#i’m a real fungi

[a-birdbrain]

i went hiking today for my stupid mental health

plus the dogs got exercise which is great

saw some freaky mushrooms hell yeah

the dogs got really icky swamp monsters

everyone had a great time yaaaaay

then i got back, and its been 6 hours . i realized, i lost my fucking earbuds in the woods

[mushroom-madness]

I’ve already been considering doing follow up polls (completely hypothetical at this point, no promises yet), given some peoples reactions and submissions, what would y’all be more interested in?

[f1nalboys]

Reunion - Frank (Adam Barrett)

Frank x Fem!AFAB!Reader

hiiiii guys >:)) i promise ill get to requests soon!!!!! i just was mentally being attacked by this freak and Needed to write something super quick for him!!!! lmk if anything is ooc for him, i did my darndest writing for him!!!! i hope u all enjoy and lmk if youre interested in me writing more for him!!!! ALSO!! i know his real name is adam but to make it easier for myself i just called him frank in the fic, lmk if u guys prefer that or using his actual name 😝 <3

WORD COUNT: 3190

WARNINGS: nsfw, vampire!frank, human!reader, oral (afab + amab recieving,) choking (to the point of nearly passing out), biting, slight blood play, slightest bit of scent play??, degradation and praise, handcuffs, restraints, face fucking, multiple orgasms (afab,) creampie, this was meant to be short and then i was attacked...., pain play, mating press, implication of more sex, brief mentions/threats of being fucked until you pass out but you are fully concious the entire time, proofread but u guys know me by now

Frank tilts his head, tongue gliding across razor sharp teeth, a sinister grin gracing his normally soft features. You watch him from your spot on the bed, handcuffs tight around both your wrists and the bedframe. Tugging at the restraints, you wince as the cool metal digs into your warm flesh, squirming when you feel Frank's gaze finally land on you. 

“Keep struggling and you’re gonna make yourself bleed.” Frank grins, the bed shifting with his weight as he sits down beside you. He’s still fully clothed, a far cry from your bare skin still covered in healed-over bite marks and a layer of sweat. He leans in, hand trailing up your stomach lightly, too lightly to feel good, his nose brushing against your wrist. Frank breathes in deeply and you watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck. Y’know what? Keep doing it. I want you to bleed.”

You whine, shaking your head. “Frank, c’mon, please!” 

“C’mon, please,” Frank mimics, fake pouting. You stay silent. When he was like this, all sharp teeth and sharp tongue, it was better to take whatever he was going to give you. A fight wouldn’t stop that. His hand trails up your chest, fingers calloused and rough, before landing on the base of your throat. His grip is loose, for now. “You always been this damn whiney or did this vampire shit give me better hearing?”

You swallow heavily. “I’m sorry.” You squeak and he grins, shaking his head. His hand grips your throat a bit tighter, feeling your pulse pumping heavily under his fingers. You watch his face as his eyes close. His breathing, which you learned he had to pretend to do after getting turned, matches your own. He stays like this a while, feeling your heart beat and the air fill and leave your lungs, feeling the humanity and life pump through your body on instinct. 

Frank didn’t miss many things about being human. He was stronger, faster, more agile, smarter, more ruthless, and so fucking powerful it could make your head spin. The things he didn't have anymore he could, for the most part, recreate it well enough. Breathing was now a conscious decision, one he only did when around other people. The sunlight thing didn’t bother him, only resulted in him moving to a city where the nightlife was more important than the daytime. The bloodlust was easy to satiate with his job. 

The one thing that he couldn't ignore or replicate, however, was a heartbeat. 

His chest felt empty, a dead thing lying there doing nothing but rotting away, maggots and fungi eating away at the carcass that was his humanity. On occasion, he’d find himself laying down, eyes closed, hand over his heart, imagining the thump of it, vibrating his chest, telling him and anyone who touched him that he was something, that he was alive. Your heartbeat was the closest thing to his own he could get to anymore. Frank loved to hear it quicken, skip a beat, change in its normal soothing rhythm, all due to him. Him and his hands, his tongue, his teeth, his words. 

Him.

Frank’s eyes open again, blue eyes dark, and he sighs, letting go of your throat. “Spread your legs.” His voice leaves no room for argument and you listen, your face growing hot from embarrassment at the wolf whistle he lets out. “So fuckin’ sexy, you know that? S’why I keep comin’ back.” He murmurs, leaning over and kissing you roughly. 

It’s too much, but everything Frank did was too much; he sprayed cologne until you felt like you were suffocating, he kissed you until your lips were bruised, he went down on you until you couldn't remember your name, he killed until he was covered in blood, he betrayed anyone and everyone who was dumb enough to trust him. Everyone but you. The only person he had stayed (mostly) gentle with, loyal too, was you.

Sure, he wouldn’t ever call himself your boyfriend, but he’d kill any guy you talked to and leave their decapitated head on your doorstep, fucking you into your mattress till you couldn't walk, and tell you that you were his. For now, that was enough.

Frank kisses down your neck, sharp teeth nicking at the thin flesh, a low moan being pulled from your lips. He loved the noises you made, could get drunk off them, could pull them from you for hours, and he has. “I need you,” you whimper as his mouth latches onto your nipple, his warm tongue flicking over the hardening nub. He hums around it but doesn’t stop. You can feel him relax over top of you, his free hand squeezing at your other tit, the days stress melting away. “Please?” 

“I’m takin’ my time.” Frank says, narrowed eyes flicking up to meet your own, but he lets go of your nipple, sliding down the length of the bed. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked though, aren’t you? That’s why you’re begging me.” You can’t deny it even if you wanted to because his hand is cupping your cunt, thick finger prodding at your slick opening to see, and you’re moaning so loud you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, you are. Guess it has been a bit, hasn’t it? Missed me or something, sweetheart?”

“Missed your cock.”

“Just my cock?” He asks, rubbing your wetness on your clit, a shiver going down your spine. “Not my fingers? The ones on your sloppy fuckin’ pussy right now, you didn’t miss them?” He asks, a smug fucking grin on his face, his fingers moving expertly against you. “Not my mouth? Bet your pussy misses my mouth. Shit, last time we fucked you didn’t seem very happy when I stopped tongue fucking you, so what changed, huh?”

His voice is sharp, working himself up the more he talks, his eyes focused on yours. He loves the microexpressions you make when you’re trying to hold back; the furrow of your eyebrows, the twitch of your lips, the flare of your nostrils. It's so incredibly human, so incredibly sexy, he wants nothing more than to bite into your neck and drain you, keep you inside him forever. But, he can’t. He’d miss you. Instead, he slips two fingers inside your hole, the stretch making you gasp, eyes widening, heartbeat picking up. “O-okay, okay…missed you.” 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did.” He says, sliding down the rest of the bed, strong hands on your thighs, tongue swiping across your clit. Your legs try to close, your back arching off the soft mattress, the clang of the handcuffs bringing a smile to his face. Frank moans against your cunt, his fingers massaging your thighs as he enjoys himself. 

You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair and tug, bringing him closer, but these damn handcuffs keep digging into your wrists and it hurts and his fingers won’t stop pumping and scissoring inside your cunt and his lips are wrapping around your clit and he’s sucking and suddenly you can’t think of anything as you cum. Your legs shake and your eyes roll into the back of your head and all Frank can do is laugh against you as he draws it out. 

“S-stop, hang on,” you stutter after what felt like hours, your body going limp. Frank listens for once, moving his face off of your cunt but he leaves his fingers inside you, curling them just to pull a whine from your throat. You watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth and lips, tasting you, cracking his neck to stop himself from bending you in half and shoving his cock inside you. It’s been a while, almost two weeks, and he wants to savor this. Or, he wants to try. Self control has never been his strong suit. “Can you take the handcuffs off?” 

“They hurt?”

“A little.”

“Not yet.” Frank crawls over top of you, pressing his lips to yours. He’s gentle now, but you know he’s holding back. Despite how rough he gets with you, he’s always holding back from the primal urge to rip you to shreds. When he pulls away, he moves forwards even more, his knees just under your armpits. You stare up at him and he knows you’re nervous. His smile is gone, his eyes dark as he works on undoing his belt. “I’ll take ‘em off you real soon baby. I just need you to earn it first.” 

You swallow heavily, your heartbeat spiking as you watch him take his belt off. He tosses it to the side, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down to his thighs. His pants rub against your bare chest, scratching you, but you can’t be bothered to care, not with the way your mouth was filling with saliva at the sight of his bulge. Frank laughs as you try to sit back onto your elbows, an annoyed whine stuck in your throat, and he pulls his underwear down, sighing as his cock springs free.

His cock is hard and he strokes it slowly, just out of reach. “Fuckin’ look at you… you ain’t embarrassed acting like this?” He asks, clenching his jaw to keep from moaning at the sight of you. You didn’t know it, or, at least, he hoped you didn’t, but he was addicted to every fucking thing you did. Your voice, your facial expressions, your movements, your back talk, your anger, your sadness; he was obsessed with it all. It was all for him, even when you were alone. 

