#jeffersons ground sloth

[paigeoforacle]

Some dead friends from a weekend trip to the museum.

[cyrus-okapi]

Jeffersons Ground Sloth

[bestcryptids]

One of the unsolved mysteries in cryptozoology (besides whether or not the cryptids exist of course) is a strange statement Thomas Jefferson made about ground sloths. According to him, there were "symptoms of its survival", however what these symptoms were is still unknown.

[lomoturbo]

Giant sloth size

Often difficult to learn details of the life habits of animals from theirįossils. Aside from the basics of size, food choice and general mobility, it is.Jeffersonii became the official state fossil of West Virginia. In 2008, Jefferson received a final honor from his fossil, when Megalonyx Took Wistar’s suggestion, naming the fossil Megalonyx jeffersonii. Twenty-three years later, French zoologist Anselme Gaëtan Desmarest Caspar Wistar correctly identified the bonesĪs belonging to a sloth and suggested that the specimen be named in Jefferson’s (which means “giant claw”) because he thought the bones belonged to a giantĮxtinct lion. To then-Vice President Thomas Jefferson, who named the animal Megalonyx Former Revolutionary War Colonel John Stuart first discovered Megalonyxīones in a cave in present-day West Virginia in 1796.Indeed, His waysĪre higher than our ways, and hallelujah for that! Tail, huge claws, and “weak” teeth could migrate all the way into North Americaįrom South America and be so successful? In the changing world after Noah’sįlood, including the Ice Age, Megalonyx reminds us that God’s intriguingĪnd effective designs are often packaged in surprising ways. Who would have thought that big, lumbering herbivores with flat feet, a fat Unlike nearlyĪll other mammals, Megalonyx never had to worry about a chipped tooth! Part would wear out and be replaced by healthy dentin over time. Modern sloths) could keep on eating even if a tooth was damaged, since the damaged How can teeth that wear out faster be a good design? The surprising answer 4 Dentin is much softer than enamel, and wears out faster. Sloths possess simple peg-like molar (back) teeth made primarily of the materialĭentin. Which lack the hard enamel found in humans and nearly all other mammals. One of the most peculiar anatomical features of sloths is their teeth, So instead of worrying, Megalonyx could concentrate on his main task:Įating. Probably didn’t worry too often about predators. Its large size,īig claws, and ability to stand up made it look very, very big. One swipe from the arm of a Megalonyx may have been more powerful thanīut such encounters were probably rare for this gentle giant. However, they also made for a very effective defense against predators: Up to 8 inches (20 cm) long! Unlike the claws of modern lions, these “giantĬlaws” (what Megalonyx means) were mostly used to grasp and tear up branchesĪnd leaves. The arm and shoulder bones are large, and have wide wings andĮach of the three fingers on the hand was equipped with large, powerful claws, Spent time ripping down and feasting on soft leaves and fruit from trees.īending down those huge branches to reach its mouth was the job of Megalonyx’s Its massive hips gave ample area for strong muscles, while Megalonyx Massive legs, God provided Megalonyx with a thick, muscular tail (a rarityįor land mammals), which meant that Megalonyx easily balanced on a “tripod.” To give this giant ground sloth added stability and to ease the stress on its This provided good surface area for carrying weight and better balanceĪnd Megalonyx probably spent a lot of time standing in order to eat. Walked with its heel, foot, and toe bones all on the ground, just as you and You see, unlike most sloths, the hind feet of Megalonyx are what biologistsĬall “plantigrade.” That means they are built like human feet: Megalonyx And at 1,000 pounds (455 kg), this giant sloth was about Trees! Instead, it was designed for life on the ground, starting with its feet.Īt up to 10 feet (3 m) long, Megalonyx would tower At that size, this short-faced,īarrel-chested behemoth likely didn’t spend any time hanging upside down in It was about the size of an American bison. At up toġ0 feet (3 m) long, weighing 1,000 pounds (455 kg), and walking on all fours, Now Megalonyx certainly doesn’t look like a typical sloth. 2 From West Virginia to California, from Texas to North Dakota,Īnd even throughout Canada’s Northwest and Yukon territories, this sloth really In sedimentary deposits formed just prior to and during the Ice Age that occurredĪfter Noah’s Flood. Fossils of this extinct animal are found all over the continent One of the most common giant sloths known from North America is Megalonyx Giant ground sloths, and they were built for walking. Looks very different from the sloths hanging around in the zoo. Go to a natural history museum, you’re likely to see a sloth skeleton which Trees, eating leaves, and generally not moving very much (or very fast!), theyĪre nonetheless favorites at zoos. It was designed for life on the ground, starting with its feet.Īmong the living mammals, sloths are an odd group.

