#Soil-less cultivation

[cselandscapearchitect]

How to Grow Hydroponic Basil for Beginners

Embarking on the journey of hydroponic gardening opens a door to a world where the art of cultivation meets innovation. Among the myriad choices for your first hydroponic endeavor, basil stands as a welcoming companion for beginners. It’s aromatic leaves and versatile nature make it an ideal choice to explore the wonders of soil-less growing. Whether you have a spacious garden or a modest…

[reasonsforhope]

"In response to last year’s record-breaking heat due to El Niño and impacts from climate change, Indigenous Zenù farmers in Colombia are trying to revive the cultivation of traditional climate-resilient seeds and agroecology systems.

One traditional farming system combines farming with fishing: locals fish during the rainy season when water levels are high, and farm during the dry season on the fertile soils left by the receding water.

Locals and ecologists say conflicts over land with surrounding plantation owners, cattle ranchers and mines are also worsening the impacts of the climate crisis.

To protect their land, the Zenù reserve, which is today surrounded by monoculture plantations, was in 2005 declared the first Colombian territory free from GMOs.

...

In the Zenù reserve, issues with the weather, climate or soil are spread by word of mouth between farmers, or on La Positiva 103.0, a community agroecology radio station. And what’s been on every farmer’s mind is last year’s record-breaking heat and droughts. Both of these were charged by the twin impacts of climate change and a newly developing El Niño, a naturally occurring warmer period that last occurred here in 2016, say climate scientists.

Experts from Colombia’s Institute of Hydrology, Meteorology and Environmental Studies say the impacts of El Niño will be felt in Colombia until April 2024, adding to farmers’ concerns. Other scientists forecast June to August may be even hotter than 2023, and the next five years could be the hottest on record. On Jan. 24, President Gustavo Petro said he will declare wildfires a natural disaster, following an increase in forest fires that scientists attribute to the effects of El Niño.

In the face of these changes, Zenù farmers are trying to revive traditional agricultural practices like ancestral seed conservation and a unique agroecology system.

Pictured: Remberto Gil’s house is surrounded by an agroforestry system where turkeys and other animals graze under fruit trees such as maracuyá (Passiflora edulis), papaya (Carica papaya) and banana (Musa acuminata colla). Medicinal herbs like toronjil (Melissa officinalis) and tres bolas (Leonotis nepetifolia), and bushes like ají (Capsicum baccatum), yam and frijol diablito (beans) are part of the undergrowth. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

“Climate change is scary due to the possibility of food scarcity,” says Rodrigo Hernandez, a local authority with the Santa Isabel community. “Our ancestral seeds offer a solution as more resistant to climate change.”

Based on their experience, farmers say their ancestral seed varieties are more resistant to high temperatures compared to the imported varieties and cultivars they currently use. These ancestral varieties have adapted to the region’s ecosystem and require less water, they tell Mongabay. According to a report by local organization Grupo Semillas and development foundation SWISSAID, indigenous corn varieties like blaquito are more resistant to the heat, cariaco tolerates drought easily, and negrito is very resistant to high temperatures.

The Zenù diet still incorporates the traditional diversity of seeds, plant varieties and animals they consume, though they too are threatened by climate change: from fish recipes made from bocachico (Prochilodus magdalenae), and reptiles like the babilla or spectacled caiman (Caiman crocodilus), to different corn varieties to prepare arepas (cornmeal cakes), liquor, cheeses and soups.

“The most important challenge we have now is to save ancient species and involve new generations in ancestral practice,” says Sonia Rocha Marquez, a professor of social sciences at Sinù University in the city of Montería.

...[Despite] land scarcity, Negrete says communities are developing important projects to protect their traditional food systems. Farmers and seed custodians, like Gil, are working with the Association of Organic Agriculture and Livestock Producers (ASPROAL) and their Communitarian Seed House (Casa Comunitaria de Semillas Criollas y Nativas)...

Pictured: Remberto Gil is a seed guardian and farmer who works at the Communitarian Seed House, where the ASPROL association stores 32 seeds of rare or almost extinct species. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

Located near Gil’s house, the seed bank hosts a rainbow of 12 corn varieties, from glistening black to blue to light pink to purple and even white. There are also jars of seeds for local varieties of beans, eggplants, pumpkins and aromatic herbs, some stored in refrigerators. All are ancient varieties shared between local families.

Outside the seed bank is a terrace where chickens and turkeys graze under an agroforestry system for farmers to emulate: local varieties of passion fruit, papaya and banana trees grow above bushes of ají peppers and beans. Traditional medicinal herbs like toronjil or lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) form part of the undergrowth.

Today, 25 families are involved in sharing, storing and commercializing the seeds of 32 rare or almost-extinct varieties.

“When I was a kid, my father brought me to the farm to participate in recovering the land,” says Nilvadys Arrieta, 56, a farmer member of ASPROAL. “Now, I still act with the same collective thinking that moves what we are doing.��

“Working together helps us to save, share more seeds, and sell at fair price [while] avoiding intermediaries and increasing families’ incomes,” Gil says. “Last year, we sold 8 million seeds to organic restaurants in Bogotà and Medellín.”

So far, the 80% of the farmers families living in the Zenù reserve participate in both the agroecology and seed revival projects, he adds."

-via Mongabay, February 6, 2024

[alena-draws]

Beware of major Trigun spoilers!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Read from right to left 

Wolfwood, the comic relief character...

I don’t know if it’s totally clear, but on page 5 you can see Vash’s plant lines in his face! With the plant blood now circling in his veins he has become half plant, thus becoming more like the old Vash..and also I can still give him that beautiful plant pattern. At this point in the story, Vash has obviously already remembered Wolfwood’s death scene. Wolfwood on the other hand, hasn’t still remembered anything...BUT I intended for him to do that, just a bit later. Maybe also in a different way, while Vash remembers during sleep, Wolfwood would suddenly get dizzy or faint, more being washed over with too many stimuli and emotions, hitting him more like a train. Sorry, guy.

2nd part of my vashwood reincarnation AU “Cutting the Strings of Fate”. Look under the cut for the whole story idea:

Many decades after the events of Trigun Maximum, Vash is reborn on the same planet. Even though still needed to sustain themselves, humans are less dependant of plants now, and the great project to cultivate the planet has been very successfull, with the first forests and occassional green that will grow out of the dry soil. Vash is a young but skillful plant engineer, who will also from time to time help out in different towns to have a look at their local plants. One day he starts having dreams about his past life, with them getting clearer and clearer and revealing more of his past. He meets Zazie, who is still the old Beast who knew Vash the Stampede. Because of that, Zazie notices that the very individual electric impulse of Vash, that every being gives off and can be detected by the worms, is indeed very close to the same signal of Vash the Stampede. Thus confirming that  Vash is indeed some kind of reincarnation.

Vash's brother Nai works as a bioengineer, looking after the preservation of important vegetation in another city, where their mother Rem lives, too. Vash meets Wolfwood, who starts to help out in the plant facility as a odd-job man, and they grow closer together. One day though, an accident happens, convincing Vash and Zazie that Vash's history is trying to repeat itself. They fear that just like in the past, Nai who is obviously another reincarnation could run berserk, and that Rem and Wolfwood are, just as well, in danger to become fate's victim once again.

With the help of Zazie that can feel how, after each past event repeating itself in some way, Vash's and the others' electric signals grow closer to their past selves', they try to defy fate and bring about a happy end for everyone. (Yay!)

[bloomingdarkgarden]

To Taste Wisteria in Her Lullaby

A contribution to @elriel-month 2024

3,2K | Angst-Pining | Azriel POV | Shameless Garden Metaphors

This one shot is decicated to @tealeaves-and-rosepetals, @wingedblooms and @deathsweetblossoms my verdant darlings. The other day we were discussing our admiration of Elain as a plant lover, and well, I decided that Azriel needs to do the same thing. Low and behold, who does he find also wondering her gardens in the moonlight?

Sleep is a word he no longer remembers.

It was always an elusive hope. 

Now it evades him entirely.

A midsummer moon spilled upon the tranquil terrace of the river manor. How two seasons had come to pass in what felt like a handful of days, Azriel did not know. Solstice was long gone. Starfall came and went.

Both had faded like dreams in the ether.

And here he was, half the year gone by.

An evening breeze sifted through the garden’s verge. Warm, decadent, indigo-rich with the scent of night.

Elain was here, in these gardens.

Not physically. But in every blossom, every delicate unfurling- she was here. Her foresight and planning, her craft in the groundwork and choice of species. Her innate ability to nourish and grow beautiful things from a dark, empty void of soil. 

From a dark, empty void of a male heart, too.

Nights like tonight were… difficult for him. Listening to pleasant banter around the dinner table for hours, contributing to it himself in a false effort to bury his own misery. He thought the need for her might ebb, after so many months had passed, or at the very least, the mourning. That cold loss of what almost was.

But the need lingered instead.

It lingered, and lingered, and lingered, always.

The eden she had cultivated in the river manor was nothing shy of extraordinary. An illustrious, dream-ridden world of wisteria, lavendula, lily and countless flowers Azriel couldn’t wholly identify. Elain tended these courtyards in honor of Rhys and Feyre, with the grandeur of the high court in mind. The blossoms chosen were a range of whisper-blue, lilac and starlight, every possible shade in between. Yet while undeniably lovely, the royal gardens were a far cry from what she chose to grow at the townhouse.

Elain did not know, but Azriel occasionally ambled through that garden, too, in the dead of night. The townhouse felt closer to her heart than this place, somehow. Closer to who she was intrinsically. A little less refined beneath the surface. Etched with softer, wilder blooms far more tangled and lovely.

He strolled silently through the furthest of the terraces, shrouded beneath high walls of ivy. A clock somewhere far off chimed three in the morning and Azriel made an effort not to acknowledge the implication.

Sleep is a word he no longer remembers, after all.

In the quietest hours of the night, not even his shadows could seem to muster the energy to stay awake anymore. They lulled at his shoulders, slumbering for the most part, tracing silent footfalls. 

Which is why, as he rounded a corner lost in thought, the last thing he anticipated was colliding headlong into another person in the dead of night.

But there she was.

“Oh,” Elain murmured with soft surprise, halting her quiet steps.

She was only a half-breath away, just as taken aback as he was. The reflection of a night sky glittering in the sleepless chestnut of her eyes. So close that Azriel could count the stars within them.

They all looked as lost and lonely as those within his own.

