#oak apple gall

[cricketchirp]

Cloudy Mondate

Between the two of us, My Guy and I have lived within an hour or so of today’s destination for a grand total of 103 years. Yikes. That makes us old. Of course, we aren’t. But for some reason we never visited this spot before. Maybe because it’s a tourist hotspot, and we’re hardly tourists. In fact today, we were dressed in our usual garb because our plan was to hike. And we did. But . . . we also…

[onenicebugperday]

Oak apple gall wasp, Biorhiza pallida, Cynipidae, Hymenoptera

Pictured is a female oak apple gall wasp and the apple-like galls that form around her larvae in oak trees. This species is found throughout Europe. In addition to feeding and sheltering the oak apple gall wasp larvae, the galls house several other species of gall wasp and at least 20 species of hyperparasitoids that feed on the larvae.

Photos 1-3 by zmrdk, 4 by bclunie, and 5 by cedzz

[alcnfr]

I found a couple of Oak Apples in the yard, something had opened one up for better viewing...

Oak Apple Gall Wasp (Amphibolips confluent)

[stopandlook]

Scientific Name: Amphibolips confluenta Common Name(s): Spongy oak apple gall wasp Family: Cynipidae (gall wasp) Life Stage(s): Larva Location: Plano, Texas Season(s): Winter

This is what one of these looks like on the inside.

[greencheekconure27]

[futurebird]

The nerve! The Gall!

Oak trees have got to be pissed about galls.

Galled if you will.

"I made an apple for a wasp? I'm not even a fruit tree--And it didn't even help me grow any new oak trees? no seeds? Just a wasp house? Why would I do that???

And now some monkeys are mashing it up to make marks on... on OMG. Is that pressed pulped *flesh* ?

No, not that sheep skin one... that other one... was that... dear Edna?"

[historysurvivalguide]

Good Summer for Oak Galls!

(Oak Marble Gall Wasp Photographed Summer 2023)

Oak Marble Galls are about the size of a marble and look a bit like an acorn without a cap (and growing on a branch)

Oak Galls are sometimes also called “Gall Apples” because it can resemble an apple-like structure on the branch

(Spongy Oak Apple Gall Wasp Photographed in Summer 2023)

This Spongy Oak Gall is about an inch or two wide (about the size of a small tomato)

Galls can grow on the underside of leaves or the branches of oak trees and depending on the species can range in appearances

Used traditionally to make permanent black ink!

[seabeck]

Oak apples/galls

[targobsessed]

A DRAGON’S PSYCHOSIS-AEMOND TARGARYEN

Chapter two-A bastards nascency

Chapter warnings- Character death,Themes of childbirth,Death in childbirth,Mentions of prostitution,Dark themes overall,Religious symbolism,Themes of SA,Daemon you monster.

Word count- 7719

A Dragon’s Psychosis Masterlist

25th SUNRISE,TENTH MOON,111 AC,

KINGS LANDING

Beneath the graze of the impending nights sky-the scuffled rumours spilling from loquacious mouths concerning the queen and her newly upheld pregnancy;Aluria Benoit danced the very verges of death,teasing and toying at the strangers unweildly restraint with each feigned whimper caressing the frigid air of that fateful winters night.

The blood of her womb,as thick and congealed as it lay,seeped through the fabric of her ivory dress,cascaded across the trails of pure cotton,and left a river of crimson staining the mud-caked flagstones of flea bottoms hamlet corners.

An illustration of her desecration presented for all to see- the evidence of her spoilage—a divinistic punishment of sorts,she pondered,spite plaguing her musings.

The silver of her vigilant eyes,scored between the bustling forms of common folk and hunters mares,their towering builds shadowing the dirt-laden floors,and cramming through the labyrinth of feudal houses and market hogans. Not a single passerby took note of the gushes of blood smearing the floors-neigh did they care to even ask of her ill-health, far too engrossed within the doings of their own lives to care for the ones surrounding them-wether it be a poor beggar,or a birthing pregnant woman. Kings landings common folk passed the needy blindly,uncaring —entirely accustomed to such cruel showings of dire poverty.

And all under the guise of their own gods.

Not unlike the hectic lives of those accompanying the streets-the throws of kings landings nightly charades were blinding-minstrels,adorned in wild fabrics of greens and reds,were entertaining the crowds of onlookers,juggling with balls of pigs bladder,strumming comely tunes with wooden lutes,and acting leerily on stages of wood and twine. Some received crowds of applause,whereas others were chided and pelted with vermin and rocks,their soul purpose of appealing to the masses of men,women and children crushing with ill-spoken jokes and hoarse tunes.

Grouped men,sheathed in paints,wigs of straw and large poofed gowns, flounced across the oak,flaunting the protruding galls of their stuffed chests—a caricature of womanhood,a mockery of the mother and all her creations. They imitated Targaryen royalty,screaming and crying the last fated words of the late Queen Aemma,flashing the coconuts strapped to their haired chests at a jest at Princess Rhaenerya's spoilage. They gripped crowns of holly and mayflower,and wept childishly—a stale imitation of the queen that never was.

"Oh how doth my cunt sing with the tunes of a pretty maiden!" Mused a cross dresser,hollering the mewls of a trapped rodent,and clutching at the dandelion fabric shrouding his legs. He capered upon a small wooden stage,shaking his hips tentatively, and bathing in the laughter caused at his treasonous display of heckling "My uncle shall be the only one to quench this thirst for cock!" He mimicked,and the crowd blew with obstreperous laughter.

(Aluria battled with the urge to roll her eyes,an ill-fought war,but a difficult one nonetheless.)

Neigh did the entertainment only confine to music,mockery and dance-but churned with the flips of cards at the hands of seers and crooks,who fed off the desperate pleas of kings landings sickly folk.

"You will not last to the morn" a woman declared,resting a painted deck of cards against the round table with a deafening crack. She wore a large,turban-like head piece that wrapped around the thick curls of hair swimming across her back,messy paints of red staining the apples of her cheeks. The waning skin of her face stretched into an unholy smile,and the frail mother sat before her,wailed in disbelief,clutching the balloon of her stomach "The cards do not lie" she quipped once more,a final blow, and leached off the hand full of bronze coins stacked between her fingers,hoggish and uncaring.

Another,similarity bespoke lady (if you could consider her deserving of the title) ,pounced at Aluria,pulling at the frills of her dress. Her eyes were dark and gluttonous—greedy almost.

Terrified mayhaps.

"Your future is dark my dear!" She croaked,allowing the black tints of her teeth to peak through her thin lips—her hair was matted and soiled in oils and foul fragrances--and her laced black gown, pulled and torn at the seams. A mad woman in her finest state. "From the charred womb of one,will come a reckoning-the babe is damned!" She was hysterical,eyes wide and blood shot with foreboding doom,reflecting the fires of a future. Her offending words didn't seem to register within her gaze,but served only as the reason for her maddening,the trembling of the oil-caked hands that heckled Aluria's frame.

"Take your fucking hands off me!" She panted,pushing with the strength of a child,a mere weakling. Her face was pale and devoid of life,dusted with streams of sweat and smeared blood. It wouldn't have been difficult to mistaken her for a corpse,a bringer of death-her cheeks narrowed and eyes sunken. The witch reeled back with a snarl,retreating her predatory gaze. Like a viper readying to strike.

