#((Probably a combination of both for different creatures and species =w= ))

[omniversus]

Rebuilding the C.itrakayah.

---- { Or, in other words, a F.asttrack defense post by a Ben mun who thinks F.asttrack is fuckin’ worthless, but worthy of a retooling. Woah. }

      Read more for length.

      { Now, anyone who’s watched B.en 10 would already know this, but for those of you who haven’t... Ben essentially has two different aliens whose sole powers are ‘high speed’, those being F.asttrack and X.LR8. A C.itrakayah and K.ineceleran, respectively. Now, this is nothing new, as Ben has turned into aliens with similar powers before. H.eatblast and S.wampfire are both species with fire-based powers, yet differ in their secondary abilities, such as light terrakinesis, or regeneration + plant controlling. However, when it comes to X.LR8 and F.asttrack, a debate in the fandom often springs up about how ‘useless’ the latter is, and even the writers seemed to agree, for F.asttrack is completely absent from any media past U.ltimate Alien. He’s one of only 4 aliens not to be present in O.mniverse, alongside C.hamalien, J.etray, and S.pitter, and rarely gets mentioned by the fandom in comparison to X.LR8, who is one of Ben’s most popular transformations. }

     { Now, there’s a multitude of reasons for this. For one, F.asttrack is also a black-and-blue alien with speed powers, making him feel like something of a X.LR8 bootleg, whereas other ‘replacement’ aliens like C.hromastone or S.wampfire have distinctive designs from their ‘equivalents’ in the OS. In addition, F.asttrack doesn’t have an interesting power BESIDES his speed, whereas even X.LR8 was given literal ‘quick thinking’ as a cool side-ability in O.mniverse. Not to mention, crew statements confirm that C.itrakayah are physically slower than K.inecelerans, so he’s also SLOWER than X.LR8, and his only other side-ability, that being bladed forearms, is an ability X.LR8 somewhat has as well, with his razor sharp claws. X.LR8 has extreme precision control over his speed, able to stop on a dime, turn on a dime, and generally, well, accelerate at will. F.asttrack on the other hand can’t turn as easily, has trouble stopping once he starts going too fast, and doesn’t reach his max speed without running a bit first, as demonstrated by Animo’s missile stunt in the episode ‘The Eggman Cometh’. }

      { So you can definitely see why F.asttrack gets a reputation for being a ‘completely useless replacement to X.LR8′, and why Ben never looked back once he started actually using his K.ineceleran form again. However, I’d like to make something of a case for him, using mostly canon information, but with a bit of headcanon-ing toward the end. Ultimately, I have to say I’m not F.asttracks’ biggest fan or anything, and agree that he’s generally inferior to X.LR8, but let’s have a bit of fun here. }

      { First, most obviously, F.asttrack is physically stronger than X.LR8. The K.ineceleran focuses more on a flurry of rapid strikes, but the C.itrakayah can square up to you much like any other feisty creature would. He’s not T.etramand, probably not even as strong as something like a M.ethanosian, but there is a substantial difference in physical prowess between X.LR8 and F.asttrack. Now, you don’t choose a speed alien for a physical fight, but that’s why I stated this point first, as I consider it the most moot. If you’re choosing for speed, you want the raw speed, and X.LR8 clearly has F.asttrack beat there. So... }

      { I’m going to go into headcanon territory a little bit here, so bare with me. K.inet, the home world of the K.ineceleran, is said to be a planet where everything is accelerated, and is home to violent electrical storms, which causes the K.ineceleran society to always be in flux, and it’s inhabitants to always be on the run. This necessitates high ground speed, but not necessarily speed in other areas. I would like to propose that F.asttrack is faster in other ways, such as leaping across buildings or falling rubble. We don’t have a canonical description of the C.itrakayah home planet, so it’s hard to say what they deal with, but the C.itrakayah are very feline in their designs, and many wild felines are quite capable of scaling vertical terrain. Mountain lions, panthers, etc. The orbs on the K.inecelerans’ feet are not wheels, which is a common misconception, but regardless of what they are, it’s still a hind-legged species standing on something arguably clumsy for precise leaping. You ever try rollerskate parkour? }

      { While i’m using headcanons to build a version of the C.itrakayah that doesn’t completely suck ass, let’s go a little deeper and make the strength difference mean something. Combine speed with strength, and you can receive a momentum-driven beast that has a literal roundabout way of clocking you in the jaw. Build up speed, momentum, and channel that into a rushing blow that could out-match a two-armed punch from a T.etramand. F.asttrack has a ton of potential for being the alien who proves other uses for speed, while X.LR8 is simply the alien Ben would pick for raw kinetic energy. }

      { The ‘fast track’ is a saying meaning the path of least resistance toward your goal, and what better way to have little resistance than by building up speed to plow through anything that would try to impede you? So sure, let the C.itrakayah be slower. Let them have to get a running start, having to ramp up their speed. Because it’ll hurt a whole lot more once they make the loop back around to deck you square in the nose. }

      { I think those two little changes already make a far more compelling version of the C.itrakayah, of F.asttrack, than canon gave us. Because I feel as if the issue truly wasn’t the fact that they both have speed powers, but simply the application of their speed in general. Hopefully this was an interesting read! }

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Palaeoscinis turdirostris

By Scott Reid

Etymology: Ancient Oscine

First Described By: Howard, 1957

Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Neoaves, Australaves, Psittacopasserae, Passeriformes, Eupasseres, Passeri

Status: Extinct

Time and Place: Between 11 and 7.5 million years ago, in the Tortonian of the Miocene 

Palaeoscinis is known from the Monterey Formation in California 

Physical Description: Palaeoscinis was a small songbird, about the size and shape of a modern thrush - so no longer than 25 centimeters in length. It had a long and slender beak, similar to living thrushes as well. However, Palaeoscinis had fairly short legs, especially compared to the wing - something living thrushes do not share. It possibly had short wings as well, though this is potentially a preservational error. It had a long and narrow wishbone, and broad shoulders.

Diet: The long, slender beak of Palaeoscinis indicates it was probably an insectivore, like the living Varied Thrush; using its long beak to reach into cavities and grab grubs, or snapping up fast moving creatures from the ground.

Behavior: Because Palaeoscinis appears to have been at least somewhat unique as far as perching birds go, it is difficult to determine what its behavior may have been. It would have probably spent a considerable amount of time foraging around, searching for food wherever it could. Its shorter legs means it wasn’t great at moving along the ground, and probably spent most of its time in the trees. With shorter wings, it was well equipped to bob and weave between densely populated trees. As a passerine, it was probably vocal, and probably fairly social; beyond that, though, without more research and fossils, we cannot say much. It also probably took care of its young.

Ecosystem: Palaeoscinis s known from the Monterey Formation of California, but that is probably not where it actually lived - since that was an ocean environment! Instead, it seems likely that the fossil of Palaeoscinis washed out to the ocean from its coastal habitat. On the Miocene California Coast, there were a variety of palm trees, as well as magnolias, pines, macadamias, beeches, and birches. There were many ocean-going mammals nearby, such as porpoises, dolphins, dugongs, hoofed mammals, and seals. As for other birds, there was the pseudotoothed bird Osteodontornis, the shearwater Puffinus diatomicus, gannets such as Sula willetti, Morus lompocanus, and Miosula media; auks like Cerorhinca dubia and Ura brodkorbi, waders like Limosa vanrossemi, and many others. Though, of course, it is difficult to say whether or not Palaeoscinis was a shoregoing perching bird, or if it actually came from further up the mainland, where it would have encountered a very different cast of characters.

