#steppe prowl

[mammoth-clangen]

Ok so technically Summit won but i have no self control so u get Steppe Prowl as well, bc she has already has a ref from her debut >:3

Ice Fangs have both a given name and a surname, which are passed from mother to daughter and father to son (trans individuals can decide which parent they prefer to take after, or which children are given theirs, ie: Summit took his father's) This will be explained in comic too but it's not a spoiler so i have decided you are allowed to know as part of the teaser cx

Important: No, these two having refs does not mean they will inherently be joining the Kindred! As you can imagine that would cause quite a stir XD

Enjoy this meme i made months ago while drawing Moon 6 X'D

[yanderedrabbles]

Okay i get the hype on desert nomads but how about central Asian/Mongolian nomad yanderes? Like genuinely, try getting away from them and what then? Get lost in the mountains and wait for winter to kill you?

I just think there is so much potential, so if it interests you, it would be nice to have given you an idea :)

Underrated nomads frrr. We don't tend to think of the steppe and tundra as being as dangerous or hostile as the open desert. And I think that's what gives Yandere! Steppe Nomad such an advantage over you. You can try and run but how long until your legs give out? How long until night comes and the snow leopards start prowling?

Your toes are numb and you're terrified of the dark when they finally manage to find you. And oh, doesn't their bed seem much safer now that you understand just how cold it is outside their arms? Doesn't their strength seem so much less scary when it's turned towards protecting you from the predators hidden in the grass and ice? You've learnt your lesson, haven't you? You won't try running again.

[isthenapoleoncute]

My Napoleon is sitting by the fire in this massive fur that he says Alexander gave him and refuses to budge and snarls whenever I try to confiscate it. What's gotten into him?

Napoleons love the smell of predatory tsars. It’s one of the ways Tsars lure innocent Napoleons who never hurt anybody no how into Russia: they pick up a sweet scent and go prowling for its source. Very sad.

However, so long as your Napoleon just has the fur, and isn’t near a Predatory Tsar, it should be fine. If anything, he will be so satisfied with the coat he won’t go wandering to the steppes! Let him keep it.

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf Fact #71 - Book Review: Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves

While it may not be a "werewolf fact" of the traditional nature, it's very important when studying folklore to know and understand one's sources.

One of the very best sources for werewolf folklore - and indeed other folklore and mythology besides - is Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves (or The Book of Were-Wolves as he called it), written in 1865. However, like any academic/rhetorical source, it shouldn't be taken at face value. Let's dive into why it's such a useful source - and why you shouldn't always take to heart everything Baring-Gould attempts to assert.

Already a scholar, Baring-Gould was a skeptical guy. It all began when, during his travels, Baring-Gould encountered several people terrified of a werewolf. He was baffled they truly believed in such a thing, and that it would stop them from wanting to traverse a road at night...

“If the loup-garou were only a natural wolf, why then, you see”—the mayor cleared his throat—“you see we should think nothing of it; but, M. le Curé, it is a fiend, a worse than fiend, a man-fiend,—a worse than man-fiend, a man-wolf-fiend.”

Baring-Gould, not intimidated, walked the road alone. However, along the way, the words of the others got to him, and he found himself frightened. The manner in which such preposterous superstition (naturally, he wasn't exactly a believer) would actually make him afraid at all made him very curious about such things and why people would believe in them...

This was my first introduction to werewolves, and the circumstance of finding the superstition still so prevalent, first gave me the idea of investigating the history and the habits of these mythical creatures. I must acknowledge that I have been quite unsuccessful in obtaining a specimen of the animal, but I have found its traces in all directions. And just as the palæontologist has constructed the labyrinthodon out of its foot-prints in marl, and one splinter of bone, so may this monograph be complete and accurate, although I have no chained werewolf before me which I may sketch and describe from the life. The traces left are indeed numerous enough, and though perhaps like the dodo or the dinormis, the werewolf may have become extinct in our age, yet he has left his stamp on classic antiquity, he has trodden deep in Northern snows, has ridden rough-shod over the mediævals, and has howled amongst Oriental sepulchres. He belonged to a bad breed, and we are quite content to be freed from him and his kindred, the vampire and the ghoul. Yet who knows! We may be a little too hasty in concluding that he is extinct. He may still prowl in Abyssinian forests, range still over Asiatic steppes, and be found howling dismally in some padded room of a Hanwell or a Bedlam.

Baring-Gould has his biases, but he also has an open mind about some topics, even if he's shut tighter than a bear trap on others, especially where anything scientific is concerned, as he was a big believer in the science of his time (not all of which is applicable to today). He's a complicated bag of tricks, and reading his work is quite an experience.

Whatever his biases and whatever one might think of his occasionally very judgmental and overly authoritarian words (i.e., he can sometimes think he knows better than everyone, including the people who actually lived during the time periods he's discussing), he is nothing short of phenomenal at his work of gathering and examining sources... even if he isn't always right. He contradicts his own research at least once, namely in relation to berserkers, but I won't go into all that (unless you read my edition of his book, of course; I discuss it extensively there).

He even spins some of his sources into thrilling tales. He honestly isn't bad at narration, able to paint an impressive and thrilling picture when retelling various werewolf (and other) legends...

But when dusk settled down over the forest, and one by one the windows of the castle became illumined, peasants would point to one casement high up in an isolated tower, from which a clear light streamed through the gloom of night; they spoke of a fierce red glare which irradiated the chamber at times, and of sharp cries ringing out of it, through the hushed woods, to be answered only by the howl of the wolf as it rose from its lair to begin its nocturnal rambles.

Something to note with Baring-Gould is that some of his sources are actually no longer with us. They did clearly exist, and he could access them during his own time, but they've since been lost, especially in such original formats (or they might be gone altogether). This is just another reason why Baring-Gould's work is irreplaceable as a source for many, many fields, not just werewolf studies. He cites and discusses works about many kinds of folklore, mythology, and even history, and he even provided the first English translation of the trail of Giles de Rais, a famous killer (and basis for the fairy tale Bluebeard). It's a fascinating read, even if you're just there for general folklore and mythology or if you're there specifically for werewolves or, broader spectrum, all manner of shapeshifters - he even talks a little bit about dragons!

However, when reading, bear in mind that Baring-Gould is not without his biases, as I mentioned before. He can be very judgmental of other scholars, especially from the past, but that isn't exactly uncommon even in modern scholarship. It's easy enough to read around, as long as you don't take everything he writes as fact. No scholar is perfect, no matter how impressive their work is, and that certainly includes Baring-Gould. He also approaches his work with werewolves specifically with the determination to relate them to "madmen" and serial killers, which is a consistent theme throughout the book. He will discuss werewolf legends and detail them well, but toward the end of each section, when providing his own assessment, he will generally offer how such things could be rationalized in his own mind. In doing so, of course, he does offer interesting discussion and food for thought, regardless of whether you agree with him (I agree with him at times but can also find him very disagreeable; it's like that with most everything one reads, so no shocker there). And, of course, his work even if only used for informational purposes is still impressive.

Biases is no reason to pass on what might be the best single source on these many topics. Besides, reading around potential biases is a skill everyone should learn.

One of his biggest downsides is that he doesn't provide English translations of all his quoted passages and sources. This was a problem in the original publication from the 1800s, and it continues into today with nearly all editions...

However, if you do want translations of nearly all of his quoted passages from various sources (as well as extensive annotations discussing werewolf studies, mythology, and more, and putting his scholarship into a modern context and even pointing out his errors, such as when he contradicts himself), then you need to see my edition of his work!

I personally translated and annotated The Book of Werewolves this year, and it's now available for purchase both through Amazon.com and my personal website, with a cover that's a different take on the book's original 1865 release...

Be sure to check it out at Amazon.com and my personal website!

If you buy it directly from me, I'll sign it for you, too. You can also download an ebook, if you prefer.

