#rape seed flowers

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is definitely a chocolate chobbling consumer, constantly and abley aided and abetted by his audience. 'Dig a little deeper, when the answer's hard to find' sings The Butterfly Graveyard. Not the man on the radio's usual fare, more Ibiza than Emerald Isle. The chef on the radio is imminent. Pesto stuffed chicken breast and tiramisu are today's mouth waterers.

The garish yellow from next door's fields has eased it's way into the garden. Scarily coloured en masse, slightly less offensive in close up. Perhaps this usurper is in some way responsible for the behemoth bee that entered the kitchen yesterday afternoon. Poisonous pesticides mean mobile hives are being used. Oh the irony of farmers fighting for their right to continue with carcinogens. I wonder how the local bees feel about these nomadic pollinators.

A few years ago I found the largest and bluest of bees ... briefly in my hand before being placed among flowers ... a beauty to behold.

"And pray, who are you?" ... Said the violet blue ... To the bee, with surprise ... At his wonderful size, In her eye-glass of dew.

"I, Madam", quoth he, ... "Am a publican bee, ... Collecting the tax ... On honey and wax. ... Have you nothing for me?"

John B Tabb

[the-californicationist]

Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago… 

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle. 

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring. 

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin. 

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt. 

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep. 

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements. 

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned. 

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman. 

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands. 

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you. 

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger. 

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky. 

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently, 

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further, 

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head, 

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win. 

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers. 

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through. 

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle. 

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic. 

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop. 

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles, 

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.”

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside. 

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown. 

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths. 

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld. 

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you. 

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen. 

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you. 

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations. 

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth. 

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there. 

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season. 

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold. 

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs. 

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin, 

“How about this, hm?” 

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it. 

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it. 

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it. 

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it. 

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm. 

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him. 

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body. 

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain. 

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion. 

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list. 

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines. 

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout. 

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain. 

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout. 

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction. 

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick. 

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep. 

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it. 

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

[thejoyofseax]

Why We Can't Have Medieval Food

I noted in a previous post that I'd "expand on my thinking on efforts to reproduce period food and how we’re just never going to know if we have it right or not." Well, now I have 2am sleep?-never-heard-of-it insomnia, so let's go.

At the fundamental level, this is the idea that you can't step in the same river twice. You can put your foot down at the same point in space, and it'll go into water, but that's different water, and the bed of the river has inevitably changed, even a little, from the last time you did so.

Our ingredients have changed. This is not just because we can't get the fat from fat-tailed sheep in Ireland, or silphium at all anywhere, although both of those are true. But the aubergine you buy today is markedly different to the aubergine that was available even 40 years ago. You no longer need to salt aubergine slices and draw out the bitter fluids, which was necessary for pretty much all of the thing's existence before (except in those cultures that liked the bitter taste). The bitterness has been bred out of them. And the old bitter aubergine is gone. Possibly there are a few plants of it preserved in some archive garden, or a seed bank, or something, but I can't get to those.

We don't really have a good idea of the plant called worts in medieval English recipes. I mean, we know (or we're fairly sure) it was brassica oleracea. But that one species has cultivars as distinct as cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, kale, Brussels sprouts, collard greens, Savoy cabbage, kohlrabi, and gai lan (list swiped from Wikipedia). And even within "cabbage" or "kale", you have literally dozens of varieties. If you plant the seeds from a brassica, unless you've been moderately careful with pollination, you won't get the same plant as the seeds are from. You can crossbreed brassicas just by planting them near each other and letting them flower. And of course there is no way to determine what varietal any medieval village had, a very high likelihood that it was different to the village next door, and an exceedingly high chance that that varietal no longer exists. Further, it only ever existed for a few tens of years - before it went on cross-breeding into something different. So our access to medieval worts (or indeed, cabbage, kale, etc) is just non-existant.

Some other species within the brassica genus are as varied. Brassica rapa includes oilseed rape, field mustard, turnip, Chinese cabbage, and pak choi.

We have an off-chance, as it happens, of getting almost the same kind of apple as some medieval varieties, because apples can only be reproduced for orchard use by grafting, which is essentially cloning. Identification through paintings, DNA analysis, and archaeobotany sometimes let us pin down exactly which apple was there. But the conditions under which we grow those apples are probably not the same as the medieval orchard. Were they thinned? When were they harvested? How were they stored? And apples are pretty much the best case.

Medieval wheat was practically a different plant. It was far pickier about where it would grow, and frequently produced 2-4 grains per stalk. A really good year had 6-8. In modern conditions, any wheat variety with less than 30 grains per stalk would be considered a flop.

Meats are worse. Selective breeding in the last century has absolutely and completely changed every single species of livestock, and if you follow that back another five centuries, some of them would be almost unrecognisable. Even our heritage breeds are mostly only about 200 years old.

Cheese, well. Cheese is dependent on very specific bacteria, and there are plenty of conditions where the resulting cheese is different depending on whether it was stored at the back or front of the cave. Yogurts, quarks, skyrs, etc, are also live cultures, and almost certainly vary massively. (I have a theory about British cheese here, too, which I'll expand on in a future post)

So, even before you go near the different cooking conditions (wood, burnables like camel and cow dung, smoke, the material and condition of cooking pots), we just can't say with any reliability that the food we're making now is anything like medieval people produced from the same recipe. We can't even say that with much reliability over a century.

Under very controlled conditions, you could make an argument for very specific dishes. If you track down a wild mountain sheep in Afghanistan, and use water from a local spring, and salt from some local salt mine, then you can make a case that you can produce something fairly close to the original ma wa milh, the water-and-salt stew that forms the most basic dish in Arabic cookery. But once you start introducing domestic livestock, vegetables, or even water from newer wells, you're now adrift.

It is possible that some dishes taste exactly the same, by coincidence. But we can't determine that. We can't compare the taste of a dish from five years ago, let alone five hundred, because we're only just getting to a state where we can "record" a taste accurately. Otherwise it's memory and chance.

We've got to be at peace with this. We can put in the best efforts we can, and produce things that are, in spirit, like the medieval dishes we're reading about. But that's as good as it gets.

[softestqueeen]

my little flower pt. 1

pairing: stalker!könig (cod) x reader

summary: You were just minding your business, planting some new flowers in your garden, when suddenly a (charming) man in a mask abducts you to use you for his pleasure. You are incredibly conflicted; the stranger seems to be kinda nice but also incredibly selfish at the same time.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! stalking, kidnapping, non-con, rape, soft!König (kinda), soft dom!könig (again kinda), p in v sex, oral (both receiving), pet names, overstimulation, breeding, heavy breeding, cum kink (does that even exist?), cock warming, creampie

wordcount: 2897 words

a/n: This was requested on my ao3, so I hope I’m doing it justice!! I’m also sorry it took me some time to get to it, but it was super fun to write!! I also apologize for all the puns in this fic, there were just too many good opportunities (even though some were kinda cheesy)! And now enjoy <3

Read it here on my ao3!!

It was a beautiful day out and you were enjoying the warm spring sun. You have been waiting for this day all winter long and could now finally enjoy gardening again.

You gathered all your tools again and grabbed the flower seeds you bought last year but couldn’t plant anymore due to the autumn that always came way too fast for your liking. You put on your gardening trousers and slipped on your gardening gloves; your excitement evident in your humming.