"I tell no lies!"

The timely chimes of the grand sept awoke a feeling of relief,a breath of fresh air beneath the plumes of smoke ballooning across the streets of fleabottom.

Aluria turned a corner,seizing at the stone wall of a butchers, fingers sheathed in her own blood,and they left a faint trail against the granite at her gripe. The blood-curdling squeals of half-skinned rabbits,and semi-butchered stray mongrels filled the air,though not a single passerby bristled at the slightest.

The poverty-stricken villager folks of kings landing,ate all that they could get. Cudgels of young boys ventured the hills surrounding the tourney grounds on horseback,often accompanied by spotted hounds or small hawks that pulled the screeching tails of rabbits from their warrens,hunting stray rats and mice. Men impaled the hides of boars and stags on arrows and spears,trapped poultry in fisherman's baskets,and cut the throats of cattle and sheep.

Butcher-men used every scrap found,none wasted. Skinned rabbits were made into thick stews and broths,their legs strung up for good luck and sold to local street beldams,hunting hounds were awarded with the leftover bones (Or,if requested,sent to the maesters of the red keep for needling),their beady eyes thrown to the rats for fattening—creatures that would too someday, be caught and turned into mutton. Men wore the bushed tails of their catches as neck ties and anklets,marking their conquests and re-instating their ranks. The fur was stripped from their backs,and placed onto the heads of women and children for warmth,most sent to the cold and dreary North, for rarely did kings landing see a day of cold.

A single copper penny could procure a spare chickens leg to wear for luck,or to brew with stews and lambs brains,a silver stag-a plucked bird or a few legs of lamb,and the meat of a swan or a peacock for a hand full of gold dragons-though most families barely earned enough coinage to eat the scraps thrown to the mongrels of fleabottom.

Ulrich Astapowr,a large and beafy man that lurked the street of silk every seventh dusk,manned the local butchers—he spared the resident bastards inking through the streets turns;a silver stag for each venery,a laughable currency for the danger they faced,most returning limp and bloodied from failed hunts and angered boars—others failed to return at all.

Mayhaps that was the best possible fate-for most measly fleabottom bastards either succumbed to the plagues rifling through the streets, or were thrown to the lurches and enjoyment of fishmongers and thieves,fighting in rings of death and torment for all at witness.

For those who couldn't spare a few hundred gold dragons to pay for a wheat reeded roof,others slept in slumps under cloth pavilions,bartering for spare coinage,and exchanging goods such as wheat,rice,fruit and veg.

Spices and herbs were hung in bunches over shop stalls,sold for penance to the wealthier folk-the sustenance one needed to stomach the unsavoury bitterness of mutton and skinned lamb. Others mounted sage and coloured salts over door frames to ward off evil,a showing of faith and unresounding terror.

"Three lambs hearts for seven copper pennies! Three lambs hearts for seven copper pennies-a most gratuitous of offers!" A young boy,only around 2 and 10,chartered from the roof of a working house—he wore a cloth tabard and nothing else,the flesh of his feet uncovered and rotting with each moments pass.

Rows of tanners weaved through the teeming streets,each weighed with large strips of raw hide strung over their shoulders. They were wrinkled and slumped,fatigued from months of endless scrubbing and shearing,the nails of their fingers clipped and bloody,hands sheathed in boils and sores that burst and rubbed against the weighty skin of stillborn calves and butchered bovines.

Gong farmers hauled the remnants of chamber pots,latrines and easement chairs through the crowds,large buckets of pine-wood sloshing and splintering their warty fingers.

She wrinkled the taut skin of her nose as two passed,grumbling words of indignation beneath their breaths. They heaved the bucket of excrement above their heads, padded across the pathways,and into a dark alley-no doubt lost on their traverse through the grounds.

Yes,Aluria hated kings landing. If it wasn't painfully apparent before-it certainly was now. She couldn't decide whether to thank Sybbyl for blinding her from it for so long-though some may claim the horrors raking through the street of silk were far worse,deathly illnesses spreading like wildfire across the masses.

She could recall an old tale passed between the painted mouths of fleabottom whores. One of a man who had frequented the street of silk ardently for months on end. His gormandizing behaviour had earned him infestations of large,reddened spots that likened him to a common starling. He shedded the hair on his head,turned pale and green,and wept tears of crimson blood. Soon, even the most despondent of whores refused his very touch. It was an unlikely tale,but proved a fateful deterrence for the more wanton of men. Except those maybe with silver hair and purple eyes,who believed themselves immune to unpalatable diseases of the flesh.

Vagrants of all kinds looted local stalls. Sturdy beggars rose from their mount upon grimy cobblestones,pleading for coinage with outstretched fingers,and eyes of mercy-though seldom did they ever receive anything as such,only harsh nudges and,if they were particularly lucky;scraps of unwanted bread from children as they passed,unbothered at the showings of dire poverty.

Aluria caught the faint nod of an angler as he passed,a glimmer dancing across the cerulean of his eyes. He limped fakely,and knocked the pine door of a small,lit house-leaning upon a hooked stick,leaching off sympathy. No doubt he would rummage through the little goods strewn inside-taking all that he could get,no matter the consequences or ill-thinking's.

Aluria wrapped the taut lapis head scarf tighter across the flushed skin of her hooked nose,cowering under the watchful gaze of the gold cloaks as they marched through the slews of common folk. She recognised the aquiline face of one,his silver hair shrouding a face of angelic beauty,and pulled at the frays of the scarf until it muffled her sobs of mercy.

The cloaked figures wound through the streets,isolating the crooks and lowly thieves from the impoverished,and they threw them to the floors,mounting their heads on spikes of steel in deterrence. Though that strained method wouldn't work-it never did. Commoners had two choices-either steal and gamble with the chance of spending the rest of your days impaled by the acclaimed "liberators of man",or die in certainty with an empty belly. Most chose the former.

Daemon Targaryen glanced towards the shuffle of feet at his left,and suddenly—his eyes bore into hers. Aluria froze,shaking beneath the rogues searing gaze,and the Targaryen turned back to his comrades with a raised brow and a sharp tongue,the fire of the dragon burning across his eyes "Spear the bastards! Let it be known that their crimes shall not go unpunished!" His gold cloak goaded those onlooking,women and children scurrying for reprieve to the doors of the grand sept.

"Damn you,tyrant! Let it be your ugly head next touched by the end of a spike!" A street beggar rose to the rogue prince's stature,squaring his arms and puffing the cheeks of his face in defiance. To most,this lowly man may have been viewed gallantly-a saviour of the damned-the first person to speak against the whims and crimes of the Targaryen prince himself. But to Aluria he was foolish,pawing at the last of his tenacity to not shake beneath the purple penetrating gaze of his oppressor.

Daemon spared him a single glance of mirth,unsheathed his second-hand Dark Sister,and cut him,balls to skull. The commoners' flayed body fell to the ground with a squelch,and the rogue continued down the lines of shacks and tents,bloodying the silk of his gold cloak with each life vanquished.

Aluria watched after him,digging the cut flesh of her fingers into the swell of her stomach as if to distract from the agonising stabs of pain rippling through her body. Her glare was heavy and brutish,and it followed his armoured back until the silver of his hair was no more.

"You do have such lovely hair" A lie,spoken to wooe a man she only wish to slay,to blind and torture just as he had done with she-to take and to claim-to ruin. She circled her fingers between the thick tresses of it,and fought a faint urge to tug at it's curls.

