#i should go back and tag that other post

[fluffycatgirl]

what a pose,,

[serpentface]

The god Od depicted in a symbolic representation of the word's creation as a docile bull awaiting sacrifice at the altar.

It carries the foundations of the world in its horns (via a very old cross and wheel motif representing cyclical totality, now mostly used as a visual shorthand for the world). It has three sets of horns in the form of the lunar crown, a mostly obsolete symbol of Wardi royalty. The altar is decked with an orange lily motif, after a hardy native water lily capable of regrowth in waters that dry seasonally. This symbol of rebirth and fertility in a sacrificial scene evokes the sacrifice-rebirth cycle initiated by Od's primordial slaying, which is fundamental to the world's functioning.

This is a rundown on interpretations of the god Od, a deity that has a long history in the lands surrounding the Mouth of the eastern inner seaway, and the impact (or lack thereof) of its primordial sacrificial nature in religious practice.

The god Od appears in religious practices throughout the region, having the utmost significance to the Imperial Wardi faith and lesser or separate significance elsewhere. The five religious practices wherein variants of Od has longstanding historical significance are the Burri Faith, the (Imperial) Wardi faith, the Old or 'Heathen' Wardi faith, the faiths of the Hill Tribes, and the Wogan faith.

—

The name Od and most significant elements of this god have origins in the Burri faith, which was transferred across the sea to the Wardi, Wogan, and Hill Tribes in the time of its second and third empire.

The Burri Od is described as having been the first being. The universe began as a cosmic sea and empty, eternal sky, loosely representative of a primordial and fundamental female and male dualism. Od appeared at their borders as a result of their interfacing, in the form of a giant aurochs or bison whose hooves touched the seafloor and horns touched the sky. He dipped his head down to the silt and lifted it out of the sea in his horns, thus forming the foundations of the world. His semen spilled into the cosmic sea and created the first seven gods, who then killed and divided their father, giving the world its form with his body.

While significant to the creation story, Od is of relatively little importance in everyday practice of the Burri faith and is not commonly worshiped (rather his seven children are, as they were the original and most powerful group of gods and created life).

Though the Burri Od takes on a sacrificial role in creation, animal sacrifice is not central to the Burri faith and is only performed in specific contexts (some festivals and holidays, in times of great strife, and to a few specific gods within a wide pantheon). The Burri faith does not involve a sacrifice-rebirth cycle as foundational to the world's functioning and god's health, and offerings are instead mostly gifts to please and rightly venerate the gods (or avert the malice of less savory deities). Offerings of food, drink, and precious materials are preferred by most gods. When animal sacrifice does occur, bulls ARE generally favored, as a reflection of their primordial counterpart.

—

The modern/Imperial Wardi Od is partly an import of the Burri tradition, which fused with both native monotheistic/animist worldviews and animal cults during the reign of the 2nd Burri Empire and developed into a new faith, which has presently become the state religion of the Wardi Empire.

‘Od’ in the Imperial Wardi context is best translated as capital G ‘God’ (anyone saying 'God' is, in-universe, saying the word 'Od'). Its creation of the world plays out in a very similar fashion, but the first human life (rather than other gods) is created by Its semen mingling with the cosmic sea. It willingly sacrificed Its body at the hands of the first people, who formed the world with its remains. Its shed blood spattered the earth and can be found today as meteoric iron, and animal life emerged from the mingling of the blood and the soil. Its death initiated the eternal cycle of sacrifice/death and rebirth, with each begetting the other and necessary for the world to function.

Od's body is dead and the world is Its corpse, but Its spirit survives in seven 'faces' which govern specific functions of reality and society. The connection of Its spirit to Its body is maintained by right practice, right prayer, and right sacrifice (in the form of food/drink offerings, bloodletting, common sacrifices of animals and occasional sacrifices of people).

