#and the canterbury fucking tales.

[jaiofalltrades]

it drives me a little bit nuts when other asexual people use asexuality to justify being weird about sex in texts. like i’ve run into multiple people in my college classes who either refuse to engage with or just fully sensationalize the sex in plays/books/stories/whatever we have to read. like i get being personally skeeved out by sex. i do! but that doesn’t absolve you of the responsibility to destigmatize sex and be sex positive. idk how you can call yourself a feminist or an advocate of queer rights if you think sex is inherently unpalatable. again, i get the feeling. i also think the idea of sex on a personal level is gross. i also get uncomfortable when people or media talk about it. but 1) i know being asexual doesn’t give you a monopoly on being repressed. just think of the catholics. the asians. the eggs. and 2) i’m not gonna ignore the thing that makes me uncomfortable. i’m gonna engage with it. bc were fuckin english majors and that’s what we do. i’m ace, not a puritan. you know? also. while we’re here. sex positivity means sex neutrality. fighting for the rights of the sex enjoyers to enjoy sex means fighting for the rights of the sex not havers to not have sex. please don’t take this as me shaming anyone for being a prude. i’m shaming people for perpetuating the stigmatization of sex and being bad literary critics.

[deitybird]

jason would get so annoyed when someone (probably dick or tim) is watching a show like bridgerton and comments on their language by saying it's old English but he keeps it in because he's trying to be a better brother...

only to snap when they KEEP doing it and he's like, "NO. NO, IDIOT. IT'S NOT OLD ENGLISH! IT'S A MORE FORMAL ENGLISH! CLOSE TO EARLY MODERN ENGLISH, PROBABLY! JUST LIKE FUCKING SHAKESPEARE!" and said sibling (again, probably dick or tim) is just like, "wow, jay. you care a lot about english." and jason stares at them unblinkingly before storming out.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 97th Tilt

Francesco de Pazzi, Medici (2016-2019) VS. Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales (1972)

Propaganda

Francesco de Pazzi, Medici (2016-2019) Portrayed by: Matteo Martari

“My problematic blorbo. My little meow meow. He did nothing wrong and then he did everything wrong and he's an idiot and I adore him. He gets a redemption arc and then an anti-redemption arc. He is sweet and he is lost, and he is cute, and he is hot, and he is angry, and he is scared and have I mentioned he's hot? Because he is!!! He has the kind of chiseled face that not even STATUES get to have!! And those eyes!!! And that hair!!! I will treasure him forever.”

Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales (1972) Portrayed by: Pier Paolo Pasolini

No Text Propaganda Submitted

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Francesco de Pazzi:

“The brooding bad boy of my dreams. He has cheekbones that could slice skin and very, very nice hair. And his HANDS? Let's just say... I am Looking™”

[Gifset]

[Gifset]

For Chaucer:

[savage-rhi]

Fuschia/Magenta?

[sixofravens-reads]

i think it's safe to say by now that I'm only reading The Canterbury Tales (listening to, really, I've given up on following along in the physical copy, I don't care as much about understanding every detail of these stories as I did with Sir Gawain) for vague historical interest and not really for any actual personal interest.

The Knight's Tale was vaguely interesting but a pretty typical historical story and far too long, the Miller and Reeve's tales were just two gross dudes trying to outgross each other, the Baker's Tale was shaping up as more of the same but Chaucer didn't even bother to finish it, and the Man of Law's tale was a whole fucking hour of "oooohhhh this is Constance the most Holy Bitch To Every Holy oooohhhh she's sooooooo great" etc etc.

Pretty sure the next tale I'll listen to today (The Shipman's Tale I think) is more vulgarity for vulgarity's sake. Was Chaucer 12 when he wrote this??

[bookwyrminspiration]

oh sick! I love Frankenstein!! read it last year for school and wrote sooo many essays on it it was fabulous

It's incredibly sick! It's diseased and unhealthy! It's downright unwell!

My school for all it's benefits is a little bit horrible at exposing us to the classics so I'm taking it upon myself to read them on my own time, and the Frankenstein emails are just add a little fun to it all! It's nice to get to see others' thought and to supplement my own conclusions and thinking with that from others. Maybe I should join a book club hmm.

