#academic romance

[tobelovedmostardently]

✨ Old Book Smell ✨

[heldbybarnes]

professor bucky barnes! just read the love hypothesis and it gave me this idea. :))

I LOVED THAT BOOK

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The first time you meet Professor Barnes, it isn’t in the lecture hall where he’ll inevitably call you by your last name and make you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

It’s in the hallway outside your department office, where you’re standing in front of a very jammed, very broken vending machine, bargaining with it like it’s capable of rational thought.

“Come on,” you mutter, palm flat against the scratched plastic front. “All I wanted was one granola bar. Just one. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

The machine whirs in response, metal coil teasing the bar forward only to stop at the very last second. You’re two seconds away from crying or shaking it when a deep voice behind you cuts in.

“You planning to win by intimidation, or are you just flirting with it?”

You whirl around, cheeks flaming, and nearly choke. Because—holy hell—the man standing there is unfairly gorgeous. Dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck, stubble along a sharp jaw, and eyes so blue they feel like they’ve been custom-painted to make your knees weak.

“That—uh—depends,” you stammer. “Is it working?”

One corner of his mouth twitches. “On me? Maybe.” He steps forward, long fingers curling around the machine. With a solid shake that would probably get you banned if you tried it, the granola bar finally tumbles down. He crouches, picks it up, and offers it to you with a mock bow. “Your prize, milady.”

You take it with a muttered thanks, convinced this will be the most humiliating encounter of your academic career. Until, two days later, you walk into your graduate seminar and find him sitting at the front with a stack of notes, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

“Good afternoon,” he says easily, scanning the room. “I’m Professor Barnes. Let’s get started.”

You want to melt straight into the floor.

Bucky Barnes is… a problem.

Not in the sense that he’s cruel—if anything, he’s far too considerate. He answers questions thoughtfully, takes his time explaining dense material, and treats every student like they’re capable of brilliance.

No, the problem is that he’s funny. Charming. Endlessly patient. The kind of man who remembers when you mention being allergic to hazelnuts and makes a point of warning you that one of the pastries someone brought in has Nutella. The kind of man who occasionally pushes his sleeves up past his elbows while lecturing, revealing strong forearms and veins that should not be distracting in an academic setting.

And, most damning of all, he’s the man who helped you fight a vending machine.

You tell yourself the crush is harmless. Professors inspire them all the time—it’s practically a rite of passage. You’ll keep it locked down, tucked away in the corners of your mind where fantasies live and die quietly.

Except then you end up in his office hours.

“I just… don’t understand this dataset,” you confess, clutching your notebook like a shield. “The regression isn’t making sense.”

Professor Barnes leans back in his chair, glancing at your work. His glasses slide a little down his nose, and he pushes them back with his thumb. “You’re not wrong,” he says finally. “The dataset’s messy. Look—try approaching it from this angle.”

He moves closer, pulling your notebook between you. His handwriting sprawls across the margins, quick and sure, and you can’t focus on the actual explanation because his sleeve has ridden up again and you’re pretty sure his cologne is woodsmoke and soap.

“Got it?” he asks.

You snap your eyes back to the page, praying he can’t read your thoughts. “Yep,” you say quickly. “Totally. Thank you.”

You leave his office convinced you’re the dumbest person alive.

It all spirals out of control one Friday evening.

You’re at the library, drowning in work and muttering curses under your breath. When you finally look up, you realize everyone else has gone. Even the front desk is empty. And, as if summoned by your exhaustion, there he is—Professor Barnes, leaning against the nearest shelf, arms folded.

“You know it’s after midnight, right?” he says.

You blink. “You’re here too.”

“Faculty privileges,” he says easily. “But you, sweetheart, look like you’re about to pass out face-first into that pile of papers.”

Sweetheart. You’re 99% sure you hallucinated it, except he’s smiling in that soft, crooked way that makes your heart flip.

You try to protest, but he closes his laptop and tucks it into his bag. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

It’s raining when you step outside, and he immediately shrugs out of his jacket to drape it over your shoulders. The warmth of it sinks into your skin, smelling like him, and you’re too busy trying not to combust to argue.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. “Besides, that vending machine might come after you again.”