You went out into your garden, which was small but couldn’t be more perfect for your yearly projects. You started to dig a few holes into the loosened earth. You went back into the house to get the flower seeds before diving right back into your work.

You were just about to cover the next hole when you suddenly heard a ruffling behind you. You didn’t pay it too much mind though and tried to go back to work. It could have been a cat that mistook your garden for theirs.

But then you heard a voice that seemed a little bit too close for your liking, considering that you lived alone and didn’t expect any company today.

“Out early today, I see little flower.” A shiver ran down your spine. The voice was deep and there was a slight accent evident in it. Was that a German accent?

You were still kneeling on the floor, but still turned around anyways. The man who just talked to you was tall. But not just tall that man was a giant. You had to strain your neck to look at his face, if anybody had been watching the two of you like this, it had to look ridiculous. He must have been around 6”10 at least. He was wearing a tight uniform and a mask which he wore under a helmet. His eyes were a rich and deep green, fitting perfectly to the red stripes that adorned his mask, which was more a dark sheet than a mask.

What was this – admittingly kinda hot – guy doing in your garden? And what did he know about your gardening habits? That was definitely more than a tad scary. But you seemed to regain the control over you body and decided to ask the question that was burning on your tongue.

“Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my garden?” You were pointing your hand shovel at him while saying this. Your tone gave away that you were not amused at all by someone disturbing you during your cherished gardening time.

“Of course, I’m here to get you my little flower.” he answered you before adding “My name is König and I have been watching you since you moved in here. I am your shadow and even though you’ve never seen me, I’ve been here all the time, watching you in your garden, watching you when you’re out with friends or when you are going to work. But now you are going to come with me and from now on I’ll be the only one you’ll see.”

He said that with a certain confidence in his voice that made again a shiver run down your spine. Did he just threaten to abduct you? Why couldn’t this have happened AFTER the summer? You were now not just scared for your life but also annoyed with the stranger in front of you.

You were still quiet – or more speechless, because if you were able to speak you would have definitely said something to defend your honour at least a little bit – so König continued with his little speech.

“I will give you a choice: either you come with me willingly, or I will simply take you with me. Either way, this is going to have the same outcome, so I recommend just going with me.”

Well, that was not as much of a choice as you hoped. You were too stubborn to just submit to this random guy that appeared out of nowhere in your garden, so you just crossed your arms and looked at him like you could kill him with your hard gaze.

“You’re not going to just come with me, are you?”, he asked you rather annoyed, probably having hoped for a little less resistance.

“Who in their right mind would just go with a complete stranger, who just broke into their house and to make it even worse in their garden!”, you were getting louder and louder by the second, hoping this whole situation was just a dream that you would wake up from.

König let out a sigh before pulling out a white cloth and murmuring to himself, wieso muss alles immer so schwer sein?

It all happened in a flash: he knelt down on the floor in front of you and pressed the white cloth against your face, covering your mouth and nose. He put his other hand to the back of your head, keeping you in place while you struggled against him, but to no avail. You knew you had no chance against this almost 7 feet tall monster in front of you, still you tried to fight against him, when suddenly everything went dark.

You awoke on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Where the fuck where you?! And why did your head hurt? You were just in your garde- Oh. Jep, this was unfortunately not a dream. Definitely not a dream.

You tried to get a good look at your surroundings. The room was quite large and looked actually kinda nice. There was of course the bed that you were still laying on, a bedside table, what seems to be some kind of make up vanity, a chair, a large bookshelf and most importantly two doors. You assumed one led to a bathroom and the other one to the hallway.

The good sign was, that there were windows. Curtains were currently covering them, but they were there, which meant that you were not locked up in some weird basement or an old attic.

You were still trying to gain all your senses back when you suddenly heard footsteps outside of the door. You didn’t have enough time to lay back down before you could hear a key turning and the door opening.

“I see, my little violet has blossomed. How are you feeling? You’ve been out longer than I expected.”, he seemed to almost regret drugging you, but his face was still covered, so you couldn’t really tell if he was sincere or if it was all a trick.

“Well, how would you feel if someone drugged and kidnapped you?”, you shot back, now irritated again. Even though you couldn’t see it, König’s brows furrowed at your snarky remark. He though you liked him back.

But it didn’t matter, he was going to make you his and you will want it. He would do anything for you.

He took a step towards you, and you slid higher up the bed. You were still feeling a little bit woozy from the drugs, so the sudden movement made you a bit dizzy.

“Please don’t hurt me.”, you managed to whimper out.

“Don’t worry, my little flower. I’m going to take good care of you from now on.”, he promised you, even though to you it sounded more like a threat. He took another step towards the bed, but you were already up against the headboard, so you could do nothing but squirm under his intense gaze that held so many promises.

“If you keep on squirming like that, I’ll have to tie you down, flower.”, he threatened you again. You were scared shitless. You couldn’t have defended yourself even if you weren’t drugged right now. You wondered for a brief moment if maybe he had hoped that he could drug you so he could do to you whatever he wanted. Your blood froze as you suddenly became aware of the fact that you were only wearing a pair of white panties.

But you didn’t even own any, so he did not just undress you, but put on clothes he had prepared for you. You were feeling sick to your stomach and only snapped out of it when you felt a gloved hand against your ankle. He was sitting on the foot of the bed and had apparently noticed that you zoned out, though he remained quiet.

You just realized that you were at this man’s complete mercy. In this moment he could do anything to you, and you could not protest.

He took off his helmet and pulled down the mask that was still keeping his face from you. You hated yourself for admitting this, but he was handsome. His face was all sharp angles and beautiful features. Plump lips, high cheekbones, prominent jaw and still the same piercing green eyes that mustered you.

He threw his discarded helmet and mask carelessly to the side before he started to kiss up your legs.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, my perfect violet.”, he said in between kisses and the first tear rolled down your face. He kissed up both of your legs before he also kissed over your torso and arms. He hasn’t been too close to your face yet thank God.

He locked eyes with you as he pulled down your panties, the hunger evident in his eyes. he broke eye contact to look at your now exposed cunt. He also threw away your panties, leaving you completely naked. Your limbs lay there limp, too heavy to move. You had resigned to your fate and would just let him do what he had to before he hopefully would mercifully let you go.

He was still staring at your exposed cunt like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He leaned down and planted kisses on the top of your thighs, your hips, and loins. You could do nothing but lay there and let him use you.

“I’m going to pump that pussy full until my seed takes root in your womb and a child will sprout within you. Then you will have to stay with me forever. I can’t wait, little flower.”, he almost said it to himself before he dived in and started planting open mouthed kisses on your pussy. He seemed to have all the time in the world, as he played with you. He let his tongue glide between your folds and circled your clit. He kept a steady rhythm and – even though you hated to admit it – you were coming closer to your release.

You didn’t have any control over you body anymore and came with a drawn-out moan. König didn’t let up his torture though and just kept on playing with your pussy long after your orgasm had subsided. He seemed to quite enjoy himself, as you could feel him smiling against you. Silent moans and whimpers were falling from your lips, and you involuntarily moved your hips against him when you felt him insert a finger into your tight cunt. The intrusion brought you embarrassingly close again, and it didn’t take long for the next orgasm to roll over you.

