Feeling cheerful at the prospect of surprising Emma with a nice breakfast, Killian opened the refrigerator, only to discover that that they had no bacon. And no milk. Sighing, he quickly peeked into the bedroom to check that Emma was still sound asleep, then tossed on his jacket, zipping it securely as he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and slipped from the house as quietly as possible. Twenty minutes later he was back, armed with bacon, milk, and some good coffee, plus chocolate chips for the pancakes. Emma permitted him to feed her healthy food these days as long as he prepared it, but she still held on to her childhood preference for sickly sweet breakfasts. He mixed the pancake batter and set it aside to rest while he cooked the bacon and then finally put the coffee on. Breakfast was nearly ready, and if anything would lure Emma out of bed it was the smell of good coffee.

Sure enough she appeared in the kitchen moments later, wearing an old t-shirt of his and rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Is that the Guatemalan coffee I smell?” she asked, “I thought we’d run out.”

“I went to the store. It’s been a while since we’ve had a nice breakfast, and you seemed like you could use it.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tested the heat of the griddle and poured out the first batch of pancakes. “God, I love you,” she said against the bare skin over his shoulder blade.

“I hope you’re not just saying that because I got chocolate chips for the pancakes,” he teased, picking up the bag to show her before sprinking a generous handful over half the batch.

“Well, I can’t deny that’s a major factor,” she replied, deadpan.

“I knew it.”

She gave a light laugh and squeezed him tightly before heading for the coffee maker. “It’s ready,” she said. “Do you want a cup now?”

“Yeah, please.” Killian deftly flipped the pancakes. “These’ll be done in a minute, you go sit down and I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready.”

Emma poured coffee for both of them and took their cups to the table. Sitting, she sipped at hers, letting the rich flavour and the caffeine kick both soothe and jolt her into full consciousness. She’d nearly finished the cup when Killian placed a generous stack of pancakes in front of her, oozing melted chocolate and accompanied by a pile of bacon. She laughed, the first free, happy laugh he’d heard from her in far too long.

“Are there three of me?” she asked.

“Now, darling, don’t pretend that you can’t, or won’t, eat all of that yourself,” he said, refilling her coffee cup. “Need I remind you of the Naples Pizza Incident?”

“I was twenty three then!” she protested, “The calories burned off a lot faster in those days.”

“It was only five years ago, love, not fifty.”

“It feels longer,” she said, the grim mood falling back onto her face.

He sat down and picked up his fork, deliberately casual. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

As they ate she told him about the case, the testimony she’d given, how her best efforts had seemed to make no difference, and how she’d had to send a traumatised little girl right back into the same terrible situation she thought she’d escaped.

“That fucking judge, he cared more about ‘ruining the future’ of the brother than about protecting a little girl from a predator,” she fumed. “Of course a sexual assault conviction would ruin his future, it should.” She took a large bite of pancake, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I think the worst thing was that the smug little shit knew there wouldn’t be any consequences for him. His parents knew what was going on, they did nothing. The judge did nothing. What’s even the point of a justice system if it doesn’t protect the people who most need protecting?” She bit down on a piece of bacon with a vicious crunch.

Killian knew this was a rhetorical question; she didn’t want his help or his opinion, just his ear and his shoulder. So he said nothing.

Emma swiped her plate with the last bite of pancake and popped it in her mouth. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “I did eat it all.”

“I knew you could do it,” he replied, smiling at her. “I believed in you. I always believe in you, Emma.”

In more things than just eating pancakes, he meant, and he could tell she understood. She gave him an odd look, half soft smile, half inner turmoil.

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly.

“Where?”

“To the reunion. Let’s just go. I don’t care if we’re brilliantly successful or not, I’m happy. I’m exhausted and frustrated and sometimes I feel like all my efforts are for nothing, but then I come home and you pour me wine and fuck me senseless—”

“Um, make passionate love to my beautiful wife, I think you mean—”

“—then you make me pancakes for breakfast and listen to me complain about my day and even though that doesn’t make the problems go away it makes me feel like I can handle them. I can handle anything as long as you’re with me, and I’m happy, Killian.” She reached out and took his hand. “This is happily ever after,” she said softly, smiling into his eyes. “Everyone seems to think that that means your life is perfect but it doesn’t. It just means you’re happy despite the imperfections.”

“I’m happy with you, Emma,” he whispered, kissing her, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing her breath. “You're all I need, and I will never stop loving you.”

“I’ll never stop loving you,” she whispered back. They kissed again, deeper this time, a kiss tasting of pancakes and bacon and the years and years of joys and frustrations, triumphs and struggles, small victories and petty annoyances that they had to look forward to together.

In that moment, despite the imperfections, they were perfectly, truly happy.

#cs ff #high school au #teenage captain swan #happily ever after #and what that really means #happy ending #another brick in the wall #profdanglaisstuff #bittersweet

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raptorginger · 6 years

Text

Stacks of Pretty Paper: chapter 1

for @sofondabooks

Ben reached under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose with his trademark annoyance. He heaved an exasperated sigh and hissed through gritted teeth, “Did any of you read Thomas for today’s session?”