The rogue prince turned on his side,a greed-filled gleam dancing across his eyes.

Aluria bristled.

He said nothing,only lurched for her arms,and pulled her beneath him,and that same feeling of illness crossed her once again.

He had cut it,she realised,and for a moment,just a small moment-she wished to run her fingers through it once more.

The pendant of the seven lay upon the skin of her chest,scorching the pallid flesh that lay beneath. The face of the stranger stared back at her as she looked towards it-a taunting gleam in its eye,and the maiden chided her loss of innocence-the souring of her fragility-dirtied by the garish hands of the rogue prince himself,forever ruined.

And he couldn't even spare her a recognising glance.

Aluria felt a fire swell within her stomach.

The lit torches lining the wall of separation between fleabottom and its neighbouring mother-village,the street of the sisters,were the only source of light preventing her from stumbling over her bare feet.

"Penny for spare,ma'am?" A young boy pulled at the thick tresses of Aluria's hair,and her heart ached as she bore him a glance.

He was covered in the miry curdles of slit,no doubt a working boy from the inner depths of the street of silk-mayhaps a wine fetcher,or a stray bastard from a fighting ring. The cloth of his shirt was mottled and brown,miniature splashes of clay pressed against the clasps.

He reminded her of someone,such a faint feeling,though she couldn't quite place their face.

She shook herself, and reached a trembling hand from the covent of her stomach,and placed a single gleaming silver coin into the awaiting palm of the little boy "Buy yourself some new clothes" she squeaked,and watched as he scuttled off with a thankful gleam dancing across his eyes.

His purple eyes.

The aged stone of the houses were familiar,and taunted her as they loomed overhead,their thatched roofs giving way with each caress of wind,the seven pointed symbol of the star mounted over each wooden door,always watching.

Aluria clawed at the stone buildings,blearily holding on to the remnants of her exertion. The faint squeaks of sewer rats chided her as they scampered beneath doors and through the fabric pavilions of merchants' holds,returning with moldy bread and crumbled,blue cheese.

The inebriated singing of debauchees,bounced off pavestones. Men stumbled from ale houses,swindles of wines,ales and beers staining their lips. They sang and linked arms with one another,lead by the tantalising steps of scantily clad women,their eyes painted with seductive shades of wine reds,plum mauves,and charcoal greys.

Pray wrapped in the skin of a predator.

A sharp pain pulled at Aluria's womb,and her steps faultered with an agonising yell. The babe was coming,readying itself for its first breath,and the mother swore as a kick landed itself just stark of her spine.

"Please,not now" she pleaded,tears smudging at the trails of charcoal lining her eyes "Just wait a moment—give me just a moment"

"Aluria?"

The croak of a familiar voice warmed the back of her neck,and the hunched frame of the woman bent to peer through the red of her hair.

"Ellyn?" Her voice was barely there,incorrigible and unrecognisable to most-though the frail,old woman knew exactly who she was. Her wrinkled face lit in recognition.

"Oh,praised be! You have returned unscathed! I never did quite believe those nasty rumours,y'know" she cheered,and Aluria ostensibly regretted not curling into a ball and bleeding to death sooner.

"Please,Ellyn-help me to my mother" she pleaded,and it was only then that the elder woman realised what was happening-the stream of crimson staining the pale skin of her hands-spoiling the wool of her garment. The pained look wiring her face.

"Oh gods-your birthing!"

Aluria rolled the bright of her eyes "Yes,Ellyn-and I fear the babe is about 2 minutes to its arrival-" She whimpered,pressing moon-shaped indents into the pale of her skin,a failed attempt at distracting herself from the clawing agony branching through her womb "Please—help me to the door"

It wasn't far—just ten steps to her right. She recognised the bronze star nailed to its door,and the scuttles of sage and wildflower hung over its entrance—a warding sign of evil,the showing of a feared spirit present within the throws of kings landing.

One with purple eyes and bright silver hair.

"Oh my darling-I do not know how to say this.." Ellyn's features turned sour and restrictive—she peered into the drenched face of Aluria—calling forth the little girl she missed so much,the one that requested so ardently the plaiting of her hair—the one who took pleasure in the picking of the wild flowers of River Row. Innocence once wilted the eyes of young Aluria,untouched by the sins of life. And no matter how hard the old woman squinted;that same innocence couldn't be found.

"What is it?" Ellyn stared for a moment,simply stared and watched as the young woman's face churned with worry,her silver eyes unsteady "Ellyn,for gods-"

"She passed!" She could no longer hold it,the burn of the truth that itched her heart with each moments pass. Ellyn's sympathy reflected within her hazelnut eyes,rounded and glistening "Sweetheart,the fever took her-I am ever so sorry"

Aluria simply blinked,slow and confused "What?" The chapped flesh of her lower lip trembled,and her white skin turned pale as snow "But—But she was fine when I left. As healthy as a kicking babe"

Ellyn shook her heard,brusque voice trembling as each syllable left her chapfallen lips "Darling,you left 3 years ago-illnesses progress within moons. None of us knew until it was too late"

Aluria stared at her,willing and pleading for her to laugh—to admit to her chiding. Her mother had always been a strong woman,she feared nothing if not damnation at the hands of the seven. She prayed every moon,refused to part with septa's star hung across her neck. She never sinned—so why had the gods allowed her to perish with such a plague? Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"How?" A tremble broke her fortitude,and streams of hot tears broke down her face "Was it..?" She couldn't quite finish her inquiry,she stammered and gulped,yet Ellyn knew of what she wished to ask.

The elder nodded weakly,suddenly unable to meet her eyes,for the look brandishing them pained her so. Instead,she threaded her fingers through the skirts of her beige dress,lips downturned and unsure "Yes. The local maesters confirmed it—the same illness that took your father"

"And my brother"

Ellyn nodded yet again. She felt like a broken children's toy—stuck in one continuous loop. For what else could she do? There wasn't anything she could say to quench the feeling of losing a loved one. Multiple,she reminded herself,and frowned irily "He called it the 'dead man's disease' incurable,or so he claimed-swearing upon the septa's star like a court jester"

Aluria squeezed her eyes shut,drowning the muffled words of Ellyn,the squeaks of street rats as they scurried for reprieve,the laughter of drunken fools as they were lead through the gallows,and to the street of silk. She squeezed the trails of her dress,and thought of the babe kicking at her womb,though 'kicking' hadn't been an amount-able word she'd have used-more like scorching. She felt its talons as it shredded her entrails,its devilish horns that poked at her spleen-the bite of its pointed teeth.

A dragon in its own right-no human could inflict such pain.

Damn you,Targaryen.

Another sudden violent stab grabbed at her womb,and she screamed an agonising howl,one that blinked Ellyn from her own recount.

"Aluria! What is it?"

She snarled. Was this woman always so damned dull? "What do you think? Oh gods-the babe,it's coming!"

Ellyn panicked "Uh-" her hands shook as they grasped Aluria's shoulders,and she pulled back with a sudden noise of astonishment "Gods-Your scorching!" She pressed 2 fingers against the soaked flesh of Aluria's forehead,pulled them back,and found them dripping. This wasn't a normal birth,no-definitely not. She withheld an urge to ask the mother of her sins,to inquire of the father-though she could guess just as easily.

