#fossilised roots

[uk-fossils]

Stigmaria Fossil Stem Carboniferous Coal Measures Scotland UK | Musselburgh Plant Fossil with Certificate

This listing is for a beautifully preserved Stigmaria fossil stem, originating from the Carboniferous Period, specifically the Coal Measures of Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, Scotland, UK. This is a genuine piece of ancient plant life from approximately 310–300 million years ago, dating to the late Carboniferous (Pennsylvanian) sub-period.

The fossil shown in the photos is the exact specimen you will receive. It has been carefully selected for its distinct features and natural history significance, making it ideal for collectors, educators, and anyone interested in palaeobotany.

Geological & Palaeontological Details:

Fossil Type: Root/stem structure (rhizomorph) of an ancient lycopsid plant

Genus: Stigmaria (likely belonging to the root system of Lepidodendron or Sigillaria)

Order: Lepidodendrales

Geological Period: Carboniferous

Stage: Pennsylvanian (Westphalian)

Stratigraphy: Coal Measures (part of the Scottish Coal Measures Group)

Location: Musselburgh, Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

Depositional Environment: Low-lying equatorial swamp and floodplain environments where dense lycopod forests flourished. These environments formed the organic-rich layers that eventually transformed into coal seams.

Morphology & Features:

Stigmaria is characterised by a cylindrical, branching root structure with spirally arranged rootlet scars, forming the distinctive pitted pattern seen on the fossil’s surface

The preserved features show clear detail of the rootlet attachment points that supported anchorage in soft, waterlogged substrates

Typically preserved in grey shale or siltstone, reflecting anoxic burial conditions ideal for fossilisation

Provides key insights into the rooting systems of Carboniferous lycopod trees, the dominant flora of ancient coal-forming forests

Notability: Stigmaria fossils are among the most iconic plant fossils of the Carboniferous. Their distinct morphology and association with Lepidodendron and Sigillaria make them critical to understanding the ecology and evolution of the Earth’s earliest forested ecosystems. This specimen, from the historically significant coalfields near Musselburgh, represents a rare and regionally important find.

Additional Details:

All our fossils are 100% genuine specimens

Includes a Certificate of Authenticity

Photo shows the exact fossil for sale

Scale cube = 1cm – please refer to photos for precise sizing

Whether for education, research, or private display, this specimen offers a tangible connection to the lush primeval landscapes that once covered prehistoric Scotland. A perfect addition to any fossil or palaeobotanical collection.

[d-z20]

Her Game, Your Rules (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: To stop your family's reputation burning to the ground you are forced to marry Rio Vidal, an old money type of rich CEO who seems to be on a mission to make your life hell

-OR-

You end up snapping and fuck Rio to get your frustrations out.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Reader, Bratty Rio, biting, marking, fingering (Rio recv), fisting, dom brat-tamer reader, seriously it's just rough smut, maybe some plot if you squint

Words: 3.6k

A/N: At the time of writing this, I am under the influence of christmas spirits (read vodka and mulled wine) and so this is a little self induldgent and I apologise for any typos oops

AO3 | Masterlist

Your family’s fall from grace is like a slow-motion train wreck—every headline, every whispered scandal, is another crack in your once-unshakeable reputation. The solution comes as a cruel irony: an arranged marriage. Not to just anyone, but to Rio Vidal.

She’s untouchable, the CEO of a sprawling conglomerate with roots so deep in old money they’re practically fossilised. Her power is absolute, her public image flawless, and her demeanor? Smug. To her, this marriage is nothing but a game, another business deal where she holds all the cards.

The first time she calls you pet, it’s during the engagement photoshoot. The photographer adjusts your pose—her arm around your waist, her hand resting at the curve of your hip—and she leans in, her voice low and taunting. “Smile, pet. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re unhappy with me, would you?”

Her hand squeezes the flesh of your hip and you almost snap.

It only gets worse after the wedding. Rio is everywhere—her presence suffocating yet calculated, as though she knows exactly how to push your buttons without ever truly crossing a line. At home, in the shared penthouse you can’t even call yours, she lounges with infuriating ease. She’s always perfectly put-together: designer suits, expensive perfumes, and that perpetual smirk.

“You’re tense again,” she says one evening from the couch, sipping her wine like a queen on her throne. “Is it me, or are you trying not to stare?”

You grit your teeth. If she notices how often your fists clench, she doesn’t let it show.

Tonight is no different. A high-profile business dinner sees you both playing the part of the perfect power couple. Rio dazzles the room effortlessly, sliding her hand into yours with calculated affection as though it’s second nature. Her teasing words are quiet, meant only for you.

“Careful with that scowl, pet,” she murmurs while brushing non-existent lint from your jacket. “You’ll ruin the illusion.”

By the time you return to the penthouse, you’re simmering. The space feels colder than usual, and Rio only adds to it as she strides inside like she owns not just the apartment but the entire city. She shrugs off her coat and tosses it onto a chair without looking back at you.

“You were quiet tonight,” she says, her voice laced with that familiar condescension. She turns just enough to meet your gaze, and there it is—that smug little smile. “I’d almost think you were enjoying my company.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, but it’s exactly what she wants.

Rio’s smile widens as she steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She stops right in front of you, impossibly composed as always, and tilts her head like she’s sizing you up. Her eyes glint with something sharp, something knowing.

“Oh? Is that irritation I hear, pet?” She purrs, voice low and teasing. “It’s adorable how hard you try to keep it together. But I see you, you know. You hate how much I get under your skin.”

The change happens like lightning striking—quick, hot, and inevitable. Before you realise it, you’ve grabbed her wrist and spun around, slamming her back against the closed door. The sound echoes through the penthouse, sharp in the silence.

Rio gasps softly, her breath catching as her back hits the door. For the first time, her perfect composure falters. Her wide eyes meet yours, lips parting as though she’s trying to find something to say, but for once, she’s quiet.

“All that teasing, Rio,” you murmur, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between you. Your voice drops low, deliberate. “Did you think I wouldn’t do something about it?”

Her silence is electric, crackling between you.

You reach out, tilting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look at you. Her breath hitches, and you catch it—the tiniest flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, a fracture in her armor. But then, like a reflex, her lips curl into a small, bratty pout.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt softly, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

Rio’s breath is uneven now, her lashes fluttering as she blinks at you. She tries to mask it with that familiar bite of defiance. “Finally showing some backbone, pet?” she whispers, her voice breathier.

