#sacred prostitution

[dea-syria]

As a matter of fact, immorality was nowhere so flagrant as in the temples of Astarte, whose female servants honored the goddess with untiring ardor. In no country was sacred prostitution so developed as in Syria, and in the Occident it was to be found practically only where the Phœnicians had imported it, as on Mount Eryx.

--Franz Cumont, "The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism"

[pansyfemme]

music asks! 9, 10, & 28!

9. who are your top three all time favourite bands or artists?

TERRIBLE QUESTION!! but also. it’s probably the magnetic fields, the pastels and tiger trap if im being fully honest. if i could give ‘ every band rose melberg has ever been in ever’ as one answer i would.

10. what band were you obsessed with as a child? do you still like them?

semi well known jude lore but the first band i was ever obsessed with was fountains of wayne of ‘stacy’s mom’ fame.. and i feel the same way as i did as a kid. their songs are catchy, i like that nearly every song by them is a narrative song and people don’t give them credit for just how many good songs they have, they kinda live in the stacys mom shadow..

28. Most underrated band or artist?

most? idk. but i think you should all go on youtube and look up a band called ‘salem 66’. they’re literally incredible but you can’t really.. find them most places so a lot of people miss out on something they’d probably really like. ‘no bad songs’ type situation.

[tatzelwormey]

Pussy so good you see the future. Call that the Orifice of Delphi.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Alicent Hightower X Prostitute!Reader: Secret touches

Warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), face sitting, Alicent being kind off inexperienced, female anatomy, female reader, no use of y/n, Crispy Cole makes an appearance (a brief one), nipple play, cum eating.

Word count: 2K

You’re not used to being in the Castle. In reality this was your first time stepping into these halls. You tug at the neckline of your dress. You aren’t used to being so covered. Being a worker in the street of silk meant you often found yourself with as minimal clothes as possible. After so many years you’d grown used to being bare most of the time. But you couldn’t walk in such a sacred space with such little clothing so you’d opted for a dress that covered you better. 

You trailed behind the guard in silence, eyes taking in your surroundings. You wondered why you’d been called here. You’d lain with the Targeryens before but always outside of the castle walls. That's the way it was supposed to be. The royals prided themselves in being discreet about these things. Or at least they thought they were being discreet about it but in reality everyone knew of their trips to the street of silk. 

The guard stopped in front of a door, knocking on it. You waited for a moment before a voice rang through the hall.

“Enter.”

You recognized the voice instantly. Alicent Hightower was behind that door. Your eyes widened a bit at the realization. For some reason you’d expected to have been called over by one of the men of the castle. But the longer you thought about it the more it made sense that Alicent has been the one to request you. She was probably after secrets her children kept from her. And who better to answer her questions than someone like you who dealt with secrets on the daily. 

You walked into the room, eye scanning the place until your eyes fell on Alicents red hair. You heard the door close behind you, telling your the guard had left. Alicent turned to face you, her eyes looking you up and down. 

“Your Grace.”

You gave a small bow, knowing it was better to be formal than to suffer the consequences. Alicent walked around the room, nervously picking at her hands. You stayed still, awaiting any command from her. 

“You work in the street of silk.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“So you’ve been with men.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Many men have come for my services.”

Silence filled the room for a moment as Alicent thought of how to make this next question not so obvious.

“What about women?”

Your brows furrowed for a moment, trying to understand why Alicent would ask something like that. But then she turned around to face you and you caught onto the look on her face, understanding immediately. You gave her a small smirk, eyes switching to a more sultry gaze.

“Yes, I've pleasured women before, Your Grace.”

You could see the way Alicents breath hitched a bit at your words. The action pleased you greatly. You always adored the effect you had on people. Especially important people. Alicent stared at you for a moment, trying to decide if she was really going to do this. You were already here, it would be a waste not to.

“Take your clothes off.”

You smiled at Alicent, hands moving to remove your dress. It took you a bit longer than it usually did because of all the layers that made up your dress. Once you had finally managed to remove the layers you let them pool on the ground. You stepped out of the pile, standing before Alicent fully nude. You watched Alicent take in the sight of you.

“Do I please you, Your Grace?”

Alicents throat went dry at the question. Words seemed to get stuck in her throat, not allowing her to answer you verbally. Instead she nodded her head at you, her hand moving to grip at her dress. You caught onto the action, beginning to move towards her.

“Would you like me to help you get undressed?”

Alicent looked startled for a moment and you couldn’t help but think you’d misunderstood her intentions with you. But before you could dwell on the thought for too long Alicent managed to open her mouth.

“Yes.”

The words came out in a breathy whisper, making it clear the effect your naked body had on her. You moved forward, closing the gap between the two of you. Alicent turned around so that you could unlace her dress. Your hand moved over her skin gently, causing goosebumps to appear on her arms. As her skin was revealed to you you leaned down to kiss it. The action caused Alicent to close her eyes and suck in a breath. You could feel the tense way her body shifted.

“Have you been with a woman before, Your Grace?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry, I'll be very gentle.”

Remarkably your words seemed to calm her a bit, her shoulders relaxing against your touch. Once you’d removed her clothing completely you took a step back. Alicent felt you retreat from her, her head moving to the side so she could look at you. She seemed a bit shy,a blush coating her cheeks as she felt you stare at her.

“May I see you, Your Grace?”

“Are you not already?”

You gave her a small smile.

“I mean I wish to gaze at your eyes as I look at you.”

You wanted her to turn to face you but you could tell she was still in new territory and that started her.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing I haven't seen before.”

Your words seemed to remind Alicent that this was just a job to you. There was nothing happening here that you’d consider wrong. You would not judge her, just as she did not judge you. That thought calmed her, allowing her to step into her more confident self. She turned to face, proudly displaying her body to you. Your eyes lingered on her frame, moving over her body as you took in her beauty. You moved forward once again, your hand resting on Alicents waist. She watched you sink onto your knees before her, your head tilted up so you could gaze at her.

“You’re stunning, Your Grace.”

Alicent gasped as you placed a kiss on her stomach. You wound your hands around her, your tongue moving over her skin. You rose your body slowly, kissing the valley of her breasts before moving to take her breast in your mouth. Alicents hand moved to grab onto your head as you sucked on her breast, your tongue circling around her nipple. You felt her body fall back a bit as your hands moved to caress her body. Alicent grabbed onto the dresser behind her to steady herself. You’d barely even touched her and she was already having a hard time standing. You noticed this, causing you to unlatch your lips from her chest.

“Would you like to lay down, Your Grace?”

“That might be best.”

You moved away from her making your way to the bed. Alicent watched you climb onto the bed and settle down. She eyes you curiously, not understanding what you were doing. 

“Come take a seat.”

She did as you asked, climbing onto the bed and moving to sit next to you. She gazed at your relaxed frame for a moment before looking at your face. You had a smile plastered on your face.

“Have I done something amusing?”

“You could say that.”

“Well whats so funny?”

“When i asked you to sit i didn’t mean on the bed.”

Where else would you want her to…

Oh. Oh.

Alicents eyes widened as she understood. Her face turned a deep shade of red and all you could do was keep smiling up at her. It took her a moment to gather herself. Once she did she looked at you.

“I’ve never done it that way before.”

“First time for everything isn’t there?”

She supposed you were right. A year ago she would have never imagined herself doing something like this, yet here she was. Alicent climbed onto your chest, her legs resting on either side of you. She looked down at you for guidance. You placed your hands on her thighs, holding onto her. She lifted her body a bit, inching herself up until her nose was close to touching the wall. You tugged her down onto your face.

The moment Alicent felt your tongue on her she couldn’t help but moan. You lapped at her pussy with great expertise, tongue moving  in a manner that brought Alicent great pleasure. She grabbed onto the headboard, resting her forehead on the wall as she took in small breaths. She was trying to be as quiet as possible, knowing there were guards outside, but you weren't making it easy on her. Her body moved forwards on its own, hips humping against you. The motion caused your nose to rub against her clit perfectly and in a couple minutes she was reaching her orgasm. 

Alicent's cum coated your face as she reached her high. Her body sagged slightly against you. You continued lapping up her juices until she winced and placed her hand on your head to stop you. Slowly she moved off your face. Your chest rose and fell as you tried to regain your normal breathing.

Alicent watched you with dazed eyes. Before she could totally understand what she was doing, her body began leaning down. You felt Alicent's lips come in contact with yours in a sweet kiss. You let her take control of the kiss, not wanting to overstep and upset her. She broke away from you, licking her lips to clean off the cum that had caught onto her skin. 

You watched her get off the bed, wobbly legs making their way towards the place her clothes were on the floor. You pushed yourself up, inching yourself off the bed as well. You made your way to Alicent, your arms wrapping around her waist. You felt her let out a breath as she felt your body on hers.

“Did I please you?”

“Very much.”

“I’m glad. Want help with your clothes?”

“Yes.”

You helped Alicent get dressed, making sure she looked as put together as possible. Once she was decent you moved to dress yourself. To your surprise Alicent made her way over to you. You felt her hands move against your bare skin for a moment before she leaned down to place a kiss to your shoulder. She helped you tug on your clothes. When she finished you turned to face her. She looked at you in silence, almost as if she was trying to commit your face to memory. You gave her a smile, bowing slightly before knocking on the door. The guard opened the door, his eyes catching on Alicent before looking at you.

