Catch them all
The phone's own camera takes the photo, and the spirit takes the green of your leaves from it. Then pick the species from 133 houseplants, or describe your own: look, light, watering, humidity, winter rest.
Stillcraft / Apps / Rootlings
A red handheld field guide in Game Boy Color pixels, for the plants you really have. Photograph each one with the phone's camera and its spirit sits in a pot, coloured with the green of your leaves. The sill gets the real light: the sun's position and the real radiation over your town, hour by hour, with real clouds, rain and snow in the panes. Spirits bask, pine for light, sleep through winter, ask for a finger in the soil instead of a watering calendar, evolve as the plant grows, hatch from cuttings and fight spider mites with the real treatment. Free, no ads, no account.
Android 9.0+ · Free · English & Русский
The phone's own camera takes the photo, and the spirit takes the green of your leaves from it. Then pick the species from 133 houseplants, or describe your own: look, light, watering, humidity, winter rest.
Press the back of the phone to the glass and the compass says which way the window looks. Then say what's outside: open sky, trees or a wall close by.
Light on every sill is worked out hour by hour from the sun's position and the real direct and diffuse radiation over your town (Open-Meteo, MET Norway as a fallback). The panes show the real clouds, rain, snow and night.
Spirits bask in the sun, pine in the gloom and sleep through winter; cacti take their winter rest. When it's been below +8° outside for five days, the radiators are on and they feel the dry air.
Each pot dries by its species, its light and the heating. When it's time, the spirit asks for a finger check: dry, damp or wet. Every answer teaches the estimate your home.
Count new leaves, and once a month take a molt photo from the same spot, before and after side by side. With enough growth the spirit evolves, flickering like in the old games.
A cutting in a glass of water or in soil is an egg. When the roots show, a spirit hatches with its ancestry: “child of Whiskers ← grandma Zoya's spider plant”. Give it away as a text code a friend pastes in.
Pick the symptoms and meet one of 12 real troubles, from spider mites to root rot and sunburn. The moves are the real treatment steps, the repeat sprays unlock on their real days, and it's super effective.









| Trouble | Nickname | First sign |
|---|---|---|
| Spider mite | WEBBER | Pale specks, then fine webs |
| Scale insects | SHELLBACK | Brown bumps, sticky leaves |
| Thrips | SLIVVER | Silver streaks with black dots |
| Mealybug | FLUFFLE | White fluff in leaf joints |
| Fungus gnats | BUZZLET | Black flies over wet soil |
| Root rot | SOGGLE | Drooping in wet soil |
| Sunburn | SIZZLET | Pale patches facing the glass |
Care advice is general; every home is different, and your finger in the soil has the last word.
JDK 17+ (Android Studio's bundled JBR works) and the Android SDK. Kotlin, Jetpack Compose, Room, DataStore, WorkManager; every picture is pixel art drawn in code (25 plant shapes in three forms, 13 moods, 12 pests, the windows and their sky), and the catalogue, pests and moves are TSV.
git clone https://github.com/bigdevwhale/rootlings.git cd rootlings ./gradlew testDebugUnitTest assembleDebug ./gradlew assembleDebug -Pdemo # app.rootlings.demo: three windows and half a year of care ./gradlew testDebugUnitTest -Prender --tests '*RenderArt*' # the spirits, the windows and every screen to PNG
It tells you when to check. A pot's drying is only an estimate, so the spirit asks for a finger in the soil, and your answer corrects it for that pot.
Describe your own species: its look, type, light, watering, humidity, winter rest and flowers. It goes into the dex like any other.
Only the town search and the chosen town's coordinates, for the weather. Plants, photos and notes stay on the phone.
How many Saturdays you have left, and what you'll do with them.
The mindfulness multi-tool: breathing, Wim Hof, a bell, practices and a journal.
A strict focus timer that actually blocks distractions.
Don't drift apart from the people who matter.
Quit a habit, one day at a time.
Turn your days into a quest.
A quiet place for your mind.
Intermittent fasting, made warm and simple.
Your city, hidden in mist. Walk to reveal it.
Letters to your future self. Sealed until the day comes.
Every win deserves a little praise.
Goals under a night sky: 17 methods in one app.
Earn obols with useful apps, pay Charon for the feed.
One light, many colours: choose who you are in every part of life.
Cold water, contrast showers and the sauna, tempered like steel.
Chores as spells in a wizard's tower: keep the floors bright, wake the helpers.
A pixel-art familiar that feeds on the pages you read.
Photos and clips struck into pixel-art treasure in a dragon's cave.
A film camera for the family: shoot now, see the prints tomorrow.
They grow up faster than the photos do.
A merry app about death and growing old, in the spirit of the Day of the Dead.
Vows sealed with wax, and a ladder that makes them hard to break.
A scriptorium for what you learn: your own words, fading ink, and memory that holds.
About 940 Saturdays until they're eighteen. Spend them together.
A museum for what you want to remember: dig it up, clean it, put it on show.