I assure you it's the best edition of this book you'll find. I know because I've bought nearly all of them trying to find one that's at all easy to reference. My edition even includes a bibliography that will assist you with further related reading, among other useful things. I've made sure the formatting is easily readable, so it's good for both casual reading and citation/quotation in research/academic projects. This was a lot of work, and I'm very proud of how it turned out, especially as I myself have worked with this book for years.

Final words: even with all my own personal biases about werewolves, the study of werewolf and other legends, and my opinions on some of Baring-Gould's assertions, I have to give Baring-Gould's work a 10/10 for being a must-read for anyone interested in werewolves. Trust me - if you love werewolves and studying their folklore like I do, you won't be able to put this book down, and you'll walk away with far more knowledge than you had before. Reading this book alone will give you a decent foundational knowledge of werewolf studies, while also touching upon other fields.

However, of course, I do recommend reading mine. Obviously. Especially because Baring-Gould is just so wrong about berserkers (hence, my own assertions)! But anyway.

That's all for now. Until next time, and be sure to check out my newsletter linked below!

( If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, as well as free fiction and nonfiction book previews.

Free Newsletter - maverickwerewolf.com (personal site + book shop)  — Patreon — Wulfgard — Werewolf Fact Masterlist — Twitter — Vampire Fact Masterlist — Amazon Author page )

[disturbnot]

i gotta know! because your character and your take on him are so unique! what ideas do you have about supernatural and where he'd fit in that world? care for a little headcanoning going on? cause i gotta see this. i'm intrigued!

as it so happens, dear new friend, i do have an ancient spn verse that i can make an attempt at blowing the cobwebs off of. although i'm going to preface all of this with the fact i haven't watched spn in quite a long time; i had my old verse for ash back in 2014, so some of the details have gotten a little foggy (both for the verse itself and for canon spn lore—i am LONG overdue a rewatch!) but i'll do my best to recount what i can for you. :)

if i recall correctly, ash's spn verse story is prefaced by the death of his father—a hunter that lived somewhere near the southwest us/mexico border at the time and originally hailed from mexico. i believe he and his wife/son were settled in arizona, but i could be wrong (details schmetails). anyway, one night ash's pops is off out on a local hunt; a scheduled descent of tzitzimimeh from the stars—skeletal demons of aztec mythology that are said to compose the stars at night. this shouldn't have been too much of a trial on paper, and yet the man is bested by the swarm. UNFORTUNATELY, the man's ever curious and wayward son snuck out of the house to follow him that night and found his father's body, with tzitzimimeh still on the prowl in the dark. but those weren't the only otherworldly entities slinking around the badland steppe, something else was stalking. it wasn't stalking for humans, though—it was stalking for the tzitzimimeh. the benevolent yet formless essence of the god quetzalcoatl pursued the demons, and found the devastated child in dire need of care and protection. quetzalcoatl, unlike many other primordial/progenitor gods, is of utmost benevolence. seldom partaking in their flesh or their sacrifice, it regards and holds humanity, all life on earth, with a fondest love known only to great mothers. and it aches for the child, yearns to help. it also keens for a vessel. in its nebulous form of abstract light, its powers are minimal, but with material hands... maybe not so much. maybe there is something it could do for the boy. what if it gave the boy the chance to correct this mortal wrong someday? how could he say no? two or three decades later, the boy has gotten old, bones burning with a latent primordial power the god is only too gracious to temper; his body does not deform or decay before quetzalcoatl's brilliant grace, for it sleeps somewhere within, at peace until it is needed for its own agenda against fouler gods. with time, it has become inextricably entangled with ash's soul—he could no longer tell you where he ends and the blessed serpent begins. goes without saying that this precarious union afford ash some very unique and powerful gifts... well, in exchange for a great glowing target on his back. tale as old as time, yes? either way, he carries on his father's livelihood and has worked long and hard as a hunter himself, albeit a hunter with significant advantages (not that this has gotten him all that close to avenging his father) — he likely specialises in cryptids and supernatural animals/creatures. back in 2014, i think i had it down that his mother was also dead, but? idk i will probably change that. i might change the whole thing! who knows? but this is what i have for the moment. tysm for asking, dixon! :D it was fun getting to ponder this again after so long on the shelf. 🙇‍♀️

[rionas-path]

Such hunger turns into voracity, Her ravenousness never to be appeased, Never shaken off or ever eased; Her clay home to such rapacity. Say I, to every prowling hunter’s band: Offer meekly with a generous hand, Those who fail to share their plunder Incite the ire of the Fox of Blunder!

In the steppes, mountains, forests, and deserts Alike, she chases after those who would see Themselves as lucky, daring, or free When testing fate, deaf to her presence. Yet, tribute all but gives her godly grant Of luck which spurs out from the fowler’s chant, Bestowing and bringing high favour And a night of quarry’s savour.

Her visage haunting and unmistakeable, Half beast, half kin-in-kind; brutish, her ways Beyond grace, whose favour swifty sways, A cutting tongue unassailable! Her history is wrapped in mystery A god this feral is surely slippery. However, it is known her essence Was made from stray flow’s coalescence.

Shifting and lurking among the Communion In the time of tyranny: of Amber’s Domain. Her part minute, though not in vain, Stayed faithful to the Sisters’ union. When the twilight of Azure hue Commenced, her moniker she did accrue. A sacrifice etched on mural stone, A missing arm, gnawing on bone.

[midnighttiger]

Melodia, a healer and Anadari's mother. I never typed up a bio when I originally uploaded this to dA, but she's one of my favorite characters. <3

Melodia was born and raised in the taiga region west of the Sangai tribe's forests. When a tribe of snow leopards from the neighboring mountains encroach on the taiga inhabitants' territory, new struggles for power and survival force Melodia and her family out of their homeland.

Having left her father behind, she and her mother travel eastward across the steppe, picking up on the art of medicine and healing. The two eventually go their separate ways, but Melodia finds a new tiger named Prowl living on the grasslands. The two bond, fall in love, and eventually Melodia falls pregnant with his young. Prowl grows distant, however, and for reasons never explained to her, he leaves her to raise their cub on her own.

Traveling east, Melodia comes upon a drying river while in labor beneath the hot tropical sun. A stranger who doesn't speak her language comes into view before she succumbs to her exhaustion. When she awakes, she meets Komodo, a tribal healer who helps her in the birthing process. He provides her a home and prey in secrecy until the two are found out by the tribe's leader, and to earn her stay under his watch, Melodia agrees to work as a fellow healer for the tribe.

Notes:

Larger than former mate, smaller than her son

2 stripe colors

2 bands before tail tip, no other markings

single stripe across chest

ear fluff swoops down

eyelashes + "mask"

nose marking similar to Anadari's

Playlist - "Lace and Paper Flowers"

[skxrbrand]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐋 - 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈

The Brass Citadel is so impossibly vast that all other strongholds pale in comparison. Its main gate is made of eight-pillared arches.[1] The metal of the walls is decorated with red-veined marble and is broken by jagged outcrops and serrated spurs of blood-stained brass, while every parapet is covered in gargoyles that can spew streams of molten meal on any besiegers.

Champions that have been slain in the many fighting pits hang from the gibbets, skinned and bleeding down the walls to collect in the moat, which is filled with boiling blood.[3] Within the Citadel there are blast furnaces, armouries, rage factories, prisons and the Brass Throne of the Blood God, a mighty edifice that sits on an ever-growing mountain of skulls, each one representing a martial victory for his followers.

Sections

Lair of the Flesh Hounds - Cavernous lairs can be found beneath the citadel where the hounds gnaw upon the bones of their prey between hunts.

Throne Room - Eight vast columns rise from a carpet of bone to an obsidian ceiling, the air filled with the scent of a myriad of abattoirs. Those who enter find themselves stained with blood from the humidity. Karanak prowls around the chamber whilst the Brass Throne sits atop a ever-growing mound of skills.

The Great Stockade - A vast enclosed steppe deep within the citadel where thousands of Juggernaut herds endlessly rove, clashing brutally with each other. Favoured Bloodletters given the chance to tame one of these daemonic machine-beasts.