Other: Palaeoscinis is fascinating because of its unique combination of characteristics, especially in the chest, shoulders, and arms - and different proportions than any living sort of songbird. Though often compared to thrushes, it may have been more closely related to Bulbuls, Waxwings, Dippers, or Corvids. Given Dippers and Waxwings are both very unique songbirds today, that may make Palaeoscinis of special import to understand the evolution of these birds. Either way, for now, Palaeoscinis is considered to be a unique, set-apart perching bird.

~ By Meig Dickson

Sources under the Cut 

Howard, H. 1957. A new species of Passerine bird from the Miocene of California. Contributions in Science. Los Angeles County Museum 9: 1 - 16.

Steadman, D. W. 1981. A re-examination of Palaeostruthus hatcheri (Shufeldt), a late Miocene sparrow from Kansas. Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology 1 (2); 171 - 173.

Wetmore, A. 1980. A classification for the birds of the world. Smithosnian Miscellaneous Collections 139 (11): 1 - 37.

[bluesakurablossom]

A Masterpiece 💙

You hadn’t expected anything like this to happen to anyone like yourself. You were sitting out on your fire escape of your New York apartment letting your mind wander on what the next masterpiece you were going to create. You loved art for as long as you could remembered and some of the artwork you gave to your friends really sparked and flourish your confidence in creativity. You had your neon blue kitty ear headphones on listening to your favorite playlist while letting the music become let your imagination run wild. You watched as the stars twinkled above and the moon shining brightly like a glowing spotlight on yourself when as your favorite song played you finally had an idea hit you. You were about to head into your room where you created your masterpieces when you saw a glimmer of light hit the alley below.

You paused your music and looked down to see something was shining out of the dumpster below, being curious you thought it maybe could be something valuable you can scavenge up. A treasure could just be about anything. You slid down the ladder to go over to the dumpster and there was something more to the light. A giant turtle to precise. “Oh my gosh!”, you gasped in surprise

You see he was laying twisted up in the dumpster not moving as you jumped right in with no question and turned him over to where his face met yours. You had never seen anything like this before and you weren’t even thinking that this giant turtle could harm you or anything like that. You were too much in awe. The dark blue mask wrapped around his head matched perfectly against his jade colored skin. The mask made a quick realization that he must be a ninja, only ninjas wore these types of masks. You loved ninjas and everything that there was to know about them. The style of ninjitsu, the weapons, the beauty, everything. The light was from two swords secured on the back of his giant shell. His skin looked like little pebbles but looked badly damaged. There were several cuts, some which were still bleeding along his body. His right arm looked to be the most hurt. “Hey, are you okay?”, you said, lightly rubbing and shaking at his cheek

You were scared he was dead, you thought you were too late. How could anyone throw him away like he was trash? A sigh of relief escaped from you as you heard him moan and his eyes slightly opened revealing they were blue before they closed again. “Don’t you worry, I am going to get you out of here”, you said

You used what all the strength you had in your body to get his body out of the dumpster and it was truly hard. It winded you so quickly, but then again he was much bigger and heavier than you were. You were able to get him back up to your place and you carefully pulled out his swords that looked so sharp that one wrong move it would slice you in half. You set them down by the window near your bookshelf and removed his chest strap to make him more comfortable laying him on your bed. You went right to work cleaning his injuries as he continued to lay still and your mind was wondering on how a creature like him came to be and let alone why was he in that dumpster. Surely something must of happened and she was going to find out later on, but for now she knew he needed rest. After finishing cleaning his injuries, she took a scarf from her closet to put his right arm in a sling. She heard him whimpering and moaning when it was touched and thought it might be broken, so it would be temporarily till she could figured out something better. She covered him to keep him warm and sat across from him just watching him sleep. The idea she had before she went in was now gone and was replaced with....him. She grabbed her brush and a small canvas and dipped in the brush into the green and began the work of the mysterious turtle that was laying in her bed.

Hours later as she returned to her room with a cup of tea, she stopped in her tracks to see the turtle was now awake and he was rubbing at his arm in the sling. You slowly set your tea cup down and smiled. You were so curious about him and he looked so innocent as he looked around the bedroom.

“Hey”, you said, softly

He suddenly looked up at you and you could automatically see the pupils in his eyes dilate. Those neon blue eyes that sparkled in the moonlight would of made him easy to stand out in the darkness. “Hello there”, you said, walking over slowly

But as you made your way closer to him, you could sense the aura in the air was growing more tense by the second. His body language was stiff and he backed up like he was trying to get away, letting a few shaky breaths escape from his lips. You slowed your pace and held up your hands in peace to show him you were no threat, but you weren’t sure if that would be enough for him.

“Its okay, its okay, I am not here to hurt you”, you said, shaking your head and softly whispering to him

You were able to make one step at a time till you were able to get close enough to him. You knelt down to him till you were down to his level. “Its alright”, you said, giving him a gentle smile “You are safe, you are alive”

He slowly let his body relax in front of you. It looked like he could sense he could trust you enough to not be stiff as a board and he sat up some on the bed.

“W-who are you?”, he finally spoke

His voice, how it sounded so gentle and calm. The tone made your spine shudder, you had never heard a voice anything like his, it was serene and beautiful sounding to your ears. “A friend”, you said, softly “I found you hurt outside where I live, I thought something terrible had happened to you”

“I don’t really remember much”, he said “All I know is that I had hit my head hard and I remember feeling like I was falling from the rooftop”

You gasped softly. The rooftops here were pretty high up and to think that if he was up there and fallen from that great of height it would most likely critically injure someone let alone be fatal. “Well you are one lucky fellow to have survive something like that”, you said

“Where am I?”, he asked, looking around your room

“You are in my room, sorry about the mess, I was doing a few projects’, you said, as you stood up and started to put away a few paints and canvases back in their right place

“Man that was a hard fall”, he said, rubbing his shoulder and arm

“I put the sling on from my scarf, I didn’t know if it was broken, you should probably keep it on for a little while till the pain goes away”, you said, reassuringly

“Do you paint?”, he asked, sitting up letting his legs swing over to the side of your bed

“I do, I love to paint in my free time”, you said, with a smile looking back at him before continuing to clean up your mess “I come from a line of artists”

You didn’t notice that he was now next to you, he was that quiet. He picked up one of your canvases one you had been working on for weeks. A ninja samurai holding a katana behind his head with a cherry blossom forest background, with a golden pink sunset. “You like to paint ninjas?”, he asked, looking over at you

“I do, they mystify my mind, they bring out so much creativity and inspirations”, you said “You kind of reminded me of my work”

“Was that the only reason why you saved me?”, he asked, with a chuckle

You couldn’t help but blush and giggle a little. His chuckle was even beautiful. You were loving every single detail of this man and you just met him. “No, I saved you because you looked like you needed help and I didn’t want to risk someone ruining such as a masterpiece like yourself”

He beamed at the words and looked at you with awe. “What did you say?”, he asked

“I said a masterpiece such as yourself”, you said, with pink rising furiously in your cheeks

You could see a streak of red outline his cheek as he turned away from you with a coy smile. “Well I appreciate the kind words mam, but not a lot of people see me as a masterpiece”, he said

“Well then they think wrong”, you said, softly

He turned back slowly to you, the smile never leaving your face. “Clearly they don’t see what I see”, you said “A ninja is such a powerful, fierce strong warrior that makes a mind spark into wonder and imagination. Such detail in the moves that they make and the mystery and beauty behind the mask can leave anyone guessing to know who they are is a true masterpiece”

He was left breathless, this girl, a total stranger was actually praising him and saying what a work of art he was never to be expected. She seemed so calm and collected around him, never looked an ounce intimidated by him, his size, let alone his own species. But as he looked at her he got to get a better image of her. Her forest green eyes behind her dark blonde hair was truly a beautiful combination on a woman, he hadn’t seen it before but to him now it was even more breathtaking. The pink hellbunny dress that hugged her hourglass figure perfectly that matched her black see through tights and black combat boots. It was a different style he had yet to see, it was different but he thought it suited her perfectly. She had the Lolita princess look to her.