The Imperial Wardi Od is generally regarded as genderless and dual-sexed, and referred to with a unique deified pronoun most effectively translated as capital I 'It'. Its sex is of relatively little significance to everyday religious practice, and discussions of Its dualism are more likely to occur in scholarly and philosophical contexts (like debates on the minutia of how Its semen, milk, and menstrual blood are all mentioned in old accounts of creation, and how the implications of this should translate to body politics and taboo).

—

The Old Wardi or ‘Heathen’ Wardi faith is a separate branch of old ethnic Wardi religion with significantly less Burri influence. This is a minority practice that only survives intact in isolation. Its practitioners are often hostile to all foreign influence and the Imperial Wardi faith, and suffer minority status and religious suppression.

Its version of Od is a more intact surviving remnant of ancient Wardi monotheism, as an androgynous creator god who lost physical form in the act of creation, and lives on as innumerable spirit aspects of its whole. This deity is referred to as Od in describing its primordial form, but is mostly referred to as a unique word for spirit, which is 'the Koya'. Practitioners of the old faith often identify the seven-faced Od as a twisted, foreign misinterpretation of the Koya. 

This practice is somewhat animistic in nature and involves veneration of individual spirits that form a larger whole. Every aspect of the world has a spirit (plants, animals, minerals, bodies of water, etc) that exist in an ideal balance and as strands of an interconnected death-rebirth cycle. Each spirit is referred to as 'the [noun]-koya'. All discrete forms of life/matter have at least one attached Koya, while living beings also have a soul (which is separate from the Koya and reincarnated upon death).

Each Koya exists as a quintessential essence (ex: the lion-koya, the maize-koya, the iron-koya, the salt-koya) rather than separate individual objects having separate individual Koya, though unique landmarks do have their own (the Brilla River-koya is separate from the Yellowtail River-koya, though both share the freshwater-koya). Each individual may have multiple spirits (geese have the goose-koya, but also the bird-koya, the freshwater-koya, etc), a system that categorizes the world by intrinsic natures and precisely dictates how each physical body has unique metaphysical significance.

Animal sacrifice plays a somewhat similar role in Old Wardi religion to Imperial Wardi religion in the sense that it intends to maintain the stability and oneness of the divine spirit and a death-rebirth cycle. In this case, in freeing part of the spirit, balance can be brought to the Koya totality and restore the death-rebirth cycle. (Ex- in times of drought, the sacrificial release of the migratory goose-koya can encourage the return of the rains). This is far from the only way to re-balance the Koya. The most significant rites come in the form of songs that summon, release, or expel individual Koya as needed.

—

The Od of the Hill Tribes is a mingling of the Burri/Wardi Od and a much older goddess of fertility and agriculture, and is strongly associated with cattle and barley. This version of Od did not create the world and is only one of many gods, though she is said to have been born from the sea and carried up fertile soils with her (which is likely a direct result of Burri/Wardi influence). A few tribes venerate Od as a chief or patron god, though none are fully monotheistic (outside of converts on individual or clan levels).

She has a distant common ancestor with the Finn goddess Morgren (as the various Hill Tribes are descendants of a single proto-Finn population who migrated across the Viper seaway in prehistory), who is also a goddess of agriculture associated with fertility and barley (though in Morgren’s case, she is THE god of the staple crop barley and lacks the cattle association, and has no direct influence from the Burri/Wardi Od whatsoever)

Most of the tribes of Greathill do not practice animal sacrifice but offer grain and fruit to Od, and create a sanctified mix of crushed barley and oil that is anointed on livestock and people to confer Od's blessings of fertility. In some cases, the dominant cow in each herd is considered to belong to Od and will not be milked or slaughtered, and is buried with full rites upon its death.

—

The Od of the Wogan religion is distant to the rest of her counterparts, though has absorbed some Burri and modern Wardi elements over time and is referred to by the same name (a definite foreign import). She shares the fertility aspect ubiquitous to other Od variants, and is occasionally depicted as a cow.

She is a goddess of the earth and sea, who was wed to Iapedi, the god of the sky. The ocean is functionally her womb (which may be trace Burri/Imperial Wardi influence, or merely coincidental) and all life emerged from within. 