Gates of the Vanquished - Gates in the Brass Citadel where defeated daemons of Khorne must pass through if they were defeated in combat. To pass they must say their eight-syllable names to its Gatekeeper and declare who has bested them.

The Neverpit - A vast Arena where Khorne's daemons kill and die for his entertainment or to keep themselves occupied until the next great enemy arrives to do battle. 

[taabanqestir]

#FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #12: Quarry

They were five in all, robed the same and crouched behind a boulder. Just beyond, a lone buzzfly hovered, scouring the grass for its next feeding of insect. It was little match for the four youngest of them, fresh as they were with bows in hand, and even less so with the elder accompanying them. Training was most of their young lives to this point, honing their skills to provide and protect. Though not the fiercest of adversary, the buzzing, floating being beyond was elusive and quick, wiry and harder to hit, providing a good challenge for sharp shooting.

What wasn't a good challenge, were the other beasts of the area. The larger gulo were fierce and rabid, the rancid morbol could wilt your defenses with one exhale, but the tigers, with their sometimes fulms-long tusks were the quickest, and made many an overzealous hunter disappear. Tigers like the one approaching from their Eastern flank. Wide-eyed was the first to spot it, followed by a turn and steps backward away from the prowling creature. A click of tongue, then a soft whistle yielded no reaction from the others.. Closer it came, ready to pounce.. Why weren't they paying his warning sound any mind? Heel met unseen stone and the youth fell backward to his seat..

"Tie-grrrr!"

Silence engulfed the area, immediate and across the steppe in whole. The beast stopped still and stared, and a glance to either side saw the other hunters doing the same. Eight familiar eyes fixed on him, angry, accusing. It was a slip, a mimcry of a foreign traveler, but it was a misstep nonetheless. In a flash, four bows were drawn and four arrows were nocked, every one of them pointed at him.

The Au Ra shot up in bed with a heavy gasp, eyes wide and neckline damp. It took a few moments for him to remember to breath, but once he did, he could take in his surroundings. A familiar bed, in a familiar hut, on a familiar island.. A hand reached up, finding lip and chin bare, exposed to the night air. Beside him on a table the missing fabric lay, folded neatly and diligently.

A small pain seeped into his mind as thoughts of a past life grew hazier with each passing night.

[bloodycassian]

ABO - Reader x Azriel fic. N S F W!! NSFW. (TW - small attempt at persuasion/leading reader away from party non con. THERE IS NO NON CON AZ TELLS HIM TO GTFO)

The dazzling bright lights of Velaris shone and sparkled. Illuminating the various colored fae and their questionable outfits. The city bustled, primed with energy and tension. As the nights grew ever shorter, the halfway point of the Nightfare grew closer. Only a week away, and the city seemed like it couldn’t handle any more decoration. Any more visitors. It was a wonder some of the shops were still open, and not completely out of stock yet.

Costumes, leathery outfits, food of all sorts… all of it was prominent while more and more tourists flooded the streets. At this time of night, patrons packed the bars and restaurants around town. Even the more questionable foodstalls were hosting fresh, warm meats from the Illyrian steppes. Classic stews, soups and the scent of briskets and sauces hanging heavy in the air.

Those scents, along with the wild, tinged smell of hormones. Of anxiety, and sex and.. Gods it was intoxicating. 

Watching the fae huddle into nightclubs and hotels was one of the best people watching experiences of the year. It was why Elain was with you, to enjoy the best view of it all. That, and to avoid any alpha catching a hint of her scent. Her very, very prominent scent that had been triggered just a few days prior to the festival beginning. You hadn’t hesitated before letting her into your home while she avoided Rhys and the like, understanding that she really couldn’t control when it would happen to her. 

So, needless to say, Lucien was on his way. Quickly. All the way from Spring court where he’d been caught up with Tamlin’s own festival of sex and mating bonds. You wondereed just how they’d stayed together despite the temptations everywhere. But, just as you, Lucien was a Beta. He understood better than anyone else in the Inner Circle that sex was nothing…that exciting.

Yes, it was great, but not in the way that Alphas and Omegas made it seem. And after watching the streets of velaris turn into an orgy for so many years… you wondered just how much you were missing out. 

“I’m going to head down to the bar. Get some fresh air, maybe a few drinks. Do you want anything?” You asked Elain, who busied herself in the kitchen. She’d already made three loaves of bread in the two days she’d been here. 

“No, thank you. I’ll be here though, waiting for Lucien.” She sighed, dusting her hands of flour. He’d promised her to be here by the end of the weekend, to winnow her away. Somewhere they could take care of her heat together. Somewhere that wasn’t your apartment, hopefully. 

It was still sad though, seeing Elain without Lucien was like a flower without sun. A beautiful, powder covered flower. You leaned in to give her a half hug and took a finger of the batter she mixed. “Hey!” She slapped your leg with a spatula while you made your way around the island. 

“Needs more salt!” You called while the door shut.

+

Thankfully by the time you made it to the least busy bar in town, the sun was setting. Which meant the alphas that prowled the streets had finally been allowed inside the clubs. The wait for the beer was still atrocious, but you had time. 

Besides, you needed to get away from Elain’s overpowering scent. Even as a Beta, it still messed with your mind to have that smell so near. It made your senses stand on end, and your body sensitive to anything that touched it. 

So yes, the beer was needed. It was a priority before going to see just what Rhys had planned for his own Nightfare celebration. To see just who showed up, and who didn’t. To monitor every lip bite and scent of desire that laced who. It was political as much as it was sexual, when it came to Rhys’s parties. 

So you downed the beer and gave the bartender a silver mark before leaving, ignoring the eyes that lingered on you a bit too long when you exited. 

The night air was refreshingly cool against your damp skin. The walk to Feyre and Rhys’s wasn’t too far, but with the pheromones and being so near Elain the last few days, your body was overreacting. 

The bouncing, swaying bodies were like a sea of glowfish. The paint on them was that like starfall, made by Feyre herself. It was also a fantastic way of being able to see different bodies in the crowd. For the guards to be sure that no Omega was being taken right there on the dancefloor. That no Alphas were pressuring them. It was unlikely at this meeting, but it was standard practice for every Nightfare event. Though the room reeked of alpha dominance, you found yourself enjoying the music and it’s hard beats enough that you swayed to the music. 

You waved to Cassian, who you spotted across the recessed dancefloor. He leaned on a moonstone pillar, nursing a tall drink and talking to someone. Someone with no paint along their body, it seemed. Even with the green glow marks on Cassian’s neck, he still seemed intimidating. Given his status as a Beta, he was here as Rhys’s personal guard while he and Feyre talked to guests, danced and drank with them. Built allyships and, if they wished, swapped partners for the night. 

You didn’t involve yourself with their sex life. Never bothered with a royal’s mating rituals, as a personal rule. Things could get messy much too quickly, if the wrong people found out. If that royal decided they were no longer interested, and decided to knot a new omega or beta instead. It wasn’t common, but enough rumors had spread among the summer court that you weren’t going to attempt to involve yourself in that kind of mess. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A warm voice murmured beside you. A brown eyed male, with bright auburn hair approached with an extra drink. He handed it to you, and nodded for you to follow him away from the dancing. 

“As much as I can.” You sniffed. He was an Alpha. And from the hair, likely a powerful one. One that belonged to the Autumn court, judging by his dress. “Considering all you alphas always stink up my favorite bars.” You grinned, hoping to bait him. It wasn’t like you to flirt, but with the contagious euphoria in the room, it was impossible to resist. 

“You say that like you dont like my scent, little Omega.” He purred, dipping his head close to your ear. “I can smell your slick from the bar.” 

Your cheeks flashed with heat, all the way to your pointed ears. You.. it wasn’t possible for him to smell you. Your pharamones were just like a humans. No more than that, unless you were aroused. “W-what?” You stammered, faking a smile as to not be rude. The male could hold high position in Autumn. Not that Beron would listen to anyone other than his eldest. 

