#Temple of Bacchus

[postcard-from-the-past]

Temple of Bacchus in Baalbek, Lebanon

French vintage postcard

[didoofcarthage]

Baalbek from the South and Interior of the North Wall of the Temple of Jupiter [Temple of Bacchus, Baalbek, Lebanon] by Francis Bedford 

English, 1862

albumen print

Royal Collection Trust

[kvetch19]

Temple of Bacchus in Baalbek, Lebanon

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question 10: Ancient History III

These Questions are the result of suggestions from the previous iteration. I'm combining some similar ones, so some are going to be a little vague. I'm going to also split into a whole lot of different polls because there were so many good and creative ideas. (Seriously, I love the people of Tumblr).

Please add new suggestions for this category below if you have them for future consideration.

You are welcome to suggest specific things from the Library of Alexandria. There will be polls for that.

[philoursmars]

Au Louvre-Lens, il y avait une expo fort intéressante : “Champollion - La Voie des Hiéroglyphes”, sur l’homme, son époque, l’image de l’Egypte en Europe avant l’Egyptologie....

- à part le dernier : le camée Carpegna du Triomphe de Bacchus - 50 apr. J-C. ; monté par Luigi Valandier, 1780

- le dernier : lion du Sérapéum - Saqqara, temple de Nectanébo, Basse époque, 370 av. J-C.

[cocainaenvenenada]

Jonestown | a protestant utopia.

[dlyarchitecture]

[lionofchaeronea]

Baalbec: Ruins of the Temple of Bacchus, David Roberts, 1840

[theoi-of-olympus]

Never take a Hellenic polytheist to a museum, they’ll spend all their time staring at the Greek statues…

So here are some pictures I took at the V&A today!

Temple of Bacchus, I was staring at this for a good 5 minutes

The 3 graces, they didn’t have the large one but I still loved seeing these (I actually got a pin and postcard of the usual statue that I love)

The sitting Venus, love love love it I wanted to just sit in front of it for hours

Eros and Psyche

Psyche by herself

Diana, missing her bow sadly

Zephyr and Flora, for the few Zephyr worshippers I see here

Apollo flaying Marsyas

Thetis dipping Achilles in the river Styx

The best photo I took today, it had depictions of Apollon, Zeus and some other gods around the room and was lovely

[howamidrivinginlimbo]

Artifacts of Pompeii, in Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli

1. Fresco of Bacchus and Mount Vesuvius. 2. Roman amphora with cupids and Dionysian harvesting. 3. Roman padlock, fibula and other tools. 4. Fresco of Serapis between two cobras, from the Temple of Isis.

[vipvesper]

all is fair in love and war

pairing: octavian x child of bacchus!reader

warnings: octavian 😞, pining, minor cursing, spoilers for son of neptune!!

word count: 1.3k+

“i wish reyna would let me strangle you.”

Octavian? You hate him for the most part. You hate the storm swirling above the Temple of Jupiter that crackles with electricity as another teddy bear augury is completed. You hate the way his piercing blue eyes mock you from behind Reyna as you sit at a Centurion’s meeting. You hate his insane laughter that echoed in your ears 6 years ago when he mutilated your stuffed animal. You roll your eyes. Dakota’s red-ringed lips lazily speak orders to the Fifth Cohort, but nobody’s listening. We’re gonna soften the defenses. Again. Great. As if the looks on our faces afer stepping away from the Officer’s conference wasn’t bad enough, Dakota’s speech isn’t helping. He squeezes a packet of Kool-Aid.

“Listen, guys. This is gonna be a good one, I can feel it!” You take charge, opting to do the talking. “Hazel and Frank, I know you guys are still on the new side, but I think you can do this. First row, create a shield wall with Dakota as you advance to soften the blow. Second row from Cecil over, hide behind the shields to fight off any advancing defenses. The other twelve, try to sneak around the flanks and find a way in.” A smile pulls at your lips, moving your brother aside. “Let’s move out, troops! Victory for the Fifth!”

The child army echoes your cheer as your ranks break. A looming wall stands in front of you, cohorts three and four standing guard behind. How do we see past the wall? When it’s so tall? “I suppose we’re acting as bait again,” you murmur to Dakota.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Hannibal’s all ready?” You inquire, wanting to make sure your cohort gets the win they deserve. He nods, grabbing another juice out of his pocket.

