#cold climate gardening

[the-re-farmer]

Analyzing our 2024 Garden: odds and sots

For the next while, I’ll be going through my old posts and videos about our 2024 garden, looking at how things worked out, and use that information to decide what we will do in our 2025 garden. Okay, here is where we talk about everything else. The perennials, the food forest and so on. Sunchokes, asparagus, grapes, zucca melon and walking onions Sunchokes: last year, I didn’t harvest any at…

[tregomountainear]

Trego: Hardiness Zone 5a

The USDA has updated plant hardiness zones, and despite last winter’s impressive cold, we’ve jumped up a zone (to 5a from 4b in 2012; the average low went up by 6 degrees) Hardiness zones are a (partial) climate description that’s been in existence for a bit over a century, though the government didn’t get involved in it until the ’60s (At which point they proceeded to do so badly for a few…

[sasgardening]

Frost Fighters: Uncovering the Top Kale Varieties for Cold Climate Champions

In the battle against winter's frost, kale emerges as the undisputed champion, standing resilient and strong in the cold. This guide unveils the top kale varieties, aptly named Frost Fighters, that not only survive but thrive in chilly climates. Join the ranks of cold climate champions as we explore the kale varieties that will transform your garden into a stronghold against the winter chill.

Arctic Warrior: Frost Fighter Kale's Battle-Hardened Resolve

Meet the Arctic Warrior, a kale variety with battle-hardened resolve, embodying the spirit of Frost Fighter Kale. With a robust structure and leaves that withstand frost, this variety not only survives but thrives in the coldest climates. Arctic Warrior Kale is your frontline defender, showcasing kale's resilience in the face of winter's icy onslaught.

Blizzard Blasters: Winter-Resistant Kale

Enter the ranks of Blizzard Blasters, kale varieties that resist the fiercest winter storms. With leaves that stand strong against blizzards, these kale warriors not only endure the cold but conquer it. Blizzard Blasters Kale is your arsenal against the winter freeze, proving that kale can be both hardy and victorious in cold climates.

Polar Powerhouse: Unleashing Strength in Cold Conditions

Unleash the power of the Polar Powerhouse, a kale variety that stands as a symbol of strength in cold conditions. With vibrant green leaves that reflect resilience, this variety not only survives but becomes a powerhouse in your winter garden. Polar Powerhouse Kale is your source of vitality in the heart of winter's icy grip.

Icebreaker Elegance: Arctic Beauty in Kale Form

Experience the elegance of Icebreaker Elegance Kale, a variety that breaks through the icy facade with grace. With leaves that showcase intricate patterns, this kale not only survives but adds a touch of beauty to your cold climate garden. Icebreaker Elegance Kale is the epitome of Arctic beauty, redefining the aesthetics of winter gardening.

Strategies for Cold Climate Triumph with Frost Fighters

To triumph in cold climates with Frost Fighters Kale, consider these expert strategies:

1. Early Planting Advantage: Provide your Frost Fighters Kale with an early advantage by planting seeds or seedlings before the onset of extreme cold. Early planting establishes strong roots, ensuring a robust foundation for winter growth.

2. Winter Warfare Mulching: Shield your kale warriors from winter warfare with a layer of protective mulch. This insulation safeguards the soil and roots, creating a fortified environment for Frost Fighters Kale to thrive.

3. Sunlit Battlegrounds: Choose planting locations that serve as sunlit battlegrounds during the winter months. Sun exposure enhances photosynthesis, contributing to the overall strength and vigor of your Frost Fighters Kale.

4. Hydration Resilience: While kale is naturally resilient, ensure consistent hydration in the soil, especially during dry winter spells. Adequate moisture supports optimal growth and fortifies Frost Fighters Kale against the stresses of cold conditions.

5. Harvesting for Victory: Regularly harvest outer leaves to secure victory in the battle against winter. This not only provides a fresh supply of Frost Fighters Kale but stimulates the plant to produce more leaves, enhancing its overall triumph in cold climates.

In Conclusion

Join Snip A Sage for the ranks of cold climate champions with Frost Fighters Kale, the top varieties that conquer the cold with resilience and vigor. From the Arctic Warrior's battle-hardened resolve to Icebreaker Elegance Kale's aesthetic charm, these varieties redefine the possibilities of kale cultivation in chilly climates. Follow our expert strategies to cultivate a winter garden that stands as a stronghold against the frost.

[cassimothwin]

Which house will be you be assigned at Brackroot Academy??? Pause or Screenshot the gif at the top to learn your destiny!

Then "Keep reading" to learn more about your house!

Brackroot Academy is part of Tangled Blessings, a magical school horror roleplaying game that uses tarot cards to uncover your fate as a student.

If you like this fun exercise, learn more about the crowdfunding campaign happening now!

Learn more about your house further below! Does it suit you?

House of Celestials 

The skies borrow from the elements to paint a backdrop for life. Featuring iconography of the sun, moon, and constellations, celestials are known for their inner glow. Still, they do not shy away from the dark surrounding them, understanding that all things require balance. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: discipline, passion, or indifference. This dorm overlooks the lake. 

House of Dahlias 

Dahlias rely on the energy of celestial bodies for growth and endurance. As a vibrant flower, dahlias are a symbol of elegance and devotion. The plant may seem abundant, but it requires careful nurturing in the wet and cold climate of Brackroot. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: creativity, perfectionism, or obsessiveness. This dorm is connected to the greenhouse. 

House of Panthers 

The panther needs a garden to rest from its daily stroll, and the dahlias always supply. The panther is a symbol of grace, athletics, and agility but still elusive and rare — a fierce creature of the shadows. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: observation, punctuality, or ruthlessness. This dorm is at the edge of the forest. 

House of Spires 

The spires are only safe in their tower because of the panthers who keep guard. The House of Spires represents the connection blades, pens, and spirituality share. While members of this house may only show interest or aptitude in one of the represented icons, they are a full member of the spire. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: empathy, isolation, or judgment. This dorm is in the high tower. 