“What is your name?”, he asked, with a growing smile on his face

“Angelica, what is yours?”, you asked, as you looked at him with that same smile

“Leonardo..”, he said “But you just call me Leo”

“Well....its certainly nice to meet you Leo”, you said, as you both continued to smile at each other

Over the next couple of weeks you and Leo had grown closer and closer and you were loving every second of spending time with him. He made the habit of coming over in the evenings every night to see you and practice painting with you. He wanted to learn from you, he did have some practice before from his father but only was able to do Japanese symbols.

You were waiting up for him as night fell and you set your newest piece of art on the windowsill to dry. The night air was warm and would help with the drying process. A few hours afterwards you were cleaning up your supplies when a familiar shadow had cast over your hands on the table. He was here and you couldn’t help but smile. You didn’t even hear him land on your fire escape as you made your way over to the window. “I figured that you would stop to look at this one”, you said, as you sat down on the sill opposite of the painting

He was in awe. It was a painting of him. The dark blue and white outline of his body with white dots made it look like it he was a starry night sky against a yellow background and a branch of pink cherry blossoms sprinkling around him. “How did you know it was me?”, he asked, looking over to you surprised

“Cause I am not blind and not deaf”, you said, with a giggle “So what do you think?”

He looked at it again and looked back at you. “Is my head that big?”, he asked, with a chuckle

You couldn’t help but laugh softly and you went over to grab his hand. “Here come in, you are going to help me with a new idea”, you said

“Oh but I don’t look like my best”, he said, stopping you with his hand gently holding yours back “I just came from patrol”

“Relax, its nothing, it can be details”, you said, with a giggle

“No what I mean is I am a little banged up”, he said, looking down at himself

He was littered with scars and tattoos, but it didn’t phase you. It was the best details he could have that give art such character and meaning. “I can deal with it”, you said, tightening your grip on his hand “Come on”

You took him inside and you had him sit on your bed and you posed him into the position you wanted him to be in and you let your mind do the work as you let the paintbrush go over the canvas. Everything was coming together as you kept your eyes looking back at him several times to make sure you got every single detail down to the last scale on his body. His eyes never left hers, he wondered what she was thinking and painting. He never saw himself on what she sees, it was the complete opposite. She saw him as beautiful, mystifying and enticing while others would think monstrous, freakish, and horrifying. Those words would cloud his mind all the time and it was just hard for him to believe that he was like what Angelica called him, even though she assures him every time he felt low and he definitely appreciated it, sometimes it would just get the best of him. She stopped for a moment to let her hands feel along his chest and shoulders and he could just feel himself shudder at her warm touch. It felt so soft against him, it was like he was surrounded by fine silk. She was doing this to get to know more details about him, last time she did his shell and it almost made his knees buckle.

The fact that she was that close to him and was smiling and letting her fingers trace along every scale and muscle he had, was beyond what he had ever thought would happen to him. Never did he think a girl like her would interested in a mutant like himself, at least he knew that not all humans were the same and that there were good ones out there. He peeked up from her for a moment and spotted the few other paintings that were hanging in her room. Some were that of people, forests, and castles “Those your paintings too?”, he asked

“They are just practice ones I was taught before I moved my way up in painting”, you said “I try to stick with what really comes to my mind, the kind of things that let my creation run wild like a stallion galloping in the fields”

“You could add that your list of art to create”, he said

“Yeah maybe”, you said, with a giggle “But right now I am more into a young artist seeks deep spiritual connection with the mysterious blue turtle ninja, you are my best inspiration yet Leo”

“Would you still think of me the same if I wasn’t a giant turtle?”, he asked, looking away before getting up from her bed

“Of course I would, even if you weren’t a ninja I would still think of you the same”, you said, walking up behind him placing a hand on his shoulder

“You just don’t know what it is like having to hide in the darkness afraid of what people are going to do what they are going to say....calling you a freak or a monster, threatening to have you locked away”, he said, sounding upset shaking his head

You let a sigh escape your lips as you turned him around to face you. “Leonardo I may not know anything like that....how many ninjas besides your own brothers have you met?”, you asked

He stuttered trying to answer, but you interrupted him. “None right?”, you said “But you dared to step out there everyday despite being different, you did what you loved and did your duty to keep people safe and felt like it was the most rewarding thing in the world. So why stop now?”

You turned back to your canvas picking up your brush. “You going to let me finish?”, you asked, with a smile

He slowly took in the words of wisdom you shared. You were right. You were right 100% and he had to love himself for who he was and he had living proof that you thought of him as someone who is different but in a special good way. He let his smile come back up to his lips as he sat back down on your bed. “Of course”, he said “I’ll let the artist finish her work”

She smiled and she begin to finish her masterpiece. He smiled as he thought of her words long and hard, he was happy to have her as a friend and companion. One he can open up to and share everything with. He only hopes one day he can tell you how he really feels about you when he is ready.

@jaroffangurl

[friendlyoceangiant-blog]

lowbloodpressurelord:

Deep in the farthest reaches of a cavern sprawled a dark mass, hardly visible both due to the lack of light and to the fact that the mass was of a similar shade to the ground it was lying on top of. The mass in question was a slumbering nocturne dragon, seeking to prolong his slumber for as long as possible until the last vestiges of light had faded before he took to the skies to commence his nightly ritual.

His plans were disrupted however by a rather hefty thud near the entrance of his place of rest but deciding it was no concern of his, Kyouya merely remained where he was. The extremely loud bellow which followed was unfortunately not something he could ignore and there was no way of returning to sleep after that.

Growling in irritation, he lifted himself to his feet and squinted blearily in the direction of the opening to spy the silhouette of a Mirror dragon. It wasn’t quite dark enough for his tastes but irate Nocturne bellowed a wrathful challenge nevertheless as he shot out of the cavern after the perpetrator.

He would make him think twice about disturbing other dragons sleep!

The fin-like extensions off his head twitched with excitement when he heard the return bellowing sound from deep within the cavern. That’s his cue to get started! Let’s play a nice game of tag and hide and seek! As he was primarily an water dweller, he had good eyesight, but he needed some time to adjust considering the way you see things underwater and out of the water were different. All thanks to the refractive properties of water.

He wasn’t colorblind, and was able to see Ultraviolet light in the deep depths of the water. One had to have sensitive eyes to any amount of light they could get when living in the water where you may seldom see light the deeper you live in the deep abyss. As such, he was able to navigate himself around with the light shed from the stars and moon—but that didn’t necessarily mean that his maneauvering ability was going to be the same.

While Mizumachi could see in the dark, it was different when compared to day time so weaving his way through all the trees was proving slightly more difficult than usual. Ears twitching, he could hear the sounds of something scrambling in the den to get out, and after that he could hear nothing. Truly, they were the silent rulers of the night; you couldn’t hear them when they were in the skies! This was keeping Mizumachi on edge, nervous about when the Nocturne was going to surprise him out of nowhere.

“Let’s play tag! Catch me before I return to the waters!”

He snortled and growled out before he focused on escaping the wrath of the cranky Nocturne dragon.

“Wakey wakey!||FNDragonAu

[ava-rosier]

Mr Right Swipe (preview)

IDK how I feel about this rough, rough draft. I just think I had a video of this concept playing in my head, but the style of what I’ve written kinda clashes with that video? Anyways, I’m probably going to hardcore regret putting up this version, but whatever. Have a peek at my modern AU Jonsa fic with supernatural creatures and Tinder.

Rated Explicit for mentions of exuberant dicks and butt stuff.