"I know where you can go" She said,and kneeled to wrap the skin of her arms across Aluria's back "Come on. Get up"

"I cant" she blanched.

Ellyn shook her head,her voice almost saccharine-like "Aluria,my sweet,if you cannot so much as stand at this moment—how are you expected to birth a dragon?hmm?" Aluria's gaze snapped to hers,an air of bewilderment clouding her comely features,and the elder woman chuckled "Don't think of me stupid,my darling. I know the signs of birth,especially abnormalities of the womb"

She pushed and pried at Aluria's arms,dragging her through the bends of streets like a weightless sack of grain.

"Where are we going?" She feigned,a shallow whimper escaping her lips. She craned her neck to just witness the pires of merchants holds,and tiled roofs of grain houses as they passed,ignorant of the trails of her own blood leaking across the cobblestones.

"To your sister"

"What?" Her voice grew panicked,and her skin paled porcelain.

Ellyn nodded,though she knew the 'question' was more exclamatory than anything else "You heard me well. I do not know of the reasoning for your arguments,and neither do I care,but what I do know is that she will be able to help"

"Being able and actually willing to are two very different things" Aluria grimaced,the very idea of facing her sister was uncouth to say the least "She'd sooner see me imp-ailed upon the septa's star,and at the spectator of kings landings persons" Her panicked state,no matter how immense,couldn't gift her the strength to flee.

Ellyn rolled her eyes,a seemingly bad habit "Don't be stupid. Your sister isn't that cruel"

"Then you do not know her well enough"

The grand sept of Baelor loomed over kings landing—its colossal towers,domed roof and carved architecture surveyed all those inferior to it. It seemed that the faiths nature to ridicule all those who chose not to conform to its ideas of goodness and purity,was reflected within its watchful,imposing nature. The doors were welcoming,yet mocked all those who wished to enter it,as if only the septa's and septons of the keep were worthy of its grandeur.

Aluria,for one,felt unworthy of even looking upon it,felt as if her mere presence was mocking all that it stood for. The babe pushing and clawing at her womb seemed to agree.

"No" she shook,almost too fearful to gaze upon the large gold star brandishing it's door "I can't"

Ellyn looked upon her as if she were stupid,a weak little girl,and she fought with the urge to protest "What? Why not?"

"I was excommunicated-I cannot even so much as speak the names of the gods and their holiness-do you not remember?"

Ellyn nodded,though her gaze was spiteful "Yes,of course I do. Though that was not at the hand of the king sweetness,but of his people. Septa's are meant to be warm and kind—they will welcome you,your sister-"

"You place far too much faith in family,Ellyn—my sister wishes me dead"

"Then you are a fool"

The accusation burned Aluria,and she poured her fearful gaze upon the contrasting one of Ellyn "I am not"

"Yes you are" she chortled "Your sister may be as stubborn as a beggar,but she would never turn her back on kin—look upon your brother"

"My brother is dead"

"Hmm,yes. Mayhaps that wasn't the best example I could have chosen" Ellyn pulled at her arm,and her disfavour cracked like a China doll.

The gargantuan oak creaked in disfavour,and opened to reveal the ecclesiastical space that would come to be called 'The great sept of Baelor', an originally political monument erected by Baelor I Targaryen himself,one that would control the masses of small folk for his very easement . The building was described by the lowly folk of kings landing,to be "the closest any common-bred man could reach the celestial seven heavens" for,of course a structure designed by the very people who were said to exist the closest to the gods would be considered so highly to those who were viewed as mere specks of dirt clouding the streets of kings landing.

The interior of such a place did not fail to impress,it was a finely decorated establishment,rich in both colour and monumental elegance. Rows of pews,draped in the finest silks of dornish decent slinked from the carved archway,each pressed and folded with perfection. The walls were enveloped in ancient scripture,tellings and stories spouted from the mouths of the so called 'Andals', the founders of the religion of the seven,and the one-time invaders of Westeros. At the centre of the sept,overseeing all those who wished to pray at their emblazoned feet,were the seven themselves. The mother,the father,the warrior,the smith,the maiden, and the stranger,each dipped in westlandian gold and drudgerly hand-carved by the Septons and septa's of the keep.

The mere sight of their stone corpses proved frightening for most-for neither looked entirely welcoming or forgiving to the lost soul.

"Where in the seven are the septa's?" Ellyn clambered. Aluria turned to glance at her abbled stance,only to find that she'd ventured off.

"Ellyn?" She called,only no answer echoed in reply. She swore beneath her breath,crushing the sodden skirts of her dress between the bones of her fingers. Small pats splattered against the marbled floors as she ventured forth,wincing with each crunch of a step.

"Ellyn?" She muttered once more "I'm beginning to think coming here was a mistake" the shared piercing gazes of the seven scarred at her flesh. She almost feared they may set her ablanzen,both she and the bastard baby gnawing at her womb. It seemed that the statued face of the maiden was calling to her,beckoning almost—though Aluria pondered whether it was her own weakened mind mirroring its thoughts before her and not a simple miracle.

Though despite her doubts,her feet carried her forward,so far that they scraped the base of the maidens statue,and crunched beneath her shaking legs.

"Ever the reminiscent,Aluria Benoit"

A whisper caught her ear,and a tremble broke through her. The maiden had spoken,she knew of it-it had to have been her. The statue was peering at her with a spite-fuelled gaite,though its mouth had remained in its place.

She had remembered her last visit.

Aluria parted her crimson lips,and before she knew,pleads spouted with fright-fuelled vigor.

She begged until the bones of her knees creaked with each fated rock,until the flesh of the waning skin plied to her hands grew bloody—until the pink of her tongue no longer knew the words of her homage.

She had kneeled at the feet of the mother,begged for the mercy of the stranger—cried for the removal of her soiled purity to the maiden. Prayed for the shifting of the unholy scourge lining her womb.

A copper-like taste bled through her mouth. As soon as word of her past sin had reached the ears of the septa's and septons of the keep,she had been dragged by her haunches,and banished from the faith of her familial upbringing.

Aluria Benoit,a woman scorned and thrown to the streets,accusations of necromancy soiling her name. She fled to a brothel,and worked her wage at just 7 and 10,parting her thighs for the greedy hands of flea bottoms men.

It was there that Daemon Targaryen,amongst many, took a liking to her,a fretting one that wormed its way into an obsession. He threw bags of silver at her at each moons turn,and rejoiced in the claiming of her faith,the taunting gleam of the seven pointed star hung around her neck that grew all the more sharp as he sullied her purity.

Damn you,Targaryen.

No matter how long she plead,or how desperately tears shed the silver of her eyes,neither of the seven relieved her. The sinful babe still shred at her womb,and the chain of the seven pointed star hung around her neck grew all the more heavier with each plea,so much so that the weight proved almost painful.

Aluria whimpered,a whispered prayer escaping in a breath of exhaustion,though her sagged state soon turned rigid at a sudden call.

"Sister"

It was formal,and cut through the air like a knife. She didn't have to turn to meet the gaze of its speaker to be assured of its disfavour.

"Marissa" She called back,still grasping the base of the maidens statued form.

An echo of unsure steps pitted behind her,and a warm hand pressed to her back "You must sit. You are in no fit state to kneel"

Aluria laughed,her sisters words both tickled her,and yet made her wish to tare the auburn hair from her repugnant head. "I would if I could find the energy to do so" She cut,yet adhered to her sisters pleas,and dropped,exhausted upon the thick oak of a pew.