Anyway, I will not be writing any essays for any classes over Frankenstein--unless it comes up in a later college class, but for now I will be enjoying the experience :)

[bunny-banana]

"And specially, from every shires ende,

Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende"

Now why was this so fucking smooth

[dullahandyke]

anyway im putting a note in my phone to lug my hardcover thousand-page copy of tcomc from home to my apartment. so i can have it

[mashmouths]

is david "the mage" cadwallader the fucking canon from chaucer's "the canon's yeoman's tale"

[fuckblast]

Hi if you're out of high school and still complaining about how you didn't like the teacher who made you learn symbolism, do yourself a favor and move on. Seriously, there's nothing you can gain that association. This post isn't about your English teacher from 5+ years ago. Bad teachers throw a wrench in your passions, but at some point you can reignite it on your own.

Or you can be mad forever that someone tried to teach you symbolism and let that permanently impact how you interact with stories.

I'll never understand the "curtains are just blue sometimes" people. I was soooo fucking excited learning about symbolism. You have a story and what the story tells you. Then you have the fact that it was written at all by someone and that's another story. And then there's also hidden extra story info?

[evilasiangenius]

Lately, circumstances have reminded me that various restaurants will sub out items for you without much trouble. Like swapping in sourdough for a hamburger bun, or adding chile relleno to a burrito. All one has to do is ask.

Along those lines, I have been thinking of adding a note to my ao3 profile, something inviting readers to come talk to me instead of feeding my work into some ai chat bot. Not that I know of anyone doing that, but why not invite user interaction instead of getting mad?

Like, if you want more or something that doesn't exist yet, ask the chef? I'm willing to at least discuss options or sketch something for a reader if not actually write something. Though I admit it can be slow work if I need to research, figure out a good structure, etc.

Hell, you could probably even ask for porn. I even have porn in mind that i haven't written XD

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written. 

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

Part one || Series masterlist

[f1rewalk3r]

F1re3walk3r be in my class. You'd find it rather "remedial" but it would be nice to have someone to look directly at the camera

sure thing professor “pericardium!”

but just so you know, when it comes time for peer review, i will not hesitate to be tell someone to their face “this sucks and i didn’t like it, here’s what made it suck, here’s how you can fix it”

additionally, when it comes to class participation on the readings, i will raise my hand and offer treatises about how the miller’s wife from the canterbury tales “is a fucking incel cuck” and “should kill himself immediately” (real things i have raised my hand to say in class)

[horizon-verizon]

One of my favorite post-Dance moments is when Torrhen Manderly suggested Aegon III and Daenaera go on a royal tour and “when Aegon III wears black, Daenaera will wear green and vice versa” and Aegon III said “no fucking way I’m putting green on myself” and canceled his plan lmao.

These are the quotes from Fire and Blood ("The Lysene Spring and the End of the Regency") - you can just look at the first and last two pics:

It's a little bit more than "no fucking way I’m putting green on myself", though that's so funny.

I have thoughts about the layers we can get from the conflicts Aegon will have with his own subjects and the path of the Dance to the "Broken Reign" when the last dragon dies. These are my PDF notes so far, so they will not be entirely legible:

There are layers to Aegon's motivations, inspirations, & handling of coming into power and interrupting the progrees versus the regents and the Grandmaester's desires for it.

1) His time with Cregan Stark, whose motives were to keep with his oath/promise to Jace-Rhaenyra and thus was more on Aegon's side than others, also comes with Cregan's focus on making hard decisions for the more vulnerable sections of the populations over making oneself more amicable or pleasing to nobles. Him and the Winter wolves who literally sacrifice themselves so some of their families will have enough food to eat in the winter, as they relate that.

2) "Spring is the time for new beginnings" -- thinking of Geoffrey Chaucer and his prolouge of his Canterbury Tales where traveling (specifically a religious pilgrimage) gives different people the opportunity to reconnect or be confronted by different sections of society/perspectives through their either firsthand experiences or interpretations and retellings of familiar ideas/tales/tropes...but the prologue itself uses spring as the period of joy, beginnings, restoration, playfulness, merriment, and sex...bringing one out of the winter/time of anxiety of survivial (Dance) --> "true beginning of reign" -- Aegon's time and beginning associated with happiness and hope: nobles seeing Aegon to be familiar with him and for him to show that he is attentive to their image of him or wants to be involved with them and their interests (one of whom was Unwin, to "assuage" him [?!]), juxtaposed against lower classes' need for food & the pseudo symbolic assurance of survival (return to understanding that need from the "winter"/winter of several things gone wrong before) -- displays of prosperity vs actions to ensure prosperity and miscommunication or refusal to relate the self or the abandonment of persuasion/rhetoric from internal exhaustion, or an internal "winter", and the subsequent determination to conserve the borders between those closest to you/you and those with the potential to harm.

