#red veined sorrel

[faguscarolinensis]

Rumex sanguineus / Red-Veined Sorrel

#Rumex sanguineus #Red-veined sorrel #Red veined sorrel #Bloody dock #Red veined dock #Red-veined dock #Nature photography #Edible plants #Home

[wealthypioneers]

Rare Bloody Dock Red Sorrel Seeds, Organic Heirloom Non-GMO BN25 Bloody dock plant, aka red veined sorrel (Rumex sanguineus), is a rosette forming perennial from the buckwheat family. It generally grows in a clumping mound that reaches around 18 inches (46 cm.) in height and is just as wide Stunning foliage plant with elongated, medium green leaves, exquisitely veined in a brilliant burgundy-purple. A hardy perennial, it quickly forms an attractive clump, which sends up red flower clusters in early summer, followed by brown seed heads. A superb, deer-resistant accent plant. Count: ~25+ 6-12 hours of Sun Sprouts in 10-14 Days Ideal Temperature: 65-75 Degrees F Seed Depth: 1/4" Plant Spacing: 10-12" Frost Hardy: Yes Type: Annuals, Perennials Sun Exposure: Full Sun Water: Regular Water Family: Polygonaceae Type: Annuals, Perennials Sun Exposure: Full Sun Water: Regular Water Planting Zones: 4-11 Family: Polygonaceae Rumex sanguineus (Red) Bloody Dock Red Sorrel, bloodwort Bloody Sorrel / Red Dock, Rumex sanguineus ssp. sanguineus Red Vein Sorrel has edible leaves, which can be used raw in salads or cooked in soups, sauces, egg dishes. The flavor is like that of sharp, sprightly spinach, but sorrel is more heat tolerant and produces throughout the growing season. French sorrel (R. scutatus) is a more sprawling plant, to 112 feet high, with shorter, broader leaves and a milder, more lemony flavor than R. acetosa. Native to Europe, western Asia, and North Africa. The oxalic acid found in sorrel can replace lemon, which is often added to smoothies to balance out the taste. Grow sorrel in reasonably good soil. Sow seeds in early spring; thin seedlings to 8 inches apart. Or set out transplants at any time, spacing them 8 inches apart. Pick tender leaves when they are big enough to use; cut out flowering stems to encourage leaf production. Replace (or dig and divide) plants after 3 or 4 years. The plant grows to about 2 feet in height in clumps with pink flowers in racemose appearing during early summer. Upright, bright green leaves have exquisite deep red veins. A colorful and unique addition to perennial borders and mixed container plantings. Herbaceous. Growing Tips: Harvest tender leaves starting in early spring, remove flowering tops to keep leaves tender and to prevent unwanted volunteers. May become invasive in some climates. How to Grow Red Veined Sorrel Bloody dock plants are hardy to USDA zones 4-8 but can be grown as annuals in other areas. Sow the seeds directly into the garden in the spring or divide existing plants. Situate the planting in full sun to partial shade in average to moist soil. Bloody dock care is minimal, as this is a low-maintenance plant. It can be grown around ponds, in a bog, or in a water garden. Keep the plants moist at all times. The plant can be invasive in the garden if allowed to self-sow. Remove the flower stalks to prevent self-seeding and promote bushy leaf growth. Fertilize once a year in the spring. GROWING BLOODY DOCK Bloody dock is easy to grow from seed. It likes a evenly moist, well drained soil and partial shade. The red veins are already apparent when the plant is just 1/2" tall! Like any other greens, wash sorrel clumps thoroughly in clean running water and rinse in salt water for about 30 minutes in order to remove dirt and any insecticide residues. Bloody Dock can grow up to 3 feet tall and is a perennial up to zone 6. Like other Sorrel's, Bloody Dock grows continuously from early spring till late fall. As a perennial it's often one of the first greens available in the spring so if you're looking for a spring salad this would be a great choice. Many people simply plant Bloody Dock as a foliage plant similar to how you would use Hostas. It makes for a very striking border and if left to self seed will easily fill an empty area of your landscaping if desired. The fresh herb should be used early to get maximum nutrition. To store, keep wrapped in a damp towel and place in the refrigerator for extended use (up to 3 days). Harvesting tips I harvest red veined sorrel from my zone 5 garden all year round. In spring, summer, and autumn I have plants in my raised bed vegetable garden as well as in containers on my deck. In winter I like to have a couple of plants tucked into cold frames or in my polytunnel beds. There are two main ways to harvest sorrel: Pluck individual leaves as needed. For salads and fresh eating, I pick leaves that are three to four inches long. These are the most tender. Older leaves are tougher and sharper in flavor. Grow it as a ‘cut and come again crop’. Need a bunch of sorrel at once for pesto or another recipe? Shear the plants back to just a couple of inches above the ground. This gives you a big harvest but also forces the plants to push out new growth for future meals. MEDICINAL USES FOR BLOODY DOCK As an herb, Bloody Dock has shown great promise for preventing cancer and fighting high cholesterol and diseases of the circulatory system. It's high in vitamins A & C, iron and potassium. It has antiseptic and astringent properties and a decoction of the leaves can be used externally for healing cuts, burns, rashes, wounds, hemorrhoids, insect bites and boils. The tap root is often dug up in spring and dried for later use. Bloody Dock does contain a good amount of oxalic acid (like spinach and brassicas). This is the nutrient that's believed to fight cancer however, it can also contribute to kidney stones in high doses so it's recommended to not overdo it! Sorrel uses – Add to soups – Make it into a sauce for fish – Add to omelets and scrambled eggs – Add to stuffing for meat – Shred sorrel and stuff it into fish – Add to quiches – Add to mashed potatoes – Add to hummus – Add to pasta – Add to mixed-leaf and herb salads – Add to chard and spinach anywhere you would use those – Use as a filling for buckwheat crêpes – Make it into a pesto, to use in pasta, on pizzas, or with grilled salmon – Sorrel Smoothie Seeds are not individually packaged according to variety but are packaged in one envelope for this listing, please see other listings for individual varieties. Note: No tracking # will be provided to make the shipping cost-effective for us and free for you. Returns & exchanges Not accepted. But please contact me if you have problems with your order Our seeds are guaranteed to germinate. Once the seeds have sprouted, please understand that we cannot be held responsible for the many uncontrollable growing and climatic conditions that must be met to ensure the success of your crop(s). I try my best to make my buyers happy and would appreciate it if you'd contact me first if you have any questions or problems with your order. If you open a case before contacting me first, I will automatically block you from future purchases. Thank you for your understanding. Tags: #full sun tolerant #annuals #edible plant #perennials #showy leaves #colorful leaves #accent plant #pond margins #moist soil #well-drained soil #vegetable garden #herbaceous perennials #ditches #border planting #edible garden #edible leaves #clumping #container plant http://springsofeden.myshopify.com/products/rare-bloody-dock-red-sorrel-seeds-organic-heirloom-non-gmo-bn25

#Blody Dock Sorrel #Red Sorrel #Belleville Sorrel #Rumex sanguineus #Common sorrel #French sorrel #herb seeds #rare seeds #perennial seeds #red veined sorrel #Bloody Dock Sorrel #bloodwort

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 4: Under The Heart Tree]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I wanted to take a moment to give a heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who has fallen in love with this series!!! I read (and go back to reread) every single comment, reblog, tag, and message I receive, and they mean the absolute world to me. I truly don’t have words to express how appreciative I am of you all. With the end of Chapter 4, this series is officially halfway over; there will be 8 chapters total. I hope you continue to enjoy it. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, witchcraft, a wild Aegon appears, drama, pregnancy, a tiny bit of sexual content, mentions of death and violence (per usual), cryptic Helaena prophesies, Sir Criston being a supportive stepdad, found family feels, one (1) still jealous boi, more drama, lots of shouting, this fic is for readers 18+!!!

Word count: 6.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @mochimommy2002 @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg​ @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @itzwhatever123 @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @penteknati @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @itzwhatever123 @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @404slayer404 @sunafterthethunder @torchbearerkyle​ @sweetashoneyhoney​ @quartzs-posts​ @lauraneedstochill​ @nctma15​ @queenofshinigamis​ @rapoficeandfire​ @hinata7346​ @curiouser-an-curiouser​ @eleganttravelercloud

💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜

“What do you need?” Aemond asks—his voice tender, the back of his hand testing the heat of your cheeks—and you tell him. He gathers everything: foxglove, sorrel, mint leaves, sticks of cinnamon, snakeskin, bloodstone, clear quartz, a blue candle, black tar rum, blood from a living bull. He does this swiftly and without any hesitation. He knows that only you have the power necessary for a cure.

In the dead of night, the prince half-carries you to the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. You try to grind the dry ingredients into dust with the mortar and pestle, but your hands are weak and trembling. Aemond takes the tools from you and finishes himself. He sets the candle on a gnarled, ancient root and sparks it to life with the dagger and flint your mother gave you before you left Bear Island. Then he pours the dust into a pitcher and slowly mixes in the rum and the bull’s blood. The candlelight dances on his face: shadow, light, shadow again. All the while, here where the Old Gods can hear you, you chant this over and over: “Mend the bones, fill the veins, stitch the flesh until it’s whole again.”

Aemond grimaces as he stirs the contents of the pitcher with the dagger blade. “You don’t have to drink this or paint it on your bedroom walls or something, do you?”