House of Elements  

Elements are the wildest of the quintet, but they maintain control with help from the spires. The elements symbolize excess and power, but together, they represent the strength of unity. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: cleverness, hunger, or negligence. This dorm is under the school, but furnished with enchanted windows that overlook the neighboring mountains.  

House of None

Accessible by only walking along the edge of a bridge in the right invisible spot, students in the House of None often think of themselves as beyond reality. These thoughts only worsen the more they understand magic on cosmic and atomic scales. Students in this house are often detached, cold, and fiercely intelligent Symbols commonly associated with this house include the number zero, a black hole, a vortex, lanterns, and knots. 

House of Divines

Hidden beneath the campus Chapel and graveyard, this house was annexed centuries ago for blatant misuse of dark magic. Some stories claim this house serves as the birthplace for demons and vampires. Whatever the reason for the House's former eradication, blood stains remain in the foundation. Students in this house are often vengeful, patient, and not above harming others to get what they want. Symbols commonly associated with this house include blood, fruit, teeth, bones, claws, horns.

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread > > > next part, part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

> > > next part, part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[foone]

A world of friends

In the late 2030s, a research lab discovers how to travel to alternate earths. And what's even better, they've figured out how to best monetize it too: tourism.

See it turns out there's not a lot of variation. There's a nearly infinite number of earths, but it's not like you're traveling to an alien planet or Narnia. They're all pretty... Earthy.

And they turn that into a positive: all earths are similar, but the small differences are what counts. And they're always searching for worlds with interesting divergences from our own, as potential destinations.

Spend a weekend with Netflix on the world where Walter Disney became a little-known architect, and the face of children's media is completely different. Visit the world where the US Revolution failed, and most of the Americas remains part of the commonwealth.

Safari through the world where humans died out or never evolved, see the megafauna we weren't around to extinct.

The world where the planet's population is 97% Christian but they're also nudists because they associate nudity with the innocence of the Garden of Eden.

And if you're looking for a challenge, visit the world's where climate change has already melted the ice caps, the world's where the cold war went hot, the world where the first world war is also the last one, and it's still ongoing.

There's just one minor problem with their plan of setting up an industry to portal people to other worlds:

Someone else is already using it.

Their interdimensional tech relies on creating wormholes using a complex arrangement of superconducting magnets and there's a characteristic burst of neutrinos when the event horizon forms.

They have to monitor them to properly "aim" the wormhole, but their early work is thrown off by seeing spurious emissions coming from outside their facility, which they later realize are exactly matching their technology.

They're just seeing the wormholes from the other end.

They partner with a government agency, explaining their discovery, and express worry that the country (and the world!) may be getting infiltrated by an off world power.

They build sensors in major cities, and triangulate where the off-worlders are appearing, and follow them.

They seem harmless enough. Often skittish, taking lots of pictures, asking odd questions... These aren't security agents or an invading force.

They're just tourists. They're from another world's interdimensional tourism business. One that set up before ours.

But why are they here? What's so odd about our world among the trillions they have access to that makes them come here with cameras fully loaded with film and memory cards?

The security agents pour over surveillance tapes of them wandering around random cities, and finally spot (no pun intended) why they're here.

It's dogs.

The tourists are skittish around seeing people walking their dogs, they're taking pictures of corgis and greyhounds, they're visiting petstores and ignoring the cats and iguanas and tropical fish to go look at the most boring mutts, eyes full of wonder and fear and excitement...

One of the tourists is picked up by the security services, but hits their panic button and vanishes before they can be questioned. They leave behind a Daguerre Inc 2090 DSLR camera full of slightly blurry photos of dogs, and a pamphlet that fell out of their bag in the scuffle

The pamphlet is for this interdimensional vacation, and describes the weirdness of our world: The strange universe where humans somehow befriended wild wolves and let them into their homes and lives.

The pamphlet plays up the scariness of canines, showing Tibetan mastiffs and angry pitbulls biting into meat. Police dogs with titanium teeth replacements. There's very few pictures of chihuahuas and corgis and poodles.

So the next time you're at an animal rescue or a petting zoo, and you see someone looking on in fear and wonder at the amazing sight of a golden retriever puppy, their camera shutter clicking away...

Maybe ask them who the president is. And what year we landed on the moon.

And don't be too surprised if they answer "You mean the Prime Minister? It's still Thiers, right? I haven't been reading the papers much recently. And 1956, unless you're one of those pedantics who say it only counts if it was successful, in which case 1958"

(reposted from a twitter thread from 2022)

[saturnicos]

. . ⟩ 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗒

› paring: ororon x gn!reader

› cw/tw: just holding hands

› notes: just something silly i wanted to write but it got sm long and bad in the end D: + no proofread

Sunny days were predominant in Natlan even in the densest parts of the forests, mostly representing a subtropical climate in the region. Despite the heat that scorched the entire region during the day, the early evenings were cool with the light cold breezes that passed through, making it a good time for calmer outdoor activities.

Underneath a large and firm tree, you and Ororon rested against it while talking peacefully; the topics ranged from how his garden was going to how his activities in the tribe were going. Despite being frequent moments — since visiting Ororon every evening became something intrinsic to his routine — they all seemed new in the same way, regardless of what.

Ororon felt the same way despite his fears about the condition of his own soul; he would often apologize for any minor misfortune you had during the day in the tribe or in the moments of talking with him, and then all those times you would reassure him that he didn't need to apologize for things that can happen sometimes.

You enjoy his company, so you wouldn't mind even if these misfortunes could be coming from him.

— ...and then granny fell asleep on the table, still holding the glass of drink tightly! I couldn't get out of her grip. — releasing a sigh with false frustration that was soon followed by a laugh, you finished telling a story that had happened to the matriarch in a casual moment to the young bat beside you, who laughed without hesitation.

— Yes, that's just like her... That sounded rude, in fact it seems like something she would casually do. — he replied in return, scratching one of his eyes and adjusting his posture against the large tree, having a weak and low laugh that was still audible. You just smiled.