You don’t know how many more orgasm he gave you, because everything was kind of blurry and was so overwhelming. You did notice however when he pulled away, planting a last kiss on your sensitive and overstimulated clit. König stood up again and was now standing next to the bed, your gaze following his every move.

He unzipped his trousers and took out his flushed and rock-hard cock that was definitely to big to fit into any of your holes. The man gripped the base of his cock before slowly pumping it a few times. He let go of it to grab your hand and pull you to him with ease, your body still limp. He placed your head on the edge of the bed, so it was hanging off it, while your body stayed on the bed.

“Open up, little flower. Let me fuck that pretty mouth, huh? Don’t you think I deserve a little treat after treating you so well.”, he cooed before inserting his thumb between your lips, as to pry open your mouth. You were feeling like a puddle of slime and couldn’t have resisted anyways.

König inserted his leaking cock into your mouth and slowly entered you until you swallowed his cock completely. You could feel his pelvis against your nose and his cock down your throat. If you weren’t so numb, you would have definitely gagged. You head was still tilted, so König had a perfect view of the bulge that his dick was causing.

He pulled out almost completely before slamming back into you. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size or the feeling of him intruding in your mouth. He started to fuck your mouth in earnest, growling and groaning above you. You pressed your eyes closed, hoping the moment would just end.

Your chest and face were flushed, now not just from the uncomfortable situation but also from the shame that you were feeling, because it didn’t feel completely bad to know that you were the cause of his pleasure, even though you didn’t have do anything. He ate you out until your limbs turned to putty and now used your mouth and throat like they had seriously wronged him.

Suddenly there was a shift, and he didn’t just groan but also praise you. Telling you how good your mouth felt and how well you were doing, making something weird bloom in your chest. The situation wasn’t as bad as anticipated, even though you still wished you were never born.

König increased his speed before pulling out and painting your face, breasts, chest and stomach with his hot white cum. You were finally able to properly breath again, the heaviness on your chest now lightly lifting again.

You licked your lips, involuntarily tasting his surprisingly sweet cum. You were still upside down with your head, thus feeling a little nit light handed. He gripped your waist with one of his beefy hands and threw you back on the bed like you were a rag doll and weighed nothing.

He crawled on top of your sprawled out body before he whispered into your ear “It would be a shame to let all that cum go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

He leaned back and started to collect his cum with one of his thick fingers, before he pushed his cum into your sensitive pussy. He kept on doing it until you hit yet another high before he decided he played enough with you.

“I made a promise to you, my beautiful rose, and I’m a man who stays true to his word”, he unfortunately remined you. He was still fully dressed in his unform, only his helmet and mask were missing, and his cock was standing erect against his clothed stomach again.

He got on his knees between your spread legs, using one of his hands to keep your shaking legs open and the other one to guide his aching cock to your tight hole. He guided himself to your cunt and started to ease himself into you with slow thrusts, completely unlike his earlier assault on your throat.

Once he was settled inside of you it felt like he was splitting you open. He gave you a few seconds to adjust before he started to thrust in and out of you. He was unable to hold his rhythm though, and started to go faster again, a string of sorrysorrysorry leaving his lips.

“You just feel so good.”, he almost moaned out while he again increased his speed, now slamming into you like there’s no tomorrow. König could feel you squeezing him, your next orgasm already fast approaching.

“Cum on my cock, little flower, cum on daddy’s cock.”, he commanded, and your body obliged, a bone crushing orgasm washing over you. But König was not yet finished with you.

He pulled out of you, flipped you around with ease so your ass was sticking out while your face was pressed into one of the pillows. You would have collapsed if he didn’t have a bruising grip on your hips.

He slipped his fat cock inside of you again and started to chase his release. He fucked you like you were a doll, there just for his pleasure and you had a sneaky feeling that that was exactly what you were from now on. He fucked you like he hated you and when you felt his dick twitch inside of you, the both of you came simultaneously.

You clamped down on his cock, making it hard for him to move. He stilled inside of you while he filled you with ropes of his creamy cum, collapsing on top of you and covering you with his large body. You could feel his heavy breathing next to your ear becoming calmer, before you noticed that he had fallen asleep, his cock still nestled inside of you and his weight on top of you.

The last thought you had before passing out from exhaustion, was that this was your life from now on.

And you weren’t sure if that was the best or worst thing that had ever happened to you.

a/n: I hope you enjoyed this! If so, please leave some notes, likes, reblogs, comments and feedback is also very much appreciated! I am currently working on a part 2, so stay tunes! You can also request things here and on my ao3!

Here you can read part 2!

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Fourteen — Jackson Rippner + CNC, roleplay

Pairing -> dom!jackson rippner x sub!reader

Warnings -> DARK!!!!, don't read if you're not comfortable, smut (minors dni), p in v sex, marriage, stalking

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

A/N: Sorry I didn't get this out on time, I was too tired to write it yesterday.

Disclaimer: Red Eye characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

You cried out, fingers wrapping around the fence bars as the stranger plunged his cock into your pussy, his thrusts mad and wild like a dog. Just a few moments ago you had been watering the flowers in your backyard, when a man snuck up behind you, placed his hand over your mouth, lifted your dress, and started fucking you like you were a doll ready to be used.

You tried to struggle out of his grasp, but it was far too tight for any movement to make much of a difference. You could still hear the man’s panting in your ear, and you could still feel his body push up against yours. Tears started to pour out of your eyes as the reality of the situation dawned on you — you were being raped. Someone was raping you.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice muffled, attempting to raise your voice (and failing) above the sound of the skin slaps. “P-please, stop.”

“Why?” the man grunted. “This feels so nice. I know you like it, too.” His fingers swept through your folds. “Why else would you be wet?”

It’s not my fault, you wanted to say. It’s not my fault . . . But no words came out of your mouth. Instead you let yourself lay at the mercy of this man, this man you didn’t even know.

As pain and pleasure shot through your body like rolling waves on the sea, you tried to scream, but of course, barely anything could be heard. The man chuckled, and then spat in your ear. “No one can hear you. But if you are going to put that mouth to use, it better be with my name in it. Jackson,” he said. “I want you to moan ‘Jackson’.”

“J-Jackson, please.”

“There ya go.” You couldn’t see his face but you could tell he was smiling. “Now you’re getting it. If I remove my hand, you won’t scream, will you?”

You didn’t say anything. He sighed.

“So you will. It’s okay, you’ll learn to get used to this. Next time,” he continued in between huffs. “I’ll choose your bed, or maybe that alleyway you walk through between third and sixth. That’s a good a spot.”

You narrowed your eyes in confusion. How did he know . . . ?

But there was no time to think about it. The man called Jackson came inside you, filing you up with his seed. He pulled out, and his white juices dripped down your leg. You both just stood there for a moment, before he turned you around and planted a soft kiss on your lips. 

“Was this good?” Jackson asked, tracing the line where your ring was supposed to be. “I didn’t hurt you much, did I?”

You chuckled, waving off your sweet husband’s concerns. “I liked it. I didn’t know you could be so forceful.”

You rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, his warmth coating your body.

“Yeah, well, in the heat of the moment, I guess.”

“Hey, how did you know about the alleyway?” you asked. “The one I walk to the coffee shop through?”

Jackson smiled. “I thought I should make it more realistic. Play the part of the stalker, you know?”