“Come with me, I know what you need.” He wrapped an arm around you, and was pulling you so quickly from the floor that you had no idea what had happened. At first you were within eyeshot of Cassian and that dark figure, then they were far off in the distance. The cavernous house swallowing up the rest of the party like a pit. 

“I’m not an Omega- I cant..” You began to explain to him, but he shushed you, cupping your face in his hot palms. His breath reeked of liquor and rot, but behind it all… that aromatic, demanding scent of alpha. 

“It’s alright darling.” the party was getting farther away now. Even more than before. Then, in the warm breeze that gilded your face, you realized… he was winnowing.

“You’re Lucien’s brother.” You gasped, shoving him away before he could make another winnowing leap with you. Nearly at the front door, you were grateful for the guards there. The last line of security for incoming or outgoing visitors. 

“Not usually how I’m greeted. Normally it’s Berons son. Or Eris’s brother.” He straightened, pulling his jacket more securely over himself. Like straightening a crown, only this green and yellow flecked jacket was likely worth three months rent. 

“I dont get involved with Royals.” you muttered, and moved to pass him. But he blocked you with a muscled arm. 

“And I dont usually get involved with so called Betas. But here we are.” He sniffed close, and his lips pulled back in a snarl like smile. Danger. This was very close to being dangerous, and wrong in so many ways. Not only was he scenting Elain’s heat on you… but now Elain and Lucien would scent him on you. The alpha stench would reek on your skin for days after making that contact. 

“Goodbye, Vanserra.” You waved a hand, and pushed against his arm, but he curled it, pulled you close to him. 

“My name is more than that, you know. It means power, wealth.” His chest to your back, you could feel the length of him pressing against your backside. As much as you hated it, your body did respond to it. Your thighs tensed, pussy clenching and becoming hot at the mere thought of getting fucked in this position. 

You whimpered, and you felt the smile as his cheek touched your ear. Why wasn’t anyone checking this area? Gods, if Elain found out you’d slept with her mates brother..

“It also means asshole, in general.” A gravely, rage flecked tone said. The Autumn prince straightened immediately, leaving you squirming in place while your hormones took over your senses. The voice seemed to come from nowhere, until… your breath left you in a huff. A sigh of relief despite your thoughts going to a different kind of relief you desired. 

“Leave. Now.” Azriel’s calm voice was nothing to disobey. That cool undertone was the slayer of many enemies in his time, and if the Vanserra knew better than to test that legacy, for he vanished within a blink, leaving behind only the musky scent of warm apples and dying leaves. 

Azriel approached slowly, half expecting you to attack him with the look upon your face. He didn’t know if he should even be here. If he should have called Cassian over instead, considering his job was to specifically not get involved. To only observe, and send the Army General to handle anything he saw as a threat.

But Cassian was too far away by the time Azriel had noticed your disappearance. He’d kept an eye on you all night, noticing how different you seemed under the glow of the faelight. How the roiling bodies stared at you from time to time, observing, then scenting. He could have sworn one of his shadows heard whispers of ‘omega, omega omega’ in the crowd. 

And standing here.. Within scenting distance… Well he couldn’t help himself. He held a hand out to you, offering an escort. A knight, to defend you if you needed. If you had somehow become an Omega overnight, he would stop at nothing to protect you. You stared at him for a long moment before taking his hand, and pulling him into a hallway full of low faelight and plush rugs. 

“Thank you. I dont know what he was saying about being an Omega, and he wanted me and-” He nodded, but that look in his eyes… where those eyes were now staring. At your body, up and down and lingering on your hips, on your neck, your breasts… “Azriel?” You hissed, hoping to snap him back to reality. There was no Omega here, surely the scent of Elain was washed off of you by the male that had been all over you. 

“I- Your… Your scent is..” He cleared his throat, and his eyes were burning. Like a male in a rage, they smoldered on, desire billowing from him like a summer heat. IT did something to you, pulled at your very core and commanded your most innate desires. Took over your thinking, your control. Everything that made you enjoy his presence was escalated. He was more than a friend now. More than an ally, more than anything you’d ever viewed him as. 

“It’s Elain’s heat…not me.” You whispered, voice nearly breaking at the thought of him no longer being interested.

Your low whine, deep in your throat nearly broke him. Nearly shattered him in two with indecision and hunger. “Your scent. It’s you. You smell…” He groaned under his breath. Your breathing hitched, and butterflies took over your stomach. He had been the dark figure watching you beside Cassian. The one without the paint. The shadow guardian. 

Your hand squeezed his, and that was all the approval he needed. He pulled you, fast walking father down the hall until coming upon a large oak door. He shoved it open with ease, and his mouth was on you in the same move. “

You couldn’t even tell what the room was for before he was pushing you back, back back onto a cold table. A large, steady countertop. A chill ran though you, his hands went to your hair, clearing it from your face and neck while he moved his hot, sloppy kisses to your neck. You back arched, and he growled in approval. Your eyes flashed open at the soft bite, and you realised… he’d brought you to the kitchen. The pots and pans overhead swayed and.. “What if someone comes in?”

His hands went to your breasts, kneading them softly. A finger flicked over your nipple, and he kissed you again, teeth scraping your bottom lip. “They should know better.” He grinned, and finally met your gaze, a hand going to the hem of your top questioniongly. You nodded, and with one swift rip he had it off of you. He took a moment then, hands tracing up and down your sides while he admired you. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He sighed, leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth. 

He was perfect. Utterly, and completely perfect by every meaning. His hair was lush, and the perfect texture for pulling when you wanted him to move somewhere. Like, your pants for example. He flicked them off with ease, his own going along with yours in the corner shortly after. Once naked, he took a long look at your body, while stroking his long cock. One slow pump, and precome slicked him fully. You hissed, and made to take a hold of his length yourself, but he held you back. “Let me taste you.” He asked, pulling your chin up to look at him. Splayed before him, you couldn’t say no. 

You nodded, and he set to work. Slowly, tracing his fingers, then his lips up your thighs. Your body was overheated, and your skin felt too tight. Your sex ached for him, ached for anything to fill it. Gods you needed this so, so badly. Hadn’t realised just how burning hot you’d been until his tongue lapped over your wet entrance, and soothed some of that ache. 

Your groan elicited his own in return, and he lapped at your entrance like a starving male. Like he’d never have this again. Slowly, he moved up until he flicked over your clit, sending sparks over everything. Turning the building ache into a complete need for him. He looked up at you, from beneath his lashes, and the sight of him there was almost enough to make you come. He was loving it, reveling in it. Hearing your sounds and whines of pleasure was all the pleasure he’d need for a lifetime, he was sure of it. 

“Please-” you panted, grinding down on his face. You were close, so so close from just his tongue. Imagining what that cock would do… You pulled him off of you by the hair, dragging him up to your lips. His mouth tasted of cool black power, and you. Both of your markings on him. Now it was your turn. “Fuck me.” You commanded, in a low tone. His eyes were alight. How could he deny this? How could he drag this on any more, when he himself was ready to explode? 

Azriel held up two fingers, just in front of your lips. Smirking, you ever so slowly kissed them, then took them into your mouth, coating them with your saliva and sucking on them just as you wished you could with his lovely cock. 

His eyes didn’t leave your lips, as he stroked those fingers over his head, pulling on himself a few more times before aligning himself with your entrance. “You want this, baby?” He muttered, petting down your sides yet again. The counter was the perfect height for him, the perfect angle for him to ease into you. 

You nodded, arching and grinding, trying to get him into you. “Say it.” He demanded, keeping himself just at the edge. He wouldn’t let you have this easily, then. 

“Fuck me.” You demanded, pulling him forward with your heels. The Hiss of pleasure he released was immediate upon feeling your warmth, your tightness. His lips opened in a silent moan, eyebrows pulling together at the sheer exquisite feeling of you. Gods he could live like this. He could die right here and be happy. 

He waited a long moment, letting you slowly release his backside before pumping back in, slow and long. Your soft moan had him twitching, had his knot growing at the base of his dick. He’d only fucked Omegas before, always with the fear of pregnancy. But this.. A Beta that he could knot and- He began fucking, pulling you further off the counter, letting his hips slap into your thighs. He was going to knot you. He was going to make you come over and over again if it killed him. 