His nose itched.

That was the thing that dragged Jon from the murky depths of unconsciousness. He'd had no dreams, which, for his kind, was unusual enough to alarm him. He reached up to scratch the side of his nose, only to come up short. Frowning, he blinked his eyes faster to clear his vision as he simultaneously checked the status of the rest of his limbs and grasped at the frayed threads of his memory in an attempt to figure out what in all seven hells had happened the night before.

In quick succession he came to the following conclusions:

One: both his wrists and his ankles were currently bound by manacles to an ornate and black-painted bed frame. Two: from the darkness outside the window it wasn't properly morning yet- an old-fashioned pendulum clock in the far corner declared it just after one. Three: he was starkers, with not even a measly fitted sheet to cover his hips. Four....four was...oh yeah: hadn't he gone on another Tinder date earlier that night?

As if summoned by the clanging of metal, a redheaded woman strolled into the bedroom, humming softly and holding a tray in her hands. Her hair, which in the dim light of her profile picture had appeared dark brown, was actually a dark red that, if she weren't a witch, he would think unnatural. So much for avoiding redheads after Ros and Ygritte, neither of whom had appreciated his stockpiling of kitchen devices.

Melisandre was in her mid-thirties (maybe) and that had been part of the reason Jon swiped right on her- he was looking for something serious and so was she. Though it was becoming increasingly evident she might have a different definition of 'serious' than he did. They'd met at a trendy restaurant with some kind of postmodern approach to food, which pretty much meant Deconstruct Everything. The food had sucked and Melisandre had waxed philosophical on every damn subject.

Jon hated philosophy- he'd barely passed the 100-level course back in undergrad. But the combination of his frustration with the dating scene and the lousy food had driven him to drink too much. Hence why he'd gone back to Melisandre's place with her and drank even more... Based on the pounding headache he had, the residual sluggishness in his limbs, and the way his heart raced, Jon would hazard a guess he'd been slipped some kind of drug in the wine she'd given him.

“Uh...if you wanted to do bondage play, you could've asked me, you know?” He said, trying to sound nonchalant and not at all like a prey in a hunter's crosshairs. He shook one arm, making the chains rattle. She had definitely been coming onto him earlier and even though Jon had no intentions of going on another date with her again, he- like the damned masochist he was- was down for  a fuck, especially one with a woman whose body language said she knew what she wanted.

Melisandre frowned. “You weren't supposed to wake up this quickly. I must have made a mistake in the calculations.” She set down the tray and now Jon could see that instead of food, or even sex toys, the tray held an array of apothecary ingredients.

He was never using Tinder again.

“Wait, wait, hold up!” He called out when Melisandre turned to go, probably to check out said calculations and maybe knock him out again. She paused and turned back. “Just what were you planning on doing with me?” He definitely sounded more than a little panicked then.

“Your dragonseed would be the perfect contribution to a spell I devised to create a shadow baby,” she stated simply, as if that were all the information he would need.

“...say what?”

Clearly she had Googled him. That was the only explanation. Melisandre must have looked him up and figured out he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. However, he decided not to correct her on his species classification. Yes, his father was dragonkind, that much was true. But Jon had taken after his mother's side of the family, who were werewolves. And thank the fucking gods, both old and new, that he had. Especially now.

Melisandre smiled, her blood-red lipstick giving her a terrible sort of beauty.  “You are flame and I am shadow- together we could create the most perfect, powerful child who isn't bound to the physics of this realm.” Her chest rose and fell as she delivered what had to be the worst elevator pitch Jon had ever heard. “Alas, it won't work if I've made a mistake in the calculations, which I must go check right now. It wouldn't do to have you awake during the weaving of the spell,” her lips turned down in a pouty moue. “All that thrashing around in agony might prevent the reception of your seed.”

The recep- his seed- no, just no. No. Fucking. Way.

Jon watched her waltz out of the room, mouth agape for all of five seconds before he yanked with all his strength on the manacles. A dragon-shifter in human form was no stronger or faster than the average human. A werewolf, on the other hand, could call upon greater strength as well as sharper senses. Melisandre had probably coated the manacles in some kind of specific inhibition spell to prevent her dragonkind victim from shifting and breaking the metal.

It took several tries before Jon tore the pillars out of the bed-frame and, nose open, started to track down his belongings. Mercifully, she had left his clothing, wallet, and phone on a chair in the corner. He didn't even bother to redress and instead clutched the bundle to his chest before taking a running leap through what turned out to be a second-floor window. Broken glass rained down onto the lawn as his ankles took the brunt of his momentum and weight. The cuts would heal, though he really hoped none of the drunk undergrads staring at him and his wildly-swinging cock with wide eyes from their position on the sidewalk would end up being in one of the classes he TA'd for.

He was definitely never, ever using Tinder again. No more redheads. No more witches. No more redheaded witches.

This is absolutely the last time I use that bloody app!

“Teach me your ways. I'm ready.”

Sansa's proclamation was met with silence from the other four women sat in a corner of VinTerAge, one of their favorite nighttime haunts. Their table was a veritable littoral drift of empty glasses as well as the half-full ones they were currently nursing.

Margaery and Myranda turned to stare wide-eyed at each other, fists vibrating in the air as they emitted twin squeals.

“Is she asking what I think she's asking?” The first asked the latter in a stage whisper.

“I think she is!” Myranda gasped. “The blessed day has come!”

They fake sobbed together.

Sansa sighed and stacked her arms on top of the table, watching her friends' antics with pursed lips. “Are you two done?”

“I doubt they're done, but I'm lost,” Missandei interjected, frowning at Myranda and Margaery's histronics. Sansa could practically see the linguist in her struggling to parse some meaning from the context of their outburst.

The final woman at their table, both older and taller than the rest of them, raised a single eyebrow, her attention sufficiently torn away from the conversation she'd been having via thumbs on her phone. “Don't ask. You'll probably regret knowing the answer to that question.”

Sansa had met Brienne when the other woman had been the TA in her 'Chivalry In The Age of the Five Kings and Three Queens' course and the two had struck up a friendship after the term was over and Sansa had expressed an interest in continuing on for her Master's after she finished undergrad. Missandei she had met in a Valyrian language course, and by the time they'd been reunited in 'The Old Tongue in Literature' and 'Rhoynish Branch Languages', they were fast friends. Sansa was well aware that there was a division between the two women and her other friends, Margaery and Myranda, who were a great deal more caustic and free-spirited. But they were all here for her, which she appreciated.

For Brienne and Missandei's benefits, she explained: “I've decided I'm done looking for love. Right now, I just want to get laid. Forget commitment, I’m in the market for multiple orgasms.”

(“YAS QUEEN!” Myranda mock-sobbed.)

“Look, I don't even care if we're being OTT,” Margaery declared, flipping the long, expertly-blown honey brown layers of her hair over her shoulder as she directed her next comment to the confused women. “You have no idea how long we've waited for this one to develop her Inner Hoe.”

“I'm sure you mean well, but that sounds terribly speciest, and chock full of stereotyping,” Brienne argued, sitting up straighter in her seat.

Sansa stabbed her straw into the slush of her lemonade margarita, well aware of the plethora of issues she had with sex and sexuality. She didn't have to be a shrink to know said issues were rooted in the fact she was a sex witch.

Myranda ignored the tension between Brienne and Margaery, grinning at Sansa as she rooted around in the massive, ridiculously expensive handbag she'd gotten as a gift from one of her sugar daddies. “Don't worry, sweetie, we'll find you plenty of willing victims in no time.” She pulled out her phone and began tapping at the keys.

Sansa groaned. “For the hundredth time, Randa, I don't suck men's life force out through their dicks! I'm not a succubus- totally different classification.” For good measure, she took a deep breath before adding, “And besides, if Marg is still alive and talking after that one time we had sex, I think you're well aware of this.”