You smirk wanly. “Not quite.” And that’s fortunate, because you haven’t been able to drink anything in days.

Back in the Red Keep, the servants to fill your bathtub with water so hot it clouds the room with steam. Once they’re gone, Aemond helps you into the tub and then adds the pitcher’s crimson brew. You steep in a shimmering, blood-red sea and feel the sickness sweat out of you: the nausea, the tremors, the pain, the repulsive bone-deep weakness. Aemond perches on the rim of the tub and braids your hair to keep it tucked neatly away, singing softly in High Valyrian, words you haven’t learned yet.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur in the dreamlike haze of blood and heat and relief, nearly asleep. Your cramped muscles have unraveled like loose threads. The anxious, scratching demons that live in your skull are blessedly chained at the moment.

“You do,” he replies. When he leans down to kiss the crown of your head, you can hear the smile in his voice. “You always will.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep recedes from you like a waning crescent moon. Sounds of the morning breathe in through the open windows: birdsong, faraway voices, clops of horse hooves, wind in the leaves. You stretch, tentatively measuring the strength of your body; there is no aching, no fragility, no absence of strength like smothered embers. Your spell worked. You are cured. The triumph swells through you, a dazzling sort of fever. And then when you open your eyes, you see him.

You yelp like a startled animal. “What—?!”

“Good morning,” Aegon says brightly. He’s cross-legged on top of your writing desk and brandishing a cup of wine in his right hand.

You sit upright with a groan. “You need to stop doing this.”

“I have things to say that you should hear.”

“What?” you reply crossly.

Aegon sips his wine. “My mother has formally invited Borros Baratheon and his daughters to court. She did it a while ago, actually, but she’s been keeping it quiet. She didn’t want to give Aemond too much time to brood, I think. They are arriving in one week. There is going to be a feast. Lots of dancing, lots of diplomacy, and—my personal favorite—lots of drinking.” He raises his cup in a mock toast.

“Fantastic,” you say flatly.

“The thing is, Jason Lannister heard about this little development all the way out in Casterly Rock, so now he’s sending his daughters to court too. And so are the Arryns, and the Starks, and the Tullys and Tyrells, and Greyjoys too, if they can find anyone who counts as a lady. Maybe even the Westerlings and Swyfts and Swanns, you know…just in case they can pull an upset.” He takes another swig of wine. “It’ll be just like a horse market, except that all the horses walk on two legs and wear dresses.”

“One week…” Everything in you sinks. I knew this was coming, of course I did…but does it have to happen so fucking soon? Then again, maybe any time would feel too soon, months or years or decades. Maybe eternity with Aemond wouldn’t be long enough.

“No matter which horse wins, the result will be the same,” Aegon continues. “An engagement will be announced and my brother will soon wed in the Great Hall and set about the glorious task of producing heirs.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I thought you might benefit from having the opportunity to prepare yourself. To devise an exit strategy. To…” He considers this next word carefully. “Cope.”

“Oh,” you realize, staring at him. You’ve never been able to get a handle on Aegon Targaryen. He’s not attentive to Helaena—she gets companionship from Aemond, from Alicent, from Otto, from you, but not from her husband—yet to your knowledge he’s never been cruel to her either. He does not ridicule her many peculiarities. He does not criticize her. On the rare occasion that he shares her bed, you overhear no sounds of mistreatment, no weeping or shouting or coercion. Aegon never leaves marks of violence on his wife, which is more than you can say for your own father. He neglects his duties, but he does not rebel against them. He’s done horrible things, surely, blatantly; and yet somehow he does not strike you as a particularly horrible person. “You’re not here to torment me. You’re trying to be helpful.”

Aegon smiles, but there’s very little humor in it. “You can keep that to yourself. No one would believe you anyway.”

He hops down to the floor, guzzles the last of his wine, and leaves the empty cup on your dresser before vanishing through the doorway like a ghost.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gardens are buzzing with bees and gossip. You sit in the midst of a stiflingly mundane tea party and try to remain present enough to smile and nod at the correct moments. You wring your pendent—moonstone gem, silver chain—as Helaena eats lemon cakes beside you, humming contently. She is technically the host of this gathering. It’s meant as a welcome to the noblewomen who have already begun to arrive at court, an opportunity for them to mingle and sample the luxuries of King’s Landing and prove themselves as future wives and mothers. So far, all they’ve proven themselves as is vapid and shallow and frustrating; although perhaps you only feel that way because one of them might be destined to marry the man you love. Aemond hasn’t mentioned the feast to you yet. He never mentions anything related to his impending marriage to some other woman. You’re afraid to bring it up. You’re afraid to break the euphoria you’ve been living in with him like a spell.

As your attention wanders, you notice a spot of blood on the sleeve of your dress. Before the tea party, you and Helaena had been watching Aemond and Sir Criston spar in the courtyard. That particular exchange had been bloodless, but then Ivar Kellington had broken the nose of some hulking Arryn man deluded enough to challenge him. The droplets had sprayed into the crowd like burgundy rain. The match lasted about twelve seconds.

Look at me, having some illustrious gilded blood after all. Ha ha ha.

Across the table, several noblewomen have veered into a covert discussion of one of King’s Landing’s greatest scandals: the indiscretions of Prince Aegon. You can’t catch every word, but you can catch enough of them. Which means Helaena can too.

“A handmaiden…that’s what I heard…yes, I know…what an embarrassment…well you can’t give them all moon tea, now can you?”

You glare at them—a Tyrell girl, you observe now, and a Lannister and a Tully—but they continue their prattling. Helaena rises from her chair and hurries off into the foliage with tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Hey,” you begin, but still the ladies take no notice.

“Little blond children all over the city…more brothels than you could…and the fighting pits…”

“Hey,” you say again, leaning over the table. Now they look at you. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?!” cries the Tyrell.

“How dare you!” says the Lannister.

The Tully blubbers: “It’s not like she understands anyway—”

“She does understand.” Your voice is fierce and black and low. “She understands everything. She is your future queen and you’ve upset her with your stupidity. She’s too kind to tell you that to your faces, to make you pay for it. Her kindness is chronic and all-consuming. But I suffer from no such affliction.”

“You seem to suddenly think very highly of your station,” the Tyrell notes. “I wonder what has instilled such confidence in you, Lady Mormont.”

“Yes,” says the Lannister. “Has your family recently acquired some new lands…or titles…or armies…or anything?’

“No.” The Tyrell grins viciously. “They still just have poor little Bear Island. I wouldn’t even be able to find it on a map.”

“Perhaps that isn’t something to brag about,” you say, and storm away from the tea party before she can puzzle out what you mean. You can feel their narrowed eyes following you, cold and conspiratorial.

You find Helaena by a towering butterfly bush. Winged insects in a hundred different colors swoop around her like snowflakes. Silent tears stream down her ruddy face.

“Helaena…” You move to comfort her, then think better of it. She can be very particular about being touched. “I’m so sorry,” you offer, not knowing what else to say. It’s not like the girls were lying. Their words were terrible, and they should not have been said in earshot of Helaena; but they were true.

“Dragons do not speak our language,” Helaena says haltingly, deliberately. A sapphire-blue butterfly lands on her outstretched hand. “But still, they understand. To think they don’t is a mistake.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“They are not stone. They feel as deeply as we do.”

“Yes,” you say again. She means herself, of course; woven in the womb to speak differently, to think differently, to be so irretrievably different. And yet you find every thread of her wonderous.

She opens her arms wide. For a moment, you don’t understand what she wants; and then you embrace her. She clutches you tightly, digging her fingernails into your shoulder blades, burying her face in your neck. You can feel her tears there, hot and flowing freely.

“It’s alright,” you soothe. “Everything’s okay. You are so loved. You are so blameless.”

“I want to help you,” she says softly between sobs.

“Help me…? Help me with what, Helaena…?”

“I want to help you,” she repeats; and then she plods off, swiping tears from her eyes with both hands, still surrounded by a blizzard of butterflies.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have to talk to you about something,” Aemond says.

You are sitting together under a juniper tree on Bearstone with a picnic you’ve assembled: breads, cheeses, cherry and apricot jams, glossy red apples, honey cakes, wine for him, pomegranate juice for you. The kitchen staff had shot you sideways glances as you plucked each item from their cupboards. They know you’re Helaena’s lady-in-waiting, but they also know that you’ve been spotted socializing with the royal family with increasing frequency. There are whispers, and there are rumors, but if Alicent and Otto Hightower are aware of them they haven’t mentioned anything to you. Perhaps they feel it’s not even worth mentioning. Perhaps they expect the problem to be imminently remedied by one of those gorgeous, wealthy, well-connected women sauntering around the Red Keep.

“Okay.” You steel yourself for what comes next. You’ve known this was coming since the very beginning, since your arrival in King’s Landing, since before he ever touched you; Aemond Targaryen must marry, and he must marry well. Your hand settles protectively, instinctively over your belly, where your child lives unbeknownst to the rest of the world. You will be showing within a few months. What happens next will not only affect you. The prince’s affection for you is such that you now trust him not to leave you abandoned, adrift…but which path will he choose for you? He could give some lord a generous reward in exchange for marrying and providing for you…although given his territorial nature, this seems unlikely. He could send you back to Bear Island. He could send you to Dorne, where he counts the maesters among his few true friends. He could send you anywhere. He could set up a small household in the Crownlands somewhere, visit you a few times a year, know his child only as a passing thought. Regardless, you will lose him, whether in part or in whole; regardless, he will drain away from you like spilled blood.

