#steppe wolf

[andiv3r-drawing]

Another drawiiing 😁 its name is Hawthorne and it uses it/he pronouns (he/him in public, it/he with close friends & his girlfriend).

He made that shirt himself :3

[starstruckstufful]

steppe wolf stimboard with nature & paw stims for anyone

gonna make different animal stimboards frommm today to next friday. you can request one in my inbox.

the steppe wolf, or eurasian wolf, is a highly adaptable predator found across the grasslands and steppes of eurasia. steppe wolves are versatile hunters, preying on a variety of animals from ungulates to smaller mammals, and are known for their agility and cunning in diverse habitats including grasslands, forests, mountains, and deserts.

🐺 brown and green stimboard !! 🍂 requests open ✔

x | x | x x | o | x x | x | x

[vickysaurus-art]

350000 years ago, just beyond the western edge of the icy Schwarzwald, spring has come to the mammoth steppe. A raven flies over a group of steppe mammoths enjoying a cold bath in the Oos river, while a Megaloceros grazes on some choice plants growing on the riverbanks. With the harsh ice age winter in retreat for a few months, a flock of greylag geese migrates north, a buzzard hunts, and a small pack of wolves observe a herd of steppe bison and some roe deer.

[morgenstern16]

Thinking about the Steppe Wolfe mod for Europa Universalis 3 again

[gentledeathsblog]

idk. but I wanna take off my respectable person suit and run through the woods covered in fur and leaves.

[lorenzlund]

... macht Kinder froh wie Erwachs'ne - jedenfalls manchmal! - vielleicht ebenso!!

Wir alle lernen gerade etwas völlig neu zu selbst den auch (S)oz-ideal-Wissenschaften von der Erde so von heut' an mit hinzu, wie sie uns unter anderem auch die Universität unterrichtet! *"Ein soziales Wesen haben, es selber auch besitzen oder nicht!!"

Sudden (As)s-Ala(r)m(i) - for all!!

The way even they met.

'Studentenfuttern' ain't really never good for just everyone!!

Mark & The Weekenders (Ihre Band aus Deutschland bestand bis ungefähr Ende der 90er Jahre auch, so berühmt wie die Beatles aber wurden sie nie! *Professionelle Partybands wie sie eine waren treten zumeist auf Zeltfesten und Tanzveranstaltungen und gegen Bezahlung in der Provinz auf, manchmal auch der Dorfdisco! Sie singen und spielen die Hits anderer dabei nach! Wir spielten aber sogar gelegentliche auch Eigenkompositionen. Auch die kamen beim Publikim! an! Gerade denken auch wir intensiv über eine mögliche Wiedervereinigung auch unserer Band so nach!

(Wer uns also buchen möchte vielleicht für sein auch eigenes kommendes Zeltfest oder Event im Sommer wie der Siberhochzeit, er besässe jetzt die passende Gelegenheit dafür!

... wie dem "Break-out', Asendorf bei Bremen, 80er Jahre.

The Weak-end-ers (... als damaligee gemischter Combo noch -bestehend aus Mitgliedern sowohl aus Bremen wie Hannover und dem direkten Umland beider Städte, verfügten wir dabei manchmal über eine Stärke von bis hin zu sogar 18 Musikern gleichzeitig auf nur einer einzigen Bühne. Deren eigentlicher Kern aber bestand immrr schon aus nur lediglich 4! Ähnlich wie schon die Beatles!, galten auch wir beim Publikum als enge Freunde, und ipersönlich glaube ich oder bin davon überzeugt, auch bei unserer Band ist man es inach wie vor!)

Die Immobilie und selbst ihr Händler: Nie im oder am Po! plus die erneute Hand vom oder eines Ers. Weil ein solcher Er oder auch Sie schlicht krank sind! Immer!!

Im Po plus die doppelte Veranlagung (Männer wie Frauen - beide können sie haben, es kann so beide treffen!)

Auch die neueJacke imir geschenkte stammt erkennbar diesmal gleich vom Jupiter sogar so - als noch anderem Planeten!!

[smol-feralgremlin]

FebruarOC Day 21: Ulric

Ulric glanced up from sharpening his sword to once again eye the woman sitting across from him. Ves, her name was Ves. He’d tried to call her by the name on the contract that his sister had tossed at him seconds after pushing Ves into his arms. Ves apparently didn’t like her whole name being used, and refused to give him a family name of any sort. Right now she was messing with one of her new skirts, or multiple of them really. If her appearance hadn’t given her Erolian heritage away, it would’ve been the fact she was ripping into seams and such to create the flounced tiered skirts that the nomadic women of Erolia. Earlier she’d mended his clothing, something he hadn’t asked of her and hadn’t ever asked of her.

“Do whatever you want with her,” Isme had said while tossing the papers for Ves’s sale to him. Anything that didn’t involve trying to get rid of Ves. Not that Ulric had any intention of doing that. He knew exactly why Isme had done what she did, and she could dress it up as Ves being a birthday present for him all she wanted. Ulric knew better. Isme wanted to use Ves to hurt him. How? He didn’t know. But Isme had done far too much to make him suspicious.

And he was suspicious of Ves. 

Or he was trying to be anyway. It was hard. She didn’t come off as dangerous or even a little harmful. A plump Erolian who used a staff to help her bad leg and the limp that went with it and that spent her days hanging herbs in her little set of rooms off of his own while also doing small chores around his rooms. Lavender sachets hung around his bed, their scent easing his sleep, and he’d started finding tiny stitched flowers on the hems of his shirts, small symbols made of twisted grass and sticks hanging over doorways and windows, coloured candles with dried herbs embedded in the wax, and she really seemed to hate the idea of windows being covered or closed on days she declared as nice. She didn’t even speak all that often.

Ulric was more baffled than he was suspicious and deep down the constant pit of unease had been surging with all the might of its bilious nature.

Even with her limp, Ves could move quickly. Ulric found himself taken off guard by how she was sewing one moment and gone in the next, leaving her staff abandoned where it leaned against a sack of sand. Shaking it off he was on his feet just as quickly and grabbing her staff to set off after her. Where the fuck did she think she was going like that?