She shared a commiserative smirk with her oldest friend in the city.

First things first: Sansa Stark wasn't a nymphomaniac. She wanted to be clear on that. Not that she had any problem with women who enjoyed sex frequently and in varied forms.  It was just that she was the tiniest bit oversensitive to people assuming she had a pathological addiction to sex simply because she was a witch who used sexual magic. People tended to get weird about it- there were no shortage of stereotypes and assumptions about 'sex witches'...namely that they would cheat on you and were uncontrollable nymphomaniacs.

Which made it harder for her to find someone long-term. That had been a difficult reality to come to terms with since Sansa's fantasies usually ran along the lines of vaguely erotic domestic scenes. Alas, despite her drastic attempts to suppress the source of her magic, her partners had a tendency to either be creeped out and want to put a quick end to things or they thought they'd be getting sex whenever they wanted like a 24/7 porn film.

It wasn't an overstatement to say that Sansa'd had lousy luck with romantic partners.

Almost as soon as her prepubescent body was awash in hormones, Sansa had been dreaming of falling in love with a gorgeous boy or girl who would give her flowers, take her out to dinner at the place for teenagers to be seen in Wintertown, and basically give her the fantasy of every teen romantic movie.

Then she’d turned sixteen and the urges started. At first, she’d dismissed them as the normal hormonal surges of a teenage girl. That had been before she climbed on top of Cley Cerwyn in the back of his new-used car and fucked him silly. That, while a lapse in judgment, in itself wouldn’t have been a problem. But he’d been passively-aggressively treating her like shit at dinner for going to a Model UN meeting instead of his hockey game, so when Sansa felt her body become downright electrified in the car, she’d lashed out at him with that power.

Having your first sexual encounter become a police matter and too much of the details known by your parents had been pretty awkward. At least she hadn’t killed him? Anyways. School had been downright unbearable after that, with Cley and his hockey buddies making sure she became a pariah. Robb had graduated the year before so he couldn't be there to threaten his former teammates into keeping their mouths shut.

What had followed was months of therapy to help her acclimate to the idea of being a witch that fed off of sexual energy. Frankly, Sansa thought her parents could have used those therapy sessions more than she did. Her father was a werewolf, as were three of her siblings. Only she and Bran took after their mother, a witch who drew her power from the water. None of them really understood Sansa.

But. Here she was in Oldtown, studying Westerosi History Before 500. Every so often she tried the relationship thing and got laid, using the energy for her magic. Which wasn't to say she had completely accepted this part of herself- that was a work in progress.

“Are you sure this is the approach you want to take?” Brienne asked her, concern etched into her forehead as she reached out to place a hand on Sansa's forearm. “Just because you ran into a few bad apples doesn't mean you should give up on the kind of love story you want.”

Before Sansa could reply, Margaery interjected: “To be fair, that's easy for you to say- you're mated to a lion-shifter who probably kisses the very ground you walk upon.”

This was a fair description- for all he was cynical and sarcastic, Jaime Lannister had never made any bones about how much he adored the human woman who was taller than he, wore her platinum hair short, and who faithfully clung to old-fashioned principles that he claimed to eschew. Yes, they sniped back and forth at one other, but Sansa shipped it. Hard.

Missandei exhaled before playing devil's advocate. “She has a point. I mean, besides Sansa, we're all getting frequent orgasms. Marg and Randa have a rotation of men-”

“-and a few women,” Margaery made sure to add.

“-and then there's you and I, who get quote, dicked on the regular, unquote.” She had a faraway look in her brown eyes. “Though to be fair, I'm lucky to have found a man who doesn't lead with his dick, but rather his mouth and fingers.”

Margaery's eyes flashed with interest. “Oooh, I feel like there's a fingerbanging story in there somewhere.”

“Does Grey excel at Sothoryosi kisses?” Myranda's eyebrows wraggled.

Sansa, however, was entirely absorbed in her abject envy. “Gods I do want that so bad. But Harry never even made me come.”

All cross-conversation screeched to a halt at the table. Sansa could've sworn the two middle-aged women at the next table were listening intently.

“WHAT?” Myranda and Missandei exclaimed.

“At all?” Margaery asked, brows furrowed as she tried to understand that concept.

Sansa shrugged. “Me rubbing my clit while doing all the work on top of him doesn't count.”

“That sheep's dung!” Brienne cursed.

“Look, in a perfect world I'd find someone who likes my bossiness, who wants to go on bookstore dates, and also eat me out at least twice a week, but this isn't a perfect world. So I thought you could give me some pointers and tomorrow night we could go out clubbing...why are you shaking your head at me like that?” she asked Missandei.

“My sweet girl, it's the tenth century. Modern women don't go to clubs to get laid, unless they're kink clubs, they-”

“And how would you know about kink clubs, Missy?” Margaery asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

Sansa resolutely ignored the interruption. “Who cares? Tell me, where do modern women go? I'll try anything.”

“I doubt you could understand the intricacies of rope-play or upending gender norms during sex, Margie.” Missandei took a slow sip of her wine.

“Is this a reference to pegging? Because I've drilled men up the ass, okay?” Margaery announced, her voice increasing in pitch towards the end of that sentence. Yep, the middle-aged ladies and the two men at the next table were definitely listening to them now.

Sansa felt the conversation getting away from her. Desperately, she tried tapping Missandei's arm to get her attention. “Missandei. Miss- just tell me-”

A snort came from Brienne. “Jaime practically handed me a strap-on harness our first time. That's nothing. You?” She turned to Myranda who nodded.

“Bitches, please. Do you have any idea how much money I've made off of men's intrinsic need to have their asses owned? So much, that's what.”

“TELL ME WHERE I CAN GET LAID!” Sansa all but screeched, causing conversation in the bar to come to a grinding halt. She gulped, cheeks flaming as all eyes swung to her. If there ever was a moment for the floor to open up and swallow her- this was it.

“Well, not here after that outburst, I can tell you.” Margaery pointed out, grinning at her friend's humiliation. Sansa gave her a withering glare.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Missandei rolled her eyes, turning back to Sansa, “you're not going to find what you want by grinding into the crotch of some sweaty freshman. What you need is to get on Tinder.”

“Tinder.” Sansa repeated dumbly.

“It's an app you download on your phone-” Myranda tried to explain.

“I know what Tinder is. But...I mean...isn't it full of gross guys sending you dick pics?”

[to be continued in some manner, shape, or form]

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK]

See also: @pankite​

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God?" the wrinkled old man read aloud from his heavily-highlighted old Bible, speaking from one corner of the tent. A few dozen campers were arranged in folding chairs to face him, and the counselors were lined up along the sides, to keep watch that none of them tried to sneak off and get into mischief. Elsa and Anna were standing beside each other on one wall with Rapunzel and Snow on another and Aurora and Belle along a third. Though Elsa did guiltily feel as if they were holding the children hostage, it wasn't as if they were being subjected to anything worse than a dreary lecture from a dreary man.

And on he droned: "Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who lay with men, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor slanderers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God."

Anna was fidgeting next to her sister, her lower lip becoming swollen due to constantly catching it between her teeth to nibble at it. Her eyes were downcast to the ground. While she seemed to be paying attention, there was a nervous energy to her that Elsa couldn't help but notice and she felt confused by it. Her sister looked like she was awaiting a scolding.

"Now then," he said in his rich baritone as he looked up from the text. "I know these words are fairly self-evident, but if there are any questions…?" He saw a hand go up from one of the campers. "Yes?"

"Why aren't gay people allowed into Heaven?" Olaf questioned the old man. His head was tilted slightly and he looked confused. "I understand that bad people can't always get in because they did bad things… but what does lying with a man have to do with that? Especially if they love each other."