He was better than you could have dreamed. With every stroke, every seated entrance of his cock inside you, he hit that spot. The dull ache flared with each thrust, building and building until you were writhing beneath him and couldn’t see anything but his ruffled hair and wings. 

The wings that were now splayed out, and moving in time with his thrusts. His hands held you in place with bruising force, but gods it felt so good. So right, and so perfect inside of you. So filling and- He tipped his head back and moaned so loud it drowned out the party music for a moment. “I’m close… do you want me to-”

“Yes, Yes I’m your Beta-” You panted grabbing for anything to hold you in place while the pressure came to a peak. 

It felt as if his cock grew, as he surged and slammed into you over and over again. A warm darkness skimmed over your body, and the stinging, filling sensation of his knot pushed inside your entrance. It stuck, and grew more, twitching with his come. “Fuck fuck fuck-” He panted, his nails biting into your skin. His cock twitched perfectly into that spot that had been begging for him, the knot pressing it harder into you. And as he released, your own pleasure clamped down on him. He shuddered as you came, your walls pulsing around his full cock. 

He panted, and shook as your hips rocked into him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he gained enough strength to push you onto the counter together, so he could hold you in his arms. His knot shrunk, and even when it did he still stayed inside you. Holding you, peacefully until sleep caught you together. His warm wing folded over you like a blanket for the night. 

[mammoth-clangen]

Probably a dumb ask but, are icefangs prehistoric cave bears? (Idk the proper name or term for them😔😔)

Nope, they're Smilodon fatalis!

If you're talking about Moon 7's silhouette's lack of saber teeth, may I direct you to this excellent summary of several papers? >:3

And (mild spoilers if you wanted to put things together on your own but)-

You should really look at this ref sheet quite closely...

[lailyn]

A Prince's Ransom

Summary: Loki is over a thousand years old. Why he still keeps getting kidnapped is anyone's guess.

Contains spoilers for Thor: Love & Thunder

Patrolling New Asgard at night was a task Loki no longer dreaded. He coveted the silence, and the peace of mind that it promised. 

“I do not need sleep,” he had said to Thor, when his brother expressed his doubt about the soundness of the plan. Loki had proposed several security measures before, but this was the first one Thor had not passed tout de suite. 

“Night patrol is a thing of the past, surely?" Thor asked uneasily. "Don’t the people of Earth use electronic things now? Security cameras and such?”

“A great supplementary tool but surveillance does not ensure safety,” Loki argued. “Most of our soldiers died when Asgard fell. It is now down to us to make sure that the people are safe.”

“It’s alright, Your Majesty,” Valkyrie said. “The prince and I can take turns.” 

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but Valkyrie silenced him with a look. 

“The night isn’t yours alone, my Prince. You can’t hoard the shadows and not be challenged.”

It was a compromise that finally met Thor’s approval, and Loki was no fool so as to look the gift horse in the mouth. The bad feeling plaguing him lately had long since reached a crescendo and it was a win that came just in time. 

 ________________________

“The moon is hiding tonight,” Valkyrie warned some nights later when it was Loki’s turn to patrol. 

“I took down a steppe bison once with my bare hands,” Loki said absently. “Beasts don’t scare me.”

“No shit,” Valkyrie deadpanned. “But do be extra cautious, my Prince.”

“I’ll make sure all my pieces remain intact till the morning, my Lady.”

“Good. Makes the clean-up easier for the rest of us,” Valkyrie retorted. 

Loki laughed silently, acknowledging the concern nonetheless. “Sleep well, Val."

________________________

Valkyrie may be a closet worrywart, but it did not nullify her point. The woods surrounding New Asgard were still largely unexplored and Midgardian predators were known to lurk and prowl in the night. 

The newly constructed promenade along the shoreline was plain-looking but the view of the sea at night more than made up for it. 

Valkyrie was right. The moon was nowhere to be seen.

Loki inhaled deeply. It was something he never quite knew how to put into words, the smell of danger. How close or far, he could not tell. 

He raised his face to the heavens, ever more aware of his troubled thoughts. Whatever it was coming for them, would it come tonight? How? Who?

The darkness, a friend to him at other times, was his enemy tonight.

Without delay, Loki conjured a mage light, a beacon so bright it illuminated the entire plaza. He scrutinised the mostly darkened apartment windows and hoped he had not disturbed anyone’s sleep. 

Now the only shadows he needed to worry about were the many, many nooks and crannies in New Asgard his magic and light could not reach; he looked up at the rows of dark windows again with fear.

“I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” a voice suddenly whispered in his ear, “Did nobody ever tell you about the shadow on your back?”

Before Loki could turn, something sharp pierced between shoulder blades. In a split-second, all breath left his lungs, as did his magic, a turbulent vortex that drained out of the hole in his back like water.

Damn, was Loki’s last coherent thought before everything went black.

_______________________

When Loki came to, he found himself in total darkness and trussed up against a wall. He struggled against the binding, but there was nothing physical to rip, no hinge to tear apart. 

He fought for calm. 

Wherever this place was, there was still air to breathe. He was still alive. 

“Why am I not dead?”

No answer came. 

Was he the only occupant in this prison?

Loki closed his eyes and concentrated. Testing the strength of the bonds holding him was imperative. There must be a way he could reach his magic, some means of escape at his disposal. 

A low chuckle came from somewhere in the Darkness. 

Loki paid it no mind. He must not give the fear a name, no more power over him than it already possessed. 

Over the centuries he had shifted into countless nocturnal animals, and hence, honed his skills to such a selective extent that he could call upon their night vision at will. 

Loki reopened his eyes slowly. His vision adjusted.

His lips curled into a savage smile. “I see you.”

The hooded figure was seated a few feet away from him, as silent as a statue. It might as well be one; no scent emanated from it, no evidence of life or death. 

Loki’s composure slipped at the sight of the long, black sword it was holding in its hand.

No. He sagged in his invisible chains, feeling the strength leave him and all hope. No, no, no. 

The creature broke into a grotesque grin, his mouth a great, big slash across his cadaverous face. “So you require no introduction."

“What is it you want?”

“Straight to the point. I like that in a god,” he drawled. “Why prolong the inevitable?”

“You kept me alive for a reason. Let us have it and be done with all this bother.”

“I kept you alive for only one reason.” His captor's eyes glinted with glee. “Your brother’s axe.” 

Loki tsk-tsked. "You are a fool if you think my brother would pay such a high price for me.”

"You sell yourself too short, Prince." The figure rose to its full height. "I have eyes in the shadows and right now, your brother is beside himself. Soon, Stormbreaker will be mine, and I will open the gateway to Eternity!"

"Eternity?" Loki burst out laughing. "He would sooner have your head than let you lay a finger on his precious axe."

"Oh, he would, would he?" 

A flash of silver, and suddenly, something ice-cold and razor sharp pressed against Loki's neck. "We'll see."

 ________________________

The last image of Gorr holding the Necrosword against Loki’s neck froze in the empty space above their heads as the boy’s golden eyes turned brown and he bowed his head in regret. “I’m afraid that is as far as I can see, Your Majesty.” 

“You have done enough, Axl Heimdallson,” Thor said gruffly. “Thank you.”

“Where are you going?” Valkyrie demanded.

Thor said nothing. Blue began to envelop Stormbreaker’s handle with the summoning of his powers.

“Thor!” Valkyrie jumped to her feet.

"He has Loki!" Thor bellowed. "You would have me do nothing?"

"I did not say that."

Thor’s jaw tightened. "He has my brother, Valkyrie."

"And we will go to him," Valkyrie said firmly. "Once we have a plan."

“To hell with plans,” and Thor disappeared in an eruption of colours and energy.

“Thor, you fool!” Valkyrie cursed into the void where the King once stood. “Axl, can you try and reach them again?”

________________________

“Thor, you fool,” Loki cursed. “Why did you come?”