“Ser Criston please make sure she is escorted back to the streets safely.”

The guard nodded at Alicent, moving out of your way so that you could exit. The two of you walked in silence until you reached the castle gate.

“I can make it back to town on my own.”

“Your Grace told me to company-”

“Trust me, I'm doing you a favor. My place of work is not suited for a man such as yourself.”

You gestured to his white cloak with your head. He understood your words immediately, eyes widening a bit at the implication. You merely smiled at him and turned to go on your way.

“My lady!”

You turned back to look at him.

“Yes?”

“What did Your Grace require of you?”

You gave him a small laugh.

“That's for me to know and for you to be curious about.”

You could sense the small disappointment in Cristons face.

“If you truly need to know, perhaps you should ask Alicent. I’m sure there will be no consequences.”

He could tell you were being coy so he opted to not give you an answer. He watched you turn around again and make your way out of the castle. Once you were far enough down the path towards the town Criston turned around and made his way back to Alicents quarters. He knocked on the door and waited for Alicents command for him to come in. When she gave it he opened the door, closing it behind him. His eyes found Alicents frame.

“Well? Did she say anything?”

“Not a word, Your Grace.”

“Good.”

Alicent gazed out the window, a small smile making its way to her face. You’d kept your exchange a secret, proving your loyalty to her. She’d have to keep you around. There were still many things she wanted you to teach her. 

[starsthewitch]

Some Aphrodite facts for people who want to know more!!

✶She’s the mother of Hermaphroditus, the god of effeminacy and the origin of the word hermaphrodite. They’re an intersex person born with male and female characteristics.

✶ Aphrodite was believed to have a magical girdle (or belt) called the "Cestus," which could enhance her irresistible allure and seductive powers.

✶ In addition to her romantic and sexual aspects, Aphrodite was also revered as a protectress of sailors, offering safe passage across the seas.

✶ She was also worshipped as a protector of prostitutes and courtesans, reflecting her association with love and desire in all its forms.

✶ Aphrodite's name originated from the word Sea-foam.

✶ The dove, The affectionate white or turtle-dove was the bird of love, was a bird sacred to the goddess Aphrodite. Doves were said to draw her heavenly chariot, and the Syrian Aphrodite Ashtarte was said to have been hatched from an egg nursed by doves.

✶ In most sculptures, she is often depicted with a round face and a pear body shape! Even having rolls on some of them.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Whatever Happens First

Eric Northman x Female Reader

Summary: Capitalism is a prison, and you enter into a contract with Eric to repay your student loans, not expecting to catch feelings.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Sexual Content, Vampires, Blood Sucking, Prostitution, Kissing, Biting, Vaginal Sex, Cock Warming

Word Count: 500+

Read more Eric!

You hadn’t expected to fall this hard for Eric when you entered into this contract, figuring you could spread your legs for him until your student loans were officially paid off. But the way he looked at you when he pushed inside, the way he moaned your name like it was something sacred really dragged you in deeper than you had ever planned to go. In the beginning he was so quick to pull out, leaving you to the bitter cold solitude of your satin sheets, but each session you had together seemed to extend a little bit longer than the last. His bites had turned into kisses, his grasps into caresses as he purposefully took more time focusing on your guaranteed pleasure before finally letting his fangs emerge.

The look in his eye tonight is absolutely devious, as if he hadn’t just spent the past three hours taking you in every position possible, his body entwining with yours until you started to ache from how many times he’s stretched you from the inside out. Your inner muscles still flutter at the tantalizing thought of him driving that blissful feeling up into your flesh, how insatiable he looked as he generously fed your body’s most carnal cravings. You can’t get over how quickly his eyes rolled back into his head as he continually got lost in your viscera, sweat dripping down his face and neck from the insurmountable deluge of pleasure he poured into you.

But suddenly the pain in your thigh grows sharp, cramping into your muscle in a jarring, burning twinge up through you and into your hip as he continues to hold himself inside you. You shift your weight in order to hop off in hopes to ease the pain, but his strong hands pull you back down on top of him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He looks up at you through heavily hooded lids.

“Eric,” you whine, giving him an annoyed look as you press down on his chest to get some leverage.

He only smirks as you exert yourself trying to get off of him again, chuckling as you hopelessly try to overpower him and break the connection between you.

“You wanna be a good little whore for me, don’t you?” Eric’s words shock you to your core as he sits up to kiss your chest, his hands still firm on your hips.

“Eric, please,” you whisper as he kisses his way up your neck, licking the remnants of blood off your skin and into his mouth.

“Don’t you?” He repeats breathily, gently thrusting his hips up into you despite still being flaccid, knowing full well what it will do to you.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, nearly jumping out of your skin as another wave of ecstasy works its way up through your sensitive, overstimulated tissue.

“I thought so.” He kisses your mouth sloppily, lazily licking your teeth and tongue before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth with a mischievous grin. He then spins you around and turns you on your side, wrapping his thigh around your knee to keep you in place in one fluid motion. He presses himself even deeper inside, his relaxed member still bigger than those of your past lovers at full attention as he kisses the back of your neck.

“Then you can keep me inside you like this until I fall asleep.” He playfully bites your earlobe, sucking on it as he tugs it away from your face before letting it bounce back into place. “Or until I get hard again. Whatever happens first.”

[beansnsoup]

Casual

Summary: Friends with benefits were not your cup of tea, but you accepted the offer anyway due to your buried feelings for your friend. You never thought of the day it would have to end because someone else would take her from you.

Relationship: Platonic (with some spice)

Character: Vi (Arcane)

Warnings: Sexual undertones, angst, fem reader, overthinking, arguing, being used???, lmk if there is anything else i should add

Part two

The phone on her bedside table rings as you lay there, completely disheveled. You knew who it was. At this point, you didn't even try to peek over her shoulder or tease her about a supposed lover.

Normally it'd be a running gag to joke about eachothers "crushes," but you couldn't even bring yourself to joke about the matter anymore and you're pretty sure she had gathered your lack of interest of the teasing now.

It's not that you didn't support her. And if you were being honest, you did more than just support her because here you were, very indecent in her bed.

Her name was Caitlyn, you knew absolutely nothing about her aside from the fact that Vi was completely smitten.

It was supposed to be you who Vi was obsessing over, but you were instead just a girl she just used to get off every now and then.

Not that you were complaining.

You were the one who told her it was okay in the first place.

But now that you were really thinking about it, you shouldn't have given her your consent for this little sacred love affair.

Before she had originally put the moves on you and proposed this relationship, you had already been growing strong feelings towards her.

The two of you had been friends for a long time, so you both knew the threats these "sleepovers" would have.

The both of you had been so close it had drawn everyone around you together, you were close to everyone in her life and it was the same with her for your friends and family.

They, of course, knew nothing about this, which surprised you. Considering the number of times you guys would sneak off during dinners.

You also didn't want to lose the bond you had with her sister, at the points where Vi wanted to be more of a "lover" than a friend, you would find yourself going to seek comfort with her younger sister.

To Vi, it was strictly out of boredom. She wouldn't tell you that to your face, but you could sense that was the start of her intentions.

Yet to you, it was purely out of love, each time left you in complete and utter bliss, and that you would never admit.

"Okay, see you soon, bye,"

You watch her get up from her side of the bed and start to get dressed, in entirely different and more presentable clothes than before.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm seeing someone."

You thought it was funny she still wouldn't call Caitlyn by her name when speaking about her to you, she knew fully you knew of her but still decided to keep that part of her life hidden, or as hidden as she could.

At this point, you thought the idea of secrecy gave Vi a sense of control, or it simply just got her going.

Either way, you hated it.

"So, you were just going to leave while I'm still here? Not even a goodbye?" You had a hint of sarcasm in your voice but meant every word.

"What? Did you want some premium aftercare or something? Besides, you practically live here, it wouldn't make a difference."

She had a point there, but you still felt disgusting in this situation,

"I'm not some kind of prostitute Vi! I'm tired of you using me then going to play the role of a loving girlfriend with Caitlyn!"

You could tell your words struck a nerve.

"You knew going into this it wouldn't mean anything, and I really like her!"

"Well, you've been talking to her for months now, and if you really like her as much as you say you do, this fling between us would have stopped as soon as you realized your feelings."

This was when Vi was left completely at a loss for words, you didn't care if she had feelings for you or not, but you were tired of being a toy to her, especially when she was in a whole other situationship.

You knew at some point you would have to share her, but you didn't want it to be like this. You also didn't want to be the reason another girls feelings for the same woman are put at risk.

"I love you Vi, but you really need to get a grip on reality and realize what is right in front of you."

You started to slip your clothes on, while she was still there, standing and questioning a million things at once.

"And at the moment, what is in front of you is me, like so many times before, might I add."

"By the way, if it wasn't clear, this," You gestured to the each of you, "is over."

To your surprise, she didn't even attempt to chase after you. Instead, you heard her put down her things and sit back down on her bed.

You never knew if she went to see Caitlyn or not that night, but either way, it didn't matter.

Everything between the two of you was over, even if you still loved her.

For now, it would just be you, sitting alone in your small apartment.

To your surprise, her sister was still keeping in touch, even though she didn't know the details of the situation she knew the two of you weren't talking to the eachother, so she made sure to keep in touch, just to keep everyone connected.

