#margaret vines

[unosano]

[bergenhoek]

having old archaeologists as professors is pretty cool. sometimes they'll just go on a rant and talk about how they met so-and-so famous archaeologist during some conference in the stone age and how some white feminist cultural anthropologist got pissed at a radical sioux archaeologist for calling them a bunch of racist dicks

[aaf-incorrect-quotes]

Felix is sobbing in front of his computer

Margaret, walking in: What's wrong?

Felix: i LOsT aLL mY meMeS

[muttball]

Lady Margaret

Scarlet Passion Flower

[gracie-bird]

Elizabeth Ann "Lizanne" Kelly, Princess Grace's youngest sister, circa 1935.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

The journey across the vine bridge was not pleasant. The vines were coated with slimy moss, which made walking precarious. The structure swayed alarmingly when touched, and its motion became erratic when anyone crossed.

"DragonLance Chronicles: Dragons of Autumn Twilight" - Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

[shesamreads]

I'm slowing down! Only one audiobook this month, the rest were ebooks. Note to self: maybe I need more audiobooks. Or branch out from romance. A genre shift, perhaps.

Still liked these books for the most part. That's more important that numbers, really. On to April!

[recycledmoviecostumes]

This sweet light pink pelisse, which features delicate dark pink vines running up the front, was first worn by Kate Ashfield as Mary Parker in a 2023 episode of Sanditon. The costume was so unique that it was later featured again in Hallmark’s 2024 remake of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, this time worn by Beth Angus as Margaret Dashwood. 

It’s always impressive to see how a single piece of clothing can be reused and repurposed in different productions, and this pelisse is no exception. With its soft pink hue and intricate detailing, it’s no wonder that this garment has caught the eye of costume designers and viewers alike. Whether you’re a fan of period dramas or simply appreciate beautiful fashion, this pelisse is definitely a piece to keep an eye out for – it’s sure to show up again!

Costume Credit: Anne81

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram

[tlbodine]

Overthinking: Stay Out of the Basement

Stay Out of the Basement is the #2 installment in the Goosebumps series and, surprisingly, another I had never read as a kid. I don't even remember the cover, although looking at it I wonder if I got it mixed up with the much later book How to Kill a Monster which has a similar composition (but a very different tone).

Fun fact about this cover, while we're here: Unlike the majority of the OG Goosebumps run, this art was not the work of Tim Jacobus but rather Jim Thiesen, who got his start illustrating for Heavy Metal before finding a niche doing horror art. His style ended up being too realistic and gritty for the Goosebumps books, but in a way it's pretty fitting for this book.

Stay Out of the Basement, like its predecessor, is in many ways a more serious and (heh) grounded Goosebumps story, although we see more hints of where the series would end up, from its fanciful setup to its goofy gotcha ending. But beneath its playfulness, Stay Out of the Basement has an underlying vine, I mean vein, of true horror.

First, the Plot:

Stay Out of the Basement is about siblings Margaret and Casey, and their father, Dr. Brewer, a botanist who's gotten a little strange since losing his job a few weeks ago. He's moody and obsessed with his basement experiments, where he's growing plants under conditions that don't seem exactly ideal. He doesn't have time to play frisbee with his kids, has stopped using pet names for them, and outright yells at them to stay out of the basement when they peek in.

Their mom isn't any help here, as she's quickly called away to tend to her sister, who's going into the hospital with an ill-defined ailment. It's OK. Freshly unemployed and deeply obsessed Dad will be fine to take care of them, right? And if not, at least they'll be kept company by neighbor friend Diane, who...very helpfully convinces them to go down into the basement and see what's going on down there while the Dad is out of the house.

Down in the basement, we see first-hand that these plants are...strange. They seem to move on their own. To breathe. To moan as if in pain. They can even grab at you. And when they're caught once again trespassing, dear ol' Dad isn't very pleased.

Not that he's being very normal, himself. He's growing a head full of leaves under the baseball cap he always wears. Margaret catches him shoveling fistfuls of plant food into his mouth over the sink. He sleeps in a bed of worm-addled dirt. And Margaret even spies him tending to a wound with green blood spilling out.

He has some weak excuses for this. He tells the kids he's working on genetic research, essentially gene-splicing plants and animals, and that his leafy hair is a "side effect." Nobody's buying it.

One day his old boss comes by and they go down into the basement to discuss his work. Later, when Dr. Brewer is gone picking up his wife from the airport (finally finished with her sick sister), the kids again head down into the basement and discover a series of escalating terrors: the clothes of Mr. Martinez (the boss)...a closet full of plants with human features, including arms and faces....and their dad, bound and gagged.