She was clad in a soft champagne shift, a semi-transparent shawl wrapped around her slight shoulders. Her hair was-

unbound.

And the whisper of her soft curves could be seen through the moonlight.

Fuck, this was a cruel sort of dream.

His own descent into purgatory always began this way. With her, like this, in his arms. With his lips tracing a tender trail over every inch of her skin. With her being then stolen away from him by some cursed hand of fate he could never again reach.

Loose, natural waves of curl illuminated her silhouette in the dark hush of the garden. The need to run his hands through those curls would be his demise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained by way of greeting.

Azriel swallowed, understanding all too well.

“I know the feeling,” he offered frankly in return.

Silence abounded.

Elain lowered her gaze momentarily, color blooming across her cheek. Azriel tried not to brand the memory of her this way- unbound, moonlit, and half-dressed- into his hindbrain for the next 700 years.

“I was just admiring your work,” he murmured, glancing to the nearby trellis.

A half-honest truth.

“I myself was doing the opposite,” she softly mused, leaning to study a stunning assortment of moonlily. “There’s much that could be improved, anyway. Though the rosaceae and mints have turned out nicely this year despite the late snow.”

Immediately, he knew Elain was exhausted. He could hear it in the drawn timbre of her voice.

He wanted to take her away.

Far away.

Somewhere he could be allowed to trace the skin of her entire body with the soft petals of her perfect primrose blooms. And whisper, all the while, that she didn’t know how to grow something that wasn’t breathtaking.

Azriel said nothing, ignoring the songs of impossible dreams. 

His shadows were awake now, observing the source of those songs. Curiously peering at her from their swirling perch.

He could hear wisteria in the lullaby of her. He could hear tiredness, and soil-ridden hands, and an ache so deep it put the sea to shame.

The song of her was as siren-dark as it always had been. Deep, haunting, and killing him slowly.

“I can’t say there is anything I would change,” he offered, “about this sanctuary.”

Elain was always most comfortable this way, speaking of plants, when other words could not be found. Or simply remained unspoken. It was a language they both knew well after countless late evenings at the townhouse. Plants were always a reason, or an excuse, they had to stay awake all night together.

That, it seemed, hadn’t changed.

“Are there any that you admire most tonight?” Elain asked quietly, stepping down a long wisteria corridor. He followed, unable to resist the urge. They slowly strolled, side by side, beneath a rippling sea of violet reverie.

Azriel motioned to a cluster of delicate flowers on the corridor’s trellis with notched, pale petals.  “This is one I admire often,” he murmured.

Night Phlox.

He knew as much from the library’s botanical volumes. Rich, detailed diagrams he was fond of combing through now again. He made a point to borrow those books every so often over the course of last winter. Just to know, just to understand the complexity of what exactly Elain was accomplishing that no one in the godsforsaken world seemed to notice.

Gardening was hellish work.

Elain finished her day bent, bleeding, and begrudgingly exhausted more often than not. No one seemed to recognize the toll it had on her. The least he could do was learn why she chose to undertake it all.

What he discovered, in the end, was that she liked the labor. She liked the marks the verdant battles left behind. She wanted to earn the beauty of a bloom, rather than being given it freely.

And Azriel began falling in love with her as a result.

“Phlox,” she offered, eyeing the flower and confirming his suspicion. “It has only just begun its course for summer, but soon you’ll see it everywhere I should think.”

“This, too, is rather taking,” Azriel strolled on, now admiring a pale blue primrose.

Elain nodded in agreement, tucking a curl behind her pointed ear. “Those are some of my favorites,” she admitted softly.

The pair crossed the end of the corridor, entering a secluded grove at the far end of the courtyard, lined with high walls of greenery. Azriel paused before a lush partition of fragrant, ivory flowers rustling in the wind.

“In regards to your question,” he murmured, “this is what captures me most,”

Elain’s gaze settled on the blooms and she swallowed, the moment hesitant.

“Jasmine,” she noted quietly. “Night blooming jasmine. Some call it poisonberry.”

“Lady of the night,” he added gently, looking at her now.

There was nothing in the world that carried a scent so lovely as that which lingered on her skin. This flower was making an honorable effort.

So there was no other choice, really.

He wondered if she knew, truly knew. And had a feeling she did.

Elain’s fingers brushed the soft petals. “What do you admire about it?” she asked carefully.

His throat bobbed.

“It is, of course, far more beautiful than the rest,” he said, brushing scarred knuckles over the jasmine stems. “But moreover it is prone to waking the moment the world stops paying attention. When all the world sleeps, this creature dreams,” he noted. “I find that rather…. alluring.”

“Alluring,” Elain repeated, a soft murmur.

He thought she might shy away, but she did not. He certainly would not. Not with her so near, and so decadent, and so sinfully lovely in the moonlight.

If that made him a self-serving bastard, so be it.

“You know more about plants than you let on, I think,” Elain muttered wryly.

Azriel’s mouth curled upwards. “You know more about most things than you let on.”

She shrugged, a grin now blossoming on her cheek, which might be the end of him. Elain was staring up at him now, openly. More pointedly, at the place just between his ear and his neck.

“You have them too,” she remarked.

Azriel swallowed, tracking her gaze. He realized she was speaking of the curls nipping against his skin, courtesy of the dew-kissed night.

“A gift from my mother,” he murmured back. “When it’s damp, anyway.”

His own eyes lingered on the ends of her long curls, pooled over her breasts, kissing against the small of her waist. Azriel craved every piece of her they could touch and he could not.

“I might also add that the scent of this particular flower is the only which bids me sleep at night,” he murmured, glancing to her beneath hooded eyes.

“Is that so?” she shifted marginally closer.

He nodded in return.

“Perhaps you might take some to bed,” she offered, eyes doe-wide. “I could cut a few stems for you.”

Azriel hesitated, but did not tear his gaze away. “Our High Lord may not approve.”

“Of taking a flower that soothes you to sleep?”

He swallowed.

“Of taking that which does not belong to me.”

Elain’s brow furrowed. She turned away, the rawness of those words having fracturing the fragile thing between them. He was desperate to have it back the moment it was gone.

She again regarded the wall of night-blooming jasmine.

“It’s true, jasmine has flowering patterns that are rather unusual. And if it is planted just days too early or too late in the season, it might wither before ever blooming. The plant is rather… delicate that way.”

“I’m not sure anything could quell the beauty of such a creature.”

Elain exhaled softly, bitterly. “I wish I had your confidence,” she uttered. “A great many enemies oppose the bloom. Disease, insects, unexpected shifts in weather- ” a pause. “I would have thought north of the wall they would be better adapted to the climate, but here, they face the same struggles they did in the human lands.”

Azriel measured the sadness in her eyes and hated himself for being the cause.

“Perhaps there are other foes aside from the usual elements contributing to their suffering,” he countered.

She looked at him keenly. “Such as?”

He swallowed, wondering how direct or indirect to be. And because he was exhausted and half in love with her, his brooding nature won out over reason.

“Invasive species taking root where they do not belong,” he muttered darkly. A terse pause. “Foxglove comes to mind.”

Elain seemed to bite back a laugh despite her own exhaustion.

“Yes invasives can indeed be problematic,” she tried and failed not to grin, “though only if the soil is willing to host them.”

Azriel swallowed, unwilling to muster a response that didn’t sound murderous.

Elain seemed to notice. And carried on gracefully, as she always did.

“I’ve found the soil of the night court rather unforgiving, anyway. When a plant roots here,” she met his eyes, “it is steadfast in its choice, no matter how ill-fated.”

His heart stopped beating for a moment.

Something aching reached for him from within her gaze, and it nearly split him in two. “What truly makes the bloom suffer most of all in the end is a lack of proper nourishment, Azriel,” she said quietly.

They weren’t speaking about jasmine anymore. They weren’t even speaking of jasmine to begin with.

He knew it. She knew it. And both seemed unable to look away.

“Why do you not find sleep?” he asked lowly.

Elain swallowed, lips parting with an answer that seemed stuck in her throat. She looked at him with soft eyes then.

“Why do you not?”

Silence followed. Heavy with sorrow and longing and all the rest.

“Elain,” his gaze shuttered, his voice barely audible.

“Was it-” she took a shaking breath, “-was it truly so wrong? So shameful to you?”

The words tore a true, gaping hole into his already-ruined heart. He stepped towards her instinctively, unable to keep from doing so.

“Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Hope bloomed eternal in her eyes and he needed to touch her again. The need was so arresting he couldn’t seem to move, on the brink of falling into an abyss.

Elain registered that need. And his inability to see it through.

So she took it upon herself to feed the need instead.

The bliss and agony of her touch was his undoing.

A gentle reach of her pale hands up to the base of his neck, resting her arms there as she twined his silk-black curls between her fingers. His hands snaked to her waist and relief coursed through him like nothing else at the warmth of her beneath his hands.

This is where she belonged.

Azriel lowered his head against hers, hazel eyes fluttering closed as that honey-rich, jasmine scent soothed every wrecked piece of him left jagged in her absence.

The silence between them fraught with a thousand lonely starlit nights.

“There it is,” Elain whispered.

Azriel murmured an inarticulate noise in question.

“The quiet,” she said, stroking the skin of his cheek. “How I’ve missed it, with you.”

She was incurably exquisite.

“I can’t,” he began, wondering if he was a fool for saying it aloud. “I can’t seem to share it with anyone else.”

“Nor can I,” she returned, without a moment’s pause.

A handful of words beneath the moonlight and he was already doing everything he swore to the forgotten gods he wouldn’t do again. Inhibition was a ghost on the wind.

Those gods had forsaken him long ago anyway.

He stayed like that for quite some time, with her beneath his hands. Listening to that blissful quiet. She stayed with him, hidden beneath the garden walls. Azriel had no idea how long they spent that way, but it would never be long enough. He opened his eyes again eventually.

And then, in those most endearing moment he had ever witnessed in five centuries of lonely brooding-

Elain yawned.

She haphazardly attempted to rub the sleep gathering in her eyes away before looking up to him softly.

He was ruined.

“I should bid you goodnight,” he murmured politely. His hands were still on her waist and they did not move.

“Should you?” she asked, taking her hand within his own.

This was by far the cruelest thing he had ever deigned to dream.

She pulled away, and every muscle in his body wailed in protest, though her hand was still wrapped in his own. Elain again studied the wall of jasmine with tired eyes.

“You say the scent helps you sleep,” she murmured. “You will not take it with you, so why not stay where it is strongest?”