You also hadn't blocked Vi on anything. You just couldn't bring yourself to do it no matter how much she pained you.

You knew it would kill you to finally see a post launching a relationship, you would see it one way or another, but you'd hate to find out from someone else, so you just had to rip off the band aid one way or another.

It had been almost 3 weeks now since you made Vi aware on your standpoint of your relationship, and she has yet to reach out.

At this point, you had accepted the possibility she assumed you were a freak for considering your casual meet-ups could ever be anything more, or she just thought that you were clinically insane.

Just as you were about to retreat from your spot on the couch, you heard a ding come from your phone,

Speak of the devil.

You unlocked your phone to read out the full message that Vi had left for you,

"Can we please talk? In person. I made a big mistake and I need to see you."

You almost wanted to ask if this meeting would lead to her pinning you against her bed once more.

Again, not that you were complaining.

Yet in this situation, you wanted to be heard, not just for your moans, but for your care, and love for her.

All you could type in response was "ok." To which she replied with you to meet her at her apartment whenever you were ready to come over, because she'd be waiting for you.

A part of you regretted agreeing, but the other part of you knew this confrontation needed to happen.

I'm sorry I made vi see like a complete jerk in this guys, a teensy bit out of character tbh 😭😭

Part 2?? Idk yet, we will see 👀

[senualothbrok]

Come What May

Summary: On what Gale believes is his last night alive, you cannot give him your body. But there are countless ways to declare love, and infinite ways to express it.

An alternative act 2 romance scene, featuring a Tav who is a cleric of Ilmater. "Come What May" is a song from "Moulin Rouge".

AO3 link

Non-18+. Angst with a happy ending.

Trigger warnings: references to prostitution (Tav's mother), sexual trauma, grief/bereavement, graphic depictions of illness, Gale's suicidal ideation.

A/N: This fic is a response to the anon who requested an alternative act 2 romance scene between Gale and a Tav who wants to save intimacy for after marriage. I feel that I should apologise because I am clearly incapable of writing a straightforwardly sweet/romantic piece which does not involve trauma and angst of some sort. I have no idea why this happened, please forgive me.

Please note the trigger warnings and exercise self-care. It is, however, angst with a happy ending.

I highly recommend listening to "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge during/after you read this.

I deliberated over whether to post this. It feels like my weakest work, and I feel slightly ashamed about it. I'm still not sure if it's good enough to post, but decided to bite the bullet because I wanted to give it to the anon who reached out. I really hope it does bring some comfort and enjoyment to someone out there.

I cannot thank my dear friends @inglorionamy-ammy and @dekariosclan enough for being truly wonderful beta readers and helping me with some major edits on this piece. Thank you and I am forever grateful for your kind hearts and keen minds.

“I’m in love with you.”

There is anguish in Gale’s eyes. His voice trembles with fear and urgency. You feel it all, a sunbeam shooting through the blue-green haze he has conjured around you. For you. 

You gaze at him, breathless. Nothing compares, not even the beauty and wonder of his creation. When Gale looks at you, you do not feel dread, that ancient squirming beneath your skin. He is not the lumbering colossus of your nightmares, leaving a trail of whimpering bruises on your mother’s flesh. When he is near, you feel a yearning to draw closer, not away. You had never thought that possible with a man.

In that moment, you are possessed by a wild terror. An agonising thought that he will slip through your fingers, as though he never was. His last night alive. 

Your heart surges, and you cannot stop it. You answer without thinking.

“I’m in love with you too.”

Panic seizes you. Your admission is a sacred boundary crossed. A bulwark broken. You have the urge to bolt before all is lost.

But then Gale’s face lifts. It radiates with a smile, and all at once, you are beaming with the knowledge that you are the cause. Fleetingly, you let yourself imagine the miracle of seeing that smile again and again for the rest of your days. It is not a leering grin from which you flee, nor a repulsed grimace from which you hide. Sometimes, in his presence, there is something about solitude that no longer feels like safety, but loss. It bewilders you.

He huffs out a laugh, and you are mesmerised by the curl of his eyelashes, delicate as butterfly wings. 

“That’s a relief. It’d be a shame to spend my final hours making an ass of myself.”

There is a flame in his eyes that sets you alight. You cannot look away. You do not want to. Something swollen simmers in the space between you, just as it had that night when the Weave had made you one. 

He dips towards you. You are drifting towards him, dizzy from his scent. It is like nothing you have breathed before. There is no trace of sourness, no stale grease. It is sandalwood and leather, scrolls and soap. You are entranced by the plump curve of Gale’s lips, the soft earth of his eyes. In your mind, you see the smooth curve of his shoulders, broad and welcoming. His feather light fingers turning a page, like a sculptor’s touch on setting clay. 

The glaring marks on your mother’s neck, withering into wounds. The blood of her scabs, pooling in her navel.

You flinch.

Confusion flits across his features. You shift away.

“I'm sorry,” you manage. “I can't.”

You are winded by his spasm of hurt, a storm of despair, rejection, doubt. Part of you wishes you did not have this gift, this curse of Ilmater - to read others’ pain, to feel others' suffering so deeply it becomes your own. And you know, as you reel from the chains you cannot shed, that you should say no more. But you cannot bear it. You cannot let him suffer from a lie.

“I love you,” you choke. “But I can't.”

His brows steeple. He is silent. The thought that he does not believe you is a torment. You cannot be another loss, another reason for him to believe his life means nothing. To convince himself there is no one who would mourn his death. 

The words spill out as though you are clutching, searching. 

“I made a vow.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “A vow.” His gaze darkens. “You're promised to another.”

“No.” You jerk your head, frantic. “No. It’s not that…” 

He stiffens, as though he is braced for a blow. That he would expect harm from you is devastating.

“I made a promise to Ilmater,” you confess. “I can't be… intimate with anyone. Not like that.”

His eyes widen. You notice that there are flecks of gold in the brown of his irises, flaring with surprise. You fumble for proof, excuses, anything to skirt around the edge of it. The scar inside you that no one but Brother Rogier has seen. Your burden, your wound. Yours and yours alone.

“It keeps me safe.” You sound frenetic. “So that I can heal. I can't be charmed, or harmed by phantasm. Ilmater protects me from–”

It is ridiculous. You feel it as you speak. To suggest that such feeble protections would keep you from the magnitude of his love, when he is certain he will soon be dust and ash. Insulting. You are ashamed.

Disbelief curdles in the tight line of his lips. 

“Please. There’s no need for that.” He looks away. “You have a compassionate heart. That much is clear. But there's no need to go to such lengths to spare what remains of my pride.”

You stare at him, bereft. “Gale–”

“I understand perfectly.” His voice is broken glass. “And I would never force my heart on someone who doesn't reciprocate my affections, no matter how pitiful I may appear.”

He turns his back to you. You can no longer see his face. This is the right thing, you tell yourself. The good thing. He will walk away, and you will remain intact. Safe. You will endure. 

But a frenzy has come over you. As you watch the sagging of his shoulders, the clenching of his hands, you realise that you do not want it. You do not want this sacrifice, this secret. 

You want him.

You have never wanted anything so much.

You lurch forward. He spins around at the desperate questing of your fingers, lacing into his. You fall to your knees, pressing his hand to your heart. Recognition sparks in his eyes as your tadpole brushes against his.

“Please,” you whisper. “Let me show you.”

****

She used to be beautiful, you thought, kneeling there beside her. You stared at the welts marring her olive skin, her scarlet hair flaking to rust. There was a sore on your mother's thigh, weeping with pus, and you looked away when Brother Rogier pressed on it, ashamed at your squeamishness. 

You had seen far worse, waiting in dark alleyways and side streets while she heaved, clamped against the wall by some hooded giant, or kneeling as a grunting shadow loomed over her. You had never felt disgust or shock, only vague impatience, as you watched her finish and rearrange her skirts. Coins jangled in her pockets as she took your hand, bounding towards the promise of candlelight in the distance.  Later on those nights, she would hold you close in a warm bed, lulling you to sleep with whispered songs. With a full stomach and a formless hope, you ignored the greasy stench of strangers’ sweat which she could never shed.

It angered you, how nauseous you felt, as you listened to the bubbling crackle of your mother's breathing. You were only ten, but you were no longer a child, and you knew her moments were numbered. To feel disgust as she lay there, leaking into a peeling pallet, a guttering flame - it was the greatest betrayal. A sin you could never forgive. When Brother Rogier covered your mother's modesty with his usual gentleness, you started to cry. 

You had been suspicious of him at first, stooped and shrouded in his tattered grey robe. You had never met a priest of Ilmater. All you could see was his bald head, so shiny it looked wet, and the backs of his calloused hands, hairy as a beast’s. When he first took hold of your mother after her collapse, you screamed.

But he did not scold or strike you. He spoke to you softly, as an equal, not a child. 

“I want nothing from your mother, or from you,” he said. “I have sworn a vow of chastity.”

He had crouched to look you in the eye. It was a dignity you had never been given before, as the ugly runt of a streetwalker. It made you feel like he truly saw you, in a way that no one but your mother did.

“It means I will never take a woman or a man. She is safe with me. And so are you.”