Ves limped determinedly down the hall, her hands fisted into her skirts to keep them clear of her feet. Ulric caught up to her easily, used to the pace of forced marches and loping scouting runs. Catching up to Ves wasn’t a difficult task even if she did move quickly with an odd hopping run.

“Where are you going?”

“Your room is done being cleaned.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

She didn’t have far to look up in order to run him through with a poisonous glare. “I can and I do.”

Well now he had to humour her, more out of curiosity than anything. She refused her staff, still moving the same as before with the same level of determination. Her thick dark braid swung in tandem with her steps. Green and grey ribbons wove together throughout the braid to tie at the end with tiny disks of copper that clinked with the movement. Once he’d gotten a look at them to find tiny symbols etched onto them. There had to be some meaning to what she did and the symbols she used. Now with her odd behaviour he was going to have to find out.

Sure enough the door was closed and had the hanging of blue strips of fabric to denote the room had been cleaned hanging from the side of the door. Ves dropped her skirts and when Ulric reached for the knob, she knocked his hand out of the way.

“I could have you disciplined for that,” he informed her, “nobody usually gets away with hitting a prince.”

“Stay behind me and don’t touch anything.”

He blinked at her and stepped back. He had to see where this all led. His now more than familiar and comfortable friend suspicion rose up to wrap its tendrils around him like a good wool cloak. 

The moment Ves stepped foot in the room she was all business. Her footing was as careful and precise as a watchful deer as she circled each and every room, her fingers of one hand outstretched as she talked to herself, her other hand deep in the pouch she wore tied around her waist to rest on hip. Ulric stood in the centre of each room, observing her. Limp aside, she was graceful and purposeful in her hunt for…something. The same kind of focus reserved for her sewing or knitting rested in her darting eyes in an otherwise solemn face. Suspicious and curious, he followed her as she touched the hanging symbols before moving on to the next room. 

Entering his bedchamber, she blocked his way while drawing down the veil she’d been using to keep more of her hair back down so she could cover her nose and mouth with it. “Stay out. Please.”

“What’s going on?”

His demand was met with the door being closed in his face. His own blasted door! It was recalling the plea in Ves’s voice that stopped him from slamming his fist into the door. Instead he paced a square in front of the door, trying to listen for whatever Ves could be doing in there. Sharp stabs of caution mixed with suspicion turned him into a pincushion of growing worry.

The door opened and Ves came out with something wrapped in the yellow veil. She met his eyes and she grimaced while holding up the wrapped item. “Did you know your sister is trying to kill you?”

Ulric did actually know. “Who and what are you?”

For the first time since she’d been shoved into his arms, Ves smiled. “I'm a herbalist by trade.” Her smile turned sly. “I believe that here in Creshova, I’d be referred to as a witch.”

[tsunami-of-tears]

Mission Accomplished

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 4 (Adventure)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: Despite the Inner Circle’s best efforts, the throuple continues to fight their affection for each other. To help things along, Rhys sends the group on a fake mission (unbeknownst to them). Of course - everything goes horribly wrong.

Pairing Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.4K

Warnings: angst; violence; injury; animal attack.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Reader

Weeks had passed since the incident with the love potion, and you’d given up on trying to figure out where it came from.

Despite the night of passion, your relationship with Cassian and Azriel remained mostly unchanged, albeit slightly more awkward. You were grateful to still be able to call them your friends - joking around with Cassian and your quiet chats with Azriel were your favourite parts of the day. 

You felt torn. You loved both males equally and didn’t want to come between their longstanding friendship. You didn’t want to have to choose between them. 

Their visits to your clinic had gotten less frequent, but Cassian insisted you needed some basic training. 

“Let me at least teach you some self-defence,” Cassian pouts at you for about the fiftieth time. 

You sigh, but smile as you roll your eyes. “Okay fine, it can’t hurt. But I’m no warrior, and I have no desire to be.” 

“I know, the only thing you’ve slain is my heart,” Cassian jests. “But,” he says, taking on a more serious tone, “I don’t expect you to fight in battle, I want you to be able to defend yourself if Azriel or I’m not around.”

————

Rhysand 

Mor waltzes into the office and throws herself on the plush couch. “Gods… They are even dumber than we thought,” she exclaims. “I really thought the potion would get things moving.”

Rhys runs his hand through his hair. “I know,” he agrees. “I’m sending them on a training exercise. Hopefully some time away will help them figure things out.”

————

Reader

You’re on your first-ever mission for the Night Court, camped deep in the forest of the Illyrian Steppes. 

You’d been informed that there were some Illyrian camps causing trouble in the area. You weren’t sure how your skills would help, but you were on standby in case anyone got injured. 

After a long day of hiking and scouting with little results, you’re setting up camp for the night. You stand over the small campfire, boiling water to sanitise your equipment. 

The loud crack of a branch breaking sounds behind you, followed by a low growl. 

You turn around slowly and find yourself face-to-face with a giant wolf. It’s enormous, towering over you. And those teeth… The sharp canines are exposed as it snarls at you. Your veins chill with fear and a sharp scream rips from your throat. 

You cautiously take a step back from the wolf, narrowly avoiding the fire. You don’t dare break eye contact. You try to stand tall, holding the only thing within reach - a ladle - brandishing it like a sword, like Azriel and Cassian taught you. 

You send a silent prayer to the Mother that one of your friends can save you before you become dinner.

————

Cassian 

Cassian sprints from the other side of the clearing at the sound of your screams, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you wielding a ladle against the angry beast. The terror in your eyes strikes something deep within him, stoking the golden embers to life inside his chest.

His soul erupts in fury, and the deep need to protect. 

A battle cry sounds from Cassian’s lips as he charges towards the wolf with his knife out.

————

Azriel 

Azriel hears your scream before his shadows alert him of trouble. 

Adrenaline courses through his veins. The only thought in his mind is of saving you.  

He winnows straight to you. Right in front of the wolf. Within a second of his shadows dispersing, Azriel feels something sharp in his left side. 

He looks down and sees a hunting knife sticking out of his side, and a wide-eyed Cassian stepping back in shock.

————

Reader

You feel completely helpless as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. 

One minute, Cassian was hurling his knife towards the creature. The next, Azriel had winnowed right in the path of the blade. 