Aemond says: “I think we should marry as soon as possible.”

Your mouth falls open. The apple you’ve been holding rolls out of your grasp. “You can’t marry me.”

“Why? You don’t consent?”

“No, I…” You shake your head, staring at him, stunned. You can’t find your words. “I…I’m a Mormont.”

He smiles. “I am aware of this, Moonstone.”

“Then surely you are also aware that there are currently about fifty highly-esteemed noblewomen in King’s Landing prepared to fight to the death for a chance to marry you. And that Otto Hightower and your mother are expecting a prompt betrothal to one of them.”

“I won’t do it,” he says calmly.

“You have to.” It pains you to say it, it flays you alive to say it, but it’s true. “I know that. I’ve always known it.”

“I have met my match in you. I will have no other. And my child must be legitimate.”

“They won’t allow it, they’ve planned this for years, they need this marriage—”

“Then Daeron can do it,” Aemond says. “There is one more son of King Viserys, is there not?” Daeron is younger than Aemond. He’s been serving Lord Ormund Hightower as a squire in Oldtown since he was twelve. You’ve heard that he’s a sweet boy, a compliant boy, more humble than either of his brothers. But he won’t be ready to marry for another few years. Aemond peers out over the ocean, meditative, melancholy. “I have already given enough to this family.” His eye, he means; his eye and his dragon and his swordsmanship and his fierce, efficient loyalty. “They will not take you from me too.”

You watch him, the wheels in your mind whirling. Is it possible? Is it really? When he turns back to you, he is at once himself again, or at least the way he is with you: kind, gentle, alight.

“What do you think, Moonstone?” Perhaps he’s nervous, but he’s hiding it well.

“I think that there is nothing I want more than to be bound to you in every way possible.”

“You must truly consider it,” he warns. “If you are my wife, you are inextricably linked to our side in what comes after. You must fully understand what you are entering into. Nothing can stop me from having you except your own will. If you have rethought your allegiances, or if you cannot bear to face the bloodshed…I can send you somewhere safe. I can make you disappear.”

What comes after. War, he means; the war of succession that will almost certainly follow the ailing King Viserys’ death, whether in a week or a month or a year. On one side will be Rhaenyra and Daemon. On the other will be Alicent’s children. You know exactly where you’ll be standing. “I understand, and I consent. I will shy away from no battles.”

Aemond closes the space between you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly, deeply, sending dragonfire heat spiraling down to every piece of you: nerves, arteries, bones, heart.

“So you aren’t bored of me yet,” you tease, climbing into his lap, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. Your freshly renewed body fits with his perfectly, effortlessly, like the black of night around the stars.

“Regrettably, I am not even the least bit bored of you.”

“I hope I don’t get you killed.”

“I’m sure you’d have a spell to fix that.”

You laugh, and he kisses you again, grinning, greedy. You respond eagerly, melding into his rhythm. Blood rushes to your cheeks. Your heartbeat races. The ocean wind is strong and tearing, the grass beneath your knees soft.

“Hm. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” your betrothed murmurs, his palms pressed into the small of your back, pulling you in closer.

“Me too.”

“And you’re hungry again.”

“Starving,” you amend, grinding your hips against his, turning his face away with your hand so you can bite the soft white skin of his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. His right eye is dazed, rapt, lost in you like a labyrinth; his sapphire glistens like sunbeams reflected off the crests of waves. You guide his hands beneath your dress so he can feel how wet you are. And he whispers slyly as he helps free you from all those cumbersome layers of fabric: “I told you you’d always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has studied the marriage rituals of the North. He knows them almost as well as you do. And so what must happen next is clear.

He comes to collect you from your room when the moon is high and the rest of the Red Keep dreaming. He looks the same as he always does—dressed in black, hair long and flowing, stoic and unsmiling until he sees you—and there are no special ornaments for you either. Weddings witnessed by the Old Gods are not strewn with guests or festivities or music or gold. They are vestiges of long, dark, cold winters when survival itself was a triumph. They are bare; they require only the meeting of two honest souls. And a heart tree.

Aemond grazes a thumb across your cheekbone, marveling at you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” And you are: completely, absolutely, with every drop of blood in your veins.

He takes your hand in his. He leads you from the room. And then, on the other side of the door, you discover Helaena. Both you and Aemond halt mid-step.

“Can I come too?” Helaena asks timidly. Moonlight glows on her angelic face. “I would like to be there. I would like to see you happy. Someone should be happy…if not me and Aegon, if not Mother and Sir Criston, if not the king…then at the very least you two should be.”

“Helaena…” Your words cut off, choked by emotion. You reach for her. She burrows into your arms with no reluctance at all. “Of course, my love,” you say, holding her. Aemond gazes at you, smiling faintly, immeasurably proud. “Of course. You are always, always welcome.”

In the godswood, under the cold fire of infinite constellations, the three of you arrive at the heart tree. You carry no torches to attract the attention of others. In the darkness, there is no discerning the color of the grass or the bark or the leaves. All the world is a murky, placid indigo; all the world is blind to arbitrary mortal designations of good and evil.

“There’s one thing I should mention,” Aemond says. “I have arranged for us to have a witness. I know they aren’t necessary in the North—the Old Gods themselves are the witnesses, seeing through the heart tree like a window—but I thought it would be wise for us to have someone of widely-regarded integrity to confirm that this marriage occurred. There can be no disputing it later.”

This is sensible. Your palm skates over your belly before you remember to stop yourself; you must get into the habit of giving away no clues of your pregnancy…until your marriage is public, at least. “But who…?”

Sir Criston Cole trudges into the godswood in full armor. “Alright Aemond, you better not be forcing me to help you catch and cut open a bull again, I’ve still got the bruises from last time, good gods…” He stops dead when he sees you. “Oh. So this has been the cause of your distraction.”

“Sir Criston, Lady Mormont and I are to marry.”

Sir Criston’s eyes are wide and blinking. “…Marry…?”

“Yes,” Aemond says. “Immediately.”

“What? Where…?”

“Here.” He turns to the heart tree in explanation.

Sir Criston stares blankly at the three of you, then shakes off his paralysis. “Oh no. No no no. Your mother would murder me.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Aemond…” Sir Criston begins, petrified.

“I am asking you to serve as a witness because of the love you bear for me and my family,” the prince says. “And I am asking you to keep this from my mother and grandfather. Not for long, mind you. Just until the feast has passed and the nobles have returned home to their own castles. Then I will inform my family in private, and they can soften the blow by offering Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever house they decide they like best. This is not treason, Sir Criston. It is a mark of the profound trust I have in you.”

“Oh gods. Gods help me.” Sir Criston covers his face with his hands and stays that way for what feels like a very long time. Fireflies illuminate the cool night air like stars. Several land on the sleeves of Helaena’s gown and shine there like jewels. “Okay,” Sir Criston agrees at last. “I’ll do it, Aemond. I’ll do it for you.”

The prince embraces the lowborn knight, perhaps the best swordsman in the realm. “You’re the closest thing I have to a father.”

“I know.” Sir Criston’s mouth quivers. His dark eyes are slick. “Now let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

You and Aemond join hands under the rustling leaves of the heart tree. Sir Criston stands beside the prince; Helaena stays near you. There is a distant rumbling of thunder. Sparce raindrops begin to fall. Aemond doesn’t know the vows used in a Northern wedding, you realize, and you can’t remember them well from the marriage ceremonies you attended as a child; from what you can recall, they are generic, plain, ‘who comes to take this woman?’ and that sort of thing.

“What should we say, wife?” the prince asks you, smiling, starlight in his eye. Suddenly, you are alone with him here in the godswood. You are the last people in Westeros, in the entire world. Winter has come and gone and left nothing but two ghosts doomed to dwell together here for eternity.

You speak without first thinking of what to say. The words flow through you like a river. “In the sight of gods and men, I bind myself to you. I will run from no battles, I will crave no flesh but yours, I will put no cause before your own. I pledge to you any strengths that I possess and I vow to slay my weaknesses. I am yours, body and soul. Use me as you will, but only out of love.”

Aemond repeats these words, and then he kisses you. Helaena claps; Sir Criston bows his head to hide a small, sincere smile. Rain falls as you all hurry back inside the Red Keep.

For the very first time, Aemond takes you to his own bed, to the room where you cast the spell of protection that saved him in the joust. There are still remnants of dust on the floor; he could not bring himself to erase you. As your clothes fall away, flashes of lightning reveal every line and birthmark and scar. There is no shyness. You know every stitch of each other already. You make love with gentle, exquisite slowness as the storm builds outside: his fingers woven through yours, his thrusts deep, his whispered promises heavy with truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have something for you,” your husband says as you stand together by the fireplace in the privacy of Helaena’s chambers. In the flames, dry wood pops and crackles. “For the feast.”

“We are so well matched you will not believe it,” you reply. “I have something for you too.”

Helaena brings it over: a tunic that you have been embroidering together for days. It is black—Aemond’s preferred color—but decorated with a dragon of silver thread. The beast winds around the wearer’s back and waist and arms, breathing cool glistening fire.