Azriel knew he ought to contest, make some flimsy excuse, walk away.

“Elain-” he rasped, but the words went nowhere.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Just stay.”

Elain lowered herself to the garden floor, leaning against that wall of jasmine.

Two hours until dawn, and no fight left in him tonight.

Azriel succumbed to the pull of her small hand downwards. He sank to the ground, pressing his back against the wall of jasmine aside her.

Elain wasted no time. In a series of impossibly beautiful events, she curled into his lap- nestling her head against him and murmuring a sigh of relief as if she, too, needed this.

Her shawl was lumped haphazardly around her, so he carefully untangled it, wrapping it neatly before tucking her in close.

She stared up at him, and the stars in her eyes were no longer lost or lonely.

They were bright.

They were beautiful.

They were blooming.

The melody of her was immeasurably lovely, lulling his shadows back to slumber. A few of them began dancing over her skin, murmuring soft lullabies, enveloping them both from sight.

Elain loosened a soft, pleased noise at their sleepful sound.

“Do they always do this for you?” she asked carefully. “Sing you to sleep?”

“Often, yes.”

A quiet pause.

“Alluring,” she quipped.

His mouth quirked upwards and he ran a tender hand down the length of her back. As if this wasn’t a dream. As if she was his, and his alone, tonight.

Elain responded by gently reaching upwards to carefully tuck a single bloom of jasmine into the muss of his curls.

“I’d like to imagine feeling your shadows every night, like this,” she uttered, voice husky with sleep.

Azriel swallowed a low, strangled noise in his throat.

He took a long moment. Maybe two. She nestled closer to him, as if knowing why, finding his hand at her spine and encouraging it to stroke her all the way down once again.

“Do you know how often I’ve dreamt of you, this way?” Azriel’s words were quiet. His other hand now making its way to the base of her neck. He allowed his scent to wrap around her, truly, knowing he’d glamor it away by morning.

He wanted more, he wanted everything, but somehow, this was enough.

“I feel safe in my dreams with you,” is all she said in return. Sleep imminent in her voice. “I feel safer now than I ever have, I think.”

Fuck, that did something to him. Curled something low within him to life. Something male and possessive and needy and long since abandoned.

“You are safer with me than anyone else in this world.”

The words were a vow, carried on a dark wind. A promise that he would level the universe with cold fury to keep her from harm if need be.

His hand slipped to the root of her hair and her lips parted with a sigh as he tenderly rubbed the base of her neck.

“I know it’s impossible. I know the stars are set against it. But maybe we could just pretend,” she murmured softly.

“Pretend?” he echoed, his heart beating slowly now.

Elain looked up to him, eyes dazed with lost dreams.

“That we belong to one another.”

She was asleep in five minutes. Maybe less.

Azriel finally ran scarred fingers through her curls and savored every last moment as if they might be his last. There was nothing but the jasmine-sweet melody of her crooning in his ear. Pale and bright and spilling like moonlight over the darkest nights of his life.

In the last hour before dawn he lowered himself beside her, wrapping her fully into the warmth of his chest. He cradled Elain close, and she cradled him right back, hidden beneath a veil of greenery.

“Azriel,” Elain murmured, as the birds began their luting songs in the nearby trees. He hummed a quiet, deep noise in answer.

“I’m not pretending,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, closer than he knew was possible. And as the soft breath of dawn peeked over a far horizon, he did not let go.

“Neither am I,” Azriel whispered back.

[cadere-art]

A sample of common crops of Uanlikri, with a focus on crops grown on the Ojame archipelago.

More information under the cut.

Grains

Several types of grains and grain-like crops are cultivated in Uanlikri. Of these, the four major types are millet, sand rice, swamp rice, and amaranth (not depicted).

Millet and sand rice are heat-loving and drought tolerant, with sand rice requiring especially good soil drainage but being more cold hardy. They are the main staples north of the Kantishian Mountains. Millet is favoured in the wetter Basin region, and sand rice in the dryer, more mountainous western regions, and both are grown equally in the continent's hot and arid northern desert.

Swamp rice is another important staple of the Basin region: though cultivation is complexified by its extremely heavy water requirements (swamp rice only grows in marshes or riverbanks), the complex river deltas leading to the Basin's inner seas are ideal for its cultivation and have been heavily modified to create artificial wetlands where swamp rice can be grown. Some strains of swamp rice have good cold hardiness allowing them to be grown south of the Kantishian Mountains. Swamp rice has also been selected for salt resistance: it is an especially important crop in the cold brackish marshes of the Cianji river and in the hot saltwater marshes of the Ojame Archipelago.

Amaranth is primarily cultivated in southern regions of Uanlikri. In the southern Basin region, they are a supplemental crop, but up in the mountains and in the cold lands south of the Kantishian, amaranth is the main staple. Mountain amaranth is especially frost resistant and able to survive nightly summer frosts in the Kantishian's high plateaus.

Red oats, known in the Ojame archipelago as uciwici, is a locally important crop grown in eastern coastal regions. Red oats is sensitive to extreme temperatures and does poorly in continental climates, but its extremely high salt resistance and ability to grow in poor soils make it a crucial crop by allowing cultivation to extend to otherwise marginal areas such as sandbars, coastal dunes, and other poor, rocky and sandy soils. It is appreciated for its purple grains with a naturally slightly salty taste, and for its decorative red foliage which retains some of its colour when dried, making it useful for basketry.

Ferns

Other grain-like crops grown in Uanlikri are seed ferns. Seed ferns are distantly related to true ferns and cycads. Two species are cultivated in Uanlikri: a climbing seed fern grown South of the Kantishian and which produces large numbers of small orange seeds attached to the underside of its fronds, and a caytoniale tree fern which produces modified fronds with large, round yellow seeds instead of leaves and is grown in the Upper Basin and Great Lakes region.

Climbing seed ferns are extremely prolific with a seasonal harvest on par with grain fields and well-keeping seeds with high nutritional value. The seeds are bitter with a taste somewhat reminiscent of burnt almonds and citrus peel, and are usually parboiled before cooking to remove some of the bitterness.

Caytoniale seed ferns are less prolific but are perennials. The seed envelope is also quite bitter, but the seed flesh has a pleasant neutral flavour and a crunchy, sticky texture not unlike that of meringue. Seeds keep well on the tree, but go bad quickly once harvested unless they are properly processed: seeds meant to be kept are parboiled, smoked, and ground into flour, while seeds meant for short-term consumption are either hulled and ground into flour, or hulled and grilled, often to be eaten as snacks alongside grilled insects.

True ferns are commonly consumed as greens, especially young fern shoots (fiddle-heads) and equisetum (horsetail) ferns. Antioles are less sensitive to the toxins in ferns, and parboiling of fiddleheads is often done but not strictly necessary unless consumed in great quantities.

Legumes

Legumes grown for food are historically rather rare in Uanlikri prior to the conquest of the Western Peninsula by the Senq Ha Empire. There are only two important legume crops in Uanlikri which are native to the continent: the grosbean, and the wax pea.

Grosbean is a vine which produces short, rectangular pods containing two to three large beans. The beans are exceptionally large, very colourful, and have a somewhat chalky texture. They used to be a staple in the Basin region, but have been mostly displaced by more palatable varieties introduced by Senq Ha colonists, though they are still grown for jewellery.

The wax pea is short, somewhat vine-like plant producing smooth pods containing a single unpalatable, extremely waxy pea. Though they are edible under duress, wax peas have never been grown as a food crop. They are instead highly valued for the wax which can be obtained by boiling the peas in a slightly acidic solution.

Other legumes (not depicted) have grown in popularity in the two centuries since and are now commonly eaten in most regions.

Roots and fruits

There is a great regional variation in the crops grown for their greens, roots, and fruits. This section should be treated as a sample of a sample, focused more closely on crops grown in the Ojame Archipelago.

Fruits

There are several species of ginkgo in Uanlikri, all of which produce elegant foliage and edible nuts. The nuts stink and their skin can cause rashes, so they are to be manipulated with caution, but their creamy flesh is much appreciated for its strong cheese-like flavour, which confers a pungent taste to salty and sweet dishes alike.

Bird cherries are small, cherry-like fruits that grow on trees and bushes. Most bird cherries are tart and astringent and are used for a touch of tartness or in jams and other preserves. Some cultivars produce very sweet cherries. The seeds of most birdcherries are mildly toxic to antioles.

The arils of a few yew species are eaten by antioles, especially as a gooey prepared delicacy or in jams. All other parts of the yew plant are extremely toxic to antioles, and the arils must be consumed with extreme caution. Because of this, it is illegal to plant yews on the Ojame Archipelago and especially in Ranai, but due to the extreme longevity of these trees, there are several ancient yews in the city of Ranai which are important landmarks and sources of yew arils.

Various citrus are grown and used throughout the Northern parts of the continent: most are acidic and bitter, though there are also sweet varieties. In the citruses of Uanlikri, green is associated with sweetness, yellow with bitterness, and orange with acidity.

Sumac is an important culinary crop in the Ojame Archipelago: sumac fruits are processed for the production of malic acid, a popular flavoring and crucial ingredient in the traditional Ojame ceviches.

Mothberries are named after their pale blue flowers in the shape of a butterfly. It is a drought resistant plant originating from the northern regions of the continent and cultivated for multiple uses: its tuber and leaves are aromatic and medicinal and its fruit is very sweet.

Roots

Root vegetables of all kinds make up an important portion of non-staple crops throughout Uanlikri.

Fur yams are floury and sweet, with edible and prolific leaves with a distinctly "green" taste.

Gourd roots, named after their shape, are crunchy, aromatic and sweet, with leaves used as culinary herbs.

Reeds are an all-around essential plants, with young shoots eaten as greens, roots eaten as a staple by coastal and marshland peoples, and its dried leaves and stems essential materials in basketry.

Orange onions are one of the many varieties of alliums cultivated in Uanlikri. They are the most popular alliums in Ranai. They are potently sulfuric and milden considerably with cooking.

Sweet and pearl radishes (are not radishes) are different cultivars of the Uanlikri radish (not a radish) with crunchy, fresh-tasting and slightly bitter leaves and small starchy tubers which produce very fine starches.

Spindleaf yams are plants with strangely shaped, aromatic and medicinal leaves somewhat reminiscient of sage and a juicy, crunchy tuber with a slight, mustard-like bite.