A moment of silence filled the air; not unpleasant or uncomfortable, but rather a comforting silence that seemed to fill a void. Looking at the sky, you noticed a curious pattern that was formed not far away: stars so close and aligned that they formed the shape of a bat, and right next to it there was a cluster that seemed to form your own symbol.

— Look! — you pointed towards the constellations, looking with fascination at their formation so well positioned on the horizon; both shone beautifully in the sky, now seeming to outshine the other stars around them.

Ororon soon moved slightly to your side, looking clearly in the direction you were pointing and letting a happy smile form in an instant. — Hey, what a great coincidence! I remember that granny knew some legends about constellations.

— One of the things they taught me was about their movement and how rare it is! If you are lucky enough to see two constellations very close to each other, it means that the respective people will also forever be very... — you chattered while remembering one of the myths that were common in your family and often used in astrological superstition overall, remembering how it was recited. However, as you got closer to the end, you assimilated the mythology behind the constellation and how it paralleled the moment between you and Ororon, leaving your voice suddenly broken and low. — ... close.

Feeling reality finally fall on your shoulders, your eyes widened slightly in surprise and a wave of nervousness flooded your mind, unconsciously bringing the feeling of your face heating up and fixing your gaze on Ororon. You wanted to deflect, you really did.

Ororon didn't look that different. Under the reflected light of the moon, his face seemed to take on a reddish hue as his gaze periodically shifted to different spots in the landscape, but he still seemed to have a calm countenance adorning his face.

— W-well, it's just an old and traditional myth, the movement of the stars has nothing to do with it. — you quickly tried to cut the subject short, moving away just a little when you felt the closeness between you two. You normally didn't feel this nervous, but the topic seemed to be enough at this moment.

Ororon, on the other hand, despite his slight blush, seemed calmer than you as he rested his arm on top of his bent knee, seeming to search for something in the back of his mind to say while still contemplating the sky.

— I... I hope so, it would be something cool. — with hesitation, these few words came out of Ororon's mouth as if they were trapped, tied by a knot, and finally managed to free themselves. You could see the young bat's gaze falter for a moment before he lowered his hood over his head, muttering something that sounded like "sorry."

You let out a low, nervous laugh despite the awkwardness that hovered in the room, hesitantly rubbing a hand on Ororon's back as a way of showing comfort even though you still felt nervous.

— No, it's okay! I... I think I would too. It would be cool. — you said almost in a whisper to nothing, being too nervous and embarrassed to give yourself the luxury of saying them with confidence, contenting yourself with just repeating what Ororon had said.

In turn, Ororon found the courage to turn his face just a little to the side despite keeping his hood pulled, meeting his nervous gaze that tried — emphasis on tried — to convey some kind of calm and tranquility.

Even with shame and hesitation being feelings heavily present in the environment, almost as if it were something physical suffocating you, Ororon allowed himself to lift his head in one act, gently holding your hand, which was previously rubbing his back, and intertwining your fingers with his, as if he was trying to convey the same feeling of comfort that you felt.

You didn't say anything, but you were sure that words weren't necessary at that moment, contenting yourself with squeeze his hand and relaxing against the tree again next to him, humming a subtle song while you could see a smile present on Ororon's face.

[molags-balls]

Top 5 Mythical Footjob locations in Skyrim

5.

At number 5 we have the fisherman’s camp at Lake Ilinalta. Not only does it overlook Lake Ilinalta, the most beautiful lake in Skyrim, but the fishing opportunities here are second to none. This should be number 1 but unfortunately there are quite a few slaughterfish nearby. Also, you’ll have to dispose of the fisherman if you want some privacy. Overall, a solid FJ location, just don’t clean your toes into the water afterwards.

4.

Here at number 4 we have Unnamed Fisherman’s Shack (CC Content). This is added by the free Fishing creation which comes with Anniversary Edition. Absolutely scenic location. You get a beautiful view of the Sea of Ghosts, plus a beautiful shack full of fresh fish. Absolutely an indisputable mythical FJ location - sadly let down by the presence of Sabre Cats which are known to hunt in the area.

3.

Coming in at number 3 we have the balcony at the Great Chantey of Auri-El. Don’t let the cold climate fool you - this is an absolutely mythical FJ location. It overlooks the entire Forgotten Vale, and you have the whole platform to yourself. This was a solid contender for number 1, but was let down by the portent-wrangling vampire who unfortunately runs the place. Once he’s dispatched, his brother lingers around and ruins your privacy. Mostly, he stays away from the viewing platform, but still annoying. Regardless, an absolutely fantastic location.

2.

At number 2 we have White River Watch Overlook. Absolutely, undoubtedly, indisputably, a Talos-tier mythical FJ location. Unbelievably beautiful. On the table is a bottle of wine, right beside wooden decking to perform all of your activities. By all metrics, this should be number 1, but unfortunately let down by the bandits on the way in, and the tiring walk through an almost vertical cave. But once you arrive, your FJ will be phenomenal

1.

And in first place, lo and behold, the number 1 undisputed mythical FJ location in all of Skyrim is the Honeyside balcony. Overlooking the beautiful Lake Honrich, this mythical FJ location is unbeatable by any other. Not only are you subject to beautiful views, but it is literally the balcony to your own home. No long journeys, just step out and you’re ready to go. Unbelievable choice for number 1 spot. Watch the lake, and the ships, and the trees, all from the comfort of your own garden, drinking your own mead, getting your own shmeat absolutely ravaged by your own husband’s feet. You’ll find no better location in all of Skyrim.

[reasonsforhope]

"Heat stored underground in caverns can be set aside in Finland’s summer months to be re-used during frigid winters thanks to a state-of-the-art ‘seasonal energy’ storage facility.

Slated for construction this summer near Helsinki, it will be the largest in the world by all standards and contain enough thermal energy to heat a medium-sized city all winter.