You laugh, and the sound makes him glance down at you, something unguarded flickering in his eyes.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re soaked from the rain but buzzing from his nearness. You hand back his jacket reluctantly, fingers brushing his as you do. Electricity sparks between you, undeniable.

And then he hesitates. Just for a beat. Long enough to make you wonder if maybe—maybe—you’re not imagining it.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.

After that, everything is harder.

You can’t sit through his lectures without replaying the way his voice dipped when he said goodnight. You can’t stop wondering if his hand had twitched toward yours or if you made that up.

And then, of course, your best friend Natasha gets involved.

“You’re pining,” she declares flatly over coffee. “It’s pathetic.”

“I am not—”

“Sweetheart? He calls you sweetheart?”

You bury your face in your hands. “It’s just—he’s my professor, Nat. It’s not like that.”

Nat smirks. “Sure. And I’m not ordering shots at the bar tonight.”

The breaking point comes during seminar presentations. You’re nervous, trying not to stumble over your words as you click through your slides, when Professor Barnes catches your eye from the back of the room.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t nod, doesn’t smile. Just watches, calm and steady. And somehow, that’s enough. You finish your talk stronger than you started, pulse racing.

After class, he lingers.

“You did well,” he says quietly when the room has emptied.

“Thanks,” you murmur, shoving your laptop into your bag.

He shifts like he wants to say more, then lets out a slow breath. “Can I—may I be honest with you?”

Your heart stutters. “Of course.”

“This isn’t… easy,” he admits. “But I need you to know—I notice you. More than I should. And if that’s inappropriate, I’ll stop. I’ll pull back.”

For a second, the world tilts. Because he’s standing there, this brilliant, kind man, confessing the thing you’ve been too scared to voice.

“I—” Your throat is dry. “I notice you too.”

Something in his expression cracks—relief, maybe, or just hunger finally surfacing. He takes one step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of you. His hand hovers near yours on the desk.

“I can’t,” he says roughly. “Not while you’re my student. But when the semester ends…”

The promise hangs heavy between you.

You nod, pulse thundering. “When the semester ends.”

The weeks crawl by, torturous in their restraint. Every look across the classroom feels like a secret. Every brush of his hand when he passes back papers sends sparks through you.

And then—finally—your last final is turned in. The semester is over.

You’re walking out of the building when you hear him call your name. He’s leaning against the doorway, jacket slung over one arm, tie loose around his neck.

“Got plans tonight?” he asks.

Your smile is nervous, giddy. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On if you’re asking.”

The grin that breaks across his face is devastating. He steps closer, so close you can feel the heat of him, and lowers his voice.

“I’ve been waiting months to do this,” he murmurs, before cupping your cheek and kissing you.

It’s nothing like the quiet control he shows in class. This is hungry, desperate, months of tension unraveling in a single touch. You clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans softly against your mouth.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless.

“Well,” you whisper. “That was worth the wait.”

He laughs, forehead resting against yours. “Sweetheart, I’m just getting started.”

And maybe, you think as he laces his fingers with yours and leads you out into the night, that vending machine wasn’t such a bad omen after all.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Love's Academic Round Up

The Love's Academic trilogy by India Holton is truly a delight, and one of my favorite trilogies ever. To prevent you having to trawl the depths of Tumblr to find my thoughts on each book, I've rounded up my reviews for you here!

Hey, hi, hello. There are SPOILERS below the cut, so be caught up or be cool with being spoiled.

Put That Bird Back Where It Came From or So Help Me...

I picked up the Dangerous Damsels books on a whim, and those books sort of reached into my chest and twined themselves into my heartstrings, so when this book was announced, it pretty much instantly went on my TBR. Reader, I was NOT disappointed. India Holton's mixing of academia (specifically ornithology), media narratives, and competition is funny, sweet, and just a cozy hug of a read. Let's talk The Ornithologist's Filed Guide to Love.

A SPOILER WARNING is probably appropriate here...