The words make you grin. “You like pushing me,” you say, your hands sliding to her hips, pinning her against the door. She tenses just slightly beneath your grip, her body betraying her cool demeanor. “But you’re not as untouchable as you think you are.”

Rio’s chin lifts defiantly, her sharp gaze meeting yours like a challenge. “And what are you going to do about it?” She breathes, but there’s something crumbling in her voice now—something you can feel.

Your smirk widens as you lean in, your mouth brushing against the shell of her ear. “Exactly what you’ve been asking for, Vidal.”

And then you kiss her.

It’s not gentle. It’s months of frustration, tension, and unspoken words igniting all at once. Rio lets out a small, startled noise against your mouth, one that only fuels you further. Her hands shoot up to grip your shoulders, but whether she’s trying to push you away or pull you closer, you can’t tell, and you don’t care.

You press her harder against the door, tilting her head back as you deepen the kiss. For once, she isn’t teasing. Her breaths are quick, her lips parting under yours with a kind of quiet surrender that makes you feel drunk on power. Her smugness is gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

When you finally pull back, Rio looks at you with half-lidded eyes, her cheeks flushed and her breaths coming fast. Her composure is shattered, her usual teasing grin nowhere to be found.

“Well?” you murmur, brushing a thumb along her jaw as you tilt her face to yours. “Still feeling smug?”

She scowls, breathless, and flustered in a way you’ve never seen before. “Don’t get cocky,” she mutters, her voice soft but bratty, her gaze darting away as if she can’t bear how vulnerable she looks.

You grin, leaning in again until your lips hover over hers. “I’m just getting started, pet.”

Your smirk lingers as you grab Rio’s wrist, guiding her away from the door and deeper into the penthouse. She doesn’t resist—her breathing still unsteady, her steps hurried to keep up with you. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft click of your shoes against the hardwood floor and the faint rustle of her movements behind you.

The door to your bedroom swings open, and you tug her inside, not giving her a chance to reclaim even a shred of that smug composure. You push her back against the edge of the bed, and Rio stumbles slightly, catching herself with her palms as she glares up at you. That flash of defiance is still dancing in her eyes, but it’s tempered now—undercut by the pink flush dusting her cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls too quickly.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you taunt, stepping closer, standing over her. “Nothing to say, Vidal?”

Rio swallows, the sharp comeback you know she wants to make catching in her throat as her gaze flicks up to meet yours. Instead, she juts her chin out stubbornly, a spark of her usual bratty fire returning. “What, do you need a gold star for dragging me in here?”

You huff out a low laugh, reaching out to hook a finger into the front of her perfectly tailored blazer and tug her back to her feet. Rio gasps softly at the sudden movement, but you’re already turning her around. She lets out a small, startled noise when her back presses against your chest. You take your time sliding the blazer off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool at her feet, followed by the silky blouse underneath. Every inch of newly exposed skin is a victory, a crack in her armour.

When she tries to turn back around, you stop her, sliding one hand over her hip to hold her in place. “Stay still,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding against her ear. Her body stiffens at your tone, but she doesn’t fight you. Your hand drifts upward, running along her bare arm, then grazing the strap of her bra before letting it fall. Her breath hitches audibly.

You step back just slightly to admire her—the perfect Rio Vidal, now flushed and breathless, standing before you in nothing but her skirt. You don’t bother hiding your smirk as you lean in again, your fingers dragging down the zipper. The skirt slips down her legs, leaving her in only the barest scrap of black lace.

“Look at you,” you whisper, grazing your knuckles over her hip. She shivers under your touch, her sharp facade slipping further. “All that teasing. All that attitude. And yet here you are.”

Rio turns her head just enough to glare at you over her shoulder, but the effect is ruined by the redness in her cheeks and the way her lips part slightly as if she can’t catch her breath. “Don’t let this go to your head,” she mutters, though her voice waves.

You chuckle softly, reaching out to grip her chin and turn her face toward you. “You’re still talking back?” you murmur. You tilt her head, leaning close enough for your lips to brush against hers—but you don’t kiss her. You let her feel the heat of you; let her squirm under your touch.

When she finally lets out a small, frustrated whimper, you know you’ve won.

“Good girl,” you murmur against her mouth before finally capturing it in a kiss—deep, heated, and utterly consuming.

Rio melts against you, her defiance unravelling as your hands trail down her body, leaving no part of her untouched. You don’t bother taking off your own clothes so her nails dig into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it desperately as if she can’t get close enough. Her bratty protests are gone now, replaced by quiet, breathy sounds you’d never thought you’d hear from her. Each one is like fuel to the fire burning between you.

When you finally guide her back onto the bed, pinning her beneath you with her wrists above her head, Rio looks up at you—flushed, vulnerable, and breathless.

“Still feeling smug?” you ask, smirking as you lean over her.

She doesn’t answer this time. She just arches her back, tilts her head slightly, and gives you a look that’s both challenging and pleading all at once.

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, leaning down to nip at her neck. “That’s what I thought.”

As you hover over Rio, the flicker of defiance in her eyes does little to hide the vulnerability beneath. Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you trail your fingers lightly along the curve of her hip, the teasing touch making her squirm. Your other hand rests firmly at the base of her neck, your thumb brushing against her pulse—steady but quickened, betraying the control she’s desperately trying to hold onto.

“Look at you,” you say again, your voice dripping with condescension. “Everyone thinks you’re in charge of everything you do, but we both know that’s a lie.”

Rio’s eyes narrow at the jab, her lips parting as though she’s about to retort, but the words catch in her throat when your thumb presses just a little more firmly against her neck. Her body shivering beneath you, her breath hitching as your hand on her hip continues its slow, deliberate strokes—up, down, and back again, each motion calculated to unravel her composure further.

“You can’t fool me, pet. I can feel the way you’re trembling. I can see the way your body reacts. Face it—you love this,” you whisper, delighting in the way the name makes her shiver.

Her cheeks flush deeper, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tries to keep her resolve. Your hand on her hip shifts slightly, your fingertips brushing lower, closer to the edge of that last scrap of lace. Her breath stutters, and despite her best efforts, a soft whine escapes her lips.

“You talk a big game,” you say, your thumb stroking gently along the side of her neck, holding her in place as your free hand drifts lower. Without ceremony, you hook your fingers into the delicate band of her underwear and slide it down her legs in one smooth motion, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor. “But right now? You’re mine. And the best part?” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “You don’t even want to fight it.”