Thor ignored his brother. “Let him go. It is not him you want.”

The creature cocked its head. “Oh? And how would you know what I want?”

Thor shrugged. “It’s not that hard to figure out. It is in your name, the God Butcher. It sounds awful by the way.”

“Ah. So you have heard of me.”

“News gets around. It’s a bit hard to ignore when gods are being slain all across the universe,” Thor said, putting a hand on one hip. “But this is a bit below the belt, don’t you think? I mean, kidnapping? That’s so…old-fashioned.”

“If it works, it works,” Gorr grinned. “The axe, or your brother’s head.”

“Don’t give it to him, Thor,” Loki said tightly. “You must not let him reach Eternity.”

“I know what I’m doing, Loki,” Thor said. 

He took a step forward and offered Stormbreaker by the haft. “Come and take it.”

Using Loki as a shield in front of him, Gorr moved closer, but the moment he came within a throw's span, Thor withdrew his arm and flung the Stormbreaker in a wide arc. 

The magic axe flew around Gorr’s unprotected back in a circle and would have cleaved him in two, had the God Butcher not swivelled in time to block it in its path with the Necrosword. 

With a resounding clang, Stormbreaker bounced off the obsidian blade and landed on the ground some twenty yards away.

The backlash had Loki thrown face first into the dirt, slipping his captor’s grasp for a split second, but once more, his own shadow betrayed him. Before he could make a run for it, a thousand hands pushed him from the Darkness below, and into Gorr’s clutches again.

“You are going to pay for that, Odinson!” Gorr raged, spittle flying from his fissured lips, dark and thick like clotting blood. He raised his sword high above their heads. “I’ll give him a quick, clean death!”

Thor's eyes met his brother's in panic, "Stop!"

A cackle. "Too late," and the God Butcher plunged the Necrosword into Loki's heart.

________________________

"Noooo!!!" 

A thunderous roar shattered the silence of the Shadow Realm.

Gorr watched the God of Thunder sink to his knees and bow his head. 

Gorr understood grief. He understood it very well.

"All Gods must die, Thor," he reasoned with a gentleness that had been absent before. "It is written."

"Yes…" the corpse in his arms spoke. "But not today."

"What?" 

Loki's hands shot forward and wrapped around the hilt of the sword. With a hard, strong tug, the Trickster God pulled the blade in deeper, piercing his back and skewering Gorr straight through the chest. 

His mouth forming a perfect circle of horror and disbelief, Gorr the God Butcher, Keeper of the Shadows, disintegrated into dust. 

The Necrosword fell to the ground with a clang as Loki's double followed suit shortly, evanescing out of existence. 

"This is just a suggestion but maybe tone down the drama next time, Thor?"

Thor turned his head slowly. "That was a close call, Brother."

"Was it?" Loki purred. "After all these years, you still doubt me."

"I thought he had not released you for long enough. You really had me fooled."

"It was close, but I do have eight more lives to spare."

The slinky black cat emerged from the shadows and pawed its way onto Thor's lap. 

Thor buried his face into Loki's sleek fur and Loki let him. This was the only form he felt comfortable enough in to be held this way.

"Okay, that's enough," Loki declared a few seconds later. 

Thor looked his brother who was now back in his normal Asgardian form, up and down. "Any lasting damage?"

"I'm good," Loki said reassuringly. 

Then his face brightened. "Hey, since we're already here, wanna knock on Eternity's door?"

"Don't even think about it, Loki." Thor tightened his grip around Stormbreaker and around his brother both, just in case. "I should get you home before Valkyrie finds a way to murder us by long-range magic."

"All the more reason to do it," Loki cajoled. "I know what Valkyrie would want."

"Everyone knows what Valkyrie wants," Thor said. "A lifetime supply of - "

"Booze," Loki joined, and the brothers shared a warm, rare chuckle. 

Meanwhile,

"I heard that!" Valkyrie shouted into the air a million miles away in faraway New Asgard.

"They can't hear you, my Lady."

"Shut up, Axl."

[harpagornis]

Multituberculate Earth: Birds

(As with all animal pages so far, this only goes so far into the Oligocene… for now)

At first, the avifauna of this timeline evolved much as ours. Only the toothless crown birds survived the KT event (though outliers like Qinornis may indicate other lineages survived briefly; one study did note the similarities between pelagornithids and ichthyornithids, but it hasn’t made the plunge), several lineages quickly producing megafauna to replace non-avian dinosaurs and other great reptiles. Gastornithiforms and ratites occupied large herbivore niches on land, pelagornithids and lithornithids attained large wingspans as competing pterosaurs ceased to exist and giant penguins and plotopterids were the first vertebrates to occupy large predatory niches at sea (barring sharks of course). To say nothing of the massive variety of smaller birds like stem-tropicbirds, the passerine-like zygodactylids and carnivorous parrots.

But the absence of an Azolla Event put avian evolution in a very different track from the Eocene onwards. For starters, without a mid-Eocene cooling to alter forest biomes, lithornithids and presbyornithids didn’t decline, thus preventing an opening for several lineages like cranes, storks and pelecaniforms. Many groups that depended on the cooling temperatures, like seagulls and relatives, also did not get the opening they wished for. Some modern groups you might assume quintessential, like ducks and shorebirds, were either greatly crippled or did not get to rise.

Likewise, the evolution of flying mammals put some pressures on birds that our bats didn’t have, but for the most part both groups managed to co-exist. Niche partitioning is easy when you can fly anywhere to get resources, after all, and birds are no strangers to it given how they co-existed with pterosaurs and other Mesozoic flyers for over one hundred million years.

By far the greatest challenge faced by birds thus far was the Grand Coupure, leading to a dramatic collapse of forest habitats. For European and Balkanatolian flightless birds it was particularly hard as their isolation in Europe came to a drastic end, but several flightless lineages remained in the Oligocene.

Because there are lots of Cenozoic bird groups, some more understood than others, this is something of a work in progress. However, I will list the bird groups that I have most assuredly set in stone.

Palaeognaths

The so called “old jaws” might be something of a misnomer, as some Cretaceous birds already had a neognath palate and their own palate is much more advanced than in some other early birds, but regardless they do invoke that prehistoric mystique. In our timeline the sole survivors are the flightless ratites + tiny tinamous, animals that truly seem to come from the era of the dinosaurs.

In this timeline, ratites similarly diversified, with rheas and other poorly understood taxa in South America and Antarctica, members of the cassowary/emu line in Australia, elephant birds in Madagascar (and possibly mainland Afro-Arabia) and a variety of stem-ostriches in North America, Europe and Asia. But it is another group, the flying lithornithids, that remain the most diverse and arguably spectacular group.

In our timeline, lithornithids started the Cenozoic in style, dispersing across the northern continents as forest dwelling probers like modern woodcocks. They were far more efficient flyers than our timeline’s surviving flying paleognaths, the tinamous, there being evidence of migratory behaviour and stork-like soaring, and some species attained quite large sizes. In our timeline the mid-Eocene cooling seems to have doomed them, but in the prolonged hothouse conditions of this timeline they managed to acclimate and diversify further.

Some lineages were lost in the Grand Coupure, but those that survived were ready for the spread of open habitats. Many forms occupy niches taken in our world by cranes and storks, prowling the steppes or stalking the swamps for small animals and nutrious plant matter. Others have diversified as shorebird analogues, probing along the coastlines. Some conversely became smaller and hoopoe-like; lithornithids were already more efficient perchers than other palaeognaths, so a few managed to capitalize on arboreal niches.

Though efficient flyers, lithornithids lack tails, relying mostly on their own wings for steering (for reference, see videos on tailless kites or hawks). Like in their ratite cousins it is the male that protects the eggs and offpsring, though in some derived species the young are superprecocial and can fly soon after birth, a condition seen in many Mesozoic birds. Many species have glossy eggs and feathers like cassowaries.