The OTHER father was a plant, you see. (Get it? A plant?) Or was he? There's a tense moment where both fathers are resolute in their insistence that they're the REAL Dr. Brewer. But Margaret susses out the right one (he calls her "Princess," a nickname the other dad never used for her. Oh yeah, and he bleeds red when she stabs him with a knife because this early Goosebumps books went hard).

The freed Mr. Brewer dispatches his doppleganger with an axe (!!) and frees his old boss who's been tied up in the basement as well (?!) and discards all of his horrifying plant creatures, planting a few surviving "normal" specimens out in the garden.

Happy endings, right? Everything's back to normal! Except for the tiny, shrill little voice of a surviving flower insisting, "Margaret! *I* am your real father!"

Overthinking It:

Stay Out of the Basement, much like Monster Blood, trades in very real fears. Sure, it's ostensibly about plant-people. But it's REALLY a story about what happens when you realize you can't trust your parent. When you realize they can lie. They can keep secrets. They can get angry. That you're a child, utterly dependent on your parents, and you might not even know who they actually are.

The real horror of Stay Out of the Basement is not that Dr. Brewer is being replaced by a plant. The horror is that he was acting wrong BEFORE he was replaced. The Dr. Brewer who lost his job, stopped playing with his kids, stopped using pet names, became utterly engrossed in his work? Human. HE is the one who started making horrifying people-faced plant clones. He admits that this whole thing happened because he cut himself on a slide and mixed some of his blood in with the plant cells.

Margaret witnessed that. She SAW him bleeding red. Moments before he screamed at them to stay out of the basement.

And, sure, we've all gotten snappish under pressure. But there is something deeply chilling about a freshly freed Dr. Brewer reaching right away for an axe, and swinging at full-strength at his doppleganger, stone-cold, without hesitation. He chops his plant-self in half without blinking. He puts down his other plant creations -- which are plausibly sentient -- after admitting that they were suffering and that he allowed them to suffer too long.

Plant-dad was doing his misguided best to take care of his human kids. He tried to feed them (even if it was weird green glop) and he tried to comfort them (even if he was leaving a lot out) and he never made an overt attempt to hurt them. There's really no evidence that the plant doppleganger had any evil inclinations at all.

But the real Dr. Brewer? He's scary as hell.

I have a few lingering questions. For example: why the fuck was Mr. Martinez naked? I get that we needed to have his clothes show up because it's scary to realize he never left, but do I WANT to know why the plant-double stripped a man naked before tying him up in a closet? It's not like he needed to steal the clothes for some reason, like if there were a Mr. Martinez double running around -- he just leaves them on the floor.

Another question: When, exactly, did Dr. Brewer make the swap? We know that Dr. Brewer also has a head full of leaves (he explains in the end that this is, y'know, a side effect from his injury). When we see his leaf-hair the first time, is he still himself? When he explains the "side effects" to his kids, is he still himself? Can we really, truly believe anything that he says?

Also, why does his doppleganger have a cut finger? Is it because he's an exact copy, and the plant doesn't know not to copy the wound? What level of sentience does the plant have? Does it know what it's doing or does it act on instinct? Is it a copy of the dad's psyche or does it have its own personality? Does it have memories?

I am just....deeply curious. And frankly unsettled. I'm not wholly certain the flower at the end of this book isn't the real Dr. Brewer, because at this point, I don't think we can really trust anybody.

If You Enjoyed This, THESE Will Really Give You Goosebumps:

If plants stealing human faces and taking over their lives is your thing, you gotta watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers - either the original from 1956, or the 1978 remake.

If the body horror of Dr. Brewer's transformation gets under your skin, you gotta watch David Cronenberg's 1986 classic The Fly, where a scientist accidentally merges with a fly and undergoes some horrific changes.

For another axe-wielding, angry dad who's entirely too absorbed by his work, see Stephen King's The Shining (and its 1980 film adaptation directed by Stanley Kubrick).

And if you'd like to see a couple of kids worry that their mom has been replaced by a double, and take it upon themselves to find out the truth, may I recommend the 2014 Austrian import Goodnight, Mommy? (Before you start, though, know that this is decidedly not Goosebumps-like in tone. Just about every content warning you can think of applies to this film. yes, even that one. consider yourself warned.)

So, you tell me: When do YOU think the real Dr. Brewer was switched?

