#she studies english literature

[brbarou]

so i'm writing my undergrad thesis on rote. specifically on the women of rote, specifically analyzing (and, let's be real, mostly criticizing) the ways in which hobb chooses to write them. i have a general idea of the structure and the things i'm going to write about BUT if anyone want to pitch in with anything i might've missed that you consider striking about the way the women of rote are written (be it positive or negative!) feel free to

so far i've got an outline of touching upon:

1. an overview of the ways in which different countries treat women - e.g. the six duchies being more inclusive than the cursed shores, the contrast between the violent patriarchy of chalced and the stern matriarchy of the outislands

2. sex and sexuality - this one is complicated. i have a lot to say, about molly representing the ideal woman wife and mother, about how the female characters who tend to sleep around are painted as either misguided victims of former sexual abuse (althea, starling) or just flat out written in a way that is so Vindictive (also starling, and jerd) as if hobb's catholicism doesn't know how else to handle those characters apart from turning them into rude, annoying, unreasonable people who the reader is urged to dislike

3. motherhood, the good the bad and the ugly of it. women long for children. they suffer through miscarriages (kettricken, malta), they are blamed for not being able to bear children (alise, patience) - but at the end of the day, children are always in the picture one way or another. apart from, off the top of my head - alise, jek and serilla, almost every other woman ends up a mother (i'm counting patience as a mom!) which isn't a problem on its own, but. when characters who speak openly about not wanting a typical family and who aren't pleased about having children become mothers anyway (althea). when women who have been infertile most of their life become mothers anyway (starling). when even the sidest of side characters Have to become mothers (laurel, jerd) then really, it makes you pause for a bit

4. rape. i don't have a bone to pick with how hobb approaches sexual assault, per se, because the way she feels about it is very clear, but still. god. althea, malta, serilla, thymara, alise, shine, etta, starling, chassim. and the difference between hobb's male and female victims of rape seems to be that the male counterparts always suffer off-page, while you most often have to look the women's abuse straight in the eyes as the reader. i have yet to sit down and really Think about why that is but i'm sure there's a conclusion to be reached

5. gender in general - i have an inkling that hobb views gender as a performance (which, i mean, yeah) or as a role one can step in and out of (think ash/spark) but assfate era beloved is particulary fascinating when it comes to this. i can't quite pick apart whether it's hobb or fitz's urge to constantly compartmentalize beloved's existence but every scene where amber takes her makeup off and changes into a pair of pants and the pronouns immediately switch back to he/him is so hilarious. is woman when makeup and skirt and dress? and man when pants? something to be said about this for sure

i think that's most of what i have on my mind so far?? i've spent so much of my free time thinking about this i'm glad i get to turn it into something useful

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to study English literature A-level in an all girls sixth form with a young teacher then just know that once (and this is a few years ago now) my teacher played the “If the men find out we can shapeshift they’re going to tell the Church!!” video and then asked us what about the video we could apply to studying The Handmaid’s Tale

[coralmadebones]

one day i will write a retelling of the tempest from ariel's perspective, à la atwood's penelopiad mixed with miller's circe. it will be called the ethereal comedy. it will be about one's essence and also gender and also colonization. one day.

[mishkakagehishka]

But honestly i do judge people who use chatgpt for their college work. Literally if you chose to study something, why would you use ai for your work. If you chose something you want to study, doesn't it feel like a waste to not do your own research and work for essays and the like.

[theflikchic]

JKR really wrote "I am not transphobic! I don't fear trans people! I'm just absolutely terrified that every trans woman I see is a secretly an abusive man waiting to rape me at every turn!" Girl, I- I just- How did this woman ever manage to write a good, narratively coherent series when she can't even keep her damn tweets straight? Like, hot dog, was HP divine intervention because there ain't no way she had that skill and it just vanished like that. This is ludicrous.

[greektragedybitch]

im sorry for being so down all the time, life, my exams are based on russian dramas and audrey hepburn movies, i should be more grateful to you

[english-student-2000]

got to watch a jane austen documentary last night and it was so goood the whole thing was super engaging i can't wait to read more about her!!

[diodellet]

hmm not sure i like how my brain seamlessly reads in english🤔

[thepostburningash]

finished what i hope is an amazing essay on red herrings in Alien (1979) yesterday! it’s due today at noon so i’m gonna read it over one last time and send it away!

[teabookgremlin]

i’m a humanities presenting stem person

[can-of-w0rmz]

My English teacher’s been off for a long while so we’ve had a good load of substitute teachers, and one of them is teaching us An Inspector Calls and can I just say, is so much less dry than my actual English teacher. I’ll be real, classic lit nerd though I may be, I don’t like that play. Honestly can’t really stand it. But we’re leading a hate campaign against Gerald Croft now? Hell yeah I’ll write an essay for you on him let’s get this bitch! You give me those quotes and references on why he’s a dick I barely paid attention to his character but it’s drama now and I have personal beef with him let’s go

[saesins]

I wanna write so bad but I have so much hw and so busy and just ugh kms

[fagsex]

i really loved my first year at renoir i would not have changed a thing i think. even when mrs dousson organized her own retirement present. which was. us. she. she had us do a haka. she is not a māori woman. no one in the class is. she caught a rugby match for the first time on tv earlier that year and became obsessed at the age of 67. so we had to pratice a bespoke haka for 3 months for her in summer. that shit slammed though. i will not deny that shit it bonded us like nothing else it was really really fun. but that was all she asked for. ? we even bought her an all expenses paid vacation that she still hasnt used but shorty LOVED the haka

[napsaps-archive]

i am flirting (very badly i'm so bad at it oh god) with a girl i think i like and it's going ok but i think she thinks i'm doing it in a platonic flirting with your friends way and well i'm not sure if she's wrong but like come ON . please have a crush on me please

[satanicchristiancult]

Man, my English exam (which I finished like 45 minutes ago) was just me writing as if I was posting one of my everyday things on Tumblr.

Let’s hope that was the format of a blog according to my teacher.

-Mori

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.