These are the only two true gods to the Wogan, though there is an additional element wherein the mating of Od and Iapedi also created innumerable spirits found throughout nature that act as an animating life-force. The concept is very similar to the Old Wardi '-Koya' (as the two faiths had close common ancestry), though this one lacks the sort of taxonomical system of its counterpart, and only ascribes spirits to living things. Each spirit in the Wogan religion is distinct (rather than each type of animal, plant, etc potentially having multiple spirits), and the spirits existing in each body are part of a greater whole that exists as a sentient consciousness that can be communed with (ex: each lion has A lion spirit, all part of The lion spirit, the latter of which can be engaged with).

Wogan religion strongly retains ancient animal cult practices common across the ancient Wardi-Wogan sphere, some of which have been translated into the faces of God in the Imperial Wardi context (both religions share commonalities of lions, snakes, albatross, migratory ducks, and cattle being significant sacred animals). The function of animal worship to the Wogan is communication and interface with the greater spirit of each animal (which can range anywhere from gaining personal blessing and protection, to dispelling plague, to 'lay off on eating our crops').

The Wogan faith does not involve animal sacrifice (though ancient variants almost certainly did). This is connected to traditional vegetarianism among the Wogan (as a means to avoid offending animal spirits), which some view as a point of pride and a mark of distinction against their Imperial Wardi majority.

[habken]

If they’re stuck as a fusion are they still in there somewhere getting to know each other? Do they fall in Love Garnet style? (Is that weird bc their parents are dating? Sjfjfj)

I think yes and no ? The more out of sync their thoughts, the more their individual sides bleed through, and I think maybe subconsciously they’re more individuals than one entity, but it isn’t like two people piloting one body. I do like to think that when they dream they’re bkg and deku though.

mitsuki/inko/masaru is only romantic in the two 8 yr olds in a trenchcoat version ! The fact that their sons never had any real animosity towards each other made them grow close and then closer

In the quirk accident version of the au, it does end up becoming romantic, but they realize it only after unfusing. It takes awhile for both of them to sort through their emotions and there’s angst and stuff alongside it

[dorothywonderland]

I started doodling greek gods, it's over for me. I have to accept that I'm officially addicted to epic the musical

[halflifebutawesome]

you used to be such a baby.

[saline-coelacanth]

I will forever be so upset that the Ice Chapter didn't give us a Kai VS Ice Emperor fight like come OOOON!

And I'm not even coming at this from an oppo angle. Like yeah, I love oppo, everyone knows that, but it just feels like such a missed opportunity to have Kai have to fight Zane and have him be the one to get him to snap out of it. But no, it has to be Lloyd because he's Lloyd.

And another thing that makes me so upset regarding the missed potential here is the fact that in the Fire Chapter, the big bad villain is Aspheera. And at the end of the Fire Chapter, Zane is the one who defeats her, you know, the master of ice. So then in the Ice Chapter, it would make sense that the one to defeat the big bad would be Kai since he's the master of fire and it would make for good parallels or whatever. But no we don't get that.

At the very least we get that awesome, badass scene where Kai defeats Boreal and saves the others. That scene was amazing, I just with we got a little more from Kai, you know?

[sketchgina]

Days 36-40

[sanchoyoscribbles]

maybe link should consider that I filled my inventory with salted milky smoothies right before the fight and spent all that time leveling up the sword and energy gauges tho ...🥲

[iguessitsjustme]

An Appreciation Post of Sorts 6/?

[poepill]

happy belated valentines day quodo upon thee! originally posted on ao3 for the quodo minifest, this was my valentines for @chacusha, who organized the event! i had a ton of fun drawing them and im definitely looking forward to next year <333

+ bonus art based on the comic by Kate Beaton, Javert is in Slash Fiction:

[accursedvoid]

[prince-liest]

On Alastor calling Vox “lover”, i thought it was the complete reverse - that he said it with only malicious intent in the wire play fic (to satisfy his own itch to hurt vox), and in the latest one it’s just “i’m being sarcastic” (but i don’t feel well and i need a stepping stone at this very moment tho i’ll never admit it) but i guess i misunderstood? tho i suppose this only shows how well u write alastor’s character because he is not easy to decipher

Alastor is a character that lies a lot, both to himself about his feelings and to others, and his narration is pretty unreliable! I do try to insert, like, the hints, context, and behaviors that point to what his true feelings actually are, but a lot of it is through implication and so there's a lot of room for different interpretation in how I write him!