Rio lets out a shaky exhale, her bravado crumbling further as your grip tightens ever so slightly, just enough to remind her who’s in charge. When she finally speaks, her voice is a barely whisper, lacking its usual sharpness. “Don’t get used to this,” she mutters, but the effect is ruined by the faint, pleading undertone in her words.

You laugh softly, low and mocking, as you lean down to press a slow, claiming kiss against her throat. “Oh, I’m already used to it, pet,” you whisper against her skin, feeling the way her pulse races beneath your lips. Your hand trails downward, slipping between her thighs as you drag a single finger through her slick folds, teasing and deliberate. The sharp intake of her breath is music to your ears, her body trembling under your touch. “And judging by the way you’re falling apart, I’d say you are too.” As the final words leave your mouth, you roughly shove two fingers inside of her.

Rio’s body arches into yours, her resistance melting away completely as her hands grip at your shoulders, holding onto you like you’re the only solid thing in her world. Whatever composure she had left is gone now, replaced by soft, whiney noises that fuel the fire between you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look down at her—flushed, vulnerable, and completely at your mercy. “See?” you taunt, brushing your thumb along her jaw. “This is where you belong, Rio. Beneath me.”

You smirk darkly, pulling your fingers out of her with no warning, ignoring the desperate whine that spills from her lips as you do. Her body jerks at the sudden emptiness, and before she can so much as recover, you grab her by the waist and flip her over like she weighs nothing.

Rio lets out a surprised gasp, her cheek pressing against the mattress as you shove her down, one hand fisting into her hair to keep her in place. “Stay,” you growl, your voice rough and commanding, punctuated by the sharp tug of her hair that forces her head to tilt back just enough to expose her neck. “You don’t get to be in control here, pet.”

Your other hand grips her hip, pulling her back so she’s on her knees, her spine arching beautifully under the pressure of your grip. Her face remains pressed against the mattress, muffling all the noises spilling from her lips. You drag your nails along the curve of her back, just hard enough to leave red trails in their wake, marking her as yours.

“If people could see you now,” you sneer, tugging her hair again, eliciting a broken moan from her. “The big, bad CEO, reduced to this—a whimpering little thing begging for my touch. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.” The hand on her hip slides upward, fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises in their wake, so she won’t forget tonight anytime soon.

Rio tries to lift her head, her defiance flaring for a fraction of a second, but you slam her hips back down in a single, rough motion, pressing her further into the mattress. “Don’t even think about it,” you snap, tightening your grip on her hair. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

Her body trembles under your hands, her breathing ragged and uneven as she struggles to maintain even the smallest semblance of composure. But it’s useless—every rough tug, every sharp dig of your nails into her skin, every mocking word you whisper breaks her down further.

You lean over her, your teeth scraping against the curve of her shoulder before you bite down—enough to leave a mark, a visible reminder of exactly who she belongs to. Rio gasps, her body arching instinctively against you, and you let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “That’s better,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the fresh mark. “Now, be a good girl and take what I give you.”

You don’t give her time to recover as your hand slides back between her thighs, forcing them apart as far as they’ll go. Without hesitation, you thrust two fingers back inside her, rough and unrelenting. The wet, obscene sound of it fills the room, mixing with Rio’s muffled cries against the mattress. She’s already trembling, her walls clenching around you as you add a third finger without pause. Her body shudders violently, her knees wobbling under the sheer intensity of your pace.

You curl your fingers just enough to draw a choked moan from her lips. “Falling apart already? You like being ruined, don’t you, pet?” Your words are cruel and mocking, as you drive her higher, your fingers moving faster and deeper, until the tight heat of her body is nearly overwhelming.

When her breath catches again, when her thighs quiver, you push further, withdrawing your fingers briefly before pressing back in with four, stretching her open. Rio lets out a strangled sound, her head turning just enough for you to catch the tears clinging to her lashes, the way her lips part in breathless surrender. She’s shaking now, reduced to nothing but broken moans and whimpers.

“Not enough?” you rasp, gripping her hip harder with your free hand to hold her steady. “Then take all of it.” Slowly, deliberately, you press your fist inside her, feeling her tense, and then give way around you. Her body arches sharply, a guttural cry escaping her as her head drops forward, her hands clutching desperately at the sheets. The sheer intensity of it has her completely undone, her body jerking with each movement as you start to move, each thrust coaxing more incoherent noises from her lips.

“You’re a mess,” you growl, your tone dripping with smug satisfaction as you watch her fall apart. “The mighty Rio Vidal, completely wrecked and begging for more. Tell me, pet—who do you belong to?”

Rio is a wreck beneath you, her body quivering and her breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her hands claw at the sheets, her nails curling into the fabric as though it’s the only thing grounding her. “Please,” she finally whimpers, her voice trembling and cracked, a stark contrast to her usual composed arrogance. “Please, I—I’m so close.”

You lean over her, your hand still working relentlessly, your fist driving into her over and over again. The slick heat of her body clenching around you sends a thrill of power coursing through your veins. “What’s that, pet?” you mock, leaning closer to nip at the shell of her ear. “Did I hear you begging? The untouchable Rio Vidal, pleading for permission? Say it again. Say exactly what you want.”

Her response is immediate, raw, and desperate. “Please! Let me—let me cum,” she sobs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “I need it, I can’t—please, just—please!” Every word is laced with want, with a pleading edge that makes your smirk widen.

You slow your movements just enough to make her whine, her body writhing in frustration as you keep her teetering on the edge. “You’re mine,” you growl, your voice low and firm, as your free hand slides up her spine before tangling in her hair again, pulling her head back enough to make her gasp. “Say it, Rio. Tell me who you belong to.”

Her reply takes less than a second, her walls clenching around your hand as the words spill from her lips like a confession. “Yours! I’m yours, please, just let me—”

You cut her off by picking up the pace again, your movements rough and unrelenting. Her body seizes as she tumbles over the edge, her cry muffled by the sheets as her climax tears through her. Her thighs tremble violently, and she’s left gasping, completely undone beneath you. You ride her through every wave of it, drawing out her pleasure until she collapses, spent and shaking, her cheek pressed against the mattress as her breathing slowly steadies.

For a long moment, the room is filled only with the sound of her ragged breathing. Then, a low, dark chuckle escapes her lips, raspy and laced with exhaustion. “Well,” she murmurs, her voice still shaky but dripping with wry amusement. “I guess that counts as finally consummating our marriage.” She tilts her head just enough to glance back at you, her usual smirk making a weak but defiant return, though her flushed cheeks and trembling thighs betray her.