You nodded, but the thought was still in your head, even as you walked back into the house to clean up. You and him had only just discussed your CNC fantasies, maybe just two days ago, and since then, you hadn’t taken that shortcut between third and sixth street. Sure, it was a regular route you used, but not in the recent days. How long had he been planning this?

You shook the idea that Jackson was actually a stalker away, but maybe, just maybe, Jackson wasn’t as innocent as you had assumed, and that this was only the first taste of his truth. 

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[thatdeathwitch]

About King Hades (Haides)

Haides is the god of the dead and King of the Underworld. Even if He rules over the dead he is not death itself, that would be Thanatos as he is the god of non-violent death or gentle death. King Haides also presides over funeral rites and defends the right of the dead to due burial. Because of that and He’s connotations the the earth, he is also considered as the god of the hidden wealth of the earth, from the fertile soil with nourished the seed-grain, to the mined wealth of gold, silver and other metals.

King Haides is the son of Kronos, god of time and the King of the Titanes and Rhea, the Titaness mother of the gods and goddess of female fertility, motherhood and generation*. In the myths, Haides desired a bride and when He asked one to King Zeus, He offered Persephone to Him.

Symbols and Correspondences:

- Main symbol: Royal sceptre, cornucopia, keys, Kerberos

- Sacred plants/trees: Asphodel, mint, white poplar, cypress

- Colours: Black, maroon colours, white, earth colours (mostly greens and browns)

- Animals: Dogs, Screech-owl

- Crystals: Black tourmaline, black onyx, black obsidian, jade

Devotional acts:

Offerings ideas: flowers or herbs associated with him, skulls, pomegranate, art of Himself and things He’s associated with, candles, feathers, crystals, incenses (myrrh, franckincens, mint), milk, honey, red wine, black coffee.

Devotional acts: visit graveyards, honour the dead, meditate with Him, read His myths, write Him letters or notes, sing, dance, take walks on nature, appreciate the changes that the seasons bring us, wear jewellery on His honor, honouring Persephone.

Recommended readings for a better understanding:

- Hesiod, Theogony. It describes the entire cosmology and creation of the gods, including the birth of Haides.

- Homeric hymn to Demeter. It describes the rape of Persephone. It’s probably one of His most known episodes. It also describes the division of the cosmos between Haides, Zeus and Poseidon.

- Plato, Gorgias. Specifically 523a as it also describes the appointment of the judges of the dead and the division of the cosmos.

- Plato, Republic. Specifically 10.614–10.621 as it explains the myth of Er. This myth describes the path of the dead in the afterlife.

[faghubby]

My married lover

(this is based on a true relationship but a collection of encounters over several years)

Dan was married and considered himself a straight man. But the first time I met him we where in a bar that catered to the alphabet. He approached me straight away. He bought me a drink.

"I like to take you down the street to the motel and have my way with you" he said boldly. I was memorized by his bold and honest demeanor. His hand grabbed my crotch under the table.

"You are a little sissy bitch aren't you?" He asked. I just blushed. I was dressed from work. How would he know? My dirty jeans and work boots. I didn't look like a sissy. But he was right. I just nodded. He stood paid the bill and led me by the hand out of the bar. He opened his car door for me. My truck was right there I thought but didn't say a word just went with him. He checked into the motel and led me again by the hand like a child to the room.

"Strip" he commanded. Shaking I did as he said. He had me leave my satin panties with little roses all over them. My dick straining to break out of them. I dropped and unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was so big I thought. Later finding out it was 9 inches of amazing thick cock. I sucked his cock. Licking his cock and balls I needed his cock. My jaw hurt by the time he came all over my face. As I cleaned my face he started to explain what he wanted.

"My wife let's me have these little games, to satisfy my little cravings for what she considers beneath her. I need to someone submit, to make them submit." He explained.

"You need to submit don't you?" He smiled his hand grabbed my ass. I just nodded.

"Do you know about chastity?" He asked.

"Yes" I said my voice trembling.

"It is required" Dan explained. "I will want you to submit to alot more" his hand reached into my panties his fingers rubbed my asshole.

"I understand" I told him.

"I may spank you" Dan warned me.

"I understand" I said

"I am going to fuck you now" Dan told me. I didn't resist just turned and bent over the bed. He had lube and lubed my ass as he tore my panties from my body. He was not gentile or slow. He forced his monster cock into my hole. I cried but stiffled my scream. As he raped my ass. No other way to describe it. He smacked me as he pounded away on my ass. I don't know how long he fucked me for but it was the longest event of my life. He finally filled my ass with his seed. When finished he held me. My head rested against his chest. As Dan asked me about my life, and experiences. He was gentle and caring at this point. After about an hour and a long talk he drove me back to my truck.

The very next day I started getting presents delivered to my house. First flowers thanking me for a lovely evening. A few days later I recieved a chastity cage. It was quite small. Various lingerie, even a dress after that. Everything fit perfectly I had no idea how he knew. When I got a message to meet him at the motel again. I went in the new lingerie but wore my boy clothes not willing to go out in a dress. I managed to fit into the tight cage after several attempts.

Dan looked disappointed that I had not worn the dress but he immediately put his own lock on my cage. He then tied my hands before he fucked me again hard and fast stokes. He pulled my hair and I called out. He stopped suddenly and shoved a gag into my mouth. Then started his assault on my ass again. After he finished he pulled me to him.

"Next time you don't wear what I tell you I swear you will take my whole fucking fist up that pussy of yours" he hissed in my ear. He then pulled me across his lap. Pinning me he smacked my ass.

"Keri left a mess in her car" he told me. Then another blow. "Keri vulgar little mouth swears but won't suck cock" he told me then another blow. I was being punished for what I figured was his wife had done. He continued listing a rash of small things but obviously they bothered him. When he was done, he untied me. And removed the gag. I cuddled up to him begging forgiveness for Keri's wrongdoings. I reached down and stroked his cock. As I did. As he grew hard I opened my mouth and sucked his cock. He seemed to really enjoy it being completely relaxed. I slid down and licked his asshole.

"OH you little slut, trying to make me a faggot. You will have to stay locked up till next time for that" he told me. I didn't care I licked his ass again. Teasing him until he exploded in my mouth.

Dan was true to his word leaving me locked in chastity for 10 days till we met up again. I changed into the dress in truck then ran to the motel room door. He did unlock me and let me masterbate in the bathroom out of his view before he locked me back up. He added toys, and sometimes didn't have sex at all. The first time he took a paddle to my ass I thought I would die. He told me how I was preserving his marriage all his frustration and unsatisfied sexual energy went to me. Allowing him to have a very happy marriage.

As time went by I even got presents from his wife. He liked me locked. But if he wasn't going to see me far a while he did unlock me. Having me put it on a few days before we where to meet. He also understood that I could see other people. But would be upset if I was unable to meet him. And I would pay for it when we did.

He never did fist me, but some of the toys he has used came close.

God I hope he calls again soon!