"That isn't true love," the man said evenly, though there was a deeper crease in his brow now. Elsa had to suppress a snort of bemusement; he really didn't need any more wrinkles. "It is an abomination of love; a false love. Men who lie with other men only do so for sinful desires."

"My papa says that sometimes the purest love comes from those who are gay," Olaf protested, "because they have to go through so much struggle to be together so that when they do finally get married, they don't take it for granted and their love is made that much stronger."

Anna lifted her eyes from the floor to gaze fondly at the boy, a small smile on her face. Elsa noticed, but she made no comment; she presumed it was because she had expected it, due to how Olaf kept talking about the two of them. Of course, she couldn't be sure, but that seemed most likely.

"That is a lie of the secular world," the pastor told Olaf patiently. "Of course they want to justify their sin; that is what sin does. But the Word clearly tells us that He does not wish us to pursue deviant relationships like those. That he wishes man and woman to marry, to be fruitful and multiply."

He was already turning back to look at his Bible again when he noticed another hand up. When he nodded at her, Rapunzel cleared her throat. "Actually… I read an interesting article about that online. Pretty much, tee-el-dee-arr, the words that are translated into 'gay' probably didn't mean that." Everyone was staring at her, and she shrank back slightly. "W-well, um, just um…"

"Go on," Elsa prompted. She was completely indifferent to the topic, even though she thought Pastor Frollo was correct. Still, she was curious what Rapunzel had to say and didn't want her to feel completely without support.

"A-anyway, the point is that the original Greek words in Corinthians that we translate as 'men who lay with men' or 'homosexual', actually probably mean either morally weak men, or men who use sex to obtain power. Depending on the word in the verse, that is." More sillence. Clearing her throat, she said, "Like, most people who were 'gay' in those days were temple priests for pagan religions, or taking place in crazy rituals that, um, I'd rather not describe because they're too sinful. So obviously what they were doing was wrong, because they were idolaters. And they were being promiscuous. But, um… but that doesn't really have much to do with a modern homsexual couple."

"And you believe this?" Frollo asked.

"Well, not necessarily," she backpedaled, feeling the heat of a roomful of gazes. "Just… th-thought it was interesting. And we sh-should maybe consider-"

"Rapunzel!" Aurora snapped, casting a scolding look towards the younger woman. "That's enough! There are young ears present who don't need to hear you slander the good Pastor's words!" Then to Frollo, "I'm sorry about her, Father, she's new to God's flock and still strays at times. It won't happen again."

That had been hard to watch. Anna looked like she wanted to speak up but she kept her mouth closed and lowered her eyes again. The look on her face suggested that it was much more out of thoughtfulness than nerves this time around. Every so often, she would glance over at her brunette friend and smile softly.

And it was a smile that Elsa caught sight of. Rapunzel's points seemed valid enough, even if she didn't see why it should change her own mind. But Anna looked… grateful. That was certainly interesting.

"Pay it no mind, my child," the pastor bade Aurora with a wave of his hand. "All of you are young, and youth is a time when there are many questions. That is why I am here; to foster you all to the truth, so that you do not burn in the fires of Hell."

He turned back to the text, and there were no more interruptions. Elsa no longer paid any attention. Now, she was too busy looking between poor, chagrined Rapunzel, and Anna, who seemed to have found some kind of comfort in her arguing against the verses. Combined with some of the other things Anna had done recently, that brought up a lot more questions in her mind… ones that she didn't want to ask Pastor Frollo.

                                                             ~ o ~

"You've been pretty quiet tonight, Elsa. Is something on your mind?" Anna gave her sister a look of concern. They were both lying outside their cabin, bundled up in their pajamas and blankets and staring up at the star filled sky, simply enjoying the peace the night brought together.

However, Anna seemed to realize something was amiss with the winter blonde. Elsa was trying her best to hide her uncertainty, but apparently, it still bled through. She wanted her questions to be purely hypothetical, philosophical… but she worried that it wouldn't be that way for Anna.

"Just thinking about devotionals today," she began cautiously, trying to sound unconcerned. She knew she wasn't succeeding, but she tried.

"It certainly was different today, wasn't it?" Anna nodded in understanding. She had stiffened slightly, though her voice was as light and unassuming as Elsa's. "Olaf and Rapunzel are sweet for giving people like that the benefit of the doubt."

With a small smile, Elsa responded, "Well, I don't know if 'sweet' is the word I would use. Misguided, maybe? But I have to admit, Rapunzel raised some points that make me want to look into the translations a little closer."

"Oh?" Anna rolled over onto her stomach so she could face Elsa. There was a slight hesitance, a brief look of sadness, when she said, "So you agree with Frollo and the others, then? That gays are bad?"

"Not 'bad'." Wary because of Anna's expression, she tried to choose her words carefully. "No human is truly evil, other than maybe a rapist or a murderer. But yeah, there's more than one Bible verse that says homosexuality is a sin. But I mean, someone who chooses to be gay is no worse than someone who cheats on a math test. It doesn't mean they're beyond forgiveness."

Anna was silent for a moment before speaking up, "And what do they have to do to earn that forgiveness? Stop?" She couldn't keep the slight bitterness out of her voice. "It's not that easy. It's not a choice for them to be that way. It's a birth thing. You're either born attracted to the same gender or you aren't. Surely God wouldn't have made people like that if it was sinful."

"That's not really how it works, is it? I mean, some people are born with a brain wired to like drinking, or stealing. Are we just supposed to let them do it, because it's easier than telling them to stop?"

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the blanket beneath her. However, she took several hard breaths to calm herself. "I just don't see what the problem is. It doesn't hurt people like stealing or murder, and it doesn't negatively affect anyone's lives like drinking does. They are simply people looking for love and finding it in someone with a similar body type to them. Why is that wrong? I-it's stupid that it is considered wrong!"

Now, Elsa was frowning, and she rolled over to lean up on one elbow to look at her sister. This was clearly something she felt very strongly about; she already knew that. But the reason behind it was what worried her. Still, she didn't want to make a big deal out of that before she had more information.

"Well… I'll admit, when you put it that way, my argument sounds pretty stupid. But it doesn't mean homosexuality is okay; just that I didn't make a very good point." Clearing her throat, she asked, "Why were we designed with two different sets of organs if we weren't supposed to put them together? Why can't two men make a baby, why can't two women? It's just… unnatural."

"If it's so unnatural, then why aren't humans the only creatures who can be gay?" Anna asked stiffly. "Swans and penguins form homosexual bonds all the time. So do some species of dogs." She shook her head. "Elsa, think about this carefully. There are unmarried people with two different organs who get together all the time. And sometimes the inevitable happens and they make a baby. Most people keep and raise that baby but then there are the couples that give that baby away, o-or just abandon it in the street. Is that natural? No. And yet there are gay people who want nothing more to be parents who have to fight just as hard to adopt a baby as they do to get married, even though the chances are high that they would love and cherish that little baby just as much as any heterosexual couple could."

Elsa shivered, pulling her sleeping bag more tightly around herself. "A gay couple raising a baby… there's a frightening thought. They'll grow up to think that's normal, turn out to be gay themselves instead of knowing they shouldn't be."

And just like that, Anna's eyes filled with tears. "Is it so bad that they will grow up tolerant? Compassionate?!" Her voice was just below a shout. "Are you even listening to yourself!? You- you sound just like… Mom…" A look of horror suddenly graced Anna's face, as though she realized something terrible,

"Why shouldn't I sound like her? She's our mom, Anna! She believes in the Bible and she believes in God, just like we do! Or like I do, anyway," she added pointedly. She didn't want to state it openly, but their argument was definitely making her question whether or not her sister really believed.