The wolf turns to look at the two Illyrians, who freeze under its yellow gaze. It huffs out a breath before turning on its heel and prowling back into the forest. 

Azriel shakes his head, hand going straight to the blade protruding from his side, “I can’t believe you stabbed me.”

“You practically winnowed into my knife,” Cassian exclaims. 

“Why didn’t you go for your sword? That knife would’ve bounced right off its hide,” Azriel bristles, irritation growing under his skin. 

You leap right into action, stepping in as the tension between the males starts to rise. “Looks like you did need me here after all,” you say, trying to diffuse the situation. “Azriel, sit on that log. I’ll just gather what I need.” 

Cassian stands back with his arms folded across his chest as you work on removing the blade and patching up the wound. 

“It’s not too deep, look it’s already clotting. It might just be a bit sore tonight, but you’re going to be fine.” You attempt to give Azriel your best reassuring smile. 

————

The rest of the night was strained. Both males were very quiet, only speaking in one-word responses. The silence was stifling, with the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the scraping of cutlery on plates.

Unable to handle the creeping tension any longer, you retire to your tent early, leaving the males to work out whatever issues they have.

————

Cassian 

Azriel could hardly look at Cassian, and Cassian couldn’t bear it. 

His brother was staring into the dwindling fire, as he sharpened his blades. The sharp singing of stone on metal cut through the air between them. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” Cassian admits. “I was overcome by this need to protect. I was blinded by fear. I had to protect Y/N.” 

Azriel finally looks up from his work, his expression unreadable before returning to sharpening his daggers.

Cassian runs his hand through his hair. He figured Azriel deserved the truth. “Y/N is my mate. The bond snapped when I saw her standing there, holding that damned ladle like it would’ve done anything.” 

Azriel freezes, a mixture of confusion and shock in his eyes. “That’s not possible,” he says softly. 

“It’s the truth, I felt it.” 

“No… The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the Night Court,” Azriel states.

“How? We can’t both be her mates, can we?”

Azriels gaze is captured by something behind Cassian. Cassian turns to see what his brother is looking at and sees Y/N standing there.

————

Reader

You couldn’t sleep. 

You tossed and turned, replaying the earlier incident over and over in your head. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts by hushed voices outside your tent. The mention of your name grabs your attention, and you still your movements to glean what the males are discussing. 

“Y/N is my mate,” says an exasperated Cassian. 

Your entire world slows on its axis. 

All thoughts eddy from your mind except one - your mate. 

You quietly exit your tent, walking towards the males around the fire, when Azriel’s words stop you in your tracks. 

“The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the night court.”

Both of them. 

Both males whom you loved with all your heart were your mates. 

Was this the Cauldron’s idea of a cruel joke? 

You walk towards them, your mates, and the glimmering bond between you starts to appear. You can see the two strands coming from your heart, connecting your soul to each of the males before you. 

As if they can feel your presence, they both look up at you. 

“Y/N” Cassian murmurs, your name a prayer against his lips. 

You touch your heart as you feel the deep longing flow down the twin bonds. 

“Both of you?” you whisper.

“It’s rare, but I’ve read about similar occurrences,” Azriel admits, rising to his feet.

“But, how am I supposed to choose?” You say. Tears well in your eyes and your lip quivers at the thought of rejecting either male. 

Cassian and Azriel exchange glances and a small nod. 

“Who said anything about choosing?” Azriel asks.

“I know it’s a lot, you don’t have to decide anything here and now,” Cassian chimes in, reaching for your hand. “We’d be honoured to share you, if you’ll have us both.” Azriel steps forward, taking your other hand in his. “It won’t always be easy, but I’m willing to try for you. Truthfully, there’s no one else I’d rather be bound with,” Azriel finishes, meeting Cassian’s eye. 

The tears that threatened to spill pool over the edge of your lashes. You nod earnestly as you send all your love down the bonds to your mates. 

You pull them into a tight embrace, your bodies fitting together perfectly, like the final piece to a puzzle, the answer to a question you’d been asking your entire life. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @therealmoonstone

[whencyclopedia]

The Nerge: Hunting in the Mongol Empire

The peoples of the Mongol Empire (1206-1368 CE) were nomadic, and they relied on hunting wild game as a valuable source of protein. The Asian steppe is a desolate, windy, and often bitterly cold environment, but for those Mongols with sufficient skills at riding and simultaneously using a bow, there were wild animals to be caught to supplement their largely dairy-based diet. Over time, hunting and falconry became important cultural activities and great hunts were organised whenever there were major clan gatherings and important celebrations. These hunts involved all of the tribe mobilising across vast areas of steppe to corner game into a specific area, a technique known as the nerge. The skills and strategies used during the nerge were often repeated with great success by Mongol cavalry on the battlefield across Asia and in Eastern Europe.

Hunted Animals

The Mongols, like other nomadic peoples of the Asian steppe, relied on milk from their livestock for food and drink, making cheese, yoghurt, dried curds and fermented drinks. The animals they herded - sheep, goats, oxen, camels and yaks - were generally too precious as a regular source of wool and milk to kill for meat and so protein was acquired through hunting, essentially any wild animal that moved. Animals hunted in the medieval period included hares, deer, antelopes, wild boars, wild oxen, marmots, wolves, foxes, rabbits, wild asses, Siberian tigers, lions, and many wild birds, including swans and cranes (using snares and falconry). Meat was especially in demand when great feasts were held to celebrate tribal occasions and political events such as the election of a new khan or Mongol ruler.

A basic division of labour was that women did the cooking and men did the hunting. Meat was typically boiled and more rarely roasted and then added to soups and stews. Dried meat (si'usun) was an especially useful staple for travellers and roaming Mongol warriors. In the harsh steppe environment, nothing was wasted and even the marrow of animal bones was eaten with the leftovers then boiled in a broth to which curd or millet was added. Animal sinews were used in tools and fat was used to waterproof items like tents and saddles.

The Mongols considered eating certain parts of those wild animals which were thought to have potent spirits such as wolves and even marmots a help with certain ailments. Bear paws, for example, were thought to help increase one's resistance to cold temperatures. Such concoctions as powdered tiger bone dissolved in liquor, which is attributed all sorts of benefits for the body, is still a popular medicinal drink today in parts of East Asia.