[princessxlilac]

pomegranate

a poem inspired by my scorpio moon & rising:

vultures access the rape of sabine

hell has found its brand new queen

mother demeter wails in the streets,

“something precious has been taken from me!”

i am persephone

goddess of the spring and what’s buried deep underneath it

yes i ate the pomegranate

i was searching for something pure and romantic

i know now that my ignorance was taken for granted

it’s crimson seeds were not sweet,

they were bitter and poisonous

id fallen for someone soulless

when i stooped to a new low

you dragged me down into the basement

so i begged the gods in heaven for acknowledgment

red rubies look dirty on white snow

brandished to me a silver blade that whispers

seething hot words so dark and sinister

it tells me “he should wilt like my roses do in the winter!”

yet i try to remain my kindest through all the ice storms and violence

my tired heart grew violets

fertilized by the pain of my love’s departure

i know that i can flower regardless of your nurture.

[questionsonislam]

Why does Allah give people so much hardship like torture, cruelty, brutality, disability, blindness and rape?

Answer 1:

“That which is on earth we have made but as a glittering show for the earth, in order that We may test them - as to which of them are best in conduct. Verily what is on earth we shall make but as dust and dry soil (without growth or herbage)." (al-Kahf, 7-8)

As it is stated in the verses above and similar verses, the world is exactly a testing place. This is a complete test. The deeds and outcomes we evaluate originate from this environment of testing. In this environment of testing, a believer or an unbeliever is not given a privileged position. Sad things and joyful things exist together.

What is bad is not the possibility of doing bad deeds but doing bad deeds itself. For instance, a person’s being fair and just is understood when he has the opportunity to be cruel and to oppress but he does not do so.

Therefore, in a world where only opportunities to do good deeds are present, doing good deeds is not regarded as something valuable. When we consider all of the grades of good and beautiful, honesty and justice, it is clear that there will also be the opposites of them. The point that needs to be judged at this point is people’s misusing their ability to do endless good deeds, and doing bad deeds instead.

There are so many good and charitable servants of Allah. The existence of these good servants in terms of quality is also the cause of the creation of this world of testing. In other words, many people make themselves bad in this test, and many people display the good things in themselves thanks to this test.

However, Allah states that with His mercy He will grant boons that will please in their eternal life those who are oppressed and wronged in this test

What we need to do is to surrender to the divine mercy and to wait for the great day of religion. On this great day, the one who is punished will be punished fully and the one who is rewarded will be rewarded fully.

This worldly life may be a short life but since that person denies his Lord, who is eternal, his denial necessitates eternal punishment. Similarly, in this short life, a person who accepts and believes in his Lord attains eternal mercy.

Answer 2:

Man was created in a nature that tends to develop and change like a nucleus and an egg; his rank is not fixed like angels and animals. The conditions, circumstances and situations that will trigger and activate this development in man were necessary.

The development of an egg that is a candidate to be a bird and a seed that is a candidate to be a tree cannot develop everywhere and in all circumstances. The egg needs to remain under a chicken or an environment like that of a chicken.  

A seed needs the environment under the soil. Otherwise, they will rot and be destroyed.

Can it be regarded as a torture for a seed to be thrown into the ground, buried in the darkness, to crack as a result of being given water so that it will be transformed into a tree and to have the blessings such as leaves, flowers, fruits, tastes, smells and colors? No sane person can say that it is wrong for the seed and that it is not in compliance with wisdom and mercy.

So, a suitable environment is required for a seed to be a tree,

Similarly, there is a need for an environment so that man will reveal the ores in his nature. This environment is the life in the world. Man’s nature, which could not develop in Paradise, was sent to the world, which has the conditions that will enable him to develop.

Such an environment was necessary for man to show which one of the positive or negative features potentially placed in his nature he would prefer. Otherwise, the ranks of human beings would be fixed like those of the angels and animals; They would not have the ability to ascend and descend.

It is clear what a great blessing and mercy is for man to be buried in the earth so that these great and endless blessings will be revealed.

[dodgytransformer]

Children of Persephone headcanons (because there aren't enough)

Children of Persephone often develop bipolar disorder as a result of their mother's two different “sides”.

Children of Persephone get along well with most underworld kids, but especially Hades' kids, as they're step-siblings.

In the winter, children of Persephone tend to have a temper and a short-fuse.

All children of Persephone are born with the desire to eat pomegranate seeds at least once in their lives.

Children of Demeter are often bossy towards children of Persephone, who deliberately try to annoy them.

Children of Persephone are often very free spirits and hate being told what to do.

Persephone doesn't have very many demigod children, as she is completely loyal to her husband (though she's not above having a child with a mortal out of spite).

Children of Persephone tend to be very independent and stubborn.

Children of Persephone may have a rivalry with children of Aphrodite, though it can be friendly.

Children of Persephone are stronger in places of nature — this extends to garden centres.

Children of Persephone tend to take on a lot more than they can bare.

Children of Persephone tend to be wary of snakes and children of Zeus, because of the rape of their mother.

Children of Persephone take great offence if you use their name in vain or as the basis of mockery.

Children of Persephone become more ruthless and bloodthirsty in the winter.

If a child of Persephone sees a deer in a forest, it will come to greet them, as deer are their mother's sacred animal.

Children of Persephone would most likely skin you if you spoke badly of their mother.

All children of Persephone are beautiful, as beauty is subjective.

If looking to boast, most children of Persephone will refer to themselves as a child of The Destroyer.

When angered, children of Persephone can have a ruthless, thirst-for-blood that could rival a child of Ares.

Some children of Persephone are more feared than children of Hades.

Children of Persephone are often friendly with nature spirits.

Just as children of Poseidon can talk to sea animals, children of Persephone can “talk” to plants, in that they understand what plants want or need.

All children of Persephone have the ability to grow flowers or plants, which many accidentally do when they're nervous.

Powerful children of Persephone possess the ability to turn people into animals or plants.

Though this is rare, some children of Persephone possess a very mild form of charmspeak and are able to accentuate their beauty or the beauty of others.

Another rare power is the ability to take away the pain of death and bless them with safe passage to a good afterlife, but only for those who deserve it — if the person is deemed unworthy by Persephone, they will be given a fair judgement.

Children of Persephone can summon and communicate with the dead, but to a lesser extent than the children of Hades — in some cases, Hades may bless the child, which amplifies this ability.

As Persephone is the mistress and the goddess of the Furies, her children can summon the Furies, who will obey them without question.

Children of Persephone have the rare power to bless people/lands with fertility.

[moonsoulastrology]

Mythology Series #1

Persephone (asteroid 399)

The goddess of spring and queen of the underworld, AKA Kora, was the daughter of Ceres(Demeter) and Zeus (Jupiter). Throughout the story, I will keep it as Ceres and Zeus.

Even though Persephone isn't part of the planets and is only a minor asteroid, her mythology and archetype is a story to know. In my opinion, I see her connected to the Taurus Scorpio access. She's also part of the triple moon symbol as the waxing crescent representing the maiden. Her mother Ceres is represented by the full moon, the mother, and Hecate, the waning crescent as the crone. If you're into rituals or getting into them and looking for a goddess to work with, Persephone is one to consider. I work with her and feel very connected to her through my natal chart placements.

So there are quite a few different stories about how the goddess of spring also became the queen of the underworld, I will tell it the way I know and how I feel it fits best with her in my mind.