[poisonappleeater]

Neverland Lover Pt. 1

Regina Mills x transmale!reader

takes place in s3 in neverland !! i dont remember some details of the plot of this arc so forgive me for any inaccuracies :( ALSO also reader is a bandit bc yeah (gender identity may or may not be significant to plot)

Regina’s been non-stop worried sick about Henry. Even when it was her turn to sleep, her eyes never closed. Yours rarely did either. Not when you were surrounded by the dangers of Neverland. And especially not when you were so busy watching her pace around a tree in the dead of night, when she would chew her apple-red lips, when she would hold her stomach with worry. But you were the only one who ever noticed. You didn’t know why no one else ever showed concern. Sure, maybe it was understandable to be weary of a woman with ambiguous morals, a murderous history, and a callous tone; but she was a woman with a heart. And it wasn’t blackened, not completely. It couldn’t be. Not with the way she protected her son. Maybe you were partial to Regina, and maybe your debilitating crush on her had something to do with it. (You’ve tried EVERYTHING to rid of your feelings for her. You couldn’t. And you knew she’d never go for you. A refined, ex-evil Queen of the Enchanted Forest/Mayor of Storybrooke had no business fraternizing with a bandit like you. You weren’t even sure if she saw you as a man.) You stared at her in the night, an infatuated hiccup in your heartbeat.

…

You, her, and the Charmings trekked through Neverland once more in the dim cerulean light before hearing snapping branches. The sound didn’t come from any one of you… Regina snapped her head around, onyx-hued hair following her motion.

“What was that?” she questioned. It was silent again. Everyone slowed their movements. You and Mary Margaret reached for your arrows.

“Maybe a bird?” David blurted. Mary Margaret looked at him and sighed. She loved him, but damn, he was dense. Before you could nock an arrow, the vindictive cries and yelps of Lost Boys pierced the air, swoops of swinging vines approaching you as the boys flew into view. You, Regina, and the Charmings gave each other wide-eyed glances in preparation for whatever was to come.

David muttered, “Okay, not a bird. Got it.”The Lost Boys surrounded you, some with hand-crafted knives in clutch. David and Emma held their swords at the ready, and you and Mary Margaret took aim. Regina conjured a fireball with a graceful flourish of the wrist (and maybe you blushed a little at the sight). She found your eyes with her own. Perhaps it was the light of the flame, but there was warmth in her gaze.

“Where did you hide the boy?” growled a ratty, blonde lad through gritted teeth. He must have been referring to Henry.

You spoke first. “We hid him nowhere. He’s not here.”

“And even if we did know where he was, we wouldn’t tell you,” asserted Emma.

The scrawny boy revealed plaque-riddled teeth with a snarl. “You’re so sure, eh? Maybe we can get you to tell us,” he mused. “Boys!” On command, the small army of scoundrels hurled themselves at you in attempt to chokehold you and the others. You stabbed one in the thigh with an arrow as he tried to pounce on your shoulders; David rendered a boy unconscious with the handle of his sword. Peering over your shoulder, you saw Regina flip one boy over with bare hands and toss one into the trees with a plume of purple smoke. Without her knowing, a third Lost Boy tried to attack her from behind.

“Regina!” you warned her. You made quick work of nocking another arrow, aiming at the boy’s shoulder. Regina turned to look at you, the boy mere milimeters away from her. In due time, your arrow hit the lateral deltoid of the scrawny cretin, effectively demounting him from his attack. Regina breathed heavily. With you unguarded, you were ambushed by two boys. Dammit. You struggled harshly but were able to hold their necks in your elbows. Just as you stabilized your hold, you felt the white-hot sting of metal in your side. The blade, albeit short, felt infinite in length as it continued to plunge into you. The pain was debilitating. You wailed with the air you had left in your lungs. Abruptly, the runts, previously cackling, were launched away from you. You heard two thuds, and the two boys fell silent. Regina must have taken them down with a spell.

“Dammit, Y/N,” Regina knelt beside you immediately. All the Lost Boys were unconscious, and the only sounds left were your agonied groans. She placed a hand tenderly beneath your head before observing your surroundings. That’s when you noticed the Charmings peering down at you with concern and care in their faces, but confusion as well at the affection Regina showed you.

“We need to get out of here,” Mary Margaret reasoned. Regina faced her, an incredulous expression on her perfect face.

“Does it look like he can walk right now? Give me a second. It won’t take long.” She slipped her royal blue blazer off. Regina’s soothing, velvety voice was enough to distract you from the pain for just a moment. The pain quickly returned when she reminded you of it.

“This is going to hurt.” Regina knitted her brows in concentration. Before you could provide any sort of response, she swiftly removed the knife from your abdomen, sure to maintain its angle to minimize further damage to your body. You yowled through gritted teeth, your heels scratching at the dirt floor as your legs moved.

“Sorry…” Regina crooned, efficiently putting pressure on your wound with her blazer before hovering her hand over your abdomen. You watched in fascination as your pain dissipated with a violet glow, your lesion seemingly undoing itself.