“It���s supposed to look like Vhagar,” you explain. “But…well…I’m not quite as good at embroidery as Helaena is, so the face is a little…and the wings…”

“It’s perfect,” Aemond says, beaming. And then again: “It’s perfect!” He yanks off his plain black tunic and replaces it with the one you’ve gifted him. “Now I will appear especially dashing for all my prospective wives.”

Helaena giggles, blushing a cheerful pink. She is elated to be in on a joke, to have been trusted with information of such consequence. She points at the silver dragon. “Be cautious with her. She will not always listen.”

“Who, Vhagar?” Aemond asks. “She listens well enough. I’ve tamed her. I’m good at taming all manner of beasts…dragons…bulls…bears…” He grabs you by the waist and draws you to him, kissing the side of your face over and over until you squeal and push him away, laughing. “As for my gift…” He calls for the servants and they enter with a gown. They hand it to the prince, casting you a wary glance, and then disappear again. The gown is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The color is subtle, shimmering, opalescent, almost…

“It’s…it’s…”

“Moonstone,” Aemond says. He gives it to you. The fabric flows like water. “I commissioned it the day after the joust. No one else will have anything like it. I’ll be able to spot you anywhere in the room.”

“I doubt you’ll have time to notice me. There will be a plethora of views to enjoy.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you’ll be the best.”

He leaves to accompany Alicent as she enters the feast while you and Helaena finish getting ready. Helaena’s gown is a vivid greenish-blue, and the stones in her jewelry are turquoise. There are teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from your ears and a string of them around your left wrist, gifts from the princess. As always, your moonstone pendant hangs from your neck. You are dressed ostentatiously for a mere lady-in-waiting, particularly one from as modest a house as your own. People may wonder about that. You smile to yourself. They won’t have to wonder long.

The Great Hall is radiant with music and conversation and candlelight. The most celebrated houses of Westeros mingle: the men boasting about their lands and their swords (which hang at their belts in scabbards of leather or metal), the women boasting about their wombs, the children boasting about their enviable betrothals. Those who don’t yet have betrothals to boast about are hoping to procure one tonight. No one pays much attention to you—the daughter of an important house, the widow of an unimportant man—unless it is to compliment your gown. You and Helaena dance together with flushed faces, giggling and twirling until you trip and fall into each other’s waiting arms. Meanwhile, Aemond—who, contrary to you, is having a great deal of attention paid to him—dutifully navigates the hall to pay his respects to the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Starks, on and on down the ladder. He speaks to each of the families, nodding politely to the clamoring, bejeweled daughters, before moving on to the next. He does this as quickly as he can so he can get it over with. He has never been at ease with strangers. He has never found it simple to trust them. A part of him will always be that overlooked, scorned second son, reserved by nature, suspicious by necessity; it’s just that he sometimes forgets this when he’s with you. No matter where he goes in the room, he keeps you on his good side. He watches you, he covets you.

There is one guest, and only one, who notices you and asks for a dance. Cregan Stark is young and handsome next to the other lords, nearly your same age, and you had met years before as children. He has a natural, kind charisma. He asks you about your family back on Bear Island as he carries you around the floor like a strong wind, tells you about Winterfell, offers his condolences for the loss of your mother. He doesn’t even think to mention your late husband. It is a commiseration between two Northerners in a distant land; it is a comfort to you both. As soon as Cregan Stark drops your hand and departs to awe some other lady, Aemond appears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks good-naturedly as he circles you, gliding his palm nonchalantly over your waist, your wrists, the small of your back. Your skin responds to him, goosebumps rising, lust kicking up like embers in a stirred fire.

“Diplomacy,” you reply primly.

“Hm. Perhaps we should send you to negotiate treaties.”

“I am very persuasive.”

“Yes, I know.” And he takes your hand to spin you around just once before leaving to pretend to consider marrying some other woman.

When Helaena is whisked away to dance with Otto Hightower, you pour yourself a cup of pomegranate juice and nurse it as you stand by the wall, alone. The noblewomen from the tea party toss you venomous sneers. You ignore them. You have everything they could ever want and more. Your hand settles briefly, forgetfully on your belly, and then you snatch it away.

Aegon, very intoxicated, wobbles over to you and props his back against the wall so he can keep his balance. “Hello,” he slurs.

“Hello.”

“I thought you might like to disparage the candidates with me,” he says, then gestures with his wine cup. “Look at that Floris Baratheon. Ears like a fucking donkey.”

You chuckle, hiding your face guiltily behind your own cup. “Shh. She’s not so bad.”

“You seem to be handling this remarkably well. Perhaps my brother has bored you, perhaps you have had your fill of him. Or perhaps you aren’t so heartbroken because he’s planning to keep you around as his mistress. I wouldn’t have guessed that to be his style, but upon second thought, you have thoroughly corrupted him. In that case, he should choose the donkey for sure. Someone stupid and docile. You can have rooms on opposite ends of the Red Keep and there will be no need for you to claw each other’s eyes out.”

“I’m not an animal, Prince Aegon.”

“You’re a Mormont. That’s hardly better.”

You smile. He smiles back.

Aegon leans into you, unsteady but not purposefully intrusive. “You’re worth more than all of them put together. I’m sorry that’s not what matters.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“We are natural allies,” he says, and clinks his cup against yours in a toast. Fortunately, he is too drunk to notice that you’re avoiding wine this evening. That would certainly raise some suspicions. “I know your secret, and you know mine.”

“What…?” And then you understand. Your secret is your relationship with Aemond, that part is easy. Aegon’s secret is a bit more obscure. What perhaps no one else knows is that there is more to him than brash words and wicked deeds and flippant, lazy recklessness. That he loves his family. That—somewhere way down deep, unspoken but alive—he cares.

Aegon shoves himself away from the wall and gives you a parting bow, clumsy and lurching. “Enjoy your evening as best you can. I’m going to go piss on the floor.”

“Cheers,” you reply. He staggers away, leaving you alone again.

As the Great Hall whirls around you like a galaxy, you bask in the warm glow of this moment, this liminal space like a doorway. There will be grumbles, surely, but what you and Aemond have forged cannot be undone. No one can take away your marriage. No one can take away your child. You knew unconditional love once, long ago on Bear Island, safe in your mother’s arms; now you have it again. You belong somewhere again. You took one hell of a detour, but now you are home.

You don’t feel him enter the hall, because he’s not Aemond Targaryen. He doesn’t change the room at all. You only turn because you hear rising chatter, and then elated shouts, and then the thunder of men’s handshakes and pounds on the back. You wonder who is being congratulated, who is being cheered like a soldier returning from war. When you see him, your cup drops out of your hand. Pomegranate juice floods across the floor like blood. He sees you, rushes to you; and it's the strangest thing, because it all seems to be happening very slowly, but not slowly enough for you to flee. It’s like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run but you can’t. You can’t even speak. You can’t even scream.

He is battered and bruised and thinner—harsher—than you remember, but it’s him. His name rings through the hall in a hundred different voices.

“Axel Hightower, back from the dead!”

“He survived the shipwreck! Praise the gods!”

“And now he’s come to surprise his wife!”

You are powerless to stop his approach. You are chained in place by horror. All around you, the life you thought you’d have is crumbling into dust. It’s running out of your fingers like sand in an hourglass.

“Aww, look, the poor thing is in shock! She can’t believe it!” some idiot sighs romantically. There are applause and whistles. On the periphery of your vision, you see Aegon backing away as far as he can from the dance floor. His head whips around, searching for someone.

Axel grips your arm, pulls you into him, and kisses you. It feels like being invaded. It feels like that very first night with him when he—not cruelly, no, but with a dreadful, willing ignorance—forced his way inside you until it felt like you were being sawed in half. You flinch violently; every muscle, every nerve screams to be away from him. You try to push Axel off of you, but he doesn’t budge. Why would he? He owns you, like a castle or a horse. He can do whatever he likes to you. The notion of you having desires to the contrary would never even cross his mind. There are tears bleeding down your cheeks: for you, for your child, for the future whose throat has just been slit in this room. It feels like you’re dying. You wish you were.

There is the shrill whisper of a blade being torn from its scabbard. All the guests fall silent. Axel takes a step back from you, his fingers still clamped around your forearm. Aemond holds the point of his sword to Axel’s throat. Several crimson beads drip from where the steel has pierced the paper-thin surface layer of skin. Aemond’s voice is dark, like nightfall, like onyx. His eye is blazing blue, cold fire. “Remove your hands from her, or you will lose them.”

Axel is too mystified to be outraged. He releases you. You can breathe again. “She is my wife by law.”

“She carries my child!” Aemond’s words ricochet off the walls like shattered glass. The Great Hall boils over with gasps and scandalized jabbering. “And we married under the heart tree. She is mine.”

“You what?!” Aegon blurts out.

“You what?!” Otto Hightower roars.

“Sir Criston?” Aemond calls, summoning him.

Sir Criston Cole steps out of the rabble. “It’s true,” he says. He hides his reddening face from Queen Alicent. “I witnessed it. They are wed.”

“This is an outrage!” Axel bellows, then looks to the crowd for their verdict.

“Bigamy!” someone cries out. A chorus joins them, a sea of jilted noble families who can only benefit from Axel carting you back to Oldtown.

“Whore! Whore!”