These are just a sample of grains, ferns, legumes, greens, roots and fruits eaten in Ranai and elsewhere on the continent of Uanlikri. Many of these plants have a large number of regional cultivars, and each region has a variety of local plants they grow or gather which are not broadly eaten elsewhere.

[chosetherose]

The Albatross tells us that Karlie has sacrificed for Taylor during their complicated love story. Now, it’s Taylor’s turn.

I’ve spent weeks working on analysis of this beautifully complex song, slowly sifting through its layers. Part of what is so intriguing to me is that if you listen at the surface level, you might think Taylor is talking about the same “wise men” and “albatross” characters throughout. But I believe she switches around who she is talking about.

In summary, I believe The Albatross begins with pressure on Taylor to continue closeting in order to preserve her career. As the pressure intensifies, Karlie agrees to sacrifice her reputation because for whatever reason this seems like the only way forward. Ultimately, Taylor decides it’s her turn to rescue Karlie, she will swoop in to restore Karlie’s reputation so the devil that you know looks now more like an *angel*.

Here is an overview of what I’ll be exploring in my post.

[Verse 1]

Wise men once said

"Wild winds are death to the candle"

A rose by any other name is a scandal

Cautions issued, he stood

Shooting the messengers

They tried to warn him about her

I picture the “wise men” in this verse as voices that have told her being open about her sexuality would create a media storm that her career could not survive; it would extinguish the fragile flame of her celebrity. More specifically, this could be referencing that the “wise men” felt glass closeting with Karlie was getting too loud since their chemistry is too strong to hide. 

Notably, I think in this verse the “he” Taylor is referring to is herself. So, “cautions issued” acknowledges that Taylor heard the message. But she stood there shooting the messengers because what a bullshit world we live in if being truthful about who you love means taking a hit to your career. 

The last line sums up the verse; the “wise men” tried to warn Taylor about getting too loud with Karlie. But they pissed off Taylor, who let her anger be known. Ultimately, these men failed to put a stop to this relationship that was stirring up attention. 

[I didn’t touch the rose line in this version because @bettyshoweduptotheparty did it so beautifully here.]

[Chorus 1]

Cross your thoughtless heart

Only liquor anoints you

She's the albatross

She is here to destroy you

This first chorus has the least information to go off. I loosely picture this as Taylor sharing with Karlie, perhaps over cheap ass screw top rose, that her team or others in the industry issued cautions about how their relationship could hurt Taylor’s career. This spurred Karlie into protection mode because no one will tear them apart. 

Something to think about is the religious imagery here. Crossing your heart is a religious reference. Anointment is a religious term. Taylor has continuously weaved religious references into her work. That doesn’t make total sense for a heterosexual person but tracks for a gay woman who spent a portion of her adolescence in the Bible Belt around the turn of the century. I also think there could be some PR strategy here too: if she decides to come out one day people will listen back and pick up on the religious references as relating to how Taylor feels about her sexuality. It’s lower hanging fruit compared to some of the layers she’s created but it’s easier to digest.

[Verse 2]

Wise men once said

"One bad seed kills the garden"

"One less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen"

Locked me up in towers

But I'd visit in your dreams

And they tried to warn you about me

This verse reads to me that since issuing cautions didn’t work, the “wise men” moved on to more forceful tactics. 

But first let’s discuss how the garden imagery in this verse (which I love) is an additional metaphor for fame. Think about how much work it takes to cultivate a garden that produces beautiful, showy flowers. It starts with seeds and requires intensive intervention to grow and thrive: soil must be fertilized, growth must be pruned, weeds must be plucked, etc. The reward of all this hard work is gorgeous blooms admired by all. It’s similar to fame. Taylor planted seeds when she was a young musician singing about teardrops on her guitar. Over time she has cultivated a lavish garden. Her team helps her prune it (PR, merch, touring, etc.) and we all cherish the beauty produced. 

The “wise men” are saying one bad seed, like a dandelion that flies into your yard, can spread and choke out the flowers you’ve so carefully grown. It only takes one event to ruin everything. [Don’t forget if these “wise men” are on her team they have financial interest in keeping the garden flourishing.] Because of this, the “wise men” want Taylor’s female love interest out of the picture. If she’s out of the picture, they won’t have to (metaphorically) kill her.

After trying to justify their actions, the “wise men” locked Taylor in towers. They made it feel impossible for Taylor to be with Karlie. This was difficult for Taylor, who feels locked up, and also for Karlie who dreams about being with Taylor.

The last line “and they tried to warn you about me” fits with the ending of the first verse in the theme of - this love cannot be stopped. And affirms my thought that the “wise men” tried to keep Taylor and Karlie apart. First, they tried to issue cautions to Taylor. When that didn’t work, they approached the lover, “It only takes one instance of being too loud to ruin Taylor’s career, why don’t you see yourself out so we can put away these daggers we have at your throats.” But love prevailed and Taylor and Karlie remained together.

[Chorus 2]

Cross your thoughtless heart

Only liquor anoints you

She's the albatross

She is here to destroy you

Devils that you know

Raise worse hell than a stranger

She's the death you chose

You're in terrible danger

I think the Albatross here is Taylor, who ultimately agreed to publicly distance herself from Karlie due to the pressures of the “wise men”. This wasn’t necessarily a decision either Taylor or Karlie were happy about, but it was agreed to.

The albatross (Taylor) is here to destroy you (Karlie’s reputation). The devils that you know raises worse hell than a stranger because even those Taylor’s fans will be sending hate Karlie’s way, that hurt is nothing compared to the pain of knowing that Taylor handed them their pitchforks. 

She (Taylor) is the death you (Karlie) chose. Karlie agreed to stay with Taylor, who consistently paints herself as someone who is dangerous to love. Now the inevitable is coming true and Karlie’s public image will be marred. 

[Bridge]

And when that sky rains fire on you

And you're persona non grata

I'll tell you how I've been there too

And that none of it matters

Taylor and Karlie know their plans require Karlie’s reputation to be destroyed. Taylor feels she can’t stop it from happening and it’s hurting her. All she can do is think about what she will say to comfort Karlie when that day comes. Taylor will say she’s been through this before (think KimYe saga) and knows the public heat doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Taylor and Karlie have each other and that’s what’s important.

Note: the saying “to rain fire and brimstone” is biblically rooted and means “to inflict great suffering or destruction on someone or something.” 

[Verse 3]

Wise men once read fake news

And they believed it

Jackals raised their hackles

You couldn't conceive it

You were sleeping soundly

When they dragged you from your bed

And I tried to warn you about them

This whole third verse, in my opinion, is how Trump winning the 2016 election totally snuck up on Karlie. She didn’t expect it would happen but it did and it made a complicated situation even messier. This happened despite Taylor’s warnings about Karlie’s bearding connection to the Kushner family.

Breaking it down, here we meet a new group of “wise men.” We know “fake news” is synonymous with Trump so let’s explore that angle for this verse. Taylor is saying the Americans who voted Trump into office were fed lies and didn’t question them. They were too blind to see what a poor choice it was for our country and for democracy. Democrats felt like a Trump presidency would never happen; the country would surely vote blue to save the day. (I too felt like like this and was in total shock on election night, wore black on inauguration day, etc. but I digress). 

The line “jackals raised their hackles” switches focus from the electorate to the political wolves coming for power. I’m excluding the definitions of these words to save space but I take it as: jackals are wolf like canines, hackles are hairs on a mammal’s back that can raise when trying to show dominance over subordinate animals. This line is about the political bad guys picking on the American people; especially vulnerable populations such as women, minorities, and the LGTBQIA+ community.

Karlie couldn’t believe these jackals, who she was publicly connected to, could win the election. She was sleeping soundly when she was dragged into it because ignorance is bliss --she thought it would never happen. 

[Chorus 3]

So I crossed my thoughtless heart

Spread my wings like a parachute

I'm the albatross

I swept in at the rescue

The devil that you know

Looks now more like an angel

I'm the life you chose

And all this terrible danger

Now Taylor felt the love of her life needed rescuing from this completely tangled wild public mess. So without a thought, she spread her wings like a parachute to rescue Karlie. I want to emphasize that the meaning of the “thoughtless heart” line here is different than previous mentions. Now, the thoughtlessness comes from not caring about the repercussions of your actions. You care so much about the endgame - rescuing your love - that you don’t give a damn about the scars you’ll pick up on the way.

So Taylor “swept in at the rescue” and the next lines detail what that rescue looks like. She sings “the devil that you know looks now more like an angel”. I can’t scream this loud enough she’s saying Karlie’s reputation will be restored. I’d guess by design, many of Taylor’s fans despise Karlie. We established that was the plan earlier in the song. But after Taylor swoops in at the rescue, in the next stage of Kaylor’s PR plan, everything changes. These fans that despise Karlie will soften to her yet again. The devil looks more like an angel. Specifically, a Victoria’s Secret angel -- that wording is not accidental.

“I’m the life you chose” sounds like talk to a spouse. Karlie knew signing up for a lifetime with Taylor would mean danger. Taylor’s repeated that topic throughout her discography - who could ever jump in the fishbowl with me, who would sign up for this life? Karlie did. Now Taylor is getting her chance to save her love.

[Outro]

So cross your thoughtless heart

She's the albatross

She is here to destroy you

I think this outro could be directed at the fans Taylor would lose if she ever comes out one day. Here, Taylor uses the type of “thoughtless” that means “lacking concern for others”. The fans who would abandon her have cold inconsiderate hearts. So they better watch out because Taylor is the albatross here and she is going to destroy those fans’ attachment to her by living her truth - or some version of it. 

***

I feel like I do a relatively good job at keeping my clowning to a minimum but give me this one. Taylor, if you enjoy reading our lyric analyses around here can you please play The Albatross again sometime before the end of the tour? Bonus points if you wear the pink dress.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

(Un)disclosed

Based off this post I made yesterday about Hua Cheng collecting Xie Lian smut throughout the centuries. Enjoy!

Warnings: suggestive content, long post

...the ornate, white robe slid down the prince's shoulders like water, the gold embroidered silk pooling at his feet in a glittering heap. He looked up at the commoner, a coy look in his eyes as he gauged the other's reaction. His skin, perfectly stretched over his form, bore no markings or imperfections, flawless just like the other had expected it to be. His neck and the tops of his shoulders turned a very light pink, just like the apples of his cheeks.

It was a sight equal parts beautiful as it was arousing, so overwhelming that the commoner fell to their knees as if in worship. "Your Highness..." they spoke, voice reverent, eyes glinting with adoration as they stared up at their prince. "I don't deserve to look at you like this, you're-"

The prince's hand came to cup their face, looking down at them with gentleness and a subtle hint of something dark and hungry in his eyes. "Earn it then."