You huff a laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Careful, Vidal,” you say against her skin. “We both know who’s really in charge here.” You trail your fingers down her spine, watching the way she shivers under your touch.

Rio chuckles again, softer this time, as she shifts slightly, her body still too spent to fully move. “To the world, I’m still the untouchable CEO,” she says, her voice quiet but firm, the sharp edge of her confidence returning. “But between us?” She glances at you, her eyes glinting with that familiar mix of defiance and surrender. “We both know where I belong.”

Your smirk widens as you push her hair back, brushing your lips against her temple. “That’s right, pet,” you say softly. “And don’t you forget it.”

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Happy Holidays sluts (complimentary) if you are celebrating anything, if not Happy Dec 24th :D

this was going to be the arranged marriage au for aaa week before my laptop decided to be homophobic and break >:(

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taglist: @danveration (comment to be added to a taglist)

[belovedblixa]

Been looking for this quote and finally found it. Blixa coming out as queer last year in an interview.

The full quote is rather long… Interviewer: You've spoken about owning a pre-gendered fossilised trilobite, as well as your preoccupation with biological determinism. How does that manifest itself on the record?

Blixa: That actually started on the last record Alles in Allem [2020]. I wrote this song called ‘Seven Screws’ – “Hold me together” – and I make a connection between psychology, Greek mythology, the role of Hermes and Pan, and the death of Hercules, who gets burned by wearing a dress. And that song ends with the word “Nonbinary,” and that theme continues on this record with ‘Trilobites’. I was given the trilobite by the organiser of our show at the Vancouver Expo, in 1986. It was a fantastic programme: Indian dancers of the northern territories, Einstürzende Neubauten, and Youssou N’Dours – isn't that an evening you'd like to see? And after the show, I was given a trilobite by the organiser Myra Davies, with the words, This is from the time before there was gender. So that's probably what's the root of this song's lyrics. “Me you, me you, me you / Still undivided.” And that flows into ‘Gesundbrunnen’, which was the most difficult piece to write. It starts leaving language, where some of the words in German are completely made up and not heard of before, but I'm clearly stating, “I opened a door where there wasn't a door before,” and door is of course the escape from biological determinism. I have a trans son, which is of course also is firing my thoughts in particular directions. When I wrote ‘Seven Screws’ on the last album he hadn't come out yet, but I was already playing with these thoughts. And now that he is out, I am reading the literature that it is necessary to read – Paul B Preciado if you want to know where the most radical ideas are. And I come to the solution – I open a door that wasn't there before and kick out evolution. Not kick out the jams, motherfuckers, but kick out evolution. I have two sons; one is nonbinary and the other one is trans. And I am queer, so the only CIS person in this family is my wife!”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hello I have more Welsh questions I hope that’s okay!

As always, the Duolingo disclaimer because some of their choices seem suspect. Like the first word they made sure to teach me was draig and it did seem a little racist to suggest to me THIS IS GOING TO COME UP A LOT IN WALES YOU HAD BETTER LEARN IT. Of course maybe I’m racist for assuming that’s connected to the Welsh mysticism nonsense and not the flag, or maybe draig does come up often on the streets of Aberteifi. I am here to learn with an open mind and minimal ego.

Anyway. Question one is indeed about places.

1. How do you decide whether a place needs a y with it? I can’t seem to tell, some countries have it and some don’t which confuses this dumb American. Plus it seems like no cities have it?

2. Also on the topic of cities, I can understand that there are places in Wales that have English names and that some don’t. Looks like Abertawe : Swansea v Aberystwyth : Aberystwyth. Two parter - part one, why did some get renamed while others stayed Welsh? Part two, is it preferred to just use the Welsh name? I’m wondering what common practice/preference is.

3. On the topic of common practice, I have a question that I am desperately trying to make as inoffensive as possible because it’s really about the trustworthiness of Duolingo than anything else. But it’s teaching me words that I want to make sure are appropriate. Ysgrifenydd/ysgrifennyddes and gŵr tŷ/gwraig tŷ. Are these still appropriate to use?

Thank you so much! I know you’re not the Welsh ambassador to the internet (or are you??) so I appreciate you being so generous with everyone 💛

I am, of course, 100% the Welsh ambassador to the internet. Or at least, I work in the Tumblr consulate. Ignore the people who say I'm just some random with airs and graces, they're just jealous and you're not to listen.

Okay, so:

1. Definite Articles and Placenames. It's not so much a thing you need to work out grammatically as it is just... part of the name. This sometimes happens in English too - Netherlands is an acceptable country name now, but originally it would have been the Netherlands, just because that's what the name meant. The lands that are low lying.

Welsh just has more country names than English that mean something like that, I think. Some are the same, e.g. (the) Netherlands/(yr) Iseldiroedd; that's a fairly one to one translation, in fact. Some are the same, but a bit more literal than the English has become; Switzerland (the Land of the Swiss) has lost the "the" in English by now, but in Welsh it still clings on as y Swistir.

And then sometimes, we have a very different word for somewhere, but it's no longer clear what the fossilised grammar was. I suppose the biggest example of that is Scotland - yr Alban. It's a bit lost to time, now, but 'Alban' has the same Old Irish root there as the word 'Albion'. Why the definite article? Unknown.

But, we do it for smaller places too, including cities. Welshpool's Welsh name is y Trallwng, which means, like, "the boggy pool", and I suppose it was once a notable enough bog that it was THE bog when giving directions, so the article stayed. This also spills over into Wenglish - the Hafod and the Gower in/around Swansea should both more correctly be Hafod and Gower, but at some point it was THE hafod when giving directions, and the Gower is the abbreviation of the Gower peninsula.

Anyway: TL;DR it's just part of the name, rather than a grammatical choice.

2. Translated Placenames. Part 1:

The short of it is, "Did enough English people settle there that they needed an English name/ the Welsh became Anglicised?" That's usually the rule. Sometimes this meant Anglicisation (Caerdydd-Cardiff), sometimes a ropey-to-exact translation (Penybont - Bridgend), and sometimes a completely new name (Abertawe - Swansea), depending on how easy the Welsh was to say and whether or not there was feature of note that the English focused on.