Besides food and medicine, game animals were also a source of material for clothing. A bit of wolf or snow leopard fur trim to an ordinary robe indicated the wearer was a member of the tribal elite. Fur-lined jackets, trousers, and boots were a welcome insulator against the bitter steppe winters, too.

Continue reading...

[cressidagrey]

New Pursuits - Chapter 5: Hiking

Summary:

The shadows decide that Azriel needs a hobby.

5 times when said hobby-related shenanigans didn’t end so well…and the one time where it may end up better than Azriel could ever have imagined.

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Death of a mythical Wolf, Skinning of the same, animal furs, Light injuries

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

To say that his next pursuit in search for a hobby went to absolute shit…well that was an understatement.

It started off well enough. 

Hiking, Master! The shadows suggested brightly. 

Hiking. He could do hiking. 

What was the worst thing that could happen?

Any specific place? He wondered. He fully expected them to suggest something outside Velairs…maybe somewhere near where Morrigan kept her country estate that she pretended none of them knew about. It was ridiculous. Of course, Azriel knew about that. 

The same way that he knew that Mor was never going to be interested in him and he had still yearned for her for fucking centuries even when he had known better. 

Sometimes he was just an absolute fool, was he not?

Why not Ramiel?

If he had been drinking, he would have spit it out. That was the last suggestion he had expected. Ramiel ? Had the shadows gone fucking insane? 

It’s beautiful there! And maybe this time we won’t need to kill stupid fucking idiots that think we don’t deserve to exist! 

So he gave in. Like an idiot. 

And the next time he had some free time… he went flying to Ramiel. 

You know I could just fly to the peak and be done, he told them drily. Why not. His wings weren’t bound. It wasn’t the fucking Blood Rite. 

He stood at the bottom of Ramiel, staring up at that fucking mountain that had nearly claimed his life once before. 

It was sacred. To Illyrians. To his people. Even when Azriel often didn’t claim them as his people. It was…even 5 centuries later, he still couldn’t manage to integrate both sides in his mind. 

There were the Camp Commanders who hated him for being a bastard, who treated the female worse than dirt, who hated everything different than them with a passion and would kill without thought. 

And then there were the Illyrians who only wanted to survive. There were good people between them. People like Rhys’ mother, like his mother, like the inhabitants of Rosehall…that had been treated so abhorrently and still, still trudged on and had made their own life with blood and sweat. That existed too. 

The babies that were born in warcamps never knew another way of life. He couldn’t fault them for what they did. Couldn’t…

He was Illyrian. From his temperament to his parents, the male that had supplied half for his creation…To the tips and claws of his wings and the marks on his chest and arms. To the status of Carynthian. 

Azriel was Illyrian. 

He couldn’t change that. He didn’t want to change that. 

But he would sometimes like to tear down the whole of all the warcamps with his bare hands…wanted to kill and slaughter every fucking male that had held down a female when she had her wings clipped…Wanted to protect all the children that would never learn another way of life than the cruel one. 

And still, there he was…at the bottom of Ramiel, craning his head up…because his shadows thought that he needed a hobby. And that hiking apparently was a hobby. 

That’s not the use behind hiking. You are supposed to clear your head, breathe in the scents…relax…become one with nature, the shadows told him seriously. 

He would have nearly done that…if nature hadn’t decided that he would make a perfect mid-afternoon snack. 

If all the other contestants in the Blood Rite weren’t out to kill each other…the wildlife took care of the rest. 

At least this time, Azriel had Truthteller…a single knife. That was more than he had had during the Blood Rite. 

And Truthteller always stroke true. 

Even against a Fenris. 

A Fenris, an Illyrian steppe wolf with fur the colour of pitch-black ink, long claws and razor-sharp teeth. 

Massive in size. 

He only died after his claws had destroyed Azriel’s jacket and scratched the hell out of him. 

It collapsed on top of him and Azriel cursed, climbing out from underneath that wolf, shaking out his wings and wincing when he could already feel the bruises blooming on his side. 

The Fenris’ blood was soaking the sacred ground of Ramiel, was soaking Azriel. 

He wanted to throw up. 

The feeling was visceral, shocking because he had a long time ago made his peace with that. Killing came naturally to him, like to seemingly every Illyrian. If it was a question about killing or be killed, Azriel was always going to chooose the first. His self-preservation instincts were very much intact. 

He also never had any problem with killing for food. He would only kill as much as he needed, when he needed and he did it so quickly, that the poor rabbits didn’t even have it in them to notice what was happening. 

This had been a kill for self-preservation. 

He had needed to make that kill. Otherwise, the Fenris would have killed him. 

But that wasn’t what was making him want to vomit. 

That was because of what he had just killed. 

The Fenris. 

There was a story there. 

Ancient as time. Probably the one “romantic” tale Illyrians had. If you could call killing another creature romantic. 

Azriel had never thought it to be. 

When Enalius, the greatest of Illyrian warriors had wanted to take a wife…he had killed a Fenris for her. The hide had been his wedding gift to his bride. 

In parts, the tradition still lived on.  Though it only very rarely was a Fenris hide these days. Too difficult to find. Too difficult to kill. 

And here Azriel was. With the dead body of that animal at his feet. 

Instincts took over as Azriel began to remove the hide…a bloody mess, with Truthteller soaking up the blood with its blade. 

He left the carcass for other animals to find, but he took the hide. 

He must have made quite the sight as he appeared in the nearest war camp, ignoring the screams and scattering of Illyrians, as he strode towards the tannery on the outskirts of the war camp. 

Azriel was quite sure that alone his sudden appearance, dripping with blood, was probably going to be enough to terrorise that particular war camp into behaving for the next few months... but oh well. One less headache for Cassian to deal with. 

He found that tannery with no problem, manned by some of the long-suffering Illyrian females.

The one thing he could give them was a couple of gold coins for their troubles as they took that massive black pelt to be tanned, staring at him with ill-concealed horror and…maybe something else, that he didn’t want to think too close at. 

They didn’t respect his job or that he worked for the High Lord but if he played *Who’s the better killer?* he was going to come out on top and they would respect that. 