Smiling slightly, you shake your head no. “Were you embarrassed eating me out?” You counter and he smirks, rolling his eyes slightly before leaning his hips forward, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. Your mouth opens, your eyes laser focused on his dick. Frank teases you, rubbing his cock across your wet tongue.

“Mmm, fuck, I wasn’t,” he answers, tilting his head as he watches you strain your head forwards in an attempt to take him into your mouth. “But I wasn’t doing that.” You roll your eyes and look up at him, doing your best to look doe-eyed. His eyes narrow; he knew what you were doing, and he knew it would work. “So slutty, aren’t you, sweetheart? All for my cock.” As he talks, his voice low, he uses his hand to press his cock against your cheek, thrusting shallowly. His precum smears across your cheeks and you moan softly, your tongue rolling out of your mouth to slide against his shaft as he does so.

Finally, Frank pushes his cock down your throat. He does so slowly, hissing as he savors the heat of your mouth as your lips wrap around him. Your eyes close and you hum, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue. His cock was perfect for you; long, thick, and curved upwards, it always filled you to the brim, hitting that spot inside you to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

“There you go, Y/N,” he grunts, his hips flexing. The rhythm he sets is slow and deep, making you gag each time and giving you enough time to recover before he repeats it. “Fuck, your mouth is so good, you know that? Just wanna, fuck,” his hand comes to rest on the headboard behind you, leaning over your head, plunging his cock deeper into your mouth. You hear the metal headboard creak and you know the grip he has on it is nearly enough to break it. “Just wanna fucking shove it down your throat till you pass out.” 

You gurgle around his cock, heart jumping at the thought, and he grins. “You want that, slut? Huh? Missed me so fuckin’ bad you want me to fuck your tight little throat? Make you take it even after you’re fuckin’ knocked out, using you like my own little fuck toy, my little puppet to do whatever I want with?” His thrusts get harder, deeper, and now you really are finding it hard to breathe, but you don’t want him to stop. Not yet. You have no way to stop him even if you did, and the realization is almost enough to send you into a panic. But you know Frank. He knew your body better than you did, knew what you could handle and what you couldn’t, knew what would make you cry in pain or pleasure; you were safe with him, even if he was bruising your throat. 

The edge of your vision begins to blur, the lack of oxygen making your head spin, and right when you swear you’re about to pass out, your tugging at the handcuffs finally stopping, he pulls out. You suck in a harsh breath, sputtering and coughing, not registering as Frank gets off the bed and kicks his pants the rest of the way off. It’s only when you feel his hands pressing your knees to your chest that you realize what he’s about to do. “Wait!”

“What?” He grumbles, swiping his cock through your folds, focused on the way you coat the tip. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna fuck… that’ll be cruel...” You respond by tugging at the handcuffs again, clanging them against the bed frame, and he nods, tsking, a grin on his face. “Ah, right, right. Forgot about that. My bad, baby.” 

He grabs the key from his pants pocket, wetting his bottom lip as he unlocks them, tossing the handcuffs and keys to the side. Your wrists are raw, a few droplets of blood bubbling up along the skin. “You made me bleed.” You say softly, no venom in your voice. He grabs your hand gently, bringing it to his mouth before he licks the cut. It tickles.

“Fuck, your blood…” Frank says, giving you a look you can’t quite place before he’s back at the task at hand. Your knees are pushed to your chest, your hands positioned to hold them back as far as you could, and before you know it his cock is bullying its way into your hole. “So fucking tight.” He grunts as he sets a brutal pace, each noise of pain you make only fueling him onward. 

He doesn’t ever want to hurt you, but it’s hard not to when you sound and feel and taste so fucking good when he does.

“My cock too much?” He leans over your body as he fucks you, using his weight to keep your legs trapped above his shoulders. Frank's face hovers above yours, his eyes locked onto every twist of your face. “Too fuckin’ big, too fuckin’ thick, it hurts, Frank.” He mocks, emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust. Your arms, now free from the restraints, wrap around his shoulders tightly. “Too fuckin; much but you don’t want me to stop, fuck, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, don’t stop, please!” You cry out, the pain of being stretched out finally beginning to melt away into toe curling pleasure. The fire in your stomach is burning white hot, his stomach bumping against your clit with each thrust, his grunts replacing your own thoughts. Every word he said, every name he called you, it all blended together perfectly.

He begins to kiss at your neck, sucking marks onto your flesh only to soothe them with his tongue. “Missed you too, y’know?” He whispers against you. “Missed this fuckin’ pussy, the way you get so god damn tight. Couldn’t, shit, couldn’t even play with my cock ‘cause it didn’t feel as good as when you do it.” He laughs at this, shaking his head at himself for admitting it. He missed the other stuff too, like your smile and your laugh and the way you smelled when you were curled up in his bed asleep. He’d never tell you that, though. 

Franks thrusts grow sloppy, his patience finally snapping. “You better fuckin’ cum on my dick, Y/N.” He grunts, lifting his head for a brief moment to look you in the eyes. When he sees them squeezed shut he growls, one hand wrapping tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ look at me.” Your eyes pop open, your gasp of shock stuck in your throat. “Your greedy little cunts gonna milk me dry, you understand, bitch?” 

“F-fuck,” you gurgle, your hand grabbing onto his as he tightens his grip again. You do your best to nod, feeling spit collect at the corner of your mouth, your heart beating so quick you think it’s going to burst. You can’t breath but he’s fucking you so well you don’t give a shit; you just hope if you pass out he’ll hold off on cumming inside you until you were awake again so you can feel it. 

“There you go, baby, fuck, cum for me.” Frank grunts, feeling your orgasm just before you do. His hand lets go of your throat as you cum, shoving your head to the side to sink his teeth into your flesh. Somehow, someway, he’s able to hold off for a few moments longer, savoring the feeling of your cunt spasming around him before he cums, the sweet taste of your blood pooling into his mouth tipping him over the edge. He doesn’t let go, groaning into your shoulder as he spills inside you.

Your gasps come out shaky as he feeds. He swallows a few times before finally letting go, your blood covering his mouth. He kisses you roughly, his hips flexing, making sure your cunt gets every drop. “Gross,” you tease when he pulls away, your tongue swiping over the blood he had left behind on your tongue. Your face screws up at the metallic taste but Franks changes to be softer. He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, taking the sight of you in. “What?” You murmur, feeling your face grow hot. 

“I did miss you. For real.” He admits, corner of his lip twitching upwards at both the look of shock that crosses your face and the way your heart skips. He never admitted that to you before; it was always about how much he missed your cunt or your mouth or your hands, how he missed fucking you and making you his, and you always accepted that this was the way it would be. Sure, you dreamed about this moment time and time again, but you never actually thought it would happen. “Being away, you know, made me think some things through.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well…” He tilts his head slightly, surveying your face. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time you joined me.” His hips flex again, pushing his cum deeper inside you, and you gasp, back arching off the bed slightly. Frank moves your legs down off his shoulders and you wrap them around his waist. “Hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” Frank purrs, kissing you gently, his cock plunging in and out of you slowly. He pulls back, lips hovering just above yours, a smirk on his face. “You want me to turn you?

[vidvana]

I know that nobody asked, but here's some Telvanni lore for all the foodies.

Before you begin this culinary journey, check out this post about ash yams it's essential.

-----------------------------

Telvanni Cuisine

It’s obvious that Telvanni have an extensive knowledge of fungi.  After all, they live in huge mushrooms and collect and plant numerous species from all across the Tamriel to use them in their potions. It goes without saying that their cuisine is also quite fungal. The commonfolk at Telvanni settlements as most of the Dunmer source their protein both from fungi* and insect meat. But Telvanni nobles love nurturing peculiar worldviews and traditions that differentiate them from other races - or even other Dunmer. One of them is their distaste for anything that doesn’t grow in soil. They frown upon hunter traditions of Ashlanders and stock-raising of house Redoran and regard them as “primitive” in contrast to the delicate art of growing fungi. The alchemy ingredients are an obvious exception from this rule, but in general as their occupations don’t usually include menial work, their light and low-calorie cuisine perfectly matches their lifestyle. This resulted in traditional cuisine of the nobility being solely plant-, or more specifically, mushroom-based**, that contrasts sharply with the cuisine of Skyrim that is rich in venison and other animal-based foods***. Noble Telvanni shun debilitating ingredients such as alcohol and moon sugar in their everyday cuisine, as keeping their minds sharp is their main priority. In order to get an indulgent sweet taste marshmerrow is used instead. Telvanni rarely import vast quantities of vegetables from other provinces as house Hlaalu does. They use commonly grown foods like saltrice, ash yams or mushrooms as the base ingredients of the dishes. In some aspects they prefer to stick to the Dunmer traditions. The nobles, though, indulge themselves in expensive imported berries - not only because of their magic-enhancing abilities but also because of their extravagant taste. As the Telvanni ranks feature numerous alchemists the import of alchemical ingredients is obviously very common. Telvanni chefs gradually incorporated some of the exotic spices into traditional cuisine. Especially valued are the most characterful of them that fancy up the bland taste of mushrooms, such as juniper, ginseng or garlic****. * In real life mushrooms are a rather poor source of protein compared to legumes like beans and lentil. But since there are no legumes in TES universe (at least as far as I know) let's suppose there are some protein-rich mushrooms Telvanni can plant. ** It’s also worth mentioning that I’m a Telvanni-fixated vegan ass myself so that’s a more probable reason why I made my beloved house also vegan xD *** A lovely example of that contrast you can encounter in @thana-topsy ‘s fanfic “Breathing Water”. This would nicely explain Neloth’s preference for apple cabbage stew. **** This recipe for example resembles Telvanni cuisine, it was one of the inspirations from my imaginary dishes above.