Occasionally, though, you get the opposite - Wrexham was Wrexham first, and got Cymricised to Wrecsam. It's a rare example of an English city we nicked, see. Founded by the Saxon house of Mercia, on land they'd nicked from north Wales, and then the Welsh reclaimed the area and went 'Ooh, nice city, was this here before?' It's possible it was first called Caer Fantell in Welsh, but it was Gwrexham by the 13th century, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Part 2: You use the name in the language you're speaking, UNLESS it is under active contention for some reason. The national parks are currently pushing to only be known by their Welsh names, for example, ditto a few of the mountains; so, Eryri instead of Snowdonia, Bannau Brycheiniog instead of Brecon Beacons, and yr Wyddfa instead of Snowdon. Also, in recent years they started inventing English language names for villages in Gwynedd for English tourists to feel more comfortable with, which has caused the outrage you'd expect; but those won't be coming up on Duolingo.

With that said, it's sometimes a Welsh Nash signal to only use the Welsh placenames even in English, so don't be surprised if you see people do it.

3. Appropriate words. Not sure what you mean by appropriate here, but I'm guessing you mean because they're gendered terms?

Welsh is a gendered language; that's how it works. In the modern day, there is a slide towards a lot of the old 'feminine' endings being dropped in favour of the masculine becoming used as a gender neutral term, but that's still under development; officially and formally, you still gender it.

I certainly prefer Not doing that. My first two graduate jobs were Conservation Officer and Conservation Manager; my preference was to use Swyddog Cadwraeth and Rheolwr Cadwraeth in Welsh. But others (usually older generations) would write Swyddoges Gadwraeth and Rheolwraig Gadwraeth sometimes, which I personally thought was a bit old fashioned and patronising.

But, I know middle aged women who prefer it, because it makes it clear that it's a woman doing the job. One person's oppression is another's liberation and all that. Also, cis though I am, I am admittedly not always comfortable with the strict trappings of gender, and that probably plays a part.

Bonus answer: dragons are the national animal and very much a symbol of identity, so that's just them being cute lol

Anyway! Thank you so much for trying to learn Welsh! Croeso a diolch.

[pacificnorthwesterngothic]

Hello PNWG (and followers!) - Burning PDX question. I moved here recently and in many of the shops/restaurants the staff say “Welcome In!” when you enter.

To me this is weird phrasing (not just “welcome” or “hello” for example) and I’ve NEVER heard this phrase so frequently before in my life. Is this PDX specific? Is it new to the region in the last ten-ish years? Am I just hearing it all the time now that I’m paying attention? Also I should say I’m not mad about it. It’s delightful.

Hey, welcome in to the PNW! 😁

I hope our winter is treating you well.

Disclaimer: I have nothing other than anecdotal evidence to back this up.

I have mostly heard people reporting on the novelty of “welcome in” when they move to either the Midwest or the PNW. I have also seen people associate it with Starbucks which is, ofc, a Seattle chain whose employee handbook might have reflected those roots.

So here’s my theory…

The Midwest and PNW are two regions with a lot of Scandinavian settlement:

And how does one say “welcome” in Scandinavian languages?

Swedish: Välkommen

Norwegian: Velkommen

Danish: Velkommen

Icelandic: Velkomin

Faroese: Vælkomin

So my tin-hat theory is that formal/polite speech in these regions maybe has a Scandinavian influence. (German settlement is a possible wildcard factor.)

Formal/polite language tends to not change much over time. If Scandinavian words snuck into common usage because they looked like English, I imagine they could get fossilised as normal “polite” speech because 1.) no one expects formal speech to sound normal and, thus, 2.) no one tends to ask why or where formal language comes from.

Like, we all know “ma’am” having an apostrophe there means that something was shortened… but how many people on the street would immediately say, without hesitation, what the full form of that word is?

But that’s my crackpot theory. I’m excited to hear everyone else’s!

[buriedpentacles]

Last night, at almost 2am, I crept from my room, past my sleeping family.

I haven't been home in a while, I forgot which steps creak and which ones don't.

I step outside in my pajamas, my boyfriend's hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands.

The tree my dad wants to cut down is bare, brown leaves on the floor and large mushrooms sit at its roots.

I lay underneath it, and look to the sky. There are no stars. It is empty and cloudy above me.

I beg for faith. I ask for something - a sign to push to forwards, to give me hope.

But there are no stars in the sky.

I hear footsteps around me but when I look there is nothing there. No life and no stars.

I go back to my bed, feeling pretty hopeless. I wake late the next morning feeling the same.

When I go downstairs, my grandparents are visiting. My grandad remembers that he had something for me - something he found among the gravel.

"A fossilised plant stem, I think." Is what he tells me as he puts it in my hand, it's small and grey.

And it looks like a star.

[ranahan]

On one hand, Mando’a roots only started to make sense to me once I realised that the same root could show up in one place with a long vowel and in another place with a short one.

But on the other, we have e.g. hibir/hiibir, which looks mightily like a minimal pair.

So I think that maybe Mando’a at some point used to have vowel length based on stress. But the patterns of stress changed and now it has phonemic vowel length (which has fossilised the old stresses as long vowels). At least that’s how I would interpret the data.

(However I’m not gonna interrogate the stress of Ancient Mando’a through this hypothesis, it sounds like that way lies madness…)

[vickysaurus]

(Image, as well as much of my information, from Carboniferous Giants and Mass Extinction by George R. McGhee Jr.)

Take a look at this tree. On a scale of 1 to 10, how weird do you think it is?

You quite possibly just gave it a 3 or a 4 or something. Sure, it's a little odd, but does look vaguely normal, right? A friend of mine guessed it was some sort of baobab when I showed him the image.

This is, in fact Lepidodendron, an ancient tree from the Carboniferous, and by modern tree standards it is absolutely bizarre. Its closest surviving relatives, quillworts and clubmosses, only grow to a height of a few centimetres, yet Lepidodendron were giants that shot up to 50 metres tall... Briefly, before dispersing their spores and completely dying off.

(Lycopodium and Spinulum, modern relatives of Lepidodendron, photos by Bernd Haynold and Pete Pattavina)

You see, Lepidondron lived like a gigantic dandelion. For most of its life, it was a stumpy little thing that stuck close to the ground. Just an odd scaly green stump with some long leaves poking out. The green scales its bark consisted of were the place it conducted its photosynthesis, and thus basically did the work of leaves. The Lepidodendron would stay like this for a couple years, slowly expanding its roots and getting ready for the next step. But its roots would grow mostly horizontally, down not so much! And part of why is that even they had the scaly leaf-like photosynthetic bark. That's right, even their roots could - and to some extend needed to - photosynthesise!