Other than lithornithids, there seems to be some other flying palaeognaths about. The stem-ostrich Eogrus for example is traditionally considered capable of at least some flying abilities, while flying stem-kiwis must be around somewhere given Proapteryx. And, of course, there’s the ancestors of tinamous, which have not yet debuted in the fossil reccord for some reason (in both timelines).

Pelagornithids

The so called “pseudo-toothed” birds due to tooth-like serrations in their bills, these seabirds are a mystery. Sometimes they are grouped among albatrosses and other higher waterbirds, other times they’re considered closely related to waterfowl, with most recent studies putting them in a polytomy between both groups. As mentioned above there is a study that does note similarities between their jaws and those of aquatic toothed seabirds, and given that their serrations seem to share a true molecular origin with teeth I wouldn’t be surprised if they were surviving toothed seabirds all along.

Anyways, besides the “teeth” (which were acquired late in life, implying prolonged parental care) the most notable feature of pelagornithids is their size. These are easily the largest flying birds of all time, some reaching wingspans of over 7 meters. Because they lack the quadrupedal launching of flying mammals and pterosaurs, they compensated by become extremely lightweight like living kites, thus while they look fearsome they most hunt small, soft prey like squids. Its even possible they can’t flap their wings anymore, relying solely on thermal soaring like modern frigatebirds (and not dynamic soaring like albatrosses), to which they can be considered close analogues if much larger.

While the evolution of giant insulonycteriids might seem like a disaster for these enormous birds, in truth both groups get along just fine (most of the time). The giant flying mammals are most robust and can hunt proportionally larger prey and even dive, so if the pelagornithids are the frigatebirds the insulonycteriids are the albatrosses and gannets.

Pelagornithids in both timelines have been extrariordinarily resilient, surviving from the PETM and Grand Coupure in spite of their effects to the marine biosphere. They died out in our timeline just as humans evolved, for unclear reasons; we’ll see if they have better luck here.

Gastornithiformes

Like ratites gastornithiforms lost the ability to fly and attained large sizes, occupying the niches left by ceratopsians and other herbivorous dinosaurs. They are clearly galloanseres, though its currently debated if they are closer to waterfowl or to galliforms.

Like ratites, they attained a cosmopolitan distribution, with gastornithids in the northern continents, dromornithids in Australia and Brontornis in South America, though gastornithids disappeared from Asia and North America in the PETM. Unlike ratites they have massive, powerful beaks, apt to crush through seeds and harsh plant matter like branches. In Europe they in fact were the most common megafauna, with few large mammals, much like in our timeline. With the Grand Coupure the collapse of rainforests and the arrival of Asian predatory mammals they disappeared from the former island continent, but they continued to thrive in Australia and in South America.

Presbyornithids

Presbyornithids are a clade of long legged waterfowl that first evolved in the Cretaceous and attained a diversity peak during the Paleocene, before declining in the Eocene of our timeline, reduced to only the terrestrial, goose-like Wilaru by the Miocene. This is often attributed to competition with anatid waterfowl, but studies show that they were incapable of filter-feeding, so they must have occupied fairly different ecological niches at the water’s edge.

In this timeline, they kept thriving thanks to the continuous hotshouse conditions, and more overtly diversified in piscivorous and crustacean eater niches akin to those of shoebills, spoonbills and even pelicans and ibises. Consequently, many of these waterbirds did not evolve in this timeline.

A partiular clade related to Wilaru kept exploring terrestrial biomes. These developed a novel way to process food: chewing it. Yes, some birds can chew (even used in the past to explain phylogenetic relationships between cuckoos and mousebirds before genetics said nah), using the cranial kinesis common to all crown birds to slide the upper jaw against the lower jaw in a pestle and mortar like way.

These birds, the Chakranatids, found thus a way to not only process plant matter more efficient while minimising fermentation, so they for the most part retained the ability to fly. Still, some have become large flightless herbivores, a distant echo of the Mesozoic hadrosaurs.

Palaelodids

The niche of ducks was instead taken by a decidedly non-waterfowl clade: the palaeolodids, relatives to flamingos and grebes. Neither divers or specialised filter-feeders (barring some species), these birds are rather generalistic, adapted to swim and catch small animals and plants with their broad beaks. They first debuted in the Oligocene in both timelines, though they might have a potentially older origin given grebes and flamingos split further back in the Cenozoic and Eocene fossil birds like Juncitarsus seem to represent the last common ancestor between these three groups.

Coliiformes

(A suggestion by Tozarkt777 on reddit)

In our timeline’s Paleocene, before passerines had evolved and spread to the northern hemisphere, the songbird niche was held by the Coliformes, an order that now only includes the mousebirds in our timeline, but back then comprised of many more species and many more niches, from generalistic grain-feeders to raptorial forms. They were most diverse in the Paleocene and Eocene before losing ground from there onwards.

Their decline likely is attributed to the PETM, and with the warm conditions of Multituberculate Earth having been maintained, so did mousebird rule. These are now the dominant small birds in the northern and African canopies, passerines now mostly restricted to small insectivores and nectivores.

Cariamiformes

Represented by the vicious little seriemas in our timeline’s present, this group is best known for producing the infamous terror birds. However, a variety of other extinct groups also existed in the early Cenozoic, including another clade of infamous flightless killers, the bathornithids. Though known from usually more fragmentary remains, they too were incapable of flying and had deep, powerful beaks, well suited to tear flesh.

Proving that mammals still oughta fear theropods, the terror birds spread far and wide in the Eocene. Eleutherornis and relatives terrorised Europe while Lavocatavis and kin terrorised Africa; it is in fact unclear if terror birds evolved in the Old World and later raft/swam (or flew, if the last common ancestor still could fly) to South America like many mammals did or if inversely it went the other way around. We do know at least that Eleutherornis is a late comer to Europe as it arrived only in the mid-Eocene, so the group likely didn’t evolve there, though many other cariamiform groups were present, from the crow-like Salmila to the herbivorous, also flightless Strigogyps.

Meanwhile, South America was host to a larger diversity of terror birds, and across the sea North America was ruled by a large diversity of bathornithids. Both groups co-existed with predatory mammals in both timelines, and attained large sized species over two meters tall. The African and European species seem to have gone extinct in the Grand Coupure – the later doubtlessly affected by the extinction of indigenous prey and the arrival of new competitors – but the Americas saw an adaptive radiation in response to the spread of open grasslands. Predatory mammal groups may rise and fall, but these dinosaurs seem to be a constant, though for how long remains to be seen.

Besides large predatory forms, there are a variety of other poorly understood forms, like the aforementioned European species. Some, like Elaphrocnemus, appear to have been efficient flyers, less adapted to run like their terrestrial cousins but capable of soaring for long distances. while others like Qianshanornis seem to have been functionally similar to hawks and eagles. Most of these groups died out in the Grand Coupure, unable to cope with the loss of forest habitats.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

📚 👀 💯?

📚 A fic you wish you could display on your bookshelf

getting out of transformers to rec Swallows on the Beam, a post-canon FMA:B fic by shuofthewind where Lan Fan, the Emperor's closest bodyguard, has to go undercover at the Xingese court as a woman of the steppes to try and uncover a conspiracy and ends up maybe in a position to change the world. it's 200k and a work in progress and SO goddamn good, every time i finish rewatching the show i open this up to read it again.

👀 A fic that you love a normal amount

back into transformers to yell about Following the Tracks the 80k wip by LittleMissSweetgrass, an integration of Raoul and Tracks from G1 into TF:P. i'm generally very picky about tfp fic but this one was *chefs kiss.* Raoul is Raf Esquivel's older brother and it makes perfect sense and the bits that the author is weaving in from other continuities are done so deftly and so delightfully that the whole thing is just one treat to read. why isn't this canon so i can have fifty more fics in this universe, universe?