“Thank you, Regina.” A sparkle appeared in her eyes when you said that. Regina nodded ever so slightly in response, looking down subsequently to avoid your gaze.

David interrupted the tension, likely without noticing. “Let’s go.” Mary Margeret took your hand to help you up now that Regina was suddenly unavailable to you, lost in her own thoughts.

The pixie-haired brunette noticed Regina’s aloofness and smiled at you emphatically. “Yeah, let’s keep moving.”

…

You sat alone in the dead of night near the fire that you all put together. (Regina lit it with a fireball. You couldn’t get over how cool that was.) You rubbed your fingers over the spot on your lower right abdomen where Regina healed you. You played the scene over and over in your mind, missing the feeling of her hand beneath your tired head, the sensation of warmth as she treated your injury. Everyone was asleep, and it was silent aside from the crackle of the fire. That was until you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You turned and nocked an arrow in a fraction of a second.

“Just me.” Regina announced and sauntered ever so gracefully to a spot a few feet away from you. She knelt near the flame. You stared at her for a moment, letting yourself become familiar with the details of her face: the small scar above her lip, the curve of her nose, the shape of her profile. Your heart fluttered. You glanced at her wine-colored blouse, remembering her soiled jacket.

“You didn’t have to dirty your blazer just to fix me up.”

“You didn’t have to look out for me when we had our tussle with the lost boys.” It was silent again for a moment, although it felt long. “I could’ve handled myself,” she added. You shrugged.

“You already had two rascals on your hands.”

“How’s the stab wound? Any residual pain?” Regina changed the subject, eyes averted. She spoke softly, a rasp in her voice.

You replied, “None at all. And thank you, again. You’ve saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.” Your expression of gratitude perplexed the dark-haired woman, and silence remained stagnant in the air until Regina spoke again.

“You treat me kindly. Why is that? Ulterior motive?” she asked cynically. She raised an eyebrow. Heat rose to your cheeks, your eyes widened. You stuttered before mustering a proper response.

“You’re human. There’s no reason for me to treat you less than that.” The woman in the silk blouse broke out into a chuckle.

“But I have a heinous past. You know that, don’t you?” You didn’t know how to answer that without disclosing your feelings. You shrugged again and turned your head away from her in hopes that the warmth of the flame masked the warmth in your cheeks. Regina stopped laughing when she realized your sincerity.

“You really see me that way?”

“You’re not evil, Regina.” When you look turned to look at her once again, her eyes were already on you. The expression on Regina’s face unsettled you slightly, solely because it was akin to the way she looked at Henry. Wet eyes, subtly raised brows, slack jaw. You’d never seen her look at anyone else in Storybrooke that way. Your stomach flipped.

“Well, goodnight, Y/N,” Regina nodded, standing up, brushing herself off, and walking off before lying against a tree. You knew she was only faking sleep. You remained vigilant while your friends slept, leaving you to ponder a gorgeous, raven-haired woman.

feel free to reply with any opinions or criticism!! hopefully ill be faster w posting the next part

[aesolerin]

I LOOOOOVE YOUR HEADCANONS AND CHARACTERIZATIONS AS ALWAYS

If this counts as anything what do you think the heroes' childhoods were like?

(it doesn't have to be all of them I'm just curious on how you perceive them) -❤️

jklhrwgdk thank u for ur support of my Visions..... also i did them all anyways 😃

Sarmenti: doesn't remember much. no father present, mentally ill mother, hardly any money to go around. basically left 'home' as soon as he was able. a strange and shockingly quiet child.

Baldwin: the pampering and tutoring of a prince, but not much personal attention and affection from his busy parents. maybe had a sibling or two? a satisfied childhood, but... distant. a polite and thoughtful and almost shy child

William: painfully happy childhood. like, it was almost tooth-rottingly perfect. the kind of kid that would come home covered in dirt and happy as can be.

Junia: likely given/forced into that convent, and boy howdy it was not a loving place. she went from a curious and somewhat mischievous girl to timid and god-fearing

Audrey: also somewhat spoiled and definitely pampered, but maybe she was more wild and rambunctious than the average little girl and her parents were at a bit of a loss as to what to do about/with her. in her opinion the only fun part of growing up to be a Lady(tm) was all the pretty things she could wear

Barristan: i like to think he came from at least minor nobility! he was raised on the path to the military whether he liked it or not, and thankfully he did like some of it at least. even at a young age he had a penchant for defending others, physically and verbally

Dismas: raised by a single mother that he adored. maybe had siblings? i could imagine him being the eldest. he was a shockingly well-behaved boy, but he held grudges and would do anything if there was a chance his mom would smile

Reynauld: a strict and unhappy home... he was working on the farm as soon as he was able, and was made to learn the Verses before that. a child forced to be diligent and obedient.