So The Story Goes Like This. One beautiful day Persephone was out picking flowers when she was kidnapped by Hades (Pluto) and brought down to the underworld. (She would have been kidnapped by Hermes which is Mercury as no god was able to cross to the underworld or back, in another series we'll talk about Mercury as he was messenger of the gods since he was not a god himself he was able to go to the underworld and back.) Ceres was so distraught trying to find her daughter as she was extremely close with her. She begged Zeus to send Hermes to go fetch their daughter. What Ceres didn't know was that Zeus promised Persephone to his brother Hades so they would be married. Persephone was not happy. She longed to go back home with her mother. Ceres being so angry, she used her power and made it so that there was no harvest for the mortals. Zeus freaked out! He loved being worshiped by the mortals, and with no harvest, the mortals got pissed and vowed to stop worshiping him. So he talked to Hades and asked him to send his daughter back home. During this time, Pluto/Hades had been trying to get Persephone to submit to him by beating her and raping her, but she refused to be his queen. He had even promised that all the gods would worship her, but she was not interested. She just longed to go back home. Zeus asked Hades to please send her back, and he agreed since she wouldn't submit to him as the story goes. But he's sneaky, before letting Persephone leave, he asked her to at least eat something. So she ate six pomegranate seeds and then let Hermes take Persephone back to her parents. Ceres was so thrilled, she used her powers to bring back the harvest. She then thought that it was too easy to get her back and asked Persephone, "Did you eat anything before you left the underworld?" Persephone told her mother about the pomegranate seeds. Again, her mother became enraged as these seeds made Persephone connected to the underworld. So Persephone would have to go back in order to stay alive. She would be allowed back to Earth for springtime, but would have to return to the underworld again. When Persephone would have to leave and the harvest ended (Autumn Equinox, Mabon), and when she came back, so did the foliage and grains (spring equinox, Ostara). Eventually, Persephone made the best of her situation even though her mother was not happy. Ceres refused to change things to the way it was.

Persephone stepped into both roles; the goddess of spring and queen of the underworld.

This story shows how to integrate both the light and the dark. It shows great strength and inner power. It shows how you can transform yourself with a change of perception and willpower.

Now I equate Persephone to the Taurus-Scorpio axis because we have spring in Taurus season, the foliage and flowers are all in bloom (and even thousands of years ago spring equinox was actually during Taurus season). When Persephone goes back to the underworld that starts the Autumn Equinox, but remember Libra was once part of the Scorpio constellation, and that's when we have the equinox. Also, Scorpio is ruled by Pluto and is the sign and energy of transformation. As I mentioned earlier, she's also part of the triple moon symbol (below), being the waxing crescent. So if you work with the moon, you're working with Persephone in a way already.

Like I mentioned, there are many versions to the story, and with mythology, we can change them a bit to fit the times we are in or to fit how we resonate with it.

Finding an archetype or archetypes to connect to can really help any healing process. Also knowing the archetypes of our solar system can help you better understand astrology and your own charts.

I feel I resonate with Persephone through my chart as my Cancer moon is a waxing crescent, Ceres is cazimi to my Taurus Sun 8th House. Persephone/Asteroid 399 is also in wide conjunction to my North Node, they both inconjunct my sun/Ceres and Pluto/Ascendant. During my solar returns, it's spring, and everything is in bloom when the sun conjuncts my Ascendant it's during autumn equinox.

Some items to use for rituals to work with Persephone:

●Offerings - pomegranate seeds, lily's, narcissus(yellow flower similar to daffodils), roses, violets, crocus, iris, jasmine, or larkspur, bones, apples, acorns, bare branches, milk, honey, red wine, or corn. These all depend on the time of year. Also you can use these to decorate your altar with.

○Really, you can use any spring flower as she is the goddess of spring!

●Wearing a floral crown or an iron crown depending on the time of year.

●Wearing pastel colors during the spring and summer; dark colors in the fall and winter.

●Using our wearing garnet. The word "Garnet" is derived from the Latin Granatum and can be associated with pomegranate due to the color.

●Carnelian, ruby, onyx, obsidian, or any red or dark colored crystal. Garnet, obsidian, and onyx are wonderful protection stones, too. The dark stones are symbolic to shadow work, rest, and renewal. The red stones are symbolic of passion, connection, and renewal. Using green colored stones during spring or clear quartz and amethyst for anytime of year.

*There's also a great book about her if you're interested in learning more about her and rituals to work with her. It's called 'Persephone's Pathway' by Jennifer Heather.

The symbol below represents Persephone and is a combination of Ceres and Pluto along with the Cresent moon and 6 dots to represent the 6 pomegranate seeds.

#MythologySeries

#TaurusSoulAstrology

#Persephone

#AstrologyCommunity

[girl4music]

So the metaphor is growing up and the “canon” lore is vampires are incapable of growing up, right? Not in the physical way, the mental way, the spiritual way. A vampire remains an undeveloped entity in every way. That’s the “canon” lore for vampires.

But then you have a vampire character that is literally written to contradict that lore. Forced to by the network or not, Whedon wrote him like that to begin with. He’s the one that planted the seeds of goodness in Spike in the first place only to stomp all over the flower when it bloomed specifically because it bloomed. It’s petty and just shows how much of a dick he is that he blames everyone else for that regretful decision of making Spike be the outlier in the “canon” lore. Personally I believe Angel is but that’s another topic for another day.

The fact of the matter is that Spike is not like other vampires. ‘Fool For Love’ directly contradicts the “canon” lore point blank by showing us how a human informs a demon and a demon informs a vampire. It IS a development - a cycle. Some random demon has not set up shop in Spike despite William’s soul leaving his body. Spike gets the demons instincts but retains William’s psyche. So if he was just a soulless monster, he wouldn’t immediately feel guilty for his actions the same way Angel wouldn’t as Angelus. He is just evil to be evil. Nothing more, nothing less. But I’m sorry because that’s just not what they show with Spike. They show he is capable of good just as much as evil and they show that it’s through choice rather than through nature. So the question becomes - does Spike CHOOSE to rape/sexually assault Buffy or does the demon in him compel him to as it’s part of his NATURE as a vampire? This is the debate.

My insistent stance is he doesn’t and it doesn’t. He wouldn’t choose to do it and it’s not against his will. It’s a contradiction. Neither argument works. The debate is irrelevant. It’s character assassination.

See this is the problem with the split-divide identity/personality of Angel/Angelus. His CHOICE means nothing because IT’S NOT HIM! It’s a random demon. They don’t do that with any other significant vampire in the show. And so Spike is rendered “faulty” instead of the former. I honestly think it’s insulting. I prefer flawed characters. Not faulty ones. Because faulty ones can’t grow from and through their flaws without an external source.

This means that there’s only one thing Spike can do to “fix” this “faultiness” and that he CHOOSES to in itself directly contradicts the “canon” lore as that is also a development.

[totallynotreadingatwork]

Out of the Attic, by V.C. Andrews

...except it's actually ghost-written by Andrew Neiderman because the real Virginia Andrews has been dead since 1986 and this book came out in 2020. It is also just... not very good.

Spoilers ahead.

TW: rape, abusive relationship, controlling behaviour

Out of the Attic is a tie in to the popular Dollanganger series by Virginia Andrews, the first book of which was Flowers in the Attic, which was published in 1979. Andrews wrote 5 books for the series before she passed away, and then in 2014 the series was revived for another 6 books by ghost writers hired by the family. Out of the Attic is the 10th book written for the series, but chronologically takes place before Flowers in the Attic and focuses on Corrine Foxworth, Malcolm Foxworth's mother, as she marries into the family and has her son.

