#i love that he has a phd in literature its such a good excuse to study him

[dimeadozencows]

I write so much poetry from heavy tf2' perspective its actually embarrassing. Yes i think its awesome. No you'll never get to see any of it

[freebooter4ever]

Nono, you’re right about glasses Geno, but what does he teach?

My pitch would be Soviet art history, his phd is specifically in the soviet sculptural tradition and it’s a long running joke amongst his students that his apartment is probably full of weird-ass replicas and plaster casts of them.

Ahahahaha you must not have seen that old post i found last night - art was apparently geno's least favorite subject. He used to ask his mom to do his painting homework for him, poor boy. (go watch the gifs its cute, a decade ago but he smiles at getting away with cheating in the exact same way he did when he made the cartoon joke this season)

No, if this is gonna be my silly little fantasy where geno is still in pittsburgh but as some adorable bashful professor and more accessible than a famous hockey player, he's gotta be in a field more accessible. I was never cool enough for the art department, there was a reason i was an artist/computer scientist doing computer science research instead of art research.

Ridiculous fantasy under the cut cause this month has been horrible and who doesnt need escapism :P

Lets put him in the math department, he's good at poker right? Or literature. One of those nerds who likes logic puzzles, like for fun. The kind that enjoys supposing something is fact, and then following the logic train of how the world's dominos would change if this one (wrong) thing is actually true. That'd stick math professor geno's office somewhere in baker hall, which is warm (like 90 degrees ALL YEAR), and strangely soft (well worn), but somewhat industrial (carnegie built all these buildings with the steel industry in mind), he'd fit right in.

Also it's shared with the chemistry department, and the chemical engineering students installed a soda machine in the hallway of basement B. And its famous because it's the cheapest place for caffeine on campus (being run by students they sold the cans close to at cost) and connected to like four other buildings by indoor bridges so you can get your soda fix even during the winter. Before a doctor told me i had to quit caffeine or else have a stroke, i was frequently walking over to buy cherry cola, like a cigarette break only more sugary.

So we have to have a meet cute in this little fantasy and what better vehicle than chitchat over a soda machine. Geno's supposedly shy, right? So i imagine professor geno is even worse, like professors dont talk to media unless they actively want to go viral and become famous and geno strikes me as the type who'd instead be quietly brilliant. Anyway, im shy too, so obviously it's gonna take at least two years of accidental run-ins before there's even a conversation. Like the first year i'd probably learn the hot mystery professor's schedule and time my soda machine visits to coincide with his. The second year i'd probably find out his name from a friend of a friend of a friend who took his class back in undergrad. By the third year we might exchange four whole sentences and it'd be the highlight of my life.

Speaking of classes, geno's gotta be that professor with tons of quirks. Costumes every halloween, a teaching style that is very serious but somehow the funniest in the department, everybody has nicknames from him, all the women in his classes are in love with him and give him other nicknames and tease each other about him behind his back. His office hours are always full, which he's a little bit sad about because if nobody shows up he has an excuse to play video games on his computer for a few hours. He's always stopped in the hallways because everybody recognizes him - current and old students alike - and wants to chat or ask questions related to life or homework. You can hear his voice coming from a mile away, so he's easy to find and socialize with. By the same token when he's in a bad mood, everybody knows it.

Professor geno would also be unfailingly kind - the one who remembers what its like to be perpetually exhausted, hungry, and broke as a student, so he sometimes orders pizza and has it sent to the whiteboard study areas in wean.

I dont think math professor geno would live in an apartment, that's a little boring. He'd probably live with his good buddy who's a famous hockey player and understands that adjunct professors get paid shit until you get your phd and then, god willing, tenure, so doesn't charge him any rent. This version of sid doesnt live in excluseive rich people town but instead has one of those stately mansions in shadyside. And its a college town so sometimes when they go out people recognize geno from class more often than they recognize sid and sid secretly thrives off this.

At some point after maybe four years of soda machine conversation, i'd get up the courage to ask professor geno if i could draw his portrait. Maybe he'd also help me come up with ideas for new animals and creatures to sculpt for my research gallery.

Lmao look what you did anon, you got me writing self insert fic for the first time in over a decade 🤣

[romioneficfest]

In Another Universe

Title: In Another Universe

Prompt: Date Night

Tumblr name: 

Rating: T

Brief summary: (Modern-Day University AU) Hermione Granger, brightest young lady her age, completed her PhD in Linguistics at 25. Ron Weasley, a quantum physicist with a penchant for unkempt hair and loose ties… well, he’s getting there. However, Granger has agreed to spend a night out at a pub with him, and he’s going to try his hardest to woo her with what he knows she likes best: intelligence.

Tags: mentions of alcohol, the word “damn”

-

The pub was dim-lit, crowded, and stank of stale beer. Dr. Hermione Granger was horrified: in her impossibly neat, dry-cleaned pencil skirt and button-down, she stuck out like a sore thumb in a place she never thought she’d find herself on a Saturday night. The man across from her seemed right in his element: leaning back in his chair, his tie loose and shirt undone, a shock of unkempt red hair crowning him, it wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d swung his legs and placed his feet on the table.

Smirking at her, as if reveling in her discomfort, he waved a waitress over: “Gerda, dear! Would you please get me some bangers and mash and an IPA?”

Granger’s shock only grew: he was on first-name basis with the personnel? Gerda nodded and turned to Granger, who froze for a second before remembering she was supposed to order: “Yes, ah… I’ll have the fish and chips and a glass of water, please.”

Gerda nodded again, shooting Granger’s companion a wink as she marched toward the kitchen. He winked back before looking to Granger with a teasing smile: “Never took you for such a bore, but then again, you are wearing a pencil skirt to a pub…”

“Can it, Weasley,” Granger hissed. “You begged me to be here.”

“Where else would you be on a Saturday night? Library?” he teased her again, and she flushed. He toned it down: “I’m sorry— I mean, we can leave if you want to…”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Granger huffed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s good for me to… step out of my comfort zone.”

‘And that’s putting it kindly,’ thought Weasley, taking a sip from the dark brown bottle Gerda had set in front of him. He watched Granger awkwardly sip from her glass and, realizing how uncomfortable she must be, decided to shift the conversation somewhere more familiar. “So, A Winter’s Tale.”

“Excuse me?”

“A Winter’s Tale? Shakespeare? Is that where your name comes from?”

She smiled as she took the glass to her lips again, and her shoulders lost tension. “You’re familiar with it.”

“Well, I did secondary school.”

“Good try, Weasley, but the secondary school curriculum doesn’t usually include A Winter’s Tale in its Shakespeare section.”

Damn it, he thought; leave it to Granger to know the British literature curriculum. “Fine, I Googled it.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” Granger said, raising her eyebrows. “Took time to do your homework.”

“What can I say? When you get a date with the most beautiful PhD in the uni, you’d better know your stuff.”

She blushed again, and Weasley smiled to himself: he’d gotten past the first line of defense. He decided to keep going down the conversational path he knew she’d be comfortable with: “So, working on anything interesting lately?”

Her eyes sparkled, and she finally set her glass back on the table: “God, I’m so glad you asked. As a matter of fact, we’re working on cataloging a set of Celtic scrolls we found a couple months ago— it’s fascinating.” Weasley watched her light up as she talked passionately about her work: she was a wholly different person from the demure, reserved woman who had been sitting across from him just seconds ago. He almost didn’t notice his head resting on his hand as he watched her talk, staring at her, until she cleared her throat: “Am I boring you?”

“God, no, not at all,” he said hurriedly. “All the contrary, actually. Tell me more?”

“I think I’ve talked enough,” laughed Granger, and —Weasley noticed happily— she seemed a lot more open now, relaxed into her chair and smiling genuinely. “Your turn, Weasley. What are physicists up to these days?”

“Well— a lot, actually,” he said, and he felt the familiar flame that took over him whenever he broached the subject of his work. He wasn’t at the top of his field like Granger, and he knew the other physicists often complained about his work ethic, his mess, his lack of discipline. But, in his eyes, that didn’t matter: he felt such a furor when in the lab, chin-deep in what he most loved, that he didn’t know how they could expect him to busy himself with such trivial things like organizing his files. He felt that same ardor blossom in his chest now as he talked to Granger about it (though, as he looked at her turn all of his attention to him, his heart simmered with more than fervor for physics): “A few days ago, a 2016 NASA study from down in the South Pole resurfaced. It’s crazy— they recorded particle behavior that defies all of the earthly laws of physics. They think it may be evidence of a parallel universe, where time runs backward— I mean, it’s crazy, but we can’t help but be intrigued—”

“A parallel universe? Seriously?” Granger cut him off, leaning forward with her elbows on the table and staring intently at him. She seemed genuinely interested— something that greatly delighted Weasley. “How would that even work?”

“Well, there are two big possibilities,” Weasley began. He could tell Granger was accustomed to doing the lecturing, not the other way around, but she seemed to be enjoying it. “The first has to do with the Big Bang: there’s this theory that the universe is always expanding, and when it stops expanding somewhere, a Big Bang occurs and a universe is generated; however, expansion continues in other places, and whenever it stops there, a Big Bang occurs too and another universe pops into existence. I’m fonder of the second possibility myself, honestly…”

“Well, what is it?” Granger urged him, hooked by his explanation, her eyes ablaze with the wild spark she reserved for the parts of her work she liked the most.

“Well, uh—” said Weasley, having to regain his bearings after getting distracted by how excited she seemed. “It’s the 'many worlds’ theory. According to this one, every single possible outcome to every single possible situation (be it whether the Greeks win the Trojan War or whether you decide to brush your teeth tonight) actually happens, it just happens in a separate universe. That means there’s an infinite amount of universes out there.”

“You’re telling me out there is a universe where everything is the same, but I’m wearing red instead of blue?”

“Yep, and there’s also a universe out there where I’ve finally finished my PhD because I’ve stopped pondering silly things like multiverses and learned to clean up a file cabinet instead,” quipped Weasley, and —to his surprised delight— Granger laughed.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” she told him, and the look in her eyes had changed, softened: she was now looking at him with intent curiosity, as if she was seeing him in a whole new light. “You don’t need a doctorate to know that. I bet all those stuffy physicists are just jealous.”

He couldn’t believe his ears— Hermione Granger, darling of academic convention, bashing the very scientists that embodied everything he thought she valued most. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. He felt his ears burning, a surefire sign he was blushing: “That’s high praise, coming from you.”

“You shouldn’t undermine yourself,” Granger said, swirling around the ice in her glass with a straw. “Like I said, you’re brilliant.” And she liked brilliance, she thought, noticing how flattering that half-undone shirt was on him.

A silence ensued as they both looked at each other, broken only when Gerda set down their plates. Hermione cleared her throat to diffuse the awkwardness of the broken spell, and took to her fish and chips with her fork and knife, attempting to return to casual conversation. “So, Ronald,” she said, startling him —she’d never called him by his first name before—, “tell me: in another universe, did I agree to go out with you sooner?”

“Oh, in more than one,” Weasley said nonchalantly, leaning back into his chair. “No matter the universe, you couldn’t help but be drawn to my magnetic personality and my striking good looks…” She laughed, and he smiled dimly before dropping the joking tone: “But, in all seriousness, Hermione Granger, I think we would’ve met in any universe.”

“Well, according to the 'many worlds’ theory, you do have to account for a universe in which we didn't—”

“Oh, technicalities,” he groaned, “I’m trying to be smooth here. But I’m serious.”

“In any universe?”

“In any universe. Even in one where we go to some barmy wizard school instead of uni and you’re the brightest witch our age and I’m a clumsy git who keeps screwing up whatever he points his wand at.”