[cmipalaeo]

Hey bro cool flowstone what’s on the other side?

…o

[cryptid-quest]

On This Day in Cryptid History

March 10th: In 1797, Thomas Jefferson presented a paper on the bones of a creature he named Megalonyx (giant claw) which he thought belonged to a living creature yet to be discovered. It was later determined to belong to an extinct ground sloth.

[foxgloveprincess]

Play The Game, But I Can’t Stay

Pairing: Jefferson/Mad Hatter x Female Reader [First Person Narrator]

Word Count: 2,037

Summary: The faerie that lives on the edge of the woods is always looking for new prey. And some fates just can’t be avoided.

Warnings: Dark Fic (kinda treading in soft!dark territory), Soulmate AU, Faeries and their rules, Magic, Yandere Jefferson, Being Creepy, Voyeurism, Threats/Blackmail/Coercion, Dub Con (Kiss). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: I finally found enough motivation to edit this! Based on an ask I sent once to Sloth about what monster Jefferson would be, this sprouted out. Don’t know if it qualifies as a monster AU, but I’ve tagged it as both faerie and monster, just in case. 

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account.

Title from “Alice” by Avril Lavigne

This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

Tagging: @lavendercitizen​ @wakingbeauty​ @emmabarnes​ @slothspaghettiwrites​ @babiestbeanie @aquahogcodes​ @cozydayss​

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age, thank you!

Everyone knows that to tread upon a patch of ground ringed by mushrooms is to invite the fae to steal them away. To wish or whisper it will do the same. Be polite, follow strict procedures of etiquette, never accept a gift left on your doorstep, never give them your name. Rules our young are taught until they become more essential to their being than their own blood.

See, around our small village, a trickster faerie lives, creating portals to the otherworld far more creative than others of his kind. A top hat, a teacup, a stuffed rabbit—left on the side of the road or just through the brush. He lurks within the trees of the forest, always on the hunt for a new victim.

Few have seen his face. But many know of his spite. Hearing stories from those few who have returned from his clutches. If they return—haggard and older than dust—they mumble of tea parties, unceasing dances, and a maniacal master. Their stomachs no longer take our food and their feet bleed. They die quickly, too weary and too cursed to spend another day on this earth.

They say that this faerie has existed in our forest far longer than any other creature, waiting for the perfect victim with whom to spend eternity. His soulmate—they whisper, they dread.

It is no surprise that the fae search for their other halves. For the humans do the same, searching for the one who matches their mark. The insanity lies in the fact that an ancient creature believes a human to be theirs. As if the gods would be so cruel.

I have never caught even a glimpse of his face, though my window faces the line of the woods. I have heard his cries of anguish and screams of frustration as they echo through the still night. I have smelled sweet cakes and tea, the scent drifting tantalizing on the breeze. I have felt a pair of keen eyes follow my movements through my window, unable to find their source beyond.  The dark, foreboding trees standing sentinel against my curious sight.

All my years, the call of the forest has been strong—an unrelenting itch to breeze past the towering trunks and frolic amongst the branches, finding innumerable treasures, finding something more.