That said, you're not the first person to think he was being genuinely malicious and nothing but in the wireplay fic, so... death of the author and all that, but if you are interested in my take on how it was originally intended:

Alastor is so incredibly fucking fond of Vox in that scene in S6E66, Now Rerunning: The Hentai Episode! He says some absolutely heinous shit, but his tone is fond, and warm, and condescending, and it is very, very obvious to him that Vox enjoys being humiliated and at Alastor's whims. He compliments Vox's distress, he makes a little winking joke about the "rut" comment because they both know that was Alastor just the other day, and he unequivocally denies any implication that he's rejecting Vox's love.

He's a total narcissist on a power trip, and Vox being so into his little menacing routine that he drops the I think I'm in love with you is basically heroin to Alastor's ego. But he's also just been growing increasingly fond of Vox over the course of their relationship - there's a reason that the very next installment is one where Alastor is in fact really fucking upset to have been ghosted, even though a lot of the cause of that ghosting is that neither of them are open communicators that do things like properly check in a la, "Hey, we just did a really undernegotiated scene where I mocked your very sincere emotions, where are we on that?" because they've been flying by the seat of their pants and expect mutual understanding where there isn't necessarily enough of it and getting away with it. Until that point, at least.

So he says "lover" because he's making fun of Vox, yes, but he's making fun of Vox because he enjoys and is genuinely fond of Vox when he's pathetic and obsessive, and also because he knows that Vox enjoys it, too. Safe, sane, and consensual? No. But not genuinely malicious in intent, either!

He doesn't want to hurt Vox for the sadistic hell of it (to quote Alastor himself: "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already!"), he wants to hurt Vox because the fact that Vox is so in love that he will let him (and ask for more) is acutely and inordinately pleasing to Alastor. A lot of his dialogue echoes that: he tells Vox to ask for it, then tells him to beg, then makes fun of him for not asking Alastor to stop.

And afterward: Well, he's not very good at actually being reassuring, but he makes a few genuine efforts at it, to the extent that his own ego will allow him to. If he didn't actually give a shit, he very much would have dumped Vox on the floor after having his fun and just left. But he cares enough to make sure Vox is at least remotely alright, and he's even fond enough to suffer through some skin-to-skin until his squick meter taps him out.

In contrast, in Network 0666: No Signal, Alastor is once again mocking Vox for claiming to love him - but he's doing it while struggling his way through a panic attack that has sent him spiraling under the assumption that Vox's alleged "love" is just possessiveness that led him to try to leash Alastor to his own power. He says "lover" and immediately follows it by describing the ways in which he thinks Vox is a traitor who is bastardizing the very word. He's not, at that moment, even using it as a weapon against Vox - why would it hurt Vox, after all, if he doesn't really love Alastor - but rather as a way of mocking himself for actually falling for the ruse. He doesn't genuinely break out of it until he reaches to touch the chain again and finds that it's been gone since Vox reached out to help him.

Anyway, I hope that helped or at least was an interesting read! Alastor is a very unreliable narrator and it makes him a great deal of fun.