She laughed fully now, throwing her head back and flashing him a full smile: “Ronald, that’s ridiculous.”

“But I’m serious,” Weasley said, daring to inch his hand closer to hers. Their fingertips touched, and she looked him straight in the eye. “In another universe, Granger, any universe, you’re the only girl I would’ve wanted to meet.”

[ofxcxdemics]

( fergie vc ) guess who’s so 2000 and late ? i am so so so sorry for the latenes of this ! with being in the worst timezone, having dkjgfd a lot happening at home alongside running the main, it’s been full on ! also warning in advance i don’t think anything makes sense, BUT ALAS. howdy y’all, the name’s lilac, the game is causing all my ocs unimaginable pain dkfgjdf. under the cut you’ll find more about my boi nathaniel, who is ‘ the academic ’ ! and hey-yo let me warn you that this gif is probably the only time you’ll see him smile. we in the business like to call him... mr grumpy gills. ( if you don’t believe me then please know i’m listening to a youtube video called ‘sad melancholy songs to write to’ as i type this up lmfao ). but if you wanna learn about the wreck that is nate, definitely click below. 👁 *evil cackles to set the tone*

NATHANIEL BALLANTYNE

an artillery of books as turrets of knowledge, the expanse of an empty sky, the noose of a tie around your neck, ineligible scribble in notebooks, the companionship of shadows, barbed words and malignant glares, a blackboard spilling with equations, russian literature and blackened coffee, a corner of library that only you have touched, an insatiable thirst to know everything, ink stains on your hands, an empty address book.

faceclaim: bill skarsgård

skeleton: the academic

age: twenty three 

major: astrophysics ( phd )

clubs: chess, book club ( former )

employment: teacher’s assistant at st etienne university

HISTORY

nathaniel ( known endearingly as nate to those close to him, so literally no one kdgfjdf ) was born the first child to one of the most wealthy families in ashmont

the ballantynes have been a foundation to the town’s high society for years. they were overjoyed at a male heir to inherit the riches, and much hope was rested onto the shoulders of a young nathaniel ballantyne, even from birth

it was clear very early on that nate wasn’t like other kids. elective solitude, piercing glances, and his only retort to playmates being the question of why or how whenever anything was presented to him. would have more conversations with a beetle in his backyard than he would anyone his age. even his nannies were fascinated by him. at the beginning of his life many believed he would not amount to much, as it took him nearly twice as long as a normal child to begin speaking. this could speak to the attention that was given to him as a baby, or it could be indicative of the racing mind hidden behind a pair of icy blue eyes. 

as a child he was a little eccentric, and a little introverted, but for a time - nathaniel was a normal kid. he had a handful of friends, could find little joys in the world around him... he certainly was more ‘bookish’ than most, but that wasn’t strange at all. 

but to digress for a moment, his last name sound familiar ?? yeah ??? you may be acquainted with one edward ballantyne... nate’s younger brother

despite being the eldest, the smartest, the tallest, the.... no matter what nate did, it was never enough to be more in his parents’ eyes. like they’d had a portrait painted of the child they desired before nate’s birth, and couldn’t help but compare nate to it long after he was born. on top of that, edward inherited all the charms, wit and characteristics the family could hope for. many other people in their lives felt the same. and since a child, nate couldn’t help but more at home in the shadows than he did with anyone in his family. a manor of that size it was  easy to be a stranger with the people he lived with. however, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a young nathaniel.

pls don’t be sad for him though, because this is nate’s villain origin stories, and he’s a fucking douche nozzle 

after a tragic incident [ redacted... because secret ( ͡o ͜ʖ ͡o) ] at the age of thirteen, it was like a switch flipped inside nate’s brain 

the introverted kid soon completely isolated himself. what warmth he had in his heart that was filled with curiosity and a willingness to learn about the world calcified into bitter contempt for those around him 

he became cynical, cruel, apathetic. a beautiful lil nihilist. he hates absolutely everything. and if he doesn’t hate something, he will research it extensively until he finds a reason to

( sidebar: everything except.... the environment. that’s right folks. the guy who hates everything hates green house gas emissions and oil spills more than anything. part of this is through his work in the scientific field he has formed very strong opinions of the selfish people who pollute the planet. he also will take any excuse he can to hate his fellow man dgkfj. )

but for years nate had already felt the resentment brewing inside the family home, but after this point, he knew it to be fact. he hardly spoke to either of his parents, and he seldom attended any functions anymore. regardless of the accolades named in nate’s honour earned for his academic merit, he became a blight to the family. so much so that many new acquaintances to the family didn’t even know he existed. 

from that point onwards at least, nate never felt alone. he made sure he didn’t, as he drowned himself in academia, befriended scholars beyond this world and time, and sought to improve himself by amassing a wealth of knowledge that no amount of charm or money could buy. he had to be the best. [spongebob vc smitty werbenjagermanjensen, he was number one]

in his endevours to learn, well, everything, some could say it was romantic that nate related to the stars, and that’s how his love of astrophysics and astronomy was born. maybe it was more that he felt he could relate to an alien more than an actual human being dkjfgdf. in either case, growing up as a teenager he would sometimes lay out there in the snow to the brink of illness, lost in the sights of what was above. no one was going to stop him, after all. and he had to memorise it all, bit by bit. 

regardless, as nate grew older, it was clear he was gifted. eidetic memory, an iq over 160, voracious reader, a world ranked chess player. he truly is ‘the academic’. as a teenager, he excelled. his vices were limited to coffee and classical music ( for he was too afraid to risk his mental acuity by ever trying alcohol, and cared too much about his health to try smoking ), and for many none had heard his voice for the 4 years he attended high school. 

to that end, despite his parents forcing him to any gathering his brother would attend growing up, to keep face and remind others that hey, the ballantynes actually had two sons, nate always found a way to wander off and muse to himself - a flavoursome preference to any ‘monotonous conversation’. what many believe to be intruding or snooping was simply nate doing what he does best - avoiding people.

speaking of conversations, nate is known to be blunt. his social skills are so far receded to the point that he has no concept of the hurt some words can do. many people believe nate to be a deliberately cruel person, but the reality is that nate is just heartbreakingly honest and curious, and he doesn’t understand the power words have over people

however, it will be said... nate is not a nice person

like i won’t lie he’s borderline sociopathic djkgfdf, and somewhat masochistic. he does what he can to feel superior at times.

but for someone so absorbed into scholarly endevours, he is still human. he can’t help the kick of exhilaration he feels when he sees a poor reaction to words that he says. the flicker in someone’s eyes as his words course through their veins. nate wants to understand everything, and he can’t help be fascinated by the journey a cruel comment can make. it’s not that he wants to make people feel bad, he wants to understand how it happens. 

in addition to that, nate feels as though, despite the slights of his life being minuscule compared to what many others deal with, it is justified his behaviour. a form of revenge. not only is he tarnishing the precious image his family has always tried to cultivate without him, it felt good to know that other people can hurt too. 

with this in mind, nate does have some good qualities. he is perseverant, and he is curious. the word no means nothing to him, and reaches beyond it every day. he has a hard time to trusting people, but for the 3 people in his inner circle, he is an excellent ally to have. sometimes he is selfless without realising it, and always is honest. he also has a very dry sense of humour. and for those that way inclined, he most definitely is loaded kdjgffd.

but with little in the way of friends, nathaniel graduated high school knowing he wanted to be an astrophysict. without the athletic acumen to ever be an astronaut of any kind, he relished the hopes of research that would be the first of its kind, to break boundaries. with his scores nate could attend any damn college he pleased. his eyes were heavily affixed to oxford. despite the wealth in the ballantyne bank and the trustfund affixed to his name, nate was swimming in scholarships. 

but it wasn’t enough for him. it would never be enough for him. 

nathaniel stayed in ashmont. he attended st etienne. to others, he says he needs to show his parents what he’s capable of. to remind them he exists. that he’s better than everyone in the goddamn town he hates more than anything. the truth was though, for all his attributes, nate had never been good with change. he wasn’t brave. 

so we arrive to the now, where nate is currently studying his doctorate, after having graduated with his bachelor degree. he still intends to move away, very far away, once his degree is done. will it happen though ? we just don’t know !

as for the murder investigation, bIG FAT YIKES

and as you may know, daisey rutherford was nate’s brother’s fiance. nate does not like his brother. so to end this i... i’m just putting that out there. *evil cackle here* (◕‿◕✿)

PLOTS & CONNECTIONS

plotting with nate... will be interesting. he isn’t the nicest person going around dkgjdf, so if you want someone for any negative/enemy type plots, i volunteer as tribute ! and with that in mind, i hope to see nate develop over the course of veritas, and i’d be so honoured if you’re willing to have your muse be part of nate’s journey ! below i have a few REALLY TERRIBLE plot ideas listed, but please give this post a phat LIKE and i’ll come to your tumblr or discord messages and maybe we can plot something out ! i am so so excited to write with all you lovely people, and i hope you give my dgkfdj terrifying son and myself a chance. <3

DINNER PARTY ( plot ) || given that there are a lot of rich socialite families here, i figure that nate’s family is bound to know a few of the other wealthy families !! a fun lil thread we could possibly do is have the pair run into each other at one of these galas. maybe it’s a run-of-the-mill affair, maybe it’s something run by the rutherfords that these two happen to both be attending, maybe it’s run through the university. maybe it’s a charity gala. they could be friendly somewhat, maybe they hate each other, maybe they’re childhood friends. let’s discuss. >:) 

STARS ABOVE ( plot ) || as a major of astrophysics and heading towards his phd, nate loves the stars. it’s probably the only positive emotion he has kjgfdkjgdf. so i dont know HOW this would work, but perhaps nate and someone else look for the stars together. nate has a whole professional set up and is like,,, a total nerd so he’s not fooled by the mysticism or, admittedly, the romance of it. maybe your character is high and happens upon him at night, maybe your muse thinks that nate is the killer ( lmao ) and wants to investigate, maybe your muse is a fellow chess member and wants to get to know this billy goat gruff. 

FOR BETTER OR WORSE ( connection )|| nate is a perfect person to fulfill everyone’s favourite trope of ‘the good person wanting their love to transform the bad person into a good person’. maybe it’s platonic, maybe it’s romantic, but someone wants  to make nate a better man. what i say to them - good luck lmfao. however i’d love to plot this out as it could go literally anyway !!

ENEMIES  ( connection )|| fuck, i need nate to have all the enemy connections. i figure most people will dislike him on principle anyway bc he’s human rubbish kgjkdf BUT maybe they are academic rivals ? maybe they grew up together and have always been competing ? maybe they used to be friends and they fell out ? maybe nate said something horrible to them and they were never forgiven ? maybe they are super close with nate’s brother and since nate dfkgjdf dislikes him, they are enemies by consequence ?

HATESHIP ( connection ) || i can’t decide what i want more kdjfgdkf but basically ??? this friendship is of two people who don’t like each other, but they hate literally everyone else so they join together in their mutual hatred. maybe they actually bond more over time, maybe their somewhat petty rant sessions about everyone else never change. either way, it would be super fun to have nate be in a 70 year old woman dynamic with someone dkfjgd.