Margaret: a more controlled Audrey, and therefore more spoiled. she still has the 'i earned this and therefore deserve it' attitude.

Alhazred: a child of scholars is naturally gonna be a scholar too. liked to get his hands into everything, for better or worse. learned at a young age that the best lies are a little true.

Paracelsus: all day every day she made Potions. u know what i'm talkin' about. put water and bits and things and dirt and dead bugs in a bowl/cup/vessel-like object and mixed em up. very serious about everything she did, baffled her parents all the time.

Tardif: anxious and a little bit of a crybaby, if you can believe it. but whenever his parents or older sibling(s) came home they were always hurt and even at a young age he was afraid that they wouldn't come back. eventually he was right.

Bigby: perhaps a liiiittle unsupervised, but really liked exploring his surroundings! the kind of kid that would be so excited to tell you about something he saw that he hardly noticed he fell down as he ran up to you. weirdly skeptical, he never believed stories unless he could see it for himself.

Missandei: :(

Josephine: came from a poor family that would go to many unscrupulous means to get money. a clever little pickpocket who loved to listen to and tell stories.

Boudica: the epitome of that one vine. 'Girl, how old are you?' 'I am 2 mama!' 'Take this knife, go hunt bear.' '... Just one?' '*both laugh*'. yes, she was loved, but it was..... intense? a lot of physical development, but little to no attention given her emotional development.

Amani: another painfully idyllic childhood, but this one was interrupted by a disaster and/or a tragedy that took her family in her teenaged years. a sweet and frankly goofy girl that had to grow up sooner than she ever wanted to.

Damian: very few memories of his childhood, and none of them happy. a meek boy trying to put on a brave face.

DD2 Bonus Round:

Bonnie: :(

Sahar: a perfectionist family raises a perfectionist, to no one's surprise. taught to be well-behaved, but her rare tantrums were ferocious. did not actively try to make friends.

[citizenscreen]

Edward G. Robinson and Margaret O'Brien during the making of OUR VINES HAVE TENDER GRAPES (1945), directed by Roy Rowland #DailyRobinson

[her-reidiance]

I'm high and extremely emotional about Livinia Falcone (Penance) being the such a great complement and contrast to Margaret Nearl. It's like... so apparent. It had to be intentional or it's just a genius coincidence. This'll be long because I ramble, but please bear with me.

Like, first off,

I mean, you have the obvious white-black contrast in their outfits. You also have the contrast in their weapons, a nimble swordspear and a heavy hammer OF JUSTICE (and it might be cheating to mention that Nearl has long hair and Penance has short hair) (EDIT: I forgot her braid sorry), but then, then! You have the compliments! The glowing dagger in Nearl's hand, the codex in Penance's.

You also have like, the way their backstories complement each other in certain ways. Nearl was a competition knight, a hero to the masses and a symbol of safety and hope that was ultimately controlled by the interests of the bureaucracy. She was forced to leave her hometown, and live in the wilderness. Penance, on the other hand, is a judge. An enforcer of the law that supposedly keeps the people safe but was actually in the pocket of the Bellone famiglie. Despite doing everything she could, to believe in justice and try to uphold the law, she was shackled by her limitations especially to mafia affairs, even if she wasnt as tightly leashed by the Bellones and allowed to give guilty sentences sometimes. Both women were basically pawns to the powers that be in their countries, and it was an open secret that they weren't much more than that.

Where they differ is their outlook. Nearl's family motto, "Fear neither hardship nor darkness" lives through Margaret most visibly. She says it often, and she exemplifies what a platonic ideal of a knight would act like. She's noble, courageous, kind, she fights for what's right. She is uncompromising in her values but not close minded. It's beautiful and inspiring to see.

Penance is not so lucky. She's disillusioned. She has hope but it's faint and tricky. By the end of Il Siracusano she's ready to leave Siracusa behind and try to atone for her past inadequacy (hence her Operator name). She is a woman with honor that had to be compromised. She drinks, and apparently to blackout sometimes. Her codex, the toke of law she values so much, is literally bound in thorny vines and can in fact prick her. She's an idealist who had those ideals challenged, and while she didn't break, she did bend, and she has yet to recover.

Penance is the Tarnished Knight; a weapon of justice that was misused and as a result her faith in justice shaken, the hope that Don Bellone gave her in his final act a tenuous one and one that fosters complicated emotions. She fights for what's right, what's truly right this time, but she may never feel like she's cleansed herself of her previous wrongs. She fights for what she hopes is the right thing, for something to believe in. It's a realistic goal. She is beautifully tragic in that sense.