"How, Your Highness?"

The prince carded a hand through their hair and took one step closer. "You know how."

"I don't, my prince, I know nothing." The commoner whined, so willing to please their voice shook. "Please, won't Your Highness teach this lowly one?"

"Open your mouth."

Xie Lian shut the small book with such a powerful thud that the brittle pages nearly clapped between the old, hard covers. His face burned with shame, fingers trembling as he placed the offending item back on the shelf he had taken it from, all but shoving it into position.

Xie Lian had never read such a shameful text before - granted, erotic art and writing never interested him and so he never looked at any of it, especially considering the requirements of his cultivation path - but to think the first ever he would lay eyes upon would be one of himself was far too ironic!

He should have known not to snoop around Paradise Manor when Hua Cheng was not there - but he became antsy in the ghost king's absence and even a little lonely, so what was he to do but try to explore the nooks and crannies of his husband's abode?

But though he had started off thinking he might find peculiar items, explicit stories of himself definitely exceeded all of his expectations.

It was likely Hua Cheng had stored that book away to ensure no such inappropriate and perverse stories circulated to soil Xie Lian's reputation further - of course whoever had to have written such things did it to make fun of Xie Lian, most likely after his fall, turning his image into one of a salacious lover rather than an ascetic god for the sake of mockery.

With a sigh, Xie Lian calmed hid shaking hands and reached for a second book, hoping to find solace in another story that would be as fascinating and enrapturing as the many pieces of literature Hua Cheng kept in the Manor's main library.

Opening another small book, this time a red one, Xie Lian flipped through the pages until he reached tge one where the book's spine had broken. That page must have been read often!

"Your Highness, this humble one is-"

"Silence." The prince's authoritative voice rang through the main hall of the palace. "Have I allowed you to speak at all?"

Their eyes widened and they swallowed dryly, looking up at Xie Lian with tearful eyes. The kind, gentle smile and soft gaze had been replaced with a sharp, cold look, the very picture of authority and respect a crown prince should be. His features did not look any less regal, though, even anger and disdain fitting his handsome face.

"N-no, Your Highness..." they replied at last, voice quivering with fear. "Please punish me... I've wronged you too much, my prince, I've been disobedient and audacious..."

A small, barely there smile pulled at the prince's lips, a dangerous look in his eyes.

"What punishment would be fit for the likes of you, then?" He asked, voice almost playful had it not been so dark.

"Kill me, Your Highness..." their voice came, small and fearful. "I deserve to die..."

"It would be a waste, though." The prince quickly intervened, taking slow, small strides around the other. "A waste of a good servant, and a waste of a good body."

Their eyes widened, following the young royal's movements until they could no longer turn their head, Xie Lian now standing behind them.

"I have decided on your punishment." He spoke, tone low, so close that his lips nearly touched the other's ear. "And you will take it - and like it."

Xie Lian dropped the red book to the floor with a small yelp, so embarrassed he felt like he could have burst in flames. Had his people truly seen him in such a shameful way?! Had it been lust and desire that he instilled in their hearts rather than righteousness and grace?!

Xie Lian couldn't possibly remember of any instance where he had behaved suggestively as a young crown prince, not to mention he had never shared a bed with anybody until he married his now husband, Hua Cheng. Why would people come up with such terrible stories about him if they had no root in reality? And to think they could be so vastly different... he had been portrayed as wanton but gentle in the first one, only to be turned into a depraved royal in the second! Had he truly instilled such fantasies?

With a defeated sigh, Xie Lian sat on the small chair beside the reading table in the corner of the room, folding his arms on it to lay his head down and hide his burning cheeks. Could he be considering himself grateful that Hua Cheng had locked all of these away or even more ashamed thinking perhaps Hua Cheng had read them?

Xie Lian hoped the ghost king hadn't... he did respect Xie Lian greatly, but Xie Lian knew what kind of perversions his beloved could conjure in their bed (and other places, some more creative than others!)... could he have read all of these terrible stories himself?

Xie Lian felt even more flustered at that thought, and lifted his head from the table, trying to stir his attention elsewhere. His eyes fell upon another small book, an incospicuous black one with a red tassel bookmark halfway in it.

Hua Cheng had definitely begun reading that one, so Xie Lian hoped it was a normal book this time and not another pornographic depiction of the crown prince of Xianle taking someone to bed more or less gently.

The creature had to have been some kind of ghost, a powerful thing wielding a sort of dark energy that acted as both its limbs and life force. Whatever had willed it into existence must have been angry and resentful, the dark forest reverberating with growls and haunting moans as it skittered among the trees like a feral beast.

The young prince did not have the time to react this time, though, and he failed to dodge the many winding limbs stretching towards him - and so, despite his valiant efforts, his arms were bound above his head, pulled taught, and his legs, though kicking, had been spread apart and held in place by the creature's tentacles. This way, his spine bowed forward, arching against the merciless ghost's hold, writhing incessantly in an attempt to escape.

He put his whole strength into every attempt to free his limbs, thrashing like a fly caught in a spider's web, but all he managed to do was tire himself out, breathing heavily as sweat glistened down his body, soaking the remaining tatters of his clothes and making them stick slightily to his skin.

His guan had long been lost in the fight, and so his long hair flowed down his back nearly to his knees, further sticking to the sweat dripping down his back and making him overheat even more.

When it had become apparent to him that struggling was futile, Xie Lian tried calling out for help - but the beast had lured him too deep into the forest for anybody to hear, and so he had given that up quickly as well.

There was no more time to think, his heartbeat picking up as he felt two of those ghostly limbs suddenly caress his neck, one wrapping around it whilst the other slid up and down his chest, tearing the material of his robe.

But when Xie Lian tried to struggle, the limb around his neck tightened until breath could no longer fill his lungs, so he stilled, watching with wide eyes as the tentacle tore at his clothing, leaving him bare.

It wasn't until two other limbs slid up his thighs that the prince realized what was going to happen to him, one of them wrapping around his-

"Gege?"

Hua Cheng's soft voice tore Xie Lian's attention from the story and he immediately fumbled to close the book, his shaking fingers barely managing not to drop it.

"S-S-San Lang!" He shakily replied, feeling as if he had been caught doing something unmentionable. "What are you..." he cleared his throat, realizing he sounded high-pitched, "What are you doing here? You're back early!"

"I am not...?" The ghost king spoke, a controlled expression on his face as he continued, "It is past midnight."

"Ah. I must've not noticed..." came the sheepish response. "I've been...uh...reading..."

"I see..."

A long stretch of silence followed, neither of the two daring to say anything or even gaze at one another for more than a few seconds. It seemed that they both shared an understanding of what they should have been addressing but neither had the courage to speak up.

It was Hua Cheng that did, though, when the quiet became unbearable.

"Gege, I'm sorry..." his expression became ashamed, saddened even. "I understand if you find me repulsive now-"

"San Lang, did I not tell you I could never find you repulsive?" Xie Lian spoke, his voice soft, "I just wish to understand. What are these books? Why have you been collecting them?"

Hua Cheng swallowed, feeling every bit as mortified as Xie Lian did, even though his demeanour didn't betray much.

"Gege knows I have loved him for over eight centuries but I have not had the honor to stand by his side until recently. Despite this, my love for you never faltered - it grew and developed to what you know it to be today. This also means I have lusted after you as well."

Which, in truth, Xie Lian was not exactly surprised about. It was a given, after all, and it wasn't as though they didn't have sex nearly every night - all that desire had to have come from the same place the love did.

"So... I have found a...niche of writers that created these... erotic stories about his highness, the crown prince of Xianle, and...I have kept them for my own...use."

"Use?" Xie Lian quickly parroted, feeling a strange heat pool in his stomach.

"Yes. I am sure gege knows what I mean..."

Xie Lian's eyes drifted towards the black book and the red tassel that lay in it. "Is that one your favorite?"

"One of them." Came the strained reply, Hua Cheng's voice betraying a feeling of both vulnerability and excitement.

"I see." Xie Lian looked up the tall shelf, stretching nearly to the ceiling, and he couldn't suppress a small, muschevous smile as he leaned against the table on his palm, toying with the ring on his necklace with the other. "Then, would San Lang wish to share his other favorites with me, then?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

[moipale]

Haustorium, Amygdala

a danny phantom fic, for ecto-implosion 2024 written for the lovely @pricklenettle's artwork

In the Realms, three humans take a pit stop on an island haunted by a gnarled mass of plants, so tangled they appear near-indistinguishable. One of those humans carries a burr from it back to Earth. In the Realms, all dead things that blossom into afterlife are gifted a core, which is a sort of mind. Minds, famously, think. And feel. Both of these things have consequences.

Gen, rated T. Body horror, POV nonhuman, parasitism/possession, and lots of plants.

Read "Haustorium, Amygdala" on Ao3 here, or see below the cut for a preview.

Cultivator!

O, Cultivator! Thank you!

You—tall-form, pollinator, self-locomotive, primate with hair like raven feathers and crocus-purple stems-of-walking! Cultivator, thank you for bearing Us sunward!

—

It had been so long since the Growth last felt life.

Or, not long at all, for some of its pieces; there are always things dying, always things afterlife-resurrecting, and thus, always newly dead plants twining with and becoming part of the Growth. But when considering the sum total of its pooled existence without life… well, it had been unfathomably long, indeed. The Growth had missed it: the breeze, the soil, the silt and sun.

The Growth had lamented its capacity to miss. Had lamented lamenting, although it could only do so in that distant way of planthood—that is, the halfway, imperfect imprint of emotion that the Realms “gifted” it, that which it gifts to all those who did not before think. Not that it knew this. This was the only sort of emotion it had ever endured. In life, consciousness was so simple: utilitarian signals and feedings and warnings bounced between each other, when growths were still distinct. Now—now it missed. For a time well past, it longed.

And in its longing, it was rewarded.

Three strange beacons of life passed through the Realms.

Eyeless, earless, the Growth did not see them so much as it felt their disturbance: how the Realms shivered and displaced, death recoiling from that which it could not touch. All the Growth’s collective attention sharpened. Immobile, it could do no more than reach a lurching vine here and there toward the ripples, looking for more, wondering—and then it froze. For the strangelifes, pulsing, un-dead, were coming toward it.