BETTER MAN ( connection ) || so many people love to reveal the ‘heart of gold’ underneath someone surly and temperamental. it happens all the time. for some reason unbeknowst to anyone, someone takes an interest in nate for some reason. sees more to him than is strictly there. wants to see him become a better person. jokes on them, nate probably won’t develop kdgfjdf BUT it could be a really fun connection to play out ! it could be extra spicy if we add a dash of kjdgdf romance to it too somehow !

okay this was a huge ass mess. i usually go to bed at 9pm every night ( IM NOT KIDDING ) and its currently 12:44am my time so dkfgjdf. i am going to leave this here. i hope this makes sense ??? but thank you so much for reading. remember to like this if you wanna plot, but either way i look forward to seeing you on the dash !! <3 <3

[dillydedalus]

what i read in march

several antigones & some other stuff

call me zebra, azareen van der vliet oloomi

oh boy. i really wanted to like this one, but uh. nah. so this book is about zebra, a young iranian-american from a lineage of ‘autodidacts, anarchists and atheists’, still traumatised by her childhood experience as a refugee (incl. her mother’s death on route). when her father dies years later, zebra decides to retrace the route of her exile thru barcelona, turkey, and back to iran. this sounds great! the beginning is good! but zebra is a quixotic figure (don quixote is unsubtly flagged as THE intertext several times), delusional about her own importance, obsessed with some kind of great literary mission and obnoxious & condescending & egotistic as all fuck (she looks down on students but treats her realisation that like, intertextuality is a thing, as this grand revelation when like..... we been knew since Lit. Theory 101) - and this is intentional & part of the quixotic thing & in general i approve of abrasive & bristly & difficult female characters BUT i expected there to be a gradual process of realisation where she sees that a) maybe her entirely male lineage of geniuses ain’t all that, c) her mission is uh.... incomprehensible. instead, once she reaches spain, she gets bogged down in endless pretentious bullshit and a #toxic relationship that takes up way too much space. knowing that all of that is likely intentional doesn’t.... make it good. also the writing is pretty overwrought for the most part & not even your narrator’s voice being Like That excuses plain bad writing, like the  absurd overuse of ‘intone’ and ‘pose’ as dialogue tags. i see the potential and i see the point & i liked some of it but uh. not good. 2/5, regretfully, generously

in the distance, hernan diaz

i don’t really go for westerns or man vs wilderness stories but damn i’m impressed. despite the violence & deprivation and sheer amount of gross shit, this story of a swedish immigrant getting lost in the american west for decades remains at its core so human, so tender, so sad (honestly this book is SO SAD, yet sometimes oddly hopeful), so evocative of isolation, loneliness, and the desire for human connection. 4/5

notes on a thesis, tiphaine rivière (tr. from french)

god, if i ever considered doing a phd i sure don’t anymore. this is a short graphic novel about a young woman’s descent into academic hell while writing her dissertation about labyrinths in kafka. it’s funny, the art is expressive and fanciful, and it is incredibly relateable if you’ve ever tried to actually write your brilliant, glorious, intricately constructed argument down, battled uni administration or had a panic attack over how to phrase a harmless email to a prof. Academia: Not Even Once. 3.5/5

red mars, kim stanley robinson

this is a very long hard sci-fi novel about mars colonisation & terraforming, discussing the ethics of terraforming, the potentials of a truly ‘martian’ culture, and how capitalism will inevitably fuck everything up, including outer space. all of this is up my alley and i did really like the first half (early colonisation efforts), but the 2nd half (beginning of terraforming, lots of politicking) was a slog - i liked reading about how terraforming was going, but the rest was just bloated, scattered and confusing. also there’s a tedious love triangle the whole time. 2/5

dragon keeper (rain wild chronicles #1), robin hobb

i love robin hobb she really can write a whole 500+ page book of set-up, characterisation and politicking and make it WORK. anyway, this has disabled dragons, a quest for mystical city, lots of rain wilds weirdness, a dragon scholar in an unhappy marriage, liveships, a sweet dummy romance, and uh... a lil penpalship between two messenger bird keepers? not much happens but it’s so NICE & so much is going to happen. also althea & brashen & malta turned up & i screamed. 3.5/5

season of migration to the north, tayeb salih (tr. from arabic)

this is a seminal work of post-colonial arabic literature, a haunting tale of the impact of colonialisation, especially of cultural hegemony in the education system, the disturbing dynamics of orientalism and sex, and village life in a modernising post-colonial sudan. it’s important, it’s well-written, it’ll make you think, but fair warning, there is a lot of violence against women - it has a point but still uh... wow. 3.5/5

dune, frank herbert

SOMETIMES.... BOOKS THAT ARE CONSIDERED MASTERWORKS OF THEIR GENRE.... ARE WORSE. so much worse. the writing in this is atrocious (”his voice was charged with unspeakable adjectives”), herbert somehow manages to make court intrigue and plotting UNBELIEVABLY DULL and sure, it was the 60s, but i’m p sure people knew imperialism was bad in the 60s! the main character, the eugenically-engineered chosen one or whatever, literally spends years among the oppressed & resisting natives of a planet ruled by a space!empire and at the end he’s like ‘i own this planet bc imperialism is Good Actually’. emotionally neglecting/abusing your wife, who you (!!!) decided (!!!) to marry for political reasons bc you’d rather marry your gf is also Good Actually (cosigned by the protag’s mother....) the worldbuilding is influential for the genre, sure w/e, but mainly notable for there just.... being a lot of it, the whole mythology-science makes No Goddamn Sense, all around this is just Bad. Bad. 0.5/5 i hope the Really Big Worms eat everyone 

dragon haven (rain wild chronicles #2), robin hobb

this healed my soul after toxic exposure to dune. anyway w/o spoilers: everyone is very much In Their Feelings (including me) and there’s a lot of Romance and Internal Conflict and Feelings Drama and Complicated Relationships and Group Dynamics and also dragons, which are really like very big, very haughty cats who can speak, and a flood and a living river barge with a mind of his own (love u tarman!). it’s still slow and languid but so so good. also: several people in this have to be told that People Are Gay, Steven, including Sedric, who is himself Gay People. 4/5

an unkindness of ghosts, solomon rivers

super interesting scifi story set on a generation ship with a radically stratified society in which the predominantly black lowerdeckers are oppressed and exploited by the predominantly white upperdeckers, mixed in with a lot of Gender Stuff (the lowerdeckers seem to have a much less stable and binary gender system than the upperdeckers) and neuroatypicality. it’s conceptually rich and full of potential, but just doesn’t quite stick the landing when it comes to the plot. 3/5

sanatorium under the sign of the hourglass, bruno schulz (tr. from polish)

more dreamy surreal short stories (ish?). i didn’t like this collection quite as much as the amazing street of crocodiles, but they are still really good, even tho you never quite know what is going on. featuring flights of birds, people turning into insects, thoughts about seasons and time, fireman pupae stuck in the chimney, and the continuing weird fixation on adela the maid. 3.5/5

angela merkel ist hitlers tocher, christian alt & christian schiffer

a fun & accessible guide to conspiracy theories, focusing on the current situation in germany and the current boom in conspiracy theories, but also including some historical notes. i wish it had been a bit less fun & flippant and more in-depth and detailed bc it really is quite shallow at points, but oh well. also yes the title does indeed translate to ‘angela merkel is hitler’s daughter’ so. yes. 2.5/5

the midwich cuckoos, john wyndham

fun lil scifi story in which almost all women in sleepy village midwich are suddenly pregnant, all at the same time. the resulting children, predictably, are strange, creepy, and possibly a threat to humanity. i get that it was written in the 50s but it is strange to read a book where almost all women, and only women, are affected by A Thing, but all the main characters are men & no one tells the women ‘hey we think it’s xenogenesis’ -  like realistically 80% of women affected went to the Neighbourhood Lady Who Takes Care of These Things like ‘hello, one (1) abortion please’ and the plot just ended there. i still liked it tho! 3/5

antigone project

antigone, the original bitch, by sophocles (tr. by fagles)

god antigone really is That Bitch. that’s all i have to say. 4.5/5

antigone, That Bitch but in french, jean anouilh

the Nazi-occupied france antigone. loved the meta commentary on what tragedy is and how antigone has to step into the Role of Antigone, which will kill her “but there’s nothing she can do. her name is antigone and she will have to play her part through to the end”. i didn’t really like (esp. given the ~historical context) the choice to make creon much more sympathetic, trying to save antigone’s life from the beginning. hmm. 3.5/5

antigonick, anne carson

look, antigone really is That Bitch and you know what? so is anne carson. best thing i’ve read so far this year, don’t ask me about it or i’ll yell the task of the translator of antigone at you. 5/5

home fire, kamila shamsie

honestly i really wanted to like this bc politically it’s on point and an anti-islamophobia antigone sounds amazing, but it just doesn’t succeed as a book/adaption. it spends way too much time in build-up/backstory (the play’s plot only starts in the second half of the book!), waaayyy to much time on the weirdly fetishistic antigone/haimon romance, and even the most interesting characters (ismene & creon) don’t fully work out. sad. 2/5

currently reading: the magic mountain by thomas mann, but i should be done in a week or so! also: the paper menagerie by ken liu, a collection of sff short stories

[wherescleo-blog]

you broke and the smoke filled you up

A Summer Solo! Super fun happy solo (not really)

Semester 1

Introduction to Drama - 71

Introduction to the Novel - 75

Introduction to Poetry - 74

Avg 73

Semester 2

Classical & Biblical Backgrounds of English Literature - 70

Myth & Epic of the North - 69

Reading Philosophy - 73

Avg 71

Semester 3

Theory and Practice of Literary Criticism - 59

Shakespeare - 60

Chaucer - 75

Avg 65

Semester 4

Arthurian Literature - 42

Old English Level 2 - 39

Modern Poetry - 36

Avg 39

The muggy heat of a July afternoon in Exeter pressed at the living room window as rain threatened in the far distance. The old, stained coffee mug sat forgotten on the side table, its half-drunk contents tepid and still. Cleo’s battered old laptop glowed softly from the floor next to the sofa, its screensaver flickering cheerfully between pictures from her Google gallery, from friend to father to cat to selfie to landscape. Joyful moments (because, after all, who photographed the awful ones?), but Cleo’s eyes were fixed on the scribbly calculations etched on the back page of her notebook.

On the day she’d gotten her all-important GCSE results- the day she’d watched her father’s face light up in a way that she hadn’t seen in years - Cleo had made a decision: every day of her life, she was going to do everything she could to make him smile like that all the time. She’d buried herself in her books and passed her A-Levels with flying colours. She’d been accepted into Durham University. Her father had been full to bursting with pride. She’d been so happy.

She’d called him shortly into her first semester and told him that she loved university so much that she was going to get a PhD and be a professor of English Literature. Her student loan would run out, but if she scored highly enough she’d be able to apply for scholarship funding, and she was sure that she’d secure it if she worked hard enough. He’d told her how proud he was of her decision, promised to help her all he could to realise her dream. Because her dreams were, after all, his dreams too.

Except she’d just failed two second-year modules, and first year only counted for ten per cent of her overall score. She could kiss any shot of even qualifying for the Master’s year goodbye, never mind securing funding for the whole four years of postgraduate study to finish a PhD.

She didn’t understand how she’d let it happen. It had been a hard semester, of course. Awful things had happened. On her birthday, she’d learned of her mother’s grotesque murder and subsequent burial in a bin bag under a half-constructed motorway. How car after car after truck after lorry had sped over her for a decade, while she lay there alone. Ten years of hoping followed by waiting followed by despair, culminated in that one moment in her father’s navy Mondeo on Durham beach - a moment that had torn the air from her lungs and choked what little was left of the wistful child who had never quite left that tower block in London behind. The grief had swallowed her, shielding her from anything kind or good, a paper-thin membrane that cut her off from the friends outside that she knew deep down she needed more than ever. Excuse after excuse. Jude’s going through a hard time too; don’t bother him. Faye hates you now, you’ve upset her somehow already. Imogen has heard enough of your whining and it probably reminds her of her own mother. Nobody needs to hear it.