Nearl is the Radiant Knight; a symbol of hope that was discarded by her country and as a result found firm footing in her faith in the wilderness. She fights for what's right, affirmed in her beliefs by the Followers, by Rhodes Island. She fights for a better tomorrow, a very idealistic and optimistic outlook. It makes her all the more impossibly dazzling.

[jackawful]

I straightup consumed The Sapling Cage in like three days and I think one of the things that always gets me about Margaret Killjoy's work is that like...even moreso than the Le Guin I've read, Killjoy is excellent at portraying daily anarchist life in a bunch of little ways. I got this a lot in The Lamb Will Slaughter The Lion as well (still gotta read her other longform stuff). But like. Big consensus-building meetings are just as slow and frustrating and still-important-despite-that and productive as the real life spokescouncils I've been in. People choose the work they do freely and shit still gets done and the quality of that work varies a lot. People butt heads over methods and tactics while ostensibly sharing the same goals. There's social hierarchies to navigate despite efforts to prevent official hierarchy. Shit's never perfect, but living free is always better than capitulating to the authorities.

The structure of the Order of the Vine so very reflects AG-based organizing (and the fact that sometimes people just Do Shit Solo too) in a way that was definitely on purpose as a way to teach the hypothetical teenage reader these methods and I'm so glad that exists. The text is so completely How To Live Anarchistically For Babies that I somehow recognized a lot of my own experiences even in a medieval fantasy framework.

Edit: I cannot believe I forgot to mention the words/action/magic trio of Ways To Enact Your Will On The World and how the new witches train on action first...literally direct action for teenagers! It's so good!

[mxnsterbabe]

Female Forest Spirit (Dryad)/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 1,821 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

Ella inherits an orchard from her late grandparents; and a strange woman that lives there.

Ella stood outside her grandparents’ old farmhouse, clutching the brass key that felt heavy with memories. The wind rustled the leaves around her.

Her grandparents had passed away last year, and it had taken her until now to gather the courage to visit the place they had loved so much. She missed them dearly, although she had so rarely gotten the chance to visit since they lived halfway across the country.

Taking a deep breath, Ella unlocked the door and stepped inside. The air was filled with the scent of aged wood and faint lavender, her grandmother’s favourite. Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, casting a warm glow on the well-worn furniture.

Ella wandered through the rooms, her fingers grazing over familiar surfaces. The kitchen, with its ancient stove and mismatched crockery, the living room with its cosy armchairs and stacks of old books, and her grandparents’ bedroom, where time seemed to have stood still.

Finally, she reached the back door and hesitated before opening it. Stepping outside, she was greeted by a breathtaking sight. The apple orchard stretched out before her, a sea of green and gold. Despite having been left untended for three months, the trees looked as vibrant as ever, their branches heavy with ripe, red apples. It was as if the orchard existed in its own world, untouched by time.

Ella walked among the trees, marvelling at their beauty. The air was crisp and sweet, filled with the scent of apples and earth. She reached up and plucked an apple from a low-hanging branch, the fruit cool and firm in her hand. As she took a bite, the flavour burst in her mouth; fresh and tangy.

Oh, she’d missed this place!

She continued to wander as she ate, the grass soft underfoot, when she noticed a faint, melodic whispering carried by the breeze. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, wrapping around her like a gentle embrace. Curious, she followed the sound deeper into the orchard, her steps cautious.

Curious and cautious, Ella followed the melodic whisper deeper into the orchard. In a secluded clearing, she stopped, her breath catching in her throat. There, standing among the apple trees, was a figure unlike any she had ever seen.

There stood a curvaceous woman with hair like twisting vines, her skin a soft, mossy green that seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight. Her eyes, glowing gold, fixed on Ella.

Ella's mouth went dry as the woman looked up, her expression curious. "I don't recognise you," she said, her voice echoing through the orchard like a soft, harmonious breeze. "Where are Margaret and Elliot?"

Margaret and Elliot. Ella’s grandparents.

Too stunned to speak, Ella watched as the figure stood, swaying like branches in the wind. Her form both delicate and powerful, commanding the space around her.

The silence stretched, the weight of the woman's gaze heavy upon Ella. Finally, finding her voice, she managed to whisper, "Who are you?"

The figure tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher Ella’s very essence. "What are you?" Ella added quietly.

"I am a forest dryad," the woman replied.. "You, intruder, are trespassing on sacred ground."