His ten graduate students all squirmed guiltily in their hard plastic seats, their faces flaming. Anxious hands fidgeted with copies of the heavy tome and shuffled print outs of the articles also assigned as supplementary reading. The small seminar room felt like it shot up ten degrees in temperature as they all fidgeted nervously under the power of his righteous anger. Ben counted to ten in his head before he released his nose and looked up. All ten students sat up straighter like they’d been electrocuted, gaping at him like he was about to swing the sword at their execution. He maneuvered to the front of the class, his large hands clasped behind his back. Of course, he hadn’t expected them to read Hugh Thomas’ 500 page monograph The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity 1066-1220 in one week. That wasn’t the point. The point wasn’t for them to read every word. The point was to teach them to read the important ones. So far, this was a lesson his students had failed to grasp.

He leaned over the long table, bracing himself on the scarred faux wood surface with his fingers, tension visible in every muscle, every nerve, as he waited for one of these overworked, overtired, “adults” to say something. Ben felt his Alpha side rearing its ugly head in disappointment, and he tamped it down. Nonetheless, all ten bodies flinched as if he’d struck them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand timidly poke up.

“Yes, Marta?” he said, relieved. It would be Marta. As an Omega, a mated Omega but an Omega all the same, she could probably sense his displeasure more acutely than the others.

“I-I believe Sir Thomas’ point is that even though the English majority was initially hostile to the minority of conquering Normans, those Normans were quickly assimilated, and within a generation, thought of themselves as English, not Norman.”

Another student, Duffy, spoke up, adding cautiously, “To add to Marta’s point, the English at the time were made up of several different ethnic groups, but they all saw themselves as English. They had a history of rapid integration of new groups.”

“Yes, very good. Let’s work from there. What factors led to the Normans’ integration?” Ben said, trying to sound more pleasant. More pleased. Duffy and Marta grinned and looked to their classmates, who looked relieved as they all let go a collective breath. Discussion picked up from there, and Ben more or less let his students take the floor, interjecting whenever they started to get off topic.

He knew most of them were bullshitting, but he didn’t care. Anything to get through this three hour weekly seminar as painlessly as possible. He had his own work to do. He’d gotten an email earlier that day saying his Interlibrary Loan order had come in, and he was anxious to get it. He’d also had a hold placed on the new monograph on Old English vocabulary for months, and he’d been told it had been returned and it was finally his turn to check the damn book out. Nothing was going to stand in his way of having a productive day at the library. Not even that impossible woman. That new librarian. He hadn’t met her, only communicated with her by email, but she’d proven aggravating and obstinate. This Miss Johnson had taken over this summer when the old librarian, Doctor Ackbar, had retired. Ben much preferred Doctor Ackbar’s old fashioned approach to Miss Johnson’s new one. Doctor Ackbar had bent over backwards for the academics of Chandrilla University, allowing them unfettered access to the library’s materials and resources. Under Ackbar, Ben never had to worry about his reserves being placed back out in general circulation or his permanent loans being recalled. Ackbar had believed, and rightly so, in Ben’s opinion, that academics like himself were the lifeblood of the University, and it was the job of the University to keep them happy. Miss Johnson had other ideas, apparently. The first week of classes he’d received a rather curt form email saying that all reserves and permanent loans were being recalled and placed back in circulation. Ben had sputtered at his laptop screen in shock, and he almost threw the thing against the wall as he read on.

“There has been a culture of elitism and arrogance among the faculty of our prestigious university, among members of certain departments in particular, that the Library can no longer abide. Our materials are for every member, faculty, staff, and student alike, and I intend to see that fair and equal use is restored. Therefore, I demand the return of all loans and reserves dated prior to the start of the year by this next Tuesday. Permanent loans and reserves longer than one month will no longer be tolerated,” the email had said.

Ben had roared in anger and threw a panicked look around his office as he tugged his dark hair in frustration. He had maybe twenty books out on permanent loan from Ackbar, all meticulously annotated and bookmarked for his research on medieval ethnic terminology. He’d had to spend days-days!-at the department copier, copying pages and re-annotating everything. He’d made one of the student assistants take everything back to the library, unsure if he could set foot in the building without throttling Miss Johnson to within an inch of her miserable spinster cat-loving life.

“You know, Professor Solo, Miss Johnson isn’t that bad,” the student, Evan, had said while Ben shot off an angry email to Miss Johnson. Just who did she think she was?!

Ben had glared at Evan, but he didn’t back down.

“Seriously! She’s super helpful if you’re looking for something specific! She, like, knows everything and knows the library backwards and forwards,” Evan had insisted.

“That’s what happens when you’re one hundred years old and have no life,” Ben had muttered under his breath.

“Umm, Professor? She’s not...old,” Evan had chuckled on his way out of Ben’s office.

Ben had rolled his eyes and resumed his aggressive highlighting. An email notification pinged his inbox. Ben grit his teeth, seeing it was from Miss Johnson.