Marissa's eyes were uncharacteristically dull-barren of their usual glint. It appeared that she didn't know what to do with herself-her haggard hands trembled,and knit together to form a tightly bound clasp,as if she feared the very thought of entertaining her own sister. And under the guise of the gods.

Her only sister.

A hushed silence bound the space between them-only the short patter of blood against the flagstones cut the quiescence.

"Where have you been?"

Aluria shot her sister a dark look,one fierce enough to stagger the pacing of her heart "You know full well. Do not act pious in front of me sister,you may have been able to fool our mother—but you will never deceive me"

A skittish swallow kneaded Marissa's patrician-like face,and her chin rose,yet her gaze never left the watered one of her half-sister "You have changed"

"Mayhaps it is you that has done the changing,sister" Aluria spat. Her cupids bow shivered. No matter how heedlessly she tried subduing her unkept emotions,her face never seemed too eager to adhere. The tip of her downturned lips shook as she spoke with hesitance,and the silver of her sorrowful eyes glistened against the flickering candles depended from the stone walls of the sept "A fucking septa" she seethed.

Her sisters gaze descended to land upon the rope depending the seven pointed star across her neck "You wear the star,yet chide me for executing the gods' will" she teased,though her tone laid flat and sharp-it bore the potency to incise. Aluria always despised how her sister always seemed to excel in the art of impassiveness. She could not read her,no matter how hard she tried (even doubted anyone ever could). Marissa's cerulean eyes locked upon the bump cradled between her sisters palms,and despite her malice,a small flicker of perceived warmth emulated,but soon froze as Aluria keened forward,banding to the curved armrest of the pew,and roared a pain-fuelled cry.

The septa staggered back,thumbing at the bronze star chartered to her neck.

"Is it not your duty to help deliver a babe if requested?" Aluria cried,breathless. She would not meet her sisters stare-refused to in fact,for she feared she may not be able enough to stomach its hateful nature.

Marissa stood stone-still,and the remnants of sisterly hope diminished. Aluria huffed,gulping a howl of agony,and another stream of blood trickled from her womb,down the stretch of her legs,and slid between the cracks of the stone floor of the sept.

"Gods forgive me" Marissa breathed,a shallow and fearful gasp. The air was silent and cold,and she fell to her knees,a breathless order spouting from her lips "Part your legs"

Aluria glared,discarding of her alluded plea of aid "Fuck off,I don't want of your help"

Rolling the deep,blue hue of her eyes,Marissa placed her hands between the gulf of her sisters blood-caked thighs,uncaring of the smearing of crimson concealing them,and parted them. She bunched the trails of the once dove-white dress,and lifted the soiled material to espy what lay beneath.

She did not moue at the unseemly sight-neigh did she seem intimidated by the thought of partaking in a parturition.

"You have done this before" Observed Aluria,wincing as Marissa pressed against the patch of skin cherishing her mauled womb.

"Yes. Many" She remarked "Your ready to push-the babe is descending"

"What?" Aluria startled,bolstering her rounded stomach,as if attempting to unknowingly slow the process "No,I am not ready"

"You may not feel like it-but the babe keens for an exit" Marissa took notice of the perturbation wiring her sisters face,and,in a fateful attempt at easing her panic-stricken state,grasped her chin between the pads of her fingers,and met their gazes "Listen to me—listen sister. Hear me—stop this flagellation—push,do it for the babe"

Aluria's staggered breaths evened into a soothing lull,and her fatigued head bowed into her chest,acceptance inking her frame.

"Push" Her sister assured,nodding with the softness of a mothering lamb. And so Aluria did. She pushed and drove her chin deeper into the cave of her chest.

A howl broke through her mouth,as if a dragon itself had possessed her.

"That's it" Marissa soothed,dipping to uphold an awaiting palm towards the part of her thighs. Her movements were so practiced that they seemed as if they were almost muscle-memory,so natural that she could have done it with her eyes closed. So,as her once assured face turned glacial,Aluria knew to panic.

"What? What is it?" The mother shook,though her sister would not answer her,but stayed stone-still,her flushed skin paling with each thrum of silence. Aluria's band of patience snapped "Marissa—Marissa—For fucks sake,Just tell me!"

"It appears that the babe—" Marissa's pained voice shook as she spoke in finality,unblinking eyes searching for an answer to the complication,though they made themselves scarce "The babe has breached"

Aluria's flushed face scrunched in confusion "What does that mean? Is that not correct?"

Marissa's dismissal-like shake of her auburn head came as a quick answer "Breached births are almost always fatal—either for the mother or the babe—sometimes even both" she choked,the last utterance delivered precariously.

Aluria's face contorted sorrily "No" her wobbly chin dipped to her chest,and she shook her head in a tremor of denial "No" For once,just once since the learning of her abundancy,did she panic for the fate of her child—her daughter,the seer had told her. Her beautiful daughter.

She lurched forward with a sudden bout of energy,and gripped the lapels of the septa's robes concealing her elder sister. Marissa's face contorted wildly,and she blinked in a flurry of shock.

"Save her" Spoke the pregnant mother,her lips trembling with ardent emotions "Save my baby—I know you know how to—I can see it,you just don't want to"

Marissa's head bobbed "No,I cannot do such a thing—that is cruel and ungodly"

"Did the late queen Aemma not perish in the same way?" News as such spread quickly within kings landing,even to the brothels of the street of silk—especially when entertaining noble blood itself.

Daemon wagged his tongue more than most would surmise.

The septa blinked "That was different—that was with the purpose of securing a kingly heir,sister. Do you not realise what you are asking of me? What toll this will have on mine own life?"

Aluria's grip tightened,the burgundy cloth of the septa's robes tearing beneath her soiled fingernails "We have no choice,sister. Either both I and the babe perish—or just I alone"

A bout of unfilled silence filled the sept-neither sibling spoke,though their terror-stricken gazes were locked in an ill-fought battle of wills. Marissa bowed her head,the burgundy covering of her faith falling across her shoulders,her chin quivered,and her eyes turned determined as she peered up at her sister.

"Ok"

It was a simple word,spoken as an utterance of unsureness,and her trembling hands took place upon the flushed bows of her sisters cheeks once more.

"I need a dagger—something sharp and penetrable"

Aluria did not quiver at her order—she was ready.

"I have one tucked into the band at my waist"

Marissa's hands shot upward, clutched a sharp dagger eased into a small violet band,and pulled it until it fell into her palm.

It was a small thing,though its blade was sharp and polished. Marissa's lips parted in disbelief.

"Velaryon steel"

She observed its garish handle—turning it in the girth of her palm. It was fully silver,decorated in small purple jewels that sparkled in the low light of the sept.

"Where did you get this?"

"I found it"

"Do not lie to me—not in front of the Gods"

Aluria's chin bobbed "It was given to me—as a gift"

"By who?"

"A prince"

That was enough for Marissa,there was only one prince that ventured into the street of silk,a prince with silver hair,purple eyes and a dark ambition for war and battle.

Daemon Targaryen.

Marissa did not pry further,though the expression locked upon her face was confirmation enough to her sister—she knew,though she did not want to believe her suspicions.