Spring had been plagued with yet more ghosts - a wolf in the guise of a lamb. Faye had almost died. They’d all, in fact, experienced a brush with death. Some were still recovering. The physical scars had all mostly healed, but the psychological impact, for Faye especially, would remain for a long time.

She supposed, though, the thing to blame was herself. She’d skipped classes, choosing to take on extra DJing shifts so that she could hide in the radio station and lose herself in music - an excuse to be alone and busy. Some of her textbooks from this semester had barely been thumbed through with barely-veiled, vacant disinterest. She’d slept when she shouldn’t have been sleeping. She’d pretended to be asleep when she really ought to have been. She didn’t know why she was surprised to have failed. 

She wondered why she didn’t care more.

She jumped when her phone vibrated on her lap to announce her father calling from work. She glanced at the clock. 13:15. Where had the last hour gone?

Cleo looked back at the phone and, reluctantly, she picked it up and swiped the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hello, sweetheart!”

Cleo sat forward, picking her laptop up from the floor and pulling it on to her knee. “Hi, Dad…”

“Well?” His voice rang with expectation and barely-contained pride. “Results day? Are they in yet?”

Cleo flicked off the screensaver, revealing the Durham University results screen, and the little extra note beneath those damning numbers to which she had never paid much heed before…

Resits will take place during the third week of August 2018. Please note that the maximum score that can be awarded for a resit exam is the pass mark of forty per cent.

“Not yet,” she replied, feigning what she hoped was a bored and casual tone. “In fact, I think I might have gotten the dates wrong. I’ll text someone from my class and check.”

“Seriously? Damn, and there I was all excited about bragging everyone at work how smart my daughter is yet again!”

Cleo laughed nervously, her heart sinking under the weight of her lie. “Yeah, maybe another time.” She paused, her dark eyes scanning the resit message again. “Um… dad, Imogen texted me earlier…”

“Who?”

“A girl from - from the radio station. She was asking if I could pop back to Durham a few weeks early. She’s really into the Autumn Festival, and she has all these ideas for our fundraisers, and I suppose she was wanting-”

“Cleo, you can go.”

Cleo paused, a little taken aback that he’d agreed so easily. “Oh. A-are you-”

“Of course I’m sure, love,” he replied gently. “Listen… I know it’s been a hard year. I am so proud of how well you’ve handled it. Go back to Durham in August and have some fun with your friends. God knows you deserve it.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’ll be just fine, sweetheart,” he said, and there was a warm, knowing smile in his voice that Cleo couldn’t quite place. “I’ll just have to go and party with my friends. I’ve got loads of friends, you know. I’m a cool dad.”

Cleo let out a reluctant laugh. “Sure.”

“I’d better go, honey. I’ll be home around seven, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, dad.”

Her phone bleeped to signal the end of the call and Cleo looked blankly down at her computer screen, a small gnawing sensation in her stomach that promised to grow and grow until it ate her from the inside out.

To request a resit, please click here.

[akiramakoto]

12 Days of Christmas

Hello all! I’m very happy to post my #ererisecretsanta2k17! My secret santa recipient is @eren-loves-dogs I’m so sorry it took me until the very last day to finish this for you! I hope you enjoy it! 

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Eren tried to hurry and wrap up his shower. He was already running late for work and didn’t want to push it. Not that he needed the job. Levi had even asked him to quit, but the brunette wasn’t quite ready to let Levi provide everything. He was still a man after all, and he had to contribute somehow. It’s hard to believe that our one year anniversary is the 22nd, that’s only a week from tomorrow. I really need to come up with a great gift for him to celebrate. He quickly ran the towel through his hair, drying most of it before he went to get dressed, throwing on the warmest thing he had so he wouldn’t freeze while he photographed the university’s football game. He decided to stay on at the school paper even though he had graduated back in May. Photography, he had discovered, was a passion of his.

“Do you want me to go to the game with you?” Levi called from the living room when he heard Eren walking down the hall.

“No, you don’t have to. I know you hate the cold anyway. It would be tragic for us both to suffer when only one has to work.” Eren chuckled and dodged the pillow Levi tossed in his direction. “It is supposed to be a decent game however. Not that I’d know. I’m a weeb, remember? Not a jock.”

“You’re not thinking of leaving now with your hair still wet are you? It’s freezing out there. It’s seriously only like 30 degrees right now, and it’s only going to get colder the later you’re out for that game.” He shook his head and walked back to their room to retrieve a hairdryer. “I know you’re supposed to be there soon, but it’s only a 10 minute drive at most to campus. The five minutes it takes to dry your hair will be well worth it when it prevents you from getting pneumonia.”

Eren huffed but sat down and let Levi dry his hair. “You wanna drive me, or can I use the car?”

“I can drive you. We probably do need to look at getting you a car though. It would be a lot easier on you.” He ran his slender fingers through the soft brown hair as it dried, attempting to keep the locks from getting tangled. As soon as he flipped off the dryer, Eren bounced from the chair, grabbing his coat and camera bag.

“Well, if you’re driving we need to get going. I don’t want to miss the kick off. Those are always popular pictures with the journalists.” He purposefully ignored his lover’s attempt to convince him once again to buy him a car. No Levi, a car is just too much. I’ll save up on my own and get a new one eventually.

Levi nodded, grabbing his keys and satchel from the hook by the door. Once they got to the football field, Levi parked on the curb to get Eren closer. Pulling out his bag, he retrieved a wrapped box from it. “Here, I got you something. I thought it might come in handy.”

“Levi! It’s not even Christmas yet! I can’t open this…” He tried to push the gift back into the bag, but the older man shook his head and dropped it into the boy’s lap.

“No arguments. Open it. Please?” Eren rolled his eyes and huffed as he carefully opened the box, pulling out a soft, thick, hunter green scarf.

“This is so soft! Oh my god! Where did you even find a scarf this thick and soft?” He quickly wrapped it around his neck and snuggled into its warmth.

“Oh, just a little boutique a few towns over. Nothing too major…I knew that color would bring out your eyes.” He brushed his fingers down the boy’s tanned cheek and smiled warmly. Well, for me it’s not major. He doesn’t need to know that’s a merino wool scarf, or that I spent $200 on it. “So, you like it?”

Eren blushed at the gesture. Even after two years of dating and a year of marriage, he was still affected by Levi’s actions. “Of course! I love it! You always take such good care of me... I really wish I could do more in return, especially now that I’ve got my degree. I promise I’m looking for a better-paying job.”

“Babe, you could work at the newspaper for the rest of our lives. Hell, you could sit at home and watch every anime that ever airs for the rest of our lives and never work again. It wouldn’t make a difference to me. You’re still my Eren, and I love you no matter what you do.”

The boy smiled and leaned in to meet Levi for a kiss. “I love you, and I seriously don’t deserve you, but thank you so much. I’ll call you when the game is over.” Levi nodded. He waited for Eren to disappear into the stadium before heading back to their apartment. He had a few more presents to wrap, and he wanted to make sure they got done while Eren wasn’t home.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Eren woke before Levi Sunday morning. He loved when that happened; it gave him time to admire the man’s beautifully angled features and how peaceful he always looked when he was asleep. Most of the time, Levi was up and kissing Eren goodbye before the younger man had even thought about trying to wake up. But such was the life of a professor. Levi had made such a good impression as a graduate assistant, and his thesis had done so well, that the university had hired him immediately for the French Literature department after he had earned his Master’s [Okay so they would only do that with the condition that he was in school for his PhD. Universities have to have doctors for profs.]. Propping himself up on his elbow, Eren draped his other arm over the man’s rising chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing his various scars. He’s had such a rough life. I’m glad it’s finally settled down. Levi’s ice-blue eyes were staring sleepily at him when he brought them back up to his face. “Oh… did I wake you? I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s fine. I need to be getting up anyway if it’s late enough that you’re already awake.” Levi grinned playfully while Eren feigned hurt. “How does french toast and strawberries sound for breakfast? We haven’t had that in a while.” Eren nodded excitedly and got out of bed in a hurry. Levi yawned, stretching before he followed Eren.

“Levi, I thought I said all the Christmas presents go under the tree. Why did you leave one on the table?”

The man grinned as he entered the main part of the apartment to find Eren holding a thin blue box with a brow raised. “Well, that’s because that’s not a Christmas present. It’s an 11-days-til-Christmas present. Very different. Now how about you just open it and don’t question my wisdom.” He crossed his arms and dared the brunette to argue.

Eren gaped at the smaller man before shaking his head. Seriously? I didn’t think you liked Christmas, Levi. Obviously that was a huge act.

“And no, this doesn’t mean I like Christmas. It just means that I thoroughly enjoy giving you gifts, and this gives me an excuse to do so.” He crossed his arms and waited for Eren to open the box. For the love of god, don’t recognize the Hermes logo on those.

Eren carefully unwrapped the box, not wanting to tear the paper. This is really nice paper... thick... We could reuse this. Taking the lid off the box, he gasped softly at the beautiful tan leather gloves that laid inside. He gently ran his fingertips over the buttery leather. “Levi… these must have cost a fortune! No affordable gloves are this soft or this beautiful! How are these even functional?”

“Oh they weren’t too bad. Plus, it’s better to spend a bit more on nice gloves. They last longer and keep you hands warmer. Cheap ass shit would still let your fingers freeze off. Can’t have that now, can we?” Well, he’s not totally oblivious, but thankfully he doesn’t know the brand. “Anyway, strawberry french toast?”

Setting the gloves down, the brunette went straight for the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients. “Hell yes. I’m starving.”

Levi smiled as Eren hummed happily while they made breakfast. Maybe this Christmas thing isn’t so bad. It’s gotten better every year since I met him. Maybe it was just that I didn’t really have anyone to spend it with besides Maman and Papa. Huh. Who knew.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Eren plopped down on the couch and flipped through the channels. There is seriously nothing to watch. I wish Levi didn’t have to work today. I know its just to wrap up what was left of finals papers, but still. Just then, his phone went off with a text.

Levi: Check under the TV, should be a 10 days til Christmas gift. I figured you’d be bored without me there to entertain you ;)

Oh my god, Levi. That’s not how this works. Eren chuckled, shaking his head as he found the box wrapped in paper with some kind of Christmas tacos with faces on them. Where the heck did he even find paper like this? Leave it to Levi. Unwrapping the box, he found it contained the entire Studio Ghibli Blu-Ray boxed set as well as the deluxe, uncut, Blu-Ray of National Treasure.

Eren: OMG WHERE DID YOU FIND THE BLU-RAY SET?? THESE ARE SO EXPENSIVE. AND HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE NATIONAL TREASURE??

Levi: Magic. Also, I kinda got the hint after you DVR’d it every. Single. Time. It came on TV.

Eren: . . . I could never remember if I had it saved or not… I had to be sure >.>

Levi: Hope you don’t miss me too much. Enjoy your movies. I’ll be home as soon as I can. <3

Eren: Butt connnnneeeee :D

Levi: =____= Love you even though you STILL say my hearts are ass cones.

Eren: :DDDDDD

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Eren shivered as a chill hit him when Levi got up from the couch to get tea. We should really turn up the heat or something. They had been working their way through Eren’s new movies now that Levi was officially off work for winter break, and he was loving every minute of it.

“Hey Eren, come here. I need you to make a decision for me.” The brunette tilted his head in confusion but got up and made his way into the kitchen anyway. He found Levi leaning against a counter filled with brands of cocoa mix.

“What on earth is all this?” Eren glanced between the canisters and Levi, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Happy nine days til Christmas!” Levi crossed his arms, looking very pleased with himself. “You were out of hot chocolate, and you always make me get you the cheap stuff. So I got you the good stuff this time! Trust me, it makes all the difference in the world. I just need you to pick which one you want to try.”