“Poor Axel Hightower escapes from the jaws of death to find this?!”

“A mortal sin!”

“Go back to your true husband!”

“Take her to the dungeons!”

Aemond steps in front of you, twirling his sword once, twice, again. “And who would like to be the first to try?”

No one moves to detain you, but the crowd’s sentiment is unmistakable, rabid. The jeers continue to rain down on you: bigamist, sinner, whore. And you can’t even decry them as slander, because they’re true. Otto Hightower is clutching the back of a chair like he might fall over without it. Alicent’s eyes are pooling with stunned, furious tears. Helaena sinks to the floor, covering her ears with both hands. After taking a moment to consider it, Sir Criston moves to stand beside Aemond and draws his own sword.

Ideas flit through Aemond’s mind like arrows. He catches one of them. As Sir Criston watches the crowd, Aemond turns back to you and touches your face with his free hand. “Say you want a trial by combat.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I can beat any man here besides Sir Criston and he wouldn’t fight me, just say it.”

“I demand a trial by combat!” you announce for all the court to witness.

“No she doesn’t!” Otto shouts, trying to drown you out.

“She does,” Aemond insists, grinning madly. “And I will be her champion.”

“Then I shall name my own!” Axel says. Already the court is chattering that there is no great cowardice in this; he is still recovering from his ordeal, far from his physical peak, and Prince Aemond is one of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. Axel scans the Great Hall for someone, anyone, who could challenge him. Sir Criston could probably best Aemond, but he would never agree to try. His allegiances to both Alicent and Aemond are too great. Who else could there be? Who else could there possibly be?

And then Axel’s gaze lands on him. When Aemond said he could beat any man here, he wasn’t wrong. The giant the court calls Killington hardly counts as a man at all. He’s not a man; he’s a monster. And he’s been thirsty for Aemond’s blood for years. He towers over anyone else in the room; he outweighs them by double. He steps forward, answering a question that has not yet been asked.

Axel’s face splits into a grin. His eyes glint like mirrors, like blades. “I choose Ivar Kellington.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine

[lapetiteflamme]

Red veined sorrel

(via High Mowing Seeds)

#agrarian #culinary

[dansnaturepictures]

16th May 2023-Lakeside and home 

Pictures taken in this set are of: 1. Pretty flowers I believe blue flax in the flower bed area on the way to Lakeside at lunch time. 2 and 6. Beautiful views at Lakeside at lunch time and this evening on lovely walks. 3. A stunning Whitethroat which sang stupendously atop a greening alder by the lake seen from the northern path. I’m having probably my best spring for them here having seen them many times, still a pretty notable bird for here for me and it was nice to get a record shot of one to mark this. 4. Cattle at Lakeside tonight. 5. Moorhen at Lakeside. 7. Mallard ducklings which I enjoyed lovely intimate views of tonight. 8. Tree out the back. 9. The shining buddleia bush looking nice out the front. 10. A nice flower at Lakeside at lunch time I believe spotted medick.

I was gripped to see a pair of Red Kites in the air on the way to Lakeside in the area out the front which was quite notable and from Lakeside along the northern path later on in my lunch time walk, glorious raptors to see in a mostly blue sky these were such precious views. A nice view of a Jay at lunch time and the Great Crested Grebes tonight were other of my favourite birds seen well today and I enjoyed watching a Kestrel that appeared to have prey in its talons tonight. Swift, Black-headed Gull, Herring Gull possibly mobbing the Red Kites, Jackdaws seen well, Wren and Robin were other Lakeside bird highlights with great views of Holly Blue, Small Heath, Speckled Wood and Green-veined White again in the way of butterflies. It was a delight to see some Bishop’s Mitre shieldbugs mating in the grass of the eastern meadow not something I’d seen before as well as little beetle and micro moths. Buttercups, oxeye daisy, vetch, mouse-ear chickweed, cuckooflower hanging on, yellow iris, sorrel, red deadnettle, cow parsley, and my first wood avens at Lakeside this year and first dog rose of the year were other flower highlights with poppy, forget-me-not and cornflower seen well at the flower bed on the way. I saw Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Goldfinch and House Sparrow well from home again.

#photography #goldfinch #poppy #red kite #red kites #swift #whitethroat #kestrel #great crested grebe #cuckooflower #cow parsley #bishop's mitre shieldbug #birdwatching #england #lakeside #lakeside country park #outdoors #lunch time #evening #walks #walking #birds #holly blue #speckled wood #green-veined white #small heath #uk #jay #happy #meadows

[starfall-spirit]

Blood and Bonds

Song to pair with each SJMRW prompt.

Day 4: Frawley’s No One Can Fix Me

SJMRW Prompt: Favorite Trope | Let Me Wrap Your Wound

Ship: Elide x Manon

Here’s to my favorite ToG Rare Pair.

Summary: After returning to Manon's quarters with a wound from a wyvern, the Wing Leader takes it upon herself to tend to the injury, griping over the process of course. Foolish humans.

Red. Despite whatever claim Manon Blackbeak made when it came to the forgotten witch blood in Elide’s veins, it was scarlet blood that kissed the stones of Morath that evening. 

It was her own fault, really. As much as she kept her head down in the halls of torture and pain, Elide had been a curious soul from girlhood. Perhaps that curiosity made her a fool, approaching that wyvern’s pin. Bait beast or not, one bite and her frail skin and bones would be in tatters. She was lucky a working hand had come to feed them and was kind enough to beat the thing before it could do more than graze her.

Adrenaline made that chain at her ankle feel much lighter than usual.

Now, praying no witch or mammalian beast would scent her blood, she stalked to the blackbeak quarters—to Manon’s room, where she knew the witch kept bandages for when her quickened healing failed her. Gods, this would be embarrassing to explain. Especially if one of the others, likely Asterin or Sorrel, were present.

Indeed, as the door creaked open Elide found both the Wing Leader and her cousin hunched over a yellowing map—plotting their next assignment, she could only assume. Their nostrils flared as the scent of her blood filled the room. “Were you caught spying?” Manon barked, a soldier witch marking Elide’s remaining usefulness.

“I got a little too close to a bait beast free of his chain, actually,” she responded, refusing to mumble or hint at embarrassment in their presence. 

Asterin snorted, receiving a surprisingly cutting look from her cousin. She quickly cleared her throat. “I’ll pass this on to the shadow twins. I’m sure you’ll have a report by dawn.”

“Good.”

With the blond dismissed, Manon turned her full focus on Elide. “I can handle wrapping it myself if you still keep bandages in—”

“Sit.” She obeyed, perched on her pallet as the witch guided across the room to gather whatever she needed to clean out whatever was in the beast's teeth and wrap the wound, likely minor in the eyes of an immortal. “You humans,” she grumbled, seating herself and taking Elide’s wrist to inspect the long gash. “Not the slightest sense of self preservation.” She couldn’t help but wince as Manon stood again, returning with needle and thread in hand. “Not only foolish, but squeamish too, then.”

“You act as if I was there to pet the thing,” Elide sniped, biting back a hiss as Manon took the alcohol and cloth to her arm.

“Whatever you were doing there, girl, do remember there are times when you have to balance risk and reward. I teach that to the strongest of The Thirteen. You’ll do well to remember it too, fragile as you humans are.”

They were both silent, Elide’s jaw clenched tight as Manon took an eternity to neatly stitch her arm. “Steer clear of that pin. I’d hate to have to replace you.”