The dryad put a hand on Ella's arm, and the sensation was startling. The touch was warm, yet her skin felt like moss and bark, a living extension of the orchard itself. Ella felt an unexpected rush of attraction, a magnetic pull she couldn't quite explain. It made her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Up close, the dryad's beauty was even more striking. Her face was heart-shaped, framed by cascading green hair. Her nose was delicate, with a slight upward tilt, and her glowing gold eyes bored into Ella’s. Each blink was slow and deliberate.

Ella swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. "I’m Ella," she began, "Margaret and Elliot were my grandparents. They passed away late last year."

The dryad’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and disbelief flickering within their depths. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling like the rustle of leaves in a storm. "They promised… they couldn't..."

Before Ella could react, the dryad tore herself away, her strength ripping Ella's sleeve in the process. She recoiled, her face a mask of pain and confusion.

"Please," Ella called out, her tone desperate and soothing, "I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not an intruder, I’m — I’m a friend.”

The dryad paused, her shoulders tensed, then slowly turned back to face Ella. Her eyes were wary, but there was a flicker of hope beneath the surface.

"I'm sorry," Ella continued softly. "I didn’t know you were here. I… I want to help."

The dryad's gaze softened, and she stepped closer. "I am Marigold," she said, her voice regaining its gentle resonance. "If you really are their granddaughter then… yes, you are a friend."

Marigold took Ella's hands in hers, the touch gentle yet firm. Ella felt the warmth and the slight dampness of moss. A shiver ran down her spine, and she found herself drawn in to Marigold’s quiet presence. The dryad's fingers intertwined with hers.

"These past months have been lonely," Marigold admitted, her golden eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I thought they had abandoned me. I didn't know they had passed. Humans are so fragile. They were old, but I had hoped for a few more years with them yet."

Ella's heart ached at the pain in Marigold's voice. "So did I," she said softly. "They passed away peacefully, within a week of each other. It was as if they couldn’t bear to be apart."

Marigold looked away, her expression sorrowful. "How did I not know?" she whispered, more to herself than to Ella. "I never sensed it..."

Ella squeezed Marigold’s hands gently. "Did you never go to the house? They loved this orchard so much. I thought you would have felt their absence."

Marigold shook her head, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "I do not leave the orchard. I cannot. These trees are my home and a part of me. My essence is intertwined with them. To step beyond their boundary is to sever my own roots."

Ella’s stomach twisted. This was all so surreal, but there was a sadness in Marigold that seemed to permeate the orchard.

"I see," she said, her voice soft. "I’m sorry."

Marigold’s eyes met Ella’s, and she offered a small smile.

Ella felt an overwhelming urge to protect her, to offer some solace to this beautiful, ethereal being who had been left so vulnerable.

"The house is mine now," Ella said softly. "My grandparents left it to me in their will. I'll look after the orchard, after you. I can’t just go back to my old life after seeing all of this."

Marigold’s smile softened, a flicker of hope dancing in her eyes. "Thank you, Ella," she murmured.. "You are a good soul, just like they were.”

She squeezed Marigold's hands gently, the warmth of their touch grounding her.

"I don't understand how I never saw you as a child," Ella said after a moment. "I spent so many summers here, running through these trees, climbing them, picking apples. How is it that I never once saw you?"

Marigold’s gaze grew distant, as if she were recalling a memory long buried. "Your grandparents made a pact with me," she explained. "In order to protect me, they asked that I remain unseen by anyone but them. The pact ensured that only Margaret and Elliot could see me. They wanted to shield me from danger—and shield their family from the truth."

"So now that they’re gone, the pact is broken, and you’re visible to everyone again?”

"Yes," Marigold replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "It is both a blessing and a curse. I can no longer hide, but I am no longer alone."

Ella’s fingers brushed against Marigold’s cheek, the touch tentative. "You won’t be alone," she promised. "I’m here, and I can’t promise to fill my grandparents place, but I can try."

“I wouldn’t ask any more of you than you have offered yourself.”

The sun was setting now, casting a hazy pink glow over the trees, making the apples glow like jewels. She watched the pink spread as she held Marigold’s hands. A part of her knew how impossible this all was, and yet she couldn’t push down the feeling that this was all so right.

After a while, Ella reluctantly let go of Marigold’s hands. "I should go back to the house," she said. "I’ll need to cancel my lease and move my stuff… I have a lot to do."

Marigold nodded, her eyes shining. "I’ll be here," she said softly. "Thank you, Ella.."

Ella turned to leave, but Marigold's hand caught hers, pulling her back. The dryad's golden eyes were intense, and Ella’s heart skipped a beat. Before Ella could react, Marigold leaned in and pressed her lips to Ella's in a sudden, breathtaking kiss.