Above I’ve come up with some examples of what noble Telvanni would eat on a daily basis.

Thanks for reading that and take care :3

[rebeccathenaturalist]

An App Does Not a Master Naturalist Make

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/app-not-master-naturalist/ - I had written this as an op-ed and sent it to WaPo, but they had no interest, so you get to read it here instead!

I have mixed feelings about Michael Coren’s April 25 Washington Post article, “These 4 free apps can help you identify every flower, plant and tree around you.” His ebullience at exploring some of the diverse ecological community around him made me grin, because I know exactly what it feels like. There’s nothing like that sense of wonder and belonging when you go outside and are surrounded by neighbors of many species, instead of a monotonous wall of green, and that is a big part of what led me to become a Master Naturalist.

When I moved from the Midwest to the Pacific Northwest in 2006, I felt lost because I didn’t recognize many of the animals or plants in my new home. So I set about systematically learning every species that crossed my path. Later, I began teaching community-level classes on nature identification to help other people learn skills and tools for exploring their local flora, fauna, and fungi.

Threeleaf foamflower (Tiarella trifoliata)

Let me be clear: I love apps. I use Merlin routinely to identify unknown bird songs, and iNaturalist is my absolute favorite ID app, period. But these tools are not 100% flawless.

For one thing, they’re only as good as the data you provide them. iNaturalist’s algorithms, for example, rely on a combination of photos (visual data), date and time (seasonal data), and GPS coordinates (location data) to make initial identification suggestions. These algorithms sift through the 135-million-plus observations uploaded to date, finding observations that have similar visual, seasonal, and location data to yours.

There have been many times over the years where iNaturalist isn’t so sure. Take this photo of a rather nondescript clump of grass. Without seed heads to provide extra clues, the algorithms offer an unrelated assortment of species, with only one grass. I’ve gotten that “We’re not confident enough to make a recommendation” message countless times over my years of using the app, often suggesting species that are clearly not what I’m looking at in real life.

Because iNaturalist usually offers up multiple options, you have to decide which one is the best fit. Sometimes it’s the first species listed, but sometimes it’s not. This becomes trickier if all the species that are suggested look alike. Tree-of-Heaven (Ailanthus altissima), smooth sumac (Rhus glabra) and eastern black walnut (Juglans nigra) all have pinnately compound, lanceolate leaves, and young plants of these three species can appear quite similar. If all you know how to do is point and click your phone’s camera, you aren’t going to be able to confidently choose which of the three plants is the right one.

Coren correctly points out that both iNaturalist and Pl@ntNet do offer more information on suggested species—if people are willing to take the time to look. Too many assume ID apps will give an easy, instant answer. In watching my students use the app in person almost everyone just picks the first species in the list. It’s not until I demonstrate how to access the additional content for each species offered that anyone thinks to question the algorithms’ suggestions.

While iNaturalist is one of the tools I incorporate into my classes, I emphasize that apps in general are not to be used alone, but in conjunction with field guides, websites, and other resources. Nature identification, even on a casual level, requires critical thinking and observation skills if you want to make sure you’re correct. Coren’s assertion that you only need a few apps demonstrates a misunderstanding of a skill that takes time and practice to develop properly—and accurately.

Speaking of oversimplification, apps are not a Master Naturalist in your pocket, and that statement —while meant as a compliment–does a disservice to the thousands of Master Naturalists across the country. While the training curricula vary from state to state, they are generally based in learning how organisms interact within habitats and ecosystems, often drawing on a synthesis of biology, geology, hydrology, climatology, and other natural sciences. A Master Naturalist could tell you not only what species you’re looking at, but how it fits into this ecosystem, how its adaptations are different from a related species in another ecoregion, and so forth.

Map showing Level III and IV ecoregions of Oregon, the basis of my training as an Oregon Master Naturalist.

In spite of my criticisms, I do think that Coren was absolutely onto something when he described the effects of using the apps. Seeing the landscape around you turn from a green background to a vibrant community of living beings makes going outside a more exciting, personal experience. I and my fellow nature nerds share an intense curiosity about the world around us. And that passion, more than any app or other tool, is fundamental to becoming a citizen naturalist, Master or otherwise.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[avocado-writing]

HI IT’S THE CHILLY ANON, first off thank you sm that fic/drabble was absolutely tasty, very delicious

secondly !! if requests are still open (I tried to scroll back on your page to double check) could I perhaps! Request another astarion x tav/reader that’s afraid of the dark ?

giving you big hugs and a glass of water ^^

notes: thank you anon I am slurping it down mwah xx if you like my work, please reblog!

words: 1.1k

rating: T

pairing: astarion x reader

He hates the Underdark. 

More than anything because it reminds him of his life before, chained into the shadows without the possibility of being free in the sun, and he hates the idea of returning to that voluntarily. But the group insisted that it was the safest path to the Shadowlands - and gods know that sounds like a barrel of laughs, too - so here he is. Trudging. 

The excursion itself was bad, with its exploding fungi and minotaurs charging from nowhere, but things got catastrophically worse when that damned Bulette had appeared. Astarion is never a fan of enemies he can’t keep an eye on at all times so that thing surfacing scared the un-life out of him, and when you called a retreat the damned group got carved into two halves: Shadowheart and Karlach headed one way, towards the wide open mushroom fields, and the two of you another - into the shadowed safety of a cave. 

And then there was a bloody rockfall. 

It closed you off from them, splitting the bloody party like fools. Both of you trapped in a tunnel, covered in dust and dirt and feeling incredibly stupid indeed.

Alone together. 

Luckily Shadowheart had used a Sending spell to let you know they were attempting to find a way out, but it might take a while. Looks like they’ll have to source some explosives from somewhere in order to clear the debris from the cavemouth. With little else to do, you stayed put.

So here the two of you are, waiting for your rescue to be sprung with no real idea of a timeline. Astarion has been pacing, complaining as loudly as he can about the situation and listening to the echo of his own gripes, but you’ve been oddly… still. Sat against the rocky wall with a torch gripped so tightly in your hands that it’s changing the colour of your knuckles. The torch which, now he comes to think of it, you haven’t let go of since you climbed down that ridiculous ladder into this wretched place.

“We should have risked the damned mountain pass is all I’m saying. A handful of githyanki are hardly the worst choice when you compare them to all this bloody… gloom. I mean gods, I’ve not seen the sun in two hundred years and now we are actively choosing to hide from it. What’s the point of this damned tadpole if I’m hundreds of feet beneath the earth?!”

“Can you not?” you say, voice so quiet he almost misses it. For a moment, Astarion pause, turning with his whole torso to look at you. He inspects you through narrowed eyes.

“You’re the one who led us down here,” he sniffs, as if this justifies his bitching.

“Yes, because the group voted. Everyone but the two of us and Lae’zel chose Underdark.”

Your eyes don’t meet his when you speak. They’re locked solidly on the flame in front of you, a flame which is beginning to dwindle. A gentle sheen of sweat has broken out on your face and Astarion doesn’t think it’s from your proximity to the heat.

You’re right. You didn’t want to come down here either. A couple of things click into place for him, and his eyebrows raise as Astarion uncovers a secret about you.

“Are you… are you afraid of the dark?”

“Fuck off, Astarion,” you sigh. This is totally unlike you. Usually you’re willing to parry his teasing with your own, engage in a little sharp-edged banter. It’s one of his favourite parts of the day, actually - when he can volley back and forth with you. But right now you simply lack your usual gumption. When he attunes his attention to it, Astarion wonders how he was so obtuse; he can taste the fear in your blood without a drop of it needing to hit his tongue, the way it courses round your body, flooding you with adrenaline.

He hesitates. Part of him wants to slip back into pettiness and attempt to goad you into an argument, at least that way maybe you’d be a bit distracted. But another, far larger part of him, a part which he knows is going to win out, wants to reach out in genuine kindness.