"I will need to cut the skin,and to pull the babe from the womb"

Aluria didn't startle "Alright"

Marissa started at her "Are you not frightened?"

She shook her head "I knew this would happen when Sybbl confirmed the pregnancy"

Marissa placed the dagger against the balloon of her sisters stomach,pressed upon the soft skin until a small bead of crimson tricked across the hilt of the blade,and pulled it swiftly back in poorly concealed horror "I cannot!"

Aluria's hands shot to hold the blade against her stomach,her palms cupping her elder sisters shaky ones "Please" her trembling voice coated the cold air in sorrow. The flickering flames of the candles within the sept were no more—a gust of wind had perished them "Please" she assured,smiling,though the action seemed to wound her sister more than anything.

The two pairs of hands pushed the dagger until its hilt pressed against skin. Marissa shook,and attempted to draw back,though her sister kept her in place,squeezing the skin of her abbled palms between her own. The dagger sliced more skin,kept moving until it created a large,gaping incision.

Aluria's shaking hands dropped from her sisters cooler ones,and the dagger clambered to the floor.

"Get—her—out" Babbled Aluria,her skin turning paler with each stream of blood caking the wood of the pew.

Her sister adhered to her pleas,placed her hands into the incision,and pulled until a wail of breath filled the sept.

Aluria cried,and her head fell back,but quickly pulled forward as if to glance at the screaming babe.

She was beautiful,her hair was as white as snow,and her aghast eyes—purple like grapes. Her secret had been endowed.

The babe wailed and wailed,pleading to feel the warmth of her mother's womb once more.

Marissa was stock-still,staring at the babe with parted lips and wide brown eyes. Slowly,her head lifted,and her shocked gaze peered into the draining one of her sisters.

"What abomination is this?"

Aluria did not answer her,only lifted her trembling arms as far as she could reach "Please,let me hold her—just this one time"

Marissa shook "Answer me,sister—tell me you haven't fathered a bastard with a dragon"

Aluria blinked "What does it matter?"

"What does it matter? What does it matter—That overweened prince has sullied my sister!"

Her shout awoke the babe,and it screamed and screamed for the warmth of its mother's arms. Marissa peered down at it—a beautiful little thing—and her heart warmed despite its parentage.

How could a bastard be so delightful? The seed of the rogue prince himself.

She looked upon her sister,on the brink of meeting the stranger—and quickly granted her last wish. The babe stopped its piercing wails as it was placed upon its mother's arms.

Aluria cooed at the tiny little thing,cradling its silver head against her chest "Hello—Maella" she spoke,and the babe,despite its youth,seemed to echo that same adoration back,smiling with its puffy pink cheeks,and large glassy eyes "What was I so afraid of,hmm?" She threw her head back,gulping a bout of air "Take her—far from here" she requested "Keep her safe,sister"

Marissa's eyes watered,and she shook her head abundantly "I do not know how"

"Take a boat,to dragonstone or the North,anywhere. I have money tucked into my pocket—take it"

Marissa was in a heavy denial,but as her sister's paling face suddenly lost its warmth,she clambered to reclaim the babe as it slipped from its mother's arms.

"Aluria—" silence "Aluria,please—do not chide" silence again.

Marissa shook,and she tore the septa's scarf off her head,wrapping the wailing babe within its cotton. She placed the delicate thing upon the pew,next to its mother,and slapped a hand upon her sisters watered cheek.

"Aluria—" another bout of sorrowful silence "At least confirm my suspicions—did you do it?" No answer echoed in reply "Did you kill him?"

A cough pierced the silent air "Our brother was ill,sister—I was only trying to save him" she confirmed.

"Save him? You killed him,Aluria"

"He was dying—a woman told me how to save him,I tried—I really did"

"It was blood magic,what you 'tried' was blood magic—it was the death of him"

"I did not mean to" Aluria cried,and her sisters angered face collapsed. Marissa embraced her,and an air of solitude passed between the two as a last breath was stolen.

The stranger reclaimed his bride,and stole one last glance towards the babe as he left,another lost soul colouring his jar.

That night,Marissa fled with the babe—the destination in which the vessel was promised,was never revealed. Though the dreary island in which it stopped was one of great infamy.

And as the unwrapping of this tale broke through the peoples of kings landing,a tale that many considered just that-a farce of sorts. Another found its way from the inequibly inhabited island of dragonstone. The rumbling of the hills where dragons mount. The shaking of the beast called the cannibal as he howled and cried that very night,awakened and blood-driven.

AUTHORS NOTE:

And thus,this is where the story truly begins. I wanted to introduce more of Maella's background before continuing on with present-day.

Inspired by the one and only 'Preachers daughter' album by Ethel Cain. If you haven't already listened to it-I advise you all give it a try, it's a masterpiece.

Anyway,I hope you all enjoyed. This chapter has been redrafted , deleted , pondered over, and has proved to be the ultimate bane of my existence for this past month of drafting it. I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, or the way in which I chose to word it, but I am eager to continue writing the rest of this story, so have ultimately chosen to bite the proverbial bullet and post it despite my disliking of it. I hope to post more frequently in the future.

Link to my AO3

Next Chapter

[listen-to-the-unheard]

When I found little orb, I thought it was something else, but then I looked closer. For the uninitiated, this little 2.0" OD ball is called an "Oak Gall" or "Oak Apple". Oak galls are abnormal plant growths that can be found on many species of oak trees. They can vary in shape from spherical to urn-shaped to star-shaped to fuzzy. Galls are made of plant material and vary in colors of yellow and green and turn tan-brown as the development continues. Inside the gall are LOADS of tiny 1-6 cm wasp larvae. The whole gall process is fascinating - an incubator for wasps. 😊

[alwayslosingtheplot-blog]

Make a world with me (Part 3)

Part one

Part two

@saqvobase suggested having the islands be on megafauna! Which opens up a whole load of possibilities. You have the classic giant turtle situation, which is cool but I think I want to go a different route.

Maybe a different kind of shell, like a sea snails mollusks. Barnacle-like entities which stay still and don't move but can create very turbulent seas during mating season. (This might be too gross)

Or maybe it is unknown that a creature was even involves. Part of a mystery. An island which vanished in the middle of the night and no one knows why or where it went - only for it to turn out that the creature it was on woke up and ventured out to the sea. Maybe it didn't go out to sea but down into it, or left broken buildings and pieces in its wake so that the other nations think that it sank and allows for an myth like Atlantis. Maybe another island lies on the skeletal remains of a long-dead Levithan, it's body bringing a bounty of fish and nutrients like a whale fall. If they dig deep enough under the thin layer of top soil they will hit the layer of bone. Maybe the body is finally only now finished providing for the area, with even the marrow stripped clean and many of the species that the locals rely on are starting to leave the area.

Or maybe an island is an dormant or abandoned hive structure, and these human-sized eggs are about to hatch. Maybe the islands are a series of giant eggs, and the entire populace lives unaware that when they hatch, these creatures are going to be very, very hungry.

Maybe all of the above along with natural geographical features like as @thecrazyworldbuilder suggested like volcanic activity or river deltas which make the maps weird and funky and a little unexplainable. I'm thinking that their might be a mountain range as well, which has valleys dipping under sea level or rock slides with huge chucks falling off and being washed down to form rocky isles.