The Cultivator was the only one of the three which descended from the strangelifes’ moving metal hollow. She stepped from it onto the island of the Growth. She made contact with the land, let her ankles brush through its undergrowth, stepped carefully, did not trample—she was like a breeze more than a creature, caused less breakage, even, than the ghosts which floated and did not step. The Growth was fascinated. It readied its burrs and pollens. Clad in leathers and nonskins, the Cultivator had so many places on which to find purchase—so the Growth reached out and clung.

It wasn’t an intentional bid for life-again. The Cultivator, in her nondeath, was a curiosity to be sure—but the Growth did not imagine she was anything but lost, that she could possibly bear it home to soil-and-sun. It could not have known. When she rose again from the island, it was a mere few miniscule pieces of the Growth that clung to her: curious, sure—but merely hoping for another island to disperse to. As with every host that wandered close enough, the Growth reached out and latched on with one goal in mind: to find another home for it to occupy, another place to assimilate, another ward against extinction. So—it did not imagine the direction she was heading was sunward. It could not have known. And it would have been blindsided when they reached that precipice anyway, but before they did, before the depth of this opportunity became apparent, something else shocked it from curiosity into complete captivation.

The Growth could not take the Cultivator as a host.

The Growth had always been able to take self-locomotive things as hosts.

Not the rock of its islands, not the metal of the strangelifes’ hollow; these surfaces were too inert to parasitize, the metal too smooth for even lichens to cling to. Those self-locomotive dead who touched down on the islands of the Growth, however? Yes. All of them. They proved excellent dispersers, once the Growth learned how to pilot them to new islands, spread new Growth. None lasted all that long—but long enough. The Growth populated much of the Realms. The Growth had wormed into creatures plenty, and from their eyes seen, from their skins felt, from their ungravity flew. So why not her?

Her body rejected it. Simply and utterly. Perhaps because she was still living? As a test, when the Cultivator leant forward over the shoulder of another strangelife, the Growth hopped to him and attempted to dig in. And—success. Yes, this one could be seeded; the Growth would be able to parasitize him fully when the seed took root. So why not her?

The Growth redoubled its efforts. The Growth tried to seed her. But nothing! It could cling to her surface, could ride with her, could even dip beneath her skin and explore inside—but to no end! A barrier remained between her and it; integration was impossible, assimilation a dream. The Growth was fascinated. Curious. Captivated. Frustrated. It had been curious before, and it lamented that curiosity, cursed it—the Growth, limbless, was not meant to crave, to seek—but this was all the more consuming. It had not before known frustration. And from the frustration of unsated curiosity rose a bubbling new emotion it had never known, was caught up in the froth of: excitement. Like a berry stepped on, or a bloom punching open, the Growth felt liable to burst.

And then—life!

That piece of itself upon the Cultivator, which the Growth’s main mass communicated with, crossed from death into life, and the shock of it reverberated across that link. All the Growth shuddered. Islandsfull of leaf-and-vine rustled, curled, feeling. Life again! Life, air, soil, sun!

Or—not quite sun, yet. The Cultivator had emerged from death into but another metal casing, the air stale. But present! Oxygen: how the Growth had missed it! It tasted different now, admittedly; the Growth no longer needed it as it had in life. But it was so nostalgic. Another foreign feeling.

The strangelifes scurried about. They emerged from metal into less-stale air, and spent time there refueling: chewing, swallowing, that gory unphotosynthesis of animals. And then Seeded-Strangelife shooed the others away, and the Cultivator acquiesced to the shooing, and passed through a threshold, and there—

There was the sun.

[Continue reading "Haustorium, Amygdala" on Ao3 here.]

[sierrawitch]

Celtic Customs: Death

by autumn sierra

In honor of my friend who just recently lost a loved one, and my sister who witnessed a tragic death that she was helpless to prevent, I thought it the proper moment to reflect and write on some Celtic death customs and traditions of remembering passed loved ones.

Scotland

Before burial, the body of recently passed relatives were kept in the home, dressed and in their own beds. Family and friends would throw a celebration in honor of their lives. The Scots view death as an opportunity to both mourn the loss of a soul, but to laugh and be merry in their memory to find balance in contrary. All the furniture in the departed’s home—especially mirrors—would be covered with white linens and everyone would play music, dance, sing, and share stories around the hearth to keep memories alive.

A traditional custom practiced by the older members of the family and community include a plate of salt and a plate of soil laid on the chest of the deceased person. The soil represents the body as a physical vessel, and the salt represent the purity of the soul. It was thought that without this ritual, the ghost would not be able to rest, and would haunt their family.

Another custom was to stay up at night and watch the body, also known as a lykewake. This is now seen as a sign of respect for the deceased, but in olden times people believed that the devil would steal the body of their loved one unless they kept safe watch over it. The youth of the family were given whiskey at the beginning of the night and some tea or beer with bread at some point in the middle of the night, and would take on this responsibility for the family. The watchers would tell stories, reminisce, and sometimes recite verses from the Bible.

It was also considered bad luck to see the body of the recently deceased without touching it. A week of bad dreams would follow unless this superstition was taken seriously.

Our perception of death in the modern world is one of detachment and taboo. Many people are squeamish about even seeing a dead body, much less watching or touching one in the night. But to the Celtic people, death was not a taboo thing which had to be hidden, as it is a natural, inevitable part of being alive.

The pivotal connecting moments of birth and death link the physical and metaphysical worlds to each other. Similar to the thinning of the veil during Samhain, we each witness a thinning of the veil when we are born, and when we die. In death, the spirit of the deceased moves across the veil and into the Otherworld, the lands of gods, sìth (spirits), and the deceased.

Ireland

The Irish are no strangers to pain and loss, having experienced famine, colonization, and poverty over its long history. There are many customs that have been cultivated over generations to venerate and remember the dead which are unique to their culture, but the Irish Wake is one of the most well known funeral traditions around the world.

Most likely giving root to Scottish customs, the tone of an Irish Wake is a time of mourning and celebration. It’s an opportunity to grieve and and honor life as a treasured miracle. Those attending an Irish Wake will participate and music making, singing, and drinking, especially if the deceased was an elderly member of the community, or ill long term. However, in the instance of a young person’s or child’s death, the wakes are much more solemn and respectful of the tragedy. Family and friends meet in the home of the deceased to recount memories together, grieve, and celebrate the life lost.

The exact origins of the Irish Wake are unknown, but it’s believed that it was heavily influenced by elements of Paganism and may have originated with the Ancient Celts. The Celts believed in life after death and thought that when a person died, they then moved onto a better life in the Otherworld. The Ancient Celts saw death only as a means for a new beginning, which is where the festivities come into play.

The Irish Wake incorporates the tradition of watching over the bodies of the deceased, and some say that the term ‘wake’ originates from the Irish tradition. Lit candles were placed closely around the body and tobacco was smoked by male attendees as they stood guard against the potential of the devil seizing the deceased. It was believed that the smoke would help keep malicious spirits at bay and stop the devil from stealing the soul. Clocks were also often stopped at the time of death and mirrors covered to further protect the body, as mirrors can act as portals to other—maybe not so friendly—worlds.

The Afterlife

In ancient Celtic religion, there was a belief in an afterlife in the Otherworld (as mentioned earlier), which is considered almost like a mirror of life on Earth but without disease, pain, and sorrow. This eliminated the aspect of fear when it came to passing on since the soul continues to live following its leaving the head (where it was believed to reside). Prayers were made to the Celtic gods, and sacrifices—both animal and human—food, weapons, and precious items were ritually offered to them to bless and allow safe passage of the deceased to the Otherworld.

The gods played a fairly significant role in the lives of the Ancient Celts as evidenced by their religious practices and the existence of protective amulets and talismans within their tombs. Alongside these, Celtic tombs and burial sites contained a wide range of objects, from tools to jewellery, which prepared the soul for the journey to the Otherworld (similarly to how the Egyptians prepared their deceased for the journey in the Duat).

Cremations & Burials

The Ancient Celts buried the deceased in tombs, and alternatively cremated their bodies, a practice beginning in the early second century. Excarnation was also not uncommon, during which the body was left exposed to the elements for a period and the bones were then either buried or kept for religious ceremony.

Burials of warriors and rulers were often rife with personal belongings and other treasures including weapons, armour, gold jewellery, and even large objects like chariots and waggons. Other common items included tools, extra clothing, grooming equipment, oil lamps, food, drink, eating utensils, and gaming counters, again, in preparation for their journey through the veil.

How do these customs compare to the ones of your culture, and your family?

What is your perception of death in relation to life, and how does it mentally or emotionally affect you?

Are you afraid of death? Why?

If you could personify who or what death is, what would that look like?

I urge everyone to challenge their instilled views of what death is and what it means not only for the people witnessing it, but also for those who go through its process. Many people fear that unknown reality, but it’s something we all share and experience eventually in life. You’re never truly alone. And isn’t that thought a bit comforting?

[thisishangingrockcomics]

It’s hard for me to come back to or look at this blog and think about having an internet presence because I feel so disconnected from who I was in my early twenties. I’m 28, the last time I used this platform I was maybe 22, insecure, dealing with a lot of pain and looking for sources to externalize and project that onto, “reasons for being”, preoccupied with identifying with concepts, virtues, pursuits rather than enacting behavior, which are all a natural part of growing up and coming into yourself though less than fortunate to have relayed publicly. Just something on my mind recently as I think about wanting to share or publish recent work.

This footprint is largely an amalgamation of adolescent “stories we tell ourselves to live,” spending a long time away from it while being judged in earnest rather than reinforcing a self-concept, becoming enmeshed with earnest unrewarded curiosity (I study soil biology), building things to lose and losing them, has left me far removed from the “I am this, I am that, you are this, you are that” tendency I spent formative years cultivating. It can leave you with some bright, catchy things to say and even string together if you’re halfway witty and observational but lacking in true meaning and actualization. Quippy, defensive, ad-copy writing that falls apart at the seams because as long as we know everyone else better than ourselves no one can hurt us.

That’s what’s on my mind right now, I hope you’re well.

[cselandscapearchitect]

The Comprehensive Guide to Growing Hydroponic Strawberries in Desert Climates

Welcome to our in-depth exploration of growing hydroponic strawberries in the heart of the desert—a challenging yet immensely rewarding endeavor for gardeners and agricultural enthusiasts alike. Imagine, lush, ripe strawberries thriving in an environment known for its arid landscapes and scorching heat. This juxtaposition is not just a dream, but a reality made possible through the wonders of…

[lullabyes22-blog]

A small detail but I just wanna say I LOVE your food worldbuilding in your fic! I get so hungry reading about the dishes 😭 was there any inspiration behind your thoguts on Zaun crusine or any other fun lore? I was also wondering if you had thoughts on Piltover crusine and how that compares to Zaun.