"I- I-" Anna stared at Elsa as though she was a stranger. "I believe in the God that encourages love and respect. Not the one that spreads intolerance and hatred for those who are considered different." She hugged herself tightly. "But I understand who your God is now… are you going to disown me, too, then, Sis?"

"Why would I?" Elsa said, still unsure what Anna was getting at. "Because you support homosexuality? I mean, I disagree with you, but… I'm not one of those people that thinks 'the big, bad gays' are going to take over the world or steal my children, or anything insane like that. They're just sinners according to the Bible. Your being supportive of them isn't an issue between us."

"What about actually being one of them?" Anna's admittance was soft. "How does that affect us?"

Finally, Elsa could not ignore the implications. The worries in her mind; ones that had been quietly building in the corner. She would maintain the pretense for a minute longer, just to make sure she did not jump to any conclusions… but she knew it was pretty futile.

"Do you mean… hypothetically?" she asked, voice as cautious as she could keep it. "Or do you have something you want to tell me?"

Moment of truth. Anna let out a deep sigh.

"My first kiss was behind the school when I was thirteen. The girl's name was Mulan. I started dating my high school girlfriend, Esmeralda when I was sixteen and it lasted until about six months ago. I'm bisexual, Elsa. I do date boys, but I like, and prefer, girls." She looked like she was bracing herself for a storm when she looked Elsa dead in the eyes. "I didn't tell you because I was terrified that you would be mad at me about it like I think Mama is."

But there was no storm. No strong reaction, no snapping, no shouting. Elsa just sat there, staring at Anna in complete and utter disbelief. How was she supposed to process something like that? Especially within a few short seconds of being blindsided by such a revelation.

"I see," she finally breathed, when she could find nothing else to say.

Anna flinched at the simple words and she looked so small as she peered at Elsa, obviously waiting for more. However, nothing came and gradually Anna became visibly more nervous. "S-Say something else, please?" she begged, clearly unable to deal with the blank look Elsa had on her face.

"Wh-what should I say?" Elsa tried with a laugh of pure anxiety. "That… that I'm fine with it? That Mama- that our Mother shouldn't hate you for it?" After saying that, she pursed her lips for a moment. "Alright, that one I will say. We both know that… that no matter what you believe about homosexuality, it's still not supposed to mean you hate that person. So that, I… yeah, if she really hates you… I don't… agree with doing that."

The words were difficult to squeeze out of her throat, because as much as she knew they were true, as much as she believed them, they might mean she was speaking out against her mother. The one person who had always stood by her side, no matter what. That Anna and her father had been forced away was a possibility, yes, but she couldn't say that for certain yet. How was she supposed to betray the only family who had been there for her for the past five years?

"But… I don't know what else you want me to say," she finally finished quietly. "How could you keep this from me?"

Anna seemed to take a small amount of comfort from Elsa's words — that at least she didn't agree with their mother — but still she stood up. The conflict was clear on her face from the way her eyes darted between her sister and the path leading to the other cabins that she was struggling between staying and leaving.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but she didn't elaborate what she was apologising for before she took off down the road and out of sight. Elsa barely had time to raise one hand before she was gone.

And then she was alone, out in the chill night air with her thoughts. Ones that she couldn't quite begin to untangle her way through; she had no frame of reference. This had never been anything other than an academic footnote, for the purposes of debating and dismissing afterward. Another way for her to reach a different kind of sinner, should she ever meet one. For all intents and purposes, gay people were fictional to her.

Until now. When one of them was the sister she had spent years missing so desperately that she cried, a lot more often than she cared to admit.

How was she supposed to even begin to approach a problem such as this?

                                                  To Be Continued...

[ah17hh]

Baphomet: A critical Feminist Perspective via /r/satanism

Baphomet: A critical Feminist Perspective

Ok SATANISTS let me hear your opinion. This is still a rough draft, I have until Dec. 5th to finish this essay.

Baphomet: A critical feminist perspective

In Salem, Massachusetts, in the year 2015, a secular activist organization called the Temple of Satan unveiled a statue representation of the Baphomet (see figure 1), which is a symbol that has become associated with Satanism over time in Christian culture. The first mention of the word “Baphomet” was used in the records of the trials of the organization known as the Knights Templar around the year 1300 C.E.; the Knights Templar were being accused of worshipping a pagan deity called “Baphomet”. It wasn’t until the mid-19th century C.E. that the Baphomet came to be associated with the now famous Sabbatic Goat image. Eliphas Lévi, a 19th century artist, was almost certainly the originator of the image (see figure 2).

The Temple of Satan Baphomet statue, sculpted by Mark Porter, was commissioned by the Temple in order to contest the placement of a Ten Commandments monument on the grounds of the Oklahoma State Capital. The two versions have some serious differences that I believe can merit some interesting speculation about both the intentional and unintentional aspects of said differences in the representations, the debate and controversy surrounding its establishment, and the culture at large. I will use a feminist and gender critical lens to examine the Baphomet statue.

Eliphas Lévi, in his seminal work on magic and the occult, Dogme et Rituel, lays out all of the intentional symbols of the Sabbatic Goat.

“The goat… carries the sign of the pentagram… a symbol of light… his two hands… one pointing up to the white moon of Chesed, the other pointing down to the black one of Geburah…. Harmony of mercy with justice. His one arm is female, the other male… the flame of intelligence shining between his horns is the magi light of the universal balance… soul elevated above matter… whilst being tied to mater… the beasts head expresses the horror of the sinner… has to bear the punishment exclusively… the rod… symbolizes eternal life… Humanity is represented by the two breasts and the androgyn arms…” (Lévi, 1854; as cited from https://www.learnreligions.com/eliphas-levis-baphomet-goat-of-mendes-95993)

As should be clear now, there is apparently nothing contained within the image of the Baphomet that is not intentional symbolism. The image is a strange blending of “opposites”, but rather it is the reconciliation of the whole, and a recognition that “good” and “evil”, “light and dark”, “male” and “female”, “beast” and “spirit”, are not, in fact, opposites; they are two sides of the same coin. The symbolism of Lévi is commonly summed up, among New Age folks and other spiritualists, as being the “left-hand path”: personal responsibility, individuality, the search for secret wisdom, and the carrying with one both the forces of dark and light – not the supremacy of one over the other; balance. As we will discuss later in this essay: from a Beauvoirian Feminist perspective, this version of the Baphomet might be problematic, due to the apparent contrast between the masculine and feminine – but first, there is another important manifestation of the Baphomet and the occult that should be examined.

Another interesting occult figure to reinterpret and describe this imagery is the head of the modern left-hand path himself, Anton Szandor LaVey – the founder of the Church of Satan. Anton LaVey is a controversial figure for having, in 1966 during the sexual revolution, founded the first official religion dedicated explicitly to Satan. If you read just a little bit into Satanism, you will discover that there are many arguments to be made that Satan is just a Christian interpretation of other Pagan deities that have existed from Enki in Samaria, to the Great God Pan in ancient Greece. So, whether LaVey started the first Church dedicated to this archetype, or not: you will not meet a Satanist who does not pay their respects to LaVey and his interpretations of shared Satanic symbols, such as the Baphomet. The image that LaVey works from is a design of his own, which gives another interesting historical twist on the image of Baphomet (see figure 3). From LaVey’s, the Satanic Bible:

“The symbol of Baphomet was used by the Knights Templar to represent Satan… In its ‘pure’ form – three points up, two pointing down – symbolizing man’s spiritual nature. In Satanism the pentagram… represents the carnal instincts of man… horns… thrust upward in defiance; the other three points inverted, or the trinity denied.” (LaVey, 1969; as cited from https://vigilantcitizen.com/hidden-knowledge/whoisbaphomet/ )