My mother, like any loving parent, warned me daily to resist—the threat too great, the faerie too clever. I have known many, who did not heed the warnings and fell prey to the hunter at the edge of the woods. And even now, years after her death, I still remind myself every morning to ignore the lure of the trees. Though I’ll admit, it grows stronger with each passing day.

Another morning dawns and I gather myself enough to rise from my bed, preparing for the day and trekking down the road to the market. A pulsating hum vibrates the air around me, beckoning me closer to the trees. A gaze prickles at the back of my neck from the same direction and I look. My eyes narrow, searching through the trunks for some explanation.

A hand lands on my arm, jolting me from my suspicion. Mary greets me, a basket on her arm to collect food and wares for her family from the market. Shaking my head free of the wary agitation, I smile at my friend.

We exchange pleasantries and continue our walk, checking in with each other. A breeze blows past us, the sun shines. Lovely weather for a walk. Even lovelier to ignore the tempting pull that draws me toward the woods.

“Did you hear who disappeared into the forest yesterday?” she asks in a low whisper, leaning into my side as she steps.

Another disappearance. I sigh, head shaking, but urging her to share the name, to mark the newest disappearance.

“Henry.”

My brow pinches with worry, heart sinking in my chest, weighted by the news. Feet scuffing along the dirt path, my gait slows, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Henry. He was…

He was mine.

At least, that is what we thought as we exchanged kisses under the heady moonlight in the field beyond his house. Our promises to each other ring in the back of my mind, overwhelming and tinged in grief. We were to marry this coming spring. Our hands fasted, our lives entwined.

“How could he—” My words stick to my throat, scratching painfully from the inside. “How could he be so foolish?” Eyes turning to Mary, her brow tilts in sympathy. And when she reaches out to lay a comforting hand on my arm, I jerk away, turning toward the ominous tree line.

 My gaze pierces through the branches, hoping to catch a glimpse of a figure, to spot the faerie who has stolen Henry—and so many others—away. Reckless rage fires in my belly, heating me until I simmer with it.

Mary calls my name, breaking me from my inflamed stupor, only for me to realize I have stormed far too close to the forest. The trunk of a tree looms close to my side close enough to touch, feet crunching through the brush separating the woods from the road.

“Come back!” she cries, her voice pitched high with fright.

But up close, within reach, the allure of the forest intensifies—too strong to withstand. Resolve festering within me, I take one last look at Mary, knowing I may never see her again, and barge past the thicket at my feet.

An eerie hush falls over the air. Not a snapping twig, not a chirping bird. Absolute silence. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, heart thundering in my ears. The sunlight shines dull through the thick and lofty tree branches, creating a soft canopy of light, just enough to navigate my way over brambles and roots.

Glancing around, there’s no sign of any portal or trap awaiting me. Just the loneliness of the forest. Yet even as my nerves jump, a bone-deep sense of contentment settles over me—dissonant and mystifying.

My feet step forward, then again, searching out Henry in the vast unnatural expanse.  It stretches around me, each step taking me nowhere. My mind scrambles for a plan, preparing too late for my endeavor.

Finding the faerie will be difficult, dealing with him even more perilous. But my purpose solidifies within me and I know I cannot turn back.

“You’re here,” a voice exclaims, tone laced with surprise and awe.

I whip around, finding the source—a tall man standing a ways off, staring at me with wonder sparkling in his gaze.

He’s absolutely stunning. Eyes, clearer than crystal, expressive and bright. His hair, brown tinged with flecks of a gold like autumn leaves, curling long enough to brush his jawline. His lips, plush and stained the softest berry pink. His clothes are fine, draped over his lithe body and complementing his figure, the fabrics the tones of the forest—deep ambers, dark greens, rich reds. Moss speckles his entirety, clinging to his clothing and skin, breaking the illusion that he might be a normal man.

At the sight of him, something deep within my belly sparks to life—his magical charm ensnaring me in its clutches. Words escape my understanding. Thoughts run mad with confusion and intrigue.

This is the faerie. The longer I look at him the more I see it. The smile spreading across his lips, just a little too wide. His teeth a little too sharp. Steps too light on the ground as he approaches.