Thermal exchange heating systems, like those built underground, or domestic heat pumps, are seen as the most effective way available of reducing the climate-impact of home heating and cooling.

Their function relies on natural forces or energy recycling to cool down or heat up water and then using it to radiate hot or cold energy into a dwelling.

In Vantaa, Finland’s fourth largest city neighboring the capital of Helsinki, the ambitious Varanto seasonal energy storage project plans to store cheap and environmental friendly waste heat from datacenters, cooling processes, and waste-to-energy assets in underground caverns where it can be used to heat buildings via the district heating network whenever it is needed.

In Finland and other Nordic countries, the heat consumption varies significantly between seasons. Heat consumption in the summertime is only about one-tenth of the peak load consumption during the cold winter months.

Varanto will utilize underground caverns equal in space to two Maddison Square Gardens—over a million cubic meters—filled with water heated by this waste heat and pressure that will allow the water to reach temperatures of up to 300 degrees Fahrenheit without the water boiling or evaporating.

“The world is undergoing a huge energy transition. Wind and solar power have become vital technologies in the transition from fossil fuels to clean energy,” says Vantaa Energy CEO Jukka Toivonen.

“The biggest challenge of the energy transition so far has been the inability to store these intermittent forms of energy for later use. Unfortunately, small-scale storage solutions, such as batteries or accumulators, are not sufficient; large, industrial-scale storage solutions are needed. Varanto is an excellent example of this, and we are happy to set an example for the rest of the world.” ...

“Two 60-MW electric boilers will be built in conjunction with Varanto,” adds Toivonen. “These boilers will be used to produce heat from renewable electricity when electricity is abundant and cheap. Our heat-producing system will work like a hybrid car: alternating between electricity and other forms of production, depending on what is most advantageous and efficient at the time.”

... Construction of the storage facility’s entrance is expected to start in summer 2024, while it could be operational as early as 2028."

-via Good News Network, April 12, 2024. Video via VantaanEnergia, March 10, 2024

[blues824]

Sebek cuddling besides you in bed cause crocodiles are cold blooded and he’s been out in the snow all day. He wraps himself around you and traps you in his arms. You can’t bring yourself to adjust because he’s shivering and he’s just freezing. Your body heat is just the right amount of heat for him!!! All he needs is to hold you in his arms <333

Screaming, crying, squealing, giggling, kicking my feet as I lay on my stomach. Gender-neutral reader

Sebek Zigvolt

As we all know, Sebek prefers a warmer climate and thus likes to hang about in the Botanical Gardens. However, the Science Club was meeting up, and Sebek didn’t know if he was going to make it all the way to his dorm room at Diasomnia in the snow storm. So, his next best bet was with you at Ramshackle. After all, in this snow, you probably had a fire going.

It was a bit embarrassing for him, but he knew that you were very likely to take him in. Knocking, he noticed that he was shivering, which was definitely not a good sign. You opened the door and were immediately wrapped in a tight and slightly uncomfortable embrace. You felt his trembles and tremors, and he felt as cold as death.

“Sebby, are you alright?” You tried to ask, and you felt him nod his head.

Reaching around to close the door, you waddled back to the living room, the knight still holding you, before you made him let go. You quickly grabbed a blanket and ushered him to your bedroom, helping him strip off his layers until he was in just his thermals. Poor thing was shaking like a leaf, so you quickly got rid of your jacket as well and plopped yourself on top of him when he laid on your bed. Then, you pulled the blanket over the two of you so that it could trap your body heat.

“Thank you… Prefect,” You could hear his teeth chattering, and you just smiled up at him in return.

“Looks like I’m your knight in shining armor, huh?” You joked. Taking his now-ungloved hand into yours, you could feel his skin start to warm up. Then, you felt him wrap himself around you, arms and legs. He had never been this openly affectionate towards you, even in private.

To be fair, you both had only recently started courting each other, so it wasn’t expected to show physical affection just yet. Plus, it wasn’t his love language at all, which you came to understand. However, you also knew that he needed to be warm at all times, so there was that as well.

His breath slowed, meaning he had fallen asleep. Readjusting your position was out of the question, as he was a very light sleeper due to his training. Comfort was at the bottom of your priority list, however, because he looked too cute sleeping anyway. He looked at peace, shivering every once in a while, and a rare moment of quiet fell upon you both.

Then, you fell asleep not long after.

[the-re-farmer]

Analyzing our 2024 Garden: strawberries and herbs

For the next while, I’ll be going through my old posts and videos about our 2024 garden, looking at how things worked out, and use that information to decide what we will do in our 2025 garden. Our plans for herbs and strawberries have had some rough times! The Original Plans Strawberries and herbs are among those things we intend to have as our more perennial food garden items. Most herbs…

[nebbyy]

Hi! I'm not sure if you are currently taking requests, so feel free to ignore mine if you aren't! If you are taking them, however, would you please write something for King Baldwin IV overhearing reader sing and falling further in love with her because of her soft and sweet voice? Upon realizing that he's there, she becomes extremely flustered and apologizes for disrupting his peace and quiet. Thank you!

King Baldwin IV x reader - Sweetest of melodies

A/N: omg it’s been so long since I’ve received a request! I can’t lie, Baldwin is my supreme comfort character, I think I’ll never stop writing fro him because it gives me sooo much joy😩😩😩 I personally like to think of this piece as taking place a few months after Baldwin’s and reader’s wedding, so it could be considered a sequel for my first fic ever. Also, the song mentioned in this piece is a real song from the 12th century called "Can vei la lauzeta" (in English,"When I see the lark") by Bernart de Ventadorn, and the painting is "Lovers in a garden" by Charles Edward Perugini!!