“Ignis,” he mutters under his breath, and a Firebolt appears in his hand, flooding the cave with light. He doesn’t launch it at anything, and the flame is hot and uncomfortable against his palm - but not enough for him to care when he sees how you let out a held breath at the sight of it. The cave is bathed in warm light which illuminates every crag and cranny, a couple of spiders skitter away into splinters in the rock, but you don’t seem to care - quite the opposite. This is the most relaxed he’s seen you in a while.

“Better?” he asks. You nod, grip finally loosening a little on your torch.

“Much better. Thank you, Astarion.”

He saunters over, back against the wall and sliding down the stone as carefully as he can. Your eyes soften in the light he casts. From this close, he can admire every inch of your face. It’s a nice face. He’d like to admire it more.

“Didn’t pin you as the type to be afraid of anything. Well, except for the whole possibly turning into a Mindflayer thing, but that’s a given,” he reasons. You groan in frustration.

“I know. It’s silly, really. I’ve hated it since I was little, and as I got older… well, it became less about the dark itself, and more what might be hiding in the dark,” you sigh. Astarion nods. It’s a simple but honest explanation. It seems that, around every corner in this damned place, there’s another beast waiting to jump out at you. He’s been surprised more times in the past few days than he’s been in his entire life. 

“Well, we’ll be out of here soon. Here,” he nods at the cave-in, “and here,” he gestures widely with his free hand, as if to indicate the Underdark itself.

“Yes. And into a place literally dubbed ‘the Shadowlands’.”

“Exactly!” he agrees, and then, “...oh. Right. Shit.”

His genuine reaction of regret makes you laugh, and he realises he hasn’t heard that in days, either. You let your head fall to the side until it lands softly onto his shoulder. Astarion is filled with warmth, and it isn’t just from the fire.

“If I was going to be stuck with anyone in here, I’m glad it’s you,” you mutter. He’s worried it would show too much of his heart to reflect the sentiment, so he just lays his cheek against your scalp, and waits for the others to find you.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling@wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdousnugget @somethingblu3 @hopeful-n-sad

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #34 – Children of Memory by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Overview

I have had this on my list for long enough for my request that the local library get a copy actually result in me getting my hands on it. It’s the third instalment (the last? I’m not sure – the ending here felt like far less of a natural conclusion than the ending to either of the previous two) of what is for my money some of the absolute best space opera (maybe even just science fiction writ large) of the last decade. I actually opened it with a real sense of trepidation; Children of Ruin had ended on an optimistic, open-ended note, with the creation of an interstellar and inter species society that was both deeply aspirational and incredibly alien. I wasn’t sure how a book from their perspective would even work. Thankfully, my fears were basically misplaced – there’s definitely a drift in tone and focus from where the series started, but the thematic heart’s still there, and this was overall a joy to read.

Synopsis

Following the end of Children of Ruin, we have a nomadic society of uplifted spiders and squids, Humans (the capitalization signifies infection by an engineered retrovirus to help with empathy and accepting/valuing the Other), the formerly all-consuming alien microbal parasites of Nod (who have agreed to only assimilate the identities of those who expressly consent to the process), and various instances of Avranda Kern (millennia old upload of a meglomaniacal mad scientist who is by a quirk of history now the OS all computers run on). After making tentative Second Contact with a half-terraformed world now inhabited by a civilization of debatably-sentient crows, an exploration ship takes on a pair of them as ambassadors before finding their way to way what seems to be a struggling but holding on colony founded by one of the last arkships of refugees to escape the ruins of Old Earth. .

Intercut with this is the narrative of that arkship arriving, very much the worse for wear after two thousand years and change hurtling through the void with its crew and cargo in cryo. The world is hardly what they hoped for – only ever half-terraformed, breathable atmosphere and some basic engineered microbal life, but entirely lacking any sort of biosphere – but it’s not like they have another option. They make the best of it they can, using what working technology they have to bootstrap a basic ecosystem of pigs and trees, a few species of bugs and fungi, enough to farm and build with. And the core crew holds out hope that the faint trace of a strange signal buried in the hills near their colony might lead to something more.

Intercut with that is the story of Liff, a young girl in the colony as things take a turn for the worse. That’s when things start to get weird.

Xenophilia

The best way for me to get across the central theme of this whole series is ‘more star trek than star trek’ (or at least, than any star trek produced since I’ve come of age). It believes is absolutely nothing so strongly as it believes in the pure and perfect virtue of curiosity, that the point of existence is to discover, and to share what you have discovered with those around you. It is an oft-repeated point that the overwhelming majority of the universe is cold and empty, and anything different is worth seeking out and treasuring for its own sake – that every shred of diversity is the cosmos is a wonder in its own right.

Which is the entire purpose our protagonist’s civilization has set themselves – the distributed fleet of pathological scientists and novelty-seekers, leaving behind teeming cities and orbital habitats for a life seeking the mysteries of the universe with tiny circles of peers. It’s very Starfleet, in its most idealistic and elevator-pitch form.

And even beyond them, curiosity, discovery and exploration are treated as basically heroic wherever they’re found – Captain Holt and the Enkidu might have been doomed, but they’re still presented as deeply and wholly admirable for trying.

It goes beyond that, too. This is one of vanishingly few space opera settings I can think of with a cast full of distinct and dissimilar species, where none of them are orcs. Or dragons, for that matter. No matter how monstrous and horrifying a species seems – spiders the size of your head, the mad remnant of an ancient demiurge, all-consuming and replicating alien parasites – the answer is diplomacy, outreach, communication. Both sequels in the series have begun with a civilization formed through the total (though not seamless) integration of alien societies from the last book into a greater whole. The parasites from Children of Ruin best exemplify this, I think – convinced that consuming and assimilating everything it can reach will result in nothing but a universe of itself, compared to walking through the world with a soft touch and appreciating all the different dynamics that can develop through so many myriad perspectives. And now one of them is basically the book’s main protagonist (and very guilty about all the nonconsensually-eating-people thing).

Whereas in Memory it’s not exactly subtle that the intolerance and violence against social deviants is presented as basically a symptom of material scarcity and desperation. When Landfall is doing well, the little band of infiltrators – strange, nonverbal artist, discomfortingly informative schoolteacher, standoffish and thoroughly gender nonconforming woodswoman – are affectionately tolerated and appreciated for what they can do. When the harvests are bad and the forests are rotting – well who even needs abstract art or history lessons to begin with? They’re lashed out at, used as just one of a growing set of scapegoats, and when things are dire enough, again and again, they end up on the noose. Intolerance is a self-harming reflex, a wounded animal lashing out because it can neither understand nor change the actual source of its pain. Again, Star Trek but moreso.

The ‘moreso’ does a lot of work in this comparison, to be fair. The series shares Star Trek’s deep love of science just like it shares its pathological liberalism – it’s just consistent about it. The crew explorers are casually transhuman (transarachnid, transcephlopod, etc) - immortal and physically enhanced, capable of sharing and downloading both memories and skills, visibly aging or carrying scars only as a fashion statement. It is treated as a casual fact of life that letting an experiment progress might mean going into cold sleep for decades or centuries, if there is no better way for a group of six on a small ship to while away the time while they wait. Technology has conquered scarcity on anything like a personal scale, and the explorers take full advantage.

Which is probably downstream of the books not being particularly caught up on ‘humanity’. I mean, humans are there – are very important! - but to the extent they’re the axis the universe turns upon, it’s only the ghosts of the old empire. Modern humans are just one part of interstellar civilization, and not even its most numerous or prominent. Humans have a unique way of thinking (as does everyone else) but no monopoly on heroic drive or virtue.

Curious Corvids

Each book in the series feels marketed around a different uplifted animal arising from the ruins of humanity’s imperial glory and galaxy-spanning hubris. This is not wrong, but it definitely becomes less right as the series progresses.

Children of Time is about the spiders. There’s humans too, sure, but I’ve yet to see a single person who read for the Gilgamesh plotline. By wordcount and thematic focus and just what makes it an interesting book, it is about the evolution of Portid intelligence and civilization across the millennia. The real protagonist of the novel is the species.

Children of Ruin is still kind of about the uplifting of the Squids. Senkovi’s efforts and relationship with them gets a decent amount of focus, as does the development of their civilization after the terraformers’ death. They just share top billing with the alien aliens, and rather than just being the climax of the story Second Contact is the real meat of the entire plot.

In Children of Ruin the introduction of the corvids almost feels like a publisher mandate – their history and backstory is basically brushed over in the prologue and one interlude, Second Contact basically a triviality. It’s not that they’re not important to the book or its themes, or that they’re not interesting (in both cases they very much are!), but they feel like a b-plot. Supporting what the book is about, not defining it.

Which to be clear, is from a writing perspective almost certainly the correct choice – ‘Children of Time but with a different species’ would still be fascinating, but it really doesn’t cohere as a continuing and linked series. I just think you could have dug some more meat out of the abbreviated history given there. What fanfic is for, I suppose.