I think Neiderman was aiming to make Corrine a more likeable and relatable character by having her be married into the family against her will and feel isolated and alone as she is whisked away from the family and friends she's known all her life and taken to live in the grand and unwelcoming Foxworth hall. She is plied with alcohol and raped by Garland Foxworth, which results in a pregnancy that means she has to marry Garland or face ruin.

She obviously marries him, and things are going well at first but soon end up with her all alone in this huge house, sections of which she is too scared to go into, and with an infant son that she feels no maternal connection to. Corrine spends five years rattling around doing pretty much nothing but shopping, keeping up with the latest fashions, and making herself look beautiful every day whilst a nanny raises her son, whom she by now actively dislikes, until one day she meets a woman whilst out shopping who says she should join their ladies club.

Corrine then finds out Garland is cheating on her, goes to a Halloween party dressed as a nun, takes her son and the nanny to the beach, hires an artist she met at the Halloween party to paint her portrait, has an affair with said artist (his name is Beau and he seems very nice), gets raped by Garland again, then flees to France with Beau where she discovers that she's pregnant with Garland's child. The end, thank god.

Now, on reading that brief summary you may be thinking 'yeah, that doesn't sound like a very fun life, I feel like I could sympathise with this character', but the way that Corrine is written and portrayed really just makes you dislike her. You sympathise with her in some aspects, where in others you're just sort of left thinking she's actually a horrible person.

Take her relationship with her son, for instance; Corrine believes that Malcolm is evil and conniving and and manipulative. He misbehaves, he tries to wriggle his way out of punishments, and he asks questions and keeps pestering her for things.

Malcolm is also 4 years old.

Now, I'm not particularly fond of young children myself, so I understand her not wanting to be around him 24/7 or finding him a bit overwhelming at times. However, I don't think calling this behaviour 'evil' is quite correct. All 4-year-olds ask a ton of questions, all 4-year-olds will try to escape punishment for things they've done, all 4-year-olds will pester you to go places and do things, especially if you've promised them such things earlier in the week (Corrine is on several occasions annoyed by Malcolm asking to go to the seaside... after she herself suggested they go to the seaside but didn't tell him when that would happen).

I know that Malcolm Foxworth grows up to be the grandfather of the Dollanganger children who are then locked in the attic (and Neiderman even tries to foreshadow that by having him very briefly lock Corrine in the attic in this book) so Neiderman is obviously trying to plant the seeds of a very disturbed person, but it's like the man has never met a toddler before. We're supposed to be on Corrine's side, to look at Malcolm and say 'ah, so he's always been evil and bad', but Malcolm just isn't ; he's just a child who's a little bit spoilt. The most 'evil' things he does are destroy a wedding photograph album belonging to his mother (which certainly isn't good behaviour but children have definitely done worse), and lock her in the attic... when she's chasing him round the house threatening to beat him with a belt for destroying the album. This woman is not likeable.

Obviously it goes without saying that a book character doesn't have to be morally good in order to be a compelling and interesting point of view character, but the framing of the book so often seems like it's trying to portray her in a positive light that it just... I don't know. It doesn't feel very good to read. We don't linger on Corrine's trauma or her feelings of loneliness or isolation long enough to develop as much sympathy for her as I think the author would like. There's quite a bit of telling and not much showing.

Also, Neiderman is very 'men writing women' in places. There's a lot of hot flushes rushing to breasts of course, but also there's... this???

Image description: Quote from the book that reads as follows;

"What are they?"

"Open and see."

Children and women are so distracted, so mesmerised, by surprise presents that they'd ignore being in a burning building, I thought. I was disappointed at how excited I was and how quickly my pride and indignation had weakened, my fury and determination along with them. I had stepped in here ready to demand answers to questions I knew would stir his rage. I was more than willing to do that than ever I had bee, but right now all I could think was What's in those boxes?

Image description end.

So yeah, apparently women will disregard their own safety for shiny presents. This, by the way, is when she's going to confront him about cheating on her.

Overall, a thoroughly mediocre reading experience that I do not recommend to anyone. If you liked Flowers in the Attic then this will just annoy you and taint your memories of it, and if you've never read the Dollanganger books then there's no point in picking it up because nothing substantial happens in it!

[drew-mga2022mi6011]

Research | Amazigh Facial Tattooing : A Dying Tradition

via Morocco World News

The traditional Amazigh face tattoos are a social phenomenon that was an integral part of the their traditions. Customarily, women would tattoo their bodies for beauty, health and protection. The markings, tattooed on Amazigh girls beginning at a young age, acted as a rite of passage. After an Amazigh girl was tattooed, she became a woman with the potential of motherhood.

It punctuated the lives of individuals and commemorated the most important episodes in the lives of men and women and their community. The Berber face tattoo anchored beliefs and the pagan rites of the past in their customs. In North Africa, the tradition of tattooing dates to pre-Islamic times, and Amazigh populations across Morocco have practiced it consistently since then.

How the face tattoo was made differs from place to place. The most common was to cut the skin with a blade (healing tattoos usually used a knife) or a needle then rub with the kohl ash. In the spring, wheat shoots are picked, chewed and then crushed to extract a green juice. This juice is spread onto the tattoo to help it heal and that is how the tattoos become green in colour. 

Tattoos followed Amazigh women throughout their lives. The first facial tattoo is called the “siyala” and is placed on the chin for fertility. At an early age, women also applied tattoos to protect from death and disease. Along with important milestones, such as with the onset of puberty or for fertility, women received more tattoos. Tattoos were also used to convey one’s social or marital status and portray beauty. Later in life, if a woman’s social status changed, her tattoos would evolve with them. If a woman was widowed, she may have a tattoo from one ear to the other, symbolizing the beard of her dead husband.

Many tattoo symbols have relationships with vegetation. The palm tree is a common facial tattoo, drawn as a straight line surrounded by dots that represent seeds. It is placed between the bottom lip and chin of a woman as a “siyala.” The tattoo correlates with the Carthaginian goddess Tanit, who is the fertility, war, and lunar goddess to the Amazigh people. The tattoo is regarded as one of the most beautiful symbols a woman could have on her face.

Tattoos relating to the animal world are correlated with female sexuality. Additionally, tattoos with diamond shapes, such as the eye or flower, were seen as a source of protection against evil spirits. One of the most important facets of the designs was the way they connected women as they were passed from mother to daughter and between generations.

However, when asked about the purpose of their tattoos in interviews, many tattooed women and their family members insist that the purpose was solely decoration and to make them beautiful.

Amazigh women with tattoos today were born in a time when tattoos were highly encouraged, celebrated, and an integral part of their lives. Within their lifetimes, the women witnessed an unexpected transformation within Morocco and North Africa, where their tattoos, which once made them sought after, became a source of shame. This could be for a few reasons; society post Arabo-Islamic culture, women tattooed at a young age felt that it was not their choice and lacked cultural understanding, and so did not pass it down to their daughters, and finally due to the taboos of modern Islam, women need to remove their tattoos before going to Mecca for pilgrimage and French colonial occupation are some factors.

The role of tattoos began to shift at the beginning of the 20th century with the French occupation of Morocco. For some Amazigh women, the occupation encouraged them to get tattoos, since they believed that the tattoos could protect them from rape. During the time of the French colonization, women used tattoos to show their independence and exert freedom. The tattoos were also used to inspire Moroccan men to work harder. The French established brothels around Morocco and abducted Amazigh women from rural regions to work as prostitutes in these brothels. Since many of the Amazigh women had tattoos, a relationship grew between prostitution and facial tattoos. Slowly, Moroccan society began to judge women with facial tattoos, associating them with prostitution.