And you were. With him, you felt safe. He was the only other person who would touch her, when  the sickness ravaged her body and her mind.  He tended to her in the temple with poultices and prayers, giving you food, water and shelter. She was well beyond thanking him by then, all speech and thought swallowed up in decay. Yet when her fire was snuffed out, he was the one who stood with you, cleaning her for burial. He was the one who anointed her so carefully, so reverently, for a return to Ilmater’s embrace.

“Ilmater sees you,” Brother Rogier had said. “He bears your suffering.”

And as you wept into your mother's cold, hard hands, with Brother Rogier steadfast beside you, you thought of every stranger who sucked and thrust your mother's beauty out of her. You thought of their relentless claws in the darkness, and Brother Rogier’s tender fingers in the light. You thought of your life, broken and empty, but for Ilmater's unexpected kindness.

And you made a promise. You promised you would never give your body as your mother had. All that you were, all that you had, you vowed to give to the Crying, Broken God, the one who stood with you and endured.

****

There is a tiny scar near his temple, framed by a dew drop of a mole. You had never noticed them before. As you lie facing him, cocooned in the illusion of the lush grass beneath and the boundless night above, you drink in every pore of his bronze-kissed face, every shadow that lifts as his gaze roams over you. You feel it like a caress, drifting over the patches and blemishes marring your skin, and for the first time in your life, you do not feel the need to hide them. 

“Tav.” His voice is so low, you strain to hear it. “I’m so sorry.”

He draws closer. He has seen the gaping hole inside you, and he remains. You can feel his longing to comfort, his desire to heal. It is a familiar urge, your second nature. It would be a gift, if you could accept his reassurance. If you could rest in his embrace. If only.

He senses your hesitation. Abruptly, he pauses, his fingers hovering above yours.

“Is this… alright?” Worry twists his features. “Are you comfortable with–”

“It’s alright.” 

He gestures between you. “Because if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can–”

“It doesn’t.” 

He frowns, questioning, fretting. 

“I'm sorry.” You look down. “I'm sorry I can't…”

He jolts. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the point of your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“I love you.” His brow quivers. “There are countless ways to declare love. Infinite ways to express it. The joining of bodies, the pleasures of the flesh…they're but one stitch in a vast tapestry. My love for you goes far deeper, burns far brighter.”

You gaze at him, motionless. When you speak again, your voice is torn.

“I want to. With you. One day, when I’m not...” 

You grimace as the images flash through your mind. The weeping scratches on your mother’s breast. The oily sheen on her calloused skin. You try to blink them away.

“When I can, I want to.”

He nods slowly, firmly. He shines, as though there are no more shadows between you. That there never could be.

“It’s different with you.” You try to explain. “When I’m with you, I don’t have to hide. When I’m close to you, I feel…safe.”

You know it is not enough, but it is all you have. You can only give him the truth, no more, no less.

“You’re not like the others,” you say finally. “I… want to be with you. To…touch you.”

You clasp his hand. There is the faintest glow of lavender that trails down the muscles of his neck, a glinting sliver of his chest through the opening of his robe. You look at him with concern. He grimaces slightly. You think you see a trace of embarrassment, but you are not sure. 

“I - ah –” 

His mouth opens, closes. He struggles for words.

“Is it hurting?” You wince. “We can try that poultice again, I have some in my–”

“I’m alright,” he huffs. “I’m quite alright, Tav.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not…quite.” He shakes his head. “Not now. It’s–”

He bites his lip. There is a strange silence, as though you have reached a frontier you cannot pass. And yet, the intensity of his gaze draws you, like a thread tethering your soul to his. Your fingers follow its path, hovering over the dark ring at his centre. He tilts his head, and almost imperceptibly, he nods.

His eyelids flutter at your touch. The lines of the orb feel like a scar, a stitch sinking into his skin. There is a coldness to the purple pulse under your fingers. You notice that Gale has stopped breathing. You draw back.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” he answers immediately. His lips are parted. You catch the wet glimmer of his tongue. “Not at all.”

He clears his throat. You swallow. For a moment, you cannot look at each other. He runs his hand through his hair, while you fuss at your tunic. A hushed heat falls over you, and as if on cue, you both roll onto your backs, fixing your gazes on the celestial canvas. 

It is quiet for a long time. And then your hand returns to his, as if it belongs there. You trace the grooves on his palm, as he caresses the callouses of your knuckles.

“I would wait an eternity for you.” His voice is rough, fractured. “If only I could…but the orb, the fate Mystra demands of me–”

“You don’t deserve this,” you choke.

He scoffs, a burst of anger and disgust. “I was foolish. Selfish. It was unconscionable. I endangered everyone around me–”

You spin back to him. “You don’t deserve this, Gale. Not this. Not her abandonment and punishment. Not any of it.”

He stares at you. There is both a hardening and a softening in him as he wrestles with your words. You understand. You know how it feels to grapple with a burden, haunted by whether you can ever lay it down. Plagued by whether you should.

A tangle of hair falls into your eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches up to tuck it behind your ear. Your skin tingles from the ghost of his touch.

“I could never tire of looking at your face,” he breathes. “Hearing your voice, seeing you smile. Watching you laugh. Being with you, basking in the miracle of your presence.” He closes his eyes, as if committing you to memory. “When the time comes, this is what I’ll picture. Only you.”

The sorrow of his smile floods you. The resolution, the resignation in it. All at once, you are drowning. He gasps, flinching forwards. 

“Please.” His thumb draws gentle circles on your cheek, brushing away your falling tears. “My love, please don't cry.”

He speaks with a tortured awe, as though no one has ever wept from his pain. 

“I would never want to bring you grief. Only joy. Beauty. Happiness and wonder.”

“Then don't do it.” You try to stifle your sobs. “We can work this out together. You don’t have to die.”

You cup his flickering hand against your skin. 

“Any goddess who would ask you to do this isn’t worthy of your love. You're worth more than any mistakes you’ve made. So much more than this cruel forgiveness. You’re… everything.”

Ilmater would never ask this. He would see Gale, his regrets, his triumphs, his goodness and kindness. His love. Ilmater would bear his suffering as his own. He would walk with Gale through the roses and the thorns. You wish you could make him see.

But he does not see it. “Please don't cry,” is all he says, as he wipes away your tears. 

***

“What's your happiest memory?” 

It feels like a deflection at first. A misguided focus on your sorrow instead of his own. You do not want to back down. You want to convince him that Mystra is wrong, that he deserves to live, that he should endure. But there is a plea in his question, a ragged insistence, and you cannot refuse him.

You close your eyes as you consider. 

“My mother loved to sing,” you start. “When she sang, it was like time stood still. Her voice was so beautiful… I can’t describe it, but I remember it. Everything about her was beautiful… until she got sick.”

You feel your mother’s crimson waves, wrapped like a veil around you. The cradle of her arms, so thin and willowy, yet strong as spider silk. 

“Just before she got sick, my mother took me to a tavern to see Red Millie. A singer - you won’t have heard of her, but she was a celebrity around our parts. The barkeep took one look at us and tried to throw us out, but we managed to hide away at the back.”

You remember your glee, sneaking with your mother through the gaps in the crowd, shrouded in shadows. There was a whimsy, a spirit within your mother that no amount of degradation and destitution could ever kill. Not until the very end.

Gale’s jaw clenches. “Blind prejudice. Needless cruelty, to deny such simple pleasures to a woman and her child. What I wouldn’t do to give that fool a piece of my mind.” 

A tide of tenderness washes over you. You squeeze his hand. 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. But thank you.” 

Reluctantly, he eases. His anger moves you in a way you cannot describe. You are reminded of how Brother Rogier chased off the boys that spat and threw stones at you, as though there was nothing that mattered more than your dignity. 

“It was incredible, anyway,” you go on. “My first time at a real show. It was the only time I saw my mother’s face light up like that. Red Millie had red hair just like hers, and a voice that could bring warriors to their knees. And that night, she sang this song, a song I’ll never forget.”

It takes you unawares, how clearly you can still hear it. How it echoes inside you like a temple bell.

“Afterwards, my mother looked at me like she’d never done before. She was smiling, and there were tears in her eyes, and she held me so tightly I thought she would never let me go.”

Your chest heaves. She is a bottomless ache. You struggle to find your breath.

“What was the song?” Gale asks softly. 

The grasp of his hand stills you. No one but Brother Rogier has ever heard you sing. You have always thought your song fragile, brittle, like thawing ice. It has always been a secret part of yourself, set aside for your mother and Ilmater alone. But when Gale asks, it is a foregone conclusion. Something you give him freely and without reservation.

And so, with your tears mirrored in his eyes, you sing him your mother’s song.

“Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place

Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace

Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste

It all revolves around you

And there's no mountain too high

No river too wide

Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side

Storm clouds may gather

And stars may collide

But I love you

Until the end of time

Come what may

I will love you

Until my dying day”

****

“Come.” He stands suddenly, lithe with determination. “I want to show you something.”

He reaches down to you, and when you take his hand, the world around you dissolves into a whirl of blinding light. You stumble, but with his fingers intertwined in yours, there is no space inside you for trepidation. There is only wonder.

He strides forward. You gasp as a vista of oak, marble, and vellum streams from his free hand. Not for the first time, you are enthralled by Gale in his element, working miracles from the Weave. You marvel at the sculptures and paintings that appear around you, the plush seats and ornate walls enlivened by the spines of a thousand books.  Within this sanctuary of deep reds and gilded greens, open tomes and scribbled notes gleam in the glow of the fireplace. All you see and feel and smell is Gale.