It’s a funny sort of distinction that unlike the others, the corvids aren’t technically uplifts – the considered opinion of the series is that while spiders and squids would require millenia of nanite-assisted directed evolution to develop anything that looks like human-level sapience, in the right environment crows would just Do That (admittedly with the addition of alien radiation scrambling DNA and increasing mutation rate by an order of magnitude or two).

The other trend with the different uplift species as the series has gone on is that with each book they become neurologically and psychologically weird. The spiders had Understandings and a bunch of predator- and cannibal-instincts, but they’re still each an individual intelligence. The squids are a central brain and a bunch of semi-autonomous limbs which are only barely on speaking terms with the conscious mind. And now the crows are not individually intelligent at all – they think and live in pairs, one observing and recalling, the other analyzing and inferring, actual intelligence appearing only in the dialogue and interaction between the two. Which makes chapters from their POV very entertaining, at least.

Sentience and Identity

The book’s very interested in both – it’s probably the most central and explicit theme of the entire thing. Our crows, having given the matter thorough and careful reflection, eventually decided that they weren’t sentient at all (that nothing is, really) – or at least, that’s the series of sounds they make when asked. Our other main characters include:

an alien parasite which has assimilated a copy of a woman’s consciousness and now imitates her so well she often forgets she’s anything else

a copy of a sliver of an instance of an upload of an ancient terraformer, who for a nontrivial period of time was running on hard that was mostly ant colony

an extremely detailed simulation of someone who could have but never did exist

(arguably) the simulation they are running on.

The book comes down pretty solidly on a ‘if it quacks like a duck’ model of personhood – and cheats a bit in terms of giving most of the above POV chapters and obvious internal monologues – but the question of who counts as sentience and as a person, and of what ‘sentient’ and ‘person’ even mean – are ones that various characters spend a lot of time and angst on.

The answer the book arrives at isn’t exactly a surprise – see above, more star trek than star trek – but it’s still an interesting angle to look at everyone from.

Genre Ambiguity

The book is clearly, self-evidently science fiction, but Tchaikovsky still has a lot of fun playing around with some fantasy tropes and imagery in it. Liff is an adolescent who dearly loves her book of ancient fairy-tales, and so our view of Landfall and the world beyond it, which means basically her entire plotline is narrated with a fairy-tale sensibility. In fairness, Kern and the crows do an excellent job accidentally seeming like a witch and her familiars. Landfall’s whole deal seeming a lot more like a fairy curse than anything from the inside doesn’t hurt, either.

While it’s science fiction, Memory is definitely softer science fiction than the previous books in the series. In general, human- and human-descended technology all at least has the convincing appearance of rigour and plausibility, while anything alien falls solidly into the real of space magic plot devices. So we get elaborate narration on the exact details of how the crew of the Enkidu bootstrap a functional ecology around Landfalll before their high technology begins giving out, but the simulator buried in the hills Just Works. Which as neat a way to do the division as any, really, but there’s a real shift in tone from Time where just about everything feels like it’s from the first category. I mean, they have fTL now!

Conclusion

This isn’t really a book I’d call groundbreaking – Children of Time has much more of a claim to novelty in both subject and presentation – but it’s one that I think solidly achieves everything it tries to? The writing’s good, the characters all cohere, the themes are explored intelligently. Plus, Kern is probably one of my favourite characters of all time.

So y’know if you don’t have major issues with spiders, multiple POVs and unclear timelines, or existential angst, would solidly recommend.

[acti-veg]

(keep public for discussion) is there any evidence of non animal (plant, fungi, etc) sentience? How about bug? And should sentience be the bases of what deserves basic rights (food, shelter, safety, etc) ?

There is no real evidence of sentience for any organisms other than animals, no. As far as we can tell, in the absence of nerve ganglia to transmit a pain response, a nervous system or a a brain to process it, nothing resembling suffering as we understand it can occur. I think it is perfectly possible that there is some sort of ‘sensation,’ and ‘will’, I’m thinking of in large networks like funghi or lichen, but it would be so radically different to anything we understand that we can’t observe it in the same way or use the same language to describe it. Sentience is a human concept we impose on the world, and it isn’t an exact one.

For insects, they’re a diverse group but by and large, they have a relatively simple central nervous system, made up of groups of nerve ganglia attached to a simple, central nervous system through multiple sections of the body. They also have brains to process that nerve response into something resembling pain. All of this would have to essentially be there but not work in the same way it does in all other animals for them not to be sentient.

That said, with insects (and arthropods more generally) it is still much less of a settled debate. Insects have many traits we associate with sentience, most notably nociceptors, which are capable of processing a negative stimuli response. You can find a review of the current science on this here, but the short answer is that we think that at last many (if not most) of them are sentient in at least a simple way, but we need more research to say for certain.

Sentience is a useful benchmark for determining the extent to which a creature has subjective experiences, and therefore can experience their own oppression and cruelty inflicted on them. If they can experience pain, we shouldn’t be hurting them. As for rights, sentience is far from perfect as a measure of who should have rights and who shouldn’t. Sentience is a useful benchmark, but any way of distinguishing who should have rights and who shouldn’t will always be fairly arbitrary.

The way I think of it is that sentient beings obviously need some fundamental rights, we can interpret, at least to some extent; what the interests of sentient beings actually are based on what they pursue and which stimuli they experience as negative. For insentient beings, things are less clear, but if we aren’t going to use sentience as our relevant factor, it is hard to think of what else we might be able to use. We can’t really use complexity, or intelligence, or behaviour in any way that would apply across organisms.

Theoretically though, I am not opposed to rights for insentient beings. Why shouldn’t a 500 year old Oak have the right to exist? Why shouldn’t a whole forest, a stretch of wetlands, an ocean? At the very least we can consider insentient beings to have interests in the sense that we should factor their existence into our decision-making on issues like land use and climate policy.

Personally, I’d love to have more discussions among vegans about the relevance of sentience, and what rights (if any) might be desirable for other forms of life, particularly plants. The problem is that we don’t really have the space to have these discussions because we’re endlessly fighting off the bad faith arguments of plant sentience from meat eaters. They want to talk about this because they see it as a way for meat eaters to (counter-intuitively)kill and consume both animals and vast numbers of plants, regardless of whether or not they are sentient.

[hellhoundmaggie]

wait whats the big SH headcanon you aren't into? I love SH but haven't interacted with the fandom a ton

Thank you for asking!

The theory I can’t agree with is that Wayne is a sentient fungus colony occupying Sam’s body. I do agree that there’s something inhuman puppeteering Sam Wayne’s body, but there isn’t any clear textual evidence suggesting the something is fungal.

There’s a couple of supporting arguments people tend to make for Fungus Theory, but I find them weak and tenuous:

Wayne’s body is rotting at a fast pace. Fungus is a cause of decomposition. Therefore the body must be colonized by a fungus.

Fungus may be a cause of decomp, but it’s not the only cause. Many kinds of organisms contribute to decomposition — insects, scavenger animals, microbes, etc. — and fungus is not necessary to the process. I’m not completely ruling out the possibility that the rapid rot is caused by fungus, but in the absence of concrete evidence, there’s no reason to assume this has to be the case.

Sybil is helping Wayne in some unspecified way. Sybil specializes in folk medicine, which has potent magical effects in her hands. Sybil specifically uses chaga, a fungus, to make a mind-control tea. According to the homeopathic principle of “like cures like,” Sybil must be using chaga or a similar fungal ingredient to support the fungus in Wayne.

This argument might be more convincing if Sybil used fungal cures exclusively, but she doesn’t. In fact, chaga is the only fungal cure she is shown to cultivate or use. The castor beans she gives Doc come from a plant. She grows poison flowers in her tea nook. Even the unspecified blend she gives to Tabitha is herbal, not fungal. Also, one of the effects of the chaga is to make the drinker trust Sybil, even to the point of not registering information that makes her look bad. If Wayne is drinking the chaga, then shouldn’t he trust her? Why does he assume she would hurt an aged MC? It doesn’t make sense to assume Sybil’s giving him chaga.

Wayne zaps Reese with what appears to be a set of yellow tendrils slithering out of his wrist; there are yellow fractal networks in a couple of Reese’s paintings. Some fungi are fractal networks, some fungi conduct electricity. The thing in Wayne’s arm must be part of a fungal network!

I can think of something else that zaps people with electricity: lightning. I plan to elaborate on this more in a series of theory-posts, but suffice it to say that I find my theory about lightning to have more textual support than the fungus theory while requiring fewer assumptions. Occam’s Razor, baby!

Abby Howard tends to take inspiration for her monster designs from her study of evolutionary biology. Reese’s monster design is an excellent example of how biology influences Abby’s art: he is a chimera of several real animals, both living and extinct. It would only make sense for her to have based Wayne on something biological too — like fungi!