Regardless of how much he hated it. 

I am done. No more hobbies outside, he told his shadows drily. I can’t even go on a hike without killing something. 

A few hours later, spent terrorising the camp lords with an unexpected inspection, later, he could pick up that massive black pelt…and go home to the House of Wind, get out of bloodsoaked leathers and take a shower…and probably survey the damage the Fenris had done to him. 

Namely blue and black bruised ribs and some sluggishly bleeding scratches…

He was cleaning up while sitting on the edge of the bathtub as the door was nearly ripped off his hinges. 

“Azriel!” 

“Ever heard of knocking?” he gave back with a sigh as Cassian entered the room. 

“Your bloody, ripped-apart leathers are all over your room,” his brother snapped, grasping his arm so that he could see the scratches himself. “What happened?” he demanded. 

“Don’t ask,” Azriel snorted. “Though I doubt that Carell or the entire Stonevale Camp is going to give you any troubles for the foreseeable future,” he muttered darkly.

“Is he still alive?” Cassian asked him. There was no judgement in his voice. Azriel knew that Cassian would trust him to have had a very good reason if he had killed him. 

“Not a hair on his head was harmed,” Azriel promised, reaching out for a towel with a grimace, before his shadows already grasped it and pressed it against the deepest wound on his shoulder. 

“That still doesn’t explain what happened to you,” Cassian said with a pointed look at the bruises blooming on his body. 

“I killed a Fenris,” Azriel answered truthfully. There was no reason to keep that a secret. Non whatsoever. 

Cassian was silent for a moment. 

“You killed a what ?” 

“Fenris,” Azriel repeated. “It decided that I would be a great afternoon snack.” 

“Did you go searching for it?” Cassian asked, his voice changing into something numb. Azriel just stared at him. 

“If you call searching for it, me climbing up Ramriel because apparently Hiking is a fun pastime that I should definitely try out...” he said, sarcasm bleeding from his voice. “No, Cassian, I did not go searching for it. Otherwise, I would have had more knives with me.”

Cassian stared at him for a moment. 

“Fuck.”

“Yes,” Azriel agreed. “Could you give me another towel please?” he requested and Cassian did just that, helping him to wrap it around himself as he carefully shuffled to put on new pants. He didn’t even bother with a top. He stretched his wings with a grimace, feeling them pull where he had gotten a few scratches on the thin membranes. 

“Here,” Cassian opened the bruise balm and Azriel let him smear it all over his side, hissing slightly. At least he didn’t need to do that to himself. That would suck even more. 

“Thanks,” he thanked his brother, who just shrugged. 

“You know…Rhys said you nearly bit off his head a few days ago,” Cassian said nearly conversationally.

He wanted to groan, but didn’t, instead limping from the bathing chamber to his room, where he threw a towel over the mess he had made off his floors. Cleaning that up was going to…

But then Cassian had already picked up his leathers and brought them back to the bathing chamber to at least get rid of the worst blood. 

“So let me guess, you are supposed to talk to me?” Azriel lifted his voice slightly as he sat down on the chair on his desk, staring at the hide. Now it was tanned, a process that went a little bit quicker if magic was involved. Massive, thick glossy black fur. He knew that if he wanted to sell it, he would get a small fortune for it. 

Not that he needed it. 

He had his own lines of credit. Rhys paid him very well for the job he did for him, and even if he decided that being a spymaster was no longer what he wanted to do…he wasn’t going to end up poor. 

The shadows took care of that . 

“Something like that,” Cassian agreed as he stepped out of the bathing chamber. “You’ll need to patch them,” he was informed, but Azriel just waved him off, as Cassian perched himself on the edge of his desk, staring at the fur that covered it. He reached out, looking at Azriel for permission. 

He just inclined his head. 

“I only asked Rhys to leave me alone,”  he gave back drily as Cassian touched the fur and examined it closely. 

It was pretty much perfect as far as Azriel could tell. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Cassian asked him and Azriel just snorted. 

“Are you going to listen to me if I ask that of you?” he gave back with a sigh. 

“Probably not,” Cassian agreed. “So what’s going on? You know, other than you channelling bloody Enalius,” his brother teased him and something in Azriel loosened at that. 

He could have turned him away and said nothing but…he didn’t want to. 

Cassian could hear the truth…and besides it was on Rhys himself if Cassian got angry with him…and if he didn’t get angry, maybe at least then maybe Cassian would…understand. A little bit. 

“Don’t fly off the handle,” he warned Cassian, who sat up straighter. “Last Solstice, Rhys ordered me not to pursue Elain.” 

He hadn’t been sure what to expect. But the way Cassian’s face first went chalk white and then crimson with anger…that was not it. 

“He…” Cassian bit out but Azriel cut in before Cassian could do something ill thought out. Like flying straight to the River Estate and punching Rhys. 

“It’s fine ,” Azriel promised him. 

“How the fuck can you say that?!” Cassian snapped. “He…He ordered…He pulled rank on you and he…”

“It’s fine,” he repeated. “It’s over. She chose her mate. She chose Lucien. Elain is very happy. I would do nothing to put that in danger.” And he wouldn’t. “Maybe I am a fool but I don’t try to be an asshole, Cassian.” 

Cassian stared at him, broad hands still wrapped into the fur. “She chose Lucien because Rhys took you out of the equation,” Cassian said, his voice hoarse. “You don’t know if…”

“It doesn’t matter why she chose him,” Azriel cut him off. He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t. “She chose him. And she doesn’t need to know about this.  Neither does Nesta. Or Feyre. Or Mor or Amren or anybody else,” he told Cassian pointedly. “It’s over. It’s fine. But I am really not in the mood to listen to Rhysand’s apologies .” 

“Az,“ Cassian said hoarsely. 

“It’s fine,”  he promised once again.

He was yanked into a tight hug by Cassian, broad arms enveloping him. 

“That wasn’t fair to you,” Cassian whispered. “It wasn’t fair.” Cassian’s wings trembled, like he didn’t know where to go with all of his anger and Azriel wondered if maybe he should have just stayed silent. 

“What are you going to do?” Cassian asked him as he let him go.  

“Nothing,”  Azriel answered honestly.  “I promised Rhys that I wasn’t going to kill Lucien. And in return, I requested that he was going to leave my private life alone.”