“I’m sorry that my new policies are an inconvenience to you, Doctor Solo, but you are, in fact, one of the worst offenders after Doctors Snoke and Dooku. Several students and faculty have inquired about materials that have been loaned out to you, and I’d like to see that those materials are made available to the people that need them. I am given to understand that there was an unofficial policy of faculty loaning out materials checked out to them long term to others and then returned to said faculty member instead of the library, but that can no longer be borne. It is against library procedure and best practices. Again, sorry for the inconvenience.”

Ben’s least favorite coffee mug had shattered against his office wall after he’d finished reading that missive.

As his seminar began to wind down, Ben began to pace anxiously, waiting for the clock to strike ten. When it finally did, he called out to his class, “Office hours are cancelled for today. If you have any questions on Thomas, email me.”

He was out the door almost as fast as they were. He rushed to his office and grabbed his leather satchel and shoved his laptop inside. He check the front pocket to see if his notebook was tucked safely inside. It was. He threw a few pens and pencils in before grabbing his keys and slamming his door. He walked hurriedly down the hallway, pointedly ignoring Doctors Holdo and Nammit, who were leaning against their own doors, chatting animatedly about whatever is was modern history professors chatted about as they held cups of stale office coffee. He could feel their eyes on his back as he sped down the hall and towards the elevator. He knew he had a reputation as an unsociable hardass, but he didn’t care. He believed in his work, not in all the bullshit rigamarole that his colleagues did. He should be judged on the quality of his research, what he put forward into the academic world, not on his ability to hold a wine glass and make chit chat with donors and Fellows.

He shoved open the door to the History Building with unnecessary force, staggering back as the sun hit his eyes. His pace slowed. It was a bright, beautiful day. One of those days photographers managed to capture for a brochure. The air was fresh and crisp, slightly cool with early fall. Smiling students with backpacks slung over one shoulder strolled across the sidewalks that crisscrossed the campus. Tired grad students, heads hung low, dashed from one end of campus to the other. Professors with paper cups of expensive coffee strode smartly in pairs, carefully avoiding the groups of undergraduates. The leaves on the trees still held their green and fluttered delicately in the breeze. The University practically sparkled with vitality and life.

The library was thankfully close to the History Building, and Ben was in a good mood when he pushed into the revolving door. A few students scurried past him, avoiding his gaze. Not that he paid them any mind. His tan tweed coat with worn leather elbow patches, his sharp modern glasses, and his bourbon leather wingtips all screamed hardass uptight professor. He did wear jeans, but he preferred dark rinse, and he had them all perfectly tailored at Saks. He was pretty sure the students could tell, and that made him even more intimidating. Tailoring jeans was a concept beyond them. Ben preferred things that way.

He loved the library, even if he didn’t love who was currently running it. His home away from home. He made his way to the main circulation desk to inquire about his reserve. His good mood quickly soured when the student assistant informed him that Miss Johnson had not yet made the book available.

“Where is she!?” Ben snarled at the frightened young Beta girl.

“F-f-fourth floor,” the girl stammered out, pointing up the stairs.

Of course she’d be on the fourth floor. His domain. Ben stomped angrily away from the circulation desk to a nearby set of stairs tucked unobtrusively beside the elevator bank. He quickly climbed up, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor where the Interlibrary Loan office was. The office was quiet, students and older staff members moving around desks and carts quickly. Paper slips fluttered and crinkled as they moved by, the smells of dust, Mylar, and paper strong in the enclosed space. Ben felt more at ease surrounded by the familiar smells. He inhaled deeply, trying to relax further, but an unfamiliar scent caught him by surprise. It was very faint, but it tugged at him insistently. Female Omega. Unclaimed female Omega. Another patron, maybe, Ben mused. Long since gone. Or, perhaps, a scent absorbed by one of the books on loan. Too bad, he thought.

Another student worker slid his pile of books over to him, typing quickly and scanning the barcodes.

“Yale wants this one back quick. They’ve only loaned it for the week,” the student murmured apologetically.

Ben groaned. That would be how this day goes. Another day at the copier. “Fine,” he grumbled, grabbing the stack and heading out of the office.

“You’re welcome. Alpha jerk,” he heard the student mutter sarcastically under his breath. He ignored him and made his way up to the fourth floor. He kept to the wall, running his fingers along the ledge of the waist high windows until the neat rows of desks and armchairs started. He bounced his palm over seat backs, counting in his head until he reached the sixth. There, he stopped and set his things down. He was alone up here, unsurprising for such a beautiful fall day. He reached into his bag for his laptop, situating the device in the middle of the desk. He set his notebook beside it, and his stack of books on the other. He tugged a folded piece of paper from his pocket, call numbers scrawled hastily on the wrinkled paper. Most were crossed out, meaning he’d already gotten what he needed from them. A few were yet to be examined. Ben’s eyes went to the first number on the paper and then up to the guides on the ends of the shelves. Five down, one back. He started forward slowly when it hit him again. The alluring scent of the Omega, and this time he could scent her individual notes. Lavender. Bergamot. Mixed with the cellulose of the books around him, Ben could swear he was in heaven.

“Omega, where are you?” he whispered quietly to himself. He began to meander through the stacks, running his fingers over old bindings and sniffing occasionally. If the scent began to fade, he’d change direction. What began as aimless wandering became an almost desperate hunt as her scent led him deeper into the maze of the stacks. It was only him and the Omega. His Alpha instincts were kicking in the longer it took to find her, the glands in his neck itching and beginning to throb the stronger her scent got. Find her, now!