And for a moment—just a moment—Elide thought she may have heard a hint of concern.

~~~~~

Shoot me an ask/comment/message to be added or removed rom my taglist

Tag list: @sjmromanceweek // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @faeriequeensuriel

And additionally @shallyn, because I know you were kind of hyped about this pairing.

#sjmromanceweek2023 #throne of glass #manon blackbeak #manon x elide #elide lochan #day 4 #favorite tropes #malide

[milkweedman]

Finally repotted some of my plants, mostly the basil. Everything was at the apartment dying in tiny seedling containers for weeks, so they don't look great, but I'm hoping for a comeback. Gave the fig tree a slightly bigger pot as well.

I've got 8 varieties of basil at the moment, two tomatoes (yellow pear and black tomatoes !!), a sad but impressively large lemon cucumber, and then many many more things to repot. Also some stuff at the apartment still, like the hanging strawberries and some grapefruit mint, thyme, and red veined sorrel that I need to dig up and take with me.

#so tired #nice to garden again tho #the garden situation here is stupidly convoluted. theres beds but we're not rly allowed to use them and we cant touch the other plants #stupid landlord. we're renting the yard too you jackass #whatever though. pots is what ive been doing for years now #weird how much i enjoy just. holding some dirt. holding a plant in my hand #gardening

[queersrus]

Hi, Fukase anon here! Sorry, It never occurred to me that people may have a hard time coming up with things for characters they don't know a lot about. Sorry :( /gen

Anyways, I really love the clown and red theme ideas! Also, since Vocaloid is technically a music software, I was thinking some music-themed names as well! Also, as long as this isn't too specific, could you maybe do some X-themed things since there's a lot of Xs in his design?

I also like the idea of the darker, edgier themes, but I'd rather not have anything explicitly horror/slasher/demon related... as someone who kins Fukase, being associated with that stuff brings back some rough memories :( /nm

I'm sorry if I'm being too specific or picky or anything like that, and I hope everything I've said makes sense! Once again, thank you in advance :)

no worries!!

heres some names and pronouns based of red, clown, dark/edgy themes and the letter x!

Music names:

muse, musa, musica, musette harmony melody, mic, major, minor clef, capelle, capella, cord, chorus note key tone, tempo, timbre bar, beat, bridge, bass, blue, blues sheet, strum, song, singer, sang, string, sonata, soul acoust, adagio, allegro, andante, arpeggio, amp, alto, aria instro, instra, instrumenta rythm/rhythm, ryme/rhyme, rock, rocker orchest, orchestra pitch, pop funk

list here, here

red names:

Altemur, altan, autumn, apple, amaranth, alhambra, alroy danla, desire, desiree parichat, phoenix, pepper, poppy/poppie cher, cherry/cherrie/cherri, crimson, clifford, copper, candy/candie, currant, carmine, carmin, chili, coral, corsen, clancy maroon, merlot, mahogany, mohagan blood, brick, berry/berrie, blush, burgundy, barn, burn, blaze ruby, rust, rusty, rose, raspberry, redd, rede, redde, reder, redi/redie/redy, reddet/redet/reddett/reddette/redett/redette, redeta/reddeta/reddetta/reddeta, redin/redine, redina, redino, roso/rosso, rufus/rufous, rowan, rosa, rosie, roisin, rory, radley, rudyard, radcliff, redmond, redman, rumo, russel/russell, rohan, redford, rufina, reeding/reading, reed, rogan, roone, roth garnet, ginger, gough scarlet, sangria, strawberry, sienna, sorrel/sorrell jam wine, watermelon fire, flame, ferrari, flan/flann, flannel, flanner, flannery, flyn/flynn, flanna vermilion, venetia imperia tart, torch hazel, harkin

clown names:

Joseph, john, joey grock oleg emmett/emet/emmet/emett bozo, barry ronald krusty penny, pogo, pinto charles sunshine weary, willie albert, antonio, arthur daniel, david, demitri/dimitri, Demetrius/demitrius tinsel

actually found a whole wiki here

Dark/Edgy names:

dusk, dagger, draven, drake, draco, damon/daemon, damion/damien/damian grey/gray, gunner/gunnar, greer keir, khaos, knox, kestrel umbra, umbro poison, pain/payne asteroth/astaroth, asher, ammo, astrid chaos, crow, coen, chase, casper, caspian, cassian, carter, cage, colton hades, hemlock, hex, hunter, hawk, harper somber, sombre, sombra, serpent, snake, saber, stone, storm, slade/slayde, sparrow, salem, snow, smoke, slayer necro, natrix, nox, nix, nyx, nero, nash branwen, briar, blackwell, blade/blaid, blair, blase/blaze/blaise raven, reven, requiem, rhapsody/rapsody, rogue, ryder, ryker, raze, razer eris, elysium, ebony jinx, jett/jet, jack, jason lucien, lucius, lock/locke viper, venom, vlad, vane/vain/vein, veil, vee/v wolf/wolfe trix/tryx, trixie, thorn, tyren/tyrin, tirent, torrent, tyranny, toxin, tank, tempest, tanner zeke, zena fox, flask, falkner, falkon/falcon onyx/onix, obsidian xena

X names:

xen/xene, xavier, xena, xeno, xenon, xeon, xero, xerox, xyx, xyr/xyre, xyra, xray, xeny/xenny/xenie, xenia, xander/xzander, xyla, xyler/xylar, xia, xavi, xylia, xylitol, xioa, xu, xan, xanth/xanthe, xanthus, xavia, Xinjiang, xinia, xenophon/xenophone, xayvion/xavion, xochitl, xio, xion, xiona, xiomara, ximena, xanthia

many here

red 3rd p pronouns:

list here and here

clown 3rd p pronouns:

list here and here

edgy/dark 3rd p pronouns:

list here, here

x 3rd p pronouns:

xe/xem, xy/xem, xy/xyr, xe/xyr, xy/lo, xylo/phone xyi/lotl, x/x's, ex/ex's, ex/exes, xay/xem, xay/xyr, xie/xem, xie/xyr xe/no, xeno/xenos, xeno/morph, cross/crossed, cross/crosses, x'ed/out, exed/out, ex/amble

hope these help!

#anon answered #request answered #request #requested list #first names #names #nicknames #baby names #x names #x pronouns #x neos #x neopronouns #3rd person pronouns #character names #name searching #name blog #name hoarder #name help #pronoun list #list of names #pronouns #neopronouns #list of pronouns #list of neopronouns #pronoun blog #pronoun finder #pronoun searching #name list #music names #edgy names

[oldfacesnewdawnoffical]

what would Sorrel- as a prefix mean ?

I haven’t quite tapped into prefixes just yet but I’m happy to provide what I can! ;)

•─────⋅ᓚᘏᗢ⋅─────•

Basic Meanings:

The prefix “sorrel-” represents a dark ginger (solid or tabby) or a predominantly dark ginger tortoiseshell. It could also represent a spiky-furred cat.

Reasoning:

Also known as common sorrel, garden sorrel, narrow-leaved dock, and spinach dock, sorrel harbors leaves that are long and green, oftentimes red-veined, and commonly bears somewhat spiky, very stark deep reddish-purple flowers.

The flower of a sorrel plant is also known as “oxalis”, and symbolizes: Good-Heartedness, Joy, Affection, Untimely Wit, Matrimonial Tenderness, and General Sweetness.

Notes:

In terms of OFND specifically, “Sorrel” would most likely be used for a Woodruffian (as it’s a plant most commonly found within the woodlands) or a Moorsweeper (as it’s also a heavily nutritious crop plant).

#old faces new dawn #ask #pigeonpelt #warrior cats rewrite #warriors rewrite #prefix #naming #sorrel

[notwiselybuttoowell]

One of the finest bases for a salad is young heart-shaped leaves from the lime tree, the very best being from the small-leaved lime (Tilia cordata), which are hairless. These should be shiny and lime green in colour. They taste just like lettuce – surprisingly so – but I think they hold salad dressing better and don’t wilt so fast. They are exceptionally good in sandwiches.

I also like the very youngest leaves of hawthorn ( Crataegus monogyna); again, they need to be a vibrant, new green and just a few centimetres long. The leaves are alternate, as opposed to opposite, so borne along the stem in an alternate spiral, with five to seven lobes and teeth on the tips. Hawthorn leaves are said to protect the heart both emotionally and physically, and are known to be good for circulation. They taste fresh and grassy green and their pretty serrated edges make them attractive for salads.

I cannot get enough of dandelions  (Taraxacum officinalis) at this time of year. Every part is edible and packed full of good stuff: they are rich in potassium, for instance. They are bitter, like an endive, but sometimes more so, thus you need to go for the very youngest inner leaves, again lime-green, indicating new growth. If the bitterness is too much, soak them in salted water for 10 minutes or so. In salads, I am also mad about the flower stems, which taste a bit like Italian chicory (puntarelle) and can be treated exactly the same way. You only want the new stems of flower buds or flowers; by the time the plant is setting seed the stem will be full of chewy fibres. I chop the stems diagonally into segments, salt them well and then dress them in oil and little else. They are very good with chopped boiled eggs and a little finely diced red onion.

Chickweed (Stellaria media) is another excellent base, with a flavour not too dissimilar to that of corn salad. It may well be in flower now, but if it is growing somewhere damp enough, will still be tender. It is low-growing and mat-forming, with delicate little egg-shaped leaves and tiny white flowers.

The wild garlic (Allium ursinum) season is almost over, but in cooler spots you may find unripe seed to pick. These will appear on the ends of the seedheads and are ball-shaped, in clusters of three. They should be bright green in colour, rather than yellow. They give an intensely sweet garlic burst and are particularly good turned into salt (mix equal parts coarse sea salt and seeds), which will preserve into winter. This is very good in salad dressings.

Lemon balm (Melissa officinalis), fennel (Foeniculum vulgare) and perennial wall rocket (Diplotaxis tenuifolia) are garden escapees that are often found in abundance in cities and towns along paths and walls and are excellent for bulking out a salad.

Sheep’s sorrel (Rumex acetosella) is another good one, though you want it growing somewhere damp so that it is succulent. In dry spots, it gets very tough. It has oblong, arrow-shaped leaves and tall spikes of pink flowers. If it has flowered (which is likely right now) and gone to seed, steal these if they are still bright pink and fleshy. Scattered through a salad, they give a pleasing burst of lemon.

The unopened flowers of narrow-leaved or ribwort plantain (Plantago lanceolata) can be briefly steamed until tender, allowed to cool and dressed with a vinaigrette and tossed into a mixed salad or treated a little like asparagus, although they taste surprisingly like mushrooms. The leaves are long, narrowly oval with veins running parallel from the base to the top. The flower spikes are square and the unopened flowers are pine cone-shaped.