“Nothing?” Cassian repeated. 

He shrugged. 

“Maybe I’ll relieve our first century and fuck anything that has two legs and is willing,” he said, his voice quiet, staring at his hands for a moment. 

“Az,” Cassian said tightly. Azriel met his gaze. 

“I don’t have a mate, Cassian. I have no children.  It doesn’t matter to anybody but myself what I do,”  Azriel said pointedly. “If I want to…I can.” 

“Of course, you can,” Cassian agreed. “But we both know, that it won’t make you happy,” his brother pointed out. 

He was right. 

It would not. 

“Maybe it will,” Azriel disagreed with a shrug. “I never thought that I would enjoy wood carving or taking lavender salt baths either, but I do,” he said pointedly. 

“Lavender salt, really?” Cassian asked him with a snort.  

“How many hair products do you have?” Azriel shot back.  

Cassian startled. “I think you are thinking of the wrong brother,” he lobbed back quickly, before growing serious. “Why did Rhys do it?” he asked Azriel. 

“He had his political reasons,” Azriel said. “Didn’t want any more difficulties with Autumn or Day. Or a Blood Duel for that matter.” He could see it, even if he didn’t agree. 

Oh well. It didn’t matter now...not anymore. 

“I…If there is anything I can do…You tell me, alright?” Cassian asked, looking at him, so earnestly. Always so earnest. “Whatever it is…You’ll tell me.”

“I am fine, Cass. I promise,” Azriel insisted quietly. “Thank you though.” 

Cassian inclined his head and Azriel’s gaze went back to the fur on the table. “Do you want it?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“Do you want it? For Nesta?” he repeated. Nesta would like it. Probably. Maybe she would even like the story accompanying it. She could have it fashioned into some kind of outer garment or keep it draped over the bed…And if it came from Cassian, the pelt would be used for exactly what it was intended for. 

“It’s your kill, Az,” Cassian pointed out reasonably. “And we both know what it…represents.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “So, do you want it for your mate?” he asked again, Cassian still staring at him. “What else am I supposed to do with it, Cassian?” he said with a sigh. “Sell it? I would rather you have it.” 

It could just be a gift from one brother to another. 

“Keep it,” Cassian told him, his voice fierce. “You keep it.  One day you are going to need it. One day, you are going to have a cloak made out of that for your wife and the offcuts will be used for shoes for your son or daughter. And you will be happy that you hung onto it.”

It was a lovely sentiment. It was. 

But Azriel didn’t think he was ever going to have that so it didn’t matter. 

 “It’s your kill, Az. Yours. You keep it,”  Cassian repeated. “And maybe the next time you try another hobby…pick something less dangerous?” he suggested with a bright grin, going back to teasing him.

“Oh don’t worry, the shadows have a list.  We aren’t even halfway done,”  he said with a sigh. 

“What’s next on it?” Cassian wondered. 

“Knitting.”

“You know anybody that can teach you that?”

“Yes. My Ma.”

[sixteenseveredhands]

Stone Turtle of Karakorum, Mongolia, c. 1235-1260 CE: this statue is one of the only surviving features of Karakorum, which was once the capital city of the Mongol Empire

The statue is decorated with a ceremonial scarf known as a khadag (or khata), which is part of a Buddhist custom that is also found in Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan. The scarves are often left atop shrines and sacred artifacts as a way to express respect and/or reverence. In Mongolia, this tradition also contains elements of Tengrism/shamanism.

The city of Karakorum was originally established by Genghis Khan in 1220 CE, when it was used as a base for the Mongol invasion of China. It then became the capital of the Mongol Empire in 1235 CE, and quickly developed into a thriving center for trade/cultural exchange between the Eastern and Western worlds.

The city attracted merchants of many different nationalities and faiths, and Medieval sources note that the city displayed an unusual degree of diversity and religious tolerance. It contained 12 different temples devoted to pagan and/or shamanistic traditions, two mosques, one church, and at least one Buddhist temple.

As this article explains:

The city might have been compact, but it was cosmopolitan, with residents including Mongols, Steppe tribes, Han Chinese, Persians, Armenians, and captives from Europe who included a master goldsmith from Paris named William Buchier, a woman from Metz, one Paquette, and an Englishman known only as Basil. There were, too, scribes and translators from diverse Asian nations to work in the bureaucracy, and official representatives from various foreign courts such as the Sultanates of Rum and India.

This diversity was reflected in the various religions practised there and, in time, the construction of many fine stone buildings by followers of Taoism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity.

The prosperous days of Karakorum were very short-lived, however. The Mongol capital was moved to Xanadu in 1263, and then to Khanbaliq (modern-day Beijing) in 1267, under the leadership of Kublai Khan; Karakorum lost most of its power, authority, and leadership in the process. Without the resources and support that it had previously received from the leaders of the Mongol Empire, the city was left in a very vulnerable position. The residents of Karakorum began leaving the site in large numbers, until the city had eventually become almost entirely abandoned.

There were a few scattered attempts to revive the city in the years that followed, but any hope of restoring Karakorum to its former glory was then finally shattered in 1380, when the entire city was razed to the ground by Ming Dynasty troops.

The Erdene Zuu Monastery was later built near the site where Karakorum once stood, and pieces of the ruins were taken to be used as building materials during the construction of the monastery. The Erdene Zuu Monastery is also believed to be the oldest surviving Buddhist monastery in Mongolia.

There is very little left of the ruined city today, and this statue is one of the few remaining features that can still be seen at the site. It originally formed the base of an inscribed stele, but the pillar section was somehow lost/destroyed, leaving nothing but the base (which may be a depiction of the mythological dragon-turtle, Bixi, from Chinese mythology).

This statue and the site in general always kinda remind me of the Ozymandias poem (the version by Horace Smith, not the one by Percy Bysshe Shelley):

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,

stands a gigantic leg

which far off throws the only shadow

that the desert knows.

"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,

"the King of Kings; this mighty city shows

the wonders of my hand."