The kiss was gentle, her breath tasted of sweet honey and roses. Ella's senses were overwhelmed by the soft, moss-like texture of Marigold's skin and the delicate scent of earth and blossoms that surrounded her. She could feel Marigold’s pulse against her own skin.

Marigold’s hands moved to cup Ella’s face.. Ella responded instinctively, her hands finding their way to Marigold’s waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, a surge of emotion passing between them that was both passionate and tender. It was as if the world around them had fallen away, leaving only the two of them connected in this moment of pure, unspoken intimacy.

Ella’s fingers brushed against the vines that formed Marigold’s hair, feeling the way they seemed to come alive under her touch. She could sense the energy flowing between them, somehow, like a physical thing.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Ella noticed that Marigold's vines had sprouted bright pink flowers, their petals soft and fragrant.

Marigold’s eyes were wide.. "Ella," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I… I should not have done that.”

Ella placed a finger on Marigold's lips, silencing her. "It's okay," she said softly, her own voice shaking with the intensity of the moment. "I wanted this too."

Marigold's smile was radiant, and she wrapped her arms around Ella. "I've been so lonely," she murmured, her breath hot against Ella's ear. "But with you, I feel... complete."

Ella's heart swelled with a fierce protectiveness and a burgeoning love that she couldn't ignore. She pulled Marigold closer, their bodies pressed together in a comforting, intimate hold. "You’re not alone anymore," she promised. "You have me, now.”

The dryad’s eyes shimmered with tears of happiness, and she rested her forehead against Ella's. "Thank you," she whispered again.

Ella held Marigold tightly, feeling the warmth of her body and the gentle hum of life that surrounded them. She knew that this moment marked the beginning of something beautiful.

[tellmeallaboutit]

WIP WEDNESDAY

thank you @littleplasticrat for tagging me. I am sharing three WIPs and I am tagging @dodorimo @pouralaura @theemptyislost

WIP Nr. 1 (Raphael x Tav), tale madre tale figlia

"Is this the gentleman?" Celeste inquired, her eyes narrowing as she studied Raphael from a distance. 

He was standing by the garden pavilion under the canopy of vines, enjoying a chilled glass of limoncello. Classically handsome, almost mundanely so, with the grin of a man all too pleased with himself. Erik, her husband, stood across from him, looking much less at ease. 

"Less disappointed in me now, mama?" asked Judith, scoffing slightly.

"Could have been worse," Celeste replied. "Could have been better if you'd done things the right way and had a proper wedding. How old is he?"

Judith thought for a moment, trying to come up with a passable answer.

"Forty-five, I think," Judith finally offered.

"The same age your father would have been," Celeste said, half reproachful, half imagining this man as her own husband. "Looks older. Southerner?"

Judith answered each question with a slight delay.

"South of Thar."

"Old money?" Celeste's question sounded more like a statement.

"Ancient money," Judith answered.

WIP Nr. 2 (Rugan x OC), trouble at the disco (NSFW)

“You know the type you seem to be, princess?”, Rugan asked. “A spoiled brat in need of a good spanking.”

"Oh?" she replied. "And you think you're the man to give me one?"

Her slightly elvish eyes raked over him in a thorough appraisal. She hoped he would be the man to give her one.

"With that very leather belt you're eyeing up," Rugan said. "Until that pampered arse of yours is cherry red."

Margaret's breath caught in anticipation and Rugan could feel his cock stiffen at the prospect. He could almost see her imagining the sting of each blow.

"What a brute," she murmured, not without a dash of admiration.

"Somebody should teach you some respect," he growled, his hand sliding up her thigh. "Alas, I suspect the moment I pull down your frilly knickers you'll be screaming for the guards. One thing this life taught me: some risks are just not worth taking."

He reclined in his chair and exhaled deeply.

“So, sorry, lass. Try your luck elsewhere.”

WIP Nr. 3 (Gale x Tav), the Riv'vil

The human male was evidently as dense as a dwarven door.

She had made herself abundantly clear, and yet the riv’vil stood, in his wizard robes, absent-mindedly petting his chin, and said:

“Charmed. Name is Gale of Waterdeep”.

It's no wonder human males are notorious for being slow. Gathering the shreds of her patience, she attempted once more: 

“I am Yvonne Barrison Del'Armgo, the first daughter of House Barrison Del'Armgo”, she said, hoisting her foot onto a boulder and thrusting forward her boot, which was splattered with the viscera of her venture on the nautiloid and needed immediate cleaning. 

Even the sun-dweller should know what being the first daughter of that house meant. It meant he should drop to his knees and prostrate at her feet immediately.

The male didn't blink an eye. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed:

“You are permitted to kiss my boot, sun-dweller”.