Thank you so much<3

I actually have a Foodboard on Pinterest for Zaun's decadences and delicacies!

Re: Zaun and Piltover's food-canons...

I'm basing Zaun on a hodgepodge of multicultural meccas like New York, Mexico City, Mumbai, Rio, Tokyo, Seoul, Istanbul, etc. Lots of different histories converging to form a diverse street-food scene where folks eat on-the-go. Given the Fissures began as a mining town, the fare is heavy on greasy proteins and starchy staples to keep the average worker on his feet. At the same time, owing to their proximity to the riverside, Fissurefolk have a taste for the ocean, too.

The end result is a very subterranean and industrial city that's very, very proud of its culinary heritage, even if the "cuisine" itself isn't exactly pretty or refined. There's a certain "ghetto hustle" to it, with scraps taken from wherever it's available, and improvised into something distinctly its own. Plenty of emphasis on cheap shellfish, squid, octopus, shrimp, clams, etc, as they're a hardier food source that can be found in great quantities downriver.

There's also a lack of sunlight, fertile soil, and fresh greens in Zaun. So much of what's grown organically Down-Low is the more straightforward variety of root vegetables, ranging from potatoes, rhizomes, yams, lotus, yucca, sweet potatoes etc. There's also lots of cellars with candle-lit rhubarb, and a very eclectic range of mushroom gardens.

As for meat:

The Deadlands, which are more of a 'wild west' type terrain in the FnF verse, sport a hardy ecosystem of cave-dwelling, marsupial-like creatures I've dubbed Sump-voles. They're furred, and the size of a medium-large housecat. They're extremely agile and intelligent, and able to survive off the sparse vegetation. They're the primary source of food for the folks of the Deadlands.

There's also sump-boars: bristly, foul-tempered, and omnivorous. A bit like wild boar, but larger and more aggressive. Their meat, while rather gamey, is a source of rich protein, and often cured and smoked, or served as a roast during the Equinox Feast as a 'last supper', a chance to indulge in some fatty, delicious pork before the dark winter months of austerity. Their hides are also a valuable commodity and can be tanned and used to craft clothing, their bones ground into powder for fertilizer, and their tusks fashioned into weapons, jewelry, etc.

In Zaun proper, the primary source of meat are sump-rats. For the chem-barons, they are raised in massive, hydroponic-like farms that cultivate the creatures on an industrial scale. For the poor, they're either the unfortunate victims of homesprung traps or the prey of the many, many feral cat colonies. The cats in Zaun are extremely large and muscular, bred to be fierce. They're often mutated and have been spliced with a range of different DNA, from gen-0 to gen-X.

There's no real 'normal' cat, dog, or bird in Zaun; it's a land where everything is a mutant owing to the chemical radiation that pervades every single facet of life, to say nothing of its ambitious history of genetic manipulation.

That goes ditto for the bugs.

Necessity breeds creativity, and Zaun's not averse to a little entomophagy. In fact, the more common, and less-fetishized, way to get one's protein is through the consumption of locusts, beetles, dragonflies etc. These are a mainstay, and you'll see them sold on every corner. They're generally fried, and have a very similar crunch to a fried cricket. There's also cave-wasps: nasty buggers who build their hives in the caverns, and have a sweet, honey-like substance inside their abdomen. It's considered a delicacy, and a luxury item.

The cave-wasps are also a rare species that actually produce honey (similar to the B. Mellifica, or Mexican Honey Wasp) and the honey they store, though it has a much thicker, gel-like consistency, is prized as a source of hydration and energy.

It's also a nifty hallucinogen, and can be mixed into ales, beers, and ciders.

In terms of fixings and flavorings: Zaun is an underground city. That means staples like sugar and spice are at a premium, and either imported from the harbor, or smuggled from Topside. However, Fissurefolk understand the importance of boosting their immunity with the right nutrients, and have a keen interest in herbal remedies. There's a strong apothecary culture in Zaun, ranging from quacks to savants. You'll see plenty of peddlers selling the dried mushrooms, roots, leaves, and other fungi, all of which can be boiled into a tea, or steeped to make a broth.

Two homegrown minerals Zaun prides itself on are its salt deposits and its volcanic rock. Both are extremely potent, and have sparked a range of industries from salt-curing to cosmetic masks. The rock salts are a rich source of iodine, and used to clean wounds. The volcanic rock has a high level of iron, and is ground into powder and mixed into broths to prevent anemia and boost blood flow. There's also a thriving industry for beauty products in Zaun. Because of the constant, humid air that lingers beneath the surface, it's common for folks to break out into acne, boils, or other rashes. The rock salts are a good exfoliant and antiseptic.

Jinx, for instance, has an entire apothecary's chest worth of creams, gels, and tonics she applies whenever she feels a breakout coming on. She's also not above mixing her own blemish cream out of a blend of rock salt, crushed-up coral, and a few drops of oil squeezed from a luminous jellyfish.

Silco, similarly, uses a combination of salt water and crushed-up volcanic rock to exfoliate the calluses on his palms and heels, and soaks once a week in a warm bath of rock salt, mineral oils, and medicinal Shimmer. He swears by the concoction, and considers it the secret to keeping his joints well-lubricated and his reflexes in fighting trim for running from stray bullets.

And Jinx's occasional tantrum-prone grenade.

The Zaunite diet is also very heavy on pickling. It's an excellent way to preserve foods, and a great source of vitamins. Their choices run the gamut from sour pickled cabbage to spicy, chili-garlic fermented fish to lime-spiked octopus. Pickling is a necessity. And, because there's not enough space for farms, livestock, or pasture land, a lot of the food in Zaun is preserved via canning and jar-making. There's a robust canning industry, and a very well-developed glass-blowing and masonry business, lauded for its innovative shapes and designs.

Finally, there's the beverages.

Zaun has a strong history of drinks, from fizzy, chemically-colored sodas to a wide variety of spirits. There's an emphasis on teas, tisanes, and coffees, as the underground water can't be fully filtered, and isn't exactly the cleanest. A cup of hot tea with some lemon and honey is an effective way to keep one's immune system up and running. Zaun is also famous (re: notorious) for coffee that's guaranteed to jolt you wide-awake after a nasty hangover. Their most famous brew is the Wake-Up Call, which is a mix of ground coffee beans, ground cacao beans, ground guarana seeds, a touch of cinnamon, and a dash of powdered cayenne pepper.

It's not for the faint of heart.

The most popular non-alcoholic drink in Zaun is cherry soda, which is basically a cross between Coca-Cola and cherry Dr. Pepper, but brewed with a mixture of fruits, berries, and a healthy dose of cave-wasp honey and citric acid. It's fizzy, and tastes amazing. It's also extremely cheap, owing to the fact that a lot of the fruits and berries are foraged from the caverns, and the honey is, well, free-range.

In terms of alcohol, there's a huge emphasis on beer, wine, and ale, owing to the fact that these can easily be canned and fermented, and can last for long periods of time without refrigeration. Potato beer is an extremely common, and easy-to-consume source of calories. It's light-bodied, and low-alcohol, with a range of styles, from pale-ale, amber, and dark. There's also a huge emphasis on hops and malted barley, as these are cheap to acquire, and readily available belowground.

Zaun's signature drink is made via fermented cavernfruit. It's very hoppy, fruity, and acidic. It's got a high alcohol content and is a great thirst-quencher. Then there's Devilfruit: a deep red liquor made from a blend of various berries, and a texture and viscosity similar to cherry liqueur. It's usually enjoyed neat, but can be mixed with a splash of mineral water, or served over crushed ice. There's also drinks fermented from unusual ingredients such as mushrooms and fungus. One, known as Dungeon's Kiss, is a cloudy, milky white ale made from the sap of a cave-dwelling species of mushroom. It's extremely thick, the color of a pumpkin spice latte, and guaranteed to get you hammered in five sips.

Zaun's drinks are all brewed, bottled, and served locally. They're a point of pride, and a great way for families to earn their fortune. It's a fiercely competitive industry, and there's a lot of inter-clan rivalry.

In the FnF universe, I imagine Piltover has a very different diet than Zaun, given its bucolic setting, proximity to the sea, and the fresh produce, dairy, and livestock they import from all four corners of Runeterra. The food culture is diverse and beautifully artisanal.

There's a bustling farmer's market, lots of bakeries and cheese shops, and plenty of emphasis on freshness, seasonality, and regionalism. There's also a strong tradition of wineries, distilleries, and breweries. As a city of commerce, they also have a robust, and thriving, shipping and distribution industry.

All of this reflects a more rigid hierarchy of social classes that is more centered on the "white plate" aesthetic. It's all high-quality and extremely nutritious, but it's also very…bland and uniform. In Piltover, there's little to no street food culture, and there's a general disdain for the sort of messy, greasy pap that's associated with Zaun. You don't eat with your hands; you use utensils. You don't slurp, slop, or smack your lips.

And you certainly don't lick the sauce off your fingers.

In Piltover, there are very clear rules about dining etiquette, and the "food world" is just another part of the culture around class distinction, refinement, and propriety. However, the rigidity and regimented nature of their meals can be very stifling, especially when compared to the raucous and rollicking culinary culture of Zaun. It's therefore not uncommon for Piltovans to sneak off Down-Low, roll up their sleeves, and enjoy a bit of greasy, sticky-fingered fun.

Most consider it a calorie-loaded, guilt-free "cheat day."

[alena-draws]

Beware of major Trigun spoilers!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Read from right to left

(they are not necessarily chronological to the events in the au, I’ll just be drawing what scenes come to mind)

First part of my Vashwood Reincarnation AU that I’m gonna call “Cutting the Strings of Fate”, which planted itself in my mind some days ago! The concept takes part in the future after the Trigun Maximum events.

While I was drawing I was wondering if Vash is a bit too ooc here maybe? Tristamp Vash is a pretty diffcícult character to grasp for me, but I think considering that he hasn’t really lived through all that that he did in the anime, and just starts to remember the events in the manga, it’s ok if he’s a bit more carefree at first, and not so completely the depressed and sad puppy from the anime...Anyway, mixing the Tristamp characters with the Trimax universe was a fun idea to me! I love both iterations of the characters and their respective universes a lot, sooo why not mash them together?