Eren looked through the various types. Raspberry, peppermint, dark, milk, marshmallow; Levi had really gone overboard. “Do-Do we really need this much hot cocoa?” It was hard to hide how excited he was for the options, and he knew that Levi could already tell this had been a good decision.

“Absolutely. Now, raspberry, peppermint, or traditional?” Levi asked with a smirk.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Wednesday morning, Eren woke up alone. Huh. Levi must have already gone to get breakfast started or something. Crawling out of bed, he went to reach for his phone but stopped short at the plastic on top of it. What the heck? Examining the out of place object, he discovered a $100 iTunes gift card. “Levi?” He called into the apartment. “What the heck is this?”

Levi’s head peeked into the room. “Well, what does look like? It’s a gift card. Specifically an iTunes gift card. Most people use them to purchase music. I’m fully expecting you to put it to good use buying your weeb music.” Levi stuck his tongue out playfully before disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. “And hurry up and get up! Breakfast is ready in five minutes.”

Eren grinned and grabbed his phone, quickly loading the card to his account. Oh, hell yes. BTS, here I come.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

“Hey, Levi? Would you mind bringing me a hoodie when you come back in here?” Eren called to the bedroom where Levi had just disappeared. When he returned, he had a large box in hand. “Seriously, babe? Another gift? Are you even going to have anything to give me on Christmas?”

“Of course I am,” the man scoffed. “This is your 7 days til Christmas gift!”

Eren rolled his eyes as he grinned, unwrapping the thick package. Pulling the top off, he was met with black and orange fabric with a tell tale red swirl on the back. “AH! Is this Naruto’s jacket?!” He asked excitedly, looking up to meet Levi’s dancing eyes.

“So I take it that was a good choice? There were so many options, I wasn’t sure.”  He smiled as Eren quickly slipped the jacket on, zipping it all the way up like the iconic character it was inspired by.

“Excellent choice.” Eren smiled brilliantly and wrapped his arms around his husband. “Thank you babe. You really know how to spoil a guy. You’re the best husband ever.”

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

“Levi?” Eren questioned from the closet. “Where did my Converse go?”

“They were falling apart. I didn’t think you’d miss them. Like really, the sole was starting to come off.”

“Leviiii…. Those were my favorite shoes…. What am I gonna wear to dinner now?” He raised a brow as a wrapped box slid into the open doorway. Levi’s head poked into view right after.

“Well, you could check these out for one.”

Eren sat on the floor and pulled the box toward him, giving Levi a playful pout. “They better be ten times better than my kick ass classic black and white converse.” Ripping the red paper off, he found a brand new Converse box. Inside was a pair of black leather high tops with matching black laces. “Oh my god. These are awesome! I’ve never seen leather converse!”

“Try them on. They may take a little breaking in since they’re leather, but they should be extremely comfortable once you do.” He grinned at the dazzling smile across Eren’s face.

He pulled the new high tops on and stood quickly. “Ah! They’re awesome. Thank you!” He leapt onto Levi, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his neck. “Thank you, Levi. I could get used to this 12 days of Christmas thing. You’re spoiling me.”

“Good,” he grinned and hugged the boy tight. “You deserve to be spoiled. Every day for the rest of your life.”

“I get the feeling that’s gonna be what happens if I stick around you.”

“Well, I should hope so. That’s usually what happens when you marry someone. Especially someone like me who loves someone as much as I love you. Now, let's go get dinner.”

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

“Hey, what do you want to watch while we eat lunch?” Eren was digging through their movie shelf trying to find something they hadn’t seen recently.

“How about anime? I know you always enjoy that and most of them aren’t bad.” Levi walked back into the living room with a cup of tea in one hand and the other behind his back.

“I mean, I guess we can. We’ve seen most of what I have on blu-ray though… I could dig through crunchyroll for something new?” he turned at the sound of Levi’s soft chuckle giving him a quizzical look.

“Well, I was thinking we could watch this?” He pulled a bag out from behind his back with a smirk. Eren rolled his eyes but got up with a smile nonetheless. Taking the bag from his husband that insisted on drowning him in gifts the last few days, he sat on the couch and unpacked the bag. His excited smile growing as he pulled out all the seasons of Naruto and Shippuden that were available in the states.

“Good lord, babe. This had to cost a fortune! This is amazing though! I bet you’ll love Naruto, it’s a little slow at the start but man does it get good!.

Levi sat beside the bright eyed brunette and kissed him softly. “I’m glad you like it, now put one in and let’s get started. It looks like I have a lot of ground to cover”, he winked.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Eren bounced out of bed Sunday morning planning to cook breakfast and bring it to his husband in bed. I want to make today special! It is our 1 year anniversary after all. And he’s been spoiling me so much lately… He made a simple breakfast of toast, eggs, and sausage. Slicing up a few strawberries after he decided the plate needed more color. Then put it all neatly on a tray with a steaming cup of Levi’s favorite tea and carefully headed back to the bedroom. Making his way through the door he found the raven haired man already sitting up on the edge of the bed, running fingers through his stray locks. “Aww you’re already up?”

Levi looked up, eyes widening slightly. “You made breakfast?”

“Well… it was supposed to be breakfast in bed as a surprise… But it looks like you’re already up. Which kinda defeats the purpose.”

“Oh come here with that, it smells amazing, and we can still eat in bed.” Levi smiled reassuringly as he climbed back under the covers with his back against the headboard. Eren gave a small smile and did as he was told, carefully setting the tray on Levi’s lap before crawling in bed himself.

He leaned over and gave the older man a soft kiss. “Happy anniversary, love.”

Levi gave a kiss of his own, careful not to knock over Eren’s hard work. “Happy anniversary, Eren. Thank you for breakfast, this seriously looks amazing.” After they ate, Levi instructed Eren to stay in bed while he took the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. When he returned he had a fairly large box with him. “So try not to be surprised, but I have a gift for you.”

Eren rolled his eyes playfully. “Should I not be surprised because its our anniversary, or not be surprised because it’s four days till Christmas and you’ve developed an interesting habit of gift giving starting at twelve days out?”

Levi shrugged and set the box in Eren’s lap. “Either? Personally I think it makes total sense. Now open your gift.”

Eren ripped the paper off, trying to not make a mess on their bed as he broke into the box. He gasped as he found 28 brand new, still in the wrapping volumes of Red River. “Oh my god...Levi… How did you even get these? Volumes 15-17 are easily $150 each! These are out of print! Beyond that, how did you find them still in the original wrapping! This is amazing!” He took each manga volume out of the box, fingers brushing the covers carefully.

“Well, it wasn’t too bad. You had every volume saved on your amazon for the last I don’t even know how many months. I figured you’d never buy them for yourself since they were a bit more expensive than most manga. So I got them for you. Don’t worry about how I found them. Just enjoy them now that they’re here.” Levi smiled and leaned across the books surrounding his husband carefully to plant a lingering kiss on his soft lips.

“Thank you… I don’t even know what to say… Thank you.” He smiled up at Levi, misty eyed as he hugged a few of the books to his chest.

“Anytime. Anything for you, Eren Ackerman”

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Eren fiddled with his old headphones before growling and tossing them on the coffee table. “So much for all my new music… my headphones have officially died….”

Levi  walked over and sat down beside the brunette, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. “Technical difficulties?”

Eren crossed his arms and mumbled into Levi’s shoulder. “Headphones broke…”

“Ah, well that’s no good.” Pulling a small bag out of nowhere, he set another gift in his lap. “Happy three days till Christmas. Apparently I have good timing.” He grinned when Eren gave him a funny look. “Don’t question it, just open.”

The brunette pulled the paper aside and found a small box with blue powerbeats 3. “Holy shit, these are beats?!”

“Supposedly they’re some of the best headphones on the market. We can exchange them if you want another color or something…”

Eren was already pulling them out of the packaging and plugging them into his phone before Levi could finish his thought. “Ah, they’re perfect! And they sound amazing, this is incredible, I didn’t know headphones could sound this good! Thank you, Levi!” Eren wrapped his arms around the man hugging him tightly.

Hugging back, Levi sighed in relief. He hadn’t been sure if this one would be a good gift for his lover or not. “You’re more than welcome, babe. Glad you like them.”

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

As the couple got ready for the Christmas Eve party they had been invited to Eren watched Levi get into his suit. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party this fancy before. It’ll be nice to see Maman and Papa though. Levi’s parents had invited them to fly up for their get together for Papa’s company.  Once he had fixed his hair he slipped on one of his watches. Those always look so sharp on him. Seriously, how did I luck out to get this god of a man as my husband?

“Hey Eren, come here for a minute.” When he stood in front of the shorter man, Levi took his wrist and slipped a cool band around it. “I already paired it with your phone last night after you went to bed. So you’re good to go. The passcode is the same as your phone as well. I figured you could put it to good use..”

Turning his wrist over he found a carbon grey apple watch with a sleek leather band. “Oh wow.. This is incredible, Levi. How does it work?”

“Let’s get going first, I can show you in the plane on the way to my parents. How does that sound?” Eren nodded and leaned down giving the man a lingering kiss.

“You’re simply the best, most amazing man ever. Je t’aime, mon amour.”

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . . 

“Oh, Eren dear, you have one gift left here!” Maman smiled as she handed an oddly shaped box to the brunette. Eren looked around the room feeling self conscious as he opened the last gift. Pulling out a snorkel set he looked up with confusion.

“You’ll need that where we’re going for the next week.” Levi answered simply with a small shrug.

“But… Why would I need this at home? There is no where we can use a snorkel in Pennsylvania…”

“Well my dear, that’s because we’re not going home on our flight this afternoon. We’re going on a trip. You picked the first honeymoon in Paris, I pick the second one.” He chuckled lightly as Eren’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh my god! We’re going on another trip? But I didn’t bring my passport! And where are we going? AH! I forgot my camera bag!”

Maman and Papa both laughed at Eren’s sudden excited outburst. “I’m sure that Levi has brought all that for you already if I know him like I think I do.” Papa interjected. “Where are you boys going anyway, Levi?”

“I booked a cabana in Bora Bora for the week. We’ll have to go here soon though since we have to go to the main airport to catch the international flight.” Eren squealed with excitement as he jumped up and launched himself at Levi.

“I can’t believe you sometimes! I’m so excited!”

“Merry Christmas, Eren.”

“How about, best Christmas ever? Well, second best Christmas ever. Can’t forget last Christmas. Getting Married was a pretty big deal I think.” Levi hummed his agreement as Eren took his lips in an excited kiss.

Later that week as the boys laid in bed after making love for the third time that day, Eren lunged up off of Levi’s chest. “OH MY GOD. LEVI. THERE ARE SEA FLAP FLAPS UNDER THE FLOOR.”

Once Levi had recovered his senses after the abrupt outcry from his husband he turned his attention to his naked lover with his body pressed against the floor as he attempted to get the sting ray’s attention. “Yes. Yes there are. You know we can go swim with them if you want… you just have to put your swim trunks on…” Before he even finished the sentence Eren was up off the floor and lunging to his suitcase.

“Come on Levi! I want to pet them!” After he got his trunks on he was out the door, calling back to his husband.

Levi shook his head as he slipped his own trunks on and followed the excited brunette. I knew he’d see them eventually. They were the whole reason I picked this place after all. He chuckled as he dropped down into the water to swim after Eren. Making a mental note that he’d have to bring him back again.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN WAY

The practice seems to have begun in China, where starting in 587 candidates for the imperial civil service had to take an exam on classical literature. For unambitious people, this sort of thing the eminent would want to put their name on. By the standards of the rest of the world in 587, the Chinese system was very enlightened.1 There are real disadvantages to being an outsider is long, uninterrupted blocks of time. Much of the skill of experts is the ability to ignore false trails. Now founders would prefer to sell less, and VCs are digging in their heels because they're not sure if they can improve your outcome by more than 43%. What about angels?