The city's gone —

naught but the leg remaining

to disclose the site

of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder —

and some Hunter may express wonder like ours,

when thro' the wilderness where London stood,

holding the wolf in chace,

he meets some fragment huge

and stops to guess

what powerful but unrecorded race

once dwelt in that annihilated place

Sources & More Info:

University of Washington: Karakorum, Capital of the Mongol Empire

Encyclopedia Britannica: Entry for Karakorum

World History: Karakorum

[historicity-was-already-taken]

History Blog recs

One of my Very Specific interests over the last...idk 10 years, has been reading blogs about the A Song of Ice and Fire series, by historians. I'm not sure what it is about those books: the complex, multi-layered narrative, the author's claim to work creatively with real world history, the micro-arguments contained in every arc, or what, but historians have the most FASCINATING shit to say about those books.*

I've learned so much about the logistics of civilization, the intellectual history of leadership theory, the history of subsistence agriculture, the type of agriculture needed to sustain societies of a certain size, the evolution of military theory, etc from this very specific, Historians Engage With ASOIAF and its Television Adaptations genre of blog.

There is, of course, the late great Steven Attewell's @racefortheironthrone, but I recently discovered this gem: A Collection of Unmitigated Pedantry by Dr. Bret C. Devereaux. I just finished his series analyzing, problematizing, and ultimately debunking George RR Martin's claim that the Dothraki "were actually fashioned as an amalgam of a number of steppe and plains cultures… Mongols and Huns, certainly, but also Alans, Sioux, Cheyenne, and various other Amerindian tribes… seasoned with a dash of pure fantasy."

In Part IV, he writes:

... declaring that the Dothraki really do reflect the real world (I cannot stress that enough) cultures of the Plains Native Americans or Eurasian Steppe Nomads is not merely a lie, but it is an irresponsible lie that can do real harm to real people in the real world. And that irresponsible lie has been accepted by Martin’s fans; he has done a grave disservice to his own fans by lying to them in this way. And of course the worst of it is that the lie – backed by the vast apparatus that is HBO prestige television – will have more reach and more enduring influence than this or any number of historical ‘debunking’ essays. It will befuddle the valiant efforts of teachers in their classrooms (and yes, I frequently encounter students hindered by bad pop-pseudo-history they believe to be true; it is often devilishly hard to get students to leave those preconceptions behind), it will plague efforts to educate the public about these cultures of their histories. And it will probably, in the long run, hurt the real descendants of nomads.

Which just. I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. Y'all know how deeply concerned I am a. with the outsize influence the entertainment industry has on memory; and b. how little that industry gives a shit about responsible use of its own power. So like, this is my shit. I'm still exploring this blog and it is a TREASURE TROVE.

*I do not include myself in that grouping. My thoughts are like: BUT WHICH ONES ARE THE JEWS DANY IS MY UNPROBLEMATIC QWEEN/AZOR AHAI/PRINCE THAT WAS PROMISED/STALLION THAT'S GONNA MOUNT THE WORLD/ETC I CAN'T WAIT TIL SANSA SHOWS HERSELF IS DANY GONNA BURN IT ALL DOWN AND EMERGE FROM THE FLAMES LIKE THAT ELMO GIF IS ARYA GOING TO RIDE A WOLF WOW I DON'T CARE ABOUT BRAN I THINK THE RHOYNAR ARE THE JEWS WHERE IS THE GODDAMN FUCKING WINDS OF WINTER

**Also, I never watched more than 2 episodes of the show. I hated how it added in sexual violence and nudity for no reason when there was already PLENTY of that in the text, most of it with narrative purpose. But then I read the books because it was 2012 and I wanted to keep up with pop culture.

[outofangband]

Mammals of Maglor’s Gap and Lothlann

Now that I’ve finished world building posts on birds for each Fëanorian realm pre Amon Ereb, I’m going through mammals next! Mammals of the March of Maedhros can be found here and my environmental world building Masterlist is here!

Maglor’s Gap was the widest break in the mountains and cliffs dividing Beleriand and the lands to the north. It lay between the blue mountains to the east and the March of Maedhros to the west. Lothlann was a wide expanse of plains to the north of the Gap. The rivers greater and little Gelion ran around the western and eastern borders.

Forest steppes: wild goat, wood bison, southern white breasted hedgehog, gray marmot, ground squirrel, dormouse, woolly hares, long eared hedgehog, gray shrews, northern hog badger, sable (rare), steppe mouse, lesser noctule (bat), wildcat, red fox, red deer

Bordering mountain fences: Caucasian Tur, mouflon, chamois, alpine pika, pond bat, marbled polecat, saiga antelope, steppe polecat, mountain weasel, ibex (rare), argali

Plains: goitered gazelle, steppe wolf, wild horse, northern water vole (by the rivers), snow vole, grey dwarf hamster, common hare, common rabbit, striped field mouse, ural field mouse, harvest mouse, mountain hare, field vole (also primarily by rivers), wild horse

World building notes:

The horse based cavalry of Maglor is one of the few details we have about this region. I headcanon that the horses in question are a mixture of the descendants of the Valinor born horses brought by the Fëanorian host as well as wild horses from Estolad, Himlad, Lothlann and the other plains regions of Eastern Beleriand.

Sheep and goats provide the majority of milk and cheese products in the Gap. Some of these species are imported from other regions like sheep from Thargelion.

Domesticated bovine are rare in Eastern Beleriand outside Thargelion and parts of Estolad. There are however wild and semi domesticated bison such as the wood bison, especially on the borders of forested and forest steppe regions. Fur, skin and bones from bison are used by both Noldorin and Avarin elves for clothing and other materials.

Wild hamsters, rabbits, hares and voles were used by a select few of Maglor’s cavalry as companions and even spies.

A regiment of foot based scouts had the sigil of a hare in the form of a light silhouette upon a black background.

[crowsyart]

D’arce-European Robin

Le’garde-European hare

Ragnvaldr-Red wolf

Cahara-Steppe polecat

Enki-Cinereous vulture

[bearr02]

The Mockingbirds Song |Chapter 1|

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Hybrid!F!Reader

Chapter warnings: nothing really :)

Summary: You had fled from your old home, your old owner, your old life in hopes you’ll find a better one. You ran as far as you could, as much as you could, until you couldn’t. Left for dead, you have no hopes you’ll make it to see the light of the morning.