(Fossil Lepidodendron bark in the National Museum of Brazil, photo by Dornicke; a fossilised relative of Lepidodendron with some of its roots visible, photo by Michael C. Rygel)

So why would you ever try to photosynthesise with your roots of all things as a plant? Surely it would make much more sense to just transport the sugars created in other parts there than to have your roots be so shallow that bits of them can catch a little light and make it in situ? Sure, if you're capable of that! This is what modern trees do, but they have two separate vascular tissues they use for transport: xylem, which moves water from the roots to the rest of the plant, and phloem, which moves sugars and other photosynthetic products from the leaves to the rest of the plant. Unfortunately for Lepidodendron, it only had xylem, no phloem, so its sugars were only ever going to move as far as they could diffuse, so every part of the tree needed to have at least a little photosynthesis happening, even the roots.

This truly gets ridiculous when the Lepidodendron decides after a few years of charging up that it's time to reproduce. That's when the weird green stump we have so far starts shooting up, up, up, very quickly, all the way until an enormous 40 or 50 metres in height. Now, modern trees grow this large by being supported by a sturdy wooden core, but that's not what Lepidodendron did. To hold up the entire tree, it relies entirely on its outer bark thickening as it grows. In mechanical terms, it was little more than a huge hollow pole, probably creaking and swaying terribly in the wind. Although I have not been able to confirm this in the literature so far, I suspect that between the shallow roots and the whole thing being held up by its bark, you could probably total a Lepidodendron with a good kick.

Now remember, all this growth is happening without phloem, so the entire length of that stem has to not just be sturdy enough to keep the tree standing, but it also has to keep doing photosynthesis to feed itself. When it reaches its full height, the top of the tree finally starts sprouting branches and small leaves, leaving it looking like the picture at the start. But those are not what it's all about for the tree: the cones that develop among them are. At a height of 50 metres, the spores produced by the cones can very easily be picked up by the wind and blown far, far away. Being spores, rather than seeds as modern trees have, they have no supplies built in whatsoever, so they need to get lucky to land in a spot that has immediate access to water. Luckily, there are a lot of those in the vast Carboniferous swamps, and with the trees doing so much work to spread the spores very widely, some of them are sure to find good spots. And then, with the spores dispersed, the tree is done for. The entire thing, which has just grown to the skies, dies off and soon comes crashing down.

So how weird is this tree? I'd call it a perfect 10.

[librivore42]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! How about “I can’t help it (when you look at me like that).” for Anders/Hawke?

I have taken SO LONG to get to this but I bring you toxic Handers so I know I will be forgiven nyehehe. For @dadrunkwriting

Relationships: Hawke/Anders

Words: 446

Warnings: Possessiveness, toxic relationship, Hawke is NOT taking the loss of everyone he's ever loved very well ~~~~~

Hawke kneels, breaks, falls at the feet of this statue he's created, this symbol of his love, this anchor of his thoughts and his splintering resolve, that was once Anders. Once all of him, his soft smiles and burning touches, and the fear of reprisal if they were discovered, if he was caught and encircled.

His love now simply bears the shape of Anders, the fear has encrusted and overtaken the centre, fossilised as the tenderness rots away.

How can he help it? When Anders looks at him (looked at him, once upon a time) in that way of his, all yearing, all want, all love? Overpowering yet collared by fear. There is so much to fear, so much that might happen to him. Hawke can bear the consequence of it all, but Anders might break. He can not, can not allow that to happen. Not another breaking. Not another empty pedestal, because he now has nobody else. Where once there was father, mother, sister, brother, there are only empty spaces. Still keeping his friends at arm's length, lest they get too close, lest they break and leave him more broken.

Anders slipped under his arms, clung to his heart, and now there is no removing him, not even if Anders wishes it. Hawke will not, can not let him go. Fear makes him grip too hard, he knows it. Fear turns from a collar to a cage that Anders seeks to dash himself against, but it's only to keep him safe.

Again, again. Anders musn't go to the clinic. Anders musn't go outside. Mustn't go anywhere without him because so much could happen without his knowing.

All of it to keep him safe. His love is stifling, suffocating, clinging tight enough to bruise. Surely Anders understands? Perhaps he did not realise, at first, what it meant to love something so close to breaking, but surely he must understand now that he cannot leave? He is rooted to the brickwork of Hawke's soul like ivy, entrenched so deep that if he pulls away, Hawke will fall and never be whole again.

Hawke does not think of it as keeping himself whole, not consciously. From first to last, his only thought has become to keep Anders safe. To keep Anders his.

How can he help it? When Anders looked at him once (never looks at him now) in that way of his? Of course Hawke knows it's the fear, of discovery, or reprisal, and when Anders understands he's safe, everything will be alright again. He can have this love, this light, when all the others have gone out, if he can only shield it from the world.

[pied-piper-the-survogel]

Fossil Novembirb, the first nine days

Hello World. I never thought I'd be on this site, but here I am. This blog was created for the purpose of participating in a-dinosaur-a-day's Fossil Novembirb. Fossil Novembirb is a yearly art event founded by Meig Dickson, a vertebrate palaeontologist who, as far as I can tell, studies dinosaurs, especially theropods. Don't fight me or em over birds being theropod dinosaurs. Neither ey nor I want to have this conversation, so enjoy the art!

I started off my Fossil Novembirb with Vegavis iaai. What makes this fluffy anseriform special is that we found a fossilised syrinx (avian voice-maker) belonging to one of these, so we can reconstruct their sounds. This Vegavis was coloured based on a bunch of anseriforms that are alive today, like ruddy shelducks and cotton pygmy geese.

For Day 2, I did a bit of spec evo and pulled out a scientific name I told myself I'd assign to a newly-discovered fossil genus. This sketch has a Serina-like text description for Phantasmavis.

Tropicbirds! I chose to draw Clymenoptilon because I was hoping "tropicbird" meant "brightly coloured bird". Even though they aren't that brightly coloured, they're still cool. And Kumimanu (approximately to scale in this drawing) didn't really have the obligation to be black-and-white like most extant penguins (because Inkayacu), so I went... mild-wild with the colours.

No... one's... tall like Gastornis, no one calls like Gastornis! In the bottom right, no one feeds small like Gastornis!