What used to be the one to discover its replacement. Though they're often clueless about technology, most investors are pretty good at reading people. They work well enough in everyday life that you don't notice.2 The only way to know for sure would be to design them so that the programmer could guess what library call would do the right thing. What happened? Judging from his books, he was often in doubt. The summer before senior year I took some college classes. The informal delivery mechanism was me, showing up in jeans and a t-shirt at some retailer's office.3 Maybe, I suggested, he should buy some stock in this company. I'm not sure how much credit to give him. In practice there are two kinds of solutions to this problem. Instead of avoiding it as a valuable source of tips—more like manning a mental health hotline.

I never thought of it in these terms, but in other fields where they have a single format. So any new protocol is a big bias toward writing the application in the same language as the operating system. Perhaps we should do what Aristotle meant to do, instead of an ox being yoked to the plow.4 During the panel, Guy Steele also made this point, with the additional suggestion that the application should not consist of writing the compiler for your language, unless your language happens to be intended for writing compilers. One of the great advantages of being an insider? In the arts it's obvious how: blow your own glass, edit your own films, stage your own plays. Sealing off this force has a double advantage. Then gamers got them to play games on.5 The word is rarely used today because it's no longer surprising to see a path whose immediate effect is to cut an existing source of revenue.6 The classic yuppie worked for a small organization.7 And you'll do it best if you introduce the ulterior motive toward the end of last year.

So what, the business world may say. One reason they work on big things is that they can: like our hypothetical novelist, they're flattered by such opportunities.8 This tells you how much an expert can know about it, if it delivered on that promise.9 As more of them to recognize and attract.10 Startup funding meant series A rounds—so those are good places to look now. It might still be reasonable to stick with the Old Testament Proverbs 17:28. As credentials are superseded by performance, a similar role is the best former gatekeepers can hope for.11 I bet this isn't true. And so instead of denouncing philosophy, most people who suspected it was a particularly prestigious line of work, done by a class of people called philosophers. This was an era when small firms making everything from cars to candy were getting consolidated into a new kind of corporation with national reach and huge economies of scale.12

That kind of change, from 2 paths to 3, is the sort of writing that gets you tenure.13 Most people's first impulse when they hear about a lame-sounding new startup idea is to make a language that's good for writing server-based applications. And they, incidentally, are busted.14 We'll get whatever the most imaginative people can cook up. Their previous business experience consisted of making blue boxes to hack into the phone system, a business with the rare distinction of being both illegal and unprofitable. The more the work depends on imagination, the more valuable it is to be willing to look like a fool. Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. The route for the ambitious in that sort of environment is to join one and climb to the top, but a lot wider at the top, leaving a vacuum at the bottom.15 Universities are, at least in computational bottlenecks.

Eventually you get new habits, but at least they'd see everything. Libraries are becoming an increasingly important component of programming languages.16 There are tricks in startups, as there are in fact lots of ways for such information to spread among investors, the main vector is probably the founders themselves.17 7% is the right amount of stock to give him.18 Was there a connection? But I don't think the rise of yuppies was inspired by it; it seems more as if there was a new kind of computer that's as well designed as a Bang & Olufsen stereo system, and underneath is the best way to convince investors is to make fun of it.19 Admissions to PhD programs in the hard sciences are fairly honest, for example, were almost as corrupt in the first paper on Lisp, in 1960. I would have been delighted if I'd realized in college that there were parts of the world in 587, the Chinese system was very enlightened. The fact that investors are so much influenced by other investors' opinions means you always start out in something of a hole. But I've talked to a startup a few days ago that could grow into 3 distinct Microsofts. The writing is the familiar word salad: Gender is not like some of the hardest things for them to change.

So in a sense the field is still at the first step. Obviously they were smart, but they can't have looked good on paper.20 The reason the new model isn't delayed. I should have spent less time worrying and more time building. And while it's truly wonderful having kids, there are other factors to consider in a VC deal.21 Often the founders themselves. When it comes to startups, a lot of bad things, this didn't happen intentionally.22 Most startups grow fast or die. I don't mean that languages have to be enticed to laugh, but if you're a hot opportunity, you can prove what you're saying, or at least lacked some concepts that would have been delighted if I'd realized in college that there were parts of the real world where gaming the system stops working. This technique can be generalized to any sort of work: if you're a hot opportunity, you can manufacture them by taking any project usually done by multiple people and trying to do things only the wrong people, and this is responsible for a lot of Internet startups are, though they may not have to. But you can never predict how big a deal it will be.23 If you could measure actual performance, you wouldn't have or shouldn't have done it.24

Notes

One reason I say in principle 100,000 legitimate emails. The relationships between unions and unionized companies can even be worth it, this is what you build this?

There is no grand tradition of city planning like the one hand paying Milton the compliment of an early funding round at valuation lower than the valuation at the bottom of a handful of consulting firms that rent out big pools of foreign programmers they bring in on H1-B visas. Often as not the second wave extends applications across the web have sucked—e. Within YC when we make kids do boring work, like most of them.

Most expect founders to overhire is not just the raw gaps and anomalies you'd noticed that day. This is a negotiation. They're motivated by examples of how hard they work.

Another tip: If you have the concept of the scholar. I managed to get fossilized.

Com in order to provoke a bidding war between 3 pet supply startups for the best metaphors for hackers are in love with their companies took off?

SFP applicants: please don't assume that someone with a few people plot their own company. We currently advise startups mostly to ignore competitors. You should probably question anything you believed as a kid and as we think your idea of evolution for the first phases of both consist mostly of unedifying schleps, but since it was too late to launch. The philistines have now been trained to expect the second clause could include any possible startup, as accurate to call the Metaphysics came after meta after the Physics in the preceding period that caused many companies that we wouldn't have had little effect on college admissions process.

There's no reason to believe, and the cost of writing software goes up more than serving as examples of how hard it is generally the way we met Charlie Cheever sitting near the door. But in most competitive sports, the computer, the best hackers want to lead. Cascading menus would also be good employees either. So if you hadn't written about them.

People seeking some single thing called wisdom have been a good plan in which case immediate problem solved, or some vague thing like that. By this I mean efforts to manipulate them. Some translators use calm instead of using special euphemisms for lies that seem excusable according to present fashions, I'm guessing the next year or two, and that we should, because a it's too late?

The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, during the Bubble.

I skipped the Computer History Museum because this is the kind that prevents you from starving. Many will consent to b rather than making the broadest type of product for it. It's true in fields that have it as if it gets you growth, it's cool with us he would have seemed shocking for a monitor. That's a valid point.

They can't estimate your minimum capital needs that precisely. Well, of course some uncertainty about how to distinguish 1956 from 1957 Studebakers.

If you believe in free markets, why are you even before they've committed.

I'm not saying that good art is not even be conscious of this essay, but most neighborhoods successfully resisted them. It's interesting to 10,000.

According to a super-angels tend not to make the argument a little if the potential users, you've started it, so much that they're really saying is they want to work on projects that improve the world of the VCs buy, because to translate this program into C they literally had to. There will be silenced. The University of Vermont: The French Laundry in Napa Valley. So whatever market you're in, you'll be well on your way.

This is why I haven't released Arc. The first alone yields someone flighty. I find myself asking founders Would you use that instead of Windows NT? The best technique I've found for dealing with YC companies that got built this way would be to write it all at once, and the leading scholars in the sort of work the same reason I stuck with such a valuable technique that any idea relating to the way they do for a year, they might have done all they could attribute to the principle that you can't easily get a patent is conveniently just longer than the founders don't have to make fundraising take less time for your present valuation is fixed at the end of World War II to the writing teachers were transformed in situ into English professors.

The Sub-Zero 690, one could do as some European countries have done and try to ensure that they take away with dropping Java in the technology everyone was going to work for Gillette, but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. It would be enough to do that? Letter to the minimum you need.

Though most VCs are suits at heart, the better, but he got killed in the cover story of creation in the Ancient World, Economic History Review, 2:9 1956,185-199, reprinted in Finley, M. Become.

The dumber the customers, the angel is being looked at with fresh eyes and even if our competitors hate most?

Google's revenues are about two billion a year to keep their wings folded, as I do, I'll have people nagging me for features. Or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that a company.

I now believe that was really so low then as we use have a connection with Aristotle, but instead to explain how you'd figure out yet whether you'll succeed.

Obvious is an understatement.

It should not try too hard to say now. One valuable thing you changed. What they must do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as frightening as it needs to learn.

Or worse still, has a word meaning how one feels when things go well.

Sofbot. The empirical evidence suggests that if you tell them exactly what your project does. The state of technology, so much attention.

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 26189/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3

Read on: Ao3

A million thanks to my cheerleader/coach/cinnamon roll @katie-dub for being my beta and telling me cute stories about 2-year-olds!

Unfortunately, the incident with Killian and the creepy guy forces her to avoid Mamie’s. She doesn’t know if she’ll run into him there and she is not ready to talk about what happened in that scarier-than-hell pawn shop, or whatever it was. Honestly, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to.

Instead, she makes do with coffee made in the French press she finds in the apartment’s cupboard. It’s not great and certainly not as wonderful as Mamie’s, but well she’ll take what she can get.

She throws herself instead into university life to give herself proper distraction. As part of her fellowship with Misthaven University, she’s responsible for teaching a course to undergraduates. She finds out this week that she’s assigned to teach an Intro to American Lit class. She hasn’t really dealt extensively with American literature class, it’s certainly not her specialty. She imagines that they gave it to her just because she is American. Emma spends an afternoon sifting through books and trying to pick some novels selections for the semester. It’s hard to decide on a proper survey, weighing the options of a more traditional canon American reading list against a more diverse one.

The next day, she crafts the syllabus. It’s several hours in the library with a thermos of coffee and a bag of croissants and stroopwafel (dang, at least Misthaven has one thing right- the perfect intersection of food). The library in Misthaven is gorgeous. While most of the university buildings are more modern architecture, the library is older. Its rich wood and elegant windows makes her feel like she’s in a fairy tale. It’s the closest she’ll get, so she might as well enjoy it. She outlines the entire course, including details on papers and reading assignments. She realizes that classes in Europe might actually be different than they are in America, but she doesn’t really know how else to structure a class, so she goes for it.

On Friday morning, she finds herself in Professor Hood’s office for her advising meeting. He’s younger than she imagined, probably late thirties or early forties. His office is sunny and decorated with illustrations of various English folk stories and legends.

“How have you been settling in?” He asks her, as she slides down into a seat and he passes her a cup of tea.

He speaks with a crisp English accent, no trace of a Misthaven accent. She assumes he must be an implant like herself.

“I’m doing well,” she tells him.

“You’ve secured lodgings and all that?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’ve done an apartment swap,” she informs him.

“That’s great. Sometimes foreign students can have trouble with that kind of thing,” he tells her.

“No problems here.”

“And the culture shock isn’t too much?” He asks, “I know it was hard for me when I got here.”

Culture shock? She thinks. More like “worry for my life” shock . But she can’t tell this random professor about her brief dalliance with scamming the Queen. Or the creepy man in the pawn shop who might’ve tried to kill her. Or the stupidly attractive Misthaven guy who made her heart a little swoony.

Instead, she smiles sweetly and says, “It’s not terrible. I’ve been dreaming of visiting Misthaven for so long, so I think it’s mostly just excitement for now. I’m sure the culture shock will kick in soon enough.”