Finally, he spied a mostly empty cart at the end of one of the shelves, a paper sign taped to the side that said “For Reshelving.” A water bottle sat beside the few books. He’d found her. He slowed his pace, his steps turning quiet and almost predatory as he approached the shelf. He could hear a faint humming as he stepped into the aisle between the stacks. He leaned against the corner for support as he watched her for a moment. Tall and slender, she was dressed casually but professionally in a dark grey pencil skirt, creamy silk blouse, and a deep purple cardigan. Her warm brown hair was swept up in a messy bun, and a gauzy pale grey scarf was tied loosely around her neck, concealing her scent glands. Her skin seemed to glow, and Ben could see golden freckles dancing on her cheeks. Even in heels, she was struggling to reach the shelf where the particular book in her hand belonged. She used one hand to lever herself upwards and stretched to tuck the book into its proper place. Her blouse went up with her arm, giving Ben a brief glimpse of her bare abdomen. She stumbled a bit as she caught his scent, her nostrils flaring delicately and a blush creeping into her cheeks.

“There you are,” he purred approvingly as she settled back on the floor.

She turned, startled, her hazel eyes wide and sparkling. Her pretty pink lips parting slightly as she looked him up and down, taking in the Alpha before her. A look of confusion clouded her face, and then her eyes turned flinty. Ben took a step back, confused. Omega is angry. Omega is displeased. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and glared at him.

“Professor Solo, I presume,” she said in a quiet, clipped voice.

“And you, Omega, are?”

She inhaled sharply at the use of her designation, as if he’d insulted her, her lips coming together in a tight line. “The bane of your existence, according to you. Miss Rey Johnson. The librarian.”

Oh HELL no, Ben thought as his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #fanfiction #prompt #Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics #reylo a/b/o #reylo au #modern au #college university au #professor ben solo #librarian rey

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academla · 5 years

Note

Hello! My name is Grace and I am studying Psychology. I’m in my sophomore year so I know I have some time, but I’m already kind of panicking about grad school lol So here is my question: what kind of things can I start doing now to help me get into grad school later?

Grad students, feel free to chime in here also! Wouldn’t want to sound like I’m trying to be an academic advisor ;) anyway, I had a lot more to say about this than I expected. Feel free to reblog for future reference (this goes for all majors too)! This is all based on my own research and experience and meetings/seminars I’ve gone to about the grad school process.

First of all, you are right, sophomore year is quite early to think about grad school. I wouldn’t worry about it too much, because things do change: maybe you’ll fall in love with another major, maybe you decide to take a gap year, etc.

However, the big test for grad school is the GRE.

This will apply to any subject you choose, so I’d say if you really want to get ahead of the game, start with that. See if you can find some study guides or practice tests online. Take it once without studying, then go back and figure out what areas you do need to study. The summer is a good time to do this. That said, I’m always cautious when it comes to preparing too soon. If I prepare a couple years (or even a couple months) in advance and then take a break, I usually have to re-study at least some aspects, which is counterproductive.

You can take plan to take the psychology GRE if you want

…but from what I’ve heard it’s not highly recommended or required unless you’re switching majors. I took a practice one without studying and found it pretty easy; the ones I got wrong were all ones that I know I learned in my classes but forgot. However, you probably won’t do well on the practice without studying until you get some more psych classes under your belt. I used intro, abnormal, social, developmental, personality, and behavioral neuroscience knowledge, which you might not have taken yet or haven’t taken at a higher level. So in terms of the subject test, I would honestly wait and see; I wouldn’t try to get ahead and start studying classes you haven’t taken yet.

It’s never too soon to get experience, though!

Reach out now to labs at your university, and take advantage of school resources to see if there’s anything in your area. Most labs have applications, or you can simply email the faculty who run the labs. I got into my current lab by doing some research online, emailing the PI, meeting with the lab manager, and I started in a couple of months. My first internship I found through someone career person at my college (I don’t even remember now, oops). I’d reached out to her asking if she knew of any research opportunities and to please let me know if she heard of anything. She emailed me shortly thereafter when the local hospital contacted her to see if she knew of any students who would be interested in being a research intern.

Experience is extremely important. My PI says that she, and many grad schools, weigh experience as strong as if not more strongly than actual grades (there’s a slideshow about this that I have somewhere that I could maybe post at some point). If you’re going to do one thing to work towards getting into grad school down the road, get some experience. Especially if you don’t envision taking a gap year after college to obtain experience, it’s to your benefit to get started ASAP. Most labs might not take freshmen, but I have a couple sophomores at my lab who are already taking on their own projects. If you take a class that you like, never hesitate to go chat with the professor and see if they’re doing any research.

Another thing you can definitely do is to start researching programs.

I’m opting to take a year off, but before deciding, I was super extra and made a spreadsheet. Basically I just searched different schools’ grad programs and made note of location, school, stipend (if there’s information on that), degree types, estimated years to complete it, application fee, GRE optional or not, location (since that’ll be factored into costs if you’re moving across country), deadlines, etc. I’ll stick a screenshot here. It’s super incomplete since I only looked around my area and then decided on taking a year off so I never finished inputting the out of state schools I’d looked at or refining the spreadsheet, but just an idea.