Likewise, the unopened flowers of oxeye daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare), which looks like an oversized lawn daisy and grows to 60cm high, can be briefly steamed and marinated, or pickled like capers. The white petals are lovely scattered in for some colour. The leaves are also edible, although they are quite bitter and perfumed by the time the plant flowers. If you can find them before then, they are much more desirable.

A better option are the leaves of the common or lawn daisy (Bellis perennis), which can be used raw, where they have an interesting fleshy texture, or cooked, which is my preferred method. The leaves are paddle-shaped and slightly hairy. Once cooked, they soak up dressing in a very pleasing manner. The flowers can be eaten too – they don’t taste of much, but look pretty.

Finally, there are excellent vinegars to be made from creamy white umbels of common elder (Sambucus nigra), the long, tubular yellow flowers of common honeysuckle (Lonicera periclymenum) and palest pink petals of dog rose (Rosa canina). All can be found in hedgerows right now. The adventurous can make these vinegars from scratch, by fermenting the flowers in sugar and water, but that takes time, so for a quicker solution use good-quality white wine vinegar or raw cider vinegar and infuse just the flowers (never the stems) for several days for a deliciously perfumed dressing.

Some of these are may be fairly region specific, but several also happen to be invasive in a lot of places, making them great foraging options. The link contains some helpful dos and don'ts, and suggestions for further reading, so if you are interested but new to foraging, I recommend clicking through.

#foraging #food #salads #food security #plants #personally I can't stand the taste if dandelions but there are so many hawthorns here and now I'm keen to try that

[ambereyed-mountain-prince]

Downpour || Ren & Lady Nicandra [Self Para]

Synopsis: Even after victory Ren finds themselves under the scrutiny of their mother. And worse still is the awareness that she may be right.

CW: reference to insects, reference to injury

They weren't certain how to take it really, but the weather had been unpredictable that year and Ren's exhaustion wasn't made any better by the unpleasantness of cooling rain clinging to their skin. Their steps had left quickly drying prints along the expanse of the Court center, making each tired one known by the trail over the crystal and stone floors. 

Their Mother's presence was more felt than heard, nearly any Unseelie could move silently without effort, but Ren knew more likely she would simply be there, preferring the shadows to the mundane burden of walking around properly. 

Accenting the unevenness of their gait, betraying the limp that wouldn't resolve itself for a few days and with rest Ren wouldn't have the luxury of yet.

They might have compared her to a spider, except that wasn't correct; spiders were more subtle. Ren thought more of a scorpion, although equal parts wary and fondly, when it came to her. 

The crown was heavy.

Too often a metaphor, in that moment a physical weight with how their muscles felt so unraveled, coppery woven spines tiny pinpricks sinking through their damp hair, grazing and scraping skin. 

Their hair was stained again, splotchy reds among the ivory curls spread with the rainwater, glimmering thorns and crystals leaving their mark, if only temporary. 

The scars never stayed on the surface, nor ever faded under it. 

"It sufficed this year." 

The voice was never exactly warm, but not often as bland, Ren knew, but Mother wasn't happy. 

She knew too much to be. 

They didn't need praise.

It was still raining. 

Ren could see slivers of flashing illumination reflected throughout the crystal walls around them; the weather above was never a secret in the Court Hall, it seeped through the mountains and played itself out around them. 

Lightening, Ren thought it ironic; the rain had gathered itself into a storm in the skies above the mountains. 

Rare that it happened, especially so late in the year. 

"You act as though I didn't still win," Ren countered, seeing from the corner of their eye how she pulled herself away from studying the reflection of the weather in the walls and turned her gaze to them instead. 

Dirty water ran down Ren's forehead, stinging their eyes as it dripped there and remained, their gaze unblinking. Holding together on tired limbs and bandages, it had been too soon, they reasoned, the heavy sickness from the iron still buried in their veins in traces and making slow work of purging; too soon for new wounds to heal properly.

Ren needed rest, desperately, they didn't need this conversation right then.

"You considered it." 

Those words were ones Ren had hoped might go unsaid, but Mother wasn't in a very forgiving mood and Ren was too tired for those games. 

Sorrel hadn't told her, they were certain of that, of the loyalty of their brother, but he didn't have to. 

It felt too obvious, of course she would have seen it. 

"It doesn't change anything; I've managed this way before. It being a choice-" 

"It being a choice is the problem," the Lady interrupted, stepping close enough then that Ren could see the intricate details of her dress of crystalline scales like autumn leaves or the skin of some fiery dragon. 

She favored that one, they knew, because it made her feel even more monstrous to be adorned with scales, towering, pale as a memory and angles chiseled as sharp as flawless stonework. 

There was the spider, they thought, in her narrow limbs and fingers like daggers, in every motion that sounded chittering as the plates rasped together, in the sweep of what some at first mistook for ornate accessory rather than what was quickly obvious as thin, branching bone made horns that wove through the silky strands of her hair, the webbing of copper across her bare shoulders and jaw, and more so in what remained unseen. 

Ren knew she watched them, scrutinizing, between those strands, with the secondary eyes that saw far more than the first lined so heavily in deep, ebony strokes of kohl around them. 

Misdirection was something Lady Nicandra prided herself on. 

"If you intended to argue that, save your breath. Exile is one matter, residing as ruler even within it is a testament to your resolve." Her voice dipped into gravel. "Willful absence is a mockery of your obligations. Even if you wish to ignore my feelings on the situation you can't ignore the Court." 

In such certain terms Ren couldn't find a way to argue, grinding their teeth in silence. 

"You made a choice," she added, talons as thin as paper and long as a nightmare brushed the edges of the crown, the watery curls, and Ren knew better than to flinch. "You still know yourself." 

It almost sounded like relief in her voice, but Ren was hesitant to call it that. 

The flicker of illuminating cast along the walls again, turning soft light to sharper for an instant. 

The thought burned, nearly as much as the oily water in their eyes. 

I know myself better these days. 

What Ren didn't know was if there was a way to still piece it all together. 

"You could help me," they pointed out, feeling as though as pleas went it was hardly subtle. "I don't need another obstacle in my way and you're-" 

"Looking out for your best interests," she interrupted.

"My Mother," Ren continued, firmly, wearily, hopefully. She knew the lines they drew would remain, but Ren had to try asking her not to make them draw it. "Can't you be just that this time?" 

The water dripping had marred the floor around them faintly red, glossy upon the crystal and stone, soaking into Ren's already damp boots and the edges of her dress. 

"I always am. Children think it doesn't harm to tell them truths that hurt." Her talons wove through their hair with the words and realized they had never felt the touch of her fingertips instead, but the talons had never grazed so much as a scratch, all their lives. "They hurt me as well, but life isn't kind." 

"It can be," Ren argued, if only because they felt that more now than ever, and they'd always felt it at least a little. In Sorrel and Sonata, in warm mountain days and new life that stumbled along the grass and stones in the autumn, in lullabies both of their own and the ones that belonged to their siblings, and countless other ways. 

It wasn't as though the mortal world had brought that idea to Ren, it had only expanded it and solidified the truth there. 

"You loved father," Ren challenged; how could she do such a thing and tell them a similar choice was wrong?  

"I love you," she replied, "and your brother, your sister; you most of all. I am your Mother; what am I to do with this? This divide you've thrown yourself into knowing no matter what choice you make you'll never be satisfied." 

It was a lesser way of calling them a fool, but her words were troubled, illuminated again by the cast of lightning far above stone and crystal and the Court itself, bleeding down into it from the energy of it and golden-bright lashed along the walls, humming, glowing only an instant. 

Ren wanted to argue she wasn't right. 

They didn't know if they could. 

#ren inspo #Elfhame #mountainlands lore #injury #insects

[wayfinderlegacy]

Canvas, hair, and road for Saris

Bling for Nesha

And day and night for Sorrel!

(It won’t let me send asks with my OC blog)

I'm putting this under a read more since I ramble and this is gonna be a LOOOOOONG post!

Saris Canvas: Saris doesn't have any piercings or tattoos but does have several scars. One on his torso from being stabbed by Arcann (Whoopsies), and then from the Zildrog fight he has Lichtenberg figures (though they probs wouldn't be called that in SWTOR-verse) from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his shoulders. Just barely missed having lethal damage from that and still working on the story that explains it as I keep vaguely alluding to it all the time. :'D Additionally, damaged enough that he can't hide the darkside corruption anymore after that so has the black looking veins and paler skin. (I do not reflect this in game since game's (mostly) not canon after that point anyway. :')) The scars are only covered on account of what he wears being long-sleeved, not revealing on his torso, and the fact that he often wears gloves, but he doesn't actively hide them.

And uhhh, here! Pics of how he's supposed to be looking! (please ignore cape glitch. :'))

Hair: Hairstyle is the same as in-game but actually butt-length because SWTOR hates me and won't let me have long hair that would TOTALLY clip despite several other clipping issues including his cape! I mean. What? Jokes aside! He'll also sometimes wear it in a long braid of either Senri or Arcann's making from chilling sessions with his family. There's isn't really any particular reason for how he styles it or the length, however. Just that he's a sorta vain little thing that likes to look pretty. :') Road: His traveling outfit is actually probably just something like the simple robes I used for recording him in chapter one! Add a cloak over the top though. Traveler's cloaks are COZY! And just important to the look frankly!