Some immediate differences between LaVey’s and Lévi’s representations are: 1) the differences between the pentacle (right-side-up five-pointed star), and the pentagram (upside-down five-pointed star) as a difference in the focus on spirituality in Lévi, versus the focus on carnality in LaVey. Other important differences are the fact that LaVey chose to emit all traces of the masculine and the feminine, and just focus on the symbol of the goat, and the spelling of “Leviathan” in Hebraic letters corresponding to the five points of the Pentagram. As egalitarian as this might seem at first, LaVey uses the term “man” to describe the generic human being throughout his work, which may merit a feminist critique. Mulvey might point out also that LaVey’s use of a naked human female as an altar during his rituals and ceremonies participates in a sick kind of voyeuristic scopophilia. These two facts combined might make us look at this gender-neutral goat-image a little differently: is this image, and the whole LaVey’s Church, just a masculine phallic power-fantasy? That might be one possible critique, if you were grasping for straws. As we will learn later on, the feminine is often, in mythology, associated with chaos – what is the symbol of the goat? Unruliness. They can never be tamed. Is the unruly goat symbolically related to the feminine from that perspective?

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(figure 3: Anton LaVey’s Baphomet image, 1968. Inverted Pentagram with a goat’s likeness. Hebraic letters spelling “Leviathan”, a water-serpent associated with Satan-Lucifer.)

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(figure 1: Baphomet Statue, commissioned by the Temple of Satan in 2015. Two children staring up admiringly at the Sabbatic Goat.)

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(figure 2: Original mid-19th century Baphomet art by Eliphas Lévi.)

Before the main topic of this essay, a critical postmodern examination of the Baphomet, has been truly engaged, I think it is fair to give voice to other less known, modern-day critics and followers of the Baphomet. The first that I would like to share is a criticism of the Baphomet imagery – and also, seemingly unrelated: feminism – from a Christian perspective. I am going to leave the authors name out of writing here, but you can probably find it via the link, which I will paste in the in-text citation beneath the quote:

“… (W)ithin the elite… sodomy rituals are a common practice as are other ‘sex magic’ ritual where demonic entities are petitioned for power and possession… the elite seek to make clear cut gender roles obsolete. This is also at the root of feminism… to ‘liberate’ society from traditional gender roles… Rumors of Lady Gaga being a hermaphrodite…. It would give good reason for her constant references to Baphomet.” (https://midrashmonthly.wordpress.com/2011/07/11/homosexuality-gender-confusion-and-the-spirit-of-baphomet/)

This Christian fellow is concerned about a world-wide conspiracy, constructed by the elite class, to destroy the family unit, and erase traditional “God-given” gender roles. This, they believe, is the connection between the movement of feminism and the Baphomet symbolism. The Baphomet represents an androgynous sort of creature; the image itself seems to blow apart all binary traditional expectations. Not only because the inherent sex and carnality of it all, but because it blends the genders/sexes into one form – whereas from the Abrahamic perspective, man was created first, and woman was created from the rib of the man. Hence, she is the second sex, the other – her sexuality is taboo and must be controlled, it should not be displayed as being equal with the masculine; being a part of the masculine; or the masculine part of the feminine. There is so much to unpack in this excerpt, I could spend the rest of the essay doing that – but I won’t. Needless to say, this Christian is paranoid, and (who know?) perhaps rightly so: we have seen a societal movement over the last decade or two toward widespread acceptance of phenotypes of homo sapiens that in rather recent U.S. history, and Abrahamic history, have been denied rights, or acknowledgement that they even exist, or basic human respect. It is really not that far back that women, half of the human race, were included in this discrimination. Perhaps some traditions are so important that to undermine them would be to undermine the human species. That being said: I struggled to think of a single person that I have heard literally advocating for the abolition of the nuclear family and gender roles. I dismissed this Christian as creating phantoms where there were none; and then I found this:

“As a Satanic feminist, I openly challenge the nuclear family and gender roles that are enforced by religion… I embrace Baphomet, the androgynous goat human… I think it reflects how Satan, too, transcends the boundaries of gender… and cis-heteronormative oppression.”

(https://www.mookychick.co.uk/health/spirituality/why-i-am-a-satanic-feminist.php)

There is at LEAST one Satan-worshipping feminist who is knowingly and intelligently opposing gender roles and the nuclear family. This person is a Theistic Satanist, that is: they profess belief in a literal Satan. NOT the Christian Satan, mind you – Theistic Satanists believe that Satan is an actual God, not a fallen-angel. Theistic Satanists also tend to believe that Satan is somehow deeply involved in the process of the creation or evolution of humans. This particular Satanist came to their Satanism through feminism and the belief that it was the Abrahamic religious traditions that have forced these gender roles, and the widespread belief in the inherent value of the nuclear family, upon society.

This unnamed theistic Satanist suggest that the Baphomet is a symbol of genderfluidity and freedom from societal norms, and “cis-heteronormative oppression”. Looked at from this perspective: one wonders why more feminists and critics of patriarchy have not taken this symbol onto their altars of equality? Bad P.R., presumably. The Baphomet represents the equality and inextricable connection between the light and dark, masculine and feminine – or did I just insinuate that the male is the light, and the female is the dark? This is getting messy, but it’s probably a great time to hear from another feminist, who was not a Satanist, that might have an interesting counter to the Satanic insurgence into feminism; Simon De Beauvoir:

“A man is in the right in being a man; it is the woman who is in the wrong… He is the Subject, he is the Absolute – she is the Other. The category of the Other is as primordial as consciousness itself… the expression of a duality – that of the self and the Other…. Thus humanity is male and man defines woman not in herself but as relative to him… How is it… that this reciprocity has not been recognized between the sexes, that one of the contrasting terms is set up as the sole essential… defining… (women) as pure otherness? … ‘the eternal feminine corresponds to the ‘black soul’ and to the ‘Jewish character’” (De Beauvoir, 1953; as cited in Easthrope & McGowan, 51-54, 2004)

What Beauvoir is trying to point out here is that the very ascribing of light and dark with male and female symbolically is part of the Othering of the feminine. So, when Canadian Psychologist, Jordan Peterson, says things like,

“chaos… is the birthplace of things, that’s why often it’s represented as feminine. Because feminine things are the birthplace of things… You have order – father; You have Chaos – mother.” (Peterson, 2017; from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viGgB44rxdU)

It’s kind of hard not to take this recapitulating of an ancient motif as suggesting that the masculine is what holds things together, and the feminine seems valued only for its caregiving capacities and its uncertainty. To be fair to Peterson, that uncertainty could also mean variation and possibility. I think that Beauvoir would point out to Peterson that this is a very male-framed mythology. Masculine is not just order – it is also destruction and nihilism. Feminine is not just chaotic – it is also stability and tolerance. The anonymous theistic Satanist, coming back into the fray, would suggest that this is actually what the Baphomet represents! The Baphomet demonstrates that both the feminine and the masculine are actually part of the same enlightened, ugly, beautiful, gentle, stark, horrible beast. Again, Beauvoir might harken back that the association of the female arm of the Baphomet pointing down to the dark crescent moon, while the male arm points upwards at the light crescent moon is to relegate women to the Other, once again. The association of “light” with “good” and “dark” with “bad” exists in many cultures and controls the way we judge various phenomena to an unknown, but certainly important degree. Beauvoir might also suggest that the representing of humanity, in the image of the Baphomet, by the breasts, is too objectify women and see them purely as “sex” and “reproduction”. Perhaps this suggests that the only human part of women is there nurturing and reproductive capacity.

Submitted November 22, 2019 at 01:37PM by The_Academic_SatanX via reddit https://ift.tt/35tYe02