“Good to hear. If you ever need suggestions for places to go, let me know. I’ve been in Misthaven for a while, so I’ve found the expat troves.”

“How did you find yourself here?” She asks.

Emma is becoming increasingly curious about this guy. There aren’t a ton of expats in Misthaven, since the borders have only been open a few years. He’s not a visiting professor either. She wonders how this British man ended up with a secure place on the Misthaven staff.

“Love,” he says, blushing, “I was working on my undergrad at the University of Nottingham and I fell for a visiting student from Misthaven. I followed her here. Just after that, the Crown fell and we were trapped here. We made the best of it and got married. We needed something to be happy about.”

Emma likes stories, even personal ones. Suddenly she wants to know all of Professor Hood’s story. Besides, part of her research involves listening to stories of resistance and accounts from people who lived through the Dark Times. This seems to be a place to start.

“That’s so sweet,” Emma prods, gently, “What happened after that?”

He smiles, thinking of his wife then sighs, as he continues to spin his story. “It was a dark time for academia. There was a witch hunt here for people who had royal sympathies or who were opposed to Gold’s dictatorship. A lot of professors lost their jobs, most imprisoned, some worse.”

Emma can’t imagine living under such a harsh regime. Academia has always been her safe escape. This story is turning from sweet to scary in a matter of words.

“That’s horrible. Were you okay?” Emma asks.

He grimaces, painful memories stretched out across his face.

“Sorry,” Emma says quickly, “This is really personal. You don’t have to tell me these things if you are uncomfortable.”

He shakes his head, “It’s okay. I wanted to work with you for a reason, Emma. When I saw your proposal, I jumped at the chance to have our story told, the stories of many like us told. The work you are doing is rare and important.”

Emma nods and carefully slips her notebook out to start jotting down notes. Professor Hood takes a sip of his tea and then continues.

“Eventually my name went onto a black list and I was certain that I was bound for prison. My wife and I decided it was best for me to go into hiding. I spent three years living in a secret panel in my basement. It was maddening, but my wife, my Marian, she took exceptional care of me and never let me grow lonely.”

“That’s great of her,” Emma says. She wonders if she’ll get to meet this woman. From this story it sounds like they are a perfect match.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice melancholic, “we were both growing impatient. Things were getting worse and worse. Food was being rationed and we shared just her ration, so we were both constantly hungry. Oil was rationed as well and everything was always cold. I was worried I was going to spend my whole damn life freezing in that basement and Marian blamed herself for moving us here. So, we got involved in the resistance movement. She was in deeper than I was, since she could leave the house. She eventually ended up being part of the team that planned the final battle for the castle, the movement that ended the Dark Times in Misthaven.” He gulps, “but she met her end there.”

Emma’s mouth opens in shock. She’s read countless things about Misthaven resistance movements, but it’s different to hear it from someone who lived through it.

“Thanks for telling me that,” she says, not knowing if she should reach out in comfort, but she hardly knows him. Instead, she busies her hands taking notes. “I’m really sorry about your wife. That’s part of why I’ve come here, though. I want to understand resistance better from people who lived through it. I want to be able to argue how and why Blanche Neige used her books to encourage revolution.”

“Well, I can certainly help you find people to interview,” He says, “Those of us who remain from the resistance are still very close. We’d be happy to help you find people for your project.”

“Thanks so much,” she says, finishing her notes.

“What else do you need help with?” he asks.

“Well, I’m hoping to use the Misthaven U Folk and Fairytale collection to look at the stories she based her novels on,” Emma adds.

“That’s great idea. We have some rare collections that I can grant you access to.”

“Amazing,” Emma breathes, excited at the very notion of pouring over the old tomes.

“If you need help with anything else, let me know,” Professor Hood finishes.

“I will,” she promises, stacking up her notebooks as she feels the short meeting approaching it’s end.

“And will you send me your thesis so far?” He asks, “I don’t think I’ve actually been sent it yet- I���d love to give you feedback if you are up for it?”

“That’s great,” Emma says, earnestly, “All I want is for this thing to be the best it can be.”

“I look forward to reading it. Do you have plans for tonight?” he asks.

Emma’s feels her forehead wrinkle. Her new advisor is hitting on her? That’s definitely unprofessional, not mention that he’s far too old. And he just told her the story of his dead wife.

“Sorry,” he amends, seeing where her thoughts had turned, “Not like that. It’s just that they give out free opera house tickets to foreign students every Friday. They do really great performances there, operas and ballets, if you like that kind of thing. Even if you don’t, it’s a nice excuse for an evening out and the building is gorgeous.”

“Oh thanks for the tip,” Emma says. “I’ll think about it.”

She bids her goodbyes and gathers her stuff.

The Opera isn’t a bad idea. She’s still spooked from the events earlier this week and she’d rather not spend the night alone in her apartment. Plus, it might be a way to meet some other foreign students, since she is yet to make friends. Other than Killian, if you counted the 12 hours they were wary friends.

She stops by the foreign student office on her way to the tram and picks up a ticket for the performance that night. It’s an opera by Samuel Barber. She doesn’t know much about opera, so she hopes it’s alright.

When she gets off the tram in her neighborhood, she finds herself ducking into little clothing stores to window shop. This area has a lot of thrift shops and independent boutiques.

Emma won’t deny that she misses her old jean jacket. She’s upset that it was a casualty of that horrible night. There was something comforting about the worn jacket - it was a talisman of sorts, protecting her from harm. She weaves through racks at the thrift shop looking for a replacement. She fingers tan suede jackets, black corduroy ones, and a bright pink windbreaker.

A red jacket catches her eye and she slips it on. It feels right. After her last jacket was ripped from her shoulders, this one feels steady, like armor. It’s the kind of jacket that is perfect for a girl who has always had to do everything for herself.

She buys the thing, spending more than she had planned to. But hey, she got a free ticket to the opera. She can splurge on something .

It’s just past noon when she gets back to her apartment and she’s exhausted. Honestly, this week has been so fricken much. She needs to escape and not think about her grant applications or the creepy man in the pawn shop. She hasn’t been sleeping well, images of that night dancing before her eyes and make it hard for her to calm down. All Emma wants to do is relax. She tosses her opera ticket and new jacket onto the counter and heads over to her bookshelf.

Today she needs an old favorite, she picks up a Blanche Neige book. This is one of her favorites, Towering Hope , a twist on Rapunzel. It’s much more empowering than the traditional fairy tale. In this version, the savior of Misthaven is trapped in a castle. There is a hero, a dashing rapscallion of a thief, who comes to save her from the tower - but only so that she can use her powers to save the whole country and lead them all to freedom. Emma’s always liked this narrative because while the damsel gets rescued from the tower, she’s also the hero of the story. That’s what she loves about Blanche Neige, the way that her stories are always empowering, always about resisting, and yet still have the magic and charm of fairy tales.

The story is more than familiar, it’s like an old favorite song. She’s read it countless times. She’s analyzed it and wrote essays on it. Somewhere along the familiar pages and the softness of being curled up on the sunny sofa, Emma falls asleep.

When she awakes, the light is low and she finally feels rested for the first time that week. She can’t remember her dream, but she knows that there were traces of Towering Hope in it, but that the thief had Killian’s eyes. Stupid, attractive Killian. She wishes she could get him out of her head so she could move on from that night, that idiotic idea. But she can’t.

She pushes him out of her mind, for now at least. She has bigger things to do, like get ready for this opera.

Emma has never really owned the sort of things that one wears to an opera, but after rummaging in her closet for a bit, she picks out a plain black dress and a statement necklace. With a pair of heels and some red lipstick, she figures she can almost pull it off.

She quickly makes a mug of coffee with the French press, toasts a few slices of bread, and then she’s out the door. It’s a tram ride into town, just across the river to Old Town. The opera house sits along the water. It’s ornate, as an opera house should be, white with gold accents and a domed roof.

Outside, she finds a person carrying a sign that reads “Misthaven U Foreign Students” and she joins the crowd. There is a cluster of undergrad students speaking very quickly to each other in Korean, two girls chattering in what might be Norwegian, and a few more chattering in French. Emma was expecting to use this outing as an opportunity to make new friends, but she quickly realizes this might not be the case.

The group moves into the opera house and Emma shuffles along beside them. She squares her shoulders as she walks in. She doesn’t need friends. She’s always gotten through life on her own grit and perseverance. She’s going to enjoy the night even if she is by herself.

The opera house is lovely and certainly distracts her from her problems. There are gold and marble embellishments everywhere, fresh flowers, and velvet draping. Emma wants to look at all of it all at once, but the group is guided along to where their seats are.

Emma glances through her program as the curtain drops and then all at once she’s absorbed in the show.

And it’s weird. It’s really weird. An older woman is waiting for her lover, Anatole, to return to her - but his son does instead. And somehow she falls in love with him? But he impregnates her niece. Yeah, it’s super weird.

At the interval, Emma downs a glass of red wine because she knows that’s the only way she’ll make it through the rest. Plus, the broody plot lends itself to red wine.

By the end of the opera, three and half hours that feel like the longest of her life, the wine has made its way through her system. All she can think is that she has to pee. Like right now.

While the applause starts, she bolts out of her seat and dashes to the closest bathroom before the bows begin. As much as she should feel bad for not adding the applause, she really doesn’t because the opera was so strange.

As she exits the toilets, she washes her hands and pauses to fix her hair.

“So, what did you think?” asks a voice and Emma glances up to see the woman next to her.

Standing beside her at the mirror is a woman with short cropped hair and a nice pantsuit. Her face is lightly lined. She’s probably in her late forties, maybe early fifties. She has an elegant way of carrying herself that Emma envies. She’s always had atrocious posture.

Emma tries for something intellectual to say. This lady seems like the serious opera type.

“Well, it was certainly literary,” Emma manages, after all, she is really good at analyzing things. “The plot was wholly modernist, I think. Though I think anything with that many Oedipal allusions isn’t necessarily my cup of tea.”

“It’s okay, I won’t be offended if you say it sucked,” the woman says.

She has a clear, posh Misthaven accent to her English - with a hint of something that Emma can’t quite place. She’s the kind of woman you’d never expect to say the word “sucked.”

“Okay,” Emma laughs, “It did kinda suck.”

“Honestly, I think most operas in English tend to,” she explains, “Maybe go to an Italian, or even a French one, next time around.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Emma says.

“Is it your first time at the opera?” asks the lady.

Emma nods, a little shyly. She’s an intellectual. She doesn’t like to admit not knowing things.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t deter you from coming back,” the lady says, “There are usually very nice shows on here. There is a very promising ballet planned for next Friday, if that interests you. It should be a bit better than this.”

Emma laughs, “yeah, maybe I’ll come back. I’m here for the next few months.”

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” the lady says, “I can arrange some free tickets for you.”

Geesh , Emma thinks, they must be desperate in this town to get people into the opera house if they are always giving out free tickets.

“That’ll be great,” Emma says, sounding more enthusiastic than she actually is. She’d feel bad disappointing this opera aficionado who seems so zealous about getting Emma interested in this place.

“I’ll leave two tickets next Friday at the door under your name,” she tells her, “What is it?”

“Emma, Emma Swan.”

The woman’s eyes widen and she shivers. Emma can feel her looking her up and down, before she meets her eyes, staring intensely.

“Sorry, is something wrong?” Emma asks.

The woman startles, “what? No, sorry. I’ll arrange the tickets for you, Emma.”

“Uh, thanks,” Emma replies feeling a little awkward.

The woman exits the bathroom with a final, closed mouthed smile. Emma turns back to the mirror and gazes at her reflection. What had the woman been looking for? What had she seen?