Look under the cut for the whole story idea:

Many decades after the events of Trigun Maximum, Vash is reborn on the same planet. Even though still needed to sustain themselves, humans are less dependant of plants now, and the great project to cultivate the planet has been very successfull, with the first forests and occassional green that will grow out of the dry soil. Vash is a young but skillful plant engineer, who will also from time to time help out in different towns to have a look at their local plants. One day he starts having dreams about his past life, with them getting clearer and clearer and revealing more of his past. He meets Zazie, who is still the old Beast who knew Vash the Stampede. Because of that, Zazie notices that the very individual electric impulse of Vash, that every being gives off and can be detected by the worms, is indeed very close to the same signal of Vash the Stampede. Thus confirming that  Vash is indeed some kind of reincarnation.

Vash's brother Nai works as a bioengineer, looking after the preservation of important vegetation in another city, where their mother Rem lives, too. Vash meets Wolfwood, who starts to help out in the plant facility as a odd-job man, and they grow closer together. One day though, an accident happens, convincing Vash and Zazie that Vash's history is trying to repeat itself. They fear that just like in the past, Nai who is obviously another reincarnation could run berserk, and that Rem and Wolfwood are, just as well, in danger to become fate's victim once again.

With the help of Zazie that can feel how, after each past event repeating itself in some way, Vash's and the others' electric signals grow closer to their past selves', they try to defy fate and bring about a happy end for everyone. (Yay!)

[mishhty]

Amaryllis belladonna

Information:

Kingdom: Plantae

Order: Asparagales

Family: Amaryllidaceae

Subfamily: Amaryllidoideae

Genus: Amaryllis

Species: A. belladonna

Amaryllis belladonna, the Jersey lily, belladonna-lily, naked-lady-lily, or March lily, is a plant species native to Cape Province in South Africa but widely cultivated as an ornamental.They appear as clusters of soft pink, 10cm funnel-shaped blooms sitting on top of long purplish-red and green stems, with up to twelve flowers blooming from just one stem.

Amaryllis belladonna are half hardy and can tolerate temperatures down to around -5C. It’s recommended to protect them from frost during harsh winters, and to start them off in sheltered conditions under cover at first.

Amaryllis belladonna requires very little attention and makes a truly unique display in the fall garden. Ridiculously easy to grow, all parts of this plant are poisonous, therefore it is diligently ignored by hungry deer, rabbits, and other critters.

The Jersey lily is a popular ornamental plant in gardens and parks, and it is also used in cut flower arrangements.It is known for its beauty and hardiness, as it can thrive in a wide range of soil types and growing conditions.

Tips to grow and care for A. belladonna:

A. belladonna should be planted with their necks at soil level, not submerged under the soil.

You’ll get your best results growing the bulbs in full sun, in moist, well-draining soil, although they will tolerate some light shade.

Plant them out about 10cm apart.

Wherever you’re planting them, make sure that the soil doesn’t get waterlogged.

If you do need to transplant them, do it in autumn after the plant has finished flowering and just as the leaves start emerging.

In a frost prone area, or areas that regularly hit below 2 degrees Celsius, plant them in front of a south facing wall, or in a pot that is placed in a sheltered area.

Once planted, it may take a year or so for the bulb to become properly established, so avoid disturbing the bulbs for a couple of seasons.

They prefer less water in summer, so in summer rainfall areas, ensure sufficient drainage.

[creative-classpect]

Land of Trees and Chains

A garden world, lush with life, where trees of all shapes and sorts grow wild and strong. The world itself is less a forest and more an orchard, where consorts tend to the great trees in harmony with nature, cultivating everything they need to sustain themselves from the trees and protecting and preserving them in kind. The world is a relative paradise of peace and prosperity.

And yet, as the great trees reach up to the light of Skaia, something dark and chthonic, as unshakeable as death itself, stirs within the depths of the planet, entwined within the roots of the very world. Great chains of permafrost lurk in the deep, encircling around entire swaths of the world and ripping everything down into the darkness.

This is the Land of Trees and Chains. Welcome to LOTAC.

LOTAC is a relatively peaceful world when compared to the struggle and strife common across sessions of Sburb. What underlings lurk here are much like the great chains, mysterious and lurking in the sprawling caverns and root networks beneath the planet’s surface.

Underlings do not behave as they typically do on other lands as roving hordes of danger. Instead, they bloom, acting more as a rot or mold, organized in their aims and moving with alien purpose. The evergreen land of LOTAC has no method of decomposition. In ages past the underlings worked at night, unseen by the consorts, to break down and destroy fallen trees. With the coming of the great chains, this hidden work has progressed into coordinated attacks, raiding and plundering any tree unlucky enough to be bound by chains.

Operating as a strange sort of subterranean mycelial inspired pirates, the underlings have begun to terrorize villages and maim any consort attempting to stop their work. Daring explorer consorts have left their homes in hopes of reclaiming what was lost beneath the forest floor and, consorts not being the smartest, have begun to disappear, never to return.

Trees are felled by the score by the binding chains and the consorts are slowly being corralled into a dangerous, inhospitable part of the great forest. It will only be a matter of time until they are driven to the brink and can no longer survive. Without heroes, they will surely go extinct, crushed by the cruelty of nature.

But there is a hero. The Heir of Life.

The Heir of Life must venture across the grand orchards and forests, descend into the roots of the world, and uncover the source of the all consuming chains and the underling rot that follows their wake. Down into the deepest reaches of earth, long since left to fester. 

But perhaps with a little luck, new life may bloom.

Denizen: Demeter, Greek goddess of agriculture and the harvest, who's grieving brings forward cold and bitter winter.

Features

Arbolis Mundus, the World Tree

The largest tree on LOTAC, Arbolis Mundus is a massive tree whose roots encircle all of LOTAC and whose branches reach so high into the sky it slows and distorts the rotation of the planet. The World Tree is a magnificent mega tree made of thick, rich, dark wood and beautiful leaves that reach to every color in the spectrum like great panes of stained glass.

The elusive fruit of the World Tree is the subject of incredible legend. Ruby encrusted apples the size of a car, literally golden bananas, berries made of pure amethyst, and more. While the legends of their benefits are spurious at best, there is a truth to them. One gift, nestled among the highest boughs of Arbolis Mundus, is said to grant unimaginable power and authority over the planet.

Frost chains

Massive, heavy chains as dark as the void and as cold as the deepest winter. These chains, seemingly made out of some sort of petrified bark, crisscross under the soil of the land, only rising to the service when their snaking paths have wrapped around the deep roots of the trees in the world above.

Denizen lair

Deep towards the core of the planet the world grows increasingly cold, reaching well below freezing. Pockets of the cold earth are home to permafrost biomes, underground arctic climates with almost entirely frozen over life. Blades of grass become literal, becoming razor sharp with ice. Wind sends snow and icicles from trees as a rushing storm of deadly debris.

Hidden within the boreal parks and glades lies a structure made from frozen timbers, plain and sparsely adorned. Whispered in rumors and told about in storied legends, it is known as the Seed Vault. The Seed Vault is the home of the denizen Demeter, the source of the great cold and the chains that have wrapped around the land.

Within the Seed Vault is a host of seeds, seedlings, and saplings for every tree across LOTAC, up to and including, Arbolis Mundus itself. A massive, glowing seed pod, potent with pure potential. If one was to crack it open and peer inside they would find the quest bed of the Heir of Life.

- - -

This post was a commission for @balencia ! Again, really sorry for the delay 0 3 0

I hope you like it!

[scrivenger-grimgar]

Wei Wuxian’s Inventions Cause He’s a Mad Scientist & Deserves To Be a Happy Creator

technically part of the ghost king wwx series of posts but could also just be stuff in general. a lot is for protecting the yiling burial mounds and the people who live there. idek how long this is going to be so keep that in mind!

Sending stone - A raw quartz or amethyst crystal attached to a talisman-tag that tells the stone to vibrate in specific lengths and frequencies causing audible tones that can be used in specialised patterns to convey messages across certain networks. Sending networks are differentiated by the colour of the thread/rope/tassel used in the tag’s binding. It's essentially a morse-code group chat, looks like this picture but instead of metal it's engraved on wood or bamboo.

Spirit Binding Wraps - Cloth strips/bandages that are intricately sewn with a long continuous array that wraps around anything with a golden core, ending in an array that anchors into the ground and doesn’t let go. It's styled after a large snake and will only release after being fed resentful/yin energy. Expensive and arduous to make, as both the cloth and threads need to be soaked in either liquid resentment or Spirit Sapping Liquor, both of which can only be found (or made) in the burial mounds, and the repeating array must be embroidered to the correct lengths before the ending anchor array can be attached. Well worth the expense however, given so many orthodox cultivators are after the Yiling Wei residents.  Like Xie Lian’s Rouye or Aizawa’s scarf but embroidered. It doesn’t work on non-cultivators or those who solely practise Guidao/demonic cultivation.

Bloodletting Buckets - Black bamboo buckets engraved with talismans that force any resentful energy in the contained liquid to coagulate into sludge at the bottom of the bucket, allowing residents to safely drink the burial mounds water without being a yin/yang cultivator.

Heart Binding Tattoo - A tattoo array over an individual’s heart that allows them to come and go through the barrier at the base of the mountain. Were someone to try and use a corpse with the tattoo to enter the mountain, the corpse would attack them. Made with Wen Qing, written in either Shizhoupian or Shuowen Jiezi, but I don't quite know witch.

Spirit Sapping Liquor - A derivative alcohol variant made in the burial mounds that eats spiritual/yang energy once consumed, travelling through the blood and clearing qi blockages within one’s meridians without touching the golden core (so long as one does not cultivate during the 3 day period that its active), and thus lessening chance of qi deviation. The resentment in the liquor can also be directed to eat poison from within a person by a talented Guidao practitioner (He Xuan, Hua Cheng, Wei Ying, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, even Qi Rong if he wanted).

Earthshifting Talismans - lets anyone stir up and loosen large areas of earth within a day, allowing less effort to be used when tilling or aerating soil, or digging cold storage basements. It's just kinda like putting a piece of land in the pear wiggler.

Hearth/Chill Box - a bamboo, wood, or stone box with engravings on the inside that keep it at a stable temperature, either hot or cold. Used to heat pre-made food, incubate eggs, build housing for chickens or other small animals, to heat water for bathing, to freeze meats, and make ice.