[lildoodlecat]

Love that tales fans are being fed again after all these years,,

The Graces f remaster is such a great opportunity for ppl to discover the game or those interested (but not enough to get a whole console or emulate) to finally play it. Especially as a game that was part of the group of ps3 jailed titles lol bc I imagine most ppl who got into later titles (or even just more accessible ones) weren't committed enough to dig up an older console just for its exclusives

Unlike me, of course, who committed to Xillia as my second tales after Abyss and did in fact dig up a ps3 just for the exclusives (before I developed an obsession and dug up even older stuff)

I honestly wasn't expecting this from bamco tho since the Symphonia remaster was just kinda like. Well here we go again. Cool to see it on switch (if we ignore the bugs) but it WAS already on it's nth release and they were otherwise focusing on Arise

I don't wanna speculate too hard on what bamco is willing to do and whether the remasters will be of quality but goddamn can I hope they rescue more console-locked tales. And of course I can have my pipe dream abt localizing older games never released in the west but yeahh I don't see them doing that (so big fucking shout-out to fan translator projects!!!!! Always grateful to them for making old Japan exclusive games more accessible to English fans)

And despite my personal dislike for the direction the series has taken with Arise I can't say I wouldn't be interested in a new main title. Even if I actually just want it to be Crestoria lmao since I think it really could've benefited from being a main title in a lot of ways

[unordinaries]

presented without comment

(chapters 280 + 344)

[sforzesco]

Historia Augusta, Geta

Cassius Dio, 78.1

Cassius Dio, 78.4

Mutiliation and Transformation: Damnatio Memoriae and the Roman Imperial Portraiture, Eric R. Varner

this is. well! it's probably fine.

[cineresis]

Angels in America

It's amazing how fast an evening at your favorite club can be ruined by someone keeling over and frothing at the mouth. The band never quite gets back into the swing of things afterwards.

"Angel," sighed one of the men, or nearest approximants, at the table next to mine, "why is it that I can never go anywhere with you without stumbling across a body?"

"Oh, come now," said his partner, a soft, fluffy confection in caramel and cream, rising hastily to make his way toward the source of the commotion. The first gentleman, dark, lanky, and excruciatingly chic, got up to follow him. "It's hardly every time."

I stayed where I was for now, casting my gaze around the room as I went over my memory of the past twenty or thirty minutes. Too many people passing close enough to slip something into the victim's drink, too many others to watch at the same time, too many more opportunities to poison him outside my field of view. I was a detective, not God.

"Stumbling upon, once. Literally. Do you know what it's like to have to clean up after that sort of thing? It takes a personal toll."

"Hush, Crowley," chided "Angel". "People can hear you, and you know how queer they get about these things. Ooh, yes, that's strychnine, all right," he added cheerfully, pulling a small vial from his vest pocket and tipping it into his handkerchief. "Nasty stuff."

I got up. As I approached, I caught the faint, unmistakable chemical sweetness of ether fumes and gave them a wide berth, choosing instead to inspect the victim's plate and glass before turning to scan the room from this perspective.

"Now, just what might you be doing?" drawled Crowley.

I looked him over, too, while I was at it. In Crowley's case, this involved a lot of looking and not much over; he was easily more than six feet tall, even while slouching rakishly. The snake tattoo on his right temple suggested certain things about him. The dark glasses that he hadn't removed since he'd entered just suggested questions, since I highly doubted he was blind. "I'm a detective," I said, leaving the obviously at the end of that sentence to implication. "What are you doing?"

This response seemed to delight him. "So are we," Crowley answered, and grinned. "But if you want to get specific about it, I'm keeping you distracted while my friend saves this man's life. Let's see your license, then."

As I took it out, keeping at least one eye on him and his partner, Angel called out to the rubbernecking crowd around us, "I need someone here to run and call the nearest hospital, and a couple of strong men to help get this poor fellow someplace dark and quiet to rest. Best use one of the tablecloths for a stretcher," he added to the first volunteer who stepped forward.

Crowley leaned in closer to study my license. "Drake Silas Donovan," he read off. "'Silas', really?"

"What about it?"

"I've just always wondered what kind of parent would name their kid Silas."

"The kind who had a grandfather named Silas," I replied coolly, snagging my license back. "Your turn."

He obliged. Anthony J. Crowley, it read, licensed in London since 1905, the year before mine. I wondered how long he'd been at this; he looked too young for his apparent age, but then I looked too old for mine. "A. J. Crowley," I read his signature aloud. "Get asked if you're any relation every time, or just most?"