“This is my home in Waterdeep. The centre of my universe.”

You stand speechless, taking it all in - the gift of Gale’s trust, the purity of his love as he bears his soul to you. With a flourish, Gale leads you towards an intricately carved piano that waits in the corner of the room. 

“This is beautiful, Gale.”

You are referring to all of it - Gale's art, his home and haven, Gale himself. But Gale beams down at the piano with a special focus.

“It was my mother's.” 

His thumb grazes its elaborate markings. There is such a delicacy in the gesture. An act of worship.

“She gave it to me, when I finally got my act together and moved into my own place. What a day of joy and mourning that was.” 

He chuckles, brimming with memories. You wish you could see them all.

“She was a marvellous pianist, back in the day, when her fingers were nimbler. Truly exceptional. She was no wizard, but to hear her play–”

His hands dance, fervent with admiration.

“She played with such passion, such unparalleled mastery, that her music had a magic of its own.”

He gestures to the bench in front of the piano. As you sit, your thigh brushes against his. His fingers trail idly over the keys.

“It was always a treat as a child, to perch here beside her and watch her play. No matter how much of a menace I'd been, how exhausted she was from the endless havoc I wreaked and all the questions about the universe I demanded she answer. No matter how incandescent she was with me for burning this or summoning that…” 

He gives a huff of affection. 

“She would still invite me to sit beside her and listen. Every time.”

Gale's smile illuminates every part of him. It is a smile like no other, a fixed star in an endless night. 

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

He bobs his head. “Indeed. Formidable, and fearsome, and wonderful. You would like her. And she would adore you.”

There is an instant before he holds your gaze - a flurry of his fingers, a low murmur. And then, the piano bursts into life with a familiar song that shatters your heart into a thousand pieces before restoring them one by one, sealed in gold.

You are shaking. “Gale,” you whisper through tears. “The song–”

He takes your hand and presses it against his cheek. You feel it all - the roughness, the smoothness, the swelling storm, the steady sea. There is so much more you want to tell each other, things that spill over the seams of speech, lapping at the edges of all your empty spaces. In this moment, you do not need it. You simply listen.

****

You are sitting on the balcony. Framed by golden shafts of sunlight, he looks like a vision from your dreams, real and unreal at the same time. You know everything around you is an illusion, a haze of yearning and remembrance. Yet it is truer than anything you have ever seen or felt, greater than all your nightmares, the spectres of the past. It is his world, melting into yours, making you one.

“My favourite spot.” 

He pats the velvet seat beneath you. Dust motes shimmer in the rising air.

“Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here, lost in words.”

He looks out into the horizon, the shifting waves and seagulls soaring overhead. You are reminded that he has created all of this from memory. The undulations of the arches before you, the chiselled grooves of the stone floor beneath you. The bustling docks and well worn buildings of Waterdeep in the distance. The empty wine glasses on the table, reflecting the setting sun. You feel the love and longing in his creation. You see the mourning in his frown, the dark determination in the twisting of his mouth. A farewell. 

“You'll come back here,” you tell him. “When this is all over. You'll be back.”

He turns back to you. There is a faltering, a crack in his conviction. You hope, with every ardent prayer within you, that it is enough.

Your hand seeks his. “What's your happiest memory?”

A fleeting surprise passes over his features, but there is no hesitation. 

“This,” he says. “Now. Being here with you.”

You are taken aback by the force of his sincerity, the gratitude that glistens in his gaze. Of all his accolades, all his many accomplishments and adventures, of all the people he has loved and lain with, this is what he cherishes most. You, bruised and battered as you are. Only you.

“And for you, I’ll wait.” He clasps both of your hands in his. “I'll wait for as long as it takes. A thousand years could pass, and I'd still be here, waiting.” His lips curl. “If you'll still have me, that is.”

You cannot help but laugh at his unexpected pun, and the hint of pride in it. Your cheeks flush with the implication of his smirk. It takes you a beat to register what he has said. When you do, you halt.

“Is that a promise?”

He freezes. Desperately, you search his face.

“It's a promise.” You surge forward. “You're going to wait till the day I can give myself to you completely, mind, body and soul. You're going to live.”

He looks down at his hands, wrapped up in yours. You can feel the roiling inside him, the relentless battle between hope and sacrifice. And when his eyes meet yours again, you are overcome by a love that blazes through everything hidden and broken within you. 

There is the ghost of a nod, and his hair skims your neck as you reach for him. When your lips find his, he trembles, his hands questing, coming to rest at the small of your back. You cup his cheeks, and the caress of his tongue against yours is a prayer answered. A vow.

In the warmth of his embrace, you watch the weary sun take its dive into the sea. He holds you close, and as the piano whispers your mother’s song, you let the gentle rhythm of his breaths lull you into sleep.

******************************

Liked this fic? Check out my other work.

[theoxenia]

Indeed, while we may safely discount the specific practice of “sacred prostitution” as an historiographic myth, there is surely still an enduring religious connection between Aphrodite and the working girls of ancient Corinth, and everywhere else they plied their trade. Prostitutes and courtesans worshipped Aphrodite as an object of cultic veneration, and they could and did, like the Locrian courtesan Polyarchis, use their professional earnings to pay for sacral dedications and ritual celebrations in devotion to the goddess. Most notably, their very vocation of creating sexual pleasure in itself is an act of erotic blending that is always “sacred” to the goddess. Aphrodite is sacred sex.

Aphrodite by Monica S. Cyrino, from Routledge's Gods and Heroes of the Ancient World series

[isisalchemy]

the whore and the holy one

making 'sex work' sacred again. it's not about diminishing your power. it's not about shielding your sexuality. it's the aiding of creation by using the magic inherent to you. in the renaissance era, alchemists were deemed to be witches. a life-threatening accusation. we were murdered for our "secrets." it was never a secret at all. it is our nature. always has been and always will be. the most powerful goddesses were called whores. communities paid in diamonds and gold for their mere juices. the power of a woman. we look down on a mechanism that is ingrained into our essence. our energy is the exchange. its not performative. it's not facades. it's raw. sensual. enigmatic. primal. womb spaces have been corrupted by entities , siphoned and minimized to 3D establishments (physical pleasure, home and children). sex work or 'sacred prostitution' has always been a gateway to spirituality. an initiation of sorts. we are the initiation.

[eirikrjs]

Thinking Beyond Replacement

The new Lilith reveal when Vengeance was announced led to another stupid & frankly outdated thought: "why design a new look for a classic SMT demon that's still popular when the new is functionally identical to the old?"

This thought nevertheless got me curious, so i made the Qadistu quartet edits seen above. I've become pro-Doi Lilith for the following reasons:

Kaneko is super dead now that he left Atlus. It's time to move on for real. I'm especially talking to myself.

the palettes of Eisheth Zenunim, Agrat bat Mahlat, and Naamah aren't dissimilar to the Amemiya or Kaneko Liliths, so they would still look fairly cohesive even with the latter. But Lilith is still the leader of the Qadistu and her bubblegum pink hair makes her pop out among them.

However, I think it's undeniable that Doi designed the Qadistu as a unit, combining, as he says, "beauty and ugliness." All 4 have grotesque features and I particularly like Lilith's bony joint aberrations:

There's just a level of cohesion usually only a single artist can lend to such a related/thematic assemblage; I'm also pretty positive on Naamah; even if her purpose in the Qadistu might just be to breast boobily, she's a demon I've wanted in SMT for a long time and i think her design delivers.

I'm not as hot on Agrat bat Mahlat, she reminds me of Ranni for some reason; I just think the "dark witch" motif is a little derivative but at least she adds variety to the group. The most notable thing about her to me is that her red eyes make it look like she's been doing some heavy dabbing in the sweet leaf. Eisheth Zenunim I'm pretty neutral about.

Last point on accepting change, as sad as that sounds to say (but it totally is what's necessary):the 4 Qadistu are the wives of Samael, and so the new Lilith is still wrapped by a snake--a red snake, the same color Samael has always been in Kaneko's designs. While it seems a given Samael will be involved in the story eventually, it would also mean he will have a new design, and probably not a snake, or at least something more involved. I also imagine Lilith's snake having a role in cutscenes--further necessitating the need for an all-new design/model.

Also, i totally expect there to be some classic SMT comparative etymological conflation bullshit with Samael this time around, because "Samael" is one of the alternate names of Yaldabaoth. And oh yeah, Sophia is the mother of the demiurge and in vanilla she called herself a sacred prostitute:

So expect her involvement, too. I'm honestly pretty excited for Vengeance! It's coming out at a great time for me, I think it'll be doable for me one-handed,Doi's new designs I would put on a Kaneko quality scale of somewhere between SMT2 and Devil Summoner, and vanilla SMT5 was so low impact, the only place it can go now is up!

[faberown]

IS ADAM A MISOGYNIST?

Answer: NO. And this should be obvious to anyone with some brain.

But let's try to give more explanations. First of all, let's start outside from the show, and answer a more important question:

IS ADAM A MISOGYNIST IN THE BIBLE?