Beth and Devon are two early career ornithology scholars, and when the International Ornithological Society (IOS) quietly works with ornithology departments at universities across England to hire a couple of press agents for a competition-cum-recruiting drive and put TENURE and the International Birder of the Year Award on the line, well...What can a good ornithologist do? The academic claws come out on all sides, and VERY DANGEROUS magical birds keep getting unleashed on birders...and the general public.

Beth and Devon's basic competence and refusal to allow collateral damage (to birds or bystanders) get them shoehorned into a media narrative that is trying to shove them into a rivals to lovers storyline. It's kind of hilarious when Beth and Devon realize that's what's happening, because honestly the pair are gone for each other at first sight and they get tired of the media circus constructed around them pretty darn fast. There's a near-meta level of fighting both the diegetic reality of their emergent relationship and the equally diegetic but wholly artificial constructed relationship they're being aggressively shoehorned into.

And the diegetically real emergent relationship is kind of adorable, because both Beth and Devon are deeply lonely, isolated people who do not trust their peers not to hurt and leave them. Which...yeah, yeah that sounds like valid academic and gifted kid trauma to me. So watching these two deeply competent academics deal with a lot of very dangerous birds and equally potentially dangerous feelings to learn to trust themselves AND each other was very fulfilling. I also kind of love that Devon--for all his piratic bravado and nonchalant cover--is allowed to secretly be a ball of insecurity and panic who just slowly falls for Beth. In turn, Beth gets to find her way out of the mannerly armor she built around herself and discover some actual sass and a spine. Like, Devon gets his threatening "Do not point that gun at her" line when out bad guy points a gun at Beth, but when the bad guy then points the gun at Devon, Beth *checks notes* flips a freaking table and browbeats the man over his terrible manners so aggressively that he voluntarily hands her the gun. Devon is, of course, absolutely starry-eyed watching this. It's perfect, I wouldn't change a thing.

They also get to rescue a juvenile caladrius from an extremely toxic tenured academic who should have retired literal decades ago but just. won't. leave. I do adore the loving but pointed critique of academia and its structures and archetypes.

The worldbuilding in the book is really lovely, with lots of magical birds that can so some WILD things imported into Victorian England, with all its manners and etiquette. There is even a dramatic kidnapping and full-on "Wait, I'm supposed to be rescuing YOU" heroine-driven escape that the hero shows up in the middle of. Then there's a marriage proposal. Again, it's perfect and I wouldn't change a thing.

Of course, one cannot talk about an India Holton book without talking about her writing style and authorial voice. These were strong in the Dangerous Damsels books, but here? Holton has refined and strengthened them and I was just enchanted and giggling the entire time. Seriously, it is rare to find an author with THIS CLEAR a voice and who can pair that with a delightfully whimsical and deeply sincere writing style that just perfectly works in fantasy Victorian England. Holton can do everything from delightfully tongue-in-cheek dick jokes to heart-wrenching and soul-baring conversations about who characters are to sheer villainous whimsey in evil monologues. The overall word is delightful and it just gets better from there.

I adore this first instalment in Holton's next set of characters looking for love, and I cannot recommend it enough for anyone who enjoys historical romantasy, cheekily delightful writing, and just damn good love stories.

Of Disasters, Both Natural and Magical

The second entry in India Holton's Love's Academic trilogy was pitched as "Anne of Green Gables meets Twister," and as a second-chance romance between geographers. It was a sheer delight to read. I am always here for Holton's cheekily lyrical writing style and adorably chaotic characters and worlds. Elodie and Gabriel Tarrant are no exception. Let's talk The Geographer's Map to Romance.

Heeeeeeeeeey, so there are SPOILERS BELOW. Be warned!

Communication in a marriage is important, because if you don't do it at at least a semi-competent manner, then you end up on day three of a spontaneous marriage with both parties thinking the other hates you. FOR A GODDAMN YEAR.