You can also start looking at faculty but I would take it with a grain of salt since faculty do change. At least checking out the labs at different universities can give you a sense of what you might be interested, and you can make note of that in your spreadsheet also.

It’s great you’re thinking about grad school now! Hopefully my feedback was somewhat helpful.

#studyblr #studyspo #advice #psychology #grad school #research #college #meldingseas #ask

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nomorelonelydays · 6 years

Note

i wish you would write sid and geno meeting through a dating website/online chat of some kind

Sidneyhad taken the online course out of sheer panic, he concludes. One bad checknear the end of the season, an injured ankle (only sprained, not broken,thankfully), and a couple nights of wondering if he’s really past his primeeven though his love for hockey hasn’t died, had brought him to the Universityof Pittsburgh online courses page.

He’dcoach after he retires, at least for a little while, Sidney thinks. But whathappens after that?

He’s really notsure why he ended up enrolling in Intro to Calculus. Maybe it’s because MUSIC 23: Appreciating the Classics didn’tseem interesting. Maybe it’s because he didn’t remember being too awful with math in highschool. It’s good to have some of the basics down, anyways. It’s not like he’scommitting to a life of research. It’s just…something different.

The first lecturestarts out okay. Professor Malkin is responsive, patient, and writes with nice,rounded letters that are easy to read. He also has an accent and a deep,rumbling voice, and Sidney’s lying if he says he’s not a sucker for men with avoice like that.

Calculus isn’t asexy subject matter by any means, at least to him, but Sidney wonders what Malkinwould sound like if he wasn’t talking about derivatives and was insteadwhispering something else into Sidney’s ears.

It’s whatever.He’ll never meet Malkin anyways. He can dream a little.

He has longback-and-forths with Professor Malkin on the assignments, because math somehowbecame harder when he was off playing hockey. And he’s sure he’s asking stupidquestions on the interactive chats, but Malkin always responds, almostdelightedly, with, “Very good question,Sid! I’m about to cover that next part, is little confusing, so hope everyonepay attention.”

To his surprise andrelief, Sidney gets an A- on the first quiz, and between the emails with theProfessor, the exchanges during the lecture chats that he manages to attend inreal-time, and the anecdotes about Malkin’s family, his dog, his hobbies thathe manages to interject in his examples, he starts to fall in love.

It’s absolutelycrazy, he knows. He doesn’t even know what Malkin looks like. The guy could belike, 80 years old.

His curiousity gets the better or him and he goes onRateMyProfessor, and on top of the glowing reviews, the man also has a flaminghot chili pepper, which does not helpSidney’s already overactive imagination.

Two weeks beforethe final exam, Professor Malkin posts his office hours. If anyone need extra help or have any question, I’m have virtual officehours on Wednesday and Thursday from 1-3 PM. You have been a wonderful classand a pleasure to teach, and I’m certain each and every one of you will do agreat job on the final.

And Sidney, who’ssitting on the couch and re-reading the last line, over and over again, getsthe strangest feeling that he’s about to lose Malkin. He feels a surge ofcourage flowing from his chest and to his fingertips as he starts a new email.

Dear Professor Malkin, he writes, would it be possible to arrange an in-personoffice hour to go over the material? It’s completely okay if you are unable to,I understand that this is an unusual request.

He waits for therejection, but it never comes.

Of course, Sidney, Malkin’s email says. I will be in my office on campus as well. Andhe gives Sidney the time and the location.

Sidney wears hiscap low as he makes his way to the Mathematics Department. Professor Malkin’sdoor is ajar, and he hears students thanking someone for their time and afamiliar accented tone reply, “It’s no problem, happy to help.”

He doesn’t evenhave time to register the shocked look on the students’ faces when he passes bythem in the hallway as he goes straight to the man cleaning the whiteboard,back facing Sidney. He’s ridiculously tall, taller than Sidney, with a mop ofbrown curls. He’s in a Pens shirt (fuck) and the print on his back proudly proclaimsthe number 87 (fuck), and he has onjeans that make his legs go on for miles.

Sidney manages tosqueak out, “Um, excuse me—” when Professor Malkin turns around.

And Sidney knows he’sutterly screwed.

“Oh. Oh!” Professor Malkin isn’t 80 yearsold. He’s probably no older than Sidney. And he’s dreadfully handsome, withsleepy eyes, pouty lips, and the cutest nose Sidney has ever seen in his life.His glasses are slipping a little off his nose, and for a moment, Sidney’sthroat goes dry and he’s unable to say anything without being sure that he’llmake a right fool of himself. “You’re mySidney?”

“Hi, ProfessorMalkin,” Sidney garbles out, his heart beating double-time at the ‘my Sidney’portion. Stop staring. Stop.

“Call me Geno,”Malkin says warmly, taking Sidney’s hand. Sidney hopes desperately that it’snot his imagination that Malkin—no, Geno—gripsit for a little too long. “Easy for American tongue. Is nickname for Evgeni.”

