#crested cactus

[desert-love]

[fatchance]

Crested saguaro at Desert Botanical Garden, Phoenix, Arizona.

[corehopeart]

[sabistarphotos]

November 9, 2018

Desert Botanical Garden

Phoenix, AZ

[lostintheuniverseslies]

A Quiet Little Seedling

Chapter 12 Plants

Hepatica Acutiloba/Sharp-lobed Hepatica

Cactus Mistletoe

Sugar Maple Tree

American Basswood

Rain Lilies

Zephyranthes

Habranthus

Iris

Iris Cristata / Dwarf Crested Iris

Previously: Chapter 1 Plants Chapter 2 Plants Chapter 5 Plants Chapter 7 Plants Chapter 8 Plants Chapter 10 Plants Chapter 11 Plants

Next: Chapter 13 Plants

[sebring5]

542DD956-E074-45CC-902B-47C7E877964F by Henry Via Flickr: Crested caracara

[dead-end-draws]

Tribe Banner concept art:

Folks seemed to enjoy my WOF WIPS, so here’s more concept art for y’all! My favorite thing about WOF is the potential for world building. I thought it’d be cool to see a tribe emblem represented on a banner/flag of sorts:

Read below for some of the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywing Banner:

Skywings pride themselves on 3 things; treasure, fire, & their enormous, soaring wingspan which steals the sky.

As such, portrayed on the banner, the fabric (often made with dyed cow or goat leathers) resembles draped dragon wings. Two Skywings embrace a goblet, which is spewing golden fire.

The banner is often held aloft with iron or gold poles, signifying to other tribes their wealth and pride.

Mudwing banner:

These banners are fashioned with leather hides from cow or crocodile skin, held aloft with bamboo, and painted with a Talon-print & Reed crest.

The talonprint symbolizes community and the strength of Mudwing sibling bonds. The reed border unifies all Mudwings regardless of their relationship to home; the swamp. Bigwings are often seen carrying these into battle, signifing their status and making it easier for a sib to locate them in the flurry of a fight.

Sandwing Banner:

Sandwing flags are made with camel skins and dyed cactus leather.

A crest shows a Sandwing coiled around a beaming sun, a reminder that despite the revered 3 moons, Sandwings are born to thrive in sunlight.

The fabric is cut in a way to mimic the swooping dunes of Sandwing territory. And the poles of the flags are equally intricate, with scorpion tails and golden ropes which frame the banner.

These flags make prominent appearances in parades, festivals, and markets, and even miniature version are often displayed in homes or as tapestries/carpets.

Seawing banner:

These banners are often seen displayed in royal quarters or councils, or above land to mark territory.

A nautilus shell crest on front echoes the swirl-pattern associated with royal Seawings: The banner’s borders resemble waves and a dragon swimming beneath their surface.

These are crafted with rich materials, strung with seashells, pearls, silver dollars, and deep oceanic color fabric. There is severe penalty for Seawings found plucking treasure from the banners, as they are a direct symbol of royalty.

Nightwing Banner:

These banners emphasize the Nightwings’ relationship to the moon, their source of power and praise. The material, a contrast of white stitching against purple velvet showcases moonlight and night, black scales against stars, magic and mystery.

They are seen decorated with 3 moons at the top and a centered dragon reaching up into the night sky.

These banners were often used during the war as secret code by spies to deliver to other tribes. Prophecy scrolls often came attached, delivering cryptic messages or secrets in the night. These banners all helped add to the secrecy of the Dragonet Prophecy, and kept tribes on their toes around Nightwings.

Rainwing banner:

Rainwing banners are not used for battle purposes like other tribes, most are mere decoration, location indicators, and have no unified design.

However, It is said back when Rainwings left the rainforest to trade pre-war, this particular banner design was often raised above Rainwing merchant tables, and showcases the coiled tail of a Rainwing with leaves, vines, and other sights from the rainforest adorning a bamboo pole. Bright color combinations accentuated the flag to entice curious customers.

Now, only one tattered version of the original Rainwing banner remains, displayed proudly in Queen Glory’s quarters, a reminder that building the Rainwings’ community is their most important goal.

Icewing Banner:

These banners reflect the same standards Icewings hold themselves to.

Like a visual of the rankings themselves, each banner is cut perfectly from an Icewing’s trained, serrated claws to resemble icicles, and crafted with fine blue stitching.

Flags are often held aloft with perfectly polished narwhal horn or bone, and can be inlaid with sapphires or diamond.

Icewing soldiers are often gifted these during ceremonies, and perform training exercises with the flags to test their stance/attentiveness. The crest showcases the swift sharpness of ice through a flying dragon, and a snowflake toward the bottom reminding Icewings that even minuscule snowflakes, small things, should be perfect in form.

[thewordygreenlion]

Fasciation is Fascinating: Saguaro Edition

A fasciated/crested saguaro I saw on a walk the other night.

[petertrojan]

Cómo yo 💪🏻. Feliz 2023 a toda la bandota 🤠 #happynewyear #2023 #cactus #myrtillocactusgeometrizans #crested #cristata #nature #plantsofinstagram #exotic https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm42FlrOi_j/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ashotasfireandasdeepastheocean1]

Beauty of Nature ♡

.

It's amazing how much this decidedly east coast soul misses the prickly, thorny desert southwest.

[desert-love]

Crested saguaro

[herpsandbirds]

Crested Caracaras (Caracara plancus) nesting on a Saguaro Cactus, family Falconidae, order Falconiformes, Saguaro National Park, Arizona, USA

Photograph by Sue Wright

[mutant-distraction]

Wayne Williams

Crested Caracara perched by a Christmas Cactus. Laguna Seca Ranch, Linn South Texas.