The war games start, Reyna hovering overhead with Scipio. A circle of eagles fly in tandem with her, awaiting injury. You tag along with the twelve soldiers, attempting to find a crack in the wall, an unguarded plate. A tug pulls in your stomach, long green vines pushing out of the ground of the Field of Mars. Branches split off to grab your cohort, gently placing my teammates over the wall. It’s a struggle to keep Hazel and Frank quiet as they’re plopped right into enemy territory. The sounds of swords clashing rings out before you can even climb up yourself.

As you drop down, armor clinking together, the vines recede to leave a small scar in the earth. Wide blue eyes immediately stare back at you, coupled with the golden glint of a spatha. Great. Octavian’s here. Can’t give him a chance to think, you remind yourself. Your gladius makes a nice noise as you remove it from its sheath, pressing the flat against his smaller weapon. Before long, he’s disarmed. Unfortunately for you, he immediately starts to squawk, alerting any soldiers who might’ve still been preoccupied by their Mythomagic tournament.

“Backup! I need backup!” The lanky blonde yells, fumbling for his secondary weapon. A stray arrow whizzes past your ear as you lunge, grabbing him by his shoulder.

“Fifth cohort, for the colors!” Jonathan and Frank rush for their emblem, narrowly dodging flying furniture. Hazel’s backed into a corner by a First cohort member, her golden eyes filled with determination.

But, Tyche really isn’t on your side, is she?

A last minute elephant mishap knocks your troops away from the battlefield, wiping the scoreboard clean. Eagles swoop down to snatch up a good portion of the teenage militia.

You sit on a stone wall overlooking the city of New Rome, holding an icepack to your cheek. Guess Octavian had gotten you after all. A sigh rolls past your lips. The win was so close, it was right there. Bandages wrap around any minor cuts you may have acquired during the game. The all-too familiar crinkle of a Kool-Aid pouch makes you assume that Dakota had finally found you.

A rather soft object hits the back of your head.

It’s a freaking Kool-Aid packet. Grape flavored, at that.

“Wouldn’t Reyna like to know that her favorite Centurion is throwing a fit over a loss? What a sore loser,” a sarcastic voice jests. You grit your teeth, turning to face Octavian.

Curse him and his skinny body, his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes, his unblemished skin—

Woah.

Where did that come from?

“I’m looking for ways to better myself for my cohort. Not like you’d know anything about self-reflection,” You scoff. Much to your chagrin, the augur sits beside you. Phoebus Apollo rides close to the horizon, signaling the nearing arrival of dinnertime. “Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t,” he smirks. He looks quite stupid with those stuffed animals hanging from his belt, in your opinion. Seven stripes burn on his forearm under the symbol of an eagle, much like your own. His loose white toga hangs off his clothed shoulders. The sun radiates onto his pale skin, bathing him in a warm glow. Cocky bastard. He knows he’s pretty. “Do you have a staring problem?”

You snap back to reality real quick.

“No, I don’t.” You turn your head away, embarrassed. You weren’t staring, were you? Small vines decorated by bundles of purple grapes pop up around you, encircling the area. “Is there a reason you’re here? Or would you just like to gloat.”

Octavian reclines, pressing his hands on the green grass behind him. He picks a grape, tossing it at your temple. “I’m simply encouraging your improvement,” he teases.

“I wish Reyna would let me strangle you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

As you look out at the sunset, you don’t notice his eyes on you. You don’t notice the way his gaze trails over the bridge of your nose and your freckles and the rosy hue covering your cheeks like he’s committing the way you look at dusk to memory.

“Pretty night, huh?”

That’s unusual. Octavian making small talk?

“Yeah, it is.”

“You weren’t too bad today,” he mutters, very clearly avoiding his gaze. It’s very much unlike him to butter you up, even if he wants something.

“Thanks?” you tilt your head, confused by his praise. Should you be offended?

The two of you look out at the little Tiber rolling over the hills, basking in the golden hue painting the heavens. A long, cold hand drapes over yours eventually, gently squeezing. You jolt away, face pink as the clouds in the sky.

“The Pluto?!”

“Shut up.” He shoves something in your lap, and for a second you think it’s a grenade of Greek fire, set to explode as soon as he’s out of range. Tyche must feel sorry for her absence earlier.