I said in the last post about the idea of some of the Greek myths being brought along by a classical student, so for a naming system I'm thinking of naming the inhabited and known islands after Greek nymphs and rivers after Potamoi.

Thinking about the geography of each island isn't a bad idea either to help better inform how I build up the cultures living there. I want to keep the islands small and the resources tight to encourage tension and a strange combination of conflict and co-dependance between the islands. I'll probably do a bit of research into the myths and try and tie the islands loosely into them, but I'm not going to be too stringent about that.

The Islands

Alseid - Lots of groves, small lakes and one large river. Several towns, a city and one of the largest populations in the Islands.

Anthousai - Isle of flowers. Fields of flowers used all across the islands for perfume, food (think rosemary), and medicine. These flowers look like hyacinths.

Auloniad - The mountainous island. Lots of snakes. (Eurydice was an auloniad, so maybe do something to do with the 'underworld' here.)

Aurea - Also mountainous, but less so than Auloniad, this island is known for high cliffs and beautiful vistas.

Crinaeae - Lots of small springs or hidden sources of water instead of one large river results in many, many small settlements rather than a large city.

Daphnaie - The seat of the Laurel Crown and home of the largest city, and largest navy of all of the islands. Tries to exert its power and rules on the other islands.

Dryad -'The Crown's shame'. Covered in an oak forest. Many have tried to settle there but none have succeeded for unknown reasons, which is galling to the government on Daphnaie as it is quite close to them. Currently there is a small settlement in a harbour.

Eleionomae - Very wet, mostly fresh-water bog. People here mostly live on floating homes even inland because of the constant risk of flooding.

Epimeliad - Home of apple orchard and shepards. Epimeliad has a small city and something akin to a royal family of their own, although they have much less influence that Daphnaie. Epimeliad has many allies through trade and patron many groups looking for new islands and 'safe places to land' on the mainland. This is why Daphnaie has never invaded.

Hamadryad - Thousands of butterflies migrate here once a year from the mainland to mate. The island also has several monkey colonies who steal from and torment the villages that have been set up here in the last ten years. There was an older settlement here, but a sickness swept through and killed almost all of them forty years ago. The small few survivors moved to other islands, and their children made up the main contingent of new settlers.

Hesperides - The most easterly of all the islands, the sunset isle; When the sun sets on Hesperides, it sets on all people. The mainland, and the monstrous megafauna that roam it, can be seen from its beaches. There is a pilgrimage many people take to do just this. The main religion of the islands started here and the main monastery is located here. The singing priestesses often mentor for singers from all over the islands who wish to master their craft.

Hyades - The rainy island. Amazing farmland, surrounding by thriving sea life. This could be on the skeletal remains discussed above (fish and nutrients from the bones making the farming so good).

Lampas - Known as 'the funeral isle', and sometimes more optimistically as 'the exploring isle'. This small island is where most travelers go before heading off towards the open seas or towards the mainland to try and find new places for people to settle. Home of witches, which can give protective charms and read the future of those venturing out for a cost.

Leimakid - The island of meadows and pleasure. Legend says that the three warring nations came to fight on the shores of Leimakid and the island was the so beautiful that all the warriors dropped their weapons and refused to stain it with blood. It now houses the 'seat of peace', where nation leaders meet for negotiation under the watchful eye of a the 'peace-keepers' sent by the religion.

Leuce - The 15th island. It is an island with many white/silver popular trees. The duel nature of the leaves of this tree (dark on one side, light on the other) make it the source of many myths and rituals. The trees are planted along beaches to strengthen sand dunes and prevent erosion. This is a contest nation, where individual strength is more highly valued than anything else. It is where the Games take place once every three years to determine the fastest, the strongest, the best that the islands have to offer. It is also where the Funeral Games take place for recently deceased royalty.

Limnad- The lake isle. One of the largest islands has three large lakes for which is is famous. Farmers here are trying to develop new farming methods and trying to cross breed and encourage crops to grow more calorie-rich versions. Think of it as doing to the turnip-like crops what people have done to potatoes.

Meliae - Known for its honey and development of medicine. No nation dare attack this small nation, for every other nation would turn on them and destroy them.

Melinoe - The nightmare isle. This tiny island was once the home of a small monastery. There was a raid from unknown raiders. No one knows exactly what happened but everyone of the raiders and all the priestesses were killed. Any crew who lands there feels ill and are plagued by night terrors until they leave. Rumor says that one priestess survived and that it was her that killed all of the men in fury, and that she still roams the island, killing any man who dares step foot off the beach.

Minthe - A mostly barren isle, rocky and mostly soilless, living here is extremely difficult. The island is good for growing some herbs (such as mint) but it hard to live in, which is why Minthe only has a small population despite it's size. The people here mostly take their living from the sea. A place nobles of high rank are often banished to.

Naiad - Known for its waterfalls and the migration of fish that swim up them once a year to mate. There is a large number of deer, wolves and bears on this island.

Nephele - the peninsula. This is the only place where it snows. This stretch of land has mountains to the North which block it off from the rest of the mainland. Living here is difficult, because the dangers that invest the skies, but not impossible - at least that is the mantra of the three new settlements trying to take root on the coast.

That's it for now. I'll continue this next post and then jump onto something else once I have a bit more to play with.

I'll probably have to do a post on each individual island and the culture that lives there but I am quite happy with what I have so far. I may run out of nymphs before I do islands but that is a problem for another day.

[rebelrebelwrites]

Did someone already ask about Oak Park for the WIP game?

They did not, and I appreciate you asking! Summoning all of my emotional fortitude to answer this because hello anxiety (cue the Jason Isbell song), but this one is my current WIP; an original novel.

The Summary: Historical preservationist Charlotte Harper accepts an assignment in Oak Park, Illinois to authenticate an unprecedented find: letters found between famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright's first wife, Catherine, and his most maligned (and first female) employee, Marion Mahony. When the letters stand to prove that much more was between the two women than previously believed, Charlotte sets out to unravel the true history... the only thing standing in her way? Sam, the self-satisfied but infuriatingly charming preservation carpenter on the project, who found the letters in the first place.

The Gist: A story told in 2 parts—of self-discovery and romance for Charlotte and Sam, as well as Marion and Catherine in the not-too-distant past.

The Snippet:

"What are you doing here?" Charlotte asks.

"You know, I think that's the second time today you've asked me that," Sam says. A trickle of shame shivers down Charlotte's back, but she ignores it.

"It’s still a valid question," she says.

"What do you think, Charlie?" he asks, a little exasperation bleeding into his amusement. "I live here."

“You... live here,” she repeats.

“Funny, we didn’t use to have an echo in here,” he smarms. “Yes. Me and Philly boy, Philly boy and I. Frank’s the first floor, we’re the second. Assume you’re taking the attic?”

“Well, I was,” she says. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“C’mon now, Chuck. You don’t need to worry about me.” Laughter lights up his eyes, and she notes green threaded with specks of gold. “I’ve already forgiven you for this morning. No need to be embarrassed. Besides–” his tongue flicks between his teeth, a teasing taste of his own smile. “I like a woman on top.”

His grin grows. Glows. Charlotte can’t help but stare at the sheer gall of it.

“Wow,” she manages. “You’re. Wow.”

“Effortlessly charming? I know, I know. But we should keep this professional.” He winks—again—before bursting into real laughter at the look on her face: something halfway between horror and disbelief.