Genre: angst, fluff…

Word count: 1k

Hybrid types: Reader: Omega!Red wolf, Namjoon: Alpha!Eurasian wolf, Yoongi: Omega!Alaskan Tundra wolf,Hoseok: Alpha!Steppe wolf Jin: Beta!Great Plains wolf, Jimin: Omega!Northwestern wolf Jungkook: Beta!Arctic wolf, Taehyung: Alpha!Alexander archipelago wolf

A/n: I’m really excited to start this series, like I have a feeling it’s actually going to be a good series 😁

I recommend reading the teaser first, as it is more so a intro to the story than it is a teaser!

Credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

Next - Masterlist

You whimper, your body feels so stiff. You hear muffled voices, yet you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. Your mind is running a mile a minute, screaming at you to Get up! but you can’t find it in you to. You attempt to shift onto your side—wait, your side? You didn’t black out on your back. You jolt upright, wincing at the pain that courses through you. Your gaze lands on seven bodies all watching you intently.

You whimper, backing up against the couch. “Hey hey hey, no no we’re not gonna hurt you. We’re hybrids too.” At the man’s words your gaze flickers to the tops of all their heads. They are. “We found you in the woods..well I should say Taehyung found you and brought you back here.” You look at the man that’s gestured too. He’s watching you closely, brows furrowed with a small pout tugging at his lips.

“T-thank you for taking me here but…why did you?” You ask, your voice a bit hoarse from disuse. “Well you didn’t look very good, your neck had slight bruising on it, and your body just..” The man, now known as Taehyung, trails off, his concerned eyes never once leaving your form. “What were you doing out in the woods?” Another voice speaks up. You turn your head to the source, finding cold eyes boring into yours.

You swallow nervously, gaze lowering to your lap to avoid the man’s. “I-I ran away..” You mumble, playing with your fingers. “From what?” The man asks again. You consider not responding, frowning as you mull over what to do. “You don’t have to say anything. The important thing is you're safe now.” Another man speaks up, reaching out and putting a reassuring hand on yours.

You flinch, a small, barely there flinch yet the man quickly takes his hand back. “Sorry..” You mumble, relaxing back into the couch as best as you can. “No no, don’t apologize.” You look up to see a frown on the man’s face. You quickly look back down, fiddling with your hands. You bring your tail into your lap, gently combing your fingers through it as you press your ears to your head, a form of comfort for you.

“What kind of hybrid are you?” One of the men speaks up, earning a smack from another. “Kook!” One of the men whisper harshly. “I-I’m a red wolf..” You mumble, keeping your eyes firmly planted on your fingers working out the small tangles in your tail. You hear a small gasp from someone, “Like the really rare one?” You nod, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Coolio!” One of them say, jumping up from the floor making you look up.

“I’m an arctic wolf.” The man says, sitting by you on the couch with a wide smile. You look up at him, giving him a small smile in return. You haven’t met another wolf in years. “I’m Jungkook.” He says, extending a hand in your direction. You take it hesitantly, giving it a weak shake before letting go. He starts to point at the men on the floor, “That’s Jimin, that’s Jin, that’s Namjoon, that’s Yoongi, that’s Hobi, and that’s Taehyung.” You follow Jungkook’s finger over all the men, doing your best to match the names with faces in your head.

They all give you a small, little awkward wave with a small smile. You give them all a smile, “Thank you all for helping me, but how do I get out of here?” You ask, regretting your question when you see some of their faces fall ever so slightly, the sour change in their scents becoming more and more prominent. “I, uhm, can show you.” One of the men, Jin says as he gets up. You nod, standing up from the couch.

You wince, struggling to keep your balance when one of the men, Taehyung, reaches out, steadying you. “I don’t think you should go yet. You can hardly stand.” Taehyung says, holding you gently by your forearms. Your legs wobble and you wince as you move to take a step. “I-I’m fine.” You mumble, attempting to move closer to Jin. Taehyung hesitantly lets you go, hovering nearby.

You move to take another step and lose your balance, pinching your eyes shut as you wait to make contact with the ground. You open your eyes when you don’t, feeling yourself being pressed against a chest before you’re moved back to the couch. “Yeah, sorry but you're not leaving. At Least not until you can walk properly again.” Taehyung says, sitting on the floor in front of you.

You nod, looking down at your lap. “Are you hungry?” You look up at the voice, about to deny when your stomach betrays you. You look away, flustered, as the man laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.” The man says before walking away. “What happened to you? I know you said you’d run away but..” Taehyung asks, his concerned eyes foaming over your form.

“I uh..I fell.” You mumble. It isn’t a complete lie, but it’s not the full truth either. “And your neck?” Taehyung asks, his eyes flitting down to your bruised skin. You press your ears to your head, combing your fingers through your tail. “I um…it was the fall?” You mumble, nervously looking up at Taehyung. He frowns, eyeing your neck. “Weird. They look like hand prints.” He mumbles, pursing his lips. You avert your eyes to your tail laying in your lap, pursing your lips as tears cloud your vision.

“Did you..did you have an abusive owner?” Taehyung mumbles, tilting his head to try and catch your gaze. You bite back a sob, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Hey hey hey..it’s okay. They can’t reach you now.” Taehyung mumbles, his brows furrowing. At this the sob escapes you, making you curl in on yourself. You miss the concerned glances the men in front of you exchange, all of them eyeing your shaking figure worriedly.

“Is she okay? I heard a sob.” The man who’d previously left the room returns, a frying pan in hand as he eyes everyone. Taehyung sighs, sparing you one last glance before standing up and leading the man out of the room.

Next - Masterlist

A/n: I’m sorry it’s a short chapter, but I made like a mini drabble type of chapter with Tae talking to Jin in the kitchen.

If anyone would like to be on a taglist for this series please let me know!

[irithnova]

Mongolia peacefully eating lunch:

Turkey, breathing heavily: ...

Mongolia: ?

Turkey: GREETINGS FELLOW STEPPE WOLF NOMAD TURKIC ASHINA CLAN GOKTURK YURT DWELLER HORSE MILK DRINKER MUTTON EATER ALTAIC LANGUAGE FAMILY TURANIC HORDE BROTHER!