Well, no. Actually, Adam in the Bible is one of the characters that respect and love women the most, which is ironic considering the time when such things were written (let's remember that until less than 200 years ago women were considering PROPERTY of the men). But then, why is Adam considered a misogynist today? Well, because a problem that unfortunately has afflicted us for a long time: people forget that the mentality of people when the myths were written was very different from today, and what means one thing for us at the time meant another. But unfortunately people don't understand this concept, because it is much easier to read and interpret in a literal way, or rather, in a way that conforms to their own thoughts, so as to justify their beliefs.

Let's take for example another famous myth, that of Hades and Persephone. Many modern interpretations see it as a kidnapping, but the truth is that Hades never kidnapped Persephone: before picking her up, in fact, he had asked permission from Zeus, her father (and also his brother... who was the brother of Demeter, the mother of Persephone... so he married the daughter of his brother that was born from an incest between his brother and his sister... yes, the Greek gods were the embodiment of Sweet Home Alabama). Only after Zeus had given him permission to marry Persephone had Hades gone to get her, because again, daughters at the time were PROPERTY of the male parent; not CUSTODY, just PROPERTY. The mother and daughter had no right to say anything. So, in fact, a kidnapping never existed: Hades simply went to take what belonged to him. Not only that, but Hades behaved in an unusual manner for the time: instead of immediately taking advantage of Persephone as was his right, once in the Underworld he courted her and treated her with extreme respect. He has never cheated on her and has always sincerely loved her (they are literally the ONLY healthy couple in Greek myth), and he himself even proposed the deal to Demeter when he realized that she sincerely wanted to spend time on the surface being the goddess of spring.

See? If we don't base ourselves on a literal interpretation of the myth but rather integrate it with the culture and mentality of the time, suddenly what seemed like an act of violence becomes one of the most beautiful couples in all of Greek mythology, which in fact they were. Now, let's try to apply the same reasoning with Adam, Lilith and Eve.

First let's make one thing clear: Lilith DOESN'T exist in the Bible, so here, to avoid too much confusion, we will simply talk about sacred texts, but that doesn't change much since they were written in very close times. Now, was Adam a bad husband for Lilith? Obviously not. That is a modern feminist literal interpretation of the myth, because they wanted to find at all costs a way to criticize religion and patriarchy (and no, I'm not mad at feminists, I'm simply mad at all those who misinterpret something just to justify their beliefs). In this myth, as we well know, Adam and Lilith had to have sex and she didn't want to be under him, and he replied that she always had to be under him. The problem? Again, the mentality of the time was different. To begin with, the idea of ​​the time was that "sacred" sex, and therefore the only sex allowed in Eden given that it was an earthly Paradise, was only that aimed at procreation; and to procreate, according to the mentality of the time (a mentality that has persisted until very recent times), the only right position was that of a missionary, otherwise the child wouldn't be born (in fact the prostitutes stayed on top not to risk getting pregnant). Is this false? Of course, but for the mentality of the time it was absolute reality. So what Adam is saying to Lilith is not "You must be submissive to me, slave woman you must obey me patriarchy blah blah blah", but rather "sorry, but I can't magically change the position of our organs, if we want to have sex we have to do it this way, so just accept it". Basically, it is as if today a woman wanted to get pregnant by only having oral sex, and after her boyfriend points out that it is impossible she accuses him of being misogynistic: who would you side with? So no, Adam never tried to impose himself on Lilith, Lilith was simply a bitch who wanted to do everything as she wanted and thought she could go against even her own nature. And considering what she did AFTER she escaped from Eden, it's very clear how out of her mind she was; I won't go into detail, just know that she has a long history of cannibalism, rape and pedophilia.

Let's talk about Eve now; again, the idea that she was subservient to Adam arises from a modern feminist misinterpretation. Eve was created from Adam's rib to be "more docile", but then again, "docile" thousands of years ago didn't mean "submissive" at all. "Docile" was considered synonymous with "affectionate, loving, faithful, gentle", and did not take into account submission to the master or anything like that, which in fact had another name. Eve was therefore not created from Adam's rib to be his servant, but rather because in this way they would both complete each other and love each other in the purest and deepest way (the classic saying "I love her as if she were a part of me") . It is, in a certain sense, a variant of a Greek myth that saw all people once united, only to be divided by the gods, and therefore destined to seek their other half through love. In fact, Adam and Eve were a united couple and loved each other madly, to the point that Adam, in many variants of the Bible and even in more modern works such as Milton's Paradise Lost, eats the forbidden fruit because he doesn't want to separate from Eve (which places him, by symbolism, in a heroic way but also as a worse sinner than her, given that he chooses mortality and desire instead of divine grace). In some other versions, even, God doesn't free them together but places them in different places on Earth, so that, after the initial quarrel due to the forbidden fruit, they understand how much they need each other and seek each other, and then reunite in love and begin humanity.

Alright, and with that, we're done with the "accurate biblically story" part. Personally, I was very disappointed that Viv didn't use the real version but limited herself to choosing the extremely wrong modern feminist one, given that I think the original one is much more interesting. But now, let's go further and move on to the second big question:

IS ADAM A MISOGYNIST IN HAZBIN HOTEL?

Hazbin Hotel clearly presents many differences with the sacred texts, to the point of creating a mythology more in its own right than being a reflection of the real one; consequently, let's try to look at it without taking into account what actually happened in the Bible. But even in this case, if we exclude the story described in Charlie's book (which has so many holes that it is impossible not to consider it false, especially considering it was written by those who are described as revolutionary heroes, something never confirmed by any other character of the series), then Adam is not a misogynist at all. Let's analyze his character: all his best soldiers are women and he never shows any doubt that they would know how to do what, since time immemorial, has been considered a man's job; his right hand is a woman and he allows her to speak back on him and even boss him around sometimes; his boss is a woman and even when they disagree he still respects her authority; and the list is still long. The only times he seems to despise women is when he talks to Vaggie, but it is clear that in that moment he is despising her more than women, since she is a traitor and an enemy. Haven't you ever seen a movie where the villain takes advantage of the situation to make fun of the hero, behaving in a way he didn't behave with his henchmen or allies? Well, this is basically the same. Should we consider him misogynistic because when he talks to Charlie he makes silly jokes and pranks and proudly talks about his experiences? I expect such behavior from a slightly rude person, certainly not from a misogynist. Based on this logic, Alastor (who slaps Vaggie on the ass in the pilot) and Lucifer (who objectifies Eve and Lilith by talking about them as if they were trophies during the battle) are misogynists too. It's just a ridiculous thought.

In particular there is a scene in which I want to focus to demonstrate his total absence of misogyny, namely the moment in episode 6 when he and Lute notice Charlie and Vaggie in Heaven. In that scene, Lute grabs him by the collar and orders him not to speak loudly, with a very rude attitude to boot. Not only this is a total lack of respect given the different rank that they have (let's not forget that he is her superior, moreover in a military context, where discipline and respect are considered fundamental and absolute), but it also destroys any idea that Adam might be a misogynist for one simple reason: he lets her do it. People tend to forget this because Adam acts like an idiot and Lute acts like the bossy one, but the difference in strength between them is enormous. Lute is good at fighting with an angelic spear, but Adam can summon weapons, shatter magical shields with a punch, open portals, fire beams of power equal to the most powerful laser on Earth, and even defeat Charlie who in power level is equal or even superior to the Deadly Sins except for Lucifer. Adam can literally pick up Lute and break her bones like she's a breadstick, and no one could scold him for anything since he, being the general of the army, has the authority to give punishments if he feels there is a lack of discipline. If Adam had been a misogynist and a woman had dared to treat him that way, he would have immediately reestablished his authority by punching her in the face, or at least threatening her; instead, he lets her do it and listens to her advice, and he even seems genuinely sorry after she makes an offended face because of an unkind comment of his. Let's said it again: Adam, a being who can fight on equal terms with the princess of Hell and win, doesn't get angry after being treated badly and with disrespect by a woman inferior to him, but rather listens to her and follows her advice. Does this seem misogynistic to you?

So, to conclude, no, Adam is not a misogynist, he's just a slightly rude person who thinks his jokes are funny (and it must be said that no one ever contradicts him). He's like the classic pompous friend that any of us have had in life. Calling him misogynistic means to have no clue what misogyny, or patriarchy, is. Viv's problem (as unfortunately with many others) is that she uses words to describe her characters without really knowing what they mean, and she relies on her personal experiences (extremely subjective and without any objective value for the rest of the world) to write them. If Adam is indeed based on an ex-boyfriend, then that ex-boyfriend was just a ridiculous pompous prideful guy who didn't know what education was, certainly not a misogynist. I don't wish for Viv to meet a true misogynist in her life, but if that will happen she will immediately understand how stupid she was to describe Adam as one.

[astra-ravana]

A Dive Into The Dark Feminine

The Dark Feminine is not the same as the Wounded or Shadow Feminine energy. No. She is deeply misunderstood because society represses her into shadow. She is liberation, rage, pleasure, and intuition. She is not a manipulation or a repackaging of the male gaze.

She is fierce grace, wild liberation, the sword of truth. She is blood, sex, and earth. The Lover and the Whore. She shakes the cage of "Good Girl" conditioning to unleash the full spectrum expression of woman.

She is Hekate, Kali, Lilith. The Creatrix and the Destroyer. She is the Shamaness, the Wild Woman, and the Wise Crone. Once a woman awakens to her there is no going back.

"Your rage is sacred.

Your grief is a holy gift.

Your full-spectrum depths,

hold your greatest power."