The distance between us disappears in an instant. I blink and he stands before me, hands held up in want to cradle my face, but hesitating to touch.

“You’ve finally come,” he whispers, eyes glistening with a devotion I don’t understand.

Finding some semblance of sense, my tongue licks over my dry lips before I say, “Hello, sir. I am looking for Henry.”

Though his eyes focus on the path of my tongue over the flesh of my lips, at my statement, his face drops into disappointment. His jaw ticks in irritation, his brow furrowing. His eyes, so expressive, flash with a litany of emotions, one flickering by after the other, racing with his thoughts.

“Call me Jefferson,” he finally says, dropping his hands and taking a step back. With that step, an invisible guise shrouds his intentions in mystery—when only a moment ago, I was able to decipher each glint of displeasure and confusion.

I swallow down the fear building in my belly and try again, “Jefferson, sir, my fiancé, Henry, is said to have entered the forest and I—”

“Your fiancé,” the faerie snarls through gritted teeth, fists clenching at his sides. “He is your betrothed.”

My feet stumble an unconscious step back. “We have handfasted,” I reply slowly, a pitiful feeling sinking like a stone in my gut as I shrink from his anger.

“Then I will have his hands.”

He grabs my forearm, the skin burning where he touches—where my mark lies beneath my sleeve. I yelp in pain, clutching at his hand to pry it away. But he relents not in his harsh grip, dragging my resistant feet closer to him. His head tips toward my arm, a look of curiosity tilting his brow.

With persistent fingers, he pushes at my sleeve, rucking up the fabric until he exposes the swirls of my soul mark—an intricate, yet delicate design of scissors. His thumb brushes over the lines, tracing them with reverence.

“It’s you,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. An exultant cry of joy escapes his lips as he bends to press a kiss to my mark.

The skin tingles with each caress, and I try to yank myself away from his grasp—absolutely repudiating the claim made by his lips, his touch, his gaze.  

“I saw you sitting in your window, blooming into such beauty. And I wished,” he says, catching me in his desperate, crystalline gaze, “I wished for it to be you so fervently.” His lips crack in a dark smile and a shiver runs down my spine, freezing my blood along its way. “We were meant for each other.”

Throwing all propriety to the wind, Jefferson steps forward, wrapping one arm about my waist and gently cradling my neck with the other. His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed in a look of bliss.

The words bubble up my throat before I can stop them, an objection I can’t swallow down. “But my mark—”

“Is mine,” he immediately interrupts, “And my mark is yours.” He leans back, yanking at the kerchief around his collar until the fabric falls away.

His mark wraps around his throat, cleaving it with dark lines of ink. The sight of it churns bile in my guts, a bone-deep knowledge that it’s mine—the delicate shape of my favorite flower staring back at me.

“I’ve grown thousands them for you,” he croons, tracing the line of his mark with a finger. “All for you, anything for you.” His head dips closer, inhaling deeply by my throat, drinking in my essence. “Give me your name.”

My head shakes, a firm denial. Everyone knows what it means to give your name to a fae. And I cannot—will not—give him that control over me.

His fingers pinch my chin, angling my head to the side. His brows sit low over his eyes, a spark of ire seething in his gaze.

“Give me your name or I will take your precious Henry’s life,” he croons softly, cruelly. His eyes lighten as they stare into mine and his fingers brush so gently over my cheeks, I might think he had whispered sweet nothings instead.

But the threat hangs heavy in the air, punching the air from my lungs. I swallow, throat dry. My name trips over my tongue before I can even think, sealing my fate to the faerie.

A sinister gleam sparkles in his eyes as he drags me impossibly closer and tilts his head, my name whispering like a prayer over my lips before he claims them in an intoxicating kiss.

[whetstonefires]

on this issue thomas jefferson and i agree: it would have been so extremely rad if the giant ground sloth had survived into the modern era

[shadow27]

Hey you guyyyyyysss!