A soft green material, as green as the grass, sits against your thighs, a happy smile staring up at you. It can’t be. A fuzzy memory returns to you, a feeling of nostalgia washing over you. A frog plush from long ago. Stitches a bit darker than the original fuzzy fabric reach from seam to seam, head to toe.

“What—?”

“Seriously, shut up. I found it tucked away, thought you’d like to see it again before it gets sacrificed to the gods again.”

You scoop up the piece of your childhood in your free hand, eyes wide as the cosmos. Before that little smirk on Octavian’s face can grow any further, a cold, hard object smacks him right across the face, sending him reeling.

“What the—?!”

“You little dick,” you huff, placing the icepack on the ground. “Thanks, I guess.”

He smiles—a real smile, however small—as he stares into your eyes. “You’re very welcome, love.” His alabaster face is painted red.

You shake your head, amused. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

Like a scene from a fairytale, his hand snakes its way onto your waist, the proximity only forcing more of your father’s fruit out of the ground.

“Like I’d listen to you,” he chides.

You lean forward, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss.

“I really am irresistible.”

“Shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

[psikonauti]

Marc Chagall (Russian-French, 1887–1985)

Temple Et Histoire De Bacchus, 1961

Lithograph printed in colours

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

Giovanni Battista Piranesi (Italian, 1720–1778), "View of the interior of the Tomb of Saint Costanza, built by Constantine the Great, and erroneously called the Temple of Bacchus, now the Church of Saint Costaza"

[mask131]

The Dionysos gallery (2)

Next on our travel down the Dionysos museum, we have an entire section dedicated to the Bacchanals in painting - with a few analysis here and there.

Titien's The Bacchanal of the Andrians

The Museum's website adds that this depicts the legend of how Dionysos gifted the inhabitants of the island of Andros with a river of wine. It was one of the numerous "miracles" attributed to the god by folk-belief when he became the god of the grapevine. Already in his "Bacchants" Euripides had told how, by touching a stone with his thyrsus he created a stream of fresh water, and where his narthex had touched the ground a stream of wine flowed ; and those that sought milk only had to scratch the ground near the god to see it flow, and from the god's thyrsus honey dropped...

In Ionia, on the island of Teos, a similar legend existed: it was said, by Diodor of Sicily and Pline the Elder, that at a fixed date in a calendar a stream of wine regularly flowed. At Elis, on the eve of the god's feast-day, empty jars and jugs were sealed and left alone in Dionysos' temple: by the morning, when they were opened, they were filled to the brim with wine.

Giovanni Bellini and Titien's The Feast of the Gods

The museum adds this mention: the painting is a depiction of the legend of Lotis collected by Ovid. One night, as the gods had a feast, the nymph Lotis fell asleep. Priapus got close to her, and with his famous ithyphallic nature, he decided to rape her. But as he was about to touch her body, the donkey of Silenus started making loud noises - waking up everybody, including Lotis. Lotis fled from Priapus' embrace, and all the gods laughed and mocked the god.

This painting was most notably the favorite painting of Fernand Botero.

Dosso Dossi's Bacchanal with a drunk Silenus and Bacchants frolicking around grapevine

Niccolo Frangipane's Bacchanal

Nicolas Poussin's Bacchanal

Nicolas Poussin's Bacchanal with a guitar player ; also called "Great Bacchanal"

Nicolas Poussin's Bacchic Scene

Pier Francesco Mola's Bacchus supervising the Satyrs pressing wine

Gerrit van Bronckhorst's Bacchanal with Silenus

Jacob van Loo's Scene with Bacchants

Michaelina Wautier's Bacchanal

Jacques Jordaens' Bacchanal

Giulio Carpioni's Bacchanal

Michel-Ange Houasse's Bacchanal

Francesco Zuccarelli's Bacchanal

[sillysybilsden]

PART I

Click here to check out Part II.

Ehilà, viaggiatore

[:: Hey there, traveller ::]

Latin vocabulary:

➳ Lararium (singular)

➳ Lararia (plural)

Hey there, all! It is Sybil (fka Clever Crow) speaking!

A couple of weeks from now, I will go on holiday. This may seem completely unrelated, but it actually the reason why I was inspired into writing this post. In fact, I have decided to build a portable Lararium, and I want to take you with me on this "journey".