Dark Feminine Energy is:

Self sourced power, sensuality, chaos, devotion, magick, passion, rage, transformation, internal safety, fearlessness, sexual liberation, the unknown, regeneration, wholeness, sisterhood, authenticity, death

Checklist

• Cut off toxic people.

• Practice shadow work.

• Prioritize self-care.

• Healthy communication with loved ones.

• Practice manifestation.

• Try things out of your comfort zone.

Essential Dark Goddesses

• Lilith

• Hekate

• Morrigan

• Nyx

• Persephone

• Morgan le Fay

• Erish Kigal

• Baba Yaga

• Sekhmet

• Freya

• Circe

• Oya

• Hel

• Medusa

• Eris

• Kali

• Melinoe

• Angrboda

• Tiamat

"And in the death of her reputation,

She felt truly alive."

Pre and Post Patriarchy Views of Women and Sex

Pre-Patriarchy

• Sexuality and divinity were one; sex was seen as divine.

• The more sexual a woman, the more holy.

• Priestesses that were initiated into the highest Mystery (womb magick) were seen as livinf goddesses.

• The worth of a woman was inherent.

• Sacred priestesses in tune with their sexuality, having mastered the power of their bodies (Kundalini) were revered as a direct portal to spirit and the Gods/Energies of the Universe.

Post-Patriarchy

• Sexuality being taboo, seen as profane, filthy, even evil.

• The more sexual a woman, the more vulgar and profane.

• Priestesses turned to sex slaves, "prostitutes" for men to release upon their repressed sexualities and sexual tension.

• The worth of a woman is now in relation to a man; her value is in her chastity. The more lovers she has, the more worthless she becomes.

• The word "whore" is used as an insult for women who were comfortable with sexuality.

• The more a woman is sexual, associated with the taboos and repressed instincts of the collective, the less she is respected, seen as "not respecting herself", "being cheap", "easy", or "giving her most sacred possession away".

• Women with high sex drives said to have "fornicated with the Devil".

Someone who has a lot of sexual energy can also possess a powerful healing energy. This is because sexual energy IS healing energy at a spiritual level. The best healers have big sexual energy.

VINDICA TE TIBI - "Claim yourself"

The Secret Power of Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th is actually good luck as it is associated with the 13 cycles of the moon in a lunar year, this is why a woman has 13 cycles a year, and ovulates on the 13th day. In 1487 free thinking and Divine Female Energy was suppressed and labeled witchcraft by Heinrich Kramer, who went forth to burn many healers on the stake due to forced ignorance and hatred for powerful female leaders. This is why Friday the 13th is actually a spiritual day of enlightenment, divine/dark feminine energy, and healing that should be sacred instead of hated.

Black Moon Lilith

In astrology, Black Moon Lilith plays the role of 'Guardian of the Threshold'. The term indicates a spectral image which manifests itself as soon as the student of the spirit ascends upon the path into the higher worlds of knowledge. Lilith, representing the testing of the feminine oracle, comes with temptations and promises for the ego, forcing the seeker to meet their own shadow.

"Darkness is the fertile soil of the feminine. Discomfort is the birth place of our shadows. Wild chaos catalyses true leadership. Raw emotions teach us how to feel. The deep void of our sex holds our primal hunger. So, what powerful darkness do you feel is wrong? "

[holylulusworld]

Snow bunny (1)

Summary: Someone tries to hunt a deer in your woods. You won’t have it.

Pairing: CEvans characters x Nymph!Reader (Lloyd Hansen, Ari Levinson, Andy Barber)

Warnings: creature reader, mentions of hunting deer, a little Christmas magic, kidnapping (kinda), Lloyd being Lloyd, groping, dirty talk, seduction (use of magic), I’ll label this dub-con (reader on them) because of her nature

Words: 1,7k

A/N: Please consider this a naughty Christmas fairytale.

Snow bunny masterlist

“Almost there, Barber. Follow me and you will kill your first deer.” You watch the men sneak around the woods. They carry weapons and knives. “Come on, hurry up. I don’t have all day to guide you through your first hunt, sunshine.”

“Shut up,” one of the other men shushes the first one. “You dragged me out here to run around the woods. I’d prefer a cabin, a fire, and some coffee.”

“Same,” the last guy grunts. “Lloyd let’s call it a day. I thought we want to drown our sorrows in booze and maybe some nice tits.”

“Shut up, Levinson,” the first guy twirls around to glare at the third guy. “You and Barber always whine about how your wives left you and that you want something new. You said you want thrills and fun. What is better than killing something?”

“Lloyd,” the second guy sighs. “Ari is not wrong. I’d take a drink over killing a deer any time of the day.”

“See, Andy thinks the same,” Ari grunts. “Let’s head back. We won’t find a deer to shoot today. It’s ice cold and I don’t feel my feet.”

“Wait!” The first guy, Lloyd lifts his fist. “There she is. The one I saw earlier.” He shushes the others and points at a majestic deer in the distance. He doesn’t know that the deer is dear to you, or that she’s sacred. “If you don’t want to kill that one, I’ll do it.”

“No. You won’t,” you confidently say and step out from behind a tree. All eyes are suddenly on you. The men gasp and groan as you walk toward them.

You’re only wearing a dress made of ivy and flowers. A leaf headdress covers your head. They watch you gracefully step closer, not bothered by the snow or the cold.

“Lady, shouldn’t you wear a little more than this—” Andy says. He worriedly looks at your bare feet as you walk through the snow. “She’s not wearing shoes and a thin dress made of what looks like ivy.”

“Miss, are you in trouble?” Ari steps toward you. He unbuttons his warm jacket to offer it to you, but you wave him off. “Miss?”

“Damn me,” Lloyd whistles. He looks you up and down and cups his crotch. “That’s a cute snow bunny, my friends. This must be the gift our friend told us about. Ya know, the fancy lady.”

“Fancy lady?” You huff. “I haven’t heard that term in ages.” Your soft voice goes straight to Andy’s cock. “Now, you will leave this place. The woods are not yours to disturb.”

“Miss, did you hit your head?” Andy worriedly watches you place your hand on Lloyd’s gun. “We can bring you back to town.”

“This is my home,” you snap your head toward Andy and snarl. “You invaded my home, and now you will pay for it.”

You tighten your hold on the gun, smirking as Lloyd tries to shake your hand off. “Let go, bunny and I won’t spank your cute ass too hard.”

“You need to learn your lesson.” You purr and dip your head to watch Ari take off his jacket. “I think you will be the first one Lloyd Hansen.”

Andy and Ari watch you drop your hand from the gun and step away. They are mesmerized by you and your appearance.

“Bunny, you should think about your next step. I’d hate to hurt you,” Lloyd smirks. “Or are you into a little pain?”

“You will pay for all the crimes you committed. You disrespect nature for too long,” you wave your hand, empathizing your words with the gesture. “Lloyd Hansen, you will be my slave from today on.”

Andy gasps as ivy crawls across the snow, it crawls up Lloyd’s leg to sling around the gun he’s still holding.

“Lloyd, you should drop the gun now,” Ari says. He’s suddenly not sure if his fascination for you is justified. “Don’t anger her. I don’t think she’s a prostitute.”

“Far from it,” you wave your hand again. More ivy crawls toward Lloyd to sling around his body. “He will look pretty in my garden. I will call his statue punishment.”

“Let me go, bunny,” Lloyd wiggles and grunts. “Hey, I’m talking to you. I won’t hurt you if you let me go now.”

“I won’t hurt you if you swear your obedience and loyalty to me and the woods,” you step toward Lloyd as more ivy wraps around his neck. “Now.”

“Do it Lloyd,” Andy sounds a little panicked. “Fuck, just do it!”

“Fine, snow bunny,” Lloyd struggles to speak as ivy wraps around his mouth. “I’ll be yours.”

“Wonderful!” You clap your hands, and the ivy drops to the ground. It disappears as suddenly as it appeared to wrap around the intruder. “Now to you.”

Lloyd is still a little shaken when you step toward Andy. You cup his face to feel his well-trimmed but thick beard under your fingertips.

“You will be mine too. I can sense your broken soul and sadness. You will only know joy and love from now on.”

Andy licks his lips. He can't move, speak, or think. “I-“ Andy croaks but doesn’t bring the words swirling in his mind out. He got a job, responsibility, an ex-wife demanding money, and a house to pay for but all he can think of now is to make you happy.

“Say yes, my sweet lover,” you press your lips to Andy’s taking his breath and fears away. He moans into your mouth, feeling his chest and cock swell at the same time. “Say you are mine.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes against your lips. Andy reaches out for you, but you slip through his fingers like the wind. “Only yours…”

You suddenly stand in front of Ari, eyes scanning more than his features. “Ari, your soul is sad too, and your heart is broken.” You cup his face with both hands. “Say you are mine and all of this will be gone forever.”

“I-I,” he welcomes your lips and closes his eyes. It feels like a weight gets lifted off his chest when you wrap your arms around him like the ivy did with Lloyd. “I’m yours.”

“Of course you are mine, Ari,” you breathe and float away to wrap your hand around Lloyd’s throat. “You are not sad nor heartbroken. But you are a bad…bad man and need guidance.”

“Oh bunny, I’d like to guide something inside of you,” Lloyd grins. He got that you are more interested in owning the men than anything else. “That’s what you want, right? You’re a naughty little slut dreaming of dick. I bet you want us to defile you.”