There's a certain motion a person's head makes when they roll their eyes. Crowley's was making it. "The man's an embarrassment to the side," he griped. "I made my name legitimately."

"And your friend?" It wasn't as if I couldn't put two and two together. There's a certain type of person who's got both a nose for trouble and the brains to prepare for it; if it walks, talks, and thinks like a dick, it probably is one. It was just that I wasn't in the habit of trusting people, and I'd be a real schmuck to neglect basic due diligence on the guy purportedly surrounded by bodies. 

Detectives are no better or worse than any other person. They just think it's usually more interesting to solve crimes than commit them.

"Oh, he's as legitimate as it gets." Crowley turned to his companion, who was getting to his feet, brushing his clothes off fussily. Beside him, the two volunteers hoisted the unconscious victim onto a tablecloth spread across the floor, momentarily dislodging the ether-soaked cloth before Angel caught it and laid it carefully back in place over the victim's nose and mouth. "Aren't you, Aziraphale?"

Angel — "Aziraphale"? — looked up, startled. "Pardon?"

"Mr. Donovan here wants to see your detective's license," Crowley explained, enunciating his words with malice aforethought.

"Oh! Yes. Of course I always have that with me. Now just where did I..." He started patting down his pockets, stopped suddenly, and took a lovely calfskin card holder out of his coat. "Ah. Here it is."

Beaming, he passed it to Crowley, who passed it to me with the comment, "You'll find everything in order, I'm sure."

I glanced down at the card, then back up at Angel. "Am I supposed to call you A. Z. Fell or Aziraphale?" I asked, pronouncing the Z correctly as zed.

"A. Z. Fell is how 'Aziraphale' is pronounced in the King's English," said Crowley blandly, affecting a cut-glass Oxford accent on the last phrase. His partner seemed pleased by this comment, rather than annoyed.

"I'm afraid my progenitor bestowed me with a rather unwieldy given name," Fell admitted, raising fascinating questions about just how many syllables the British peerage could fit on a birth certificate when they really tried. "Aziraphale just sounds so much more euphonious, don't you think?" Crowley was right; I couldn't tell whether Fell had meant to say A. Z. Fell or the de-accented gloss. He'd lengthened the half-syllable between zed and Fell to a full vowel, but some people said zetta.

"I wouldn't know," I replied, handing the license back to Crowley, who was nearest. When Fell didn't take my bait, I added, "Lucky that you happened to have ether handy. I wouldn't like to imagine what might've happened if you'd decided to stay in tonight." I also lied when I said sorry, and when I swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but. Little white lies are the oil in the gears of civilization.

"Oh, I always carry that, too," Fell explained earnestly. "One gets into the habit after one's first run-in with strychnine, and of course ether has so many useful applica—"

"I wouldn't, angel," Crowley interrupted, sounding very amused. "Mr. Donovan thinks you're the one behind this."

"Oh," said Fell, nonplussed. "Gosh. Well, I — I suppose I can't blame him. He doesn't know me from Adam, after all, and has no reason to trust me — I did warn you about giving people funny ideas, Crowley, honestly. Of course," Fell turned to me, laying an elegant hand across his chest, "if you were to search me, you would find only a small collection of antidotes — oh, but a habitual poisoner would probably carry those, too, especially if he were the sort of voyeur with a penchant for playing the hero. I certainly wouldn't be convinced of my innocence. Yes, I can certainly understand whatever suspicion you might feel towards me, however misplaced it may be."

Crowley watched this thought process with an expression somewhere between fascination and agony. "Well, at least now he probably thinks that if you'd done it, you'd have been caught by now," he remarked, presumably because he was thinking the same thing. "You'll have to excuse my friend," Crowley added to me. "He still believes that the innocent have nothing to fear. Somehow."

"First time visiting?" I guessed.

Fell's bemusement answered my question before he did. "Pardon?"

"Never mind."