Before delving into the making of the shrine, though, I want to say this: even though, *to me*, this Lararium will be portable; others may use the same project to make a standard Lararium. And that 👏🏻 is 👏🏻 valid 👏🏻. Actually, your shrine could be even more modest: a candle with a bowl is as much of a Lararium as mines'. A Lararium doesn't have to be fancy in order to work.

The only reason why I made my Lararia complex/extremely detailed is because I was lucky enough to have a very supportive family who does not mind me showing my shrines (furthermore, I'm a Libra rising *and* an art history student: I adore aesthetics). I am aware that a big portion of the pagan/witchy community might not be as lucky (nor be as interested in aesthetics), and this is why I felt the need to write dowm the following disclaimer: your safety > functionality > aesthetics.

Now, without further ado, let us see what a Lararium is, shall we?

"The lararium was a shrine to the guardian spirits of the Roman household. Family members performed daily rituals at this shrine to guarantee the protection of these domestic spirits, the most significant of which were the lares." [source: VRoma]

"The Lararium (pl. lararia) altar is the sacred place of the home where offerings and prayers are made to the Gods." [source: Nova Roma]

These two quotes summarise ever-so perfectly the definition of "Lararium". We are, indeed, talking about a place where Ancient Romans used to leave offering to the domestic gods. For the sake of conciseness, I will only name them and will refrain from introducing them:

➳ Lares (that is where the word "Lararium" comes from);

➳ Penates;

➳ Vesta;

➳ Genius (or Genii, plural) loci;

➳ Personal Genius/Iuno (on the practitioner's birthday).

With the definition of "Penates" going from "deities who watch over the penus [= pantry]" to "any deity that the paterfamilias [= the father, the head of the family] felt like including in his devotional workings", deities from the public cult started to be worshipped in these private shrines as well. Thanks to this, archaeologists were able to retrieve some remarkable statues (as well as paintings) of "major" deities (Bacchus, Vulcan, Diana and Apollo, to name some) angloside imagery of domestic, "minor" deities (Lares).

Lararia were built in a wide variety of materials (wood, marble, silver), ranging from entire devotional rooms to smaller shrines depending on the income of the family. They were usually set up in the kitchen and, most of the times, they resemble a temple. Usually, they also include decorations connected to the ritual sphere in the pediment (bucranium, patera, garlands, etc).

But now, to the pièce of résistance: in Comacchio, Emilia-Romagna, Italy, a portable silver Lararium was found. This discovery is revolutionary to say the least: this is the proof that Romans used to worship their gods when abroad as well (which is what inspired me into making my own portable Lararium).

[roses-bah-garden]

May I claim the keyword drink from the specials list please? :3c

here you are! this is my scrunkly avinius, he's the god of alcohol, drunkenness, and vineyards! he is the 3rd born in a 5 sibling family.

a new flower has blossomed! 🌹

masc aligned, deity, alcoholic ... [LVL 4 PACK]

══════════════════

name(s) ;; avinius, vinny, vino, red, bacchus

pronouns ;; he/him

age ;; ancient, presents around 50 years old

species ;; deity (transhuman)

gender(s) ;; AMAB transmasc

orientation(s) ;; demisexual, biromantic, fem preference

role(s) ;; trauma holder / socializer

source ;; brainmade / alter packs

sign-off(s) ;; – 🍇❤

══════════════════

appearance ;; 5'10". thin and bony. dark brown skin with smile lines on his face. dark, almost black, eyes. curly short black hair with grey temples. gold eyeliner. long fingers. his favourite outfit is a red and gold marching band uniform.

personality ;; brash, yet charming. he loves loud music, people, and parties! he uses his extroverted behaviour as a cover for his trauma, and to release stress and tension.

══════════════════

likes ;; alcohol (especially wine), parades, musical theatre

dislikes ;; FOMO, being alone

possible front triggers ;; drinking, attending parties

══════════════════

cisid(s) ;; cisalcoholic, cisADHD, addictive personality, middle child, cistraumatized, cisBlack, cisItalian, cismixedrace, cisMED

transid(s) ;; transIMD, transhypersexual, transseverity (trauma -> less), transspecies (human), transmemoryloss

trisid(s) ;; trismasculine, trisharmful

kink/fetish/para(s) ;; dipsophilia, fictonecrophilia, somnophilia, dubcon