Now I suspect this might be polarizing for readers, because as Elodie herself points out, if they had sat down and had one frank conversation, the entire premise of the book falls apart. Some people are going to hate this because "OMFG just TALK to each other." As a reader, I have found instances of the lack of communication trope irritating in some books, but in this case, I did not mind it. Marriage is hard. Communication is hard. It's extra hard mode when you're in Victorian England. I was honestly fine with the premise, and the sheer romcom-ness of Elodie spending a year ducking behind hedges and leaping out windows to avoid running into Gabriel...who she works with. It's messy and hilarious and I was gleefully yelling "HE/SHE DOESN'T HATE YOU" at the book by about chapter three. But in a fun way, not in a rage reading kind of way.

Watching Elodie and Gabriel interpret and assume both magical geography and each other and be so damn good at the former and SO BAD at the latter was honestly just fun. I am often accused of having "high int, low wis" by my TTRPG-playing friends, and I absolutely drowned in that vibe throughout the book. It was excellent.

So was the goat eating the spare mattress and forcing them into an only one bed situation. Baby the goat is The GOAT goat, and frankly is a goddamn menace in a pink hat. Baby is perfect; I wouldn't change a thing.

I also adored Elodie just absolutely screwing with Algernon Jennings, the accountant from the home office who is on the mission for...vaguely scolding about expenses reasons? I was not 100% clear why he was there, but as soon as Elodie started messing with him and Gabriel started low-key politely torturing the man, I didn't care. He was designed to be the most entertaining punching bag since the greasy lawyer from the original Jurassic Park movie. Why he was there mattered significantly less than gleefully cackling as he slowly loses his sanity to the Professors Tarrant and a magical natural disaster.

Gabriel is the grumpiest potato, and I was entirely here for that and his protectiveness. The absolute nimble internal monologue was also amazing; in particular his heel-face-turn on one of Elodie's colleagues who has a particular male friend. Gabriel went from "I could murder this man and make it look like an accident" to "I will buy this man a beer" for offering Elodie his coat when she was cold and they were in the field together. It was honestly wonderful.

Elodie as an Anne figure was accurate and truly a delight. There is something ephemeral and chaotic that I loved about her and that really worked as a childhood Anne of Green Gables reader.

Overall, this book was pure delight, and if you want a fluffy romance that is extraordinarily well written and fun and does its tropes with humor and skill, then you want an India Holton book.

I'm Sorry, Did You Say Your PhD was in Cockblocking!?

So...when keeping your job means pretending to be bitter enemies with the best friend of your soul (and pandering to the most misogynistic prick I have ever had the displeasure of reading), well...it's going to get complicated. And blue-balled. Like by the end of this book, I was prepared to Kool-Aid Man my way through a wall to remove everyone who was keeping Amelia and Caleb from knocking boots, because FOR FUCKS SAKE, PEOPLE. Let's talk The Antiquarian's Object of Desire.

Hey, hi, hello. This is your spoiler warning. I'm spoiling this book. Be warned.

Ok, let's get this out of the way first: I hope to GOD that Cornelius Ottersock gets hung by his balls by the University Senate for being such a misogynistic dickhead that in the space of about ten minutes he managed to lose the two best professors in his department. I hope he loses EVERYTHING over that. He is enough of a misogynistic prick that he would deserve that AND WORSE. He's over here constantly threatening Amelia's job over things that male profs do all the time and a few things that male profs are generally complimented for. Like...fuck right off and SUFFER, you bepenised ossification of the platonic ideal of misogyny in academia.

The amount of HELL YES, GIRL I was feeling when Amelia loved herself enough to quit that job was HUGE. As someone who also let academia go because it would have eventually killed me, I have nothing but respect and empathy for Amelia's decision. Like that was almost enough to bring me to tears. Added to this that Amelia saved HERSELF and fought for HERSELF before she and Caleb got to the boots knocking just makes the overall arc of the story so much more satisfying. She self-actualizes AND THEN she gets the guy. Perfect.

Now, with that out of the way...the journey TO getting the guy was actually painful. Amelia and Caleb are SUPPOSED to be locked in a country house with nobody who knows them where they can be themselves together and catalogue a bunch of objectively dangerous magical items. AND THEN. The two biggest motherfucking gossips in the university and museum system show up to gossip and be dicks. They were half an inch from getting rid of Throckmorton when Dummersby showed up and...