“I’m Canadian,”Sidney says, without thinking.

“Yes, yes,” Genolaughs. “How I’m forget? My mistake. Ah, well. You surprise me. Not every dayCaptain of Pens come into my office. You have questions?”

Sidney hasmultiple. And during the entire conversation, he wants to melt into the groundbecause Geno is every bit as wonderful and smart and funny as he is online. Andnow that Sidney has a face to match to the voice, he really, really doesn’t want the class to end.

He gets a 94% onthe final.

But somehow, hedoesn’t feel that victorious.

Two weeks after thecourse has ended, he finds himself walking back to the Mathematics Departmentand knocking on Geno’s office door.

“Come in, is notloc—Sid!” Geno stands up immediately. “You come back! How are you?”

“I’m good,” Sidneysays. “I just. I have another question, I forgot to ask.”

Geno’s browsfurrow. “But…course is over? You passed, no?”

“Yeah, no, I did. I—um.I just wanted to see if you wanted to get coffee sometime? With me. Or dinner.”Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Not as your student, I mean. Jesus, I’msorry, I’m putting you on the spot. I should’ve sent an email but this definitely is not work-related so I didn’t. Please tell me to stop and I’ll leaveyou forever—”

“Sid!” Geno’slaughing, this bright, happy noise that Sidney could listen to forever. Hereaches out to hold onto the side of Sidney’s arm. “Sid, love to get coffeewith you. Dinner, too.”

“Oh,” Sidney says. “Oh,thank God.”

“I need a headcount for the potluck, and who’s bringing what,” Tanger is telling the lockerroom, pointing at his phone. “And I repeat, we are not all bringing the same fucking kind of beer again. Okay? We needactual food. Like here, look, Sid’s bringing mac n’ cheese and—wait. Who’sGeno?”

“Oh. My boyfriend,”Sidney says, still untying his skates. “We got the recipe from his mom for her pirozhki,so. Should be good.”

Tanger opens hismouth, then closes it, then opens it again. He clears his throat and tells thestunned team, “Yeah. Right, right. You hear that? Geno’s bringing pirozhki,whatever the hell that is. No. Beer.”

#not exactly a dating site #whoops #sidgeno #listen i really like NHL/non-NHL AUs #ask bee #math professor AU

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notesfromthefielddesk · 3 years

Text

Episode 2 - E.E. Evans Pritchard

Episode link - https://open.spotify.com/episode/0LqJQ1q2kv5utkoct7V8Cg?si=485ef5c24837440e

John

I’m looking out over the plains of what was once Nuerland. The heavy clay earth is broken apart by the relentless sun. Deep cracks and the threaded depressions of rivers which rarely fill, even in the rainy season, are the only features on the dead flat, almost alien landscape. Around me cattle rest on the slightly (We hear gentle mooing) elevated sandy spot I found for my desk. From here I can see clear to the horizon where I spot sporadic patches of trees but all other greenery has browned and died back months ago. What these cows are living off is beyond me.

In years past the sodden clay retained water allowing certain plants to survive through the dry months. When the rain came this whole plain would be covered in grass reaching over my head as I sit behind my desk. Near the rivers edge they’d reach up to my shoulders even when standing. The rivers would fill then overflow making the whole plain a marshy swamp. At times like those this sandy mound would be prime real-estate and i’d be sharing space with far more cows.

Nowadays, this is South Sudan. The rainy season has become more sporadic and unpredictable. Often the relief of rains arrival is followed - shortly - by overwhelming flooding. Right now people are still waiting on that rain.

(we hear the wind starting to pick up)

The wind is picking up. A cloud of dust is rising on the plain. The horizon, with it’s sporadic trees and the cracked earth disappear from view behind a wall of air thick with clay. I can see about two cows away. Out of the dust emerges a figure. They’re walking towards me.

This is notes from the field desk.

Theme

oh! you. Look after what you told me in Papua new guinea I don’t think we should be talking. What are you doing here anyway? -

what do you mean am I following you? I am here by chance. My flight back to London from Brisbane got diverted because of technical fault with the plane and we landed in Juba. So there is no way I could have followed you here. If anything you’re probably followed me!

(sigh) Fine, I suppose there is no harm in you sitting here. There’s a tree stump just there you can listen to me record if you want. That is if you’re not busy organising a coup or whatever.

Anyway, when we got grounded in Juba I had a look through my collection. Oh, I should explain, I travel with a trunk of the one hundred most influential ethnographies, that’s what we call the books anthropologists write.

Side note, I never thought the trunk would be a problem, in all these Ethnographies they talk about getting porters to carry all their stuff, but when I asked at the airport for a porter, they just laughed at me?

Anyway, we were grounded a while before they cancelled the flight. So I had a look and it turns out another anthropological founding father did research in South Sudan. E.E.Evans-Pritchard. Or as I call him EEEE Pritchard. Okay well look, I don’t even want you to find my jokes funny so you just sit there rolling your eyes all you want.

