"Easter has always had a close association with food. The word comes from the name for the Anglo-Saxon goddess of light and spring, Eostre, and special dishes were cooked in her honour so that the year would be endowed with fertility. Most important of these dishes was a small spiced bun, from which our hot cross bun derives but from which also the traditional spicy sweet bread of Greece probably had its origins. The baking of buns associated with religious offerings goes back to remotest antiquity. The Egyptians offered small round cakes to the goddess of the moon, each marked with a representation of the horns of an ox, which were her symbol. In ancient Greece, a similar small, sacred bread containing the finest sifted flour and honey, had the name bous meaning "ox" and from which the word bun is said to have originated. In time, the representation of the horns became a simple cross, although it also has been suggested that this was intended to symbolise the four quarters of the moon. The old association of protection and fertility, and thus birth and rebirth, was transposed into a Christianised form and the ritual of baking "hot cross buns" became standard practice of the Easter celebration in English society. In the Baltic region of Russia, their Easter cake is kulich, a yeast dough of enormous proportions lavishly decorated with crystallised citrus peel. In traditional households it is presented on a table decorated with eggs and the younger members of the family visit to share the eggs and bread."

― J. Passmore, An ancient tradition

(via pinterest)

steal my kiss by velvet-ears featuring black home decor

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We are nothing but men made from mud and earth. One day we shall crumble, and to dust we shall return.
—  Origins

yuki-rakuen asked:

Come over here and make me! & why are you naked in my bed for Warden x Alistair?? :D

I chose only one, other wise is get s bit messy!

6. Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?

Alistair x Roselyn Cousland

After being in the Deep Roads for what seemed like weeks, the lure of a bath and a comfortable bed to sleep in was a welcome on. Not just for Alistair, but his companions too.

Bhelen, King Bhelen now had offered them rooms in the palace to stay in for as long as they needed. Giving them all the oppertunity to adequately recover from wounds and recuperate. All of them had taken advantage of his hospitality, except Oghren who wanted to stay close to Tapsters, but insisted they come find him when they intended to leave Orzammar.

Alistair had bathed, had spent what must have been an hour submerged in one of the huge, deep stone tubs scrubbing himself clean of grime and dirt. Content to enjoy the water and the feeling of cleanliness.

The Deep Roads did not make for a nice location to live in. He felt like darkspawn blood and dirt and sweat had dried into his skin and Alistair was red raw by the time he climbed out of the tub to dry himself.

In something of a daze he walked from the washroom to his bedchamber a towel around his waist.

The chambers in the royal palace were bigger than any room Alistair had ever had as a young man growing up. They were comfortable and spacious, even if their ceilings were a little on the low side.

A fire had been lit in the hearth and candles on a small desk gave as much light as he needed. The soap he had used made him feel drowsy and warm. A little tingly. He would have to ask the King what it was and if he could have some for the road.

Keep reading

The Disturbing Origins of Famous Fairy Tales

Little Red Riding Hood

If you can believe it, the Brothers Grimm actually made this story a lot nicer than it was when they got their hands on it. In Charles Perrault’s version, included in his 1697 collection Stories or Fairy Tales from Past Times: Tales of Mother Goose, there is no intrepid huntsman. Little Red simply strips naked, gets in bed, and then dies, eaten up by the big bad wolf, with no miraculous relief (in another version, she eats her own grandmother first, her flesh cooked up and her blood poured into a wine glass by our wolfish friend). Instead, Perrault gives us a little rhyming verse reminding us that not all wolves are wild beasts — some seduce with gentleness, sneak into our beds, and get us there. The sexual undertones are not lost on us — after all, the contemporary French idiom for a girl having lost her virginity was elle avoit vû le loup — she has seen the wolf.

Cinderella

Here, Perrault is much nicer than Grimm — in his version, the two cruel stepsisters get married off to members of the royal court after Cinderella is properly married to the prince. In the Grimm story, not only do the stepsisters cut off parts of their feet in order to fit into the glass slippers (surprise, surprise, the blood pooling in their shoes gives them away), but at the end, they have their eyes pecked out by doves. Just for good measure.

Snow White

First of all, in the original 1812 Grimm version of this tale, the evil Queen is Snow White’s actual mother, not her stepmother. We don’t know, but that makes it a lot more terrifying to us. The Disney version also left out the fact that the Queen sends the huntsman out to bring back Snow White’s liver and lungs, which she then means to eat. And the fact that she’s actually not in a deep sleep when the prince finds her — she’s dead, and he’s carting off her dead body to play with when his servant trips, jostles the coffin, and dislodges the poison apple from SW’s throat. Most notable, however, is the punishment the Grimms thought up for her. When the queen shows up at Snow White’s wedding, she’s forced to step into iron shoes that had been cooking in the fire, and then dances until she falls down dead.

Hansel and Gretel

The version of the story we know is already pretty gruesome — the evil stepmother abandons the children to die in the forest, they happen upon a cannibalistic witch’s cottage, she fattens them up to eat, they outwit and kill her and escape. The Grimm version is basically the same, but in an early French version, called The Lost Children, the witch is the Devil, and the Devil wants to bleed the children on a sawhorse. Of course, they pretend not to know how to get on, so the Devil has his wife (who tried to help the poor kids earlier in the story) show them. They promptly slit her throat, steal all the Devil’s money, and run off.