Oh btw!! I’m working on a long ass series about him, based off of a prompt by @phantomsghoulette  which I absolutely LOVED. Sooo all the KoH fans stay tuned for future updates🤭

Warning: nothing really, just pure fluff. Maybe you could say that religious innuendos could be something triggering for some people but I don’t know. There might be ONE, SLIGHTLY spicy mention but only if you squint really really hard. Also, keep in mind that the historical accuracy in my fics is rather relative, I try to add some details here and there but I don’t have the knowledge (nor the skills) to write a piece 100% accurate to the real history. Also, reader’s gender is female and uses she/her pronouns!!

Word count: 2918

Someone would say Baldwin's patience could already be put to test by only his illness, which she ruthlessly does not grant him a moment's respite, the eternal enemy of his body and his spirit. But no, to this perpetual torment of his had to be added the perilous duties of a king. And it was certainly not governing his people and lands that sucked what little energy he had left; this duty of his, given by his father and willed by divine design, he had long since embraced.

It was the nobles, the leeches who had drained him of his lifeblood lately. It was their endless demands, the insidious words that hissed behind his back, the languid bows and sleazy gifts designed only to gain some favor from him. Looking around him, he seemed to see only vices and sinners, power-hungry beasts just waiting for his moment of weakness so they could feed on what Baldwin had under his power.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, experiencing for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, to experience for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

And he dreamed of taking you with him, imagined how sweet his life would be if his only concerns were taking care of his health and you, faithful wife, sole blessing in his life battered by such burdens. How he would wish that his days would revolve around you, that his first thought in the morning would be riding by your side through the flourishing meadows, and his last thought in the evening would be caressing your face as you lie slumbering in his arms.

It would have been a blissful fate his, if only Sybilla's husband had not died at the very moment when he would have needed him most. If only his mother had not convinced him that Guido de Lusignan was a good fit for his sister and had continued to seek a new consort for her, perhaps that fate would not have been snatched from him so early. Too late to repent now, for Baldwin would have preferred to die agonizingly on his throne rather than leave power in the hands of that bumptious and arrogant lord, who was noble only in title.

And so he found himself in this sort of hellish limbo, forced into a position that should never be required of a man in his condition, but prevented by his morality from abandoning his reign, impelled by faith in God's greater plan, that his suffering should not be in vain.

And his faith always seemed to strengthen when he had a way to escape the stifling air that characterized the throne room, always packed with knights and crusaders and nobles, when he had a way to retreat to the palace gardens, one of the few verdant places in all of Jerusalem.

With slow, swaying steps, Baldwin strolled slowly among the local palm trees and flower beds from the faraway lands, those where men speak Italian and the more distant ones, those from which his fathers came. Exotic fruits mingled with those more congenial to the French, who out of nostalgia for their lands and fields did what they could to bring the seeds of these plants with them to overseas.

His mind seemed to go out, shifting his attention from the constant buzz of court demands and duties to the chirping of birds perched on the roof, to the eviction of the soft branches that shielded him from the scorching sun. He enjoyed the refreshing air that reigned in that small oasis of greens, which was able to infiltrate the fabric of his white robes, crossing the bandages that covered much of his body and finally reaching his skin, numbed by leprosy. 

To tell the truth, of that refreshing sensation little reached his damaged nerves, if not for those few points that had been spared by the merciless disease, from which departed that unusual shiver that caused him a delicate smile of relief, enjoying the refreshing breeze. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in, discovering with satisfied surprise that that light gust was also a harbinger of an intoxicating perfume, a mixture of exotic and familiar.

How funny to think of the concept of "exotic", for an Angevin born and raised in the unknown lands of the east. For him it was exotic French fruit, exotic were the green plains and heavy clothing that brought his allies from the northwest, and equally alien to the snowy mountains and forest beasts that he saw drawn in detail in his childhood books. It was these changes of perspective that stimulated his mind in a myriad of thoughts and reflections, but in a pleasurable way for him, not as exhausting as his daily duties.

His reflections on exotic and local made his mind travel, wandering until he came to a subject very close to him: Muslims and Jews, reflecting well on the landscape in front of him, recognized that he could share with them the same concepts of what is foreign and what they can claim the original belonging. And he could not but reflect on how it must have been for the first inhabitants of Jerusalem to observe the Franks who came as conquerors, and filled their gardens with such foreign plants as those pale warriors who had taken possession of their dwelling... But after all, the French soldiers who were emissaries of God’s will needed something familiar to stabilize them as they fought to reclaim the Promised Land, ut Deus voluit.

But all his brooding over these matters of conquest and submission ended up in the background in his mind, when a colorful scarlet sphere caught his attention. An exquisitely red apple seemed to tempt him from a branch just above his head, beckoning him to be picked and savored by the king, that he might lose himself in the juicy sweetness of that fruit with origins so far removed from the Holy Land. But the king's modesty prevented him from yielding to that temptation, wanting to avoid exposing the advanced state of deterioration in which his mouth was.

And in fact if that temptation had been alive it would have pale in front of something much more captivating, a sound that echoed in the most melodious distance of the song of any nightingale. Baldwin was surprised to think that he had not realized before the melody that inibriated the atmosphere around him, so taken by the tribulations of his mind that he almost missed such an intoxicating song. He did not know what he felt once he arrived in Heaven, if he had ever arrived in spite of the unjust fate in Hell that the evil Saracens wished him. He didn’t know it, but if one ever had to imagine what Heaven sounded like, that song would come to mind.

When I see the lark beating 

Its wings in joy against the rays of the sun 

That it forgets itself and lets itself fall 

Because of the sweetness that comes to its heart

She sang in Occitan, the beautiful one in the distance. The voice of his people, of his lineage, that few in the palace can pronounce after so many years of distance from their homeland in Provence. Paying more attention to the echoing song, he would not even have had to approach it to give a face to that melodic voice: he knew how to recognize his wife’s voice.

Yet it was a new context in which he saw you, new facets of you that he had not yet had a chance to observe. Your voice, sweet as honey, venerable like all your other traits, he had never heard it except in speech, when you were proclaiming orders before your subjects with the authority fit for a queen, or when you laughed at the poems and performances of the court singers, or when you whispered in Baldwin’s ears sweet words, while you lay with bodies merged between the soft silk sheets. Always spoken, but never sung.