From there literally every time Amelia and Caleb are alone long enough to think about intimacy and maybe take a half step towards something, SOMEONE WALKS IN. And not just in a rule of three kind of way, where the third time they actually get to have some fun. No, this happens SIX OR SEVEN TIMES over the course of 300 pages. I can't even call it a slowburn, this is just India Holton cockblocking her characters AND her readers. Talk about your delayed gratification...

But in all seriousness, as with all the Love's Academic and Dangerous Damsels books, India Holton is a delight to read. I had such fun with this one, and it was a truly fitting finale to the Love's Academic Trilogy. I cannot recommend it enough, frankly.

[macadamiastudies]

Dec. 16, 2024

Day 9/150 Days of Growth

Today was another quiet, gloomy, cold day so I spent the entirety of it in my room with a candle on and a warm peppermint latte 🤎 Been on a study-call with my best friend for the past 6 hours, so I got extra done today.

What I did today:

☕3 units of Azure exam prep ☕A LeetCode problem about dividing strings ☕30 minutes of GMAT math prep using the Princeton review ☕Packed my bags, cleaned my room ☕Did my hair and lots of skincare ☕Created a video and written tutorial at work for a colleague ☕Spent overtime fixing their system :?

Tomorrows targets:

🕰 1 hour of Azure exam prep 🕰 30 more minutes of GMAT prep from the Princeton book 🕰 Another work party + some pictures at the Christmas market :) 🕰 Start on re-booting my portfolio in Python 🕰 Read a few more chapters of SmartCuts (genuinely such a powerful book by Shane Snow) 🕰 30 minute workout 🕰 One more Python Leet Code

Playlist for the day:

[steponmeinejghafa]

First Bench Pt.1

Summary: Zoya Nazyalensky has always enjoyed top marks in class, and was always in the good books of the teachers. The truest first-bench student to ever exist. However, one day, a new student takes the spot. Through the year, several events bring Zoya and Y/n together, and in the end, something strange occurs.

High School!AU

Zoya Nazyalensky x fem!Brekker!reader

Warnings: None

———————————————————————

“Top marks as usual, Miss Nazyalensky,” smiled the home room teacher, Miss Reznik, as she handed Zoya her test paper. A round of soft groans went through the class, which all radiated the same message.

Obviously it was Zoya Nazyalensky who got top marks.

A self-satisfied smirk spread over Zoya’s features. She was good at everything, and she knew it. Every test? She aced. Every teacher? Loved her. First bench? Every class. Her academic reputation was unbreakable.

Or so she thought.

“Now that you’ve all received your tests, I think it’s time for me to introduce a new student to all of you. She’s just moved here from Kerch, and all this is rather new to her, so do be nice,” the teacher smiled and called someone in from outside. “Miss Brekker, do introduce yourself.”

A girl with h/c hair and lovely e/c eyes stepped gracefully into the classroom. She radiated a certain quietness which felt dangerous and calming at the same time, and it made Zoya a tad suspicious. However, that feeling seemed to vanish the very second the girl’s lips quirked up into a small smile as she shyly waved to the class.

“Miss Brekker, do introduce yourself,” smiled the teacher, sitting down.

She’s nervous, Zoya thought. Of course she is, she’s bait in a school of sharks.

“Well, I’m Y/n Brekker,” said the girl in slightly broken Ravkan. “And I just came here from Kerch, as Miss Reznik so kindly pointed out. I came here with the rest of my family, actually, and it is lovely to be here.”

The class clapped politely, and Y/n looked down, making her way to the closest seat.

The seat right beside Zoya.

A collective murmur spread through the class again, as they marvelled at the new girl’s choice to sit next to the teacher’s pet. And in the first row. It wasn’t like she had any choice, really, there was only one seat left in the class.

As Miss Reznik started class, Zoya couldn’t help but notice how the new girl sat attentively, listening to every word the teacher was saying. It was unusual for a quiet kid to sit on the first bench, and pay attention.