Rapunzel

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Well, in the Grimm version, she does, a little too often, to a prince, and winds up pregnant, innocently remarking to her jailer witch that her clothes feel too tight. The witch, not to have any competition, chops off Rapunzel’s hair and magically transports her far away, where she lives as a beggar with no money, no home, and after a few months, two hungry mouths to feed. As for the prince, the witch lures him up and then pushes him from the window. Some thorn bushes break his fall, but also poke out his eyes. For all this extra bloodshed, however, there’s still a happy ending.

The Little Mermaid

We all know the story of the little mermaid: she sells her voice for a pair of legs, flops around for a bit, then wins her prince’s heart, right? Well, not exactly. In Hans Christian Andersen’s original tale, she trades tongue for legs all right, but part of the deal is that every step will be nearly unbearable, like walking on sharp swords, and the day after the prince marries someone else, she’ll die and turn into sea foam. Hoping to win the prince’s heart, she dances for him, even though it’s agony. He claps along, but eventually decides to marry another. The mermaid’s sisters sell their hair to bring her a dagger and urge her to kill the prince and let his blood drip onto her feet, which will then become fins again. She sneaks up on him, but can’t bring herself to do it. So she dies, and dissolves into foam. Later, Andersen changed the ending, so that the mermaid becomes a “daughter of the air” — if she does good deeds for 300 years, she can get a soul and go to heaven. Many scholars find this rubbish.

The Frog Prince

Traditionally the very first story in the Grimm Brothers’ collection (and so it is in Pullman’s), this story is simple enough: the princess kisses the frog, out of the goodness of her heart, and he turns into a prince. Or, if you’re reading the original version, the frog tricks the resentful princess into making a deal with him, follows her home, keeps pushing himself further and further onto her silken pillow, until finally she hurls him against the wall. Somehow, this action is rewarded by his transformation into a prince, but it’s not even the most violent. In other early versions, she has to cut off his head instead. That’s rather far off from the traditional kiss, don’t you think?

szhismine asked:

Another fluff prompt! King Alistair gets injured (not too seriously) in a tourney and has to be taken care of by the Queen ;) maybe he hams it up because he's enjoying the attention because of how busy they usually are

King!Alistair x Roselyn Cousland

"What were you thinking?!" Roselyn snapped, half in anger, half with worry. Worry which was clear in the way her voice shook and how her hands trembled. "You’re the King of Ferelden. you can’t just go entering jousting and melee tournaments when you’re bored."

Alistair grimaced holding back a small groan of pain.

She held a cloth to a wound above his eye. He had not lowered his visor when he had jousted that afternoon and had been struck from his horse. Splinters of the lance had flown into his face, causing a handful of cuts.

"You could have lost an eye." Roselyn continued to scold him.

"Careful. I’m injured." Alistair replied with his easy grin and teasing tone. When she didn’t laugh, he pouted. The expression on his wife and Queen’s face darkened.

"You’re lucky you are injured.” She explained, her voice tight. “Otherwise I’d be kicking your arse, King or not.” Exhaling deeply through her nose, Roselyn grabbed one of his hands and moved it so he held the cloth to his face. “Keep the pressure on it.” She reached across to the bedside table and retrieved a small pot of elfroot salve.

"I’m sorry if I worried you." Alistair apologised with sincerity. He knew his wife well enough to know she didn’t fret over nothing. "I just wanted to have some fun."

"You’re the King." She told him with a sharp sigh.

"And that means I can’t enjoy myself?" His huffed, his cheeks puffing out in the manner of a child being scolded. "Hardly seems fair."

"You don’t have an heir." She reminded him, applying the salve to a small cut on his cheek.

"I’m not going to die from jousting, Rosie."

She arched an eyebrow, “people do.” Removing the cloth from his face, she put it to one side. “You’ll have a scar.” Roselyn explained, pasting the green, sweet smelling ointment on the worst cuts. “Luckily, you wear scars well.”

Alistair’s mouth broke into a wide grin. She finished tending to the cuts on his face and dropped her hands into her lap. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

"Just my pride." He told her with his cheerful, boyish grin.

She shook her head. “I’ll leave you to tend to that then.”

As she got to her feet, Alistair grabbed her hand. He pulled her back onto the bed, pinning her hands down above her head and kneeling over her.

"Alistair-!" Roselyn barely managed not to shriek. She was cut off with his mouth on hers. A hot kiss she returned, sighing into his mouth. She held his hands in hers, feeling heat beginning to pool in her belly. "What do you think you’re doing?" She asked once he broke away.

"We’re alone." Alistair explained. He dragged his mouth across her jaw and began to nibble at her neck. "The tournament is still going on, no one will disturb us for hours." His hands left her own and began to work at the laces of her gown.

"You’ll be expected to give the prize." Roselyn protested. She felt her pulse quickening despite herself. His fingers slid beneath the tight boning of her corset and stomacher

"Later." He  mumbled, "much later." The fabric of her dress loosened. Alistair nuzzled and kissed the swells of her breasts, tightly bound in her corset, rising and falling hurriedly. "We can try making some heirs." He looked up at her, eyebrow tilting on his face.

Despite her best efforts to look disapproving, Roselyn was weak to his touch and to the glint of mischief in his brown eyes. “You are impossible.” She giggled, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck.

They wouldn’t be missed.

I imagine this pretty early into Alistair’s reign as King. maybe… two/three years?

Also tried to lessen the amount I use character names, and switched to pronouns instead. It was pointed out to me I refer to characters by their name  A LOT so… trying to break that habit. I hope it still reads okay.