Most Amazigh had adopted the Islamic religion for over a millennium, so the practice of tattooing was reduced a long time ago because it’s against the ethics and Muslim orthodoxy as Islam forbids tattooing, even though it’s not mentioned in the Quran. The interpretation and the prohibition of tattooing or any other modification of the body is passed on by the hadith, which are stories from the Prophet and are a major source of guidance for Muslims. As of writing this, the tattooed elderly Amazigh women of today are the last generation to have taken part in the tradition.

Despite the prohibitions, the practice of tattooing lasted commonly until the 60s, and still nowadays is practiced in some areas where the culture is still conserved, especially in the desert and Atlas Mountains. In most areas however, henna is used as a non permanent alternative. In regions where city standards are struggling to be adopted, the nomads, and the semi-nomad are living in harsh conditions and roaming the country according to the harvests, water and pasture. Here is where this Amazigh ancestral tradition of face tattoos continues.

I came across this rabbit hole while researching traditional Moroccan fashion, and found it fascinating. This is a perfect opportunity to add depth to my character and more insight into the backstory of my character without writing a thing about it in the book.

References

Brumfitt, L. (2022). Berber Face Tattoos - why they’ve been reduced to a memory? [online] Tiziri Camp. Available at: https://www.tiziricamp.com/berber-face-tattoos-why-theyve-been-reduced-to-a-memory/.

McCabe, C. (2019). The Disappearing Tradition of Amazigh Facial and Body Tattoos. [online] https://www.moroccoworldnews.com/. Available at: https://www.moroccoworldnews.com/2019/04/269903/tradition-amazigh-facial-tattoos.

[autumncrowcus]

The Kore reaches for the narcissus in an attempt to pluck it from the earth, but this gesture doubles back metaphorically to suggest that she needs to pluck herself from her childhood and her connections with her mother and grandmother in their guise as earth mothers. Her longing for a beauty that mirrors her own empowers her to move into a new and sexual stage of life that is identified with death. In other words, her own "narcissism" (which for a contemporary self-psychologist would be considered healthy and psychologically necessary in her pubescent journey) indirectly brings about her death. However, since she is both taken into her grandmother Gaia and is called up through the will of her mother Demeter, her death has different implications than those of Narcissus or Hyakinthos. She rises again in the spring as all flowers do. In this sense her death implies power rather than loss, power that allows the seasons to keep turning through the mediation of earth goddesses.

                Now, what do we do with the question of patriarchal violence? Aidoneus comes up in his golden chariot with his immortal horses and seizes the Kore away as she "screams laments," iachese orthia, "unwilling." Surely this is a rape! But once again, we are working on both the level of metaphor and the level of narrative. Through the imagery, we feel irremediable, sudden and violent separation. The earth opens, and shrill lamenting splits the sense of wholeness and serenity of a formerly unified cosmos. This is the first time sound emerges in the poem and it is of a particular sort: laxese is the same word that is used to refer to the cry of the Bacchantes as they go forward into the rite of sparagmos, or the tearing apart of live animals in a celebration of the fragmentation and eating of life that the world may renew itself. Orthia are shrill cries often connected with death laments. In other words, what was whole has suddenly split with sound and is gaping, and it has happened through a "snare," dolos, a deceitful trick of mother earth herself. The maiden herself cries like a bacchant. The sea, earth, and sky, all pre-Olympian animistic powers, have brought about the gaping through their own smiling acquiescence. The gaping earth mirrors the smiling mouth as much as the womb opening to receive the seed, which is, in this case, also the maiden.

                At this implicit level the images defy separation; they cannot be pulled apart. Flowers puck flowers, and the generations are convoluted, springing and rounding back on each other. The Kore is in fact indistinguishable from her mother or her grandmother. According to other variants of the myth, it is impossible to tell who is the mother of whom, or who gets raped. Demeter and Rhea, Demeter’s mother in this Hymn, have both been called the mother of the Kore, Demeter participates in the Hymn as both mother and daughter, and both Demeter and the Kore have been thought to bear the same child. It seems as if in this particularity of violence, time is struggling to be born in the only way it can: through the recognition of violent separation, the splitting apart of the whole into the halves of mother and daughter, or the older and younger parts of the female. In this way, Demeter’s grieving is understandable, not only as the grieving of a mother for her daughter in today's individuated terms, but also as that of a woman for a younger self that had to be renounced.

                lconography confirms this view. One of Jane Ellen Harrison's insights, since documented by the studies at Catal Huyuk and at Hacilar, is that originally Demeter and the Kore were one. In fact, it was not until the Homeric Hymn that we see them even defined as Mother and Daughter. As Harrison says: "They are, in fact, merely the older and younger forms of the same person; hence their easy confusion." We also know from our collected ancient sources that both Demeter and Persephone are simultaneously death and birth goddesses; both represent the flowers of spring and the furied destruction of the underworld; both have been raped. In effect, we have a two-in-one representation: an older and a younger manifestation of the goddess which together express the cyclical nature of the story and of the seasons." The Kore whose name is never anything but generic (Kore means no more than maiden), as bacchant, as her own mother, as the seed and the seeded, is a vehicle for the presentation of time through seasonal transformation.

At the imagistic or "matristic" level, the Hymn to Demeter evokes and celebrates a crucial moment of fertilization that is conditioned on fragmentation and sacrifice. No life can occur without death. Death is embraced with ritual laughter so that life may begin again.

-From "Ritual Death, Patriarchal Violence, and Female Relationships in the Hymns to Demeter and Inanna" by Marcia W. D-S. Dobson. Emphasis mine.

[sussex-nature-lover]

Saturday 22 April 2023

Local Produce 

The fields of bright yellow contain the unfortunately named crop ‘rape’. It has a much better name in America, where it’s known as Canola. Botanically it’s related to cruciferous vegetables eg broccoli, brussels sprouts etc. and the seed gives a glorious oil for cooking or salad dressings. With a quite delicate flavour, rapeseed oil is naturally low in saturated fat (apparently half or less than that in olive oils) and it’s high in unsaturated fat, so good for health. It’s one of the oldest known vegetable oils and has a much higher smoking point than olive oil. I usually use this oil for making mayonnaise which goes particularly well with the local asparagus when it becomes available - Crow can hardly wait, he loves English asparagus

Rape plants also have a tendency to migrate and pop up where they weren’t originally intended

While the crop’s maturing there’s another wild delicacy out there to be foraged and we’re fortunate to know a spot where there’s plenty to spare without taking too much from each plant

The wild garlic is just about coming into flower

I’m in the process of washing and drying our haul and turning it into pesto, flavoured butter and sea salt to use up or freeze for later in the year. Some for us and some for family and friends

The butter will be sliced into rounds and frozen for use as and when; the salt will  season baked potatoes, or fish, poultry and grilled meats; the pesto has a range of uses - with pasta of course, on pizza, as a topping for roast cod loin, in quiche. It’s a lovely, savoury accompaniment to so many dishes

Meanwhile https://sussexnature.tumblr.com has some up to date woodland photos to enjoy