Alas! Such great envy then overwhelms me 

Of all those whom I see rejoicing,

But though he didn’t need to approach you to recognize you, the desire to see your face exceeded any of his other needs. As if mesmerized by the sound of a siren, Baldwin was advancing towards you, with steps so slow that it seemed a hunter about to catch a deer in the woods. He wanted nothing more than to hear you sing again, that you continue to bless him with that angelic melody. What worse sin would there be than to interrupt your song, more sacred than a prayer?

His stomach filled with butterflies and turned upside down like the beasts' jugglers, his breath seemed to stop in his throat, depriving him of the breath he no longer needed, as long as he could hear you sing a moment more. And her cheeks warmed, when finally she saw you among the white lilies, more beautiful than divine salvation.

I wonder that my heart, at that moment, 

Does not melt from desire.

Baldwin wondered if you sang with him in mind, if those words of love reflected your own emotional turmoil. 

Oh, if only it were so, and your singing equalled his own words inscribed in the sonnets and poems he composed in your honor, which he himself commissioned from your favorite singers to perform at banquets, only to steal an embarrassed smile and to see the blush of your cheeks, along with the glint in your eyes.

Whether it was or not, the outcome remained the same since he was at that moment in your proximity, in the same state mixed with adoration, love and wonder at the bold gesture. But if only he had confirmation from your words...

Alas! How much I thought I knew 

About love, and how little I know, 

Because I cannot keep myself from loving 

The one from whom I will gain nothing.

"My angel, your voice sounds like heaven but your words are false." Baldwin practically saw you blow up from your session, completely taken aback by his sudden appearance, unaware that your husband has been acting as a secret public all this time. Your initial surprise quickly turns into a laugh to mask your embarrassment for being caught in a moment like this, when you thought you were alone to be able to run the streets of music with your voice.

"I beg your pardon, I thought I was alone in the gardens," your eyes met his own only for a moment, before you turned your face to try and hide the blush of your face, "it was just a silly song I heard singing to the Provençal knights. I hope I did not disrupt your walk, my love..”

He laughed softly, trying to hide his amusement from having caught you off guard. He approached you more quickly than when he did just a few moments before, but with the same phlegm that managed to inspire a feeling of safeness in you. Sitting by your side on the bare rock, he raised his bandaged hand to gently cup your face and make you turn your eyes towards him. It was only then, when you had no choice but to look at Baldwin in the face that you noticed how his eyes, the only part of his face exposed to the outside world, formed two half-moons, and you came to find that it was because of how widely he was smiling, as you lowered the veil from his face. 

He was making fun of you, you realized. With that swagger in his manner, you understood that his amusement came from your embarrassment at that silly misunderstanding. Laughing softly, he gently shook his head before bringing both hands to your face, holding it as if it were the most sacred of relics. "As much as I would love to hear you sing of your affection for me, just to hear your voice echoing in the air is the sweetest of gifts. How could you deprive me of this blessing thus far, my dear?"

You could do nothing but giggle at his sweet words, bringing your hands to his wrists to feel him closer to you. "You flatter me, my king. My voice boasts nothing more than those sweet melodies that the singers in the palace sing. Mine is only a dabble."

His gaze softened, his playful spirit addicted to your presence. He took the floor again, in a tone as soft as cotton, "At least this once, my queen, allow me to disagree with your words. My life may be short and my reality small, but never have I heard such an angelic voice, singing such sweet melodies. And God may not yet have granted me the ability to predict the future, but in my heart I know well that never will any singer be able to hold a candle to your beautiful voice, never will any song be able to express the same feeling of ecstasy.

"You, my angel, have managed to make a simple ballad an absolute work of art through your voice. I think I should take you with me into battle next time, for with your mere voice you could addict Saladin and his entire army.

"And seeing you here, angelic and perfect like the lilies that surround you, singing so softly that it would make any bird jealous, that I realize that whatever toil, whatever challenges God has stored up for me, and all those that still await me in my life, are worth it, if at the end of each of them there is you, voice of an angel, to hold a place for me in your arms of heaven." 

You were sure you were on the verge of crying a flood of tears, the result of pure emotion at his sweet words. It was not new to you that Baldwin worshipped you as much as the God to whom his kingdom was consecrated, from the first moment he got to hear your voice and admire your face, and you knew at once that he had become yours, body and soul. But it was new to you to see him like that, completely entranced by your simple being-it was something new. A wonderful newness that made you feel like the most desired of women on this earth.

Taken by a rush of boldness, you practically jumped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck; you ended up on top of him, with his hands around your hips. You both laughed, like two little boys frolicking in the gardens. And you left a kiss on his left cheek, then on the bridge of his nose. A kiss again on his forehead, and then down on the side of his lips. When you were about to give him another kiss, just where he most yearned for your lips, against his, you stopped a few inches away, with a wide smile, before speaking again, "If so little is enough to make your happiness, then I will sing to you every day, whenever you ask. Let me be your nightingale, your morning song and your lullaby all at once!"

"I couldn't wish for anything else, my dear. Now, however, I beg you, sing one more melody for me, before my duties drag me back to the palace, and I shall consider myself a blessed man."

"With great pleasure, my love." Your voice was now little more than a whisper. With a languid movement, Baldwin moved his body to rest his head on your lap, and you eagerly greeted him. After slightly moving the hood that veiled his head, so that you could play with his golden locks, you began to sing a new melody, one that this time spoke of reciprocated love, of the joy of being able to hold your loved one in your arms. But the words you sang barely reached Baldwin before his sky-colored eyes closed softly, his mind giving him at least a moment's despite from his perilous life. You continued to sing, caressing his face, which from day to day appeared more and more mutilated by his disease, singing the sweetest of melodies so as to prolong this idyll in which you and your husband found yourselves in. 

For with you Baldwin had a way of putting the crown aside, and being nothing more than a foolish young man in love, whose only duty was to love you, to love you with all the love that an angel like you deserved.