This makes sense to me as a meta-textual argument. But again, there’s no textual evidence that Wayne is fungal, so there’s no reason to accept that Abby took inspiration from fungi when designing Wayne.

Again, I plan to write up my own pet theory — which not only explains what Wayne is, but also helps explain Reese’s origins, the nature of the Seals, the influence the Scarlets had over the town’s past, and the parts MC and Tabitha have to play in the town’s future — someday soon. But I hope this post helped convince you that, despite Wayne’s sense of humor, he is not a Fun Guy. Have a good one!

[geopsych]

The reason for posting some of my favorite pictures from each month last year wasn’t to show off my luck or the quality of my picture-taking. What I was trying to show was that even in a year that felt bad as often as 2022 there were good and beautiful things.

I had a rough year with my depression and I know I’m not alone. But even during the darkest times, when I was too damaged to fully appreciate it, the world away from the news and the internet went on being beautiful and filled with full-hearted life. Seeds turned into brand new plants. Birds arrived from the south, staked out territories, made nests and made brand new birds. Trees that were hundreds of years old bloomed and formed seeds and nuts. Much more: fungi, lichens, insects, all kinds of creatures, life, life, life, plus stones and earth and water and sky where it’s always Now.

While we’re all in our heads there’s still a real world, the one we were born into, out there to touch and hear and feel. It’s what saves me. When all kinds of horrors are being displayed in front of you or in your mind, try to touch something, even just a building or a tree, look at the sky, notice the plants growing in cracks in the pavement. It might help.

This is your world although people will try to convince you otherwise. You belong here as much as anyone. There’s a friend buried deep in the world and it loves you for exactly what you are. You don’t even have to believe it. And if you pay attention once in a while it might wink at you in some way only you would understand. You don’t have to tell anyone. You can just treasure it and hold it in your heart and maybe it will heal you just a bit.

At any rate I hope somehow some good comes to you in 2023!

[saccharinescorpion]

sorry i swear it’s not like i’m super angry about that one single comment, i just can’t get over the irony of spending the last couple days toying with the idea of basing the fantastical elements of a story off of some of the real life properties of fungi and then being told “sorry you can’t appreciate the beauty and horror of fungi” because i thought a tumblr shitpost was corny

[minecraft-inspo]

Why are slimes placed as an early branch off of the kingdom Animalia? 

Slimes are enigmatic. Taken at face value, they could fit anywhere or nowhere in the tree. They tick all of the boxes required to be defined as an animal, but don’t closely resemble any real phylum, though they do bear some resemblance to certain basal animal groups such as ctenophores and cnidarians. 

Why is the elytra branching off from the insects?

The word elytra refers to the hard wings of beetles. This is where beetles would be placed on the tree.

Why is the shulker a mollusk?

It’s a shelled invertebrate - anything beyond this is unclear. It has a pair of shells like a bivalve, but could belong to any of a number of different related groups. 

Why is the sea pickle so close to vertebrates?

The sea pickle is either based on a real life sea cucumber (an echinoderm), or a sea pickle (a tunicate). Either way, both of these groups are deuterostomes, which means they, like us, develop their anus before their mouth. Yeah. 

Why are guardians labeled as manufactured?

It’s an idea I’m not totally sold on, but a theory nevertheless. It has been posited that guardians were created to guard underwater monuments and are not actually animals. I am of the opinion that if this is the case, they are still at least partially biological, as they do drop edible raw fish. In this case, they likely represent a lineage of jawless fish comparable to real life ostracoderms that was further modified for their role as temple guardians. 

Why are the dragon and sniffer related? Why do they branch off the tree so early?

Both are 6 limbed, meaning they are not tetrapods, the group which includes all real terrestrial vertebrates. Instead, they may represent a different lineage of fishes which separately developed a third limb girdle and then followed a line of parallel evolution with the tetrapods. This is comparable to the various invasions of land by arthropods, in which arachnids, myriapods and insects separately evolved mechanisms of terrestrialization while also convergently evolving many of the same structures as each other. 

Aren’t creepers described as “plant-like?” Why are they included with the vertebrates?

They have indeed often been described as plant-like by various developers. It is my belief that they are vertebrates with a symbiotic relationship with some form of plant, probably a moss. This is why they are also included in Bryophyta on the other side of the tree. All promotional merchandise that shows creeper internal anatomy shows the presence of bones and the general anatomy reflects a familiar yet distorted version of the common tetrapod body plan. They do not share much in common with either reptiles or mammals, and so I split them off early in the vertebrate portion of the tree. While creepers share a developmental history with pigs, they do not actually bear any synapomorphies to suggest this relationship is canon, and so I chose not to place them nearby. 

Why are phantoms reptiles?

I’m honestly not sure what else they could be. The underside of the texture reminds me of the plastron of a turtle, though the wings are arguably more bat-like than anything else. Phantoms are all undead and their living version is likely now extinct, so we can’t fully understand the anatomy they would have had. 

Why are striders synapsids? What is a synapsid?

Synapsids are mammals and their extinct, reptile-like ancestors. Striders have hair, like living mammals, but otherwise share very little with modern mammals, suggesting they split off early in synapsid evolution.

What is the warden/sculk?

I don’t know. It’s very purposefully the most alien life in Minecraft. Most realistically, I think it’s not from the overworld at all. However, that’s not really in the spirit of this project. Therefore, I hypothetically place it as a fungus, as fungi are capable of the sprawling growth in dark environments and possible parasitism in the case of the warden itself. 

Why are blazes labeled as “manufactured?”

I haven’t got a clue what blazes could be. Are they sentient fire? Are they living creatures that mimic fire? Who knows. I finally ended up considering them to be something akin to vexes or golems - summoned by someone or something to guard nether fortresses, rather than naturally evolved creatures. This is actually supported by a really old (and likely since retconned) article from the Minecraft website. https://www.minecraft.net/en-us/article/visit-nether- 

Why is glow lichen connected to two separate branches?

Because lichen is a symbiotic structure formed by both algae and fungi!

Why are chorus plants where they are?

They are angiosperms, meaning they bear flowers and fruit, but do not have the characteristics of either of the more derived major lineages of flowering plants.

Why are dripleaf plants alismatales?

To me, they bear a great resemblance to members of the arum family, such as elephant ear plants, arrowhead plants, and Monstera. 

Torchflower?

It bears greatest resemblance to bromeliads, a group of plants related to grasses.

Why is the spore blossom placed where it is?

The spore blossom is another anomalous species. If “spore” is taken seriously, it must be a fern. However, ferns don’t have flowers, so I assumed the spores are actually just pollen. I placed it as a dicot based on the fact that dicots typically have flowers with 4-5 petals, while monocots have flowers with petals in multiples of 3. 

Why aren’t vines and glow berry vines placed together?

The “vine” form has evolved dozens of times in separate lineages of plants, just like the “tree” form. It alone is not enough to indicate a close relationship. I tentatively placed vines where the grape family would go, and placed the glow berries where staff vines (Celastrus) should be. 

Why aren’t dead bushes grouped with sweet berry bushes and azaleas?

Like vines and trees, “bush” is a description of a body form and not an evolutionary group. I depicted the dead bush as a real form of desert bush, a tumbleweed, specifically the Russian thistle, a common tumbleweed in the order Caryophyllales.

Sweet berries, on the other hand, are most likely based on lingonberries, a commonly grown crop in Sweden, where Mojang is based. These belong to the order Ericales along with azaleas, as well as many other common plants not yet represented in the game such as blueberries and cranberries. 

Pitcher plants are real - why isn’t there a “confirmed” lineage on the tree?

Pitcher plants have evolved several times in different lineages, and there is no clear indication which ones the ones in Minecraft are. In fact, most likely, the Minecraft pitcher plants don’t belong to any real group of pitcher plants, as none of these produce “pods” nor do they have similar leaves. However, the most likely candidates are the family Nepenthaceae (order Caryophylalles) or the family Sarraceniaceae (order Ericales).