“Lloyd, don’t,” Ari warns. “Let her make you happy.” He’s like in a trance. “I want to make her happy and forget about my awful life.”

“It’s Christmas, my love,” you blow a kiss in Ari’s direction. “I will share all of my love with you.”

“And me,” Andy purrs. His eyes are dilated, and you know he is drifting in the right direction. You smirk and blow him a kiss too.

“Yes, my love,” you coo and batt your eyelashes. “Wait for me, Andy. I need to tame your friend first.”

“You can try,” Lloyd snickers as you slam him against the nearby tree. He laughs and watches you run your hands over his chest. “I’m not some puppy you can train. I know you are using some tricks to confuse these two idiots but me, I’m made of rougher stuff, bunny. If you want me, go on your knees, and give me a kiss to my dick.”

“You’re a stubborn and naughty man, Lloyd,” you are fascinated by this man. None of the other men you enchanted ever withstood your magic for so long. “Hmm…I won’t leave you behind. I want to keep you too.”

“Keep me?” He snorts. “Bunny if you keep me you’ll always be full of dick. I’ll use all of your holes. I will fuck you under your Christmas tree and christen it. You will be my whore until I get bored.”

Your core aches at his crude description. Maybe you shouldn’t control him too much. This man is a menace, and you want him to use you the way he wants to.

“We will see,” you say instead of giving away that you want him to take you right there against the tree. “For now, you are mine and will follow me home.”

“Like hell,” he growls. His hand shoots toward your crotch to roughly cup your pussy. “Look who’s wet like a cat in heat for me. Come on, bunny. I want you to turn around and let Lloyd take good care of that cunt.”

“You will wait until it’s your turn,” you cup his face and kiss him roughly. “You will be my new toy. Maybe I’ll turn you into my favorite, huh?”

“Miss…I mean…it’s getting colder,” Andy’s teeth shatter. “We should head back, don’t you think?”

“Oh! Of course,” you twirl around to look at Andy and Ari. “Humans freeze so easily.” You snap your fingers. The trees part and the snow melts to create a path. “Come with me. I’ll offer you shelter from the cold.”

“I bet your cunt is slick and warm enough to keep me warm,” Lloyd snickers, but follows hot on your heels. “So, what do you do for a living? Kidnapping hot guys to get dick? Hmm… no. A girl can’t live off cock and cum alone.”

“You really are a naughty man, Lloyd Hansen,” you chuckle as you look over your shoulder. “Santa was right. You need me to make a better man out of you…”

“Whoa, the fuck!” Lloyd stops in his tracks as you stop walking. You are standing in front of a huge castle. Ivy and flowers are wrapped around the whole building and it looks like straight out of a fairytale. “Where is this thing coming from? Not hours ago, there was nothing but snow and trees.”

“You cannot see my home as long as you are not worthy,” you grab his wrist, to make sure Lloyd doesn’t run away. Ari and Andy are loyal already, but Lloyd is a different story. “You will be allowed inside as long as you are a good boy.”

“Good boy,” he snorts. “Dream on, bunny.”

“Y/N, my love,” the door opens to reveal another man. The tall blonde steps outside to welcome you home. “Do you like my choice? Are you satisfied?”

“Stevie, my sweet love,” you coo, and push Lloyd toward the door. “Please keep an eye on this one. He’s a little…”

“Stubborn,” Steve smirks. “Oh, punk. You are in for a long haul…”

Tags in reblog.

[gatheringbones]

best books I read in 2023:

sophie strand, the flowering wand: rewilding the sacred masculine

alex iantaffi, gender trauma: healing cultural, social, and historical gendered trauma

matthew desmond, evicted: poverty and profit in the american city

betty dodson, sex for one: the joy of selfloving

ching-in chen, andrea smith, jai dulani, the revolution starts at home: confronting intimate partner violence within activist communities

robin stern, the gaslight effect: how to spot and survive the hidden manipulation others use to control your life

nick turse, kill anything that moves: the real american war in vietnam

lori fox, this has always been a war: the radicalization of a working class queer

arline t. geronimus, weathering: the extraordinary stress of ordinary life in an unjust society

roxanne dunbar-ortiz, not a nation of immigrants: settler colonialism, white supremacy, and a history of erasure and exclusion

eyal press, dirty work: essential jobs and the hidden toll of inequality in america

rabbi danya ruttenberg, on repentence and repair: making amends in an unapologetic world

michelle dowd, forager: field notes for surviving a family cult

starhawk, the empowerment manual: a guide for collaborative groups

betty dodson, orgasms for two: the joy of partnersex

timothy snyder, black earth: the holocaust as history and warning

kidada e. williams, I saw death coming: a history of terror and survival in the war against reconstruction

judy grahn, another mother tongue: gay words, gay worlds

jennifer m. silva, coming up short: working-class adulthood in an age of uncertainty

susanna clarke, piranesi

megan asaka, seattle from the margins: exclusion, erasure, and the making of a pacific coast city

starhawk, truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery

laura jane grace, tranny: confessions of punk rock’s most infamous anarchist sellout

molly smith, revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex worker's rights

richard c. schwartz, you are the one you've been waiting for: applying internal family systems to intimate relationships

timothy snyder, our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary

peter levine, trauma and memory: brain and body in search for the living past

kylie cheung, survivor injustice: state-sanctioned abuse, domestic violence, and the fight for bodily autonomy

timothy snyder, bloodlands: europe between hitler and stalin

joan larkin, a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories

cj cherryh, hammerfall

[blackswaneuroparedux]

If Caravaggio were alive today today, he would have loved the cinema; his paintings take a cinematic approach. We filmmakers became aware of his work in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and he certainly was an influence on us. The best part for us was that in many cases he painted religious subject-matter but the models were obviously people from the streets; he had prostitutes playing saints. There’s something in Caravaggio that shows a real street knowledge of the sinner; his sacred paintings are profane.

Martin Scorsese on Caravaggio

Michelangelo Merisi, known to most of us as “Caravaggio,” was born on September 29, 1571 in Milan, Italy, to parents who were from the small town of Caravaggio. In the span of his 38 years long life he revolutionised painting with innovations like a unique use of chiaroscuro - with dark shadows contrasting with dramatic areas of light - and a deep sense of realism that later inspired the Baroque movement. But most of all, he developed such an iconic style that most of us can probably look at a painting and know if it’s a Caravaggio, or Caravaggio-inspired. 

Merisi spent the first few years of his life in Milan, studying painting, and later moved to Rome, where his early talent impressed Cardinal Del Monte, who introduced the young painter to other high-profile Catholic figures who became commissioners of some of Caravaggio’s best work. It seemed there was no end to the artist’s creative genius. Caravaggio, much to his patron’s delight, would pump out one masterpiece after another. It seemed the more out of control his personal life became (cheating, brawling and murder were standard fare), the more his art would become more refined, more potent.

In the long list of masterpieces he left behind, both secular and religious works stand out. But it is perhaps in his religious works that the artistic transition of the master is more evident. Caravaggio is, in fact, known to have changed his style after harsh personal life experiences led him to reassess his outlook on life.

In May of 1606 Caravaggio took part in a deadly brawl in Rome and was charged with murder. He fled to Malta, in search of asylum from the Order of Saint John, a Catholic order dedicated to helping the sick and the poor. The order commissioned some of the most important late life works of the Milanese artist.

It is in these works that we notice the shift in Caravaggio’s art, from a strong focus on aesthetics to an interest in the spirituality of his subjects, which critics believe was motivated by his own introspection.

On the streets surrounding the churches and palaces, brawls and sword fights were regular occurrences. In the course of this desperate life Caravaggio created the most dramatic paintings of his age, using ordinary men and women - often prostitutes and the very poor - to model for his depictions of classic religious scenes.

By representing biblical characters in a naturalistic fashion, typically through signs of aging and poverty, Caravaggio's populist modernisation of religious parables were little short of trailblazing. Although not without his critics within the church, by effectively humanising the divine, Caravaggio made Christianity more relevant to the ordinary viewer.

For some, though, his art was too real. Bare shoulders, plunging necklines, severed heads; this raw humanity didn’t always fly in 17th century Rome. As a result, many of his pieces were rejected as altar pieces and as church hangings. One such piece, the Madonna of Loretto (now hanging in a church in Rome) was widely criticised upon its unveiling. The people of the day were shocked to behold the Mother of God leaning nonchalantly against a wall in her bare feet while holding baby Jesus in her arms.

It is ironic that the very art that today we consider “classical” and “iconic” to the Catholic faith was considered questionable and perhaps void of modesty and virtue. Yet, the fact remains that no individual artist has made such a lasting impression on the world of modern art. Truly, many have called Caravaggio the “first modern artist”. It is no surprise, then, that his style has sparked both widespread admiration and imitation throughout the centuries.

Before Pope John Paul II refined a theology of the body beautiful, Caravaggio's paintings suggested a reverence for the inherent beauty of human form.

Troubled though he may have been, his art speaks eloquently of the dignity of the mundane. Though the original medium may be weathered and cracked, the message of beauty still echoes down the centuries. And this same beauty still fuels, escapes and reduces artists to relentless seekers as surely and as forcefully as it did in Caravaggio's life.