@sweetworkoffiction hope you like it <3

[caldwellwrites]

Things to Consider When Writing Setting

As a writer who has been coming up with a specific story concept for the past nine and a half years, I have a lot of trouble when it comes to writing and, oftentimes, imagining the setting of particular scenes. I almost always one detail in my head, but struggle to come up with any other features. Anyone can think, "Okay, my character is in a parking lot". But we, need to think beyond that.

Okay, first things first, decide a few things before we start consulting the big(ish) list.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 1) That means the type of location. Are they in a forest? At home? In a Starbucks? There are a near-endless list of places for your character to be, but it's crucial to make sure you know where this person is before building from there. In my opinion, this is probably the most important aspect to know before attempting to write about the setting. Know. Where. They. Are.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 2) This means the country or province. Consider every aspect of this place (I'll be making a post about world-building soon for those who need it). What are the geographical, cultural, and climate-related features. Think about how would these features impact the way your character experiences their environment.

-When does this scene take place? I'm talking about the time period, time of day, and time of the year. All of these factors will change what your character sees, hears, smells, everything.

Now that you've (hopefully) answered the three questions above, let's look at the big list of ideas. These are just some ideas I thought of while writing and editing this list, there are so many more ideas that are not on here. Try not do get overwhelmed by the list, and just look at it one section at a time. Play with some of these ideas in your head, on paper, a doc, whatever, and decide what feels write (get it?) for your project!

Sky, Weather, and Temperature

Sky Objects: Sun, Moon, Planets, Stars (Constellations), Meteors, Clouds (look up the different types), Rainbow, Flying Craft (Planes, Blimps, Drones, Helicopters), Balloons, Confetti, Kites, Bubbles

Weather: Sunny, Cloudy, Rainy, Stormy, Snowy, Hail, Foggy, Windy

Temperature: Sweltering, Hot, Warm, Comfortable, Chilly, Cold, Freezing

Nature and Natural Elements

Plants: Trees, Flowers, Grasses, Herbs, Mushrooms, Weeds, Bushes

Domestic Animals: Dogs, Cats, Horses

Wild Animals: Wolves, Coyotes, Bears, Wild Cats, Raccoons

Water Sources: Unmoving, Slow / Gentle, Rapid, Rough

Objects and People

Vehicles

Houses

Shops, Kiosks, Stalls

Schools & Other Buildings

Garbage

Fences, Walls, and Other Barricades

Parades, Parties, Festivals

Random Citizens / Passerby's

Higher-Ups (Royalty, Government Officials, etc)

Workers (Gardeners, Dog Walkers, Street Performers, etc.)

Furniture or Decor

Smells

Urine or Feces

Death / Blood

Cigarette / Cigar / Marijuana Smoke

Car Smog

Flowers

Fresh Cut Grass

Garbage

Food and Drink

Rain

Smoke / Fire

Pine

Sounds

Animal Sounds (Birds, Dogs, Insects, Frogs, etc. )

People Being Loud (Screaming, Playing, Cheering, Laughing, etc.)

Wind (Wind Chimes, Howling Wind, Blowing through plants, etc.)

Water

Machinery (Lawn Mower, Leaf Blower, etc.)

Transport (Carriages, Cars, Buses, Boats, Trains, Emergency Vehicles)

Weather Sounds (Rain, Thunder, Hail)

Fire Crackling

Music

[novlr]

How to write the heat?

Quick Tips on How to Write Heat

Heat can have many connotations in your stories beyond just temperature. It can be a sensation, an event, or even a metaphor for something else. The way a character internalises or experiences heat will also be unique to them, so here are some quick tips on how to use imagery to convey heat in a variety of ways.

In Nature

Use colours like red, yellow, or orange

Parched scenery, like cracked earth and dry leaves

Bright sunlight

Mirages

Blistering winds

Heat waves radiating from hot asphalt

Animals huddling in the shade

Wide and barren landscapes

Hot sand to contrast with cool water

Wilting vegetation and a change in colour

The sound of cicadas

Foods and Objects

Hot peppers with bright colours

Spicy dishes (and how characters handle them)

Melting ice cream and frozen drinks

The sizzling sound of food in a hot pan

The smell of a barbeque

Cold drinks that provide relief

Flip flops, shorts, and tank tops

Sunscreen and hats

Metal and leather that is too hot to touch

Salt or minerals left on surfaces after liquid evaporates

Faded colours on objects left in the sun

Peeling paint

The hiss of steam from a kettle

Character Moods

Short-tempered

Lazy

Discomfort

Easily frustrated

Disinterested

Relaxed

Energised

Joyful

Exhausted

Adventurous

Anxious

Fearful

Irritable

Lethargic

Contemplative

Restless

Overwhelmed

Rejuvenated

Impatient

Distracted

Apprehensive

Isolated

Embarrassed

Motivated

Character Body Language

Wiping sweat from their faces

Fanning themselves

Shifting uncomfortable

Sluggish movements

Licking lips and swallowing due to dehydration

Shedding layers of clothing

Unconsciously moving toward the shade

Constantly drinking

Breathing heavily

Squinting or shielding eyes

Flushed skin

Panting or shallow breathing

Avoiding physical contact

Actions and Events

Seeking shelter during a heatwave

Roadtrips in a hot car with the windows open

Swimming at a pool, lake, or a beach

Sharing drinks with friends at a cafe, bar, or beer garden

Planning holidays to cooler climates

Staying indoors to read to watch TV where it’s cool

Watching the sunset or sunrise when it’s cooler

Going out at night to avoid the heat of the day

Beach parties and barbeques

Wildfire warnings

Outdoor markets and garage sales

Camping trips

Positive Aspects

Heat can be a time of joy, where families and friends can enjoy time together doing outdoor activities not available to them the rest of the year. Food becomes lighter, the days are longer, and people tend to get more exercise. There are also positive ways to describe the juxtaposition of something hot after immediately experiencing the cold, like a hot drink on a cold day.