[mogcubed]

i’ve been thinking about the logistics of undertale a little too much. biologically, what are monsters? like hypothetically what biological phyla would they fit under?

is this too niche of a question?

if it’s two races: humans vs. monsters, then there has to be a genetic difference in between the two sentient species. humans are mammals, descending from apes and the like, suggesting that monsters are inherently different from mammals entirely. however, we see monsters that heavily represent a lot of mammal species (dogs, goats, deer, etc) as well as a plethora of other animal-inspired characters (undyne having fish like qualities, alphys with lizard-like qualities).

do humans and monsters share the same common ancestor and just have adopted similar animalistic traits through convergent evolution, or are monsters something else entirely?

if the latter is true, i’m wondering if monster biology could be considered as something completely different than how we understand life. if we take into account that mr toby fox based the world of undertale on the scientific principles of our own (minus the whole concept of SOULs), given that monsters behave in a completely different nature than most living species, how exactly did they come to exist on earth?

basically, what if the monsters represented a seventh kingdom of life?

organisms are typically classified under six distinct kingdoms of life (Archaebacteria, Eubacteria, Protista, Fungi, Plantae, and Animalia). the first three kingdoms are basically microscopic, single celled organisms. the last three are probably the most familiar, being fungi, plants, and animals (with animals in this argument representing us, humanity, humans). monsters clearly don’t seem to fit into any of these categories

i mean, for one they (mainly) don’t bleed, instead decomposing into dust following the death of their physical bodies. like all other organisms, they run off energy, but this energy seems to be exuded outwards from a central point (their SOUL) rather than equally made and distributed throughout the cells of an organism like we see in all of the other six kingdoms.

essentially for us, yknow, mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. but i’m wondering if, for monsters, their SOUL serves as their mitochondria, in a way. it’s how they live and breathe. their food, too, is noted in undertale to be different than “food from the surface” or human food. it seems to completely rejuvenate their energy, instead of the traditional way that we as humans eat (by digesting other organisms). it seems that they don’t consume other organisms at all. instead their food is completely different and only MODELED after surface food (because yknow, they don’t exactly have digestive systems. take sans and papyrus for instance. real human food would just fall right through them probably).

ANYWAYS just some ramblings i could probably write a whole essay on this

TLDR: sans undertale is the secret seventh kingdom of life

[alena-draws]

Phew, I’ve uploaded some concept art on Twitter, breaking my chain of endless fanart with some professional seeming stuff, and I wanted to show you here, too:

These are sketches for the concept art I’m doing for my master thesis project! I’ve got 2 main settings in my hypothetical 2d movie, the Forest and the City, and I wanted to work out the visuals of the forest by going for some atmospheric drawings. Overall there is only few light shining through the branches, so the deeper and lower you are, the less light from the sun is there, until only mushroom will illuminate the area. I wanted to give it this vast, eerie feeling. Though at the bottom of the forest, you will find the ruins of the old world on which it is rooted, and the heart of the fungi network, a rather magical looking place that I wanted to make the setting for the finale of the story. I will make one properly worked out illustration for that place and then get back to the city, before I lose too much focus of my time frame that I still have left..

(for the fungi core, the bottom drawings, I am referencing the Kulturpalast Dresden, a philharmonic hall with quite interesting architecture! It fits perfectly with the stage and the different layers of the seats!

(on another note: everytime I look at other amazing art/movie references I get another cool idea how or what I want to do. I recently watched The Emperor’s New Groove and let me tell you, every background in that movie is just soo amazing, and the movie works so well with these stylised bgs, that I got the idea: Maybe I could go for smth more stylised, and not try to make the scenery seem so much like a “real” room, but more think about how the characters could be placed in it and then think about creating the better effect. Know what I mean? The more I learn and see the more I find out how little I know about this, but it’s all interesting and fun to work out! I just wished I had more time, not really needing a result in..uhm 2 months. *sweats* )

[mellorphic]

In Defence of c!Niki - a Four Part Analysis of Every Arc

People who didn’t watch C!Niki see, in the fandom, a big sister type character with girlboss energy who wants to kill a child. Niki isn’t that. She has a well-written narrative which focusses a lot on her relationships with others. Here is me breaking it down!

PART ONE: c!Niki’s Early Days (you are here)

PART TWO: c!Niki’s Rebellion

PART THREE: c!Niki’s Disillusionment

PART FOUR: c!Niki’s Healing

Niki joined the server a little while after the L’Manberg War for Independence and she immediately joined the nation as Wilbur invited her to it. Of course, Niki was close with Wilbur from the beginning and quickly she got close to Tommy and Fundy too. But a relationship that I find interesting was her bond with Eret.

From the get go, Niki is told by L’Manberg (read: Tommy and Wilbur) that Eret was a traitor and wasn’t trustworthy, and while she understood their apprehension, she remained friendly with Eret as they were nice to her. She had no real reason to dislike him because she had not been there during the war and therefore wasn’t betrayed by her.

Wilbur ends up talking to her about this.

N: you know I’m loyal to you, Wil! You know I’m loyal to you.

W: I don’t- I want you to be loyal to L’Manberg.

N: and to L’Manberg! I am!

W: […] just stick with L’Manberg! That’s all I’m looking for- that’s all I look for in- in a woman- <laughs>

N: I promise, I promise I will

W: okay..okay, I’ll trust you..

N: I mean, y’know, that is why I joined! I joined to join the independent nation, didn’t I?

W: you did.. you did. You did. And just not their independent nation.

N: no. Our independent nation.

I think this is the first really important bit of Niki’s character - she is loyal. But she won’t take what people tell her and trust it blindly. She wants to form her own opinions on things and on people rather than listening to what others tell her about them. And yet, even when she ends up disagreeing with someone on something it doesn’t affect their relationship. Niki quickly begins to trust Eret a lot and Wilbur doesn’t trust him at all. Despite this Niki remains loyal to Wilbur and assured him she’s loyal to L’Manberg too.

That’s another thing - she promised Wilbur she was loyal to L’Manberg. And she kept this promise for as long as she could. Throughout this analysis I’m going to reference this promise a lot because while it’s a mostly forgotten piece of lore I think it has a lot of potential to be bigger and to be talked about a lot more often.

Additionally, I think this shows that Niki is pretty good at reading people - she obviously knows Wilbur very well and can read him because of this, even starting to say ‘and to L’Manberg’ before Wilbur had even finished saying he wanted her to be loyal to it. At the same time, she’s able to figure out from Eret’s behaviour that he’s trustworthy. Analysing motives and behaviour is how Niki figures out who to trust and it’s important to remember this for the Manberg era when suddenly the behaviour and motives of people around her didn’t match up.

Niki showed her loyalty by making the nation’s flag, by telling Wilbur her fox Fungi was the mascot of L’Manberg, by creating her bakery, and by giving everyone lots of gifts. I’ve said it before that she was the soul of L’Manberg. She loved that nation and she lived and breathed its ideals. C!Niki was an idealist. I truly think she would’ve been happy to remain in L’Manberg forever, if it hadn’t changed. Unfortunately, though, change is inevitable and attachment is a main theme on the Dream SMP, and there were many people attached to L’Manberg. It wasn’t ever going to remain the same.

The first pet war was the first time we really saw how strong of a moral code c!Niki had, and it’s something a lot of people think she only developed later on. While she was initially angry at Sapnap, Niki only wanted an apology (but she refused to beg for one). She never wanted revenge like Tommy and Fundy did.

Early Niki is often regarded as naive, but I genuinely don’t think that was ever the case. She was kind and compassionate but she was never a pushover and she’s always been headstrong.

Niki joined Coconut2020 in the elections as Fundy had told her they could bring peace to the Nation and make it better. It’s important to note that she was extremely upset when she learned he had committed voter fraud. Niki cheered despite coming in last place and this made it clear she’d be happy regardless of whether or not she won, as long as the people were happy.

[rel124c41]

WALT DISNEY WORMDOG I. jade leech/oc

please contact your local doctor if you are experiencing the following symptoms: prophetic dreams, the feeling that someone is calling from across the water and from across the wave, midnight visitors, scars from sand, new friendships, black blood coming out your ears but NOT your nose, inhuman strength, canine teeth on your throat, & the philosophy that we should move on from our past and never let it hold us back from the possibilities of tomorrow.

a/n: a midnight conversation after jamil’s overblot

tags: blood and injury, oc is from the x reader called ‘the look on your face’, & established relationship

word count: 1996

“Hot, hot, hot, hot.”

“So you’ve griped.”

“Hot, hot, hot, hot.”

“Really, I would have never imagined.”

Panting like a mutt, molten lava on his draped tongue, the Ramshackle Prefect turns around to the vice-housewarden who has been following him like a duckling. He tries to mold his expression into something serious, something vexed. It is like trying to push melting ice-cream back into a sphere.

So, features wilting right back into that heat-stricken expression, the Ramshackle Prefect marches right back on to his destination. If Octavinelle’s vice wants to play his part as a mosquito in this Sahara-esque dorm, let Jade have his fun. There is something Marion needs to do.

For the first time in three days, his hand finally breaks contact with his sword’s handle.

White calluses on his tan hand are as prominent as fresh tattoo ink. The indents and intricate carvings have meshed themselves into his hand. You could mistake them for his palm’s natural creases if not for the single column of sigils upon feather-patterned horse-hoof pommel hilt. Damascus steel meets cobblestone.

Marion’s knees? They punch the cobblestone ground with an angry passion. Collapsing, he grips the edge of Scarabia’s pure gold fountain and ducks his head underwater.

An amused smile appears on Jade’s face. How truly unusual. Closing the distance, the eel-mer decides to take his own little respite too. After a battle and party, one should make time to unwind. Sitting on the edge of gold, Jade stretches out his legs and leans his head back to observe Marion’s nape. “You know, if you were so dehydrated, I’m certain Kalim could have assuaged your plight by making you a personal rain-cloud.”