Evans-Pritchard was a student of Malinowski at LSE and in the late 1920’s he set out for what was then Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. He wrote a couple of Ethnographies about the Azande which mostly focused on magic, kind of an obsession with early anthropologists. Then he headed south in 1930 to do research on the Nuer, which focused mostly on politics. A good hard subject we can get our teeth into! Anglo-Egyptian Sudan came Sudan in 1956, then split into the mostly Muslim North and mostly Christian South in 2011. Then in 2021 I arrived to do some peer-reviewing. I’m hoping Evan’s Pritchard is a bit less of a controversial figure so my students will get off my back.

(phone rings) ignore that, i’m ignoring, that’s nothing.

(Clearly still flustered) Okay, last time, we talked about the two sides of anthropology, the field and the desk. If Malinowski represents the innovation of field, you know participating in society, going native, spending years in the field. Then Evans-Pritchard is the OG anthropologist who developed the desk. Anthropology trades on being able to create a sense of being there through vivd description, where Malinowski could be a bit stiff and scientific Evans-Pritchard had a bit of flare with his flowing prose.

Is that cow looking at me? That one there with huge horns. I swear to god it’s looking at me.

Anyway, EP, I like calling him EP when I do he feels like a friend. (clear throat) He made drawings, he took tonnes of pictures, he described the plains, some of his diary crept into the ethnography. No racism as far as I could tell but He talks about being frustrated, he shows his work. A move towards modern anthropology. So reading his The Nuer, which is the ethnography he wrote about this region, is really like the experience of being here. Way less of a slog than boring old Malinowski.

(Email Chime)

Ohh an email, do you mind if I just check this? I just got assigned a student whose thesis i’m supervising. Very exciting. Shaping the next generation of anthropologists and all that.

okay, here we go.

“Dear Professor Johnson”

Not a professor but i’m quite pleased with that.

“I discussed briefly with Susan, uh-huh, during the introduction lecture that I’d be interested in researching the club scene, queer identity and youth in London. I’ve been reading tony Adams and Stacy Holman Jones on Auto-ethnography and that’s inspired me to try it myself. If you could point me in the direction of some readings to get myself started with.

All the best,”

I’ll leave their name out of it, bit of privacy. Hmm well i’m not sure about that. I mean really ethnography should be done in a rural place, not the city, should they even be doing research in the UK? This is anthropology not sociology. Plus auto-ethnography? I’ve never heard of it but we’re supposed to be studying the other not ourselves, this isn’t psychology. Hmm well I need to think about a reply, don’t want to stamp on the young fellows aspirations but he needs setting straight.

What is that cow doing. Is it - it’s coming over here isn’t it. Shoo, shoo! it’s licking me. Do something don’t just laugh. No do not nibble my suit! Argh. This suit cost a lot of money cow! Get off me. Shoo. Fine, i’m getting up. it’s your desk now!

Go on get out of here!

You know what happens now because you wouldn’t help me? We’re going to talk about theory. Yes groan away, there isn’t even a sea for you to paddle in this time so I guess you’ll just have to sit down there with the cows and listen.

This book actually is mostly about cows. All three hundred pages of it, I don’t think there is a single sentence that doesn’t mention cows or cattle or I don’t know bovine. I mean I like cows as much as the next englishman but it’s not exactly thrilling. But in fairness to Evans-Pritchard the Nuer didn’t exactly give him a choice. He said that

“whatever subject I would start on, and approaching it from whatever angle, we would soon be speaking of cows and oxen, heifers and steers, rams and sheep, hegoats and she-goats, calves and lambs and kids.”

Basically the Nuer loved cows. He said this fact was the underlying structure of Nuer society. So everything in Nuer society comes back to cows. Love, war, religion, politics, it was all about cows.

Our boy EP is a structural functionalist, - look the terms are important so just get used to it - meaning he thought there are underlying structures to all societies, that cause us to behave in a certain ways. Where Malinowski and functionalism thought post hoc ergo propter hoc - I can see you rolling your eyes, sometimes latin is useful! (deep sigh) Fine, i’ll explain it another way.

Malinowski would say the Nuer like cows because they give them milk - our boy EP would say okay but why love cows instead of say… soy beans which can also give you milk. It’s because the conditions the land in which the Nuer live aren’t good for growing soy beans, but they are good for raising cattle.

What would be a good comparison. Okay, Malinowski would say you like your iPhone because it gives you messages from friends. Those messages make you feel nice, so it fills a need. And EP might say, yes that’s true but it’s also possible that you like the phone because the underlying structure of Western society values objects especially expensive ones. Or else you’d have a nokia 3310. It still fills the same function but EP aims to explain why people choose one thing over another. If you’re a quote fan here is how Evans-Pritchard put it.

“Although the Nuer have a mixed pastoral-horticultural economy their country is more suitable for cattle husbandry than for horticulture, so that the environmental bias coincides with the bias of their interest and does not encourage a change in the balance in favour of horticulture.”

Oh there is a guy over there! (Shouting) Hey! Hey sir! Sir! Who do these cows belong to? Sir? (Biggish pause) (Snort in distance) He’s gone. Well I didn’t have time to chat anyway, i’ve got a tutorial. Just keep that cow away from me while I’m teaching. I doubt you care but here’s a Nuer song that Evans Pritchard translated.

Extract

The wind blows wira wira;

Where does it blow to?