Negative Aspects

Not every association with heat is positive. Hot weather brings environmental damage like droughts and wildfires that affect agriculture and wildlife. It can also lead to physical discomfort, like heat rash, dehydration, sunburn, sleep disruption, or being forced to work or exercise in uncomfortable environments.

Helpful Synonyms

Scorching

Blistering

Temperate

Boiling

Fiery

Burning

Inferno

Glowing

Simmering

Sweltering

Torrid

Steaming

Tropical

Flaming

Feverish

Stifling

Roasting

Searing

Tropical

Radiant

Common metaphors

Passion or desire

Anger and conflict

Pressure or stress

Excitement and energy

Change or transformation

Danger or warning

Life and vitality

[aioliravioli-69]

aight, so uh.... I haven't posted art in a while and I'm sorry💀

I will be doing this months challenge, I'll just have to see when

In the meantime, have some old sickfic sketches of an AU I never finished

I'm begging you to excuse the hands

Originally, Buddy travels to Chase house after Ex Libris finds his location but underestimates the climate of wherever Chase lives. After not being appropriately dressed for a bunch of rainstorms he ends up getting horribly sick and passing out on Chase's lawn, right before he arrives at the house.

The next morning Prunella finds him and non-chalantly tells Chase that there's a stranger in his garden.

Naturally, Chase if conflicted and runs to get Deacon and right after telling Deacon off for wanting to get Buddy inside to take care of him(he's TOTALLY not projecting) they carry the unconscious goth into the house and lay him down on the couch until he wakes up.

There are some more things I want to draw for this

(Buddy cries after eating good soup; Buddy takes a hot bubble bath for the first time in his life -> it's a luxury for him, as Ex Lirbis only had cold rain water ig lmaoo💀💀)

But I'll see lol

[a-whispering-echo]

Nightmare - Crown Prince of Durmous

Durmous - aka, the place the story is set in! - is the largest and most prosperous kingdom, famous for its robust economy, advanced infrastructure, and diplomacy. It’s a central hub for trade and intellectual pursuits, known for its universities and libraries, which attract scholars and diplomats from far and wide.

Customs & Culture: Durmous values peace and stability, with a strong emphasis on unity and legacy. Marriages are often arranged between nobles to keep alliances strong, but the kingdom is known for its tolerance and open-mindedness, particularly regarding individual freedoms. Durmous celebrates an annual festival in the spring, honouring life and renewal, which often includes public feasts, games, and the sharing of traditional songs and stories.

Religion: While the people of Durmous are free to practice any faith, the kingdom generally honours the Celestials, a pantheon representing wisdom, justice, and compassion. They believe the stars guide the fate of royalty, and it’s common to consult astrologers on major decisions.

Royalty: Nym, Nightmare’s mother and the ruling King, is wise and forward-thinking, renowned for her strength and diplomacy. She has a strategic mind and encourages intellectual and cultural growth. Nightmare, the eldest prince, has one sibling, Dream, who has a more emotional and idealistic temperament.

Architecture: Durmous boasts dark stone castles with high, spired turrets and elaborate gothic designs. The structures have pointed arches, intricate stained glass windows, and iron detailing. Buildings are arranged in an open, sweeping formation around the palace, giving a sense of controlled elegance rather than claustrophobic defence. Courtyards and gardens feature twisted, elegant iron benches and statues of mythical beasts.

Clothing: Durmous fashions lean toward heavy, rich fabrics like velvet, silk, and brocade in dark jewel tones—deep purples, emeralds, and midnight blues. The wealthy favour sweeping cloaks and high-collared coats with elaborate embroidery and gems. They love long sleeves, tall boots, and rings with dark stones, reflecting a sense of mystery. Even in common clothing, Durmous citizens prefer dark tones, which plays well with darker dyes like indigo and crimson from locally grown grapes and fruits. This makes Dream, with his preference for bright yellows and blues, usual.

Climate: The climate is temperate but misty, with frequent fog rolling in from the mountains, making mornings and evenings cool. The temperate climate makes it perfect for growing rich fruits like apples, blackberries, and grapes, which are the kingdom’s main exports. Wines from Durmous are prized for their dark, full-bodied flavours, often enriched with spices traded from distant lands.

Diet: Durmous’s diet focuses on fruits, cheeses, pastries, dark bread, and preserved meats, with a special fondness for wine and cider. They’re known for their vineyards and orchards, with wines and ciders aged to a rich, complex depth. Meals tend to be hearty but reserved—Durmous citizens are sophisticated in their preferences, enjoying quality over variety.

Fauna & Flora: The plants and herbs native to Durmous include hemlock, belladonna, elderberries, and sage. The landscape around the castle is dotted with thorny rose bushes, ivy, and climbing blackberries, which reflect the dark and enigmatic culture. Animals in the kingdom include ravens, foxes, and large black hounds. The people of Durmous also dye their fabrics in hues taken from these plants, giving their clothing an earthy, moody tone.

-

Nightmare is seen as a cruel man. he is cold, dark, and drawn to all things macabre. More than one person has called him ‘evil’ before, a creature borne of complete darkness and negativity. it was widely believed that as a child, he was swapped out for a changeling. Nightmare doesn’t know why people see him the way they do; he doesn’t realise anything’s wrong? he’s just quiet, and prefers time to himself.

he enjoys reading a great deal, and spends most of his days in the library, reading books, playing the grand piano, writing, or tending to needle work. he is naturally very smart and book savvy, but less understanding of social circumstances.

He also seem to just KNOW things that people don’t, he KNOWS secrets you’ve never told people, and he can and WILL hold them over your head if needs be. there’s no doubt he will be a GREAT leader.

Nightmare used to escape the castle grounds as a child to take a book and climb a tree, to read alone, undisturbed by his hand staff or his brother who wants to play.

Both Dream and Nightmare dislike their Mother, the King, but constantly vie for her attention.