Nesha Bling: Nesha has her Akul-tooth headdress (that I kinda wanna redesign slightly from in-game but we'll see!) and a simple wedding ring from her marriage to Lana for easily visible jewelry. There's also a charm bracelet that contains charms based on people she holds dear, but that sometimes falls hidden under her sleeves. She's not really much of the fancy jewelry type for the most part and just likes simple things with a lot of meaning! Charms include: A lightning bolt made of purple crystal- Saris A small shard of bone- Qyzen A silver and gold microchip- Theran A holographic sphere with flowers and equations- Holiday A small sphere painted to look like Balmorra from space- Zenith A lily-like flower- Nadia A golden sun- Felix A heart made of green and pale yellow crystal- Lana A raindrop made of a light blue crystal with a heart etched into its surface- Noctiluca A silver snowflake- Thespesia A bronze book with the Jedi Order's symbol- Yuon A golden light rising from a crescent of obsidian- Syo

Sorrel Day: Sorrel tends to like whites in his clothes and back in his days in the Republic tended to prefer things he could be hidden in. At the start of his training as a Jedi it was a hood that hid his eyes from sight, and the later years up until being imprisoned on Zakuul it was his trademark too-large looking white cloak. Splashes of color were given by reds which he simply liked the contrast of. Whites for the color of his admiral uniform back in the Chiss Ascendancy as a small reminder of home.

Post-imprisonment is when Sorrel ends up being more comfortable showing himself entirely, and just more comfortable and more himself in general. ...And honestly he looks handsome as frick in this outfit so I love it! :'D

Other than those details though, he doesn't really put much thought into what he wears, and probably just has a casual robe or two lying around for hang-out/non-official times. Night: Honestly for nighttime/sleep clothes I haven't put a TON of thought into what Sorrel would wear since it hasn't come up too much yet. :'D HOWEVER! I feel like he's either the light fabric nightgown type, or the softest, fuzziest goddamn PJs you can possibly find type!

Thanks for the asks! :D

#Kryys'ari'sahrin #Nesha Khaa #Ramos'orr'elis #I was supposed to go to sleep earlier tonight since I gotta get up to meet my mom for lunch #Instead I character ramble #But its FUN so woo! :'D #Always up for a ramble-tunity! :'D

[wealthypioneers]

Rare Bloody Dock Red Sorrel Seeds Heirloom Non-GMO BN50 Bloody Dock Red Sorrel (Rumex sanguineus). Stunning foliage plant with elongated, medium green leaves, exquisitely veined in a brilliant burgundy-purple. A hardy perennial, it quickly forms an attractive clump, which sends up red flower clusters in early summer, followed by brown seed heads. A superb, deer-resistant accent plant. Count: 50+ 6-12 hours of Sun Sprouts in 10-14 Days Ideal Temperature: 65-75 Degrees F Seed Depth: 1/4" Plant Spacing: 10-12" Frost Hardy: Yes Type: Annuals, Perennials Sun Exposure: Full Sun Water: Regular Water Family: Polygonaceae Type: Annuals, Perennials Sun Exposure: Full Sun Water: Regular Water Planting Zones: 4-11 Family: Polygonaceae Rumex sanguineus (Red) Sorrel is grown for their edible leaves, which can be used raw in salads or cooked in soups, sauces, egg dishes. The flavor is like that of sharp, sprightly spinach, but sorrel is more heat tolerant and produces throughout the growing season. Common sorrel (Rumex acetosa) is a larger plant (to 3 feet tall), with leaves 6 inches long, many shaped like elongated arrowheads. It is native to northern climates. French sorrel (R. scutatus) is a more sprawling plant, to 112 feet high, with shorter, broader leaves and a milder, more lemony flavor than R. acetosa. Native to Europe, western Asia, and North Africa. The oxalic acid found in sorrel can replace lemon, which is often added to smoothies to balance out the taste. Grow sorrel in reasonably good soil. Sow seeds in early spring; thin seedlings to 8 inches apart. Or set out transplants at any time, spacing them 8 inches apart. Pick tender leaves when they are big enough to use; cut out flowering stems to encourage leaf production. Replace (or dig and divide) plants after 3 or 4 years. The plant grows to about 2 feet in height in clumps with pink flowers in racemose appearing during early summer. Growing Tips: Harvest tender leaves starting in early spring, remove flowering tops to keep leaves tender and to prevent unwanted volunteers. May become invasive in some climates. Like any other greens, wash sorrel clumps thoroughly in clean running water and rinse in salt water for about 30 minutes in order to remove dirt and any insecticide residues. The fresh herb should be used early to get maximum nutrition. To store, keep wrapped in a damp towel and place in the refrigerator for extended use (up to 3 days). Sorrel uses – Add to soups – Make it into a sauce for fish – Add to omelets and scrambled eggs – Add to stuffing for meat – Shred sorrel and stuff it into fish – Add to quiches – Add to mashed potatoes – Add to hummus – Add to pasta – Add to mixed-leaf and herb salads – Add to chard and spinach anywhere you would use those – Use as a filling for buckwheat crêpes – Make it into a pesto, to use in pasta, on pizzas, or with grilled salmon – Sorrel Smoothie Note: No tracking # will be provided to make the shipping cost-effective for us and free for you. Returns & exchanges Not accepted. But please contact me if you have problems with your order Our seeds are guaranteed to germinate. Once the seeds have sprouted, please understand that we cannot be held responsible for the many uncontrollable growing and climatic conditions that must be met to ensure the success of your crop(s). I try my best to make my buyers happy and would appreciate it if you'd contact me first if you have any questions or problems with your order. If you open a case before contacting me first, I will automatically block you from future purchases. Thank you for your understanding. http://springsofeden.myshopify.com/products/rare-bloody-dock-red-sorrel-seeds-heirloom-non-gmo-bn50-1

#Bloody Dock Sorrel #Red Sorrel #sorrel seeds #herb seeds #Rumex sanguineus #Rumex acetosa #R scutatus #French sorrel #green sorrel #common sorrel #Polygonaceae #organic seeds #Heirloom seeds

[egbctx]

#sorrel #red veined sorrel #garden #dfw #texas #n #plants

[themanhattanfoodproject]

Images from Baltimore, Herb Festival 2018 edition.

Images from Baltimore, Herb Festival 2018 edition.

The Baltimore Herb Festival at Leakin Park

I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure if we were going to go to the Baltimore Herb Festival this year because with my additions to the lineup last year, I kind of thought I was set. But the mint we got outgrew its pot likwhoa, and the black pear pepper plant also outgrew its pot, and then Michael really surprised me by saying he wanted to go there to add some…

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#French sorrel #mint #oregano #red-veined sorrel

[dansnaturepictures]

13/08/2023-Shipton Bellinger and home

Photos taken in this set are of: 1. The White-point moth, another lovely moth to see at home this morning. 2. Common crimson-and-gold moth at Shipton Bellinger, an eyecatching species to see joining in a great surge in moth sightings for me especially this weekend. 3. Wall Brown, it was an honour to get to see these vibrant and energetic butterflies so well again after seeing our first of the year here two weeks ago. Today was one of our best ever days for seeing them with a fair few seen and top quality intimate views of them with wings open and closed they were widespread around here. It's funny to think I was worried as to if we'd see one this year after missing them at the coast where we often see them, this place is certainly a gem it's been a revelation for them, we first came here for Brown Hairstreak but Wall Brown is an important one here too. Unusually for Wall Brown I got great close up chances for photos today and it's a novelty seeing a species I mostly have at the coast inland, so even though this is one of the first butterflies I (retrospectively from a photo) ever identified early in butterfly days there feels something pleasingly fresh about seeing them here. 4. A Brown Hairstreak it was an honour to see again today, I spent some glee filled moments with this astonishing and angelic butterfly, what an honour to see them. I hadn't seen one of these until 2021 so there is a great freshness with these for me too and I feel very lucky to have had two visits here seeing these beautiful butterflies this year. 5, 7 and 8. Views at Shipton Bellinger. 6. One of a few bees I enjoyed caked in pollen on the bold woolly thistle flowers. 9. Some hawthorn berries on a tree. 10. Wild parsnip one I enjoyed a lot today, with interesting flies on.

At Shipton Bellinger it was also good to see Holly and Common Blue, Gatekeepers, Small Heath, Green-veined White, Speckled Wood, Peacock, ermine moth I believe Spindle ermine, ladybird, Common Red Soldier beetle, prominent mossy rose galls which I'm enjoying appearing of late, beautiful Roesel's bush cricket and my first ever Lesser Hornet hoverfly which is gorgeous. Magpie, Carrion Crow, Woodpigeon, Great Tit and Blue Tit were nice to see too, with Collared Dove which I took a picture of somewhat photobombed by a flying House Sparrow which was interesting, Goldfinch including young and seen well and intimately in the garden whilst I had my hair cut there Starlings seeing House Sparrows in the buddleia then also home bird highlights today. My first Morning-glory Plume moth of the year was also nice to see at home with four-leaved pink sorrel and other flowers enjoyed in the garden. Other highlights of the many flowers enjoyed at Shipton Bellinger were my first soapwort and goldenrod of the year, some more mugwort this week, viper's-bugloss, eyebright, red bartsia, rosebay willowherb, centaury, common toadflax, loads of wild basil again, knapweed, scabious, herb-Robert, hedgerow crane's-bill and melilot. Another brilliant wild weekend.

#brown hairstreak #wall brown #speckled wood #peacock #common blue #birdwatching #butterflies #uk #earth #nature #happy #moths #outdoors #summer #august #hampshire #shipton bellinger #the white point #collared dove #common crimson-and-gold moth #world #walk #walking #weekend #2023 #home #europe