It blows to the river. The shorthorn carries its full udder to the pastures;'

Let her be milked by Nyagaak;

My belly will be filled with milk. Thou pride of Nyawal,

Ever-quarrelling Rolnyang.

This country is overrun by strangers;

They throw our ornaments into the river;

They draw their water from the bank.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

We are perplexed;

We gaze at the stars of God.

White ox good is my mother

And we the people of my sister. The people of Nyariau Bui.

As my black-rumped white ox. When I went to court the winsome lassie,

I am not a man whom girls refuse. We court girls by stealth in the night,

I and Kwejok Nyadeang.

We brought the ox across the river,

I and Kirj oak

And the son of my mother's sister Buth Gutjaak.

Friend, great ox of the spreading horns,

Which ever bellows amid the herd. Ox of the son.

Return from tutorial

You let the cows eat my notes!? I thought I said watch the cows! What happened? Was it that same cow again? What do you mean they all look the same, the one with the evil eyes!

Okay, so it seems like I missed some things again. The students pointed out that on page one of the preface, I might have skipped the preface, says “My study of the Nuer was undertaken at the request of, and was mainly financed by, the Government of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan.” Which means the colonial government most likely paid for him to do the research because they wanted to control the Nuer. He describes them as violent willing to go to war over cattle at the drop of a hat. In text he says;

“At the present time cattle are the main cause of hostility

towards, and suspicion of, the Government, not so much on

account of present taxation as of earlier tax-gathering patrols

which were little more than cattle raids and of the avowedly

plundering expeditions of the Egyptian Government era that

preceded them.”

The students pointed out that given theat the government violently took their property, it was kind of understandable that the Nuer were angry. Again, if he was there trying to collect information so the colonial officers could control them, can we trust his findings?

During the second world war he used his ethnographic relationships to recruit Sudanese troops who he then led in Guerrilla warfare against the Italians. I said that sounds pretty cool right? Which made them angry, academic knowledge shouldn’t be used as a weapon to manipulate people into fighting in a war, which, regardless of the outcome would leave them colonised. They asked why we were spending so much time focussing on old men.

(Phone rings) Ignore that!

Pause takes a breath

I said fine, but we have to cover foundational figures who would they rather cover? What about Boas? He thought races were biological different and with some inferior to others. Ruth Benedict? They say she wrote a book for the US army in the Second World War about how to defeat the Japanese based on their culture without ever setting foot in Japan. Fine, Margret Mead? Exoticised the sex lives of Samoans and thought they were primitive.

I’m taking off this jacket it’s so hot and it’s got cow slobber all over the shoulder.

Well if all of them were racist then let’s just pack the whole thing in! They said I wasn’t understanding. I was thinking about racism as an individual failing caused by ignorance. But they weren’t ignorant, their racism was a product of society. In that way Evans-Pritchard was right. They lived during colonialism and the rise of the nation state. Which meant Nations had to justify their difference from others and their superiority over others.

People had to have a reason to believe in “Being British” rather than French or Sudanese. Or why would you think it was okay to rule them? Or to enforce boarders? These ideas of superiority and difference permeated the early anthropologists the same way the utility of cow herding led to the Nuer loving cattle. So everyone from that era was bound to be Colonialist.

They also said It doesn’t help that doing fieldwork confirms the differences between people. My head felt like it was going to explode. Still trying to figure it all out and it doesn’t help that that cow is still looking at me. I asked where they were getting all this from? Lentin and Visweswaren they said, apparently it’s on the reading list… I haven’t read the reading list.

(Phone rings once but he immediately hangs it up)

So, they said maybe next we could talk about Talal Asad. Apparently he is an anti-colonial ethnographer or something. I said fine whatever. They seem to know more than me anyway. Maybe we shouldn’t do fieldwork, maybe we should all do auto-ethnography. My students said maybe, but we still need to pay attention because racism hasn’t gone away, it’s still in our society. Which means we still might make arguments for it in our work unless we’re careful.

I guess before I do field work I should look at what the underlying structures of Britain are effecting my thinking. Not just my assumptions like I thought with Malinowski but what it means for a British person to turn up at a former colony. What does that act mean even before I start interacting with people.

I know that sounds like the same conclusion as episode one but my students assure me it’s subtly different. My head hurts, let’s go.

Nah leave the desk I’ll just get another.

Theme

This was notes from the field desk written by me James McGrail.

This episode references

Evans-Pritchard, E.E., The Nuer, 1940, Clarendon Press, Oxford.

Lentin, A. (2004). Racial states, anti-racist responses. Picking holes in 'Culture' and 'Human Rights'. European Journal of Social Theory 7(4): 427-443.

Pocock, D. (1975). Sir Edward Evans-Pritchard 1902–1973: An appreciation. Africa, 45(3)

Visweswaran, Kamala (1998) Race and the Culture of Anthropology, American Anthropologist 100/1: 70-83.

Theme ends

Susan

Do you think I’m stupid? You think I believe your flight got diverted to South Sudan? South Sudan? Oh and it just so happens that it’s thematically appropriate for your little podcast? Get back to London. Now. We need to have a serious conversation.

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