It takes a while until Marion resurfaces. When he does, rivulets of water jump in shooting-star-leaps over the tips of his ebony hair. He runs a hand through the wet mop. It is considerably less hair than he had when entering Scarabia four days ago; before winter break, his hair was shoulder length and now it is chin length.

Through the stubborn strands that curtain his face, Marion groans , “This place is even hotter than Savanaclaw. Ugh, how is that even possible?”

“Did you not hear my suggestion?”

“Hmm?” Marion has taken to dipping his battered hands into the crystal clear water. The water’s weightlessness feels heavenly,

“I said, why not ask for the help of Kalim’s Unique Magic or perhaps a dip in the oasis?”

It is a relatively easy question to answer, but Marion reflects on the situation. How he had waited until he was sure Grim was dead to the world, stomach full of sleep-inducing food, and double-checked Ace and Deuce’s rooms. Stood outside Scarabia’s vice’s bedroom, trying to listen through the door’s cracks if Jamil’s measured breaths were from real sleep or a facade. Then, a lighthouse yellow eye bloomed in the comfortable dark Marion had been stalking in and Marion allowed him to follow.

The only reason he is able to relax now is because Jade said: (“I slipped something in the tea.”

“You did?” Marion asks, pulling back from the guest room Deuce is slumbering in. “What was it?”

“A heavy sedative. Something from the fungi kingdom that I doubt even Jamil could recognize the taste of. Come, let’s go.”) And that had assured him everyone would be comatose in a deep dream. So, after ignoring it for so long, Marion is able to treat his consistent, four day long heatstroke.

As to the response to Jade’s inquiry, it is: “Didn’t like the idea of taking my eyes off them.”

It had been Grim that texted Ace and Deuce for a rescue; Marion had been opposed firmly. Just as he had been opposed to the help of Azul Ashengrotto and his two, taller shadows.

“Hm,” Jade responds softly. He turns his burning gaze off to the side, towards the nebulous ebon that coats and suctions onto the exterior of Scarabian architecture. “Could’ve asked for my help.”

“Could’ve but didn’t,” Marion agrees as he rises to his feet. Completely ignorant that Jade is vexed.

He has still not taken off his steel-toed boots since this morning and it is now approaching midnight. Physicality rules heavily over sentimentality. An overblot for breakfast and lunch with a party for dinner and dessert. What a painfully busy day.

“Should’ve.” It seems Jade has gotten his fill of appreciating the building designs. Gold and olive-brown try to make an imposing dissect at green eyes but it falls short. It is really hard to ever look at the Ramshackle Prefect with any animosity.

Sand-dollar hued laces are pulled apart as Marion balances his foot on the fountain’s edge. He wiggles his foot out his boot and unfurls his white sock.

“Are you upset or suggesting something for the future? I think the only other hot dorm might be Ignihyde, but it's temperamentally hot and I manage fine there.” It is almost amusing to Jade how sincere that question is – almost. Jade watches as Marion hooks his other foot on the fountain’s edge, undoing the laces. He is just about to answer when Marion gets his left boot off. His white sock is soaked red.

“Huh, odd.”

Jade quirks an eyebrow at Marion’s monotone exclamation – if you could even call it an exclamation. Like two people waiting for the circus’s curtain to rise, they watch in tandem as the sanguinary-dyed sock is removed. Blood sticks to Marion’s thumbs, pulling it off. The sight causes both Marion’s and Jade’s eyes to pulse with interest.

“You know, I concur. Odd.”

“I didn’t even feel anything.”

“I would say that’s incomprehensible, but with your dance battle with Jamil and then the literal one with Ace and Deuce … I have no reason but to believe you.”

“Wonder if it happened because of the stone pillar.”

“Who knows. Wiggle it,” Jade instructs with barely contained, dangerous intrigue.

Marion tries to, but it is fruitless. His big toe is bent to the side with all the harsh angles of a broken stick. The best image to compare it to is the end of a hockey staff, one ridge turn away from being straight. In the red, you can see a tiny, snowy mountain cap of white which is the bone peeking out. The rest of his toes move just fine though.

“No use,” Marion declares, staring at his open fracture. By now, the blood that has not been absorbed into the sock starts to make dimes of red on gold.

With a pat to the fountain, Jade wordlessly instructs Marion to sit. A breath later, he hovers over the protruding wound with his magic pen, getting to work on a healing spell. As violet shimmers and skin rearranges itself, they go quiet with different ordeals on their mind.

It is just odd, the rawest definition of the word, that Jamil’s Unique Magic had not robbed Marion of his sword. Jamil had certainly tried as Marion remembers: “Why don’t you two stay here at Scarabia for winter vacation? Prefect, let me handle your sword; you can relax here.”

Under the hypnotist’s spell, Snake Whisper, he had followed each instruction down to the tiny word of relaxation, but his grip had never faltered from his sword.

I’m not immune to magic or overblots, Ramshackle Prefect thinks as he watches his big toe reverse and mend, but I didn’t once release my sword. If anything, he and his claymore glued themselves together after Jamil’s words for three whole days. Acting completely in reverse of what the magic-laced instruction was.

He treads his right leg back and forth in the fountain’s water, contemplative. It is in the past though, so perhaps it is fine to let it go. He sends a pensive look over his shoulder to his claymore, laying by the fountain, and decides it does not matter anymore. It will never phase him again unless the future calls for it to.

“You run so much hotter than everyone else,” Jade says as he places a hand over Marion’s neck. He knows there are no scent glands in humans but he still possessively lets his own scent diffuse into brown skin. Infects the pore with the sweat of himself, infects the already infected bloodstream.

“Mmmh, you remember when I head-butted Jamil twice during the fight?”

“I recall.”

“I did it because I was so dizzy from the heat. Needed to restart my vision and mind. The first was a test; the second one was intentional.”

“You have such a crude and amusing way of doing things.”

“Thank you. Not sure how you can stand this heat though. I think I’m melting,” Marion whines, leaning into Jade’s embrace.

“Being cold-blooded comes with a particular adaptability.

“How’s the Coral Sea?

“Rather cold and desolate.”

“That sounds great,” Marion moans, enthralled with the idea of pitch black, chilly landscape. “Take me there?”

“One day.”

The conversation lulls and Marion dips his now fixed foot into the fountain. His muscular arms hold the edge of the fountain behind him; the scars on his left arm made from Leona’s Unique Magic stretch with his deep breath. Scars travel down that arm like kintsugi pottery, lightning cracks of sand-hued wounds on a dark canvas.

It is a while of just basking in company before Jade breaks it.

“Why did you not let me or Floyd fight?”

Marion’s eyebrows raise curiously. “During the overblot, you remember, when you kicked both me and Floyd fifty feet away from the fight?” The smile on Jade’s face is predatory and wide, gleaming with all his acute enamels. Ah, that’s vexed!

“Hm, I just felt like I had it in the bag, was too in the moment to need help.”

“Yet you allowed Kalim to assist you,” Jade leans forward, showing more of his teeth.

Is it so bad that he wants to be the only one of the Ramshackle’s arsenal? The first character … the main of the player … selected in the game as Idia would say, right?

Rolling his options on his tongue like a piece of gum, Marion looks up at the squirting arches of the fountain. Water leaps in this beautiful, jetting motion. Everything about this place is a little hypnotic.

“You really want to know?” Jade’s expression gives away the answer clear as day.

Leaning close, he whispers, “you smell the best when you’re fighting for your life. Would’ve distracted me.”

Jade’s heart gives a dangerous lunge in his chest, overjoyed. Smiling, he glides his hand up until he is pinching the chin of the Ramshackle Prefect, puppeting him so his spine has to hunch yet his neck has to tilt up. Such a malleable clay structure for Jade to mold; something he will dip his fingers into only to discover there are blades hidden in the clay like razors in Halloween candy. What a treat, caramel and blood. Waiting to taste just about anything, Jade leans amorous … but —

Marion pulls back. “Nice try,” he congratulates, smiling at the frown on the vice-housewarden’s face.

“Don’t humans kiss at least after a life threatening situation? Even when wired on adrenaline earlier, you stubbornly refused.”

“Not this human. C’mon. I’m cooled down; let’s raid the kitchen.”

There is much more to discuss about Jamil’s overblot; about what is going to happen in the future; about them and their relationship. It is best to be done with petite interludes made by chowing down on some good food.

Ah, he supposes the taste of stolen food might be as appetizing as metaphorical caramel and blood. Marion always knows how to get his attention — the pinnacle distraction for the eel-mer has always been cooking. So, Jade puts his hand in the outstretched, scarred one.

“I’ll try later.”

“I know,” Marion says. He presses a kiss to the wrist of Jade’s hand that was just holding his magic pen and reversing his wound. “Let’s go steal some shit.”