💯 A fic that makes you think #writergoals (i'm doing 2 for this one and you can't stop me)

The Ceremony Planner (TF G1, 8k, complete) by ohdeariemegoodness is hysterically funny. Ultra Magnus has to plan a wedding and is trying to do so methodically in the middle of absolutely unhelpful chaos. I love the humor, the character voice is so STRONG in narration and it colors absolutely everything in a not-quite-unreliable narrator way but also one where there's what you're being told and then there's the next layer and it's just. the whole thing is crawling into a character's brain and settling down there to tell a story in a way i desperately envy

speaking of things I desperately envy fair in love and war by CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball makes me lose my MIND over the depth and the layers of the narration. wip nearing completion at 96k of an ot3 soundwave/jazz/prowl where soundwave and prowl started out as the power couple of the Decepticons and had a liaison with a rando who turned out to be not only spying on them but also Optimus Prime's right hand and from there it gets all kinds of messy really fast. steph is doing this thing where she's layering about five different narrative timelines and perspectives all at once with some incredibly brilliant use of dialogue and code-as-brain-as-narrative that TF fandom sometimes does so well and making it look effortless and i am CONSUMED by it.

[therealvagabird]

By north and east, by branch and beast Fen and snow are not the least Of trials set for those who seek Vihreava the fairy land. Set beyond the mountain heights Where giants prowl and ice-winds bite Before the steppe you’ll see that sight Vihreava the fairy land. Green of water, green of bough Black in shade, untouched by plow Where rivers die and heroes fall Vihreava the fairy land. Trust not the songs that you may hear For their beauty fills grown men with fear The fen-folk take what you hold dear And keep in their fairy land The forgotten children of high Idan In Greenwater, the fairy land.

Lullaby of Greenwater, old song found in the West

[captainkurosolaire]

Prompt 9 ~ Cerberus

Creatures of night roamed within their confines for safety as did those which thrived to light. To survive was mutual grounds all attested too. Monsters aren't necessarily always born, often they're created and manifest because of it instead.

An accursed prowling shadow within a barren barn laid munching and feasting off tangy meat off an ill-horse on its expiration, gnawing through bone's and meat, shrieking and claw's shredding for organ substances. Savagely tearing insatiably in which often could sedate most, it cruelly was gifted under a darkness. Reeking with the twisted foul odor. A lively smell of mortality blooming heard through horn's resonating in vibration's enhanced. Suddenly the messy chewing and munching came to a halt. Under the duskiness of the moon, the chilliest nip of air. A farmer and his little one heeded to the shed together cautiously, not long ago, they would be it's chosen food to a platter. It quickly leapt away and went to the upper level's hiding and sprawling through hay-stacks to the open second story window, where it accessed, despite the barn's door's bolt locked. "Stay here bae." Nickname and closely having his sleepy daughter near his backside, not wanting to leave her alone in the house with all the noise they heard and racket which brought them awake. She clung tightly to an ornate bell, the only thing left of her Mother. Bringing her support and a blanket of security. The farmer opened the shed with a creaking and fidgeted at the harrowing and horrified sight. A gory massacre of his plague sick livestock, admitting shamelessly resold despite that to the local markets, because gil, was gil. They were torn to shreds by something heard about in a story etched in the Shroud's to keep people from visiting forest or places that should remain forbidden. A gasket breath escaped, sweat's leaking against his temple. The atmospheric is still fresh and warm. Instinct could still feel that it was unsafe to remain. Panic taking a twisted foot turn he grabbed the wrist and rushed his daughter forcefully back into their house, she unexpectedly wasn't ready for the jerk and dropped her bell, she tried to fuss for it but wasn't heard by the spooked guardian. Black sclera and only dimmed red-bloody hue's flashed above the rooftop. Deadly remaining prone and watching the scene. Perception's always led to the most troublesome fear. Because something is indifferent, it cannot be so understandingly known. The Xalea obsidian scaled dropped off when they left. Just as alternatively careful as they were it. Pacing to the illuminating golden bell left. Disbelieving monstrosities, especially those cursed, conflicting, are fighting themselves to prove they're more. A tribal blind oracle and shaman, foretold this child to be a blight that'd be the ruin to their entire Tribe. Before it was even born. Its mother fought to prevent the Tribe's Chieftain to see it murdered early in advance. It didn't stop though the decision's seemingly in the favor of their prophet. The mother was consumed and eaten from within from an insatiable born taking a toll. The Chieftain in his mourning saw the execution of his own accursed child, rather not accept or give it excuse for being born, utilizing how all monstrosities are first grown through ignorance. It was unnatural, pale, indifferent not the vision he foresaw in an heir, silent not even a whimper when conceived. In a communion event, they hurled and threw the child from a summit of the Steppes into a river with a quick heartless discard and celebrated afterwards with their bonfires and dances, their tribe had overcame a harrowing. It didn't have a life worth anything they foresaw outside radiating darkness, surface. It survived their plummet execution and was found by a local fisher woman of another rival tribe down the ravine, who unlike others attempted to nurture and show it kindness, and treat it differently. The fiend stalked, and gave a careful grasp over the young life's fondness and relic, treating it like something so friable within his destructiveness. He held passion and sensible emotions despite the exterior. It hated the existence it was given, more than any others had ever shown, outside recently, and newly once again been given hope with its Captain. There was a desire to return. But

in it's own trauma and experience, it had a reason to have hesitation despite its wants. Assault, screaming hysteria and striking at him always occurred. Although suffering from contemplation, it outweighed. And was willingly to remove the reservations, just to see, hope again. Often it happens with smiles, or that which is returned that gives them gratitude and fondness, it was the only thing carrying on, him. Believing there could be found a cure to save it from gluttony. The feared and dark, is doomed forever eternally as it seemed. As suddenly he shrieked and was punctured with a pike and pitchfork by night-patrol Maelstrom. "We've got th' menace' now! Finally!" Proudly and fighting their self-fears, they struck maliciously knowing how dangerous this thing served to be, from many reports. Ghoul could've easily battled back and fought but was taught recently that wasn't always the solution, It spent trying to be-better, achieve! No matter how much it was denied, it wore a mask to protect others, it chained itself to the brig of the ship with another's thoughts in mind, nothing fought it harder than it did itself in nature. The leader etched in gold swore a pact, they'd guard another crucial need, hunt differently, abide, it didn't want that for the fiend. Backed in a corner helpless it was taken fatal wounds that normally would be enough to end a life, but not for this damnation thing. They took off enjoyment watching it shrivel. Its bundling was safeguarding the frail little ornate bell. Wanting to return it in one-piece, it's instinctual anger, and hunger was increasing the more wounds it took, the verge of losing itself and consuming itself. Was hauntingly incoming. Maelstrom hurled their insult's, humiliation as they pant's downed and took a piss on their ghoulish prey, they salivated in making this slow and miserable, with something on it's knees and their infamous leader giving them validation, phrasing foolishly impossible was coin by the weak, demented and twisted independent soul's on payroll's could stretch that, they felt unstoppable. They slaughtered and butchered beast-tribes, warred, did whatever they wanted with no repercussions, their perspective was all-just, they were laws, they got to make them and demanded all follow-through. They watched people get abducted, allowed payrolls to define how they deem things. All while still being employed and commended, promoted even. As they conducted and prepared to settle this by dissecting the ghoul by removal of every limb next, a racketed-flintlock was heard overhead, downing one of them instantaneously. The ghoul lightly looked up bloodied, gruesomely, his own horn's ripped off and stabbed into him. A beaten mess, barely coherent. But the bell remained intact, all that mattered. The remaining Maelstrom cohort looked stupefied. "Mate, ye alive?" It asked it's fellow night-guard, but no response came. "I don't know who you think you are, but you've frigged up! Cause aren't interpreting what this coat or these badges mean, any blood on it, means you're good as dead! We've numbers and fleets irrefutable!" Eye's enlarged as moonlight gave to a ghostly mirage of an old wanted pirate. "Nihilis, this qualifies as th' exception..." He administered an approval with a callus viscous tone. Angered at his people being crushed down further when they tried being an exception. The Ghoul shrieked and staggered back before using his tail to trip the ankle and violently pummel and assault back with all his built up rage and hunger. His Captain took the bell noticing how it seemed important to his mate. Scream's and their own existence would be vanish with fitting answers.