3) Spring is also associated with youth pushing out the old -- Aegon has been a helpless child for long and he now pushes out the "old" Torrhen/older male authority styming his own...ironically he also requires the other lords' participation and/or eager participation with whatever policies he wishes to institute...which should be how it goes just how it is with springtime flowers and such, so with feudalism there is a lot of self-contradictory dynamics that serve to generate the same old conflicts or plant the "seeds" of such potential

4) an impure repetition of Jaehaerys vs Rogar and the conflict of male authority there -- the halting of one cycle when another (changing of the seasons, which is inevitable but always yearned for in a weird sort of nostalgia, isolation versus social interaction)

[thethirdromana]

Suggestions for Tumblr's next book club

With Dracula Daily on the horizon again, I've been pondering what other out-of-copyright novels we might like to consider reading very slowly. Here are my ideas! And if any of them already exist, lmk.

North and South

Author: Elizabeth Gaskell Year of publication: 1854-55 Length: 185,000 words, 52 chapters. So we could have a chapter weekly for a full year. Summary: Margaret Hale is forced to leave the rural south of England and settle in the rough, industrial north. There she clashes with mill-owner John Thornton over his treatment of his workers... Why Tumblr would like it: Enemies to Lovers! Class struggle! Fascinating historical context! Honestly, it's a great read.

Evelina

Author: Fanny Burney Year of publication: 1778 Length: 157,000 words in 84 letters. That's right, it's epistolary, and the letters are almost all sent March to October of the same year, so we could read this one in true Dracula Daily fashion. Summary: Evelina is the sheltered daughter of an aristocrat trying to make her way in the world of late 18th-century society. Why Tumblr would like it: Evelina is a likeable, relatable character. I think it'd be fun to get emails from her.

The Well of Loneliness

Author: Radclyffe Hall Year of publication: 1928 Length: 158,000 words in 56 chapters. Summary: The story of Stephen Gordon, a girl who realises at an early age that she's a lesbian, and her attempts to find love in the early 20th century. Why Tumblr would like it: It's one of the most iconic lesbian novels of the 20th century!

The War of the Worlds

Author: HG Wells Year of publication: 1897 Length: 63,000 words in 27 chapters. Summary: Alien invaders land from Mars and fuck up the south of England. Why Tumblr would like it: Alien invaders land from Mars and fuck up the south of England, come on, what's not to like?

The Moonstone

Author: Wilkie Collins Year of publication: 1868 Length: 200,000 words (so a bit of a marathon) in 51 chapters. Summary: A young English woman inherits a large Indian diamond of dubious provenance on her 18th birthday. Then it gets stolen! Why Tumblr would like it: One of the first detective novels, and supposed to be one of the best, it's a page turner with lots of suspense, twists and cliffhanger endings.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

Author: Agatha Christie Year of publication: 1920 Length: 60,000 words in 13 chapters. Summary: The first murder mystery starring Hercule Poirot. Why Tumblr would like it: Look, you liked Glass Onion, right? And if you like this, Agatha Christie's novels are emerging from copyright at the rate of about two per year.

Les Misérables

Author: Victor Hugo Year of publication: 1862 Length: 570,000 words in the English translation (ouch) in 365 chapters. Summary: A vast, sweeping story of poverty, justice and revolution in early 19th century France. Why Tumblr would like it: Well, if you thought Moby Dick didn't have enough digressions...

The Canterbury Tales

Author: Geoffrey Chaucer Year of publication: 1387-1400 Length: 24 stories averaging 700 lines each. Summary: Some pilgrims are heading to Canterbury. They tell one another stories to pass the time. These are their stories. Why Tumblr would like it: I mean, there's a reason we still read these 600 years later. They're a fascinating insight into medieval life, but they're also - for the most part - just good fun.

If you love any of these suggestions and would really like to see it take off, reblog to help make it happen.

[gabessquishytum]

people keep sending in vampire aus and I Cannot Resist

so there is this terrible, terrible YA series called House of Night about an academy for teenagers that were Marked and are turning into vampyres(that's how the authors chose to write it, okay), who are also refered to as the children of Nyx

(tw a little gore and minor character death)

please imagine Surly Teenager Morpheus, freshly Marked, rolling up to the House of Night in London and already Hating Everything.