Race your own ghost at everyday tasks: splits, medals and the Games.
Intrusive thoughts as ships: the lighthouse beam, the evening watch, forecasts checked.
A magic lantern deals the glass; parent and child make up the bedtime tale.
A date night for two on a night train: a conductor's questions, the phone as the table between you.
The same questions to your child, yourself or a grandparent, year after year, laid as a mosaic.
Your mind is a kite on a string. A few soft tugs a day bring it back to here.
There is too much music. One album a week, a whole side at a time, on a turntable or a tape deck.
There's too much to watch. So nothing gets watched. Your watchlist as a nineties video rental store.
Every date is a quest. The two of you are a party of heroes, and the phone is your game master.
A cosy lucid-dreaming trainer. In a dream, the top never falls.
A cosy pixel-art meditation tracker. Sit still, and shy animals come out.
A valve radio for falling asleep: tune into made-up stations of rain, sea and night trains, and let it drift off the air.
Five pots for everything you've never tried: sow a seed from a catalogue of new things, water it each time you go back, and when it blooms it's yours.
A fridge door for two: the shopping list, whose turn, notes, worries face down and envelopes that open only together. The phones sync at home, with no server.
A pedometer where your steps carry the village post. You are the new postman of a small village by a river, and its letters, stories and seasons go on for years.
Befriend a real tree. Every meeting is a ring: the friendship grows only from visits to the tree itself, and over a year they build up into a sawn cross-section.
Let your wishes age before you buy them. Every urge to buy goes into a bottle on the rack; when it's ripe, you open it without guilt or pour it into the barrel of your real dream.
Every walk is an assignment from the district paper. The editor wires one ordinary thing to shoot, with a twist; you bring back a frame, it's printed as a halftone, and on Sunday the week comes out as an issue.
A diary, index cards, telegrams and letters typed on a typewriter. There's no backspace that erases: a mistake is struck out or painted over and stays on the sheet, so you write slower, and more honestly.
Every shopping trip is a run. You keep a courier office of one: the household orders on the waybill, each shop learns its own shelf order, and every delivered waybill pays in brass tokens for a sign, a bicycle, a van one day.
The things of your hobbies come alive with practice. Every session lights a candle in a little pixel-art Japanese house; a guitar, a ball of yarn or a sourdough starter shivers, opens an eye, steps off the shelf as a house spirit and keeps growing for years.
A little movement all day long instead of an hour twice a week. Nine pixel-art tin toys on a shelf, each a family of movements; a minute or three of squats, balance or breathing winds one up for two hours and puts a pin in the day's music-box drum.
Make friends the way it actually works, and keep them for years. An old sea chart of your people: small sorties of courage to meet them, bridges that grow with every hour together, and fog that rolls in when you stop.
Step out of your comfort zone a little every day. Your fears become circus acts: pick what you find hard, and the bill offers three small real-life numbers a day, from warm-up to premiere — with a drum roll before and applause after.
Over a thousand evidence-graded protocols for a longer, calmer, happier life. Your body is a blueprint with eight systems; every protocol is a mod you try on yourself for 14 days, and the lab shows whether it moved anything before it enters your firmware.
Someone already lives in your flat. Find out who — and help them leave. A slow, quiet haunting on your own photos: marks in your rooms, notes in the evening, words through the static, and after two weeks one real thing left to do.
A small present every day, from your past self. You can't surprise yourself unless you forget: fill a capsule machine with little presents for future days, let the words seal, and turn the crank for one a day.
A budget kept like a detective's case file. Spending is evidence, categories are suspects with police photos, and when the clues show a pattern, a case opens: you name the motive and hand down the verdict.
A pilgrim's pass: come to a place of power, a church, a mosque, a synagogue, a spring or an old tree, sit there ten minutes without the phone, and the book gets a stamp nobody else has.
A book of hours for your own practices: the day divided into hours by the sun, a bell for each, and whatever you put into them written into an illuminated manuscript.
Be drawn one of the 117 billion people who have ever lived, and read their life in a parish register: the doors that were open, the ones that were shut, and what was left behind.
Enamel pin badges for the small deeds of a day, each with an order typed out, a rubber stamp and a fanfare. Nothing to plan and no streaks: in the evening the commission asks what happened.
Put a worry on an old brass balance as a stone, and weights with arguments go on the other pan, one by one, until it tips. 1,209 concrete worries, 15,900 weights.
A pet that lives under your bed and eats fear. Horror films and books feed it, anxious news is fast food, and your own fears it guards at night.
A bookshop of books that don't exist. Every day a customer asks for one, and you find it on the shelf by writing its title, first line and blurb.
Tarot with no bad cards. The Auntie finds the good even in Death, gives you an omen for the day and asks in the evening whether it came true.
A talk by the fire with the people close to you: hold your stones together, and sparks bring the questions.
A diary of the cafés you keep coming back to: each gets a page and a sugar packet, and every cup leaves a coffee stain on the page.
Found a bug, missing a feature, or want it in your language? Tell us on GitHub.
Open an issue