“Relax, relax,” he says, “Look, I’m sorry, but you make it too easy.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be good, yeah?”

Charlotte sighs, low and long. “Professionalism. Right.”

She turns toward the narrow stairway, but before she can steal away, Frank emerges from the entrance to his apartment, dark eyes darting between them. 

“Oh! Sam, good. I just found the key to Charlotte’s apartment. Do you mind showing her? The stairs–”

“No worries, Frankie. I got it. D’you–?” Sam bends a little to rub at Phil the Great’s belly, letting go of his leash. Wordlessly, Frank beckons the dog forward with a few light taps on his thigh. Charlotte can’t help but be impressed when he immediately obeys, padding forward into Frank’s apartment.

“He can keep me company for a bit,” Frank agrees. He hands Sam a key before turning to her. “I hope you don’t mind. These stairs are a bit tricky for my old knees.”

“Of course; I don’t mind. Not at all,” Charlotte says, still halfway up the first step.

“Bless you,” he says, mustache twitching. “Let me know if you have any questions once Sam’s done showing you around.”

“I will. Thank you.” He nods, then shuffles back into his apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar. Charlotte stares after him, feeling a bit bereft until warm knuckles nudge her elbow. 

She starts; looks over her shoulder at Sam, her brain short-circuiting a little at the unexpected touch and how close he’s hovering behind her. He meets her stare with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Only one way to go, Chuck,” he says, tilting his chin up. The movement draws her attention to his throat; the bob of his Adam’s apple, and a spiky something scratches in her chest before she shakes her head, pushing it away.

Her spine stiffens. “Right,” she says. She turns forward and starts to climb.

She’s glad she didn’t force Frank to show her the apartment as they wind their way up the narrow staircase, passing what must be Sam’s place on the second floor, before ascending to the attic. 

The third-floor landing is definitely cramped. Sam has to stoop to avoid hitting his head, and they're a little closer than Charlotte considers comfortable, crowding each other and the apartment entrance: another door that's too big to be there, despite looking original.

"Well, this is it," Sam says. He grins, gestures to the door, then stoops even more to fit the key in the lock and push it open. She watches him duck through, following with uncertain footsteps.

Thankfully, the apartment itself is a bit bigger than the landing. Sam has to move to the middle to avoid brushing his head against the ceiling, but he can stand upright, at least. She notes low light, a tiny kitchen—barely more than two burners and a slim fridge—and to her right, a tight hallway she hopes leads to a bathroom and a bedroom.

To her left, a small living room—dim, too, but awash in dancing color. Charlotte beams as she weaves between a cozy little couch and a bookcase, making for the dormer window of shimmering stained glass.

“Is this original, too?”

“Think so,” Sam says. He watches her press a palm to panes made of myriad shades: jewel-bright blue, peridot green, burnt orange, deep crimson.

“You like it.”

He joins her in two strides; his shoulder brushing the wall opposite her. In her periphery, the light filtering in through the stained glass sparks more gold in his eyes.

“I do," she says, pulling her hand back. She meets his gaze, then mirrors him, leaning against the window frame.

“Me too,” he says. He smiles again; another flicker across his face before it becomes something wistful. “Almost makes me wish I’d taken this flat over mine.”

“We could always swap,” Charlotte says. Her smile twists into something more teasing before she can think better of it.

Sam lays a hand on his chest. “You wouldn’t do that to Philly, would you?”

She chuckles. "No, I wouldn't," she admits. "He clearly needs his space. Probably from you."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but his grin stays bright. "And you were worried! Not even a full day and you fit in fine, Chuck." He bumps her arm with his elbow, and the spiky, foreign thing in her chest turns squiggly.

"If I was worried about anything," she says, crossing her arms, "It was that you're hard of hearing. You know, since my name is Charlotte."

"Not a fan of nicknames?" he asks. "Or is it just that one in particular? We'll find something that fits you, Charlie. Give it time. We've only just met."

She clicks her tongue at him, and the squiggly something doesn't miss his eyes zero in on her mouth. She glances down at her feet; clears her throat.

"This what got you into the work?"

She looks back up at the question. He nods toward the window; his smile melting into something more mellow, like a lazy trickle of tree sap. "Or was it Wright himself?"

"Presumptuous of you," she tsks. "You know I'm here for Marion."

"Do I?" he asks. He furrows his brow, and something like the shadow that passed over his face earlier that morning reappears—fleeting and fickle, and gone in the space of a breath.

+++

I lived in Chicago for years, and recently went back and visited the FLW house/studio tour for the first time and that plus the inspo fuel that is this fandom sparked this (could maybe be an AU if you blink real, real hard) idea. We'll see if it goes anywhere!

And now I'm going to work on this today and try not to be too anxious about posting part of it on the internet 🤣

[alcnfr]

Oak Apples by Gall Wasp (Biorhiza pallida)...

[stopandlook]

Scientific Name: Amphibolips confluenta Common Name(s): Spongy oak apple gall wasp Family: Cynipidae (gall wasp) Life Stage(s): Larva Location: Allen, Texas Season(s): Spring

There is no wasp larva visible in the photo, but the golf ball-sized lump is the gall it formed. In botany, galls are abnormal growths on plant tissue, and they can be caused by insects, mites, nematodes, fungi, bacteria, and viruses. Insects and mites (usually) have preferred host plants, and the galls they form are distinctive enough that we can determine with reasonable confidence what the causative organism is by examining only the gall and the plant it’s found on, without needing to see the culprit itself.

The purpose of a gall is to provide food and shelter for the occupant(s) inside. During periods of plant growth, such as spring, an insect or mite will take advantage of the rapid cell division in its host and hijack these cells into making a gall instead of developing into regular plant tissue. For oak gall wasps, the process begins when an adult female inserts her ovipositor into a leaf bud to lay an egg. The interaction between the chemicals released by the insect and the host induces cell growth on the plant to form a gall as well as redirect plant nutrients into the gall for the larva to consume. As the gall matures, its color turns from green to tan.

There are hundreds of species of oak gall wasps. “Oak apple” is a common name for these galls, supposedly for their resemblance to apples, but they remind me more of limes than apples. At least it does feel spongy with Amphibolips galls, as the gall is mostly hollow inside, with filaments suspending the larval capsule at its center.

While in strict terms gall formation is a parasitic process, where the wasp gains all the benefits and the oak receives nothing in return, galls affecting leaves seldom cause serious harm to the tree. And because galls are affixed to the plant, they’re easy targets for predators looking to eat the larvae inside. Galls may be unsightly, but they’re generally not considered problematic to the host plant.

[swede1952]

What's going on?

Here's a red bellied woodpecker hanging from what looks like a small green apple in a white oak tree. I mentioned this a couple days ago and promised to post a picture. Here it is.

I got curious and did just a little bit of research. Apparently, the little balls are called an oak apple gall. They're deformed leaves caused by wingless wasp eggs/larva.

"Oak apple gall information tells us that galls are formed when a female oak apple gall wasp lays eggs in the central vein on an oak leaf. When the larvae hatch, chemical and hormone interaction between the wasp eggs and the oak causes the tree to grow the round gall." - gardeningknowhow.com

[artpigeons]

Traumatizing my mum by telling her in detail about oak apple gall wasps and how I've just bought a bunch of these narsty little galls to use for plant dye :)