The Director Dealer's Choice, but why not make it Lucifer? gives him the rundown of how everything works before explaining that every fledgling vamypr gets assigned a mentor

in walks Hob Gadling, who among all those other supernaturally good-looking vampyres looks like Just A DudeTM. He even says "Hey, you already look the part! You're way ahead of me there."

Morpheus doesn't say anything. Partly because he is still grumpy. Partly because Hob Gadling seems strangely familiar.

they leave on their tour of the school which is filled to the brim with stray cats btw. one of them hurls itself into Hob's arms and Hib barely reacts, only curling his arms around it and petting between its ears. "Meet Daniel", Hob says, "He comes and goes as he pleases, but he's friendly."

Morpheus stared into the cat's green eyes, wondering if he'll get scratched if he tried anything, but Daniel lets himself be petted and even purrs for a good minute before running away as sudden as he came

they finish the tour, Morpheus meets his roommate and slowly he settles into his new routine of night classes and trying to get along with a slew of new acquaintaces

there's a few awkward moments during Hob's lessons- like the time he spoke about meeting famous vampyre poet shakespeare and the words "it wasn't like that" sat on the tip of Morpheus' tongue until he nearly bit through his cheek, or when Hob read them a passage from the Canterbury Tales in Middle English and it felt more familiar than the modern one

things are good until a few weeks in, one of Morpheus' classmates' body rejects the change

in the middle of class, they start coughing up blood. it starts pouring from their nose, their eyes, even their ears

they collapse and the teachers have to carry them to the infirmary

it's a harsh reminder that as much as Morpheus has been getting used to this new life, it could end just as quickly

but the worst part?

their blood smelled amazing

vampyres drink blood, that's a fact

but developing a taste for it is something that happens in the third to fourth year. not barely three months in

understandably, Morpheus freaks out. and because he is Morpheus he Does Not Talk About It

not talking about it doesn't help with the hunger though

which may be why the next time someone's body rejects the change, he hides in a janitor's closet

his heart pounds in his chest. the mark on his forehead burns. his stomach is tied in knots

there's scratching at the door- one of the cats- before there are footsteps

"what is it, Daniel?" an all too familiar voice asks

there's nothing Morpheus wants less than to face Hob right now, not when his mentor has been trying his best to get Morpheus to open up, make friends among his classmates, he'll fit right in!

before Morpheus can try and get himself together the door opens and he finds himself staring up into the unfairly handsome face of Hob and a lap full of Cat

"Oh, love", Hob says and folds down next to him

Morpheus should bristle. stand up and leave with his head held high because he is a Son Of Night and is Completely Fine

instead he leans into the embrace Hob offers him, taking in greedy pulls of his scent (sunshine and grassy hills, the musk of an old forest. "not ancient greece", he'd said that first day, "but i like to think 600 years is still quite a respectable age")

Hob nudges him until Morpheus sits between his legs and pulls up the sleeve of his shirt

again, Morpheus should bristle, should fight the arms wrapping around him, that's his teacher for fuck's sake

but he's just so hungry that he lets Hob press a wrist to his mouth and drinks

Oh yeah that’s hot, kinda love the idea of an eldritch teacher/student relationship??

Morpheus being such a precocious little vampire baby who already craves blood, of course he needs a little extra care and attention from his teacher, right? And yeah, Hob starts to pay just a little closer attention - checks in with Morpheus, even comes to see him in his room. He’s coaching Morpheus through the first stages of consuming blood, making sure he isn’t going hungry. Truth is, nothing has tasted as good for Morpheus as Hob did that very first time in the closet. He’s craving blood and specifically he’s craving Hob.

He’s developing quite an embarrassing crush on Hob. And Hob, well… he’s trying to be a good mentor. He’s concerned by Morpheus’s rapid development. And there’s something about the young student that seems kind of familiar to him. When they talk together it’s like they have a history, and it feels weird but… comfortable. Not to mention, Hob got genuinely and uncomfortably turned on that night when Morpheus drank from his wrist. It felt like something hot and powerful was tingling through his entire body, and he’s never ever felt that way before.

Then there’s the time when Hob finds himself really incredibly hungry, he was dumb and skipped a meal. Morpheus doesn’t hesitate: he crawls right into Hob’s lap and tells him to shut up and drink. He can take it. And Hob knows that he shouldn’t take advantage, but he never claimed to be a good man. It feels… so. Good. Like coming home. Holding Morpheus and drinking from him greedily. Like they’ve… done it before. Hmm.

In any case, as much as Hob tries to hold himself back, it’s probably only a matter of time before the mentor/mentee develops into something. A lot more.