Miss Reznik started reading out the first few stanzas of a stupidly long Shu poem, one which the syllabus had included earlier that year.

“The garden is beautiful, with its flowers in neat rows, with each shrub trimmed, it worries little of the world outside, which is hidden by walls high and of stone.

The blackbird perches every day, on a big green tree, singing songs of love, loss, and tragedy.

The garden wilts, it’s walls start to crumble, the shrubs grow wild, as the weeds sprout beneath the carefully made path, the cracks growing larger as days and nights dance along.”

“Now, in this complex Shu poem, who can tell me what the basic idea of this stanza is?” Asked the teacher.

Before Zoya’s hand could shoot up, yours was already in the air.

Honestly, before you, Kaz, and the others had fled Kerch, you brushed up on every last bit of your studies, which included every single meaning of every Shu poem to exist.

Which was mainly a summer project you started with your closest friend, Nina. She had come to stay at the Slat with your brother and the rest after she came all the way from Ravka, so she knew what she was doing by taking that project up with you.

“Well, with reference to the garden, it symbolises beauty which has been held back from the world, made to be perfect by an experienced hand, even though it’s supposed to run free,” you said, in the same tone which Zoya used when she knew more than the class.

It infuriated her to no end.

“Well done” smiled the teacher. “I think you might have some competition, Zoya.”

Zoya smiled, but it was more of a grimace, as her hand clenched itself into a fist, her knuckles going white beneath the desk. She didn’t know you much, but she knew she hated competition. You were competition.

Naturally, she hated you.

Oblivious to the silent anger radiating off Zoya, you continued answering everything before she could, unknowingly infuriating her further with each passing moment.

The shrill sound of the bell made her anger cease, though she watched you through eyes narrowed in annoyance, as you exited the class.

She followed you out, and leaned a row of lockers as you high-fived a plump, rosy-cheeked girl with curly hair, and hugged a girl with deep brown skin and clever dark eyes, whose hair was done in a tight braid till her hips.

She decided she’d play a small game with you.

She sauntered over to you and the other two girls with a pleasant smile on her face, masking her cunning thoughts perfectly.

“Y/n Brekker, wasn’t it?” She asked, tapping you on the shoulder.

You turned around, and smiled slightly at her, replying, “Yes, indeed. Zoya, was it?”

She extended a hand for you to shake. “Zoya Nazyalensky. Lovely to meet you.”

You took her hand and shook it firmly, the way your brother had taught you, your e/c eyes fixed on hers, irises unmoving. Truth be told, Zoya didn’t know wether to be intimidated or turned on.

Little bit of both, maybe?

Focus, Zoya. She chided herself.

“Who are these two?” She asked, looking at your two other friends over your shoulder.

“Inej Ghafa,” said the dark-eyed girl with a curt nod. “Pleasure.”

“Nina Zenik,” smiled the rosy-cheeked girl, “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“I’d suggest you stay careful of who you decide to make your enemies, Y/n,” said Zoya slyly. “Just so you know.“

Confused, you smiled an upside-down smile, replying awkwardly, “Okay, then…thanks?”

She winked at you and turned around, waving her hand over her shoulder to bid you goodbye.

You were too confused for processing her statement, and you definitely knew you had a thing for that wink. It was a cocky wink, one which conveyed she was self-confident and she knew it.

“I need Kaz,” you said, running a hand through your hair, eyes widening as you turned your gaze to the floor.

Zoya was unpleasant and you knew it. She had this passive aggressiveness which you’d detected the second you walked into class. She was cocky in a way which pissed you off, and now you identified her as competition.

Just like her, you hated competition. And Zoya was competition.

And you didn’t like to lose.

———

Academic rivals to lovers, I’m so excited! Please request ideas if you’d like! And should you want to be in a tag list, let me know!

[svidie]

thinking about how FUCKING romantic it is for your spouse to write the preface to the book you wrote

[tobelovedmostardently]

Oxford in Autumn

[tobelovedmostardently]

London in Autumn 🍂