[marinersubmariner]

Supreme Leader / Emperor Consort

I don't have any particular preferences or headcanons about Supreme Leader Kylo Ren other than him being absolutely terrible at his job and not giving a shit about any of it. But I do sometimes think about ways for his outfit to have been upgraded other than "shove him back in the same helmet but stupider."

I know a lot of people wanted a crown, but I was looking at pictures of crested/monstrose cactus (as you do) and somehow got to thinking about the possibilities for a mutated version of his helmet, as though a crown or headdress had grown out of it. Some sort of warped evolution, evocative of Padme rather than Vader—or a combination of the two—but wrong and grotesque. A symbol of him having grown, but grown uncontrolled and malformed.

I ended up not going all that weird in favor of making something that looks believably clean and symmetrical, but still tried to make it at least somewhat bizarre and over the top. I like the tension of being more physically revealing while at the same time being more strange and alienating. Vulnerability tainted with hostility, similar to the post-TLJ status of Rey and Ben knowing each other more but being ideologically further apart.

In addition to Padme, I drew some inspiration from Dark Souls' Gwyndolin and Breath of the Wild's Thunder Helm. I like the eye-covering half-helms! They're weird!

The alternate full portrait is just because I still wanted to draw his whole face (the most enjoyable part!). It really could be any royalty AU, but since I was going a little darker here I was thinking of a forced marriage to Empress Palpatine, hence "Emperor Consort." Life is so miserable when you're a beautiful all-powerful space wizard shackled to your equal and opposite beautiful all-powerful space wizard. 😔

[birrdies]

at the kitchen table (third life fic, 891 words)

Grian sits at grief’s kitchen table. It used to be his— theirs— but something far greater occupies it now. He can’t call it his, even though the birch is well worn with use. Beaten from dumping battered weapons and armor at the end of the day (before they started sleeping with it, before they forwent sleeping all together), far more than any shared meal. 

The table’s empty. The last of their slim pickings is buried outside in the sand with Scar’s body. Grian sits inside, protected from the howling wind and pretending like he can drown out the spectators. One more death, they insist. This isn’t over yet. 

Give me a second, he barks back. 

He’s never been one for outright cowardice. He knows there’s no avoiding this fate. He practically wrote it himself. But Scar taught him a thing or two on how to delay the inevitable. How to buy yourself time, how to become slippery and escape all things that are meant for you. Bitterly, Grian can’t help but wonder why he hadn’t done it for himself in the end. 

This is all Grian needs— a moment, a brief reprieve, a second to be untouchable— it’s all he asks for. Himself and the kitchen table, the empty chair across from him. Normalcy, or as close to it as he can reach.

Elbows propped on the sandy wood, Grian hides his face in his hands and chuckles. How ridiculous it is: a hollow kitchen standing around him, dusty and vacant and haunted. Grian never cooked anything in here. They never shared a meal at this table. It was always scraps over a fire, stale bread stuffed in their pockets, endless days in the blazing desert heat. Too scared to sit and eat properly. Too restless. 

Why even build a kitchen at all? Grian’s laughter possesses him now, broken and shrill and hollow without Scar here to cause it. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until his vision splotches and his head spins. How stupid could he have been? To build a kitchen, to hope to use it? 

He had wanted nothing more than to be free of the madman bound to him by nothing more than Grian’s misplaced guilt and a few meager promises. Weak strings, really. He could’ve left anytime he wanted. And Scar would have let him.

But he built a kitchen for them anyway. Before the loyalty set in like a fever. Before this was it: him and Scar and the vacant dunes.

Before Scar had made the choice for him. 

There was room for love here, Grian thinks as his laughter turns to tears— a more silent affair.

The spectators nag in the back of his mind, more a sickening chill crawling the length of his spine than any kind of coherent voice. Goosebumps pepper his skin, but he refuses to move. He sits like a sentinel over this empty kitchen, the bleeding heart of their home, with nothing but his own anger as a weapon. 

Anger can only do so much. Grian wipes his tears only to realize there’s still blood on his fingers, now smeared on his cheeks. Trembling fingers curl into fists. Grian studies the way they move, counting his shaking breaths and knowing they’ll be his last. 

He’s hurt. It won’t take much else to finish the job. A cut on the crest of his cheek bleeds sluggishly, stings in the gritty air, but there’s no point tending to it. The bruises around his middle ache terribly. 

Scar could’ve killed him. If he pushed a little further. Hit a little harder. If he wanted it enough. 

But, no. Scar went down with a smile. He got what he wanted and Grian got this. Grian’s never hated him more. 

Slowly Grian rises from his seat at the kitchen table. He runs his fingers over the sanded wood one last time before stepping back out beneath the desert sun. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. A chill swoops through him, nearly takes him off his feet. There are eyes on him, somewhere, but he’s never felt more alone. 

He steps over Scar and Pizza’s shared grave and treks through the cactus ring to get to the edge of the hill. The part where the drop is steep and the base is rocky. It’ll be quick. It’ll be painless— at least, infinitely more painless than everything else he’s felt at the mercy of the game, at the mercy of the desert, at the mercy of Scar. 

He’s the last man standing, but what exactly is it that he’s won? It’s hard to feel like a victor when all he feels is cruel and beaten. When his head is heavy with the crown of eager eyes and his legs shake with the burden of keeping the rest of him upright. When there’s nothing to stand over proudly except for unmarked graves and a lonely desert hill. 

It doesn’t feel like much of a victory at all. There was room for love here. There was room for a lot of things. But none of it matters in the end. Because Grian doesn’t want to be left to haunt a kitchen Scar never even stepped foot into.  It doesn’t matter, because Grian won. He takes a step over the edge.

[sebring5]

IMG_3338 by Henry Via Flickr: Gila woodpecker