I've seen the "Andy's Prehistoric Adventures" episode featuring these megafowl, realised it was Walking With Dinosaurs with a human inserted, and drawn a mildly speculative colouration for these Gastornis. To the left, two adults have their necks out towards each other and are calling into the sky. Whether this is courtship or a challenge, nobody knows. But a calmer scene happens in the bottom right, where a mother shows her chick red berries on a branch to show them that it is food.

"Don't make me fly up there, you punk!" is one way to interpret the screamerduck Anachronornis' call in the direction of the Primoptynx owl. This scene unfolds in the Palaeocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum ecosystem of the Willwood Formation before it was rock.

It's a twilight hummingswift! We know the colour of this iridescent little birb from the Danish Fur Formation. I watched a tutorial on painting iridescence, but I'm not really satisfied with the parent feeding their chick to the left of the flying Eocypselus rowei. It's hard to see, but there's a baby hummingswift being fed a Cimbrophlebia scorpionfly.

London Clay has a lot of plant fossils. Not all of them are listed on Wikipedia, but there's a photo of a pencil-root mangrove seed listed. Featuring a speculatively-coloured Eotrogon, a Dasornis carrying away a mackerel, and a Prophaeton just gliding, and repeat telecasts Gastornis parisiensis and Eocypelus rowei, Eocene London was a birder's dream (believe me, I'm a kinda-birder).

This Tynskya art was somewhat late, rather dissatisfactory, and mildly rushed. I had an exam the next day. Don't judge me.

And here's a better Primozygodactylus! I couldn't tell the specific species because it wasn't listed for the Wikipedia image. But here we are: a bird that gives off ashy prinia/sparrow/orange-headed thrush vibes.

This concludes the first nine days! I don't know if I'll be doing the tenth because nobody's giving me straight answers about the palaeobotany of the Green River formation.

Enjoy!

[caeca-iustitia]

Bro like...

New AU idea

Vincent doesn't become a Turk but instead goes down the route of their father- becoming a scientist who is assigned to Gast and Hojo's Ancient Regeneration Project...

They study flora and the fossilised remains of fauna to paint a picture of how the Cetra could have lived, what animals existed at the time, what plants have since gone extinct, and how the remaining plants and animals evolved into their modern-day equivalents.

Vincent is dedicated to their job and, for a while, forgets their roots as a Cetra and their morals; going to any length to find the information they want.

However, the creation and birth of Sephiroth is what causes Vincent to realise that- quite frankly- they fucked up. They've become so accustomed to the immoral, dishonest and downright criminal ways the Science Department at ShinRa functions that they've lost sight of what their mother tried to teach them as a child.

So, they go to Hojo and demand to put a stop to the project only to get a very blunt shotgun blast to the chest. They go through everything their usual counterpart does before being locked up in Hojo's lab as an example to the other scientists.

Hojo isn't aware, of course, that Vincent is now fully in control of this half-Chaos amalgamation that their body has become. They have tamed Chaos and taken full control of their body back even if the adolescent WEAPON has practically corrupted it completely by that point.

[nonprojectspecific]

Names and Naming Traditions

There was a post on r/conlangs about how names are formed in your clong, which started by asking how your language would form four names.

I didn't respond directly to the post both because i didn't love the framing question and because my answer is long. The short answer is Hunter, Cloud, and Raven aren't the right form for the cultures I am working with to use them for personal names and compounds of those words would only be used if they have fossilised as opaque names. The long answer is below.

I'm currently working on four cultures and their languages. Bu Dituy-Hi, But Dituy-ii and Put Digi are related languages and cultures while Qamonté is an isolate.

Bu Dituy-Hi, But Dituy-ii and Put Digi names all begin with a personal name, followed by your father's personal name. For Bu Dituy-Hi, this is followed by your paternal grandfather's name to complete the naming paradigm.

Undi Zuy Mun Kizahi Hi Personal name Father’s name Grandfather’s name Definite article

For But Dituy-ii, this followed by a family name:

Patẽẽ Zuy Mun Sii Patẽẽ -hi Personal name Father’s name Family name Definite article

and for Put Digi by both your paternal grandfather's name and a family name:

Impathnge Nuysmet Kasphi Em'ikni Personal name Father’s name Grandfather’s name Family Name

The naming paradigms for this language family where heavily inspired by Yorba naming traditions and osmosis of Japanese naming conventions.

Qamonté names take the form:

Ḷúpezhanq Wenyőq Zhaslhenykíúṭ Family Name Personal Name

for an adult and

Wöqshrillzhéṛ Ḷúpezhanq Wenyőq Zhaslhenykíúṭ Father’s Family Name Mother’s Family Name Personal Name

for a child.

Considering the names suggested:

Hunter (or more generally a profession)

In none of the languages I'm currently working on would Hunter as a transparent profession be a source for a name because hunting isn't an aspirational profession.

In Bu Dituy Hi, all personal names are transparent but to focus to obviously on an exact future path for your child is considered to be calling bad luck on them or asking the gods to be contrary. You want your child to be Zuy Mun Hi (prosperous) not a merchant for example. But Dituy-ii has the same restrictions on being too precise in your desires for a child and having generally transparent names so wouldn't use Hunter or any profession as a personal name. However, it has Family Names in it's naming paradigm and Itumnuy-ii (hunter) could be a fossilised family name.

Put Digi is in a similar situation to But Dituy-ii. Less of their personal names are transparent but modern coined names are and they come from the same proto-language and culture so professions aren't ancestral opaque names but their naming paradigm includes family names that are often fossilised profession names and Estimi (hunter) is a valid family name.

Qamonté names could include a profession. It would take the form zha(ng)-profession but hunter itself would not be profession used. You might see a fossilised version of the word hunter in a mythological figure's name which would then be used as a personal name but the speakers wouldn't recognise it as meaning hunter.

Cloud (or a natural feature)

Natural features unless they are the root of an aspirational adjective aren't a source for names for the languages I'm working with at the moment.

Bu Dituy Hi, But Dituy-ii and Put Digi all zero derive adjectives so the feature would be transparent in the name while Qamonté uses the prefixes qe(l)- to form adjectives and would require the prefix zha(ng)- to form a name for example zhaqelleṛ from the word for permanent land might be used to hope a child is steady.

Raven (or other important bird)

The same thing applies to animals of their world.

Bu Dituy Hi, But Dituy-ii and Put Digi has a particular objection to naming a child for an animal. You are lowering the chosen on Diti Hi to the level of those he has not chosen, who crawl on the earth with six legs and whom it their duty to protect and manage, or those who have turned away from him.