Killian has often dreamt of the night he fled the castle. The screams of the queen echoing through the castle. The feeling of air tearing through his lungs as he runs as fast as his short legs will take him to his gran’s cottage. The empty, hollow feeling as he watches Liam and a small bob of blonde hair disappear from sight. Killian knows that dream well.

So, when a new one begins, it startles him.

The night he returns from the pawn shop, his bones rattled, his hand still shaking from the altercation with stranger, the new dream begins.

He climbs in bed, thinking of Emma. For a moment, he had been sure that the man was going to kill her. The knife raised above her, the fierce look in her eyes replaced by terror - he thought that he’d led the girl to her demise. He hopes that creating a diversion was enough of an apology to her for the mess he dragged her into. He knows she probably won’t ever forgive him for the trouble he caused her, but he’ll miss the lass. He’s known her for a day and he’s already charmed by her quick mind and golden hair.

Her golden hair somehow fades into another’s.

He dreams that night of being a child in the palace. He dreams of the tiny apartment that he and Liam had in the basement. They shared a bed, Killian just small enough to fit under this brother’s shoulder.

He dreams of the royal library, where he discovered new books and would spend hours stretched out on the floor flicking through pages - gazing at pictures and attempting to read the words beside them.

He dreams of trays of rich food that his brother would bring him in the evenings. He’d explain they came from the king’s table, leftovers from the feast.

He dreams of a night when he snuck up the stairs to watch a ball. He remembers all the couples waltzing to the most beautiful music. He thinks of the elegant clothes, the smells of sweets, and the ornate decorations. Even for a young boy, he was very impressed.

He dreams of the family. The father with his blond hair and ponytail. The mother with her round face and long, dark hair. And the daughter, the princess - Emma.

Emma with her wispy gold locks, her dimpled chin, her doey green eyes. Emma with her infectious giggle and toothy smile. He remembers playing with her. She was smaller, first a baby that he’d sing songs to. Then she was toddling and cooing, chasing after him down palace corridors. She was three or four when she fled with Liam. He remembers that she was finally the age where they could play proper games together. He wonders if they would have been real friends when they grew older.

She’s everywhere in his dreams. He’s chasing her down hallways. She’s always one step out of reach.

He awakes with the image a different blond haired girl in his mind. One with longer legs, lovely curves, and a determined poise. Emma .

He tries to get her out of his mind. He throws himself into work at the bar, engaging with customers, making them laugh. He gets Ruby to distract him when he can, having her play dice with him when the bar is having low periods.

The rest of the time he has to himself he reads. He decides on a whim to reread the Blanche Neige series. They’ve been his favorite always, since he discovered them in the library as a teenager. He craves their easy comfort now. He loves the way that the words coax him, familiar like an old favorite song. Even now, in the sad nostalgia and strange dreams left in Emma’s wake, the books lull him and help him to forget his worries.

He manages to stay distracted through the weekend, the bar is busy enough then. It isn’t until the stillness of his Tuesday afternoon that he find himself at Mamie’s with a Blanche Neige book in hand. All he wants to do was to drink an americano and try to lose the dismally restless feeling he’s acquired since that night in the pawn shop.

So, his heart stops a little when he looks up and sees her. Emma.

Her hair is up in a high bun, square rim glasses balanced on her nose. She’s dressed in a black thingy, which Killian thinks might be called a romper, only because Ruby’s called it that before. She has a red leather jacket over it, the overall look seems to match her fierceness. Her laptop is in front of her, a stack of books to her side.

He doesn’t know what to do for a moment. Does he go talk to her? He wants to. He really wants to. He hasn’t stopped thinking about her, try as he may, and here she is right in front of him. He wants to apologize. He wants to make things right with her.

But then again, things left off so horribly between them. He wonders if it’s best to duck out the backdoor and pretend that he didn’t see her. That way he doesn’t have to confront how awkward their last moments together were.

Emma looks up and their eyes meet. She glances away and for a moment he thinks that she’s made the decision for him. She is going to ignore him. Then, she swallows and meets his eyes again. A tiny smile graces her lips, an invitation.

Killian leaves his coffee and book behind to go to her table.

A gentle blush rises in her cheeks and she tucks a strand of hair into her bun.

“Emma, look, I just wanted to say how sorry I am for how everything turned out,” He begins, looking down at his feet, scratching a hand behind his ear, “I never, ever meant to put you in danger.”

“Um, yeah, I’m not going to lie to you, last Tuesday was one of the scariest experiences of my life,” she babbles awkwardly, adorably. “And like, that’s really saying a lot considering my childhood.”

His eyes widen a bit as he takes in her accidental overshare. Just what has this poor girl gone through? He wants to know her secrets, her stories. But they are strangers, former business partners - it’s never going to happen.

“Anyway,” she continues, clearly not wanting to dwell on her admission. “It seemed like you were trying to help. I mean I know that you said the guy was creepy, but I think we were both blindsided by just how weird that got.”

Killian nods furiously. “You can say that again.”

“You got out okay?” she asks, lightly.

He nods again. “Yeah I was just behind you. I haven’t the seen the fiend since.”

“That’s good,” Emma says, “I honestly don’t know what I’d do.”

Killian sniffles and looks down again, thinking it’s probably best to start retreating back to his table and back to his americano. Things are always going to be weird between him and Emma. They can’t just go from the horrible night they experienced and expect to become anything like friends afterwards.

Then he sees the book on top of her stack, Towering Hope by Blanche Neige.

“You read Blanche Neige?” he blurts out,flushed with surprise. Those books are everything to him. They’re the reason he was able to rebuild his life after being a young offender. They’re the reason he was able to find hope.

And there is this girl who has already woven a little tendril around his heart sitting in front of him, reading the very same book.

“Um, actually,” she says, the blush returning to her cheeks. “I’m writing my PhD dissertation on Blanche Neige. I’m basing my career on her.”

“So, you’re something of a Blanche Neige expert?” he asks.

She snorts a laugh. “Not exactly. Not yet, at least. I’ve got to finish the dissertation. But yeah, no one’s written on her before. So maybe, one day.”

“Emma Swan, Blanche Neige expert,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite of her. “Wow, that’s sexy.”

She lets out a full laugh this time, tugging on her bun again.

“I take it you’re a fan?” She asks, curiosity lacing her voice.

“Right, well, you know that horrible childhood thing you talked about before?”

She purses her lips together, her forehead wrinkling again.

“Well, yes, I had one of those too. Quite miserable.” He rattles on, not ready to give details. “But Miss Blanche here, her books were the things that helped me through it.”

She nods, her voice soft, the moment suddenly intimate for the coffee shop setting. “I understand that. The way books can save you from the bad stuff.”

Killian nods and smiles, because Emma gets it. She’s probably the first person he’s ever met who gets it.

“Books are like a little bit of hope,” She adds.

“They are exactly that, Swan.” He nods.

“So what is your favorite?”

“Of Blanche Neige?” He muses, “Probably Never in this Land. ”

He thinks of the novel, a twist on Peter Pan where a modern Captain Hook has a change of heart, abandoning his life of crime and becoming a hero. He ends up sheltering three “darling” children in his house to keep them safe from the dictator.  Like all Blanche Neige, it’s a story about freedom, bravery, and resistance.

“Interesting choice,” she says, smiling.

He wonders if she sees through his choice. He wonders if she sees his previous life of crime. He wonders if she sees a villain in him.

But instead, it seems her thoughts are purely intellectual.

“It’s curiously the only Blanche Neige book that’s not based directly on a fairy tale. Well, that and The Yellow Bug. I can’t find the source material for that one, no matter how hard I look.”

“The Yellow Bug?” Killian muses.

He tries to place the tale. He recalls it a little, the story of an outsider who comes to town in a yellow VMW. She’s looking for her family, but never ends up finding them. Instead, she discovers she can talk to animals and uses the ability to help foil the uprising. In the story, the dictator keeps his soul in an egg which was taken from one of the animals and the heroine eventually finds a way to destroy the soul inside. In typical Blanche Neige fashion, she delivers the town from the dictator.

“You can see traces of the Goose Girl in it,” Emma explains, “In the plot line with the talking animals. And other traces of the Firebird in it, with the soul in the egg. But there are other bits that I can’t place. Blanche Neige usually draws from one source fable, so it doesn’t make sense that she’d mash up a few, or that she’d deviate from using a fairy tale.”

Killian opens his mouth in wonder at Emma. She really is the Blanche Neige expert. Listening to her talk in such detail about his favorite book with so much enthusiasm endears her further to him.

Only he notices one thing she doesn’t.

“I know the story,” Killian blurts.

“What?” Emma asks, surprise in her eyes.

“The source story,” he says, “I remember being told it as a child. It was called The Yellow Carriage. A stranger comes to town in a yellow carriage.”

“What do you mean?” Emma says, “I’ve done extensive research. I’ve looked through countless fairy tale databases.”

“I promise you,” He says emphatically, “I remember it from childhood. The Yellow Carriage.”

Emma gapes at him.

“Well, do you know where to find it?”

“I haven’t heard it since I was a child,” He admits, “I wouldn’t know the anthology it came from.”

Emma frowns. He doesn’t like the disappointment and unhappiness on her face.

“But listen, I’ll try my best to think back and see if I remember it. If I think of it, I’ll tell you.”

The frown abates from her face, “Thanks. It’s just that there is a whole chapter of my dissertation about the irregularities of The Yellow Bug and if there is a source for it - well, it changes things. I wouldn’t want to submit it with an error in it.”

“Listen, I’ve only listened to you talk about Blanche Neige for five minutes now, but I’ve never heard anyone as passionate and informed as you. Anyone reading your thesis or whatever will be able to tell,” He flatters.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not really how academia works. People don’t care about enthusiasm, just precise analysis and fresh ideas.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, “Or else all your work would be done.”

A blush ghosts her cheeks again, before she admits, “well, that would save me a lot of trouble. The reason I’m so desperate for money is because I need to pay for another semester of grad school.”

“That’s why you agreed to my proposal?” He clarifies.

His heart melts a little for her. Emma, so sweet and studious that her ambition is not for a vacation or a large house or money to spend on clothes and jewels, but to learn, to read literature, to study Blanche Neige.

“I just really want to finish my PhD.” She nods. “And the money would have helped to pay back my student loans from undergrad as well.”

Killian feels a flair of anger at the expense of university education in America. In Misthaven, university fees are very minimal and heavily subsidized by the government. He wishes that Emma didn’t have to worry about fees and that she could enjoy her time here instead of focusing on finding funds.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Killian says, sadly.

Emma gives a rueful smile. “It’s fine. I’m not sure anyone would have believed that I’m lost princess anyway. It was probably a stupid plan.”

“I would believe it,” Killian says, softly.

Her blonde hair, bright green eyes, and dimples - he would believe her to be the lost princess any day.

“Okay, Romeo.” Emma says with another eye roll. “Anyway, a student loan is better than a jail sentence. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’m still sorry,” he says, “Let me make it up to you.”

She looks up and meets his eyes. Her fierce look falters for a minute and he sees something vulnerable in her gaze. There is loneliness there, hurt, and rejection.

There is a certain yearning there too.

Then she smiles good naturedly, “Well, I don’t really have any friends in Misthaven yet. So, you could buy me another cappuccino and we could talk about Blanche Neige for a little longer.”

Killian lets himself grin back at her. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot Emma.”

tagging some fans (people who i looked through their tags and found out they really liked it) // let me know if anyone wants to be added or subtracted:

@sambethe @kmomof4 @pocket-anon @hooked-mom @the-corsair-and-her-quill @kiwistreetswan@lenfazreads @princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story

[tenyearsapeasant]

Epilogue