[proyectofemoide]

The pistol

I see you lying on my feet with that ferruginous luster

Shaking my nerves, because I can't tear you away from the roots like weed

You infiltrated the heart of my planet,

you buried your violent, withered red nails in it

The pain is the Lazarus who could come out of the waters, wrinkled like a raisin

Your contours have reached the brains of the earth

Damned alien head that touched it

You are the symbol of a centuries-old power struggle that can no longer go back

A petrological infection, plastic in all its tissues

It coughs already removing dry leaves and seas

The blue flames rise above of our ankles

A collection of angry postcards where dead houses smile

If I could fill those basins with my tears and dry those coasts with my sleeves

Culture lacerates its cheeks, makes it look like cardinals* who migrate disconsolate

They escape from you and me, because we don't know how to live

An ocean of chokers and synthetic jellyfish

looks at us from a distance with hateful calm

The most powerful spell could not cleanse the spilled blood, nor make knives less lethal

Because even at the bottom of the river a gun is alive

01/01/2024

*In Spanish, "cardenal" stands for a species of red bird, but it is also a word for "bruises".

A fossilised pistol says more than 1000 words.

Woodhead Reservoir, Britain. https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20230925-trumps-mugshot-to-burning-man-six-of-the-most-striking-images-of-2023

[talcall]

This relates to a comment op made replying to another one, specifically about the end dimension.

I love what the end has going for it, it's definitely a husk, it could have more. It's like the nether, in a way. There's a frame work and themes to build off and it just hasn't been done yet.

But where the nether was clearly inspired by hell (dangerous, hot,) it had some extra things in there like a strange connection to pigs and truffles. These were expanded into whole biomes, with the soul sand valley, and 2 wood types, and it all fits in so well thematically

There is precedent, I think, for something similar to happen to the end. It has some loose themes going for it; flowers, the strange and unsettling, and, I might catch flack for this, but it feels like dementia? Or at least what I've heard about dementia. Everything in it is a vague mashing of semi related ideas that kind of resemble the creator of the ideas losing their mind. Tall, imposing, featureless people that get mad when you look at them, flowers that grow on edible stems, theres rock but it's not right, and endless drops into an abyss where memories should be but aren't. The music is broken records of music you've heard elsewhere, the sky is made of TV static, there is a pervasive Light but only barely enough to see.

It also reminds me of ultimate Thule, from final fantasy 14, of all places. Ultimate Thule is fucking sad, everything there is a husk and a memory of something that once lived. This is perfect. It's the end minus the dementia.

This, is why I also have a problem with mods that aim to make the end more lively; adding mega fauna and flying jellyfish and all sorts. They don't match the theme of the end. They're just making alien planets. I don't like it, it Misses the point. The end should definitely be explorable, not saying it shouldn't be. There should be biomes, and colour, and structures, but they need to be... Warped. They need to be corruptions of something that exists. Old ruins and skeletons that fossilised into end stone and never got buried because there's no sand, a desert so cold and desolate the air liquifies into pools, crystallises at the edges, a biome so pervasively filled to the brim with dust and mold it chokes the player, a barracks-like structure made from "indistructable" metal plates, that have been there so long they've started to rust and decay despite their namesake. The only flora being that which is a gross amalgum of the memories of plants; an enormous flower with a root system even larger that winds through the stone beneath it, fungal moss that produces choking spores, and glows enchantingly in the abyss and whispers when it's broken, algae coral that, if you listen hard enough, sounds like people talking through a wall...

There's. There's a lot of ideas in this head of mine. I've been thinking about what an end update would look like for a while. I just. Yeah. Don't like the "better end" mod. Misses the mark for me.

A lot of "Minecraft is BAD" videos are really annoying because, like, there's actually a lot of things that could use fixing, yes, but you're just trying to turn this into 3D Terraria. I think a lot of people who make these videos forget that most Minecraft players are intrinsically motivated, rather than extrinsically. It's a sandbox game at heart, the vanilla experience does not need highly-controlled level progression.

[uk-fossils]

Fossil Porpoise Tooth Pungo River Formation Miocene Lee Creek Mine North Carolina USA Authentic Specimen

This listing features a fossilised porpoise (odontocete) tooth, recovered from the renowned Pungo River Formation at the Lee Creek Mine, Aurora, North Carolina, USA. This genuine Miocene specimen is carefully selected and is sold with a Certificate of Authenticity.

The Pungo River Formation dates to the Middle Miocene Epoch, specifically the Langhian to Serravallian stages (~16 to 11 million years ago). It was deposited in a rich shallow marine shelf environment along what was then the southeastern margin of North America. The Lee Creek Mine is world-famous for its abundance of well-preserved marine fossils, including cetaceans (whales and porpoises), sharks, rays, and molluscs.

This fossil likely belonged to a species of odontocete (toothed whale)—commonly referred to as porpoises or dolphin-like marine mammals—that were common in Miocene oceans. These mammals are part of the order Cetacea, suborder Odontoceti.

Morphology Features:

Conical, curved or straight tooth form

Smooth enamel with possible longitudinal striations

Tapered root (when preserved)

Slight wear facets from feeding behavior

Such teeth are crucial for understanding marine predator evolution and the ecological dynamics of Miocene seas.

The photo shows the exact specimen you will receive. Each square or cube in the scale rule = 1cm. Refer to images for full sizing and detail.

Specimen Information:

Fossil Type: Porpoise Tooth (Marine Mammal)

Formation: Pungo River Formation

Geological Age: Middle Miocene (Langhian to Serravallian Stages)

Location: Lee Creek Mine, Aurora, North Carolina, USA

Depositional Environment: Shallow subtropical marine shelf

Order: Cetacea

Suborder: Odontoceti

This is a fantastic opportunity to acquire an authentic piece of Miocene marine history from one of the most important fossil sites in the USA. A great addition for collectors, educators, or anyone interested in ancient marine mammals.

All of our Fossils are 100% Genuine Specimens & come with a Certificate of Authenticity.

[ardentguilt]

Opalised tree root

This may not look like much but this is a small fragment of a fossilised tree root that over time was replaced with opal.

This piece here is pretty interesting because it has a band of black on one end while most of the rest is a cloudy translucent color. All through the middle of the piece however is a column of slightly darker opal with an almost blue tint to it.

If you catch this in just the right light you do see a few spots of iridescent blue in it.

The origin of this piece is Lightning Ridge in NSW, Australia.